Spellling - The Turning Wheel

PIXIE SPIRITS FLUTTERING DOWN CASTLE HALLS

Isn't it a fascinating site when an artist leaps from one evolutionary plateau to the next, seemingly without expectation? We saw it most prominently this year with black midi and their assailing Cavalcade. But closer to Spellling's sphere, Weyes Blood and Angel Olsen accomplished such a feat in 2019 with Titanic Rising and All Mirrors respectively, two LP's that awakened Baroque Pop from its slumber. Grandiose, daunting, and emotionally-evocative, this new direction of inspirational femininity through searing self-confidence takes shape on The Turning Wheel as well. However, the saturation is turned down mightily, as Spellling's fascination with the fantastic (see: Mazy Fly) grips through medieval splendor, akin to a Grimm fairy tale. It's rich, lush, and thoroughly daring in scope.

While Mazy Fly incorporated the off-center sensuality of artists like Erykah Badu, Turning Wheel tracks the 80's theatre queen herself: Kate Bush. Apart from the Gothic elements - which brood through Darkwave as seen on 'Queen Of Wands' and 'Magic Act' - Bush's raffish display of ballerina Art Pop flourishes on efforts like 'The Future' and 'Awaken,' wherein mystifying vocal performances traverse cheeky string ensembles like a fairy would over pixie dust. Of course, Björk finds a home her as well, but not so much her acclaimed work, but rather those that skirt accessibility like Medúlla and Utopia. Earthly and sparse, gravitating towards the spiritual realm. There's one song where Spellling combines these three aforementioned singers with a chef's kiss, and that's 'Little Deer.' The standout stunner maneuvers through fields and pastures, forests and moors, as Spellling daintily tiptoes around every syllable, passionate and swooning when the time calls. It's one of those songs, so comprehensive and consummate, that one can just feel how laborious it was to create.

However, it's Turning Wheel's Gothic aspects that help to diversify Spellling from her influencers and contemporaries. On 'Emperor With An Egg' and 'Legacy,' an odd comparison emerges in the quirky macabre: Legendary Pink Dots or Psychic TV. Their cheap Neo-Psychedelia flutters through Spellling's profuse use of unorthodox instrumentation. Likely all variable synthesizers. Of course, her production quality elevates such efforts above those mired in 80's Minimal Wave, drawing closer comparisons to the short-lived Synthwave movement fronted by Johnny Jewel-assisted bands Chromatics and Desire. The latter's plodding, night drive drum kit is unmistakable on 'Queen Of Wands,' whereas the shredding guitar solos on 'Boys At School' and 'Magic Act' find brethren in the former's vintage deep cuts. As for 'Revolution,' my second favorite song, any comparison is difficult to place, though, considering its collapse into dense Sound Collage, I'm reminded of The Beatles' 'Revolution 9.' Though, let's be honest, that's probably off name similarity alone.

Turning Wheel's brilliance emerges under the realization that, despite these striking measures and bold, artistic statements, Baroque Pop still remains an apt, overarching description. There's a feeling, a sense of fancy, that runs rampant. That cute nonconformity; shifting and coy. Like Van Dyke Parks or The Divine Comedy or Nilsson or Klô Pelgag. Idiosyncrasy despite direct parallels abound. A whimsical album rife with playful tendencies over crumbling towers.