Jilk - Fix Your Hearts

A Closer Listen

What would a French pop album of the 60s or 70s sound like if recorded through the filter of today? Bristol collective Jilk answers this question on an album whose timbres span the centuries, with one foot firmly planted in each.

While many timbres appear on Fix Your Hearts, the feel is the appeal.  There are plenty of pieces that sound like “traditional” Jilk, if there is such a thing, but also some sonic experiments, and a pair of vocal pieces that sound like extracts from a bygone era.  At times there is even a slight hint of trip-hop, perhaps intentional as Bristol’s trip-hop scene was similarly enamored with Françoise Hardy, Serge Gainsbourg and other related artists, if not in pure sound then in romanticism.

The album starts with the sound of a needle on a record, then birds and bucolic, chime-like keys. One can imagine strolling in search of a morning baguette and a fine espresso, the world opening as the mind adjusts to the day.  Strings offer the warmth of the sun rising on the horizon, while a series of tiny samples hints at the songs that have been and the songs that are to come.  When the drums finally arrive, one imagines the sun at its zenith.  Then it all slows, the soothing orchestra sucked into a splice.  This paves way for early highlight “Bomb Scare Birth…”, which picks up the percussion where it left off and expends its range.  The track doesn’t take long to bloom, adding piece by piece in rapid fashion until the entire track is frolicking in the meadow.  Anticipating its complimentary half, “…A Curved Highway”, the track halves its pace.  The transition is seamless, and beautiful brass wraps around the diptych like a ribbon on a gift.

Now the chanteuse!  The whispery French vocals begin with a spoken word invitation; the track seems to be wearing an askew beret.  Subtract the subtle drum ‘n’ bass and one can imagine the piece beamed from the sixties: light acoustic strums, vintage keyboards, a hint of accordion, and after a long instrumental stretch, a gorgeous chorus leading to a long comedown.  “Satin Turtle”s jazzy piano extends the languid vibe, segueing directly into the following, more clubworthy piece,  as the album rolls gently to its vocal conclusion.  Unlike “Precious In The Metal,” “End Harm for End Home” could never be mistaken for a sixties piece; the singing is traditional, but the setting is modern.  By the end, the 20th century is swallowed by the 21st, the vocal by the instrumental, but the echoes and the influence remain,  (Richard Allen)