Whit Hill

DETROIT DISC: Hill adds bite to 'Farsighted'

March 5, 2006

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Whit Hill and the Postcards easily embrace bluegrass, traditional folk and saucy blues in their work. (WHIT HILL)

Whit Hill

Ann Arbor singer-



songwriter



"Farsighted"



Home Run Records, Ann Arbor
Whit Hill's 2003 debut album, "We Are Here," was a strikingly well-executed premiere, a rich and vivacious suite of material from a singer-songwriter who seemed to surface out of nowhere.

It also set a formidable high standard for the Ann Arbor artist and her band, the Postcards, led by husband and scene veteran Al Hill on guitar and piano. But for the most part, Hill has successfully cleared the bar with "Farsighted," delivering a sophomore effort that maintains the first record's strengths while venturing confidently into new territory.

Hill's songwriting pen remains sharp; she's a smart writer who doesn't let her intellect get the better of her emotion. Best are her evocative slice-of-life vignettes ("Clean My Room," "Five Lanes of Traffic," the title track), songs that operate on multiple levels but are graceful enough -- and playful enough -- to avoid the clumsy symbolism that afflicts so many like-minded peers.

Still, there's a musical and lyrical pointedness here ("Picture of a Girl," "Regimen") that wasn't so apparent on the first record. The whimsical feel has been toughened with a bit more bite.

The Postcards provide top-end instrumental backing, easily traversing the worlds of bluegrass, traditional folk and saucy blues. Despite what Hill has described as rush-recording sessions last fall, "Farsighted" sounds groomed with warm care -- a blue-chip album that stands on its own while firmly proving that 2003's magic was no fluke.

By Brian McCollum,

Free Press pop music critic

- Detroit Free Press

Though she's well-known nationally as an award-winning choreographer, and as a backing vocalist for Dick Siegel’s former band the Na Nas, We Are Here is Whit Hill's debut album as a singer/songwriter. The album collects 14 songs that run the gamut from garagey alt country to raucous hillbilly gospel, bluegrass, blues, jazz, and rock and roll. Musically, Hill's tunes are all over the place. There's the rambling Bill Monroe delight in "Maddie," a tune about Hill's real life growin'-up-pal Madonna that's genuinely warm and funny, and not a name dropping exercise, the hipster jazz spoken word on "Tone/Shift," the stomping two-step honky tonk country in "Last Saturday," (that Nashville doesn't have the guts to touch), and the Crazy Horse-styled rock and roll of "Valentine." Hill's band, the Postcards, led by husband, backing vocalist, keyboard boss, and guitar slinger Al Hill, smoke. They could back anybody and make them sound like the glorious heart of Saturday night. Because of his guidance, this band takes Hill's words and music, sets them in their appropriate genre, and spices virtually every track with either a dollop or a wallop of rhythm and blues. Hill's tomes are striking, often moving vignettes; they are microcosmic slices of everyday life relegated to the place of story and legend in her personal iconography. And yes, they are beautiful, even glorious in places. She writes about tender, mischievous, circus performers ("Greatest Show On Earth"), gangland barroom massacres ("Valentine,") and broken-love songs ("Oh Well," "50 Miles To Detroit," and "Platinum Girl"). And Hill's "in love" songs are the tastiest and sassiest around. There are the steamy, shimmering lounge blues of "Sleeper Car," and the strutting, tough sensuality that insists at the kitchen table for something other than breakfast in "Please Pass You." In essence, Hill's works infuses both Gothic and funky notions of American life born of personal experience and imaginary realms, and nudges them gently and irreverently into the terrain where they become transcendent myths we can all plug into with either a chuckle, a smile, a nod, or a tear. Ultimately, as fine as this record is, full of energy, delight, and glorious freshness — it is as cool and deftly done as anything to come out of Detroit in the 21st century (this act has plenty of street cred even if they do bathe and have addresses) — it most likely only hints at what a treasure trove their live performances are. Yeah, just get it.

