CD Review: Mia and Jonah’s Rooms for Adelaide

By Julia Cooper

Americana tag team Mia and Jonah may be the musical equivalent of mac and cheese: Just as hearty helpings of the comfort food offer a simple but soothing cure for empty stomachs, the spare, commiserative melodies composing the Oakland duo’s second full-length, Rooms for Adelaide, transpire as the recipe to fill empty souls. (more >>)

In finest folk tradition, the twosome’s lush harmonies and minimalist guitar, bass and drums instrumentation (with the occasional dobro and harmonica squeal) take a backseat to quaking vocal delivery and consoling lyrics that show empathy for tales of woe. Mia’s ruddy growl naturally resonates with hard luck cases on rollicking opener “3 Stories High,” while Jonah’s countrified drawl constructs an unconditional beacon of hope on “Dance” (And even when the bottom feels like it’s dropping out in the middle of the ocean / Won’t you pull close to me?).

The plucks and jangles of Jonah’s acoustic guitar capably drive most songs, but the duo also throws in non-folksy stylistic surprises. The demented “Junkyard Dog,” which saunters on drummer John Hanes’ slack, trash-can beat and Mia’s roughneck attitude, channels visionary, experimental booze-blues curmudgeon Tom Waits -- apropos considering guest musicians Seth Ford-Young (bass) and Myles Boisen(electric guitars) have also collaborated with Waits.

Rooms for Adelaide peaks when Mia and Jonah hit lyrical hell on the album’s strongest melodies: the bluesy lament “Morning Hymnal,” which enmeshes Mia’s burdened lyrics (I don’t got no head / Got a 50 pound lead weight instead) with Jonah’s mournful hum; and “Rooms,” a hushed duet reminiscent of Irish troubadour Damien Rices collaborations with Lisa Hannigan, where Mia dwells in vulnerability while coping with life’s lingering troubles (Pardon me for smoking this old abandoned cigarette / But I got miles o' trail to squander and not enough time to forget).

With their heartfelt revelations, Mia and Jonah’s complementary musical coupling would make a most welcome guest to any whiskey-soaked pity party. And in troubled times like these, who isn’t in need of a cathartic soiree?