A pizzicato viola–which can easily be mistaken as a finger picking acoustic guitar–sets the tone for Minnesota singer/songwriter Anni Rossi’s debut album. Classically trained since a child (first on the violin then the viola), Anni and her Avant-folk takes listeners on a musical ride full of minimal instrumentation and poetic, nature filled, and quirky lyrics. Her voice is reminiscent of Alanis Moresette and Gap Jingle Star Ingrid Michaelson. It is beautiful, sweet, and controlled yet not afraid to rise and dip.

Different musically than her one-string-instrument-plus-foot-stomping-metronome EP Afton released in 2006, Rockwell (named after the street in which it was recorded and recorded all in one day I must add) has the company of a cello and drums for this LP journey. For those familiar with the EP and expecting all new music on her full project, may be disappointed. All of the original songs except ‘Central Utah’ has been carried over. They combine with five new songs such as ‘Dear Hunting Camp 17′ and ‘Glaciers’.

The music is fresh and rather hypnotizing. In ‘Venice’, precision and passionate bowing moves fluidly as brick and stone we all fall down/city of love drowning below is heard. Her slowed down version of Ace of Base’s ‘Living In Danger’ is brilliant as plucks and kicks rests under the refrain: I see lies/In the eyes of a stranger/Woah/You’ll be living in danger. Rockwell integrates careful tempo changes with captivating poppy string orchestration that makes the album seem more like a score to a cinematic life of bizarre love, drama, and rural living than just a Compact Disc. However, the sudden back and forth shifts in ‘Dear Hunting Camp 17′, proves that this attempt is not always perfect.

The Rockwell listening experience is short, coming in at 26 minutes. The hardest thing to reconcile with in this time period is Rossi’s lyrical attempt. While bubble gum blabbing should not be hailed, neither should complicated phrases that keep the audience detached from the artist. In Rockwell the latter is present and a paradox exist: eccentric turned ambiguous lyrics hummed over solace and intriguing rhythms.

While this may work for a Radiohead album of sorts– only because their instrumentation lends itself to carrying its listeners away into the dance and ‘trips’ rather than into the words– Anni’s reflective sound contrast with her abstract words, making you less relaxed and more confused.

Though they may make sense as couplets within themselves, they become incomprehensible as verses. Words like We can only come from the ground/with houses and trees and mountains/and the hills and slopes and me from ‘Air is Nothing’ and To be a beekeeper in the Himalayas/ You’d sting me in the knee/ And make em weak like paper from ‘Wheelpusher’ are spread throughout the album. Their existence makes you wonder, ‘once fans get over the hype of a viola playing singer, to what else do they have to look forward to?”

For clarity purposes, pressing repeat will become one’s practice with Rockwell. But perhaps these are Anni Rossi’s intentions in an industry where a first and only listen is what an artist, particularly a new artist, typically gets.

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