What I love most about this album is the way it unflinchingly discusses the travails of becoming a functioning adult, without ever failing to bring the story back to the center. Any pain is met with a larger view, or a conflicting perspective, that means even the most painful memory is not only bearable, but will eventually become part of the beauty we create.

As a meditative instruction booklet for self-love, for love of others, and for honoring our spirit, the sentiments are tempered by Leslie’s playfulness and love of both words and music, offering us a glimpse of a quirky and deeply felt hope that, in listening, begins to feel nothing less than essential.

Inspiring but never cloying, delighting but never naïve, YOUR HAIR IS ON FIRE demonstrates a hard-won strength and ability to accept the realities of life and love, on the way to discovering their mysteries. I love its unique perspective: voice sultry as a pop princess, heart as strong as a folk goddess, and words as inspiring as a Christian hitmaker or self-help guru. What Leslie has crafted here is a persona that takes its hints from all three, while remaining true to her own vision. Leslie’s faith, like her humor, is universal.

Well-chosen title track “Your Hair Is On Fire” is a dub-inflected pop fantasy, a four-minute rock opera in dream-language. It is reminder of personal power, and the healing that’s already and always available to us all. Its complex, bass-heavy presentation belies the simplicity and power of its message, like a soothing lullaby for pain.

  The sensual and self-consciously coy “All The Way” discusses the romantic journey in oblique language, lush instrumentation lending a mature air to the song’s face-front come-on, which manages to evoke the highs and lows of intimacy—and the chase—without ever stopping to describe it: imagine the hypnotic appeal of TWILIGHT, better written, taking the form of liquid song.

“Let Them Go” is a transcendently personal song about family, rebirth and parenting, both bitter and sweet, with a fantastical Elfman air that never quite leaves behind its sense of wonder even as it travels from birth to leaving the nest, evoking Jonatha Brook’s wry commentary in the way it travels from the nursery to synthesizer beats, bringing new beauty even to the resentments and sometimes burdensome history that we all share.

The sublime banjo and organ of “Way Too Much” underscore its sweeping melodies and unforgettable observations—“Why would I try to save a miserable thing like snow?” Leslie asks at one point, mourning at another the “prehistoric lessons I thought I could learn from our elders”—which never fail to circle back around to the possibility of delight. The song is as much a journey around the world as it is a poem given lovely musical form, and one of my favorites.

  “First Date” recalls the girl-group fantasies of k.d. lang’s Lawrence Welk phase, hiding as it does a real passion and need under pop chords and swirling guitar. This evocative ode to the first breath of love belongs on the soundtrack of that kind of movie which ends in a convertible taking flight, and sailing above the clouds.

“I Only Care About You…” is a buzzing, low-key apology, arms spread wide, sung as much to the disappointed lover as the mirror. Its chorus is as smooth as the self-revealing verses are jagged and frustrated. Its hints of darkness are, characteristically, balanced by the sincerity and eyes-open acceptance of the patterns and the past that keep us stranded.

“Alone Tonight” starts like a great 90s soul ballad, a mode that fits Leslie’s smoky, sincere voice beautifully. What could be an epiphanic “tonight I change” promise becomes, under Leslie’s confident hand, a reassuring letter received from our better, future selves.

Poetic-but-not-precious “I” finds Leslie’s inner imagist spilling her confessional guts; it’s only fair that Leslie’s sure-handed piano playing takes center stage here. The cascading melody and driving drums, as the words come flooding out—almost, it seems, of their own accord—could distract you from the beauty and music of the language itself. One hopes to see Leslie explore the larger structure this song offers, moving forward: as the album’s longest and wordiest song, one wonders how she finds the time to not only highlight her voice so strongly, but construct such a compelling pop song. By way of comparison only, I’ve always considered “Just Missed The Train” to be K. Clarkson’s “lost single,” and this song is impressive in a similar way: grand in scope and mesmerizing in its unceasing intimacy. There’s not a moment to rest, just five minutes of pure pop perfection.

“Down Day” returns Leslie to what some might consider her roots: a bluesy—both in sound and sentiment—experiment that recalls the folk experiments of Janis Ian and Laura Nyro. Guitars and strings share equal time over the deep, deep choral structures the song creates around itself. What the pop singer-songwriter movement of late has forgotten is just this sense of soundscape, of fearless and complex instrumentation. A girl and her piano can play just as well with a full orchestra, if the sentiment is strong enough.

The sad glimpse into Anytown we’re given with “Lonely Home” is more than tempered by its dramatic jazz-pop arrangement, which highlights Leslie’s beautiful voice perhaps more than any other track, by giving it room to breathe.

“Sea I Provide” is the most guitar-driven track, dreamy in its imagery and fierce in its approach to overwhelming emotion. One is both sympathetic and jealous of its “humble sailor,” who may well be destroyed by the passion the narrator evokes, even when she’s not around.

  “Open Your Eyes” is a perfect endpoint: it’s a free-for-all! A whirling, exuberant flush in the skin, a call to action, and a flipbook rollercoaster through all the influences and emotional textures the album has brought to the table. Between the images—hypothermia, fallow fields, the cosmos itself—and the baroque piano breakdown, this is a shot straight to the brain of Leslie Hunt, and the album as a whole.

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