Disconnection That Breeds Connection

The title of Hannah Georgas’ newest album, I’d Be Lying If I Said I Didn’t Care, says all anyone who stumbles across her music needs to know about her latest collection of tracks: an interwoven tapestry of art which seeks to ponder both the limitations and extents of broken relationships. On and on she whispers her sorrows, but indignity doesn’t take her over. “Not The Name You Say” perfectly encapsulates the feelings she wants those outside of her being to understand. Telling listeners that she doesn’t have to be what others say she must; instead, she explains that she can be anything, even a zombie, if she likes. Whatever form she chooses, it’s clear that it’s all up to her, not any other interfering distraction. 

Though Georgas seems to be connected all the time to her soulful music—after all, she produced this album mostly on her own accord—there’s certainly this existing disconnect between her and the subjects whom she addresses, of course, but also one between her and the reality in which she’s been placed. She delivers, “Everything feels so out of range” on “Home,” which is ironic, considering that line’s placement is on a track which uses a word that conjures sensations of warmth and security in whatever language it’s spoken as its name. Clearly, she doesn’t want whoever’s willing to open their ears to her to feel any sense of comfort, because she’s here to speak her mind, one that appears to be consumed by the torturous nature of tragic developments. 

As for the sound of I’d Be Lying If I Said I Didn’t Care, it’s soft. Georgas is tender and all throughout she utilizes her voice as a weapon of gentleness. Either way, she gets personal with the microphone, and therefore she surely should be felt. Spells of her humming reach multiple pieces and they bring forth ethereal calmness. Her words dominate, as no intruding instrumentation overpowers them, no matter if it is drums or even choruses of clapping. But if the soothing solemnity of her voice still remains unbelievable, look no further than “Scratch,” the opener. 

Georgas’ main companion is her guitar. It’s particularly glorious on “Better Somehow,” the most jovial of its siblings. There she sings about her fear of passing big trucks on the highway; together she and the composure with which she plays her guitar establishes this sheer phenomenon, the basic realness of all. In other words, it helps her listeners put themselves in the very shoes she wears. Her emotions then become profoundly sincere and more realistic. 

I’d Be Lying If I Said I Didn’t Care, with the assistance of tracks like “Fake Happy,” is simultaneously dramatically meaningful and monumental. On it Georgas fiddles with sounds of royalty with these grand impactful one-liners she drops, “I don’t want to be sad, / but I can’t be fake happy,” which easily can be found enticing. She’s thoroughly done her work. Now is the time for listeners to do their duty. All it should take is the connection of a pair of headphones, an open-minded ingestion of the entirety of her vision and then a digestion of its mass disconnection.