ALBUM REVIEWS
“I’m not saying I’m not a careerist,” Bill Ryder-Jones told NME in 2019. “Where I am now is good; a little more success would be great but any more than that would be too much.”
At that time, the Wirral singer-songwriter (and co-founder of his former band the Coral) was talking up ‘Yawny Yawn’, a skeletal, piano-led reworking of ‘Yawn’, the grunge-inspired collection he’d released the previous year. For Ryder-Jones, ‘talking up’ meant speaking with stunning honesty that mirrored the nakedness of the songs themselves. It’s an approach that’s endeared him to an army of loyal fans, while perhaps also contributing to the fact that his cult fame has never quite become widespread renown.
Maybe that’s about to change. Ambitious, cinematic and hugely affecting, folky follow-up ‘Iechyd Da’ is in many ways the album Ryder-Jones has threatened to make since 2013 breakthrough ‘A Bad Wind Blows in my Heart’. His solo work has almost always been deeply personal, which is certainly true of this new self-produced record: ‘iechyd da’ is a Welsh toast to ‘good health’ and the album is partly named for his familial roots in the country. Its songs echo with references to his past tunes, its acoustic aesthetic is set to ‘wistful’ and the lyrics find him baring all with apparent fearlessness.
There’s some irony in that last point, given that tracks such as ‘Thankfully for Anthony’ and ‘It’s Today Again’ relay his frightening mental health struggles. The former, though – a sequel to his 2013 track ‘Anthony & Owen’ – celebrates its titular character’s kindness and the latter features a ragged children’s choir whose evident lust for life is infectious. Standout ‘If Tomorrow Starts Without Me’, meanwhile, sums up the battered optimism at the heart of ‘Iechyd Da’. Underpinned by muted strings and a warm, rolling organ refrain, it’s at once melancholic and uplifting; a windswept relation of Belle and Sebastian’s ‘The Boy with the Arab Strap’. “If the monsters call you names, then I’m with you,” Ryder-Jones croaks. “I’ve had monsters play games with me too.”
The kids crop up throughout ‘Iechyd Da’, a joyous counterpoint to the album’s heavy themes, while the singer uses samples (see eerie opener ‘I Know That It’s Like This (Baby)’, which borrows Brazilian singer Gal Costa’s ‘Baby’) as a further breath of fresh air. He might not be the steeliest careerist, but the lad from the Wirral has clearly thrown everything at this masterful record.
ALBUM REVIEWS
Grandeur sits at the heart of ‘This Music May Contain Hope’, RAYE’s second album, and the result feels nothing short of breathtaking. On this record, the singer born Rachel Keen explores a wide spectrum of sounds across its 73 minute length, moving from emotional ballads to lively funk moments and the jazz pop style she has become closely associated with. It can feel overwhelming at first, yet the magic that comes from RAYE fully committing to her vision makes the experience rewarding from start to finish.
‘This Music May Contain Hope’, a conceptual project about pushing through insecurity and heartbreak, unfolds like a lavish stage production. RAYE takes on the dual role of main character and guiding voice throughout the story. “Allow me to set the scene. Our story begins at 2:27am on a rainy night in Paris. Cue the thunder,” she says during the opening track ‘Girl Under The Grey Cloud’, which arrives with sweeping orchestral strings. Spoken passages appear across the album, helping shape the narrative and giving the project a sense of direction, almost like hearing the official recording of a Broadway show.
With this framework in place, the South London artist allows herself to fully explore the album’s diverse musical palette, and most of the time it works in her favor. Sometimes she fully embraces the theatrical side of the concept, especially during the closing section of the smooth R&B track ‘The WhatsApp Shakespeare’. Other moments are delivered more straightforwardly, such as the emotional slow building ballad ‘I Know You’re Hurting’. She also revisits her earlier dance influences with the impressive house track ‘Life Boat’.
Across the entire album, two things stand out clearly. RAYE’s flexible vocals sound better than ever, and her songwriting feels sharper than it has before. Take the playful highlight ‘I Hate The Way I Look Today’, a swing jazz inspired track reminiscent of Ella Fitzgerald, where she admits “I’m okay to be lonely / If I’m lonely and skinny / I have such silly self-loathing thoughts, it seems”. Then there is the emotional storytelling in ‘Nightingale Lane’: “It was right there, early June / Next to Old Park Avenue / Standing in the rain, I watched him walk away”.
Despite all the vulnerability and emotional struggles explored throughout the record, RAYE ultimately reaches a place of optimism, staying true to the album’s title. She gathers her close friends on ‘Click Clack Symphony’ with support from Hans Zimmer, finds closure with guidance from Al Green on the smooth seventies soul inspired ‘Goodbye Henry’, and reaches toward something greater alongside her sisters Amma and Absolutely on the uplifting ‘Joy’ as she searches to be “free of all the pain and every fear”. After the stormy opening imagery of that “rainy night” and “thunder”, RAYE eventually realizes that “the sun exists behind the clouds”, as she shares on ‘Happier Times Ahead’.
‘This Music May Contain Hope’ shows RAYE performing at her absolute peak. The album feels huge in scale and emotionally powerful, yet it remains rooted in honest experiences and real feelings. Yes, it asks a lot from the listener, but that is also what makes it so special. Every dramatic moment and musical shift feels like RAYE claiming her independence and finally creating music entirely on her own terms.
