-=- SHGZ -=-
* Shoegaze * Indie * Post-Rock * Grunge * Dream Pop * Psych-Rock * Ethereal *
Artist..: Gwenno
Album...: Y Dydd Olaf
GENRE....: Pop
STYLE....: Electronic, Synth-pop
LABEL....: Heavenly SCENE.....: 2016-02-13
BITRATE..: 248 kbps avg STORE.....: 2015-00-00
ENCODER..: LAME 3.98.4 -V0 TRACKS....: 10
SIZE.....: 78.62MB SOURCE....: CD
URL..: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gwenno_Saunders
- TRACKLIST
1 Chwyldro 5:19
2 Patriarchaeth 3:32
3 Calon Pieriant 5:10
4 Sisial Y M⌠r 5:44
5 Dawns Y Blaned Dirion 1:33
6 Golau Arall 3:41
7 Stwff 5:07
8 Y Dydd Olaf 4:18
9 Fratolish Hiang Perpeshki 4:44
10 Amser 4:55
Total Playtime: 44:03
Notice: There is no ccTLD for Wales (or Scotland for that matter).**
Thus the UK country tag.
**Wales and Scotland are listed under gTLD as .wales and .scot
*
Originally released on Peski label in 2014.
*
Pitchfork 8/10
Back in 2000, Super Furry Animals' Mwng became the first Welsh-language album
to get into the UK Top 20. It's still the only one to ever dent the charts'
upper reaches. There are almost a million Welsh speakers in the UK, but
Welsh-language music struggles for recognition outside of Wales. At worst,
it's treated as a novelty, a fate that you can only hope doesn't befall
Cardiff-born Gwenno Saunders' debut solo album, reissued this week on
Heavenly after its initial appearance on local label Peski last year.
Y Dydd Olaf is named for Welsh author Owain Owain's 1976 sci-fi novel in
which world-conquering robots turn humans into clones. Nine of its songs are
in Welsh while the closing track is in Cornish, which is supposedly the
primary language of around 600 people. Saunders used to front kitsch
girl-group the Pipettes, which she recently dismissed as "playing a role that
had already been written." Y Dydd Olaf also plays into an entrenched role∙the
gentle Welsh-language pop revolutionary set out by the likes of SFAs and
Gorky's Zygotic Mynci∙but it's a natural fit for Saunders, who establishes
herself as a visionary of synth-pop moods and textures.
Owain's original story is confined to the title track and "Fratolish Hiang
Perpeshki", which isn't Welsh, but the nonsense words that his characters
start spouting when cyborg forces corrupt their minds. Owain's protagonist,
however, retains his individualism by writing diary entries in Welsh, which
stops the robots from getting inside his head. Saunders uses that concept to
underpin a record about the importance of preserving cultural identity in
order to resist corporate death∙which in turn, only a relatively tiny
audience will actually be able to understand. English notes accompanying the
album translate songs that explore the artist's role in a downtrodden
society, and the way that technology gives misogyny yet another platform,
which compounds the problem of sexism in minority cultures that still promote
traditional gender roles. Saunders confronts Cardiff's unimaginative civic
planning and highlights the dependable march of nature, weighing up the clash
between old and new worlds.
For those without crib notes or a native ear, the idea of
language-as-protector shines through in the intimate soundscape that Saunders
creates along with her producer husband (and Peski boss) Rhys Edwards. Her
palette is kosmische, recalling the likes of Stereolab and Can, but her
soft-edged synths, intermingling with field recordings from Cardiff Bay,
makes her evocation of space domestic and comforting, like a transmission
from a house party on the moon. She has a tendency to stick to one song
structure: her languid take on that gorgeously hushed language sits atop an
insistent guitar or synth part that spirals somewhere heavenly in the chorus.
The magic, though, is in the spellbinding tones she weaves throughout. The
piano on opener "Chwyldro" (revolution) sounds bent and worn, and guides out
Cornish closer "Amser" (time). "Fratolish Hiang Perpeshki" sounds like a
forlorn death disco for Owain's doomed population. "Stwff" starts with a
bright piano recalling the swirl of a French carousel, or Nino Rota's sweeter
film scores, though it comes to feel as disquieting as the drowned lounge
band swing that underpins "Calon Peiriant" (the heart of the machine).
On "Stwff", a song about growing up and learning how to fit in, Saunders
sings (in Welsh): "I can only apologize for feeling the frustration/ Young
and ambitious in a minority culture/ I joined the middle but it didn't really
impress me." Her treatise on the importance of staying true to your identity
finds extra weight in the fact that she tried to live another way and came
back, shaken up by the loss she felt during her pop outing. Y Dydd Olaf is a
crucial minority language record, but Saunders' beguiling melodies and
execution also make it one of the best British debuts of 2015.
*
Clashmusic 8/10
The last time a Welsh-language record made a significant impact on the UK's
album charts was 15 years ago. It was Super Furry Animal's recently re-issued
'Mwng', an acoustic effort with political undercurrents.
