Sarah McLachlan Is Resurfacing
They gambled correctly. The success of “Solace,” McLachlan’s second album, drifted from Canada into the United States, where it was released in 1992, buying her and Marchand good will. They spent a year and a half in a studio in the Quebec countryside, McLachlan often walking home by moonlight while Marchand built late-night loops and atmospheres. The result, “Fumbling Towards Ecstasy,” remains an uncanny singer-songwriter record, her frank observations on betrayal, friendship and lust warped by his outré sensibilities. “I like it when it’s complex, when there’s not one feeling,” Marchand said. “It’s like a person.”
Marchand and McLachlan added the layered grandeur of U2 and the supple strength of Depeche Mode to these testimonials of yearning and loss. Critics lauded it as smart and sensual. Sales were stronger still: It went quintuple-platinum in Canada and sold more than three million copies stateside.
“I was in a punk band listening to a lot of hardcore — and, strangely, Sarah McLachlan,” said Leslie Feist, the Canadian songwriter who will open the U.S. leg of McLachlan’s tour. “I could hear her power, but it was being expressed more fluidly. It wasn’t about aggression. It was about conviction.”
As McLachlan’s profile grew, letters from stalkers mounted at Nettwerk’s offices, especially from an Ottawa programmer named Uwe Vandrei. They met once, and he slipped her a scarf. But after she read one of his pleas, she asked not to see more. Still, in the album’s opener, “Possession,” where bass pulses and guitars radiate above droning gothic organs, she worked to mirror his mind, to articulate his misplaced passions. When it became a hit, he sued, alleging McLachlan had lifted his words. Vandrei died before trial.
“I felt a strange sense of relief,” McLachlan said haltingly. “But then I thought, ‘Oh my God, this is somebody’s son. Should I have tried to reach out? Tried to talk some sense into him?’”
The success of “Fumbling” — and the draining circus that followed, including conspiracy theories about label involvement in Vandrei’s death — helped spur McLachlan’s most historic defiance. She demanded to not headline every show, to be partnered with acts who could share celebrity’s weight. Promoters balked at the idea that women could carry such a docket, rankling McLachlan. She named a genre-jumping touring festival for Lilith, a woman repeatedly lambasted in sacred texts. Lilith Fair not only dominated the summer concert scene of the late ’90s but showed onlookers and executives that women were not music’s second-class citizens.
