Talk about capturing the zeitgeist.
Recorded pre-lockdown during a period of self-enforced isolation after an unhappy tour of Europe, Bristol-based songstress Fenne Lily’s new album thematically covers isolation, loneliness and self-reflection. Sound familiar? None of this ‘recorded during lockdown’ business, she was ahead of the game.
Whilst that may not sound like a wholly enticing prospect given the last few months, if the ultimate point of art is to make the human experience relatable via some other form, then Lily has provided one of the most significant albums of the year. Its rawness and honesty are not always an easy listen, but then melancholia is happiness for deep people.
Breach is also a significant step on from debut On Hold. In contrast to the fragile brittleness of 2017, the new album is more energised and fervent. Recent single Solipsism is perhaps the best example of this more direct approach, with a seesaw melody, gnarly electric guitars and a simple but powerful solo section. If it wasn’t for Lily’s ethereal voice (deployed excellently across the album) it could be mistaken for a rock anthem. The galloping Alapathy features War On Drugs-y feedback, while the more subdued Berlin has an outro akin to one of those tender maelstroms Snow Patrol specialise in, garnished with Lily’s caramel vocals.
It’s not a complete volte-face however, with the gentle lullabies from On Hold still present. The album treads in concept waters with its diaristic style, Lily successfully moulding the mundane (‘Home is home, I brush my teeth’) into the philosophical on I, Nietzsche.
The sumptuous melody on the outro of the heart-on-the-sleeve Birthday is cathartic (‘telling me I’m in your head like it’s a good thing, you’re telling me she’s in your bed like it was nothing’) and washes over the listener like a summer rainfall, while the semi-vengeful I Used To Hate My Body But Now I Just Hate You, surely a contender for song title of the year, contains the best yet under-used weapon in a songwriter’s armoury: a key change, wisely deployed so that it elevates the song. The lyrics are equally as compelling, allowing the listener to understand Fenne’s ongoing feelings of worthlessness.
While the new style is welcome, it does benefit from a few listens. Initially sounding like background music, attention is rewarded, be it in Fenne asking existential questions disguised as wry observations or added musical flourishes, such as the subtle strings on Elliott. There’s a real talent at work here, with melodies and hooks that appear modest on first listen but are in fact well-crafted in a way that would make more experienced songwriters blush.
All the serendipity in the world can’t detract from the serious talent on display.