Antony Hegarty, leader of the art-pop band Antony and the Johnsons, sings a lot about what he wants and needs. These tend to be pretty tall orders. He wants someone to take care of him... after he dies. He wants for your dreams (all your dreams) to come true. He wants to carve a face into the back of the sun. His new EP is another fount of longing, but it's driven by simpler, less metaphysical desires. Now he just wants to thank you for your love, and let you know that "you are the treasure." This directness is mirrored by the instrumentation, which seldom rises above a low-key saunter; by Antony's fluttering but rarely soaring delivery; and by the album cover: something uncomplicated and humble laid bare.
Antony is one of those singers with whom you build an intensely personal relationship. His invitation to indulge in the most immoderate emotions encourages it. As such, this EP is likely to invoke one of two responses from fans: Exaggerated disappointment over the smaller scale, or exaggerated gratitude simply to hear his voice again. The truth is somewhere in between: It's often good, but also quite slight. Between the title track (which will appear on the Swanlights LP), The Crying Light bonus track "My Lord My Love", and two surprising covers, there's just one original song that doesn't appear elsewhere: "You Are the Treasure", a brief dirge where a distant flock of Antonys warbles over stumbling piano keys.
Despite its slightness, Thank You is a coherent and unique entry in Antony's catalog. It's a rare dispatch from the centered, undivided self. On The Crying Light, Antony seemed stuck in "the middle place/ between light and nowhere" that he feared so acutely on "Hope There's Someone". His restless crossing of borders imbued the music with urgency. But now, for once, he doesn't need another world: He's there.
The two covers demonstrate Antony's ability to make literally anything into a personal statement. In a different context, retraces of Bob Dylan and John Lennon would stick out like sore thumbs-- especially since the Dylan song is "Pressing On", a gospel barnburner from his reviled evangelical period, and the Lennon entry is the hopelessly overexposed "Imagine". But Antony's singular voice and deep rearrangements fully transform them. His "Pressing On" lilts playfully through a gentle rain of guitar arpeggios, chimes, and what sounds like thumb-piano. His "Imagine" is slow and gusty, though he wisely keeps the iconic dashes of falsetto so he can draw them out with shivery poise.
Not many singers could mess with these covers without making them eye-rolling, and not many could make them work conceptually with their own music. But among Antony's many gifts, his greatest might be the ability to unleash what is transcendent from the maudlin and the over-familiar. Switching "Imagine" to the first-person actually does a lot for it. Lennon presumptuously spoke for "us," all the dreamers, as if there were any such monolithic entity with consistent desires. Antony deigns to speak only for himself, and it feels just right. It's also completely in line with the rest of the EP, stressing equanimity, generosity, and intimate scale. There are no grand, collective statements or demands, no extravagant gestures; only personal wishes for the well-being of others and a few quiet prayers from a singer who, for the rare moment, seems to have everything he needs for himself.
