Pitchfork

On "Disappear", My Brightest Diamond, aka Shara Worden, sings, "I don't think we're meant to stay here very long." Given her penchant for high drama and brooding atmospheres, it could be read as a bout of fatalism. But, on her debut, Worden is practically obsessed with the ephemeral, acquiescing that love, life, and beauty are as fleeting as songs. Like many card-carrying aesthetes, she focuses on isolated moments in which innocent fascination and something much darker collide. And like a collector preserving her specimens, she runs a pin through these memories to anchor them, whether observing a dragonfly struggle in a spider web in "Dragonfly", discovering a dead robin in the backyard in "The Robin's Jar", or lying in the crook of a lover's arm in "Golden Star".

Musically, Bring Me the Workhorse blends the artsy end of indie rock with classical touches. On the one hand, My Brightest Diamond sounds like an indie band, with its tasteful but precise rhythm section and Worden's tough, distinct guitar playing. But, throughout, strings take a central role in the composition of the songs; they're woven into the songs' fabric, rather than added as decorative post-production flourishes. Coupled with Worden's operatic voice-- which ranges from a sinister growl to a glassy delicacy-- the accomplished, graceful music places her closer to the avant-pop of Antony and the Johnsons than a typical Asthmatic Kitty pop-kid troupe.

The songs themselves can be subject to the moments of unsettling beauty that occur in the lyrics. And, typically, it's Worden's voice that delivers them: the subtle mimicking of a ringing telephone in "Something of an End"; the piercing vocal that soars during the chorus of "Golden Star"; the husky torch-singing of "The Good & the Bad Guy". At the album's center, "We Were Sparkling" marries these two halves to best effect. With a cool and breathless delivery, Worden recounts meeting someone (a lover? a childhood friend?) at the edge of a river to tie "pretty things" to a thread that dangles from a tree. Over fragile strums and harmonics, she weaves a succession of images together like the pretty things on the thread: "Lipstick and feathers, pieces of glass/ Chandelier baubles and empty bottles of wine." After exhuming these memories, she whispers, "I'm afraid to forget you," and the music soon swells with a chorus of angelic voices, an eerily tinkling music box and a distant skitter of feedback.

All of this may sound a little over-the-top-- and it is. There are definitely times when the songs would benefit from subtler handling. But Worden takes herself seriously, and such unapologetically dramatic material will make her a tough sell to indie fans who still hold irony and emotional detachment dear. It is, though, impossible to miss her confidence as a performer and it allows her to tread territory that would make others look clumsy, to string together multiple moments of beauty.