Quiet and austere, empathetic but occasionally lethal, and with a title like “Cyan Blue” which already hides a universe of emotions just under the cap of the bottle. Charlotte Day Wilson from Toronto is the same as always, a singer-songwriter notoriously resistant to attention, who hides behind an androgynous elegance that's barely plastered on to let her music do the talking. But between the study of jazz and electro-acoustic production, the natural verb soulful of Charlotte takes on new grey-blue shades, which find expression in a songbook that is always careful not to lose the melodic path, while following the art of subtraction.
Here she twirls above a bitter waltz entitled “Money”, then gets lost in the dreamlike “New Day”, barely hinted at by ghostly blankets of reverberated piano, just enough to stage languors of pearly melancholy. It is as if the subtle guitars of Blood Orange and Connan Mockasin came together in unison within constructions of smoke and mirrors, in dialogue with the dialectics of authors such as Yaya Bey and Daniel Caesar: an intimate and adult postmodern soul, already told with the debut ” Alpha” and now brought home again with innate savoir faire.
Whether it's the lulling “Dovetails”, reminiscent of the more seraphic Rosie Lowe, the minimalist funk of “Canopy”, just hinted at by a light guitar distortion, or the acoustic sweetness midtempo “Do U Still”, recalling the art of Cleo Sol, “Cyan Blue” is a listen that appears subtle and evanescent, but in truth stirs in the depths of a vocality yet to be discovered. The Swedish Snoh Aalegra, guest on “Forever”, offers the fairy female counterpart in a particularly fitting duet, which stages a romantic understanding on the razor's edge.
There is however a twist to the whole thing; after an alienating version inserted as an interlude of the super-classic “Over The Rainbow”, here stripped of every drama that was Judy Garland's, the album takes a vaguely more sinister turn; this is the case of “Kiss & Tell”, with its lame rhythm and saddened production in a psychedelic bath, the prelude to the devastating “I Don't Love You”, which deconstructs the dialectic of Sampha and James Blake within electronic offal and lyrics by rare and disconsolate bitterness. With the equally melancholy title trackand the other dreamy circular waltz of “Walk With Me”, one soon ends listening to an album that knows how to keep even the most overflowing emotion under control, leaving the listener with the pleasure of dwelling in detail with each turn of dish.
If it is true that the new association with the XL brand, after years of total recording independence, seems to benefit the intentions, it is also true that Charlotte is still missing the “key” moment capable of making her make the big leap, not only in terms of public – his currently best-known song, “Work”, dates back to 2016 from his second EP “CDW” – but also and above all on a stylistic level. Her best moments, symptomatic of an inquisitorial pen appreciable by the most attentive listener, were already contained in the other EP “Stone Woman” from 2018, demonstrating a very slow growth indeed.
Perhaps it will not be “Cyan Blue” that transforms this austere author into the new darling of critics, nor exposes her to the general public, especially in these times so chaotic and unsuitable for the art of silence and holy patience. But Charlotte Day Wilson knows what she's doing, and with decades of experience as a multi-instrumentalist and producer, she continues her path with the passion that has always distinguished her. It will be up to each of you to look for the proverbial needle in the haystack, songs like these always hide something magical on the sound backdrop.
05/08/2024
Daniel D`Amico for SANREMO.FM
