The natural temptation with Polly Scattergood is to twist her inviting metaphors into comparatively meek soundbites.
The opening track of her album dangles a ‘cocoon of angel wings’ inches away from the listener’s face, her sweetly breathy voice blowing a soft air of invitation, daring us to reduce her to the lowest common denominator.
This is a flirtatious theme that has run throughout Scattergood’s career. From the overly-tempting ‘sweet rotting tomatoes’ metaphor of ‘Nitrogen Pink’ to the slightly twee toy key board production of single ‘I Hate the Way’, something about the eponymous debut seemed geared to aggravate. It might’ve been that one pitch above anguish, it might’ve been the appropriation of Coco Rosie’s bread and butter. Whatever it was, it took a thin edge off an otherwise strong album. Regrettably, Arrows similarly misses the mark.
Synth loaded ‘Falling’ is a frantic high tempo number that for all its dissonant keys and churning baselines cannot quite emulate the claustrophobia the lyrics imply- “The ground keeps swallowing my feet, Paranoia’s eating me.” ‘Subsequently Lost’ offers similar levels of potential in its opening 4 bars of Kid-A reminiscent electro-weirdness before dashing itself on the musical rocks of pounding pop-bollocks. At the other end of the same spectrum, ‘Disco Damage Kid’ makes up for much of the instrumental wrecking done elsewhere, yet squanders itself with the introduction of the “Disco Damaged Kid”. If you’re going to mix metaphors and alternative music, at least one needs to be inaccessible and opaque.
In truth, the album does have some stronger moments. ‘Machines’ is closest to success as Scattergood’s voice is allowed centre stage above a gentle wave of Seventh Tree like strings and sparse plucked guitar. The lyrics form a pleasingly ambiguous love song delivered in a voice somewhere between Bjork’s earlier childlike vocal work and Alison Goldfrapp’s higher range. Two songs later we’re offered ‘Colour Colliding’; a slower, more considered number that thankfully jumps the love ship and stands us in the middle of a Panasonic like paint explosion of noise-metaphor.
The problem with the album is not a lack of memorable refrains or something wanting in Scattergood’s musical competence; unquestionably, the Brit School graduate is both a competent musician and a song writer capable of delicate brilliance. The problem with the album is its inability to showcase these talents. Much of the promising analogue elements of the first album have been swapped for a small selection of Garage Band like synths and baselines. As a result, the album is limited in scope of sound and highlights the adoption of a disappointing path for Scattergood. There were moments of the first record that in their underplayed tenderness suggested Scattergood could progress to become Britain’s answer to Lykke Li; ‘Please Don’t Touch’ was chunkily uplifting, ‘Untitled 27’ a dark Moby/Kate Bush fusion. But rather than continuing in this vein, we are offered an unoriginal record far too close to Ellie Goulding’s lighter moments, distinctly lacking in grit and smacking of over-production.