Considering her massive talents and the sonically expansive multi-verses she creates, it’s ironic that the supremely enigmatic, endlessly fascinating NoCal based singer, songwriter, keyboardist and musical visionary Margaret Stutt chose her professional name Pezzettino after a character in a classic children’s fable (by the late Leo Lionni) that declares, “I must be a piece of somebody. I must belong to someone else.”
We can speculate that her ethereal yet feisty, ambient new age/intense rock fusion style comes from being a classically trained pianist (in a convent!) who has fought major battles with depression and insomnia as an adult. We can thank insomnia for giving her the hours necessary to express shards of her decidedly curious genius. Her first album in nearly a decade, Resin is the sonically and rhythmically freewheeling, wide eyed yet hard hitting result of years of documenting hope, healing and resiliency through trauma, crisis and chaos.
Definitely artsy, angular, offbeat and frenetic amidst the graceful bouts of melodic beauty and occasional rhythmic seduction, the eclectic nine track opus is a “celebration” of sorts, marking her ability to get through the dark, dank tunnel after a life-altering diagnosis and, more encouragingly, to embark on a fresh lifestyle required for her to live a stable life.
The pieces (an appropriate euphemism for “songs,” in this case) roll like an immersion into exquisite beauty pocked by building and bursting insanity. On the more angelic of these, like the dreamy, elegant acoustic piano driven opener “Home” and the hypnotic, soundscape rich “If You’re Listening,” “Shower Song” and “Cloudy Covers,” we are best able to appreciate the crystalline magic of her voice.
Others, like the first single “How To,” evolve from this kind of gentle grace to harsh, angry rockers that give us an her some wide open spaces for deep catharsis. There are a lot of pieces of Pezzittino to decipher and put together here, but the effort is worth it for the patient listener.