Sienna Spiro’s ‘The Visitor’ Introduces an Electrifying Voice That’s Here to Stay: Album Review

Sienna Spiro is a rare talent: an artist who released her debut album already considered a frontrunner for the Grammy for Best New Artist. Her first full-length release, "The Visitor," only strengthens that position. The title suggests its themes—songs largely about feeling like a temporary intruder in the lives of others, especially indifferent men. Yet, looking back a decade or two from now, it's unlikely anyone will view Spiro as a fleeting pop presence. Her voice possesses a lasting power, supported by lyrical and musical sensibilities that allow her instrument to deliver a series of knockout blows. These blows might be better described as "happy-sad," since no one will mistake "The Visitor" for a cheerful collection, even if experiencing her powerhouse chops is inevitably euphoric.

The foundation for this success was laid by her signature song, "Die on This Hill," which reached the top 20 in the U.S. last fall and seems destined for enduring classic status. The track's strength, along with a series of other strong singles, has already led to an instant sell-out of her North American tour this fall. It could qualify as a classic ballad even without its bridge, but the bridge is a standout, building to a cathartic moment where she repeats "I wish something mattered," adding "God…" the second time for a flash of emphatic anger. At this point, listeners either become putty in her hands or admit to a strange immunity to emotional deliverance. Fortunately, "The Visitor" offers much more of this, being unabashedly ballad-heavy. Spiro's voice could explore many modes, and she has already shown it sounds terrific with a full band, as on last year's non-LP single "Dream Police" or the Amy Winehouse-esque "Material Lover," featured on the "Devil Wears Prada 2" soundtrack. That latter track appears as a bonus on the deluxe digital version, but the standard edition's ten songs focus on soul-searching slow tunes, mostly piano and orchestration-based, extending the mood of her hit.

I'm eager to hear Spiro expand her stylistic range into uptempo bops, but for now, I'm even more excited for her to continue mining this vein. The payoff is "The Visitor," a collection rich in heartache and high points. Young listeners prone to staying in situationships should proceed directly to this album. (Older ones still addicted to such dynamics should consult a mental health professional first, then enjoy the record.) There may be cognitive dissonance in wondering how a woman exuding such power could be as passive in relationships as she portrays herself. But she is 20, so the answer is: of course she can. This juxtaposition echoes early Adele, who first emerged as a sort of "foghorn-doormat." When a woman who sounds like she could blow down our houses confesses vulnerability, we pay attention. The opening track, "This Is My House," is an outlier, starting with a sweet, vintage R&B groove and a positive message about self-ownership in relationships. Spiro borrows from poet Nikki Giovanni, who recorded her poem as a song in 1975 with producer Arif Mardin—the only sample or interpolation on the album. (It briefly recalls Sabrina Carpenter's "House Tour," though this one isn't entirely about sex.)

From there, the album moves to its dominant theme with "We're Not in Love," where Spiro laments, "We're not in love, but we make love, and that don't make no sense." This track includes the album's most provocative lines: "You go down while I'm up in my head / And you left after I got undressed / And that's unbelievable." She vows, "I'll get close to you," but "not enough to break." It would be easy to call "The Visitor" an album of torch songs, given its retro styling that sometimes harkens back to cabaret and vintage soul. But Spiro writes about something more nuanced than standard loss and longing. She sings about being in a deeply unrewarding relationship that's hard to quit, even psychoanalyzing herself in "He's Not My Baby, I'm His." There, she likens seeking love from a partner to working out childhood issues, even using basic arithmetic: "Stroking my hair to stroke my ego / And no one feels quite as seen as when a child gets chosen / And I'm half his age / It's a right of passage, to know it's wrong but not quite care." This reveals considerable wisdom about immaturity. The themes grow more complex in "Pure," a track weaving multiple anxieties together. "Used to do it all so pure / For the love of the song no more / Now I think about an applause / When I open my mouth," she admits—a bold confession for a debut album. She envies her mother for experiencing real pain, and her sister because "at least she can have a good time; at least she can calm down." By the end, she's contemplating her deathbed, wondering if her life will have meant something. Death recurs in these songs; Spiro has bigger concerns than whether some man will give her attention outside the bedroom, though that appears too.

It sounds heavy, and at times it is. But the pure spirit-lifting qualities of Spiro's delivery elevate the material. Her voice is magical from start to finish, especially for those who appreciate mezzo-sopranos with a slight rasp in their belt. (Everyone does, right?) She always reaches the hair-raising moment you anticipate, but the path varies between verses and choruses, and the catch or break in her voice offers a thrill each time it sneaks in amid the perfection. Some lyrics might seem unwieldy on the page, but the beautiful fluidity of her voice makes even raw, random thoughts sound organic and lovely. She doesn't always need words; at least twice, she interrupts the flow with a melismatic "mmmmm" that's as captivating as anything else. For those wondering if she can tackle a Great American Songbook standard, the deluxe edition includes her version of "Autumn Leaves" as a bonus. But the real focus is her own melancholic Songs of the Summer. The biggest previously unreleased standout might be "Time You & Me," which sounds like a winning James Bond theme song entry. You can't listen to it without imagining the late Maurice Binder working on a title-sequence montage. Credit is due to her primary collaborator, producer and co-writer Omer Fedi. It's easy to imagine he feels about working with Spiro as Mark Ronson felt about working with Winehouse, though with probably healthier lifestyle choices ensuring a longer collaboration. The album's instrumental approach is basic enough that few will praise it as innovative, but the way these tracks sound like completely live-in-studio performances—whether or not they were—deserves Grammy consideration. Who knows which freshmen the Recording Academy will deem most worthy six months from now, but for now, we have an album that explores depths while giving us a decidedly upward Spiro.