Ivy
Traces of You
Bar/None Records
The rent paid in full for 1997’s stylishly modern classic Apartment Life, their impeccably furnished sophomore LP, Ivy went dormant after 2011’s All Hours, halting production of their airy indie-pop refinement. Thought to be over and done with after the tragic 2020 COVID-19 death of Adam Schlesinger, the remnants of Ivy have gathered for one last toast to their shared vision, taking the opportunity to fix up old demos and scraps for Traces of You, a subtle and sublime reminder of Ivy’s delicate yet intoxicating artistry.
Schlesinger’s presence is felt, and not just in a spiritual sense, touching in some tangible way all tracks here, just as Andy Chase and Dominique Durand intended in assembling Traces of You. To transform raw source materials collected from 1995-2012, culled from discoveries gathering dust in their Rhode Island studio, into fully realized works, they recruited Ivy supporting guitarist/keyboardist Bruce Driscoll to see the project through. What’s emerged is, tinged with sadness, of course, something breezy and effortlessly cool, a bittersweet, melodic zephyr of breathy beauty, vulnerable, nostalgic, and prone to romantic yearning — a teasing sense of loss always knocking at the door. All-consuming grief would come later.
Dreamily bridging the vintage pop of Burt Bacharach and The Left Banke with the more contemporary, rainy paths trod lightly by Galaxie 500 and The Clientele, while experimenting with the sonic whimsy of Stereolab, Ivy wistfully revisits old haunts on Traces of You but never stays too long. Out of clouds of reverb mist walk a gossamer “Mystery Girl,” with its hazy and muted, yet colorful, ‘60s pop sparkle, and “Say You Will,” the latter strolling along a grey, empty beach of acoustic and ambient intimacy and spare buoyancy, gentle spinning and softly shaken sleigh bells.
Horn-burnished joy and golden-toned electric guitar glow lift an upbeat “Heartbreak,” oddly titled considering how its optimistic sounds and resigned disappointment sit comfortably next to each other, as Ivy plainly declares, “I don’t believe in love.” In more of a folk-pop mood, the tip-toeing title track elegantly swoons with romantic yearning and a kaleidoscopic swirl, yielding one of the most poignant lines of Traces of You: “I wish I could forget just how good that it was/Every thought of you breaks me in two.”
Always smart and insightful, perhaps even prescient in hindsight, Ivy’s lyrics clearly articulate a broad range of human emotions, as a vacillating “Fragile People” — whirring, slithering, and vaporous, but with a good, steady beat — sees its confidence crumble, overthinking everything. Reportedly, it’s the song that broke Durand and Chase in the studio in remembrance of Schlesinger. They seem to regain their edge with a swiftly moving “The Great Unknown,” all pulsating, electro-pop surges and sweeps. Never poisonous, Ivy heals, but Traces of You scratches that itch for anybody who’s missed them terribly.
