Springtime Can Kill You is the musical equivalent to an old, black and white film. A beautiful, troubled, lonely woman flickers and wanders through the screen, encountering men, horses, dust, and even more trouble as she stumbles through a vast desert. Sometimes, she is all-consuming; her voice thunders, sounds, and wails with all the power of wagon wheels clomping towards California. Other times, she is a far-away dot; a moving speck with gleaming hair carried away by the Americana-tinged winds of a vast, sparse landscape. She is everything and yet, she can collapse into the head of a pin if needed.

Some will find such a sparse film boring. Those looking for Technicolor, deafening explosions, and far-fetched schemes will have to drive across the city to a newer, more modern theater with IMAX screens, purple carpet, and long posters of Brad Pitt looking golden, silent, and thoroughly modern with a gleaming gun and Rat Pack remakes under his belt. Yet there will be a select few — young, old, heartbroken, nostalgic — who will stay in the golden-red movie theater with rickety old seats, crackling popcorn which matches the rhythm of the film reel, and who will fall madly and deeply into the film. Those who stay will risk being utterly enchanted by that quiet, lush voice which pleads (“Please Don’t”), which lulls nightingale-sweetly in the wide purple, starry night (“Nothing to Do But Dream”), and mourns with the subdued baritone beside the grizzled cactus (“Springtime Can Kill You”). There is a sweeping, brash and mournful grandeur of the Southwestern United States which exists only in the universe of celluloid, that sprouts and weaves its way around the entire experience of Springtime Can Kill You.

There are problems with the experience of Holland’s second record, of course; wandering through such a slow, quiet labyrinth of sound doesn’t make it entirely listenable. The mix is silent, sultry, and slow, making it music less suitable for harsh, sunlit listens. Daylight, and any activity more active than writing, lying still, or slowly drinking a glass of wine, can relegate this album to background music. Charming, sweet background music, but music that doesn’t get the attention it so rightly deserves at times. It’s not an album that lasts all the time, but the moments when a listener and the album reach an equinox with one another are some of the most fulfilling moments in music this year. Listen to this record with an open ear, an open heart for nostalgia, and the whim to write a love letter to a past that never was.

Reviewed by Megan Giddings