Joyful and impassioned Caribbean gospel; bewitching solo debut from the Portishead singer.
The Creole Choir of Cuba
Tande-La
This is one of the albums in my collection that somehow fell through the cracks since I first got it back in 2010, surviving multiple culls and a move to my own apartment but never really catching my eye either. Now that I finally gave it a proper listen, I’m berating myself for letting a wonderful, celebratory record go neglected for so long.
This ten-piece choir sings in Creole, Cuba’s second language spoken by the descendants of Haitian immigrants. Their songs have a touch of traditional gospel as well as Caribbean rhythms, and rely almost entirely on a cappella vocals. There’s some percussion and other instrumentation, but the album is really all about the transcendent glory of the human voice. It switches between powerful, soaring male and female soloists, while the rest of the choir supplies a bedrock of rich harmonies and chants. While I cannot tell what the lyrics are actually about, the songs sound upbeat and full of passion and vitality.
A bit of sameness does set in over the long run, and I have a feeling that this group is really meant to be experienced live, but since that’s unlikely to happen any time soon I’m happy to have this album.
BETH GIBBONS
Lives Outgrown
Beth Gibbons is such a singular talent, with a voice so utterly distinctive, it makes me wish selfishly that she was more prolific. She obviously does things in her own sweet time: her debut album comes three decades after Portishead first stepped into the spotlight, and 16 years after their last album. She gives most elusive artists a run for their money, that’s for sure.
I still love Out of Season, Beth’s collaboration with Rustin Man (released 22 years ago!), and Lives Outgrown shares some of its intimate, pensive, overwhelmingly autumnal mood. It however creates a world entirely of its own, making me think of walking through a darkened magical forest with occasional bursts of sunlight, where you’re not sure whether you’re about to encounter something wonderful or disturbing. It is often beautiful, at times unsettling, with leftfield musical choices lending an edge and intricacy to what at first sounds like a mellow folky record. It sounds deceptively sparse, but further listens reveal some wonderfully varied instrumentation.
The only real reminder of Portishead here is of course Beth’s witchy, haunting voice, as fragile as cobweb, singing songs of mortality, ageing and loss. I do hope that the gap between this and her next release, whenever it may happen, is not quite as yawning.
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