This came out in 1999 – or at least that’s when I got it. Here’s what I said about it back then (with some minor editing):
Back in 1997, just weeks after Chantal Kreviazuk’s debut CD Under Those Rocks And Stones came out, I was browsing in New York’s mammoth Virgin Megastore in Times Square when I heard a song that sounded oddly familiar. When I looked up at the jumbo TV screen filling most of the store’s back wall to see what was playing, there was the video for Chantal’s This Is The Way (God Made Me), two storeys tall and blaring away in one of the largest record stores in the world. Wow, I remember thinking — she’s going to be a star.
And she is — in a low-key, laid-back, Canadian way. Sure, along with that song, Kreviazuk had a hit with Leaving On A Jet Plane, from the monstrous Armageddon soundtrack. She placed another on a Dawson’s Creek album. Yet another bacame the theme for the NBC drama Providence.
Despite all that success, however, she hasn’t made us sick of her. Like your typical Canadian star, she keeps a lower profile than her Yankee counterparts. You don’t see her mugging on late-night chat shows every week, leaping out from Entertainment Weekly, or playing every cheeseball award show. In fact, even though she’s from Winnipeg, she’s only played here a few times since she hit the big time. In a way, we still don’t really know her very well.
Colour Moving And Still, her followup album, goes a long way toward righting that situation. Less slick and studio-polished than Rocks And Stones, this 10-song disc is a more intimate, informal affair that seems to reflect both her growing confidence as a songwriter.
Instead of trying to get your attention with big production and extravagant arrangements, Colour Moving goes in the opposite direction, turning down the volume with simpler melodies, simpler emotions and simpler songs, from the guitar-strummed folk-pop touches of tracks like Blue and Before You to catchy, electronica-and-trip-hop-flavoured FM audience pleasers like Soul Searching or the infectiously hummable Dear Life. Fittingly, the production is sparser and even playful at times, with dial tones, doors slamming and Chantal singing backwards.
Which is not to suggest that Kreviazuk has given up serious songwriting for superficial pop silliness. Musically, she still occupies a spot somewhere between the fiery ambition of Alanis Morissette and the ethereal mysticism of Tori Amos, without the former’s irritating angst or the latter’s frustrating flakiness. By loosening the reins a little, Colour Moving And Still doesn’t dilute Chantal; if anything, it brings her more to the forefront, giving us a clearer glimpse than we’ve had before.
Sure, it might not have as many songs that cater to the Megastore jumbotron crowd — but as far as I’m concerned, that’s just another plus. Nice to finally meet you, Chantal. The pleasure is all ours.
