Rebecca Lucy Taylor continues to be engaged in that personal crusade of his who has been marking the designs of his solo career since he ceased to be 50% of Slow Club and spoke the language of truth as Self Esteem. An inspiring and empowering reinvention with which he has managed to gain as many followers as enemies, because we know that there is no reason to polarize criticism more than a female voice wanting to get out of the mold.
Taylor does it for the third time with “A Complicated Woman” (25), a title whose nature per knows warns us that the clamps of the singer are still alive in the dialogue that we will maintain with her during the successive 45 minutes. In fact, and beyond the orchestral and choral magnificence that decorate the album, it is precisely their letters that confirm us to be before that perhaps its most ambitious proposal, making its metric the ideal breeding ground for a manifest exquisite on contemporary femininity more combative.
And despite this epic and maximalist production of cinematographic cut with which the LP starts, between string arrangements and monologues that break the fourth wall (“I Do And I Don’t Care”), the British does not abandon the use of a nearby lexicon, full of common places that do not subtract credibility to their mission (“It’s still me, but in an old way”he reflects by spoken word in his diatribe about the passage of time in the skin of a millennial woman). The contradiction as a starting point (“If I’m so empowered, why am I such a coward? / If I’m so strong, why am I broken?”), reflected from its first theme to the length cover itself (where we see Taylor herself dressed in a kind of traditional religious clothing and shouting viscerally).
Abandoning overproduced theatricality (“The Curse”) in favor of succinct synthesis (with “If Not Now, It’s Soon” Giving us the best of both facets of the artist), and gathering her stylistic versatility, the singer transfers her guerrillas lyric, direct and sharp, towards other sound territories that dilate the collective catharsis that the project pursues and shows us the ease with which her responsible moves in the different edges of pop.“Falling asleep on my chest is your fantasy but where does that leave me? Who’s holding me?”sings between beats in “Mother”), blows to the urban -style table against congenital mansplaining (“Tеll me more, explain it please, pretty please, silly me / If I am so threatening put me at the back to sing”in “Lies”together with Nadine Shah) and even small -speedly liberating hip (“Let’s make a mess, full grind, reach behind / Always somewhere on my mind”in the explicit “69”).
His speech is not diluted in the mouth of third parties, finding “Moonchild Sannelly” The perfect complement to complete the emotional and confessional atmosphere to which the album intends to transport us (“From those that never knеw me, opinions from those I’ve touched, who claim they know me”). A brave cry, worthy of being scrutinized with magnifying glass, whose excess pomp and reflexive depth did not undermine the enjoyment of a rhythmic and instrumental set.
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