Foy Vance – The Wake

Alternative Folk

55%

 

Sometimes an album just isn’t made for you. Much as you may try and engage with the music, you are not the target audience, it simply wasn’t created with you in mind. You feel like a stranger stood awkwardly in the corner of a party, trying your best to have a good time while not knowing anyone. That shouldn’t be the case for The Wake. I’ve been a Foy fan for years, I’d be quick to name a number of his past records among my all time favourites. In fact I think he might be the artist I’ve seen live the most in my life. If I’m not the target audience, then who is? I keep hoping this new record will grow on me, that I’ll start to like it after a while, and instead I’m increasingly convinced that I’m not going to, that I’m simply not meant to. 

There’s so many abrasive little oddities that rub me up the wrong way, not least of which the uninviting opening track ‘A.I.’. On paper there’s a world where it’s absolutely works; an extended psychedelic blues jam tearing into AI bullshit – I’m totally here for it. In practice however it doesn’t have enough ideas to justify its lengthy run time, always falling back on just repeating those same two letters at you (as if we aren’t already sick of hearing them in daily life). Elsewhere ‘I Ain’t Sold On Time’ and ‘Bathed In Light’ delve a bit too deeply into the world of country music for my taste. The full-on hoedown vibes set my teeth on edge like nails on a chalkboard. I have a similar instinctual aversion – albeit bored disinterest rather than outright distaste – for the stripped back jazz of ‘Sleazy Bastards’ and ‘When I See You At The Right Time’. 

This record is both austere and experimental in a way that feels counterintuitive. It plays around with different textures, like the aforementioned forays into jazz, or the interesting rhythm on ‘Hi, I’m The Preacher’s Son’, but rarely commits enough energy or effort to them, often leaving the arrangements sparse and wanting. It also results in the record lacking the gorgeous hooks that so often adorn Foy’s best work. Lyrically these tracks tend to either fall back on unengaging repetition, or eschew the very notion of hooks and drift off on some stream of consciousness or other. 

In some ways, The Wake isn’t made for anyone. That isn’t to say it doesn’t have its enjoyable moments. ‘Ever Feel Like Everybody’s Just Coming At You?’ has a dreamy vibe that reminds me of ‘Be The Song’, ‘Money’ has some superb soulful vocals, and album highlight ‘Call Me Anytime’ sees Foy penning a heartfelt letter to his kids. Undoubtedly there will also be plenty of folks listening for whom this album’s quirks will appeal more than they did for me.

What I mean is that The Wake wasn’t made for an audience; it feels like an therapeutic act of expression, saying what needed to be said even if it doesn’t necessarily make an engaging record. Seen in this way, as Foy processing memories of his father with his own experiences of fatherhood, some of it’s quirks start to make more sense. The way it experiments with new ideas while also taking a nostalgic look back on the old, lyrics that flit between meandering introspection and pointed ire and frustration. The Wake has some unique ideas, and a lot of weight and meaning behind its words – it’s just a shame that rarely translates into it being an enjoyable listen.