Former bassist-singer of Sonic Youth makes ugly but compelling noise on a solo record; a comeback album from the English pop duo.
Kim Gordon
The Collective
Kim Gordon’s first solo album did absolutely nothing for me, so it’s a mystery why her latest record, no less experimental and challenging, clicked with me so much. Her old band was no stranger to the noisy and the avant-garde, but if anything The Collective is even more abrasive, unrelenting and hard on the ear, with not a single trace of pretty melody to be found. The opener BYE BYE sets the tone, with heavy beats and squalling industrial noise a backdrop for Kim’s unmistakable vocal, half-moan, half-croak, as she recites what appears to be a packing list (Hoodie, toothpaste, brush, foundation / Contact solution, mascara, lip mask, eye mask).
The rest of the album is pretty much more of the same: fractured stream-of-consciousness lyrics about everything under the sun (from wounded masculinity to the price of potatoes) over discordant guitars and loud, anxiety-inducing beats. Kim’s charismatic vocal presence is the glue keeping it all together; she may never have been a traditionally great singer but I always found her detached, enigmatic delivery utterly alluring. It’s a lot to take in and this is definitely not an album I can just pop on whenever, but in the right mood The Collective is an intense, invigorating and exciting listen, and quite unlike anything else in my collection.
EVERYTHING BUT THE GIRL
Fuse
I only knew Everything But the Girl by their ubiquitous 90s hit Missing, which felt like the soundtrack to our first year in Australia (seriously, it was everywhere). Years later, I fell in love with Tracey Thorn’s distinctive smoky voice on her excellent solo album. It’s pretty much the reason I got this, the electronic pop duo’s first record in 24 years, not that you’d know it from its modern, contemporary sound. Thorn’s voice only got better and even more full of character with age: deeper, more textured and rougher around the edges.
A great voice can’t rescue a bad record, but for me it can absolutely elevate an album that otherwise would have been merely solid. The wistful, melancholy and introspective feeling of Fuse is a perfect setting for Thorn’s vocals, especially on the minimalist, ghostly tracks like Lost, where she sings about the loss of her mother. Nothing here may match the catchiness of Missing, but No One Knows We’re Dancing, a love letter to the dance floor and a highlight of the album, comes pretty damn close.
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