Jennifer Walton's Debut Album "Daughters" Delves Into Grief and Style
Within the song "Miss America", audiences are placed in a hotel room close to JFK airfield, as the musician learns the devastating news of her father's illness diagnosis. The Sunderland-born artist was traveling the US for the first time, drumming alongside indie band Kero Kero Bonito, and suddenly grief casts a shadow, coloring all with melancholy. Faltering piano and hushed orchestration accompany gothic reports from the tour van: "Rural scenes and crumbling homes / Strip-mall, drug deal, panic attacks."
Walton's gentle singing come across in a flat style, while the album's intensity stems from the sharp penmanship—mixing stories, folksy sayings, and direct diary entries—coupled with unexpected maximalism. Few songs this year possess more potent storytelling flair compared to "Shelly", which depicts the death of an animal and descends into a petrol-laden confrontation, reminiscent of written pieces illuminated with glimpses of distorted strings. Tense, subdued sections featuring echoing, plucked strings move to grand refrains, and her vocals electronically altered to become a presence all-knowing and sinister.
Audiences may previously be familiar with the artist as a music creator, disc jockey, and member in groups like Caroline. Daughters' musical twists reflect her varied background. The opener "Sometimes" bursts in fanfare, as if an ensemble caught unawares, while "Born Again Backwards" drastically ups the tempo via an intense, stunning, repeating drum fill. Dense walls of sound, expertly mixed with a long-term collaborator, feel both gnarly and ethereal, and Walton's morbid, magical thinking peak in highlight "Lambs", which momentarily becomes a twirling jig. "I hope your existence doesn't conclude with dying," Walton pleads, exuding heart-aching gallows humor.
