aaamusic | On 12, Jan 2011

Somewhere between charming sepia toned retro-pop and the mesmeric orchestrated tribal enigma that is These New Puritans is Tu Fawning’s eerily elegant and eloquent debut album ‘Hearts On Hold’; a unique and achingly fantastic record that charms and mystifies the listener into a surreal netherworld.

We are led into the proceedings via the subtly militaristic soul-tinged march of ‘Multiply A House’. Mournful trumpet calls entwine with lilting female vocals that echo double-tracked to create a spectral call-and-response effect, as a slow bass/snare beat underpins and rests on top of everything. The lyrics are dreamlike in their strangeness yet poetically addictive, and whether traversing scales or crooning dreams, Reitz’ vocals are beautiful yet undeniably sinister. Next up is single cut ‘The Felt Sense’, which flips things around totally by channelling These New Puritans in a furious tribal beat and ambient drone attack, if “attack” can be applied to something so startlingly nuanced in its minimal yet inspired orchestration. The emotive crooning of the vocals is delicate and ethereal, contrasting with the layered percussion that constantly adds new elements in a dense tapestry of clattering animal skins and razorlike cymbals, in a collision of prog, post-punk and the stuff of dreams and nightmares.

‘Mouths Of Young’ is an overall gentler affair, with Reitz channelling the lush yet sinister vocal style of ‘Peepshow’-era Siouxsie Sioux to great effect, over a schizophrenic military clatter/temple bells percussion section, hypnotic organs and deadpan male backing vocals. As for ‘Sad Story’, it feels like listening to the finest wartime cabaret: fluttering guitars, decadent vocals and a seductive piano melody, filtered through a sepia-toned static, warning of heartbreak in a manner that is both ballad and commandment. However, this is wartime cabaret of the modern age, and the guitar electrifies, the drums become cavernous, and now, we have the dark cabaret waltz alongside a powerful post-punk lament in a manner that is at once alien yet comfortingly organic.

Calming our rattled nerves is the funereal ‘Apples And Oranges’, with its mournful melody and philosophical kitchen sink lyricism. Not quite pop despite its ghostly hints of ‘Eleanor Rigby’ and chilling catchiness, there is something incredibly haunting and indeed enchanting in its woozy, wry atmosphere. ‘Just Too Much’ dives right into early Adam & The Ants territory, claustrophobic percussion and galloping highwayman guitar making an appearance, albeit in a much more classically-inspired melodic manner.

As for ‘Diamonds’, it opens with what must be a ceremonial chant from a long-forgotten civilisation before fluidly turning into a Danny Elfman gothic vaudeville, featuring seductive keys alongside lurching tango and drum rolls, that both sparks with vitality and feels like a broadcast from the ghostly alternate world we fear once the lights go out.

As you may expect, ‘Hand Grenade’ has the skeletal tones of a march of phantoms, however much more apparent is the sombre church service organ orchestration, with malignant horn sections and some of the band’s most overtly dark lyricism to create a truly unsettling song. “Throw ourselves in the arms of strangers” is wailed before a jaw-dropping and cathartic buildup of rattling drums, shimmering guitar/organ hybridisation and achingly plaintive vocals.

‘I Know You Now’ brings back the cabaret vamp/vampire style: a sinister and decadent tale of spurned lover gone bad through a veil of static. And then it unfurls into hypnotic refrains that grow darker and more insistent with each second. Guitar solos and loping drumkit pace alongside the Eartha Kitt echoes as the track builds in intensity and darkness thanks to increasingly obsessive lyrics and a relentless march of rhythm and riff.

And closing off is ‘Lonely Nights’, an eerie 6-minute piece of ambient songwriting with an almost Oriental intro rising from the quiet into tribal drumming and a well-observed jazzy rock duet between male and female vocals that sounds like the recording of a ghostly meeting on some far-off rainy moor.

I have never heard anything quite like Tu Fawning. I would put forwards These New Puritans, but Tu Fawning are much less alienating, not so much presenting their dreamlike and haunted world, but drawing the listener in with silken hands. Despite nods to not only antiquated but even ancient music styles, the music feels not only fresh but teeters on the realm of the completely new. Not pop, not rock, not jazz, this is a musical TARDIS trip to the warmest historical theatre of the bleakest alternate future you can imagine, served perfect tea in willow pattern china by the ghosts of your nearest and dearest. Macabre yet enchanting, seductive yet naïve, crystalline yet obscure and above all, in possession of a brilliance the likes of which I cannot explain in words.

Author: Katie H-Halinski