Utopia is the latest offering from Welsh musician Gwenno. Matching 2022’s Mercury Prize–nominated Tresor would be no mean feat. But with a silky-smooth caramel nostalgia reminiscent of 2000s indie, combined with dreamy Portishead soundscapes, Gwenno’s latest endeavour broaches exciting new territory. Building on the atmospheric yet self-assured soundscapes of her previous two works, Utopia is an orderly tangle of self-exploration, ruminations on youth, and healing from past traumas.
This is the first project where the majority of Gwenno’s lyrics are in English. Opener ‘London’ carries the ethereal quality of a psychedelic haze, beckoning listeners into Gwenno’s world of underground campfires and whispered wizardry. ‘Dancing on Volcanoes’, the delightfully playful lead single, explores nights out where your feet never quite touch the ground, and the fleeting intimacy sparked by something as simple as asking for a cigarette.
The title track introduces an Air-esque trip-hop element into the mix as Gwenno’s night-out allegory deepens. ‘War’ offers a more ominous tone, conjuring images of a steady march toward an open battlefield – a feeling that resonates powerfully in today’s climate. It’s a zap of tranquillity just before the dread hits, like seeing a ‘we need to talk’ notification. But with the eerie comfort of ‘Y Gath’, and the childlike wonder of ‘73’, the sun re-emerges. In the latter, Gwenno reflects on the “sweet anticipation” of a city bus ride: you never quite know what the evening might hold.
On ‘The Devil’, Gwenno sings, “you’ll meet the devil in Brighton” – a lyric that may nod to her time in The Pipettes, the Brighton-based band she’s described as a traumatic chapter. Their two acclaimed albums preceded their 2011 disbanding.
Analogue leads in ‘The Devil’, and the swelling pads on ‘Ghost of You’, mark rare moments of electronica on the record. Y Dydd Olaf dabbled in indie-electronica on tracks like ‘Patriarchaeth’, and the consequent Le Kov and Tresor carried the baton with ‘Eus Keus?’ and ‘N.Y.C.A.W’, albeit with a gentler flair. But on Utopia the proverbial slate isn’t just wiped clean, it’s left behind.
‘St Ives New School’ offers tender ruminations on motherhood, one line particularly sparkly with wonder: “She’s growing inside me and I’m wondering who she’ll be.” Toward the end, violins tiptoe into the mix, but never overwhelm it. And, much like on the rest of the album, the delicate, unassuming drum beats do their part, far from the spotlight. ‘Hireth’, originally written on harp, is the perfect lead-in. To me, the instrumental says: we’ve come a long way, let’s sit here for a moment. Maybe there’s more to come, but there’s no rush.
Tinged with a sense of growth and resilience, Utopia is a work that spans 25 years. That surely deserves a celebration.
