Joe Meek had an ear for greatness and a brain hellbent on destroying it. Often considered the British counterpart to American pop production legend Phil Spector, he composed most of his biggest hits holed up in a three-floor Islington flat above a leather goods store. He was fascinated with early electronic music and esoteric necromancy in equal measure; he famously dismissed the talents of a young Rod Stewart and called the Beatles “rubbish.” When he had enough of his landlady’s pestering about the ruckus he was making upstairs, he turned a shotgun on her, then himself. After his death, archivists found thousands of recordings he deemed unsuitable for public release, including songs he created for David Bowie. In his quest to create a sound bigger than himself, Meek sabotaged his success in the name of his own exacting standards.
When Brian Oblivion and Madeline Follin first formed Cults over a decade ago, the two bonded over a shared interest in Meek’s musicality and madness, the way the first begot the second. Since their 2011 debut, the New York City duo has channeled that influence into girl group gems with a sinister underbelly, writing songs about haunted houses that went down easy thanks to Oblivion’s twinkling piano and Follin’s helium-high vocal harmonies. On their latest album, To the Ghosts, Cults lean into the bleak beauty of Meek’s story, attempting to channel the darkness in his DayGlo melodies. Five albums in, Cults sound just as eerie and cheery as ever but struggle to transcend the fleeting pleasantries of paint-by-numbers pop.
Lest we forget their influences, the album opens with an echoing bell reminiscent of Spector’s biggest hits with the Ronettes. That song, “Crybaby,” does little to advance the band’s sound: From rhymes about an immature lover so facile they approach parody to synth melodies that feel recycled from previous albums, it sets the predictable tone of the record. When their songwriting does venture to new territory, it usually runs into an awkward metaphor, as when Follin waxes poetic about apoptosis on “Cells” or contemplates why onions make her cry on “Onions” (it’s the sulfur).
The repetitive palette highlights why Spector’s groups transcended the march of time while Cults sound dated on arrival: Follin’s voice simply doesn’t carry the texture or technique of singers like the Shangri-Las’ Mary Weiss or the Crystals’ Dolores “Dee Dee” Kenniebrew. Across the album’s 13 songs, her voice strains against the band’s layered production (helmed by Follin and Oblivion, along with producer Shane Stoneback), fighting a losing battle against a particularly dense guitar riff on “Leave Home” and rushing to keep up with the propulsive electronics of “Behave.” Layered vocal harmonies prevent her voice from falling into the background completely, but her parts often feel like an afterthought.
To the Ghosts is most promising when Cults veer from their girl group inspirations and experiment with dissonance on songs like “Eat It Cold,” with its descending minor scales, fluttering synths, low kick drums, and twisting vocal inflections. Ironically, the band constructs the most engaging potential future on a song that speaks literally of retreading one’s past. As a guitar plucks out a winding melody in its final third, the band recalls the spellbinding sounds that made Joe Meek’s productions so instantly memorable. But with too few new ideas, Cults risk simply embellishing on the well-trodden melodies of their inspirations, too consumed by creating an immortal pop song to let it live in the moment.
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.
