Listening to Lost Pieces, I realized that I am done with the stock-in-trade of the record reviewer: genre. Jazz is how Youn Sun Nah is usually categorized. Yet, from her debut singing with the Korean Symphony Orchestra, she has inhabited more styles with her clear, quietly powerful voice than it would be sensible to list here. Instead, here, harsh, honest introspection bubbles to the surface in Youn-Sun’s most consistent artistic statement yet.
Clearly gifted, Youn Sun was poised for a career in musical theater. Instead, she had greater ambitions, and perhaps greater ambitions are one of the elusive characteristics of the “jazz singer”. So, she moved to France to study singing seriously. A steadily building career, an impressive body of work spanning 14 releases, and relentless touring have inexorably led to this record.
The personal and torchy “Shell of Me”, with brushed traps, guitars, and tracked voices, opens the 11-song set and sets the stage. Regret and reflection frame the lyrics, as Youn Sun sings, “I stare at the shell I became”, and rhetorically, “Dear, can you rise again”?
Anticipatory but never fully resolving musically, the charming title track begins with the speaker meeting a small bird, “lost downtown, limping on,” which becomes a metaphor for the speaker, who asks, “Are you searching for something else entirely?” The song ends with a plaintive flugelhorn solo by Alexis Bourguignon, using jazz techniques but purely to support the song’s spirit.
The theme of regret and lost relationships permeates the record. “Map of Pain” is accompanied only by acoustic guitar in a style that reminded me of Everything But the Girl, especially when more guitars join to harmonize with the vocals. The direct lyrics include “Let me forget your name.” Often, Youn Sun’s lyrics are poetic not because of their poetry but because of their raw honesty.
Produced by Axel Matignon and Youn Sun Nah, the arrangements are sparse and effective, with drums (Raphael Chassin) prominent in the mix. You will also hear mandolin, lap steel, vibes, Hammond organ, and plenty of guitars, including, on “We Never Were”, a tasty, very psychedelic solo by Matthis Pascaud. “I Run, I Run” is percussive and moody, while “Collapse” is spooky with a sinister-sounding horn section, one of the few nods to traditional jazz instrumentation. It also keeps the dark themes foregrounded, “While the storm clouds roam the sky”, summarizing with the refrain “Everything collapses.”
In many ways, Lost Pieces is not a great departure from her previous work, though it is more focused. Her last record, Elles (2024), contains covers of such diversity as the Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit”, “Killing Me Softly” popularized by Roberta Flack, and the jazz standard “My Funny Valentine”. On this recording, all 11 tracks were composed by Youn Sun Nah. Regardless of its origin, every song is interpreted in her idiosyncratic style, which is only called “jazz” for lack of a better name.
Though blessed with all the equipment of her peers, Youn Sun sings without affectation and across a wide range while never being ostentatious. She moves effortlessly from a whisper to a growl with full mastery of what the song requires. Purposeful and artistic, all I’m prepared to call it is singing.
Both artists are beloved in France; Youn Sun is often compared to American singer-songwriter Melody Gardot. The most obvious overlap is that both singers use the disguise of the jazz singer to move across musical borders and into spaces not defined by the place’s fashion, but by what feels artistically comfortable. Lost Pieces was buried deep inside an artist who, having reached a flowering of maturity, has excavated them, polished them to a shine, and bravely presented them to us.
Youn Sun Nah is presently on a tour of Europe and Asia and will soon perform at the French May Arts Festival in Hong Kong.