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Florence Welch is at her most unflinchingly honest in her fourth studio album with Florence and the Machine, leaving listeners stumbling around like unordained priests in her cathedral of confessions. Composure can be regained, however, when it becomes clear that Welch is not seeking absolution for her sins. Rather, she seeks a listening ear as her painfully direct lyrics penetrate through the haze of her alcohol-ridden past, confronting her stockpiled grief and guilt head on, in this, the first album she has written sober.
The anthemic ‘Hunger’ is a microcosm of the album’s message, with Welch daring her past strife to curb her new-found assurance that “you don’t have to be afraid.” Arriving at this conclusion, however, entailed a tumultuous journey, beginning with the album’s first single, ‘Sky Full Of Song.’ With Welch’s vocals as its lifesource, this track is a wistful exploration into a profound need for change: “Grab me by my ankles I’ve been flying for too long.”.
Grappling with this realisation, ‘South London Forever’ understands that the heralding of change and new beginnings will be tinged with melancholic nostalgia, Welch admitting that “there’s a special kinda sadness that seems to come with Spring.”.
Losing its specialness, the sadness deepens, with the ponderous piano chords of ‘Big God’ betraying Welch’s struggle to move on from her past. “Sometimes I think it’s getting better / And then it gets much worse / Is it just part of the process? / Well Jesus Christ it hurts.”. The anthemic ‘Hunger’ is a microcosm of the album’s message, Welch daring her past strife to curb her new-found assurance that “you don’t have to be afraid”
Towards the latter half of the album, however, the shift that has been brewing materialises, with Welch coming back to earth after ‘flying for so long.’. Her previous desire for change is now replaced by a longing to make right the wounds inflicted upon her personal relationships by the disarray of her past. “I will make it up to you,”, she vows in ‘Grace’, lamenting her shortcomings as a sister.
Despite this development, Welch still expresses fears of spoiling the peace she has cultivated, pleading, “Lord don’t let me break this, let me hold it lightly” in ‘100 Years.’. In ‘Patricia’, however, she finds comfort in the recognition that although struggles abound, sustenance will always be provided by love and passion – “I’m terrified, but you remind me that it’s such a wonderful thing, to love.”
This narrative is bookended by ‘June’ and ‘No Choir’, the former acknowledging the amplified chaos of Welch’s past life, where “choirs sang in the street”, and the latter unplugging the amplifier, allowing Welch to finally welcome the stillness that has evaded her for all these years.
As Welch’s almost cheerful humming dances over the closing notes of the album, the listener has been introduced to a very different woman to those inhabiting the band’s previous albums, ‘Lungs’, ‘Ceremonials’ and ‘How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful.’. Calmer now, and having departed from the obscurity of lyrics past, this is a woman who has embraced the realities of adulthood, emerging full of hope for a fresh start.