The debut LP from Gwenno Saunders (formerly of The Pipettes) is, on the
surface, nothing like it. It's glittering and electronic, its lyrics and
title inspired by Owain Owain's dystopian science fiction novel, and its
melodies underpinned with discordant notes and bric-a-brac sonic oddities -
but it shares a similarly subversive edge to that record.
You'll likely have heard opener 'Chwyldro' by now. It's been all over the
radio, and with good reason. It's a terrific pop song; bright and sunny and
just strange enough to make your ears prick up. The title means "revolution"
and the record is full of double meanings and apocalyptic allusions, though
many of these will go under the audience's radar.
Instead, you're more likely to be focusing on Saunders' lovely vocals and the
innovative production. Like the recent Jane Weaver album, this is a musically
adventurous record that's sugared by its pop sensibility. 'Patriarchaeth'
bends and flexes around some rubbery synths, before changing into a soaring
sing-a-long √ it's about the crushing grip of the patriarchy. 'Stwff' pulls a
similar trick, its cheeriness masking a song about trying (and failing) to
fit in.
The closing 'Amser' shifts to Cornish and ends the record in a tumble of
warped piano. "Ma'nn amser ow slynkya dhy vaes/The time is slipping away,"
goes the final line. It's a glum lament on a debut that often sounds anything
but.
*
TheLineOfBestFit 8.5/10
"Gwenno creates the loveliest Sci-Fi lullabies this side of Saturn"
In her previous incarnation in The Pipettes, Gwenno tasted a modicum of chart
success, but the band never gained their deserved level of attention.
Now with her solo album Y Dydd Olaf, she╞s a totally different animal; less
playful, yet certainly a force to be reckoned with, both critically and
commercially.
Writing a µpolitical concept album╞, basing it on an obscure dystopian novel
where robots have taken over the world and singing it mainly in Welsh may not
seem like the most commercial proposition. But then again, the idea of a
phone with a weird operating system and terrible battery life didn╞t do Steve
Jobs any harm.
To say that concept albums can be disastrous is an understatement (I still
shudder when anyone mentions Yes╞ Tales From Topographic Oceans). On the face
of it the last Sci-Fi concept album was Jeff Wayne╞s bombastic soundtrack to
War of The Worlds, (featuring ⌠Forever Autumn÷, probably the greatest
cheese-fest of a song ever). But Y Dydd Olaf (which means µThe Last Day╞)
isn╞t bombastic; it╞s incredibly subtle, it's closest cousing being Super
Furry Animals' masterful Mwng - also sang in Welsh.
What makes both records so fantastic is that not only do you not have to
speak Welsh to understand the emotions and sentiments both share a similar
political raging against the dying of the light that is also tinged with
resignation. Whereas Mwng jumped across a range of moods, Y Dydd Olaf has a
more consistent melancholy as its narrative. The music is deceptively
intricate throughout, like Hans Zimmer's scores for Christopher Nolan╞s
films. With Motorik rhythms throughout, there╞s a Kraftwerk circa Autobahn
feel at play, with the electronics complimented beautifully with live
instruments.
Opener ⌠Chwyldro÷ (Welsh for µrevolution╞) kicks in with a wonderfully fluid
groove from the drums and bass. It╞s very sunny sounding, but the minor key
hints at caution with one of the lyrics translating as "Don╞t, don╞t forget
that your heart is in the revolution". Musically it sets her stall out
perfectly, busy synths with a breathy vocal and an undertone of political
insurrection.
There are nods to other artists too, ⌠Sisial Y M÷ channels Moon Safari period
Air. With a similar grace of that album╞s ⌠Kelly Watch The Stars÷, it floats
along with a gossamer light touch, Gwenno╞s voice drifting in and out,
lending it a celestial grace. ⌠Stwff÷ sounds like someone moving the dials on
a radio, with what sounds like the singing of a protest march and space-age
sounds emerging before settling down to a two chord piano stab that recalls
Dusty Springfield╞s collaboration with the Pet Shop Boys "What Have I Done to
Deserve This?".
⌠Dawns Y Blaned Dirion" feels like an intermission and the last song on side
one of the vinyl, with a plucked, reverb heavy bass it sounds defiant and
curious and sets up the second part of the record beautifully, blending into
⌠Golau Arall÷ which has that same blend of caution and wonder in its vocal
that Bjork brought to ⌠Come To Me÷ on Debut.
The title track couples ominous music with a joyous vocal, and what makes it
so interesting is that one of the lines translates into English as "Let us
rejoice in the continuing success of our glorious tyrants", proof that
political music doesn╞t have to be hectoring.
Sung in Cornish, the closer ⌠Amser÷ is the highlight. It could have been the
closing theme for the 70╞s Sci-Fi film Silent Running (which ends with a
robot, having been abandoned by humans, tending plants alone on a spaceship)
and it╞s just stunning, melding warmth, grief and ultimately hope. It╞s so
beautifully melancholy it╞s almost overpowering to listen to and ends with
what sound like a fading heartbeat. In terms of majesty it╞s up there with
Mwng╞s centrepiece ⌠Sarn Helen÷.
