Album Review: A Little Bit of Me by Mica Millar
Cut live with a band of soul, blues, and jazz players in Provence, Mica Millar’s second album moves between plainspoken desire and the language of the church.
A soul record normally distributes the credits. On this one, one name seems to pop up in nearly every role: writer, arranger, producer, and vocal engineer. Mica Millar produced every track on her sophomore album this way and released it on her own label, Golden Hour Music. In Miraval in Provence, the players feel like a real band, with Daniel Weatherspoon on keys, Jay White on bass, Adam Smith on guitar, and Keyon Harrold on trumpet, although every direction still flows from her. The songs developed over the three years that followed a 2020 accident, which broke her back. She’s spoken of her recovery time being roughly nine months, and including relearning to walk. None of this is a confession. She reports to no one now, and it is when writing hardest that she finds herself again.
The title song establishes these parameters, and it establishes them from the inside out. “I cannot get away from that little bit of me/And I tried to be what you wanted, but that’s not loving me” is the chorus, which could be read as a break-up song, except that the blame falls back on herself for bending. The verses reflect the same sentiment. “I claim what I own/I rule and so grow” and then “I’m clearing it all out, finding the space to be alone.” On the bridge, she rummages through past rooms to prove who she once was. “In black and gold I find memories of mine,” and the song ends with her there, alone under the stars, remembering herself most.
Want relaxes her. A simple statement of appetite in “Under My Skin,” it becomes a song about the body taking over. “Into you, you into me/Under you, you’re under my skin.” And “Got my body on a deep dive and you’re going down with me” is the money line of desire. The feature on the track is not a singer (Keyon Harrold on trumpet), but each word comes from her. Hunger comes in lighter and playfully in “The Boardway” in a description of the come-on: “Heading to the Broadway, let’s put on our best, and maybe later we can get undressed,” followed by a stipulation she will not negotiate: “Tell me, baby, do you like sweet soul?/‘Cause it’s a deal breaker, honey, if you don’t.” Desire and weariness are a mixed metaphor on “Hand on My Soul.” “We could be tired of fighting, comfort in compromising/I’m in love with all your ways.” The wanting is direct and a bit desperate and fits her.
Some of these tracks circle around the same problem: the unreliable lover you cannot leave. “Warning Sign” is self-explanatory; “I can’t keep listening to my heart when your love comes with a warning sign” is countered by “But you keep me coming back for more.” In “A Little More Time for Love,” the appeal is again the lover you know you can’t have: “I know you’re not what I need/I swear I’m gonna leave/But you got a hold on me.” “When You’re Gone” is written from the morning after, the lover vanished and the rules they broke still scattered on the floor. Most of these stay civil in their hurt; “If You Stay” does not. “Whenever you’re near/I can’t wait for you to go/My skin, it crawls” and then “And darkness feels, feels like home.” It’s the only time she truly lets something sound ugly.
The song that feels the least disciplined in its writing is “Times Like These.” It begins with her wearing “a brand new face, but in my place I left her in the window.” Diamonds on a weekday, she keeps falling deep. The Images blur together loosely, and they somehow make the song more alive.
It all gets hazy in the middle as a few songs deliver similar devotion in almost identical language. Full of adoration, but nothing to grip to, “It’s You” stands on a line as cliché as “I never knew love could feel like this,” just shy of “You’re the one I choose... I can’t live without you.” “Hard Times” makes a vague and absolute promise: “When times get hard, I won’t let you down... I won’t let you fall.” And “My Joy,: after posing a great question, “Would you leave all of your lovers at the door?” backpedals into “Would you be my joy, fill that empty void?” until the rhyme seems to do all of the thinking for her. These three tracks in succession could hardly be distinguished.
The same hand wrote all of these parts, and both end up showing the seams. In the background, a live band plays while Millar sings a love song in a room. This configuration also offers no support in flagging a love song that becomes too saccharine. When Millar actually has something to push up against—her own wavering, a body still recovering—the writing becomes visceral, and the voice follows suit. But hand her someone to purely worship, and she lurches into neutral. She’s most effective as the woman in black and gold, searching through dusty rooms wearing black and gold, looking for all the lost parts of herself that she finds there.
Great (★★★★☆)
Favorite Track(s): “A Little Bit of Me,” “Under My Skin,” “If You Stay”