Album Review: JX Levinson, ‘Sans Paroles’

(Self-released, digital)

Justin Levinson has been at a loss for words. For the past decade, the Vergennes-born artist struggled to write lyrics for the bevy of instrumental fragments cluttering his voice memos. For reasons unknown to their creator, the snippets refused to cohere into the quirky singer-songwriter pop tunes for which he’s known. Surrendering to the reality at hand, Levinson decided to reinvent himself and his art.

Releasing as JX Levinson, the Shelburne composer just unveiled Sans Paroles, a brief but powerful neoclassical excursion. He masterfully swirls together strings and piano — played by musicians Nathaniel Wolkstein and Pier Luigi Salami, respectively — in entrancing waves and stormy eruptions.

In press materials, Levinson calls his new work a score for “a film that doesn’t exist yet,” which rings true for a couple of reasons. First, Levinson’s pieces are short, as film score music tends to be. Most movie and TV scenes run for two to three minutes; cinematic music accommodates the art form’s conventions.

More notably, the tracks on Sans Paroles (French for “without words”) speak in strong emotional language. The mind-movies they conjure will vary from person to person, but Levinson employs some tried-and-true tactics that should guide listeners through a similar psychological journey — or maybe not. The album is highly interpretive and could spark some deep conversations.

Beginning with “Before the Fall,” Levinson seems to speculate about the blurry boundaries separating emotions. Buttressed by inquisitive strings and piano, the piece rolls from insecurity to assurance. A bit of gossamer keys between its main passages feels like a tipping point.

Recalling John Lunn’s exceptional work on beloved British drama “Downton Abbey,” “Closing Ground” unleashes staccato strings and nimble piano after a trepidatious ramp-up. The shortest piece on the album, it’s possibly the most powerful and memorable. Its mounting mania pushes the tempo before a triumphant and surprisingly gentle close.

Levinson plays with extremes throughout. The piano and strings of “Distant Shore” are featherlight until a thud of orchestral thunder arrives to question the preceding whispers. “In the Wake of Silence” takes a similar tack, but its outer limits are more prominent, its conclusion more unknowable.

The only clues Levinson shares about what’s happening in his head are the 27 words that compose his titles. He seems preoccupied with how time moves (“before,” “until,” “again,” “after”) and is perhaps overcome with feelings of finality (“fall,” “weight,” “silence”).

Maybe his titles don’t mean anything. Maybe they’re deeply rooted in his personal life at the moment of conception. Whatever the case may be, Levinson proves he has a huge range of influences and abilities that he’s now ready to share.

Sans Paroles is available on major streaming services.