Goldfrapp - Seventh Tree

Alison and Will lose lurex, find beards

Rumours abounded that Goldfrapp had (eek) “gone folk”, that their fourth album would be an acid-and- tea-soaked odyssey of English whimsy, drawing on Carroll, Barrett and Lear. Having built up expectation for a lysergic fantasia, it initially comes as something of a disappointment to discover merely an album of pleasant trip-hop. Repeated listens, however, reveal that Seventh Tree is a grower; it’s more pastel-tinted than the riotous neon of Black Cherry or Supernature, but no less gorgeous.

Clowns reveals the promised folkiness, Alison’s breathy coos clearly indebted to Vashti Bunyan and the gently rolling acoustic arpeggio suggesting the soundtrack to some lost Firmin & Postgate show. Little Bird is the pinnacle, woozy keys and Day In The Life-ish backmasking leading to a sun-addled expansive climax of rolling drums and deeply reverberating guitar. Sadly, not all the rest meets its mark. Happiness tips over into pastiche, Road To Somewhere just sounds a bit like Morcheeba, and first single A&E is uncharacteristically dull. There’s flashes of the Frapp of old, though, in the lush Cologne Cerrone Houdini, Alison warning “I’m not your kind, I’m not your girl,” in a louche Nico-ish accent over stabs of disco strings. All in all, Seventh Tree is a quiet triumph, as soothingly spaced out as falling asleep in the sun.

Mute | TBC

Reviewed by Emily Mackay
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