It would appear that the genre formally known as trip-hop (possibly the most poorly named musical phenomenon of all time) has lurched into something of a crisis of late. Indeed, given the (largely self-inflicted) marginalisation of Tricky, the dissolution of Portishead, and the underwhelming nature of Massive Attack’s most recent offering, it is perhaps necessary to go further, and – in the words of one Edmund Blackadder – designate the situation not just your standard-issue crisis, but rather a twelve-storey one, with twenty-four porterage, fitted carpets, and a huge sign out-front reading, “This is a big crisis.”
But as the equally sage-like Lisa Simpson once pointed out, the Chinese use the same word for “crisis” as they do for “opportunity.” And thus, the stage would seem set for former Tricky-collaborator Alison Goldfrapp to step up, deliver on her massive potential and revive the flagging fortunes of the increasingly moribund Bristolian axis.
Those who have discerned the link between Goldfrapp’s sartorial caprice and her tendency toward seemingly arbitrary shifts in musical direction will have twigged what’s in store on Black Cherry. The persona she has cultivated of late – all glitter-flecked stilettos, black lace-frocks and sullen stares at the camera, is suggestive of what Jodie Foster’s character from Taxi Driver might have matured into had she ditched
the harlotry and developed both a superior singing voice and
a fetish for analogue synths. Out go the Brechtian cabaret, classical allusions and noir-ish mood of Felt Mountain, and
in comes an uneasy blend of leftfield electro and trashy synth-pop.
The opening ‘Crystalline Green’ can’t decide whether it’s avant-garde experiment or straight-ahead pop, featuring
as it does a sinister, two-note synth riff that wouldn’t sound out of place on a Pan Sonic record, which intermittently gives way to swirling ambient flourishes and Goldfrapp’s sweetly harmonising vocal. The title track, on the other hand, knows precisely what it is - an ethereal, achingly sad lament for an absent lover. Frankly, though, This Mortal Coil were doing this better fifteen years ago on such works of otherworldly brilliance as ‘Song To The Siren’.
In fairness, Black Cherry does feature some redeeming tracks – the infectious glam-synth boogie of the first single ‘Train’ being an obvious example – but it’s far from the genre-busting masterwork Goldfrapp is undoubtedly capable of.