Cortese wows effortlessly in a completely individual way, providing an unexpected triumph. Ambient Americana, anyone?

AN UNEXPECTED JOY

So who remembers Laura Cortese? I’m sure she played a Cambridge Folk Fest I attended, sometime last decade, then touted as a bit of a feisty Tex-Mex cowgirl, a sort of, no disrespect to the queen of country-rock, Linda Ronstadt with bigger balls. Roll on a decade and there have been just under half a score of albums, latterly with her band, the Dance Cards. Now, almost improbably based in Belgium, this is s return to solo billing and displays an idiosyncratically nuanced approach to her art. As a fiddler by instrument, she uses this and her voice to whittle out a sound quite unlike any of her still stateside contemporaries, and it is an unexpected joy to reacquaint.

A HIGHLY PERSONAL DOCUMENT

Ten songs see her taking firmly to the centre of the stage, with, largely, minimalist backing from kindred spirits, Matt Douglas, a Mountain Goat, on, variously, sax, flute, clarinet, guitar and keys, and producer, LOLLIES, aka Clare Reynolds, on synths and percussion. (No, me neither, but Reynolds is an Aussie, longtime resident in Nashville, with an impressive roster of credits under her belt, working with the likes of Nicole Atkins, Alesha Dixon and, however implausibly, Timbaland.) The outcome is a highly personal document that sheds a raft of new possibilities around any concept of singer/fiddler.

MIXED INNOCENCE & WISDOM

A near imperceptible 2.3,4 and we are in, with guitar and fiddle, each loosely strummed, over which Cortese croons what may be a paean to the climate of her Ghent home. A scatter and shuffle of percussion further frame the song, in an aural representation of a storm, Face The Rain being the name of the song: “Go outside and count to ten, put your back to the sun and face the rain“. Her voice is rounded and almost childlike, a mix of innocence and wisdom. Woodwinds billow in to provide further atmosphere and, as an opener, it is both unexpected and uplifting.

You’re All Sound starts with a recurring flicker of muted synth, Cortese again plying her fiddle more as a mandolin, giving a clanky jangle to the sound. Economical of notes and tune, it rotates and revolves about itself, before some bowed fiddle makes a first appearance, alongside the woodwinds. It is all delectably spare, with little bursts of flute and fiddle scattershotting across the bows. It certainly isn’t country-rock, let alone the constituent parts of said hybrid, owing more to the ambient stylings of a discombobulated Agnes Obel. This mood continues into the title track, which slides in on a harmonium drone, before accelerating into a brisk chug, that again conveyed on her strummed fiddle. Handclap percussion doesn’t feel forced, but rather entirely appropriate, with nifty piano and synth interplay. Drums offer an acoustic motorik to the whole. I’m rather taken.

SPOT THE CAPTURED GENIE

Creaks of floorboard and what sounds like an old upright piano introduce Calling Across The Lake. A second song to reference possible cold water dipping, the mood is slow and languorous, with a delicate beauty that sticks, like hair on wet skin: “blue green splash my skin“. I’m playing it time and time again, to see quite how this genie got captured quite so well and effectively. Tied In A Knot is the first we hear of a second voice, probably Douglas. This is probably the most conventional song here, apropos her previous work, a straightforward country ballad lurking within the unrelenting rhythmic shudder. Piano drops by to ornament the second half, flickering and faltering across the melody, followed by the gentle blow of an alto sax.

Some pizzicato plucking returns to the mood of the opening songs, as Hush Now Child reference the “iron harvest’ that can still accompany ploughdays in Belgium, as WW1 munitions get turned over by unsuspecting farmers. The song is a lullaby, even if the content is more akin to abject horror. As if to underline the mismatch, Starry Ceiling begins with a gently lowing Cortese, a nursery rhyme that too becomes fast foreboding, as a piano vaults low register warnings across a repeated alarm of san fiddle. It is a clever construction, swapping between the sonic atmospherics. A woozy saxophone suddenly breaks into a surprising Village Vanguard fanfare, which only adds to the delight.

MAGNIFICENT SYMPHONIC CLOSER

Is that a distant train puffing into earshot, as a tinkling string and piano motif repeats? This is Half Mile Away, returning to the idea of forgotten bombs shattering the idyll. A rare fiddle solo shows Cortese has lost none of her fiddle camp honed expertise. It is as doomy a song as the other: “it’s just another day, just another day“, and that train sound could now be the sound of distant warfare. Calling Across The Lake gets a brief instrumental reprise, solo scratched fiddle, before Adieu, Adieu does what most songs of that name do best.

Bookending the album with keyboard and woodwind symphonics, Cortese is back on croon mode, a thoughtful rumination on on saying goodbye to the summer, although other layers are also invoked, the metaphor open to a treatise on growing older. It is a magnificent closer, saxophone and harmonium combining with a an almost military march of drums, as Cortese fades back into near voice alone.

DULY WOWED

I really didn’t expect this, thinking it likely to be typecast Americana autopilot. And it is so very not, straddling a number of near-unclassifiables with grace and fervour. Call me duly wowed.

Try the title track for size:

Laura Cortese: Website

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