Given that the words are sung predominantly in a tongue classified as a
µco-official language╞ by the EU (there are twenty four µofficial╞
languages╞) the melody and mood have to work harder than they would if sang
in a familiar language. The task is to grab attention and empathy and convey
the emotion of the lyrics in musical rather than literal form and Gwenno
pulls this off beautifully.
Owain Owain wrote the sci-fi novel on which the album is based and tellingly
he also founded the magazine Tafod y Ddraig, dedicated to preserving the
Welsh language. Y Dydd Olaf is a marvellously magical mixture of elation,
anger and sorrow and is very lovely indeed. With the opening salvo of her
solo career Gwenno has added another album to the growing list of this year╞s
highlights.
*
DrownedInSound 8/10
Listening to Y Dydd Olaf, a description that Henry James used in The Portrait
of a Lady kept coming into my mind. Ralph Touchett is a likeable, intelligent
and principled man whose life has been blighted by an unspecified congenital
illness, which leaves him living a kind of vicarious half-life. 'Living as he
now lived', James writes 'was like reading a good book in a poor translation
√ a meagre entertainment for a young man who felt that he might have been an
excellent linguist.' Apart from one track in Cornish, Y Dydd Olaf is written
wholly in Gwenno Saunders╞ native Welsh √ a minority language that has long
punched above its weight in the indie music stakes, from Gruff Rhys to
Gorky╞s.
So as a non-Welsh speaker (and, indeed, non-Cornish speaker) how does the
listener approach these songs? The album╞s publicity tells how Gwenno was
inspired by an obscure sci-fi novel from the Seventies to create this concept
album, focussing on politics and feminism in modern-day Britain, by means of
a dystopian tale of robots and cloning. All topics that sound right up my
street.
So there seemed to me to be two ways of addressing the language issue √ an
issue that, obviously, my native-English-speaker privilege has mostly
prevented me from coming up against that often, compared with popular music
fans from most other parts of the world. You can either spend time on Google
translate or searching for Welsh/English and Cornish/English translations of
each track to pore over whilst listening (and in the process distract and
detract from the sound of the music itself), or alternatively simply take the
approach of working with what the artist has chosen, as is every artist╞s
right and imperative, to present to the listener, and write about that.
I chose the latter.
Fortunately, then, the immense and distinctive sound that Gwenno achieves on
the album is far away from poor old Ralph Touchett╞s life-half-lived, and
more than sufficient to sustain interest without the extra ballast of lyrical
meaning.
Starting with the distinctly motorik rhythms of 'Chwyldro', one particularly
enjoyable aspect of these songs is the attention-grabbing opening moments.
Each of the first seven tracks has a noteworthy first minute or so before
settling into a groove or a melody √ from 'Patriarchaeth╞s cascading sequence
of electronic notes to the wonderful vinyl-crackle-meets-sitars start to
'Golau Arall' and 'Y Dydd Olaf╞s snippets of male voice choir voices, random
strummed chords and a whole collection of disparate and slightly disturbing
noises.
Once beyond these terrific openings, the main part of most tracks morphs into
something else again. Gwenno╞s vocal is true and clear, often sombre
(Chwyldro, Calon Peiriant), mid-tone and occasionally sweet but always minus
the saccharine. Quirks abound, from 'Sisial Y Mor╞s lasergun/dripping water
sounds and amplified piano bars to 'Golau Arall╞s quiet and echoing
mid-section, where what sounds like a plane takes off in the background.
The palette is electronic √ there are moments that recall early Human League,
for example ('Fratolish Hiang') or other Eighties synth wielders
('Patriarchaeth'), and the vibraphone puts in an appearance on 'Stwff' - but
the bass lines also hang heavy over a raft of tracks from Calon Peiriant to
Amser, and percussion is inventive, varied and often unexpected, as with the
introduction of the lovely downbeat woodblock of 'Stwff'. Even without
understanding the words, this album still manages to sound like the future,
seen through the lens of the recent past. Where it reaches true heights, on
the superb 'Golau Arall', all atmosphere and hooky melody, or 'Stwff╞s
combination of near-angelic coos with unsettling background noises, in fact,
I╞d go one step further and say that the enjoyment to be gained from it is
qualitatively different but probably equal without the meanings.
This is music that the listener can plunge into and summon up her own images
and sense from. If you╞re fortunate enough to be a Welsh and/or Cornish
speaker then perhaps you will experience this album in a fuller more rounded
way. But that is certainly not to say that you won╞t also get huge enjoyment
and enrichment from Gwenno╞s music otherwise. Sorry google: bad translations
not required.
-=- SHGZ -=-
P.S.
** Thanks ***
*** BCC FNT IPC SSR ***
*** For Knowing Where The Music Is At ***
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