Review: Amy Speace Explores the Common Ground Between Glory and Grief on 'There Used to Be Horses Here'

One of the interesting things about songwriting, or writing of any kind really, is once you release it into the world, it stops being yours. Sure, the actual artistic and intellectual properties are still owned (seriously, pay for your music. An artist's rent thanks you), but the actual core of the song, the ideas, the meanings, the symbolism; those all become public domain. People will pour their own life experiences into the lyrics and output something that looks a lot like them. At least, that's what happens if you're a good songwriter. Amy Speace is a great songwriter, and her new album with The Orphan Brigade, There Used to Be Horses Here, is full of songs perfectly suited to fill with your own emotional color.

The two major poles of There Used to Be Horses Here are the birth of her son Huck and the death of her father within a year of each other. And, though I didn't know it at the time, I received it exactly when I needed to. I've had the album for months, a perk of having backed the Kickstarter for it, and had given it a few listens when I discovered my own mother had terminal cancer. In the less than a month I had between “your mother has cancer” and “your mother is having a funeral,” I found myself drawn back to the themes explored on There Used to Be Horses Here.

But it wasn't just those memories that Speace's lyrics brought forth. The album's title track, detailing how the farmland near her family home had changed in the years since she left, reminded me of a detour I took to my grandparents' old farm. Gone were the fields I explored with one of a dozen or so childhood dogs over the years, subdivided into tracks ready made for some of Malvina Reynolds' “Little Boxes.” In this case, the missing horses are yet another reminder of the change ahead, as evidenced by the devastating final verse; “And I came back so I could remember, the faded blue of his eyes. I wanted to see him fly off forever one more time.”

The two songs that best bookend the album's themes are “Grief is a Lonely Land” and “Mother is a Country.” The first is the most raw portrayal of Speace's relationship with her father, and yet another that resonated strongly with me. If my relationship with my mom was a Facebook status, it would be “It's Complicated.” One assumes the same is true given lyrics like “when I needed you most, to just hold me close, it was as if you didn't know how.”

The other end is “Mother is a Country.” It's the realization of a first time mother that not only is she important in her child's life, but as a toddler, she is his whole life. In the same way some have allegiance to the nation of their birth, babies see “mom” as the entire world. It's a beautiful realization and a redemption, a chance to be what you wanted from life as a youth.

But the album's highest point veers from these two topics. “Shotgun Heart” could have come straight from the Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band catalog. The pure exuberance of reckless youth is reminiscent of “Born to Run” or “Jungleland” with lyrics like “We were young and high in a 3 AM world. Running against our dreams before they could start. With a shotgun heart.”

I'll admit I'm drawn to musicians who are less poets than novelists with words that happen to fit well with music. The fact that 2021 has already brought us releases by two of the best, David Olney and Amy Speace, is a blessing for anyone who reveres the art of the lyric. If you're one of those people, Amy Speace is an artist you should already know. If not, then let the excellent There Used to Be Horses Here be your introduction. You won't be disappointed. This is Speace's strongest solo effort, an album informed by the most raw of emotions. There had to be a lot of pain in the writing, but there's nothing but pleasure in the listening.