Genre hopping chanteuse Jane Weaver returned in 2014 with her sixth album, The Silver Globe. Working in the music industry for 20 years with Kill Laura, Misty Dixon and as solo artist, soundtrack composer and Bird records head honcho. The Silver Globe could well be the point in which Jane’s talents are brought to wider knowledge.
‘Argent’ purrs into life with engines constructed by Neu! – a luxurious, silky smooth motorik beat. Thin, choppy guitar cuts the air like a diamond plated rotor. This provides the void-cruising capacity of space rock, but add glorious brass and the result is a quixotic delight to make you drool. The Hawkwind sampling ‘Electric Mountain’ offers twanging guitars while blissed out synths hover like strung out starfish. ‘Don’t Take My Soul’ is a wonky tune of lopsided bass and hummingbird guitar. Jane’s vocals float like a cat wearing helium slippers, the overall effect not a million miles from the summer dub of Peaking Lights. ‘Mission Desire’ boasts gloopy bass and what sounds suspiciously like wah-wah guitar…
The motorik / space rock tunes are a silky joy: feline and luxurious. Shapely and beholden to the groove, these songs are careful, yet up-for-fun. Combining a talent for pop melody with the intention of making people dance with this is divine stuff.
Meanwhile, ‘Arrows’ tinkles like a fragile, bejewelled variant of ‘Left And Right Of The Moon’ by The Warlocks. Jane’s vocals call plaintively on the wind as subdued instrumentation floats around like a disenfranchised ghost. ‘Cells’ is windswept, keys driven folk which shimmers and flutters. The acoustic guitar plucking of ‘Stealing Gold’ is a precision tool of exposed mechanics. Deconstructed pop from ‘If Only We Could Be In Love’ sees parpings worthy of Clinic, plus sweeping tones and insectoid electronics. To pitch ‘Your Time In This Life Is Just Temporary’ is to cast an image of Nico singing lulalbies backed by The Slits. Clattering drums fight the best efforts of the piano to turn this into an uplifting ballad.
These songs have a rare fragility and beauty; kaleidoscopic entrails of a cracked Faberge egg. Dreamy, woozy, folk-y; stirred up and served like a cold cocktail on a warm day.
A treat.
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