Fresh to the turntable is the second full suite release from Tamaki Makaurau songwriter and graduate of Te Koki New Zealand School of Music Louisa Nicklin. Regular gig attendees may already know Nicklin from her time playing with Dimmer and Mermaidens, tucked in the back providing robust rhythms on their trusty six string. But this time it's their turn to front up, delivering an atmospheric and swooning, introspective collection of love, longing and loss.
Mister Shayne P Carter himself is behind the production of this disc, recorded in the depths of the Coromandel bush. Each one of these eight tracks showcases Nicklin's craft for the sparse, the sharpness and cutting – offset by often biting and honest lyrics, and bone-visceral, angular guitar playing and forest deep and dark melodies.
Initially, you'd think The Big Sulk is a sort of break up album. That's the way I initially approached it, anyway. Feel On Me begins with a simple, aching chord refrain and the lines "You leant on me, I leant on me, too/ Couldn't hold us both/ could only hold you/ You needed me, more than I needed you. I had to go/I was losing it all.” Were they too needy, demanding, abusive? Nicklin delivers the lines deadpan, then sours into a high aunting swoon as the music swirls into the confession – ties must be broken for the sake of soul and sanity. The song saunters into a sort of waltz, carried along with a simple snare and bass combo, a trick she will repeat several times over on this album.
In contrast Thick the album's first single is a thumping rock number, in line with both Dimmer and Mermaidens’ nihilistic live vibes and carried along by the strobing tattoo of some dense floor toms and Nicklin's desperate, haunting, wailing vocals. "Lyrically and sonically, "Nicklin says in her publicity the song "considers the concept of leaning into a situation as a means of escaping thoughts". I love that description. It's an open invitation to read it any way you like and feel all the emotions that go with that interpretation.
The queasy, unsettling video, directed by Ali Burns, of Nicklin dressed as a 70's housewife surrounded by piles of decorative gelatinous dishes of meats and vegetables gives a feeling of loneliness and slight abandon, reminiscent of all those bad TV films of the era. With the huge array of garish dishes on the set, I wondered if Burns had raided Gussie Larkins Tupper collecting whilst she was on tour in Europe with Earth Tongue.
But back to the album. Moving into a desert dry Americana mood, The Highs celebrates a 'Happy medium, don't Feel, Can't Feel'. Are they happy, staggering about "Don't break a sweat, puncture it on home’. A message or awakening from a feverish dream? Love or panic. "Too scared to try, what if I ruin my life? / As High as I go, as far as I go,” builds the crescendo, sauntering into the black tunneling fade out.
Want Your Mother is another slow swagger, supported by a beautifully off kilter guitar groove, twanging about like the nagging of a broken string and framing the opening lyrics: "You don't like change/ Afraid of what it mean / Wish you were
a child / Want your mother and your old life", Nicklin sings, accusingly. You can see where this is going fast. It's like an argument on half-speed, and therefore the burn is far more searing. The song stays at this slow tempo but layers up with instruments
and harmony, becoming almost dreamy. But this simply shrouds the bitter intentions of the song. The twang-string remains, like nails on a blackboard, to make sure of the point.
For Can't See, Nicklin picks her strings, shaping this melancholic paean: "This is not how I wanted it to be,” she sings, It's much heavier than it seems.” Is this the weight, crushing? “I wanted to carry it on our own.” What the issue is could be interchangeable. But it's deep and serious and cannot be fixed. But musically, if ever there was an achingly beautiful moment, then it's the build-up and spiraling, ethereal harmonies that envelope this number. Literally goosebumps and skin tingles!
A return to a rockier platform, with the ¾ tempo of The Shroud, with its dark and angular bass chords. This tune may well have been influenced by time playing with Mermaidens and would fit in nicely to their set. "When I'm asleep it comes for me... she's shrouded me” What is 'she', a ghost, a memory? Carried along by a bone deep groove, fuzzy-garage guitars and a desperation in Nicklin's delivery, this number is the most alien on the record and one of my favourites.
"I was a moody child, turbulent and anxious, tried not to put it on you,” she reveals, as an apology, on Sleep It Off, an excuse for laying it all on, being unkind, too harsh, dumping on them. Is this an apology? The song adopts the half-waltz again, this time even more brooding.
Keep / Relief closes the album with the most full-spectrum piece on the album, layered with more aching guitars and Nicklin's soaring soprano vocals, It climbs slowly like the closing scene of a tiny movie. It's as if Nicklin has gone through emotional turmoil and this is their triumphant recovery: "I'm surfacing again, things are clearing up again. Sweet Relief, I've got mine".
To be honest I was a fan of Nicklin's first album. This one simply reinforces my enthusiasm, it's even better. Heart on her tongue, it's the raw haunting, dripping in reverb and soul-ache that makes this listen so compelling. Can't
wait to see them live!
The work of Louisa Nicklin encompasses both contemporary classical and popular music.
A graduate of Te Koki New Zealand School of Music - having studied with Michael Norris and Professor John Psathas - Louisa has had works performed and recorded by professional orchestras and small ensemble groups. Based in Auckland, New Zealand, Louisa is an accomplished musician. Alongside classical composition Louisa also writes and performs songs as a soloist and with the band No Girl.