Heartache and yearning

Claire Sproule is 21 years old, but seems far younger. Sproule transmits an air of brittle, school-girl innocence. She converses in a nervous meander, as though slightly unsure of herself. The singer has wide, dewy eyes and a skittish laugh.
This should feel like a shtick – what journalist doesn’t have a softness for the guileless ingénue? – yet doesn’t. Goddamn it, who took away my cynicism?
Clearly no veteran, Sproule is honest to the point of being confessional. There are none of the usual musician’s conceits. She does not evade presumptive lines of questioning or steer the conversation away from the realm of the personal. In the best sense, she is painfully earnest.
Similar claims may be made for her music, a languid conjunction of blues and light jazz that manages to simultaneously be easy on the ear and hard on the heart.
None of which would be worth noting – the world does not lack for shy young things with a ear for a naive melody – were it not for the peculiar trajectory of Sproule’s career.
From Derry, the former drama student signed, not long ago, to Blue Note, the US jazz imprint. Big deal? Considering the last singer picked up by Blue Note was Norah Jones, absolutely.
“I don’t feel pressure, personally, as a songwriter,” says Sproule. “But I know that a lot of people have put a lot of faith in me. To that extent, yes, I do feel some pressure.”
Sproule’s patter brims with the solemnity of youth. Her songs, however, are eminently mature. The singer’s debut album – self-titled, and expected to become a Christmas bestseller – is a calculated, air-brushed triumph. Predictably, Norah Jones comparisons have flowed.
Yet Sproule is a deeper songwriter than Jones, rejecting the latter’s pat emoting and cloying overstatement. Instead, Claire Sproule is reminiscent of Alicia Keys or a less gobby Alanis Morrisette. Earnest, yes. Irritating? Not in the least.
Ignore the slick production job and major label blather, says Sproule. What you are listening to is the sound of a confused teenager, brooding in her bedroom.
“Other kids might have kept a diary or just brooded,” she explains. “For me, though, music was always an outlet. I’d just lock myself away with my guitar and play and feel better.”
A theme unites Claire Sproule: heartache and yearning. It is, the singer confesses, her break-up album.
“The entire record is about a relationship and its ending,” she says, with a rather forced laugh. “There was nothing unique about that, I suppose. But it was the first time that had happened to me, and it was difficult, and my way of coping was to write songs about it.”
Her route to a major label deal was, to say the least, unconventional. After a stint at acting school in Liverpool ( “I wasn’t nearly outgoing enough,” she says), Sproule had returned to the north, to study music technology in Belfast.
It was in order to familiarize herself with the recording studio that she demoed a batch of songs. Friends suggested she submit the music to a label. Sproule complied, never expecting anything to result from it.
“Like I said, these songs weren’t even supposed to be performed in public. I wrote them for myself and no one else. There is a lot of raw emotion in the lyrics. They are not the sort of feelings you necessarily wanted to expose to the world.”
Several weeks later, Parlophone were in touch. Would she be interested in re-recording the songs, in London with a band and a producer? Shortly afterward, Blue Note came knocking with a US deal. Sproule felt her world tilt on its foundations.
“I was stunned. These songs were meant to be for me,” she says. “I had written them for myself and never really performed them for anyone. The whole thing came as a huge shock.”
With the record contract has come an introduction to the machinations of the music industry. Thus far, the ride has been smooth.
“Contrary to my expectations, people have been really nice to me,” she says. There have been a lot of meetings, a lot of travel. It’s been a blur, but I’m having a fantastic time. Look at me – I’m living a dream.”
Second pic: Graham Keogh