Eighteen months after the consecutive release of her
last two albums, Papa
My Buddha, dedicated to her late father, and
Mercury,
produced with London-based duo The Program, Japanese
pixie Coppé returns with a new collection of
beautiful musical vignettes. Appearing as a mermaid
on the front cover of Nauru, her sixth album,
Coppé embarks once again on a journey through
the most fascinating and poetic landscapes, more determined
than ever to uncover untouched musical territories.
Although she has collaborated with people as diverse
as Plaid, who remix
Blue for her here, DJ Vadim, Terry D, Kris
Weston, who was once know as Thrash when he officiated
in The Orb alongside Dr Alex Paterson, or Ryan Breen,
chances are that you might have never heard of Coppé
before. Yet, each one of her album is a little gem,
each song is crafted with love and passion, each word
used with consideration. If a parallel could be drawn
between her music and the sonic horizon of Björk,
Coppé remains truly individual. Although Nauru
is actually the seventh album she recorded, its predecessor
is still to be released. Produced by Nico, founder of
drum’n’bass label No U Turn, this album
is much gentler than could be expected, with beautiful
down tempo blankets of sounds providing layers of warm
electronics for Coppé’s soft-spoken voice.
Once again, Coppé surrounded herself with excellent
collaborators, with Terry D and Ryan Breen bringing
textures and Dr Jacobson providing some jazz flavours
on Sin, Coppé, Ted. and Paper Soap.
Recorded in the singer’s own studio, in Honolulu,
Nauru features thirteen new songs plus two
reworked versions of Blue, originally featured
on Papa My Buddha.
The album opens with a short intro, Spunge Noho
Nami, on which Coppe’s voice appears to float
over a beat-less structure. It is however with Pakalolo
that things really kick in. Built around a tasteful
beat and vaporous analogue waves, with Coppé’s
breezy murmurs forming vocal arabesques on the surface,
this song sets the tone for the rest of the album. Calm
and focused, Nauru is a stark contrast to the
largely instrumental and drum’n’bass-infused
Mercury.
Yet, this album shares with its predecessor the same
vast soundscapes and disrespect of rules. Here, Coppé
uses her voice in a variety of forms. She doesn’t
need to shout or scream to get any attention. Her voice
repeatedly becomes a simple element, part of the sonic
structure forming the body of these songs. Mixing English
and Japanese lyrics, often in a same sentence, her songs
are textures rather than stories, yet, the very essence
of these compositions, part dream, part pastoral wander,
give this album its true identity. If the melodies are
voluntarily broken up, cut and reassembled, there is
an element of fluidity running through this album, from
the playful abstraction of Humu Humu Picasso Fish
or Wombat to the electro-funk of Sin. Coppé.
Ted. and the infectious Durango. Coppé
doesn’t take electronic music seriously, and this
allows her to wander away from usual sonic experiments.
On this album, Coppé demonstrates how her art
has progress from electronic-based pop songs to something
completely unique and strange. Far from the urban disturbances
of her native country, she adds another slice of compelling
recording to an already impressive body of work. If
everything was as soft, beautiful and intelligent as
the music created by Coppé, the world would be
a far better place.
4.9/5 |
