Antony and the Johnsons -The Crying Light

Mon 2nd Feb, 2009 in Music Reviews

In response to Antony and the Johnson’s third studio release The Crying Light, one critic snipped, “How many albums about anguish, death and body dysmorphia, sung in a tremulous, mournful, Nina Simone-inspired voice, does a person need? This tart observation sums up the vexation Antony Hegarty was always going to face with the follow-up to the surprise hit album, I am a Bird Now.

In 2005, this 6ft man mountain with a fluid gender identity and unnerving voice (sitting somewhere between altar-boy and cabaret drag-queen) provided a welcome diversion from the umpteen number of bands overloaded with emaciated white boys and so-so riffs. I am a Bird Now saw Hegarty claim the UK’s prestigious Mercury Music Prize and the attention of a whole new audience that embraced his music with hearty enthusiasm.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t clear just how much of this interest was a result of Hegarty’s graceful and fragile musicianship or voyeuristic inquisitiveness around his curious persona. Would listeners congratulate themselves on embracing such – œchallenging’ work before relegating Hegarty to the archives, filing him under – œartistic novelty; no further records required’?

The answer to that question remains to be seen. As it is, The Crying Light is neither a radical departure from, nor a carbon copy of I am a Bird Now. The differences are subtle, but sufficiently pronounced to ensure The Crying Light can be seen as a sister album to its predecessor rather than its identical twin.

Although both albums have a preoccupation with Hegarty’s disarming vibrato, The Crying Light reveals new dimensions and dramatics. Aeon’s unrefined electric guitar gently chips away at the purity of Hegarty’s vocal so the earnest plea to “hold that man I love so much” gives way to hoarse, raw emotion. In contrast, Dust and Water is a bleak cabaret that showcases Antony’s theatrical affectations against a faint monotonous drone. Such is his linguistic manipulations “dust and water; water and dust” is made to sound like some sort of complex Latin proclamation.

Thematically, there’s a shift away from internal struggles with sexual identity and death to outward considerations for nature’s impending demise. On the face of it Another World presents itself as a precursor to an imminent suicide, but Hegarty’s expression of sorrow at missing bees/snow/trees has more to do with their passing than his.

Complementing Hegarty is the restraint of Nico Mulhy’s arrangements. The predilection for rich orchestral sounds remains, but rather than grand statements Mulhy keeps things simple. Whether it’s the quiver of a wavering clarinet on One Dove, the lone flute that closes Kiss My Name with a pastoral flourish or the elegant piano marking Hegarty’s steps on Daylight and the Sun, Mulhy has confidence in nuanced detail to perfectly temper the album’s flamboyance.

There’s no ambition here to render I am a Bird Now as a distant memory. The two recordings are inextricably bound by a mutual adoration of the emotional intensity of Antony Hegarty’s voice. However, The Crying Light offers a subtle new perspective on Hegarty’s music. It certainly challenges the notion a person only needs one album sung in a tremulous, mournful, Nina Simone-inspired voice.

The Crying Light is out now through Spunk Records.