Winter has created a post-Lilith Fair niche for herself, mining the same sort of terrain that Sarah McLachlan mapped out in the 90s. The record opens with “Riddle”, which establishes the theme that dominates “Under the Snow”— the fragility, impermanence, and ultimate elusiveness of love. To a sparse background of finger-picked acoustic guitar and organ (the combination of which owes something to Elliott Smith’s later work), Winter recalls an epiphany of understanding in a frayed relationship: “I think I found the riddle here/ A broken heart has mending years”.

 

From the relative simplicity of “Riddle”, the album moves into more fleshed-out, complex, thoughtfully arranged statements. “Story of Trust” and “Fall to Pieces” are a fantastic one-two punch. “Trust” recalls the sweet ice-cream pop of the Sundays, packing a tough sentiment (“Wouldn’t it be nice to be sure/ That love isn’t worth the pain we endure”) into three minutes of hook-laden bliss. Winter sings in a super-high register that conveys both love denied and fleshly salvation delivered. “Fall to Pieces” takes this a step further, as we feel Winter moving towards some kind of pulsing abyss, a quietly intense arrangement swirling around her; “Fall to pieces/ Fall to peace”.

 

From here, “Under the Snow” moves into increasingly moody territory. Like Joni Mitchell’s “Blue”, “Under the Snow” follows a sensitive, poetic female heroine on a cathartic interior journey. The centerpiece of the album, a cover of Leon Russell’s “Song For You”, brings together all the strands of Winter’s construct beautifully. It’s a song about intimacy, about reaching out to someone in a one-on-one context. The paradox explored, both by Winter’s performance and by the song itself, is endemic to life as a professional artist; how to create and/or perform “personally” in a way that resonates universally. This Winter accomplishes in spades, with help from Lenny Monachello’s richly textured accompaniment on bass, guitar, drums and piano. He clears a space for Winter’s voice to soar, caress, and soothe.

 

Standouts from the album’s latter half include the rollicking “Big Wave”, which celebrates the ineluctable force of new-born passion: “There’s a big wave coming/ Holding on to nothing”. “Big Wave” is buoyed by an indelible chorus and a full-bodied arrangement, making it a prime candidate for first single. On a more somber note are two acoustic pieces, “Destiny” and “Goodnight”, which lay bare Winter’s romantic ambivalence in a hushed, minimalist setting. Between the exuberance of “Big Wave” and the introversion of these pieces lies the central dichotomy of Winter’s work— how submission to the processes of “letting in” both exult and mystify, enlighten and darken. Her winning way with a melody insures that this dichotomy sticks in the mind and heart.

 

Briana Winter has emerged on her first release as an artist fully formed. She’s in complete control of her Muse and every musical move she makes is assured, savvy, and tasteful. Where she will take her prodigious gifts is anyone’s guess, but “Under the Snow” is both a marvelous opening statement and a tribute to a long and fruitfully fermented talent. Ambiguous romance has never sounded more compelling.