5/5
“Lianne La Havas,” released on July 17, 2020, is the self-titled third album by British singer-songwriter and guitarist Lianne La Havas.
The idea of perfection pervades practically everything we do as Lawrence students. We know it better as the “Lawrence Busy.” We ask ourselves: What clubs, jobs and activities would help boost my resume? How many can I take on? What should I drop? How close to the deadline can I push this essay and lab report? Should I miss dinner tonight to study? Do I really have to sleep? Et cetera, et cetera.
At some point, you have to let this idea of perfection go, or else it will literally kill you (I know from experience). La Havas let this perfection go on this album.
After the critical acclaim of her wonderful, folky debut “Is Your Love Big Enough?”, La Havas’s record label pushed her in a poppier direction for her sophomore album, “Blood.” It succeeds in that aspect, and combined with a tour opening for Coldplay and praise from the likes of Prince, La Havas’s career was reaching new heights.
However, “Blood,” despite its glistening synths and divine pop appeal, lacks the mordant soul La Havas showcases live. Sure, on the record, the mixes of the songs are lovely and the vocals are pristine. The guidance of mostly white, male producers helped La Havas make a great pop record. But much of what made her truly an individual soul to savor is less apparent here.
Before the release of “Blood,” La Havas performed at Glastonbury 2014, one of the largest British music festivals. One song she sung in particular — a cover of Radiohead’s “Weird Fishes / Arpeggi” — gained virality on YouTube for how evocative the rendition was. Audiences everywhere saw how she could command an audience. With La Havas at the nucleus of her performance, her art, she achieved perfection in her freedom, not by seeking perfection itself.
What guided the five-year hiatus between “Blood” and “Lianne La Havas” was this independence. In that time, she fell in and out of love, she learned how to produce and record live instrumentalists, and most importantly, she matured. These are the forces that guided “Lianne La Havas” — an imperfectly perfect album.
Her sound comes back with a vibrancy in the simplicity. Most tracks consist of only a few elements: vocals, guitar, keys, bass and drums. Take the opener “Bittersweet” for example: stellar performances all around, an anthemic and hypnotizing chorus, and beckoning backing vocals. It has it all. It’s a lovely slap in the face to lull you into the record: “Bittersweet summer rain, / I’m born again.”
“Read My Mind,” the next track, plays like the score to a chick flick’s trademark girls’ night out scene in the best way possible. Its infatuation is contagious. The subtle percussion and angular chord progression beg you to get up and move. If “Read My Mind” jives, “Green Papaya” meditates. The poetry on this track shows La Havas is equally capable as both a singer and songwriter: “My face turns to gold / Hoping to find my way home.” She wants to turn this infatuation into something more grounded.
The warmth of the first half of the record continues onto the summery “Can’t Fight,” but things take a turn on “Paper Thin.” In place of the atmospheric sonics that characterized the first four tracks, the band now becomes cold, hollow and quiet. La Havas’s love has become bargaining not only with her lover, but with herself: “Your heart’s wide open / Just give me the other key.”
Following an a cappella interlude, the centerpiece of the record — a studio-recorded version of Glastonbury’s “Weird Fishes” — alchemizes these feelings of euphoria, escapism and rage into a transcendental cocktail. La Havas truly owns this song front-to-back. She changes the drum groove and drops the entire instrumental during the bridge, considerably different than Radiohead’s version. It captures not only her personal and creative independence but her parting with perfection.
Frankly, it’s one of the most vulnerable and powerful pieces of music I have ever heard. If you take away one song from this review, it’s this cover of “Weird Fishes.” Please — give it (and this entire album, if you feel so inclined) a listen!
The rest of the record introduces some additional elements in the mix that carry listeners to the finishing line just as beautifully as Side A. “Please Don’t Make Me Cry” features a standout vocal performance and a sequenced hip-hop drum machine. “Seven Times” boasts a Bossa Nova inspired chord progression and groove; the flute solo on the back end of the track is another moment I cannot get enough of.
Next, on “Courage,” chirping guitar effects contrast nicely against the dry lead guitar and vocal melodies. All the tracks on Side B are peppered with lovesick lyrics, notably here: “Maybe I’ll never learn / Maybe it’s not my turn / Could it be that I am only dreaming?”
“Lianne La Havas” closes with another especially powerful cut, but this time, it’s in a 10/8 time signature. “Sour Flower” — the longest track on the album, clocking in at almost seven minutes — highlights everything that makes La Havas an incredible artist. The lyrics on the chorus are among my favorite on the record: “When I’m high, when I’m blue / I’m not crying over you.” The chords are uplifting but melancholic, almost “Bittersweet” in nature (get it?). Most of all, La Havas and her band indulge in an extended, jam-session style outro.
The percussion, keys, bass and guitar putter away for almost half the length of the track, trading off licks, weaving in and out of the mix. I especially am a sucker for the rimshots that keep the constant uneven groove tied together.
At the final moments of the song, La Havas laughs, matching her smile on the cover. She’s free from the pop perfection of “Blood,” free from the love she once had, free from perfection. As she wisely proclaims: “When I cry / It’s ‘cus I’m free.”
In my eyes, that’s what makes this album perfect: its freedom from perfection. I implore you to give it a spin.