This came out in 2000 — or at least that’s when I got it. Here’s what I said about it back then (with some minor editing):
When they arrived at the indie-rock banquet, Mary Timony and her band Helium were mistakenly seated next to Courtney Love, Liz Phair and the rest of the loud, trashy post-grunge females.
Ever since, the eclectic and electrifying singer-songwriter has been playing musical chairs, slowly working her way to Tori Amos’s artsier and more stylish end of the table. Following in the footsteps of the strangely compelling 1997 disc Magic City, Timony’s eccentric solo debut gets medieval on your ass, as she wanders a fog-shrouded, enchanted woodland of painted horses and poisoned moons, accompanied by Renaissance Fayre minstrels who sometimes trade their fyfes and pypes for squishy Cars synths and rubbery electric guitars. It’s a long way from the black magic of ’95’s The Dirt of Luck, but she’ll put a spell on you nonetheless.
