Julia Stone - The Memory Machine

Solo albums can be tricky propositions to pull off. At times part vanity project, part schedule filler, it’s pretty rare to find an LP which conjures the same magic and feeling found in an artists’ work as part the collective which gave them recognition in the first place – the whole is usually greater than the sum of its parts. Think about it, could you name one of the many side projects completed by members of, say, The Rolling Stones? Exactly. Thought not. And if the artist is simply going through the motions, or giving air to ideas rejected by the band, why should we care?

There are, of course, exceptions, and it seems that some down time in wintery New York led Julia Stone, better known as part of a duo with brother Angus, to pick up her pen and get busy. The resulting ten tracks, while not a million miles away from their previous material, are altogether darker, moodier, and, I guess, a little more personal. Having admitted that during writing she was in a “really dark place” and that it’s a “little evil record”, her tales cover the whole spectrum of love, loss, and the unpredictability of relationships. So dominant is this theme, she might well have called it ‘Julia Stone Writes About Love’.

However, there are no picnics on the beach or moonlit, hand in hand walks here. On the contrary, the “dark place” she speaks of seems full of sorrow, regret, and how cruel and difficult love can be. ‘My Baby’ concerns putting up with someone’s faults and loving them regardless (“Love you when you hate me / Love you when you made me feel alone”) while title track ‘The Memory Machine’ ruminates on loss, what used to be and “the blind loving the blind”. ‘Catastrophe’ at least finds her in contemplative mood discussing the absurdity of relationships and hoping that things work out, before the last few tracks plunge straight back into heartache. ‘What’s Wrong With Me?’ is a slow, self-deprecating lament on failure to commit and fear of the unknown, before ‘Where Does The Love Go?’ analyses the ephemeral nature of feelings we can’t control. “We’re lovers today / But that can change in the blink of an eye” she whispers, before poignantly adding “I wish I could feel the way I used to”. Even the love of fans and hangers on is dissected on ‘Lights Inside The Dream’, where she complains that “I give myself away / and the takers always take” and how “I lost my heart / and I lost my faith.”

Pretty heavy stuff then, but, all through the album, she doesn’t give up, or lose hope. There’s a tenderness to her words, and, instead of bitterness, simply bafflement at the vicissitudes of relationships. She doesn’t want pity or sympathy, she simply accepts this as part of the human condition we all have to deal with. We are all “Two strangers looking for the same idea / We wait for something beautiful”, and when, on ‘Horse With The Wings’ she purrs “When will I find my place?” you realise she’s not so much tired of failed relationships, just tired of waiting for the right one to come along. In the meantime we just have to make the most of what we have, which in her mind means savouring those all too infrequent moments when everything is perfect, when “In your arms / The world is beautiful”.

Framing all this is her haunting yet beautiful music. A first rate musician, she provides not only vocals and guitar, but also piano, bass, ukulele and percussion. She was also involved in production, along with long time collaborators Keiran Kelly and Brad Albetta, and its remarkable how very assured it all is. Each song is beautifully crafted, and what you notice most is that nothing seems out of place, even some of the quirkier touches such as maracas, or the sad, resigned sigh at the end of ‘What’s Wrong With Me?’ And whether the soaring, melancholic strings towards the end of ‘This Love’, the melodramatic piano and horns of ‘Winter On The Weekend’ or the sparse, acoustic picking of ‘Where Does The Love Go?’, the music adds just enough to compliment and never intrude, providing the perfect frame for her voice, which is never anything less than stunning. Full of emotion, it’s reminiscent of Ane Brun, nevermore so on closer ‘Where Does The Love Go?’ where it trembles, purrs, and comes close to cracking. Less truly is more, and it’s a mark of her confidence and talent that she’s happy to give her words such space to hang. Whatever she has planned for when she gets back with her brother, it’ll take something incredible to top this. If I were Angus, I’d be very nervous indeed.