COME WITH ME NOW to a surreal little spot, where under a twinkling desert sky, perhaps, in a log cabin with a storm light on the table, a woman strums a ukulele and croons. This woman is Sylvie Simmons, rock’n’roll writer and secret musician. How does it sound, as we tiptoe closer? Like Marianne Faithfull’s grazed, rueful daughter telling fragile stories of heartbreak. Or sometimes like Faithfull’s hopeful but world-weary grandmother. Mostly with just Simmons’ woozy, wavery voice against a uke sounding like a fractured harp, there’s a droll Tom Waits wit to lighten the hurt so that even the saddest songs are never self-pitying. And sensuality twines like jasmine through every breath. “The moon is floating on the water tonight / And I am drowning in your kiss…” Longing, narcotic, bittersweet.
Hear You Are In My Arms: