A beautifully heartfelt debut
Fiery Furnaces, Eleanor’s usual ‘day job’, are a sibling duo as dotty as a pensioner in leather chaps – a twosome generally hailed for their otherness but too often queasily off-putting with albums that feel like something to endure rather than enjoy. Eleanor’s solo debut album is different.
It’s still wordier than a second-hand bookshop and the screwy mental tics remain. But it’s also one of the most heart-lassoing ’70s radio-pop records since the death of flares, its psychedelic oddness leavened with big gnarly hooks, the emotional thwack of a shattered heart and intimate and bloodied narratives. In lieu of our own summer, enjoy this one.