[
{
"name": "Related Stories / Support Us Combo",
"component": "12017627",
"insertPoint": "4",
"requiredCountToDisplay": "6"
},
{
"name": "Air - Billboard - Inline Content",
"component": "12017623",
"insertPoint": "2/3",
"requiredCountToDisplay": "7"
},
{
"name": "Air - MediumRectangle - Inline Content - Mobile Display Size 2",
"component": "12017624",
"insertPoint": "12",
"requiredCountToDisplay": "12"
},{
"name": "Air - MediumRectangle - Inline Content - Mobile Display Size 2",
"component": "12017624",
"insertPoint": "4th",
"startingPoint": "16",
"requiredCountToDisplay": "12"
}
,{
"name": "RevContent - In Article",
"component": "13027957",
"insertPoint": "3/5",
"requiredCountToDisplay": "5"
}
]
Amateur psychologists have a ready-made theory to use in analyzing the gorgeous, evocative music made by New Jersey singer-songwriter Erin Moran. She shares a moniker with the actress who played Joanie Cunningham on a ubiquitous TV sitcom, but her songs seldom concern themselves with happy days.
Erin/Eddy, who lists herself on this CD's liner as "E. Moran," has a throaty voice that coaxes maximum melancholy from compositions dealing with lost love ("Tears All Over Town"), withering love ("People Used to Dream About the Future") and the death of a beloved mother ("Kathleen"). Producer Richard Hawley sets these tales against ornate backdrops drenched with string substitutes and the occasional vibraphone. The result is simultaneously ravishing and ravished -- a chronicle of sadness and the strength needed to keep it at bay that makes absolutely no concessions to musical fashion.
The album's cover sports the outline of a vinyl platter, giving it the timeworn look of an LP from years gone by -- but the image isn't intended to evoke nostalgia. This Erin Moran specializes in hurt that feels like forever.
