Jennifer Walton's Debut Record "Daughters" Explores Grief and Elegance
Within the song "Miss America", listeners are placed inside a hotel room close to JFK airport, where the musician learns a heartbreaking news that her dad has cancer discovery. The UK-raised performer was touring the US for the first time, playing alongside indie band Kero Kero Bonito, when abruptly sadness takes over, tinging all with melancholy. Unsteady keys and hushed orchestration underscore gothic reports emanating from the tour van: "Rural scenes and crumbling homes / Strip-mall, drug deal, panic attacks."
Her soft vocals are delivered in a flat manner, while this album's intensity stems from the sharp penmanship—blending fiction, traditional phrases, and direct diary entries—coupled with unexpected rich textures. Not many songs recently showcase stronger storytelling style compared to "Shelly", a piece that depicts the death of a deer and descends toward a petrol-laden reckoning, reminiscent of literary pieces illuminated with glimpses of warped strings. Tense, quiet verses with resonating, plucked strings transition into grand refrains, and Walton's voice electronically altered to become a presence omniscient and sinister.
Listeners may already know Walton from her work as an electronic producer, DJ, and contributor in groups such as Caroline. Daughters' sonic turns draw on this diverse background. The opener "Sometimes" erupts with flourish, like a string band taken unawares, while "Born Again Backwards" drastically ups the tempo via an intense, stunning, looping percussion. Thick walls of sound, expertly produced with a long-term partner, seem at once gnarly and ethereal, and Walton's dark, magical thinking culminate in highlight "Lambs", which briefly becomes a swirling jig. "I hope your existence doesn't conclude with dying," she pleads, exuding poignant gallows humor.
