ALBUM REVIEWS
Many years ago, a young, up-and-coming country singer crooned about how “they say you can’t go home again”, of leaving home, moving on and doing the best you can. ‘The House That Built Me’ went on to become Miranda Lambert’s biggest hit at the time – and still remains one of her most iconic. But now, 20 years into her career and a bonafide superstar, Lambert has left Nashville to go back home, to her native Texas, rediscovering herself in the process.
Think of Lambert’s aptly titled tenth album, ‘Postcards from Texas’, as life lessons told through vignettes of a roadtrip across the Lone Star state. (It’s also where she recorded the album, her first time doing so since her independently released self-titled 2001 record.) In some moments, she’s happy just sitting with the nostalgia of a memory (the geography-driven ‘Looking Back on Luckenbach’ and ‘Santa Fe’). During others, she’s vulnerable and regretful of the chaos wrecked by her free-spirited ways (the gorgeous solo-written ‘Run’ and self-aware ‘Way Too Good At Breaking My Heart’).
At the heart of this homecoming of the prodigal daughter is the lush ‘No Man’s Land’. Here, she warns a man about how she is free, and they can love her if they must, but trust her to remain true to herself: “So love her like a Mustang / Like a wild thing / Better let her run free.” That is very much the essence of the record, of someone who’s comfortable in her skin as a wildflower, acknowledging all the baggage that comes with it, but also finding a second wind with partners (be it co-producer Jon Randall or husband Brendan McLoughlin) who embrace the mess with her.
Never one to drown out her music with too much earnestness, though, ‘Postcards from Texas’ can be as cheeky as it is sincere. Whether it’s Lambert gleefully daring a cheating lover to continue stepping out (“What’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is mine / So go on, baby, have a real good time,” she sings on ‘Alimony’, with a brilliant play on the word “Alamo”) or a far-flung tale of a chance meeting with a pot-smoking, gun-toting stranger on the run from the “coppers” (‘Armadillo’), they are right at home with the sassiest of her hits.
Lambert is feisty, funny and free on ‘Postcards from Texas’, which feels like the singer no longer has anything to prove to anyone. It might fall back on genre tropes every so often – of course, there’s always that one song about setting shit on fire (‘Wranglers’) or drinking a little too much (‘Bitch On The Sauce’) – and can be a little too ballad-heavy, but the country superstar’s tenth album is as charming as it is witty and stirring. After a long time away, Lambert’s finally back home, wholeheartedly herself and basking in that self-assuredness.
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.
