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*** Darien Brahms

LITTLE BUNDLE OF SUGAR

(Red Sparkle Records)

2000 has been a hell of a year for Darien Brahms. The protean tomboy-fatale of Portland’s pop scene co-founded Red Sparkle Records, helped unveil The Munjoy Hill Society’s remarkable debut, Bon Voyage, and was tapped by local audiences as the “Best Local Female Vocalist” in The Phoenix’s Best Local Music Poll. After landing $1000 on a national game show, Brahms has financed the production and release of what might prove to be her banner year’s crowning achievement: Little Bundle of Sugar.

Nearly 10 years after releasing Hello, Hello to the People, Brahms has returned with another dose of confident, folk-rock confessionals that plumb the depths of love, lust, and letdown with a balance of technical polish and ragged soul. Recorded in true DIY fashion (mostly in Brahms’s bathroom on an 8-track) with support from such musicians as MHS bandmates Paul Chamberlain and Matt Staples, Little Bundle of Sugar showcases Brahms’s restless spirit. Informing her work with the introspection of Joni Mitchell, the defiant, confiding sensuality of Chrissie Hynde, and the post-punk sensibility and intensity of Kristin Hersh, Brahms’s work presents her as simultaneously vulnerable and invincible.

Brahms’s smart songwriting and rich, husky vocals on Little Bundle of Sugar keep the personal from ever turning syrupy or predictable, as the up-tempo rock songs evoke a sad glamour and the ballads bear some jagged teeth. Marc Ribot, who has worked with such artists as Tom Waits and Marianne Faithful, lends guitar work to two of the CD’s standout cuts: “Cravin’,” a beautifully arranged mix of longing and doubt (“Have a problem jumping in/Will you teach me how to swim/Or pull me under?”), and “Box of Nothing,” a tongue-in-cheek two-step (“We were so good together/We’re so much better apart/So give me a chance to get out of your pants/So I can mend my broken heart”).

There are a couple of slightly less-inspired moments on the CD, like the ska riff intro of “Back Porch” or the way “Anyway” unravels into a bit of a dirge. However, the spare stumbles are far outweighed by all the landings that Brahms sticks, like the simple, sexual guitar vamp of “Go Down on You” (a song that’d make P.J. Harvey blush and probably envious) and the soft, catchy allure of “Whistle Boat” and “Lily”.

— Pete Hodgin