Cocteau Twins
The Cocteau Twins was found in 1981 by everlasting friends Elizabeth Fraser, vocals and Robin Guthrie, songwrier and guitarist, and was later supplemented by Simon Raymonde. On pianos, guitar, bass, and developer of the bands’ distinct sound The former two come from Grangemouth, a small industrial town in Scotland that has been described as dirty and boring (wikipedia has a nice panoramic view to support this claim), and the latter is from Tottenham, England. Together the dynamic trio developed a unique sound which blossomed and flourished between 1982 and 1996 and inspired, not surprisingly, many notable shoe gazer bands like My Bloody Valentine and Lush. I discovered the Cocteau Twins about 6 years after they broke up from my friend’s ridiculously eccentric mom, of all people. Her reason for liking them was mostly because “the vocalist sings all crazy and makes noises instead of singing real lyrics that anyone can understand!” And there, a sophomore in high school, I entered a new era of understanding popular music that could never have been credited without the Cocteau Twins’ aural explanation. Names of songs that I couldn’t make sensible image of in my mind, this kind of cheesy sense that I was surrounding myself in a pastel gothic world willingly. Blue Bell Knoll felt like death, and death didn’t seem like such an ugly state of unbeing. That might sound a little dramatic but this album is charged.
Where as normally popular music conveys its message primarily through a commonly understood language, the Cocteau Twins allow themselves few discernible advantages on The Blue Bell Knoll. This album, particularly, is really special because Elizabeth uses her voice as an instrument. Most of the lyrics on this album are sung as mouth tones holy tongues Elizabeth’s goal seems to be forgetting straightforward communication. Words no longer possess their conventional meaning, for they are contorted by Elizabeth’s voice and woven into the instrumental orchestration of every song. Perhaps the idea of distorting lyrics into sounds is a way to transcend the boundaries of language into a medium of communication that relies on evoking more abstract emotions and feelings in the listener. Even in songs that supposedly contain English lyrics, the listener who attempts to decipher any clear annunciations will only do so in vain. The lyrics are only a sketch on the napkin, a skeletal structure for the greater living thing. I am tempted to call Blue Bell Knoll an instrumental album, as the vocals contribute greatly to the atmospheric quality of the music.
The music as one entity carries the listener with it. We are idle passengers in this 35 minute blast of sonic warmth. Songs like “Athol-Brose” will melt the ice off of any field and embrace the listener in a sparkly and soft, gooey womb. The guitar plucks in “Spooning good singing gum” and Elizabeth’s voice multiplied in “For Pheobe still a baby” are an underwater spectacle with mermaids singing and all the sea creatures acting some instrumental part. The guitar releases in “Cico Bluff” foster this imagem and “A kissed out floatboat” emits a sea cave vibe. This album is certainly reminiscent of an old fairy tale as I know and old fairy tale to be, probably a little tinged with Disney, that is if fairy tales could have sound tracks. Even if the vocals are not discernible, and even though words mean nothing in this album, it is clear that this album is quite optimistic and I always feel an overwhelming sense of comfort. It is warm and child like, friendly and care free. Blue Bell Knoll is simply beautiful. Blue Bell Knoll is an important album because it illustrates that popular music is not just interpretable by predominating lyrics. The listener doesn’t even have to search for another way of understanding, however. Music becomes a universal form of communication that everyone can connect with. Words don’t matter; everyone is welcome, as there seem to be no linguistic walls to block any listener.
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