Katell Keineg
At some point in recent months my music collection passed one thousand CDs. I know this because I have a spreadsheet that tells me so (for insurance purposes, obviously!).
For no logical reason whatsoever I kind of wanted that one thousandth purchase to be something special; a bit memorable. I guess I should have paid more attention then. If this was the one then it’s memorable for all the wrong reasons.
This is a shame. If you don’t know the work of Katell Keineg then you simply should. Whilst none of her albums are consistent, and perhaps none really hold up as albums in terms of being a consistent listening experience, all contain sufficient numbers of great songs to warrant a purchase and she stands pretty much alone as an independent female singer songwriter producing stuff of such a high standard on our side of the pond.
By rights she should be a star. It appears she doesn’t actually want to be, so songs of jaw dropping beauty such as The Gulf Of Araby, once covered to no great gain, by Natalie Merchant, are destined to languish as a secret cherished by a few like myself saddened by her failure to obtain mainstream, or indeed, pretty much any acceptance! The lack of knowledge of an artist as periodically great as this borders on criminal but is widespread.
It is perhaps a sign of the times that a recent trip to Cardiff yielded a quick trip to Spillers Records; a once great independent record shop now, like the increasingly few others still surviving, showing signs of its age. I asked for this album.
Ten years ago, maybe even five, they’d have been playing an advanced copy. Now? They have no idea who she is and have to look her up before telling me it wasn’t due out until the following week. Now that’s a low profile!
Much of this story is told by the lack of product. This is her fourth album in twenty years. If that puts you in mind of The Blue Nile then hold that thought. The three albums thusfar, if not as consistent as those first two majestic Blue Nile classics, are not too far off in terms of beauty. Hestia has haunted me from time to time for twenty years. Te Recuerdo Victor Jara seems likely to do the same. Both songs incredibly haunting ghosts of a lost life.
Suffice to say that not only is there nothing on this new album that comes anywhere near such sheer beauty there are also moments of such awfulness that you almost want to cry for her. By most standards this is not a terrible album. It does however contain several cringeworthy moments that beg the question as to what the he’ll went wrong!
Three moments here summarise the malaise. A straight cover of Thirteen by Big Star (although let’s face it, it was always an Alex Chilton solo track) and the truly awful The Arsehole Song and World Of Sex.
Of the three, most listeners will find little to fault with the first. Katells’ intimate plaintive voice and an acoustic guitar. Not much could go wrong there and yet it does, badly.
Thirteen is on one level a great, indeed sublime, melody with a lyric that could theoretically be dismissed as of its time, in which case its time welcomed a slightly sinister paean to an underage girl by a clearly older man.
Pray tell what can be brought to that by a female voice? Now, i anticipated that the song would switch gender. That would be obvious but also interesting. Perhaps disturbing in a very real way. Did I mention that she doesn’t switch gender at all? That’s right. It’s played straight and… well why? By the end you’re asking yourself what has been gained beyond a sense of someone covering a nice melody to entertain themselves in the face of what elsewhere begins to look like disillusionment and perhaps a creative standstill?
The other two low points though bring those nagging doubts much more sharply into focus.
It’s hard to decide which is the worse song, World Of Sex with its obvious images; clunky demo quality and a rhythm that I can only presume aims to (ahem) straddle slinky and sleazy and ends up barely doing plodding, is an absolute low. It’s had three airings now. It’s not having any more. I feel it should be locked in s cupboard and starved of oxygen.
Likewise, the 1980s demo quality drum machine of The Asshole Song. Applauded in some quarters as demonstrating an active artistic dependence – a desperate take if I ever heard one – words fail me.
What the hell happened? Is this what happens when an artist is starved of funds and disillusion takes a grip? Is there a way back? I want to believe there is. The first five tracks here from the title track through to I Fell In Love With The World at least bear repeated listens. However, too much else has clunky lyrics, a plodding rhythm and a seeming lack of commitment. Calenture aims to end on a high but ends up merely highlighting the paucity of great material on offer here.
Frankly it’s a crying shame when you reach that point where you feel the need to go back to remind yourself why you liked them in the first place. This depressed me so much on first listen I couldn’t even do that.
If you haven’t already done it then go dig out the debut “O Seasons, O Castles” bookended by the wonderful Hestia and The Gulf Of Araby. Go dig out the slightly over-rated alleged lost pop masterpiece that is “Jet” and especially go dig out the diverse and thrilling “High July”. Then, stop. Go no further, at least for the time being!
She deserves better production; perhaps better management; and perhaps to be surrounded by people who aren’t just her friends. A kick up the arse is perhaps needed.
If this was the first thing I’d heard by Katell then it would be the last!
