Alice Gold - Seven Rainbows

In the same week that PJ Harvey, Adele and Anna Calvi were announced as, amongst Katy B, Mercury Prize nominees I find myself with the increasingly common task of assessing a solo female's debut: but fear not, because the term "Kate Bush inspiration" can probably go largely untouched here. Because in today's world of extroverted chanteuses with a penchant for lace and sepia photography, Alice Gold is refreshingly inspired by some more straightforward greats. Press releases allude to Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix; big words indeed but at least it's different.

Then you notice that it's been produced by Dan Carey, the man behind records from the likes of Hot Chip, Franz Ferdinand and Lily Allen. The latter is certainly evident on the adolescent whinges of tracks like 'Conversations of Love' or 'End of the World', but there are genuine moments of edge in amongst all the Xenomania tweaks and alt-pop frills.


The record certainly starts off in the pop ballpark. 'Seasons Change' has a soaring sunny/nostalgic chorus separated by a light Motown beat in the verses. It's impossible to hate, and whilst she teeters on the wall separating Scissor Sisters camp and psychedelic-cool, it quickly becomes a hook. 'Runaway Love' is bouncier with some organ riffs providing a bit of a 50s aesthetic; the chorus is a little irritating until she bursts into bridges or earnest vocal-acrobatics (think Amy Winehouse in the Frank era). The very first thing I thought when I heard 'And You'll Be There' was Blondie's "Rapture". It pretty much replicates the rhythm to the archetypal disco-punk track and is sadly lacking elsewhere. It's certainly a nice testament to the early 80s hip-hop influences on pop though.

'Cry Cry Cry' is a little too obvious for me to resonate, and whilst the rhythms are certainly jerky enough to embed themselves in your subconscious, it feels like a track that's been imitated on so many Paloma Faith, VV Brown and Ellie Gouldings before. The first signs of a bluesy tint appear with opening line "The devil got a chip on his shoulder" on 'How Long Can These Streets Be Empty?' - but it's Gold's vocals that really carry the most menace here. This is certainly clear on the excellent single 'Orbiter', complete with effortlessly catchy riff and cute space wordplay. The clearest Hendrix influence is in the echoes of her voice on 'Conversations of Love', even going as far as to reference "midnight candles" - the chorus cries offer a (perhaps first) glimpse of the unpolished Gold. (I hadn't even thought of a Fool's Gold pun until now. Balls.)

Then it begins to get a bit dreary. 'Fairweather Friend' feels like it goes on forever with its attempts at Karen O evocations (the background cackles), sounding a little bit like I Blame Coco's "Caesar" with nowhere near as much energy. The blueprints are all there but it feels like a demo. 'Sadness is Coming' feels a little bit familiar courtesy of Duffy and Adele record-domninance in the past 5 years, but she's more suggestive than foghorn. She decides to end the record with a chunk of 70s soul-pop in the way of 'End of the World'; all brisk choruses and obvious progressions. It's very cliché: girl sings cheerily about miserable topic, has a subdued bridge, returns with triumphant chorus. But it's a formula that just somehow works. Final track 'Before' muses "why is the day so long?" for a spot of romantic bother, and it's again just impossible to dislike.


And you'd think someone with the audacity to claim Joplin or Hendrix influences in amongst all of this nostalgia-pop is very easy, very easy indeed to hate. So I urge you, ignore those claims. What's here is a very solid pop record with rock and disco splurges. Nothing more, nothing less.

Rating: 7/10
Highlights: Seasons Change, End of the World, Conversations of Love, And You'll Be There, Orbiter, Sadness Is Coming
Avoid: Fairweather Friend, Cry Cry Cry
Artwork Watch: It's um. It's her. It's a logo. It's some colours. Not really much to say, so I'll slag off her Carrie dress.
For fans of: VV Brown, Paloma Faith, Ellie Goulding