Jennifer Walton's Debut Album "Daughters" Explores Grief and Style
Within the song "Miss America", audiences find themselves inside a lodging near JFK airfield, as the musician learns the heartbreaking news that her dad has illness diagnosis. The Sunderland-born artist was touring the US on her initial visit, drumming alongside group Kero Kero Bonito, and suddenly grief casts a shadow, coloring everything in grey. Unsteady keys and soft strings accompany gothic reports emanating from the road: "Rural scenes and crumbling homes / Strip-mall, drug deal, panic attacks."
Her gentle singing come across in a flat manner, while the album's intensity arises from the keen writing—mixing stories, folksy sayings, and blunt diary entries—along with unexpected maximalism. Not many songs this year showcase stronger novelistic style compared to "Shelly", a piece that depicts the killing of a deer and descends toward a petrol-laden confrontation, evoking literary pieces lit by flickers of distorted strings. Tense, subdued sections with echoing, strummed guitar move to grand refrains, with Walton's voice digitally manipulated into a presence all-knowing and menacing.
Listeners might previously be familiar with Walton as an electronic producer, DJ, and member to bands like Caroline. Daughters' sonic turns draw on this diverse background. The first track "Sometimes" erupts with flourish, like a string band caught by surprise, whereas "Born Again Backwards" drastically ups the BPM with a punishing, stunning, repeating percussion. Dense walls of sound, skillfully produced with a longtime collaborator, feel at once gnarly and ethereal, while her dark, magical thinking peak in standout "Lambs", which briefly transforms into a twirling jig. "I hope your existence doesn't conclude with dying," she bargains, with heart-aching gallows humor.
