It might not sound like much of a achievement, but primarily thinking of Charlotte Hatherley as Charlotte Hatherley is just that. The point is, we barely ever think of her as Her From Out Of Ash these days, and that is testament indeed to an excellent debut album, 2005’s snappy ‘Grey Will Fade’. And while the Irish boys flounder under the pressure of losing the best thing ever to happen to them, the best thing that ever happened to them justifies the best decision she ever made with a second album full of interesting decisions. ‘Grey Will Fade’ was not so far removed from her previous recordings with Ash that it was surprising, but it was dealt in leaner measures, losing the boyish machismo and adding a greater ratio of intriguing nuances and razor-edges disguised as buttercups, or something equally dainty. It was unexpectedly reassuring shall we say.
And that, it seems, is to become her calling card. With ‘The Deep Blue’ she has created a record that moves her on from her debut in the same way her debut took her by the hand and led her away from Ash, disposing of the clutter to allow the points of definition she’s built up stand proud. It’s a musical spring clean essentially, and this is the sound of her pirouetting steadily around her flat admiring the actual colour of the floorboards. Ooooh, teal. The single ‘I Want You To Know’ is a good place to start, an effective bridge between albums, fuzzing along in glam rags and treading playfully on the toes of Siouxsie And The Banshees and Public Image Ltd. It’s the zenith of all that ‘Grey Will Fade’ was aiming for and even packs in a couple of explosions (which could well be the influence of OTT ace-director beau Edgar Wright).
But the rest of the album is really much crisper, cleaner than that. Her waif-like china doll voice isn’t the most obvious of pivots to hang whole songs from, it sounds like it could get damaged by a power-chord, but it works. Dreamy opening track ‘Cousteau’ even has a bit of ballroom Nancy Sinatra about it, continued through ‘Again’ reminding of the fragile end of Cerys Matthews’ range and the biting delicacy of Jenny Lewis of Rilo Kiley. The song structures weave elusively and bewitchingly, becoming a strength or weakness depending on your mood. ‘Love’s Young Dream’ sachets like a wobbly Peter Gabriel taking away Ladytron’s toys and is full of fascinating textures, but never really finds a chorus. ‘Very Young’ feels like it’s about to surge into a blinder, but pulls back, jerking and thrashing curtly. It’s a record that asks as much of you as it gives back, but its not cookie-cutter pop rock and your tastebuds will be grateful of that.