We’ve had barely a sniff of the aperitif, before Trixie Whitley‘s honeyed tones on the tender, hymn-like ‘Faint Mystery‘ leave us in no doubt that we are in the presence of greatness. This should come as little surprise, for her father was the late, great Chris Whitley, who released a string of fine albums himself from 1991 up until his sad departure from this world just over a decade ago. Trixie, although having performed on many of her dad’s releases, could never be accused of riding on his coat tails. Not on this evidence anyway.
Vocally, Whitley swims enthusiastically in mellow waters, somewhere between Sophie B Hawkins (‘Closer‘) and Sam Brown, loaded with character, sometimes even drifting as far afield as our very own PJ Harvey (the chorus of ‘Soft Spoken Words‘), while very occasionally, a less irritating Adele floats by on a rubber dinghy. But these are songs that regress right back to a bygone age of classic jazz lounge giants like Sarah Vaughan or Billie Holiday, and hold the same gravitas as anything Carole King would have written at the peak of her powers.
Enough of the lazy (but realistic) comparisons with celebrated female singers of the past, however, for young Ms. Whitley injects enough of her own persona into proceedings to set herself apart from her modern contemporaries. It is when the Belgian-born American performer does melancholy that she is at her very best, as evidenced by the remarkable finale of ‘The Visitor‘. If we started this review with an aperitif, we are clearly finishing with a heavy heart, early Tom Waits-style, with last orders at an empty, run down, dim-lit bar. And it really is something quite special.
https://soundcloud.com/trixie-whitley/soft-spoken-words
