Song of the day – 665: Alba Lua

So it continues. Natural-born music criticism: think of it as the underground equivalent of the celebrity endorsements you see on TV. The critic – being lazy, worthless arrogant and entitled – finds someone else to write the words, but puts their own name to the article and thus grabs the (minimal) glory. Here, I’m acting purely as a cultural filter.  

Thanks you, Mr Eric Jarvis (via Facebook).

A very strange and wonderful piece of total genius. At first there’s the sound of sticks being scraped and hit together by a waterfall. It builds. It fills your head despite being mostly silence, and it builds a little more. Then a guitar. Rich chords through a deceptively simple sequence, before we finally reach the meat of the song. A pure feminine voice can very easily sound twee. Not here. There’s a trace of huskiness and a potential for downright raucousness that raises it above any such risk. The song drifts just long enough to permanently etch itself a corner of your memory… and crunch. A harsh chord and done. Alba Lua live on the razor edge between cliché and archetype. Long may they balance there.

Yep. What he said. Beautifully underplayed. A strange kind of quietened beauty from French four-piece Alba Lua.

by Everett True

My name is Everett True. I am a music critic. This is what I do. I criticise music. The clue is in my job description – music critic. I do not consider myself a journalist, as I do not research or report hard news. I do not consider myself a commentator as I believe that everyone should be a participant. I criticise people and in return I am not surprised if other people criticise me. It is part of the whole deal of being in the public arena. I am Everett True. Believe in me and I have power like a God. Quit believing in me and I no longer exist.