More than any of this year's Radio 1-approved UK pop ingenues-- including the likes of electro-bots Little Boots and La Roux-- Florence Welch marks a clear break from the contentious-yet-fruitful Lily vs. Amy era. And that's not only because this self-professed "real geek" is a redhead who'll take harps over horns. Whereas Lily Allen and Amy Winehouse worked their way through the tabloids while breaking down life's troublesome bits into startlingly candid profundity on record, Welch aims for little but the outer reaches on her debut LP, Lungs. Welch hovers high above her native London's seedy back alleys-- and she's looking skyward.
For this glittery free spirit, matters of the heart aren't simple, everyday occurrences-- they're as grand and mysterious as the big bang itself. "The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out/ You left me in the dark," wails Welch on the audaciously huge "Cosmic Love". Lungs is a cloud-headed introduction to Welch's world, where It Girl hype, coffins, violence, and ambition combust on impact; it's a platinum-shellacked demo reel drunk on its own hi-fi-ness.
Instead of giving this gothically pale 22-year-old with megaphone vox some classy pop-soul to work with à la Duffy or Adele, Lungs takes the smorgasbord approach. Welch bursts mouth-wide over garage rock, epic soul, pint-tipping Britbeat, and-- best of all-- a mystic brand of pop that's part Annie Lennox, Grace Slick, and Joanna Newsom. A lesser talent might fall prey to such veering stylistic change-ups (cough, Kate Nash, cough), but Welch powers through, her ear-snapping alarm call of a voice making Lungs sound like the work of a courageous artist rather than a group of well-paid producers. Of course, well-paid producers are still involved-- specifically, James Ford (Simian Mobile Disco, Arctic Monkeys), Paul Epworth (Bloc Party), and Stephen Mackey (Pulp).
Mackey is seemingly responsible for setting-up Welch's rock'n'roll bona fides, chalking up credits for the faux-shock White Stripes rip off "Kiss With a Fist" and the swinging and sinister "Girl With One Eye", which finds the singer in a gouging mood. Meanwhile, Ford and especially Epworth help their would-be star find a more unique sound that-- more often than not-- is overflowing with twinkling harps and breakup language writ large. Welch catapults off of Epworth's immense tribal drums on two of the record's finest, darkest opuses, "Cosmic Love" and the spooky stunner "Blinding". Ford's frothy, orchestrated style compliments Welch's theatrical bent on the swelling "I'm Not Calling You a Liar" and lilting single "Dog Days Are Over". Thanks to Welch's refreshingly immodest talent and vocal abilities, she not only conquers but thrives on the myriad bells and bobs pitched her way by her equally showy producers.
"Seems that I have been held in some dreaming state/ A tourist in the waking world, never quite awake," begins Welch on "Blinding". The song is about Welch's desire to put her girlish dreams away and face reality, but it conjures a place that's frightfully untouchable all the same. When notions of big-budget music become increasingly rare and name-brand artists are giving fans intimate concerts from their bedrooms via YouTube, Florence Welch's zeal for all things bright and/or shiny comes off as its own act of rebel defiance. Coming to her senses isn't an option.
