Stylistically, Utopia wears multiple faces. Opening cut “London 1757” drifts by like a twig floating upon an unhurried stream. Next, “Dancing on Volcanoes” swings, employs a staccato guitar and suggests a late-Sunday afternoon dance floor. The kind of scene embraced by a post-comedown crowd. Further in, “Ghost of You” has a soul ballad edge; Randy Crawford were her background in Broadcast-inclined, indie-experimenta.
Utopia is Wales’ Gwenno Saunders' fourth solo album and, unlike its predecessors, it lacks a specificity defining how it is delivered: it is not fully in Welsh, it is not fully in Cornish, there is no literary stimulus. Most of the songs are sung in English. Each track conveys a snapshot of her life: travelling on London’s number 73 bus, the Las Vegas club Utopia she went to whilst in the city as a dancer in Michael Flatley’s Lord of the Dance, “St Ives New School”, with its Beach Boys Smiley Smile vibe and its reflection on the experience of pregnancy. Musical compatriots come to mind: Sweden’s The Concretes, Liverpool’s Stealing Sheep, Saint Etienne, Jane Weaver.
It’s a more straightforward experience than any of the other albums, its songs composed on a piano rather than being – as it has been before – rooted in electronics. The listener, though, is distanced by a haze which needs penetrating. There is also a languidness. Saunders seems etiolated, just on the edge of full consciousness. As if digging deep into her psyche to recall the experiences inspiring the songs has generated a dream state.
While this art-music aural memoir is a lovely listen, it raises the question of how far Gwenno Saunders has distanced – and distances – herself from her day-to day experiences. Utopia might be a result of employing a form of astral projection.
