Eventually, we will run out of British women. Not today, though…
[Video][Website]
[6.40]
Anthony Easton: I have no idea whether this is a 10 or a 1.
[5]
Ian Mathers: In a weird way, parts of this remind me of the Eurythmics, or at least Annie Lennox, but more in the vocal delivery than anything else. And that’s a good thing; like Lennox Florence Welch has a powerful instrument and a good idea of what to do with it. “Raise It Up (Rabbit Heart)” benefits as well from being so sonically maximalist without ever seeming overstuffed or overbearing – but when the chorus crashes in, there have been few more thrilling moments in 2009 so far. The way Florence sings that she “must become a lion-hearted girl” points towards another key influence, and god help me, on the basis of this song alone I think Kate Bush comparisons may indeed be in order.
[9]
Edward Okulicz: Very impressive; how often do you see a female singer-songwriter whose soundscapes and compositions have the same epic scale and ambition of Kate Bush without slavishly imitating her? In terms of lushness and overall popness, this is probably closer to a more bonkers Eurythmics, anyway, eclectic and individualistic without resorting to quirky, and its hook is muscular not timid. The chorus is pure and striking and there seems to be some dissonant layer of meaning underneath it that intrigues. Listen and learn, Marina & The Diamonds.
[9]
Martin Kavka: The video looks like a making-of film about the cover of M83’s Saturdays = Youth album, but the song is quite handily described as retro-Kate Bush, or para-Imogen Heap. The layering of the vocals distracts from the thinness of her voice, which is a blessing. I have no idea what the song is about, but if it is (as I suspect, without knowing why) about losing one’s virginity, it’s the best song on this topic in ages.
[8]
Michaelangelo Matos: There’s some kind of early-’80s grandeur here I find weirdly fetching, especially since the grandeur is similar to that which marked lots of music from that period that doesn’t do it for me at all. The big piano pile-on of the chorus ought to offend me more than it does. I’m sure lots of other people here will despise it, but something about it draws me in, even though it reminds me a lot of, no kidding, a cross between Jim Steinman and Kate Bush.
[7]
Chuck Eddy: Dance-oriented lion-hearted Summer Solstice unicorn-folk galloping through the woods — I’d never expect to love this, but I do. Midas turns her golden; in spring she sheds her skin. First I was thinking Stevie Nicks or Kate Bush, but maybe it’s more… who? Sophie B. Hawkins? Grace Slick?? Teena Marie??? Okay maybe not, but still has a real lush push, reams of momentum from the backup chorus, chasing rabbits up that hill to Emerald City. The “raise it up!” incantations feel legitimately disco — recalls some long-lost “[Verb] It Up” dance classic I can’t place.
[9]
Iain Mew: Bloody hell this record is crowded. I’d heard it on the radio and not minded it, but on headphones it’s another matter. None of its hundred or so elements is given any space or time to breathe whatsoever, and the fact that it starts off as too much means that in trying to reach for ever bigger climaxes it just becomes even more confused and abrasive. There, I didn’t even have to mention Bat for Lashes.
[3]
Hillary Brown: Well, it’s at least interesting and kind of multilayered and whatnot. This could use some kind of direction to focus its ADHD, but it’s got some nice, echoey production, and her voice is, well, something.
[6]
Martin Skidmore: I’m all for soulful influences, but in indie this often comes with dreadful singing that can’t remotely live up to that ambition. Florence sounds okay in the higher register, awful when she gets throaty. The lyrics are twaddle with poetic aspirations, and the music at its best is utterly forgettable.
[2]
Doug Robertson: The bestowing of the Brits Critic Choice award has leaked its poison into this song, turning the verses into a uninspired slop which, combined with an over reliance on bellowing to disguise the empty nature of things, nearly drags this song into death knell of Jo Whiley Record of the Week territory. But, just when all seems lost, the chorus kicks in, turning those bellows in to a soaring wall of, well, slightly bellowy brilliance, but with enough kick behind it to distance itself from its leaden launch pad. She’s getting away with it now, but if she doesn’t watch out, her Machine’s going to need the sort of rewiring you don’t want a qualified electrician to do.
[6]