Reminding us that she is so much more than an interpreter of traditional song, Eliza Carthy (in the company of Ben Seal) has produced an album of deep yearning that sits so far away from her folk origins that I’ve questioned whether it belongs on this site at all. In fact, I have wondered whether this wonderful mix of soul (and soul searching), cabaret, jazz and torch songs may slightly confused her regular audience. If so, I urge them to go back and explore it in greater depth. It’s an extraordinary collection of songs.
In truth, Through That Sound… is not all that much of a shock when placed alongside 2017’s magnificent Big Machine. It has a similar grandiose feeling that demands a large stage, only this time the stage has one spotlight and it is directed solely on the woman at the centre, all the rest vignetting into velveteen shadows beneath large braided lampshades.
And rightly so. It’s an album that comes from what sounds like a very emotional place, and as such puts huge emphasis on Eliza’s voice. Take, for example, the second track. “The Black Queen” must be one of her greatest recorded vocal performances. It leaps from tenderness and fragility to defiance and determination with all the dexterity of an Etta James recording. In fact, a newcomer might well assume that they were listening to a Chess Records outtake, with only the occasional inflection giving away the location as Yorkshire rather than Chicago.
It’s an experimental album, too. “Our Savage Friends” is one part cabaret to one part disco to one part chamber orchestra. “The Lute Girl” might have been lifted from a West End musical, with its multiple mini movements, albeit with far more opaque, beguiling lyrics. “Mean to Me” takes us straight back into Chess world, with its slapback echo and doo-wop backing, and “Surrender” is a wonderful piece of writing and arranging that makes me miss some of the work she did with the Wayward Band.
It’s not as if Eliza hasn’t been recognised for her songwriting before, but an album like Through That Sound… is a real reminder of the sheer quality that exists in her non-traditional output. It’s also a powerful example of how schizophrenic her career must seem to the newcomer. You can put an Eliza Carthy playlist on shuffle and bounce from the rough, raw, exhilarating sounds of something like “Cold, Wet & Rainy Night” to the incredibly sophisticated creations that make up this album. Here’s hoping that she gets to put it on the stage at some point in the coming year. It’s surely where it deserves to be heard.
One Comment