There is no shortage of female singer-songwriters carrying on the tradition established by Patti Smith, Kate Bush, and PJ Harvey, but with newcomer Anna Calvi, she’s not competing for any title to the throne; she lets her music effortlessly demand the honor.
Calvi’s eponymous debut showcases the young siren’s influences while avoiding the pitfall of sounding like an imitation. Her touchstones—Nick Cave, Leonard Cohen, Harvey—inform Calvi’s work, but do not dominate it. A gothic, foreboding atmosphere pervades the album and her vocal technique, delivery, and range (from banshee wail to whisper-croon to low-end moan), plus the confident succubus persona, are likewise inherited from Harvey. Frequent references to the Devil and haunting, ethereal choruses don’t hurt the cultivation of the mood.
Opener “Rider to the Sea” is an instrumental highlighting Calvi’s virtuoso guitar playing. The notes drift in and out fluidly, the audible equivalent of waves cascading on a shoreline. Calvi’s strongest instrument, her voice, appears toward the end of the song, hovering above the sea as it riles into a squall.
“No More Words” finds her voice emerging from the darkness in a whisper, washed ashore and gaining footing as it slowly asserts its presence, all while a layered chant swirls around and eventually envelops her. She first truly shines on the anthemic “Desire.” Though the opening harmonium drone is reminiscent of Nico’s The Marble Index, the hammering drums and Calvi’s insistent lyrics quickly push the tip-of-the-hat aside. “It’s the fire/It’s heavenly, heavenly/Desire,” she sings in the refrain, intoning the final word repetitively, the intensity mounting after every verse until Calvi is belting the line like she’s attempting to exorcise some fevered demon. The dynamic between these songs characterizes Calvi’s juxtaposition throughout, at times fierce and at others demure.
“Blackout” finds Calvi at her most assured, empowered by the finality of a relationship ending, rather than despairing over it. “Here in the dark/I could be anywhere,” she sings through the catharsis over a surging rhythm. Conversely, she takes a turn for the ferocious on the sexually ambiguous “I’ll Be Your Man.” Her caterwauling is downright frightening as she screams the title while the subtle music turns thunderous behind her.
Musically, the album is comparable to Jeff Buckley's Grace in its orchestral approach to instrumentation, jazzy time signatures, and overall production. Like Buckley, Calvi is an anachronism, unconcerned with current trends, preferring to make music that is honest and pure. Pursuing her own muse has led her to just rewards—critical lauding and a nomination for the prestigious 2011 Mercury Music Prize. Truly, the most valuable lesson she’s taken from her forerunners is to ensure her art stays genuine; do that, and people can’t help but take notice.
Comments