Thom Jurek
- All Music Guides

Though she's well-known nationally as an award-winning choreographer, and as a backing vocalist for Dick Siegel’s former band the Na Nas, We Are Here is Whit Hill's debut album as a singer/songwriter. The album collects 14 songs that run the gamut from garagey alt country to raucous hillbilly gospel, bluegrass, blues, jazz, and rock and roll. Musically, Hill's tunes are all over the place. There's the rambling Bill Monroe delight in "Maddie," a tune about Hill's real life growin'-up-pal Madonna that's genuinely warm and funny, and not a name dropping exercise, the hipster jazz spoken word on "Tone/Shift," the stomping two-step honky tonk country in "Last Saturday," (that Nashville doesn't have the guts to touch), and the Crazy Horse-styled rock and roll of "Valentine." Hill's band, the Postcards, led by husband, backing vocalist, keyboard boss, and guitar slinger Al Hill, smoke. They could back anybody and make them sound like the glorious heart of Saturday night. Because of his guidance, this band takes Hill's words and music, sets them in their appropriate genre, and spices virtually every track with either a dollop or a wallop of rhythm and blues. Hill's tomes are striking, often moving vignettes; they are microcosmic slices of everyday life relegated to the place of story and legend in her personal iconography. And yes, they are beautiful, even glorious in places. She writes about tender, mischievous, circus performers ("Greatest Show On Earth"), gangland barroom massacres ("Valentine,") and broken-love songs ("Oh Well," "50 Miles To Detroit," and "Platinum Girl"). And Hill's "in love" songs are the tastiest and sassiest around. There are the steamy, shimmering lounge blues of "Sleeper Car," and the strutting, tough sensuality that insists at the kitchen table for something other than breakfast in "Please Pass You." In essence, Hill's works infuses both Gothic and funky notions of American life born of personal experience and imaginary realms, and nudges them gently and irreverently into the terrain where they become transcendent myths we can all plug into with either a chuckle, a smile, a nod, or a tear. Ultimately, as fine as this record is, full of energy, delight, and glorious freshness — it is as cool and deftly done as anything to come out of Detroit in the 21st century (this act has plenty of street cred even if they do bathe and have addresses) — it most likely only hints at what a treasure trove their live performances are. Yeah, just get it.

Thom Jurek
- All Music Guides

Recognized around the country as Whitley Setrakian the choreographer (and for her dance company “People Dancing”), New York City-raised Ann Arborite Whit Hill and her band the Postcards have concocted a folk-based country and blues record (with the occasional jazz gesture) that is both a surprise and a welcome relief.Many of the songs here could be the sound track to front porches lined with the world-weary eyes of old men aligned in cane-bottom chairs sipping beer snagged from Styrofoam ice coolers. Or the sadness of dirt roads leading to trailer homes and into the futile lives of their inhabitants.Loping narratives like the “Greatest Show on Earth” reveal praiseworthy storytelling skills that use ornate circus imagery of tightrope walkers and cotton candy machine operators to show otherwise big lives that are left loveless and unreciprocated.Over a gentle country acoustic guitar and brush-stroked snare, “Platinum Girl” is a downright tender song of loss, sardonic self-realization and, ultimately, deliverance. Sprinkled with Catholic imagery and empathetic turns (“I know I’m never gonna be no precious metal/I know I’m never gonna make you love me better”), it’s a song that Lucinda Williams could’ve written.The slow, droning blues of “Sleeper Car” affords a kind of airy simplicity with lyrics that elevate the mundane sameness of a train ride to something that’s both interesting and ominous. Hill’s phrasing and employment of dodgy terms like “sandwiches” and “orange juice” are done with an aplomb that fondly recalls Pirates-era Rickie Lee Jones. On “Sandusky,” Hill bravely switches genders, taking the point of view of a man lost in the false security of suburbia, questioning personal faiths, his wife’s love, and at the end seeing himself through the eyes of his questioning daughter. It has the warmth of good fiction set to song, and Hill traces the deadened life of her male protagonist without a trace of a sexist or patronizing tone, only compassion. Hats off.“Valentines” centers around disappointment and longing in the cheery context of characters on barstools at last call. You can almost hear the clatter of dirty cocktail glasses and beer bottles, the ubiquitous Eagles song on the jukebox.Hill once was a University of Michigan roommate to Madonna, which she mockingly salutes on “Maddie” over a bed of simple and poppy country chords: “Told me secrets told me lies/got me jealous got me high/did not have enough to eat/kissed me on Division Street.”The final turn, “The Night When I Was Born,” ties the record off fittingly with an affecting tone highlighted by this line: “Sister won’t you tell me about the night when I was born … the night when daddy left for good,” crooned softly over a simple guitar picking so quietly you can hear a chair creaking.Of the 14 songs, the one misstep (“Where Were You In The Morning”) falls victim to simple overreaching, style over substance; the stabs at reggae on the verses seem pasted on.Elsewhere, guest violinist Jeremy Kittel’s tone recalls Scarlett Rivera on Dylan’s Desire, which is no mean feat; it’s warm with just the right amount of harmonic grate.The record was produced by Hill’s hubby, noted singer/keyboardist/guitarist Al Hill, and recorded with bass player Tim Marks and drummer Steve Nistor, all of whom impart a necessary play-for-the-song restraint. - Detroit Metro Times

