Amelia Coburn – Between the Moon and the Milkman

Folk

63%

 

As eclectic as we may profess our tastes to be, we all have our limits. No matter how diverse your music library may be, there will always be certain styles or subgenres that remain absent. Given the vast sum of music out in the world, more than can be heard in one lifetime, I see no shame in narrowing the field by admitting that certain things just aren’t for you. But I believe that even within the genres we vehemently dislike and refuse to engage with, there are always exceptions worth keeping an ear out for. Sometimes we can find something great in the most unlikely of places. I grew up on prog, and punk is often the complete antithesis of everything I love about it – and yet, I’ll always make time for The Clash. I have very little patience for metal music with harsh vocals, deriving little enjoyment from atonal wailing and angry cookie monster impressions. Yet catch me in the right mood and I can be utterly entranced by a bit of Opeth or Devin Townsend. 

One corner of music that I had hitherto cut off all diplomatic ties with was the ukulele. I’m pretty sure being around for the height of twee cringeworthy covers on YouTube and Tumblr has given me a nervous twitch whenever I hear one. More an instrument of torture than of music. Any hint of it in my inbox is swiftly dismissed. A worthwhile ukulele song seemed about as likely as a track with an electrifying triangle solo. Enter Amelia Coburn. Much as Led Zeppelin somehow made a recorder sound haunting and beautiful on ‘Stairway to Heaven’, Amelia performs a similar feat with the ukulele as her weapon of choice.

One of the most standout aspects of Between the Moon and the Milkman is how diverse its arrangements are, and how far-reaching its influences feel. Opening track ‘When The Tide Rolls In‘ lends Eastern flourishes to its already mystical atmosphere, ‘Nodding Dog’ has a subtle Spanish guitar feel adding an air of romanticism, and there’s a light jaunty quality to ‘I’d Love To Love You’ that makes it sound like something you’d hear drifting from some Parisian café. Album highlight ‘Sleepy Town’ meanwhile is anything but sleepy, as it sees Amelia turn her talents to creating a rollicking blues stomp. The fact that a ukulele not only manages not to stick out like a sore thumb, but in fact plays a central leading role across all these stylistic shifts, is delightfully baffling. 

That’s not to say the record doesn’t drift into twee territory in places, most notably on ‘Dublin Serenade’, but arguably it’s here that the other standout aspect of this record is at its most noticeable: Amelia’s unique artistry. There’s something about the way she writes and performs that’s quite unlike anyone else I’ve heard. The way her Middlesbrough accent is worn so proudly and prominently, framing most every syllable she sings. As well as being wonderfully expressive, especially on stripped back tracks like the eerie nursery rhyme-esque ‘See Saw’, it’s enamouring to hear an artist so true to themselves and their roots. All the better given that expressiveness is used to convey such rich storytelling. Whether conjuring up a person (“From ear to ear my dear, He grins a grin so viciously it trickles down his chin” on ‘When The Tide Rolls In’), a place (the entirety of ‘Dublin Serenade’) or a feeling (“Enter my mind, Inside you’ll find, Patchworks of passageways, Tales twined into a fray, Seamless twisted ballets, Spinning inside of my head” on ‘See Saw’), she has an uncanny knack for vivid turns of phrase. Every song feels like a world unto itself, a brief vignette of a character or locale with a life and story all their own. 

Being “unique” however often comes with the caveat that most such things can be a bit polarising, and the same is true here. I can see how her broad accent may seem like a rough edge to some, how the detailed verbose lyricism doesn’t always lend itself to catchy hooks, and how eclecticism can perhaps veer into feeling jumbled and incohesive. Yet even if you fall into one of those categories, if Amelia’s brand of folk isn’t your cup of tea, I’d hope it would still be apparent how impressive it is that she’s been able to carve a path all her own. I certainly love the idea of Amelia’s artistry more so than I love how Between the Moon and the Milkman feels able to capture and articulate it at times; it will be interesting to hear how her sound develops on future releases. For all its quirks though, this curious record is more than worth your time, and Amelia Coburn is most definitely a name to keep an eye on.