It's been a while since anyone's heard from Everything But the Girl's Tracey Thorn. In fact, it's been nearly a decade since Everything But the Girl's 1999 Temperamental, after which the duo went on extended hiatus and, perhaps more accurately, singer Thorn went on extended maternity leave. Sure, there was an EBTG best-of, and Thorn (with her longtime partner Ben Watt) curated a Back to Mine comp. But no one had heard a freshly recorded peep from Thorn until she resurfaced singing with Tiefschwarz on their 2006 Fabric mix. Still, that's nothing compared to the wait to hear from Tracey Thorn, solo artist. No one's heard from Tracey Thorn, solo artist, since her barely-there 1982 debut A Distant Shore, after which she teamed with Watt to form Everything But the Girl and moved on to bigger, better, and altogether more fleshed-out things. But with Watt off gallivanting around the globe as an in-demand DJ and the kids apparently okay to go, Thorn has finally returned to the studio for another stab at flying solo.
Needless to say, much has changed since 1982, both in Thorn's life as well as in Thorn's music, with the biggest difference between then and now probably Everything But the Girl's unlikely flirtation and ultimate intersection with house music. The merger transformed the group from sophisti-pop cult act to clubland favorites, not only earning the duo its biggest success to date but ensuring its perennial spot on countless dance comps.
No surprise, then, that many of those dance elements have returned along with Thorn on Out of the Woods. But this is no club record; instead it nicely encapsulates Thorn's best quality-- the unlikely diva and cosmo chanteuse, wrapped up in one-- while doing its darndest to prove as unchallenging as possible. It's a disc better suited to a relaxing afternoon shopping for jeans than a sweaty night out.
In a sense Thorn was fortunate that few outside the rabidly faithful were clamoring for a comeback, as the greatest advantage of making an album no one expected is that you're able to make an album free from expectations. That's a benefit most veterans would kill for, and at least initially Thorn takes advantage of the clean slate. The opener "Here It Comes Again" is a gorgeously pastoral piece of chamber folk that does justice to Thorn's evocative lyrics. "The sun coming through the rain is more precious than God," she sings, and if you close your eyes and sit still for a bit, that image comes across perfectly clear through the mix of English countryside melancholy and heavenly beauty.
Sticking to such a subdued internalized mood would have taken some courage, especially for a comeback record, so maybe it's not as surprising as it is a little disappointing that Thorn chooses to play it safe, taking much of the rest of the record indoors for a series of mostly standard-issue dance tracks that range from good to fine to perfunctory but never quite achieve the tacit goal of most club music: euphoria.
The downtempo schoolyard taunt chronicle "A-Z" starts things out on a strong note, the pointed lyrics of "small town hell" compensating for Ewan Pearson's 1980s-meets-90s production (it's like Bronski Beat's "Smalltown Boy" at half speed). The actually pretty excellent "It's All True" continues on the decidedly retro track, with self-consciously dated squiggling synth squiggles and percussion flourishes as timeless as they are anonymous. With "Get Around to It" the album gets a bit of second hand inspiration from Arthur Russell, whose track gets remade as a funky disco rave-up that features the Rapture's saxophonist Gabe Andruzzi squonking away.
But after that early (musical) peak, "Hands Up to the Ceiling" brings it back down again, or at last back inward, and Thorn's suddenly warm glimmer of heart and directly personal sentiment fulfills the promise of "Here It Comes Again", the mellow trip down memory lane name checking "Siouxsie Sioux and Edwyn, too," while incorporating the requisite references to rain coming down "on a cold grey town." It's like a UK indie "In My Room" (Beach Boys or Weezer, take your pick).
"Easy" marks the shift back to downtempo dance, all space swooshes and low squelches, but it's hard to imagine this is the music the (we assume) teenage Thorn of "Hands Up to the Ceiling" turns to when it's time to escape. It's solidly constructed, but at the same time the song's almost oppressively generic. The same could be said for "Falling Off a Log", whose spooky Omnichord chimes are all that sets it apart from what could be a slick, safe, boutique friendly remix. The throbbing "Grand Canyon" makes Thorn sound like a guest on her own album.
Thus the pretty "By Piccadilly Station I Sat Down and Wept" again interrupts to underscore what the rest of the album has already evinced. Here Thorn's at her best, and her barest, both musically and emotionally, allowing her voice to take precedent over the beats rather than serve as a mere supporting player. Were the rest of the album this consistently mellow, the concluding "Raise the Roof" might have had a greater effect, a glimmer of optimism that washes away the gloom. Instead it's just another upswing of the album's back-and-forth cover the bases pace.
The difference is that on this final track, you can practically hear Thorn smiling as she allows herself to cautiously warm up, leaving behind the restrictions of chill out music for something a little more fun and loose. In context it sounds like nothing so much as the kind of soundtrack fodder that plays as the credits roll. A chick flick, no less, after the personal touches of the screenplay have been market tested and twisted through numerous permutations until what's left is perfectly serviceable and never less than pleasant, but still suspiciously closer to product than what the writer might have originally intended. At this point in her career, Thorn shouldn't be courting the middle, and considering the best moments on Out of the Woods, she didn't have to, either.
