Bertie Blackman - Black

Sun 22nd Oct, 2006 in Music Reviews

Rarely is the cover image of an album such an insight into the musical content as is the case with Black, the new, grittier album from Sydney musician and songwriter Bertie Blackman. Surrounded by an ethereal and ancient-looking frame, there stands Blackman on a dusty path, posing in a tight-fitting black dress that contrasts sharply against the paleness of her skin and hair. From her hand, a glossy black flag hangs, dragging its edge on the ground. It’s a complex image, influenced no doubt by her own visual art and that of her parents, and a perfect reflection of the album it graces.

Shoulders back and hair-brushed eyes staring into the camera, Blackman cuts a figure of defiant strength tinged by wariness. The flag looks as though it could be used as a weapon if she felt threatened. In this regard, her pose and the music she makes complement one another neatly. Black, possessing as it does a rougher, more abrasive edge than the urban-folk of her previous album, Headway, is a portrait of Blackman as a woman in the midst of an internal conflict between anger and melancholia.

She introduces the album with an angry sense in every breath, especially in the gritted-teeth feel of the single Hold Me Close that opens the album, and the menace of Rats!, where she growls that “this city is going to steal your soul”. Restrained and purposeful, this is fury that lacks no heat for the fact that it remains understated throughout. It is songs like these that suggest Blackman is the sort of person who doesn’t explode with rage very often, but instead simmers with malice just under the surface, and woe betide the fool who unleashes that torrent.

Anger, however, has its flipside, and Blackman does not shy from the sadness that accompanies the hurt. Meditative songs like Take Me Away and the spaciously arranged and literally titled Last Song tap into the maudlin side to her personality, stripping away the bravado to reveal a genuine vulnerability that is superbly expressed by her fragile, smoky vocals.

Blackman’s use of subtly shifting dynamics add to the depth of this album, using changes in intensity and instrumentation with delicate grace: never completely exploding or collapsing, the distinctions are fine enough to be overlooked, but make themselves clearer with every listen.

Bertie Blackman has created a wonderful balance, producing an album that engages the listener from the first moment, while possessing the fine subtleties and elegant structure to invite repeated interest.