Buzzin’ Fly Records
Everything But The Girl’s rise from an underappreciated sophisticated indie duo to clubland ravers was one of the more intriguing stories of the nineties. Tracey Thorn and Ben Watt had initially traded in jazzy, folk-leaning indie pop that made occasional forays into the charts, but it wasn’t until Watt was diagnosed with a rare, life-threatening autoimmune disease that their career ascended to new heights. Thorn is one of the finest songwriters of the generation, but it was one of her simplest pieces of penmanship that was catapulted into the upper echelons of charts by Todd Terry. ‘Missing’ was originally a Latin-tinged acoustic number, but Terry’s remix propelled it towards the dance floor, and soon everyone was singing: ” And I miss you/Like the deserts miss the rain”.
The duo’s transition into the world of club music was seamless, with Walking Wounded serving as the perfect comedown soundtrack. But after releasing the more house-heavy Tempermental in 1999 and declining the opportunity to support U2 on their stadium tour, Everything But The Girl was officially put on pause as the new millennium dawned, seemingly forever. But the forced isolation of the pandemic led to the duo retreading old paths, initially tentatively, with song files credited to the name TREN- Tracey and Ben. Worried they may not get another chance, the duo throw everything into Fuse, and it’s as emotionally rewarding as it is musically satisfying. Thorn’s excellent storytelling and the duo’s personal journey are weaved into a dark landscape, and after 23 years, it sounds like they have never been away.
But this isn’t an album that’s overly wrapped in nostalgia, and Watt shows, despite a successful solo return to his folksy beginnings, his knowledge of electronica hasn’t been dulled. The opening track, ‘Nothing Left To Lose’, has echoes of a Bonobo track, with its hypnotic, reverbing garage-flavoured beat, but Watt leaves space for Thorn’s yearning words: “Kiss me while the world decays/Kiss me while the music plays”. ‘Caution To The Wind’ has a modern sheen, while the emerging drums and twisting synths create a perfect blend of anticipation, tension, and release.
The air of the pandemic lingers over the record, and there’s a gloomy air, a sense of decay, but also a feeling of abandonment, a commitment to living in the moment. Thorn pleads on the gently thumping chorus of ‘Forever’: “Give me something that I could hold onto forever”, after earlier singing about “doing away with scheming”. Letting go of the small things is a pertinent theme, and like many of us, the pandemic seems to have given the duo a fresh perspective.
Over the dark piano melody of ‘When You Mess Up’, Thorn tenderly muses on emotional pain, offering some advice: “Have a drink/Have a laugh”, but most importantly, “Forgive yourself”. It feels like an ode to being human, about messing up, letting go, forgiving yourself, and not devaluing your pain. ‘Interior Space’ sounds similarly desolate, the synths hovering ominously, while the line “My head is an alien place” feels very relatable to the introspection many of us went through during forced isolation. The glassy shimmer of ‘Lost’ is equally as unsettling, and Thorn sounds especially weary as she perfectly encapsulates the destabilising power of grief: “I lost my perfect world/I lost the plot”.
In the wilderness years between Tempermental and Fuse, Thorn not only carved out a successful solo career but also demonstrated her prowess as a writer with a string of memoirs. Her storytelling abilities are evident in ‘No One Knows We’re Dancing’ and ‘Run a Red Light’. On the ethereal glow of the former, Thorn provides a series of dancefloor snippet stories inspired by Watt’s time as a DJ, painting the characters who filled the club: “Fabio from Torino/Parking tickets litter/His Fiat Cinquecento” and “Amy is the sweetest/Works weekdays in a pet shop”. ‘Run a Red Light’ is more contemplative; Watt describes the song as being about the guy who thinks he’s on the edge of something big: “All the bravado and good intentions masking the vulnerability”.
The dancefloor vignettes have a mournful, wistful air, and the duo capture the snapshot of a night out, with everyone trying to hold on to the moment, revelling in the escapism while aware tomorrow lurks around the corner. But as the album moves to its conclusion, the duo’s return becomes understandable as Thorn answers her own question: “Do you sign to heal the brokenhearted?” or “Do you sing to get the party started?”. The answer? Both. After 23 years, the duo’s return is as welcome as it was unexpected.