Album reviews, plus David Kettle talks to Meow Meow’s about her new show
Pop princess Taylor Swift grows up, while Paloma Faith experiments with ideas, if not sound
As Paloma Faith uses her platform for political comment, her music is actually becoming safer
he old Taylor can’t come to the phone right now – why? because she’s dead.” And so Taylor
Swift announces the completion of her Sandy-from
Grease-style makeover from wholesome country teen to worldly and moderately vampy elder pop sister on the hippest track she has ever put her name to – Reputation’s sardonic lead single Look What You
Made Me Do, which borrows heavily from cool Noughties electro artists like Peaches, and uncool 90s novelty act Right Said Fred for its I’m Too
Sexy-referencing chorus. All that remains of her previous prom queen guise is the twee sentimentality of her sixth album’s only acoustic track, New Year’s
Day, and the occasional cutesy conversational tic in her vocal phrasing. In its place, there is the rhythmic cheerleader sass of End
Game and This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things, the druggy allusions and gospel inflections of Don’t Blame Me, the brooding synth minimalism
of Delicate and the mechanically dreamy Gorgeous.
As the breathy R&B of Dress suggests, it’s all about the veneer, as Swift chooses to slip into something seemingly more revealing but generally as opaque and generic as ever. Against the rent-a-rave backdrops of producers Max Martin and Shellback, she indulges in some playful roleplay on I Did Something
Bad, which hints at the sexist hypocrisy she has encountered and countered (“they’re burning all the witches even if you aren’t one”) before reverting to pop cliché.
While Swift consummately stage manages her career to ever greater commercial returns, Paloma Faith projects a less manicured persona as an entertaining and outspoken soul pop diva.
Faith’s gutsy voice is made for heartbreak power ballads and defiant anthems. On her fourth album she turns that defiance outwards to world events. But as she uses her platform for political comment (inviting broadcaster and activist Owen Jones on tour as her support act, for example), her music is actually becoming safer and her numbers on Brexit (Guilty )and the refugee crisis (the Sia-penned
Warrior) are universally worded pop psychodramas rather than crossover protest songs.
Faith has previously drawn inspiration from the jazz and soul greats but The Architect is more oldfashioned than old school. The slick 80s soul of Crybaby suggests a 21st century Lisa Stansfield, and Faith finds her Alexander O’neal in John Legend, who guests on the hokey duet
I’ll Be Gentle.
Charlotte Gainsbourg comes from a very different vocal tradition. She exudes the same breathy mix of demureness and devilment as her mother Jane Birkin, which sounds particularly effective floating over romantic strings or noir synth soundscapes.
Until now, her albums have been curated by collaborators such as Jarvis Cocker. On Rest, Gainsbourg knows what she wants and who to go to to get it – Songbird in a Cage was penned by Paul Mccartney and reworked as a robotic tech funk number, while the title track was co-written with Daft Punk’s Guy Manuel de Homem-christo.
She takes a leaf out of Daft Punk’s book on the cool and compelling
Deadly Valentine where her vocal arpeggios complement the disco backing. The bewitching Ring A
Ring O’ Roses sounds like Lana Del Rey walking through the set of Blade
Runner and Lying With You isa spooky electro baroque requiem for her father Serge.
Meanwhile, in a parallel musical universe, rising Glasgow indie kids
Spinning Coin invoke the spirit of the mid/late-80s DIY independent scene on their Edwyn Collins-produced debut album, Permo, which is divided evenly between Sean Armstrong’s bittersweet melodies and Jack Mellin’s lo-fi punky hurtles to create double dynamic trouble.