Tony Stamp checks out the return of noisy ex-pats Popstrangers, grapples with Canadian weirdo Yves Jarvis and is enamoured by London singer-songwriter Nilüfer Yanya's second album.
Painless by Nilüfer Yanya
Photo: Suppled
In an alternate timeline, Nilüfer Yanya joined a girl group and became a pop star. An offer was made to the London singer-songwriter in 2014, after her demos on Soundcloud drew the attention of Louis Tomlinson of One Direction, for a project which subsequently fell apart. Yanya turned it down anyway, and has since spoken out about manufactured pop acts, and the power imbalance of recruiting young people this way.
She’s 27 now, and two albums deep into a critically acclaimed career, forged on knotty guitar playing, and downbeat verses that blossom into ethereal choruses; moments of transcendence that show her pop sensibilities are very much intact.
After however many years listening to indie-pop songs, I’ve realised I value tracks that require a bit of work in the verse, then reward the listener with an elative chorus. That describes almost all the songs on Painless.
Yanya has been playing guitar since she was 12 and seems fond of busy, cyclical finger-picking; which adds a cerebral edge to these tunes. But she always lands on a chorus to luxuriate in. On ‘Try’ that’s matched with her voice going up an octave, and the lyric ‘can I get lost here completely?’, in a moment that’s eerie, romantic, and eminently hummable.
I was already enamoured with Yanya’s songs when I saw who produced Painless. The majority of tunes were co-written and produced by Wilma Archer, whose collaborative album Grotto I reviewed last week. His work happens in the hip-hop gene pool, so it’s interesting to hear him out of his element here, responding to Yanya’s direction. On ‘Shameless’ she switches to strumming, and they immerse the song in retro electronic production, matching the lovelorn vocal.
The song that initially grabbed me was ‘Stabilise’, which is actually a bit of an outlier - faster than anything else here, with hints of surf rock, and spikier in its verses, before another bearhug of a chorus.
On ‘Belong With You’ there’s a tug of war happening in the lyrics between Yanya wanting to leave a relationship, and the repeated refrain “I belong with you”. There’s a kind of helplessness to it, underlined by the cyclical guitar part, which erupts into cathartic rock at the midpoint when she finds acceptance.
Nilüfer Yanya grew up in London, with a Turkish father and Irish/ Barbadian mother. Apparently her childhood was soundtracked by classical and Turkish music, and I think there’s an echo of that in the busyness and rhythm of her guitar playing.
I’m also struck by how sparse these songs are. Yanya and her producers understand that prioritising her voice and playing is doing most of the work - the writing and performance are strong enough.
The final track on Painless is its most warm-hearted. Lyrically ‘Anotherlife’ is still concerned with love and loss, but the production by electronic musician Bullion is sweet, and Yanya’s singing belies the sadness of her words.
She has that magical combination of talent and x-factor, and has created something that’s not quite pop music, but not far off.
In Spirit by Popstrangers
Photo: Supplied
In 2014, things were on the up for ex-pat Kiwi band Popstrangers. They had relocated to London and followed up a well-received debut on Flying Nun Records with a second on American label Carpark. They got warm reviews in the likes of Pitchfork and NME.
And then things went quiet. The trio are still based in the UK, but the music seemed to have dried up, until a few months ago, when Australian label Rice Is Nice announced a third album was on the way, after an eight-year gap.
On this new offering, Popstrangers sound much like the same band, mixing the kind of song-craft that stems from classic UK rock with noisier, avant-garde impulses. Mostly these songs feel unadorned, a stripped-back, warts n’ all snapshot of a band who’ve discovered they have plenty more to say.
The story goes that singer and guitar player Joel Flyger, after years working in London, was staying at a friend’s place in Waingaro on the West Coast, and was inspired to write these songs. I must admit I laughed at the PR’s description of London as “bleak, filthy and chaotic”. I like the idea that a return to the peace of Aotearoa opened up this creative reservoir.
Between Flyger's laconic delivery and love of blown-out tones, I’m reminded of another ex-pat outfit, Bailterspace. The production and post-punk influence also brings to mind the work of Steve Albini, who produced the noisiest output for Nirvana and many others.
But the forms on this album drift away from a rock template into more reflective territory. The title track is downbeat but builds to a chorus that’s downright anthemic.
Flyger has said that song is about “giving in or getting on”. I haven’t quite worked out how that relates to its chorus line “I can’t shine my teeth on these diamonds while you fake it”, but he certainly makes it sound rousing.
A similarly enigmatic line gives the song ‘Are Pigeons Doves’ its name. Musically it veers close to Radiohead at their most sinister.
Flood magazine referred to Popstrangers as “sludgy and invigorating”, and I think that description is bang on, counterintuitive though it may be.
They’re an enigmatic outfit, and I quite like the mystique of disappearing for eight years and suddenly reemerging. They’ve also mellowed somewhat, which pays dividends on tracks like ‘Ain’t Got You’, which manages to sound traditional and cutting edge at the same time.
The Zug by Yves Jarvis
Photo: Suppled
In the annals of music history, there’s a certain type of character who keeps appearing - the kind who never rests on an idea, who has to keep generating songs, even if the finished product is less than pristine. Robert Pollard from Guided By Voices and Daniel Johnston are two recent examples.
I get a bit of that from Canadian singer-songwriter Yves Jarvis, who’s clearly a talented player and performer, but in his ongoing mission to blend acoustic folk with psychedelic vistas and experimentation, often seems impatient to get to the next thing, which leaves some of these tracks feeling abandoned, as opposed to finished.
The bustling tunes on The Zug have the intimacy of something recorded at home, added to on a whim. In fact, that track is called ‘At the Whims’, which might be Jarvis alluding to his creative process.
The tracks are all brief, but cram in plenty of ideas, like ‘Prism Through Which I Perceive’, a pastoral folk tune that reinvents itself with each line in its verse, and clocks in at exactly one minute.
Looking at Yves Jarvis's website, the description of this album is as baffling as the music, but that’s the idea. And like the music, there are moments of clarity. The text reveals that The Zug is short for Zugzwang, a chess term referring to the obligation to make a move. Zug is also a town in Switzerland.
Reasonably cryptic, but scroll down for self-awareness: One passage goes “structural convention is subverted but not disregarded. Emphatically wedged into the Canon by employing a traditional rock instrumentation”. That does a nice job of summarising the album's blend of weirdness and accessibility.
Like previous Yves Jarvis albums, it can all feel daunting when taken as a whole. But within the tapestry of tunes there are some standout moments. On ‘Stitchwork’ (which at 3:40 is the longest thing here), he becomes preoccupied with the craft of sewing, and layers on string samples and backing vocals to grand effect, showing what he’s capable of when he takes the time. But then it’s off to the next thing.
