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Pompeii
Pompeii, Cate Le Bonâs sixth full-length studio album and the follow up to 2019âs Mercury- nominated Reward, bears a storied title summoning apocalypse, but the metaphor eclipses any âdissection of immediacy,â says Le Bon. Not to downplay her nod to disorientation induced by double catastrophe â global pandemic plus climate emergencyâs colliding eco-traumas resonate all too eerily. âWhat would be your last gesture?â she asks. But just as Vesuvius remains active, Pompeii reaches past the current crises to tap into what Le Bon calls âan economy of time warpâ where life roils, bubbles, wrinkles, melts, hardens, and reconfigures unpredictably, like lavaâor sound, rather. Like she says in the opener, âDirt on the Bed,â Sound doesnât go away / In habitual silence / It reinvents the surface / Of everything you touch.
Pompeii is sonically minimal in parts, and its lyrics jog between self-reflection and direct address. Vulnerability, although âobscured,â challenges Le Bonâs tendencies towards irony. Written primarily on bass and composed entirely alone in an âuninterrupted vacuum,â Le Bon plays every instrument (except drums and saxophones) and recorded the album largely by herself with long-term collaborator and co-producer Samur Khouja in Cardiff, Wales. Enforced time and space pushed boundaries, leading to an even more extreme version of Le Bon's studio process â as exits were sealed, she granted herself âpermission to annihilate identity.â âAssumptions were destroyed, and nothing was rejectedâ as her punk assessments of existence emerged.
The songs of Pompeii feel suspended in time, both of the moment and instant but reactionary and Dada-esque in their insistence to be playful, satirical, and surreal. From the spirited, strutting bass fretwork of âModerationâ, to the sax-swagger of âRunning Awayâ; a tale exquisite in nature but ultimately doomed (The fountain that empties the world / Too beautiful to hold), escapism lives as a foil to the outside world. Pompeiiâs audacious tribute to memory, compassion, and mortal salience is here to stay.
Pompeii is sonically minimal in parts, and its lyrics jog between self-reflection and direct address. Vulnerability, although âobscured,â challenges Le Bonâs tendencies towards irony. Written primarily on bass and composed entirely alone in an âuninterrupted vacuum,â Le Bon plays every instrument (except drums and saxophones) and recorded the album largely by herself with long-term collaborator and co-producer Samur Khouja in Cardiff, Wales. Enforced time and space pushed boundaries, leading to an even more extreme version of Le Bon's studio process â as exits were sealed, she granted herself âpermission to annihilate identity.â âAssumptions were destroyed, and nothing was rejectedâ as her punk assessments of existence emerged.
The songs of Pompeii feel suspended in time, both of the moment and instant but reactionary and Dada-esque in their insistence to be playful, satirical, and surreal. From the spirited, strutting bass fretwork of âModerationâ, to the sax-swagger of âRunning Awayâ; a tale exquisite in nature but ultimately doomed (The fountain that empties the world / Too beautiful to hold), escapism lives as a foil to the outside world. Pompeiiâs audacious tribute to memory, compassion, and mortal salience is here to stay.
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Pompeii, Cate Le Bonâs sixth full-length studio album and the follow up to 2019âs Mercury- nominated Reward, bears a storied title summoning apocalypse, but the metaphor eclipses any âdissection of immediacy,â says Le Bon. Not to downplay her nod to disorientation induced by double catastrophe â global pandemic plus climate emergencyâs colliding eco-traumas resonate all too eerily. âWhat would be your last gesture?â she asks. But just as Vesuvius remains active, Pompeii reaches past the current crises to tap into what Le Bon calls âan economy of time warpâ where life roils, bubbles, wrinkles, melts, hardens, and reconfigures unpredictably, like lavaâor sound, rather. Like she says in the opener, âDirt on the Bed,â Sound doesnât go away / In habitual silence / It reinvents the surface / Of everything you touch.
Pompeii is sonically minimal in parts, and its lyrics jog between self-reflection and direct address. Vulnerability, although âobscured,â challenges Le Bonâs tendencies towards irony. Written primarily on bass and composed entirely alone in an âuninterrupted vacuum,â Le Bon plays every instrument (except drums and saxophones) and recorded the album largely by herself with long-term collaborator and co-producer Samur Khouja in Cardiff, Wales. Enforced time and space pushed boundaries, leading to an even more extreme version of Le Bon's studio process â as exits were sealed, she granted herself âpermission to annihilate identity.â âAssumptions were destroyed, and nothing was rejectedâ as her punk assessments of existence emerged.
The songs of Pompeii feel suspended in time, both of the moment and instant but reactionary and Dada-esque in their insistence to be playful, satirical, and surreal. From the spirited, strutting bass fretwork of âModerationâ, to the sax-swagger of âRunning Awayâ; a tale exquisite in nature but ultimately doomed (The fountain that empties the world / Too beautiful to hold), escapism lives as a foil to the outside world. Pompeiiâs audacious tribute to memory, compassion, and mortal salience is here to stay.
Pompeii is sonically minimal in parts, and its lyrics jog between self-reflection and direct address. Vulnerability, although âobscured,â challenges Le Bonâs tendencies towards irony. Written primarily on bass and composed entirely alone in an âuninterrupted vacuum,â Le Bon plays every instrument (except drums and saxophones) and recorded the album largely by herself with long-term collaborator and co-producer Samur Khouja in Cardiff, Wales. Enforced time and space pushed boundaries, leading to an even more extreme version of Le Bon's studio process â as exits were sealed, she granted herself âpermission to annihilate identity.â âAssumptions were destroyed, and nothing was rejectedâ as her punk assessments of existence emerged.
The songs of Pompeii feel suspended in time, both of the moment and instant but reactionary and Dada-esque in their insistence to be playful, satirical, and surreal. From the spirited, strutting bass fretwork of âModerationâ, to the sax-swagger of âRunning Awayâ; a tale exquisite in nature but ultimately doomed (The fountain that empties the world / Too beautiful to hold), escapism lives as a foil to the outside world. Pompeiiâs audacious tribute to memory, compassion, and mortal salience is here to stay.
























