JESSIE WARE – SUPERBLOOM: REVIEW
- 7 hours ago
- 3 min read
JESSIE WARE
Superbloom (Universal)
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THE TRICKY THING to grasp about Jessie Ware, much like the tricky thing Ware herself has long understood, is that release doesn’t preclude hurt, joy isn’t the opposite or absence of pain, and existing for 30 or 40 or 50 minutes at a time without the weight of, well, everything, doesn’t mean your life or your 30, 40 or 50 minutes, has no substance. Oh yeah, two more things, you can desire without regret and grin without guilt.
So singing about sex and death and kids and being off your tits (even a little bit) and actually liking your partner (but sometimes really being pissed off by them) and having parents who aren’t going to be around for much longer and fancying that person you saw earlier though you’d never do anything about it (but might let it fuel a fantasy or two) and enjoying not having to prove yourself like you did when you were 20 and yet not minding acting like you were 20 again for a bit? Go for it. Like she does. And dance while you do so.
As the final leg in what you might call Ware’s Studio 54 Trilogy – after What’s Your Pleasure? and That! Feels Good! – this album is supreme dance pop that doesn’t leak disco, it embraces it, feasts on it. And then it makes impossible for you to do anything different.
The elegant glide of Love You (shimmering layers, intimate vocals, walking-on-air bass) brushes by you like satin on satin, while Sauna (ancient synths, humid atmosphere and sweaty rolling bass) is more skin on skin, holding that touch longer than a mere brushing. Upping the tempo, I Could Get Used To This brings the strings, the breathy backing vocals and New York ambience to a finger-snap rhythm, while Mr Valentine’s urgent and heavy bottom end-prod and its droll delivery begins like Wet Leg before tumbling upwards and upwards like Donna Summer, and then those two sides duel rather than duke it out.
How about the flute in Automatic that trills in between coo-ing BVs and ascending strings, the spaghetti western-referencing, Kylie-esque Ride, or the James Jameson-style lithe bass of No Consequences that reminds you ‘70s dance was built on a ‘60s foundation? Or how the strings’n’things ballad, 16 Summers, puts both Stevie Wonder and Gladys Knight in play without sinking into treacle, and Chariots Of Love’s 27 seconds has you briefly contemplating Rodgers and Hammerstein about to merge with Rodgers & Edwards, without giving you the ick.
Giving in and letting go feels so easy, natural even, and even more than its two predecessors, which were hardly sit-down-at-home records, Superbloom is built for a night out. But without ever suggesting there’s anything wrong with mere hedonism, Ware can’t help but lace the songs with elements of something a bit more grounded.
In this case it’s a feeling, in lyric, yes, but mostly in tone, that she’s comfortable where we’ve found her even with life’s complications. I hesitate to say it’s satisfaction as that might imply some lack of ambition or friction, a smugness even, and the sound, structure and explorations of this album are anything but laurel-resting, so maybe the best word is happiness. Nuanced happiness, happiness that isn’t unaware that nothing lasts, but happiness nonetheless.
Tricky to achieve, marvellous when it happens.
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APPLE MUSIC: Listen to Jessie Ware – Superbloom