As a conjurer of land and era-mark spirits, every release by Oxford-based singer-songwriter Emma Hunter is an evocation of a panorama that distils colour, space and time. Magicians pull rabbits out of hats; Hunter is true to her name in how she prowls vast expanses for inspiration, before delivering a tableau of culture to ornament the architecture of her soul.
With her debut album, Yolanda, she invites listeners on a time warping, monocultural mould-smashing sojourn, starting with the dark theatre of Sun Blood; a ritual of primal harmonies and staccato guitars that resonate within the atmosphere that’s rich enough to drink like wine, tasting the deep burgundy notes. Track two, Where the Roses Grow, tears through the arcane incantation of the opening single with a brashy, almost garagey burst of energy as Hunter’s harmonies swell in the unconfined aura of the track that swaggers, writhes and seethes.
Track three exhibits yet another chameleonic shift as the instrumentals toy with the motifs of gothic aesthetics, taking the curvature of post-punk guitars and harbingeringly paced percussion and taking it further back than its original inception; Horizon Hunting is enough to write a new aural folklore as it toys with Lynchian timbres while Hunter laments with the poise that she upholds at her most unrestrained and at her most measured. With one of the most affecting crescendos on the record, your rhythmic pulses will be in knots.
Track four, Snake, is a death throw wrapped in velvet, pierced by fangs, revelling in the poison of disillusion and longing. Quiescent enough for you to lean in, visceral enough to allow your soul to coil around the emotional underpinning, which proves that even the most poised can be cursed with desperation.
Track five, Here I Go, is as ‘pop’ as the record gets, an irrefutable favourite of mine, an indie art folk masterpiece which tracks the visible and invisible destruction that emanates around abuse. Within the context of the Yolanda LP, it almost takes on another form, it is as though Hunter only joins material reality with her arsenal of archaic visions to rail against the protagonists who bruise worlds as though they’re due the repercussions of their torture. Track six, Nightingale, is the strongest exhibition of Hunter’s vocals; a provocative film noir chanteuse with a voice that resolves and remedies. As her sharpest weapon, Emma Hunter knows exactly how to wield her voice, and Nightingale proves it.
Track 7, Morire is yet another heartbreaking vignette of how, when humans aren’t destroying others, they’re destroying themselves. In the instance of Morire, it traverses the pain of watching someone hide at the bottom of a bottle and how the pain spills beyond the substance – it really is no wonder that Hunter hides in the cultural archaeology of sound when she can see human proclivity so clearly.
Track 8, Hide, is a short and sharp burst of electricity; a rhythmically Avant-Garde explosion in the vein of Nadine Shah’s Greatest Dancer, and a sermon to entice listeners out of any shadows they cage themselves within – which makes it the perfect preclude to track 9, Love is Not a Choice, a celebration of queer love and a recognition of how hard fought for love is for anyone outside of the heteronormative hegemony, which brings in the final single, that starts as a neo-pop semi-lucid lullaby before lifting away any of the heaviness imparted by Hunter’s exploration of the twisted mechanics of material reality.
Yolanda is a release that doesn’t make its pain evident; it’s nuancedly etched within the notes, waiting to resonate with anyone who needs to hear it most – anyone who needs to catch fragments of recognition and understanding. If you’re sick of manufactured for the mainstream music, consider this as your antidote.
Yolanda will be available to stream on all major platforms from September 12th. Until then, you can purchase a copy via Bandcamp.
Review by Amelia Vandergast
