WEA
New Age, 1995

The Memory of Trees is the fourth album from ethereal Irish goddess Enya, following three spectacularly successful records that made us all believe we were either sailing into the mystic or being gently lulled into a coma. This one is… well, let’s just say, if you’ve ever wondered what happens when an artist becomes too good at doing the exact same thing, congratulations, you’ve found your answer.

The title track is beautiful, a grand, sweeping piano-led piece that makes you want to stand on a misty cliff in a billowing cloak and contemplate the mysteries of the universe… for about 30 seconds before you realize you have no idea what it’s about. Maybe Roma Ryan saw some nice trees and got really emotional. Maybe the trees are keeping secrets. Who knows? If Enya know, she’s not telling.

Then there’s Anywhere Is, a delightful, toe-tapping jig that radiates positivity. It’s fun, it’s infectious, it’s… wait a second. Why does this sound like Orinoco Flow’s long-lost cousin? If you played them back-to-back, would anyone notice? Could we make a mashup? Anywhere Orinoco? The resemblance is uncanny, and you start wondering if this album is just a remix of previous Enya tracks with slightly different wind chimes.

Of course, Enya has her trademark ballads: China Roses and Once You Had Gold are swoon-worthy, but let’s be real—they’re essentially How Can I Keep from Singing (The Same Ballad Over and Over) Part III and IV. Don’t get me wrong, they’re gorgeous, but at some point, you have to ask: is this artistry, or just the world’s most successful copy-paste job?

In the end, The Memory of Trees is a solid Enya album. The fan in me is pleased, wrapped in a warm, comforting cocoon of angelic harmonies and reverb-drenched nostalgia. But the critic in me, that little gremlin in the back of my brain is frowning, wondering how long we can celebrate an artist for making incremental variations of the same album.

The Enya-itis is real, my friends. And this album proves it.