At the midway point of this giant leap of an album from Josienne Clarke, there is a song called The Sucker Of Struggle that encapsulates the essence of the record. There is a vague sense that the song is being written on the spot. The pregnant pauses leave space for the singer to catch her breath; you can almost see her hands feeling their way around the fretboard, which all serve to lock the listener in tight. Everything from the buzz and texture audible in those acoustic nylon strings to the way Josienne delivers each line like a newly formed thought only serves to enhance the intimacy and the drama of what is happening here. Little touches delight, like deliberately playing a wrong-sounding note alongside the word “mistake.” Stripping back to the bare bones of a voice, a guitar, and an open palette that has not been pre-prepared to death, the elements are merging together in reaction to the project’s primitive nature. Every facet is unifying, evolving as one and thriving on the very act of being, in a way that makes this Josienne’s grandest effort to date. It is as if exposing the DNA of her work to daylight in this way has unlocked the immense power we always believed was lurking behind that gentle, occasionally mournful, and judiciously fragile exterior.
This whole album — a record that Josienne herself referred to as “my ‘Nebraska’” in a KLOF Mag interview earlier this year — was intended as a far more pared-back, analogue affair, evoking a sense of isolation around its creation from the outset. Recorded in a remote Scottish cabin, Josienne has described her music-making process as being an “exercise in retreat.” She continues, “The structure of the industry slowly suffocates the spirit of artists, starving them of the self-esteem that comes from remuneration for a job well done, so retreating to a cabin in the woods to make my album made sense.” If Far From Nowhere does anything, it proves that the Josienne Clarke muse is in rude health. Issues of a financial nature plague far too many talented artists in this day and age; too often, those whose motivation is a respectful deference to the creative spirit suffer, whilst others who relegate ideas and expression below box-ticking marketing agendas land on their feet. It is commendable how Josienne always respects her work, and if the frustrations of the industry do trouble her at times, they never impact the music; her spirit, strength and purpose always survive. This album is proof of that, by staying close to the source and connected to the energy that glows around a new idea, she has created the most immediate and fascinating album of her catalogue thus far.
The restlessness of the artist’s spirit comes across in many of the songs, and she is often quite canny in leaving potential for interpretations wide open. What Do I Do is essentially a list of questions and deliberations without a clear suggestion as to the root cause of these anxieties. The juddery nature of the playing and the gentle persuasion of the electronic drum pads all serve to enhance the feelings of uncertainty at the song’s core. AI Love You (what a great title) plays out with some bleeping keyboard sounds that cleverly conjure images of vintage robotics and technology. There are many subtle audio brush strokes like this throughout the record. Occasional snatches of spoken voice or fourth-wall-shattering production chat suggest this record has a deliberately demo-like quality. Yet, the audio is actually far superior and more pleasing to the ear than any mere demo would ever be. We’re Never Coming Back, a ghostly hymn to creation and existence itself, is punctuated with spectral vocal effects and tiny shifts in perspective. Furthermore, the cooing birds that Josienne represents with a piercing, penetrating vocal inflection on Tiny Birds Lament is genuinely gothic and chilling. There is fragility in the lyric, too, but paired with a latent strength that possesses an ominous threat —an ever-present danger.
The Madler Horror Show shrewdly serves up sounds amid a dark, echoing ambience, not unlike a creaking floorboard or furniture inexplicably moving in the middle of the night. Is that a train in the distance at the tracks end or a rumbling closer to home? It seems unnecessary too for Josienne to have been diffident about her own guitar playing in the past, the way she caresses the strings on this album make her instrument a backbone, enhancing these songs with many shades and colours. The title of Bushes, Briars and Thorns reminds us of the Sandy Denny music Josienne toured earlier this year, but the song itself does not really chime with that; it is very much still a moonlit night of a tune, pensive and tentatively weaving a path through a forest, uncertain of a way out. That said, it does have the sheen of a seasoned folk song classic, even if the more art-nouveau version of Josienne is not to be found here. If you want your Josienne Clarke darker, you have come to the right place. But you will also find her focused, in command, full of conviction, composed, confident and comfortable with who she is, making some of the best music of an already quite distinguished career.
Far From Nowehere (October 17th, 2025) Self Released