Recognized around the country as Whitley Setrakian the choreographer (and for her dance company “People Dancing”), New York City-raised Ann Arborite Whit Hill and her band the Postcards have concocted a folk-based country and blues record (with the occasional jazz gesture) that is both a surprise and a welcome relief.Many of the songs here could be the sound track to front porches lined with the world-weary eyes of old men aligned in cane-bottom chairs sipping beer snagged from Styrofoam ice coolers. Or the sadness of dirt roads leading to trailer homes and into the futile lives of their inhabitants.Loping narratives like the “Greatest Show on Earth” reveal praiseworthy storytelling skills that use ornate circus imagery of tightrope walkers and cotton candy machine operators to show otherwise big lives that are left loveless and unreciprocated.Over a gentle country acoustic guitar and brush-stroked snare, “Platinum Girl” is a downright tender song of loss, sardonic self-realization and, ultimately, deliverance. Sprinkled with Catholic imagery and empathetic turns (“I know I’m never gonna be no precious metal/I know I’m never gonna make you love me better”), it’s a song that Lucinda Williams could’ve written.The slow, droning blues of “Sleeper Car” affords a kind of airy simplicity with lyrics that elevate the mundane sameness of a train ride to something that’s both interesting and ominous. Hill’s phrasing and employment of dodgy terms like “sandwiches” and “orange juice” are done with an aplomb that fondly recalls Pirates-era Rickie Lee Jones. On “Sandusky,” Hill bravely switches genders, taking the point of view of a man lost in the false security of suburbia, questioning personal faiths, his wife’s love, and at the end seeing himself through the eyes of his questioning daughter. It has the warmth of good fiction set to song, and Hill traces the deadened life of her male protagonist without a trace of a sexist or patronizing tone, only compassion. Hats off.“Valentines” centers around disappointment and longing in the cheery context of characters on barstools at last call. You can almost hear the clatter of dirty cocktail glasses and beer bottles, the ubiquitous Eagles song on the jukebox.Hill once was a University of Michigan roommate to Madonna, which she mockingly salutes on “Maddie” over a bed of simple and poppy country chords: “Told me secrets told me lies/got me jealous got me high/did not have enough to eat/kissed me on Division Street.”The final turn, “The Night When I Was Born,” ties the record off fittingly with an affecting tone highlighted by this line: “Sister won’t you tell me about the night when I was born … the night when daddy left for good,” crooned softly over a simple guitar picking so quietly you can hear a chair creaking.Of the 14 songs, the one misstep (“Where Were You In The Morning”) falls victim to simple overreaching, style over substance; the stabs at reggae on the verses seem pasted on.Elsewhere, guest violinist Jeremy Kittel’s tone recalls Scarlett Rivera on Dylan’s Desire, which is no mean feat; it’s warm with just the right amount of harmonic grate.The record was produced by Hill’s hubby, noted singer/keyboardist/guitarist Al Hill, and recorded with bass player Tim Marks and drummer Steve Nistor, all of whom impart a necessary play-for-the-song restraint. - Detroit Metro Times

