Jennifer Walton's First Album "Daughters" Explores Grief and Style
Within the song "Miss America", audiences find themselves inside a lodging close to JFK airport, as Jennifer Walton learns the heartbreaking update that her dad has cancer diagnosis. The UK-raised performer had been traveling the US for the first time, playing alongside group Kero Kero Bonito, and suddenly grief casts a shadow, tinging all in grey. Unsteady keys and soft strings underscore dark dispatches from the road: "Rural scenes and crumbling homes / Shopping centers, illicit trades, anxious moments."
Walton's gentle singing are delivered in a deadpan manner, yet the album's intensity stems from the keen penmanship—mixing fiction, folksy sayings, and direct diary entries—coupled with unexpected maximalism. Not many tracks this year showcase stronger novelistic flair compared to "Shelly", a piece that depicts the death of a deer and descends toward a petrol-laden confrontation, evoking literary works lit by flickers of warped strings. Tense, quiet verses with resonating, strummed guitar transition to expansive refrains, and her voice electronically altered to become a presence omniscient and menacing.
Listeners might previously know the artist from her work as an electronic producer, DJ, and member to bands like Caroline. Daughters' sonic turns reflect this diverse background. The first track "Sometimes" erupts with flourish, as if a string band caught unawares, whereas "Born Again Backwards" radically ups the tempo via a punishing, stunning, repeating percussion. Thick walls of sound, expertly mixed with a long-term partner, feel at once gnarly and ethereal, while Walton's morbid, magical thoughts culminate on highlight "Lambs", a song that momentarily transforms into a twirling jig. "May your life never end in death," she bargains, with heart-aching gallows humor.
