ANTONY & THE JOHNSONS: YOU ARE MY SISTER (Secretly Canadian)

If there’s any song released this year that better conjures vivid images of windswept winter landscapes than Antony & the Johnsons’ “You Are My Sister,” I haven’t heard it. Culled from the avant-garde New York maestro’s superb sophomore album released earlier this year, I Am a Bird Now, it’s a delicate paean to sibling affection and perhaps an oblique tribute to one of Antony’s idols, Boy George, who duets with Antony on the track.

The throaty, autumnal pairing exudes a strange soulfulness—much like all of Antony’s catalog, it evokes a feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, but you’re certain you’ve never heard anything remotely like it before.

This EP-cum-maxi-single—four songs in 15 minutes—feels like an expansive suite of chamber-pop songs, stolen from the parlor of a reclusive, eccentric songsmith that may or may not have tutored the likes of Colin Meloy or Sufjan Stevens. “Poorest Ear” builds from an aching, contemplative monologue into a drawing room rave-up; clarinet, snare drum, and piano collide like a music box being elegantly smashed into a wall.

“Forest of Love,” with its plucked strings and earnest piano, is another excellent showcase for Antony’s entrancing vibrato; a quite hopeful piece, it’s gilded with bizarre turns of phrase that solidify this rare bird’s crack’d mirror worldview. The final and shortest song, “Paddy’s Gone,” is a heartbreaking dirge—like some unearthed aural artifact from an art-damaged ’50s crooner, this hypnotic track lingers like a half-remembered dream.

By now, those phrases—“weird,” “rare,” “odd,” and “avant garde”—should clue you in, if you’re unfamiliar, that Antony is an acquired taste; his hushed compositions invite stillness and attention as well as a tolerance for vocal affectations. Like some weird cousin of Emily Dickinson, Antony crafts enigmatic, literary pop gems that skate the very edge of indie music—given a chance, it’s breathtaking and unforgettable.

While the I Am Your Sister EP is certainly worth tracking down and enjoying, those seeking an entrée into the haunting, ambiguous world of Antony & the Johnsons would be better served by first exploring I Am a Bird Now. That’s not to say that Bird is any less peculiar than this EP, but it does frame Antony’s aesthetic in a more forgiving context—given the dearth of genuine creativity in the music world these days, those of Antony’s ilk need all the breaks they can get. 

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