For most artists who actually manage the feat, recording a masterpiece is a career-long effort. For Whit Hill, it took a single shot.
"We Are Here," suffused with intelligence and champion songcraft, isn't just the best debut album in recent Detroit memory, it's one of the top 2003 premieres by anybody anywhere. That's not giddy hyperbole; as word has spread since the disc's fall release, the Ann Arbor singer-songwriter has quickly enlisted a crowd of true believers, and is likely looking at national notice before the new year is done.
Here's why: "We Are Here" displays a surplus of versatile talent, a knack for straddling sounds as diverse as crisp pop and dyed-in-the-dirt bluegrass. "Sometimes I take a country road / Sometimes I take I-94," Hill sings on the album's intoxicating opening cut, "50 Miles to Detroit." It's that combination of sweet rustic sentiment and gritty world-wisdom that fuels the record, and makes it sound like the work of a longtime pro.
In reality, Hill is a late-coming first-timer – a middle-age mom best known for a career of highly rated choreography. "We Are Here" features songs quietly penned during the past decade, honed to deliver the kind of rich, poignant impact associated with Lucinda Williams or Richard Thompson in one of his Americana moods.
The PR hook here might be "Maddie," a brisk stomp that summons up memories of Hill's one-time U-M roommate and fellow dance student Madonna. But that whimsical tune is just a throwaway amid the album's other 13 tracks, which dig deeper ("Oh Well") and wider ("Valentine") as they reveal Hill's ability to make both word and melody come off as poetry.
Hill gets ample help on the back end from her ace backing band, led by husband and guitarist-keyboardist Al Hill (of the Love Butlers). But it's the songwriting and earthy voice of Whit Hill that carry the day here -- and that promise big things for the future, if she wants it.

By Brian McCollum, Free Press pop music critic
- Detroit Free Press

Should one require any more proof that Ann Arbor has an embarrassment of riches when it comes to music, this disc is it.
Ann Arbor's multitalented entertainer Whitley Hill - known over the years for her work with her dance company, People Dancing - has embarked on a new career as a singer-songwriter and recording artist. This, Hill and her band's debut CD, offers what she calls "beatnik-tinged country music" - 14 original, acoustic tracks that positively shine.

Hill's evocative and thoughtful lyrics, nostalgia-tinged vocals and crackerjack band all work to make "We Are Here" a standout. Her husband, Al Hill - a familiar talent on the local music scene for years and leader of his own group, the Love Butlers - produced the disc. Also on board are bass player Tim Marks and drummer Steve Nistor (who have since been replaced in the band by Patrick Prouty and Tim Gahagan).

On "We Are Here," Hill reflects on her former U-M roommate and future pop star Madonna via the country-rocker "Maddie" ("little future billionaire, heard I had a room to share..."). On the twangy "Oh Well," she explores the heartbreak of a good love gone bad. "Sleeper Car" waxes nostalgic, while on the gentle "The Night When I Was Born," Hill turns reflective, accompanied by a single guitar. "Tone Shift" is an unexpected jazzy turn, with spoken-word lyrics. "Please Pass You," a country ode to the simple joys of sharing breakfast with your loved one, is one of the best tunes.

The album also earned Hill a four-star review from the All Music Guide. The disc is available at Borders, Rubber Soul and through Hill's Web site, www.whithill.com.
-Roger LeLievre
- Ann Arbor News

For most artists who actually manage the feat, recording a masterpiece is a career-long effort. For Whit Hill, it took a single shot.
"We Are Here," suffused with intelligence and champion songcraft, isn't just the best debut album in recent Detroit memory, it's one of the top 2003 premieres by anybody anywhere. That's not giddy hyperbole; as word has spread since the disc's fall release, the Ann Arbor singer-songwriter has quickly enlisted a crowd of true believers, and is likely looking at national notice before the new year is done.
Here's why: "We Are Here" displays a surplus of versatile talent, a knack for straddling sounds as diverse as crisp pop and dyed-in-the-dirt bluegrass. "Sometimes I take a country road / Sometimes I take I-94," Hill sings on the album's intoxicating opening cut, "50 Miles to Detroit." It's that combination of sweet rustic sentiment and gritty world-wisdom that fuels the record, and makes it sound like the work of a longtime pro.
In reality, Hill is a late-coming first-timer – a middle-age mom best known for a career of highly rated choreography. "We Are Here" features songs quietly penned during the past decade, honed to deliver the kind of rich, poignant impact associated with Lucinda Williams or Richard Thompson in one of his Americana moods.
The PR hook here might be "Maddie," a brisk stomp that summons up memories of Hill's one-time U-M roommate and fellow dance student Madonna. But that whimsical tune is just a throwaway amid the album's other 13 tracks, which dig deeper ("Oh Well") and wider ("Valentine") as they reveal Hill's ability to make both word and melody come off as poetry.
Hill gets ample help on the back end from her ace backing band, led by husband and guitarist-keyboardist Al Hill (of the Love Butlers). But it's the songwriting and earthy voice of Whit Hill that carry the day here -- and that promise big things for the future, if she wants it.

By Brian McCollum, Free Press pop music critic
- Detroit Free Press