When you’ve done something for almost two decades without a break, especially something you love, perspective becomes elusive. Lifelines, Andrea Corr’s second solo record, and her first as a fully-fledged interpreter (without being sniffy, ‘covers album’ doesn’t do it justice) is as much an exercise in holistic musical therapy as a career move.
Corr’s first album Ten Feet High (2007) was a stylistically diffuse piece of work that contained a few serious tunes (‘Anybody There’ and the title track to name but two) ‑ yet it never really got a fair hearing. Ms. Corr sought solace on the stage.
Cue a call from John D. Reynolds, an intuitive producer and human groove machine best known for his work with Sinéad, Jah Wobble and Damien Dempsey. Corr assembled a list of songs. Co-producer Brian Eno weighed in with artist and repertoire suggestions. The result scans like a full-length exploration of the ground Reynolds first broke with Cara Dillon on the Ghostland album some years ago, namely ‘Sacred Touch Of Beauty’ and ‘Faith In Love’.
The first thing that’ll surprise the uninitiated is the song selection. Nilsson, Lennon, the Blue Nile, Nick Drake, Daniel Johnston, Lou Reed – Orpheuses without Eurydice to a man. Her take on the Velvets’ ‘Pale Blue Eyes’ cultivates a swab from Cruise and Badalamenti’s ‘Falling’ and stealthily builds into a modest epic bolstered by Eno’s low harmonies. A nimble reappraisal of Nick Drake’s creation hymn ‘From The Morning’ locates the record somewhere between Lisa Hannigan’s Sea Sew and Julie Feeney’s pages.
And on ‘State Of Independence’ (written by Jon and Vangelis, but this version takes its cue from Donna and Quincy), inspired by Reynolds’ trance pulses, Corr sings out of her skin. She’s always understood Spector girl-group allure (done to perfection on Kirsty’s ‘They Don’t Know’), but until now has never really trusted herself as a sacred singer.
At its most orthodox (Orbison’s ‘Blue Bayou’, Lennon’s ‘No. 9 Dream’), Lifelines is merely faithful to the source material. At its best, it reimagines the originals as mystic folk pop. Consider the set-closer, a molecular reading of Daniel Johnston’s ‘Some Things Last A Long Time’, as delicate, frayed and aching a piece of music as you’ll hear this year.