Ahead of Yoshika Colwell‘s up close and personal debut album, On The Wing, Colwell was part of the trip-hop group LUUNA, in which bucolic intimacy, such as that played here, was a distant thought. Singer-songwriter fare was part of her background however, so she would surely have landed on this form of artistic expression eventually. That said, had this record not emerged from the dislocation of moving to a new town, lockdown-instigated isolation, and a traumatic break-up, it might have been a vastly different beast from the raw, disturbed song cycle presented here. ‘On And On’ opens the album with a gentle, introspective and melancholic lament. It is beautifully reflective with sliding guitar sounds floating across the sonic landscape and lyrical motions that seem to let out a gorgeous yet resigned sigh. It feels like an acceptance of who you are, a letting go of the regrets we carry and allow to build as we age, before Yoshika closes on the simple confession, “I don’t know how to change.” It is also worth noting a lyric that references her last chance to see Joni, a sideways acknowledgement of a key childhood influence, Joni Mitchell, whose music was part of a rich family environment that also exposed Colwell to people like Eva Cassidy and Kate Bush. ‘Last Night’ is similarly reflective and questioning, closing with a celestial harp that is ideal for the hazy dream state at the heart of the lyric.
‘In Bloom’ is brighter with a lighter touch to the breezy percussive framework. The sense of time moving too quickly, with fear that life’s natural beauty will not be enjoyed and appreciated amidst the protagonists’ perpetual attacks of nerves and anxiety, is tangible. But there is a resilience here too, a determination to wait for the passing of the mercurial clouds in the refrain of “what have I got to lose?” In contrast to the sense of engagement projected in this track, the following ‘Turn My Face Away’ appears to find comfort in the prospect of turning away to solitude, accepting that “there’s a distance between us, I think it’s alright to turn my face away.” ‘It’ll Never Be Enough’ continues the tone that permeates the entire record, an elegant, baroque, string quartet-textured flavour of folk-pop that has pleasing echoes of the Nick Drake oeuvre.
‘Into The Water’ delves into open country riverscapes, immersing itself in an altogether closer, intimate space, illustrated by a delicate guitar and piano arrangement alongside a vocal that pulls you in close, whispering in your ear almost. ‘There’s Got To Be A Loser Babe’ begins with the same bare bones, but this one quickly unfurls into a glorious album highlight. The chorus is beautifully sublime as it surfs across the sea of major/minor chord changes, and the heavenly choral backing vocals add emotive punch in production, serving a truly well-constructed song to a tee. ‘Fighting On The Wing’ introduces a loopy, mesmeric guitar pattern on repeat, while retaining the record’s overriding sense of reflection and soul-searching through internal trauma. The warm piano chords on ‘A Poem About Walking’ evoke a hymn-like feel before ‘Once In A Blue Moon’ is an almost too painful confession. It sounds like the singer is opening up to self-awareness of the reality that they cannot be the person a partner wants them to be, and inevitably, the confession comes with buckets of hurt and regret.
The questions are still speeding around in the exquisite closer ‘Maybe,’ “maybe I should have known, maybe I’ll never know, maybe waiting’s all we need?” But as the sound fades into darkness, the lyric settling on “everything’s everything and nothing’s the same,” maybe the lack of a definitive conclusion says more about this alluringly wistful song suite than anything already posited? ‘On The Wing’ is like an audio watercolour of a moment, or a phase that needs to be lived through, endured, felt, and then analysed; akin to a turbulent season where the battle is not to lose sight of the fact that it will pass, a brighter one emerging on the other side. On The Wing is a profoundly heartfelt and honest album that explores these challenging feelings with intensity whilst bathing in the soothing balm of music. Unflinching it may be, although there is triumph too, in allowing the cracks of light to break through occasionally. The collection does recognise the hope of better times ahead without ever being so simplistic as to guarantee them. And is that not as close to a real-life perspective as you can get? It is the hope that keeps us going, but it can floor us with equal force; Yoshika Colwell has created a piece of art that is honest and real; these are generally the works that endure and mature entirely naturally.