Jennifer Walton's Debut Album "Daughters" Delves Into Grief and Style
Within the song "Miss America", audiences find themselves in a lodging near JFK airfield, as Jennifer Walton receives the devastating update of her father's cancer diagnosis. The Sunderland-born performer had been traveling America for the first time, drumming with indie band Kero Kero Bonito, and suddenly sadness takes over, tinging everything in grey. Faltering keys and soft strings underscore dark dispatches from the tour van: "Rural scenes and crumbling homes / Strip-mall, drug deal, panic attacks."
Her soft vocals are delivered in a deadpan style, while this album's tension stems from her keen writing—blending fiction, traditional phrases, and blunt personal notes—coupled with unexpected maximalism. Few songs this year showcase more potent storytelling style than "Shelly", a piece that describes the death of a deer and spirals toward a petrol-laden confrontation, reminiscent of literary works illuminated by glimpses of warped cello. Tense, quiet sections with echoing, strummed guitar move to expansive choruses, with Walton's voice electronically altered to become something omniscient and sinister.
Audiences might already know Walton from her work as an electronic producer, DJ, and contributor in groups such as Caroline. Daughters' sonic turns reflect her varied background. The first track "Sometimes" bursts with flourish, like a string band taken unawares, while "Born Again Backwards" radically ups the tempo via a punishing, beautiful, looping percussion. Dense layers of audio, skillfully produced with a longtime collaborator, seem both rough and ethereal, and Walton's dark, enchanted thinking culminate on highlight "Lambs", a song that briefly becomes a swirling jig. "I hope your existence doesn't conclude with dying," she pleads, with heart-aching gallows humor.
