EP Review: Sylva Faye – CRACKED
London-based independent singer-songwriter and flautist Sylva Faye is back with her 9th EP "CRACKED". It is deeply moving to see and hear her cracked, but never broken, despite the devastating things that happened to her prior to the EP's recording: "I had just been freed from a false arrest, and having lost my mother a few years before, these words were what I would have told her about how I was feeling." The EP ventures into hyperpop — uncharted territory for Sylva — while keeping the folk/pop she's known for in the mix.
"WRAITHSONG" is where the EP's two instincts collide: the acoustic guitar is still there, the track's backbone is still folk, but it's been dragged through a synthetic haze. Not the ADHD-synth, tempo-rushed strain of usual hyperpop — closer to what Charli XCX did on the Wuthering Heights soundtrack, where the genre's tools get pointed at gothic, grief-soaked material instead of the club.
And underneath it all sits a melody that is stubbornly, unfashionably beautiful and the lyrics that are disarmingly sincere. The final verse turns to address Sylva's mother directly, and then the song stops.
"Free (P34CH20)" is built on digital bass, vocal harmonies stacked up into a synthetic choirlike texture, and a tempo that never lifts or drops. The way it sits on one level the whole way through is reflected in the lyrics: "it's all moving but I'm frozen." In this beautifully monotonous and hypnotic song "free" is something only the dead ones get to be. But Sylva's gentle voice and the warmth of her lyrics give away the seemingly unsung secret: we, the living and the lonely, are also free. Because we have love.
"Cracked" can be interpreted as a song about repeated violence dressed up as other people's wealth and fun. The second half drops the imagery and becomes direct address: living near the person who causes violence is purgatory because the narrator never knows which version of them she'll get. The rich imagery of the song hits close to heart thanks to its simple, almost barebones production with intimate piano and minimalistic cello.
On "Blooms", once again, the production barely does anything: at one point everything falls away except the backing vocal textures, and the song is fine without the rest, laid out in all of its fragility and sincerity before the listeners. The writing is where Swift's folklore period comes to mind — not the sound, but rather the method: small specific objects doing the emotional heavy lifting that a chorus usually does. A face cut out and left in a jar on a windowsill, exhaust burning its eyes out over a year — that's the first line, before any context, and it betrays you what the narrator feels was made of her. The song itself is bittersweet and almost hopeful in this quality, ending with the lines that landed hard on me, paradoxically bringing relief as well...
"WRAITHSONG" is where the EP's two instincts collide: the acoustic guitar is still there, the track's backbone is still folk, but it's been dragged through a synthetic haze. Not the ADHD-synth, tempo-rushed strain of usual hyperpop — closer to what Charli XCX did on the Wuthering Heights soundtrack, where the genre's tools get pointed at gothic, grief-soaked material instead of the club.
And underneath it all sits a melody that is stubbornly, unfashionably beautiful and the lyrics that are disarmingly sincere. The final verse turns to address Sylva's mother directly, and then the song stops.
"Free (P34CH20)" is built on digital bass, vocal harmonies stacked up into a synthetic choirlike texture, and a tempo that never lifts or drops. The way it sits on one level the whole way through is reflected in the lyrics: "it's all moving but I'm frozen." In this beautifully monotonous and hypnotic song "free" is something only the dead ones get to be. But Sylva's gentle voice and the warmth of her lyrics give away the seemingly unsung secret: we, the living and the lonely, are also free. Because we have love.
"Cracked" can be interpreted as a song about repeated violence dressed up as other people's wealth and fun. The second half drops the imagery and becomes direct address: living near the person who causes violence is purgatory because the narrator never knows which version of them she'll get. The rich imagery of the song hits close to heart thanks to its simple, almost barebones production with intimate piano and minimalistic cello.
On "Blooms", once again, the production barely does anything: at one point everything falls away except the backing vocal textures, and the song is fine without the rest, laid out in all of its fragility and sincerity before the listeners. The writing is where Swift's folklore period comes to mind — not the sound, but rather the method: small specific objects doing the emotional heavy lifting that a chorus usually does. A face cut out and left in a jar on a windowsill, exhaust burning its eyes out over a year — that's the first line, before any context, and it betrays you what the narrator feels was made of her. The song itself is bittersweet and almost hopeful in this quality, ending with the lines that landed hard on me, paradoxically bringing relief as well...
“
August blooms around me saying no more chances, for birds in cages to grow,
Singing to
Go slow go slow go slow now
Singing to
Go slow go slow go slow now
"LHF."'s melody sounds as if it could have been written centuries ago, especially when it's adorned with sombre baroque instrumentation. The instruments all form a strange rhythm that an untrained ear might find hard to follow. Instruments like harp and bells reappear and disappear, all creating an atmosphere akin to a trip through a mystical forest — which is more or less where the song puts you: hiding in the rafters of a barn, "we hid from forest flames like deer."
It ends on the chorus, which is a list of everything the narrator cries for — caged birds, dead plants, teenagers, the chanting crowd. Not one item on it is her own loss. The song stops there, somewhat looking away: half-promise, half-regret. Still, everything in "LHF." is filled with adoration and acceptance of life's beauty and complexity that shares room with lamentation.
That arc runs through the whole EP. It opens cold and muscular — hyperpop tools, processed and pushed forward — and ends up in a quieter place: harp, bells, a melody that could be four hundred years old. The record moves from armour to attention. By the end Sylva isn't fighting anything, she's looking at things.
What holds the song together is that the contemplation and introspection don't cancel the rest. All the dramatic and tragic events in the narrator's life are still present — none of it gets resolved or forgiven, it just stops being the only thing in the frame. The forest fire in "LHF." burns and then it's over and whatever's left of the forest is still there. What's more important — there's a promise of new life and new flowers in bloom where there's nothing more than ashes now.
That's the note that the album ends on — in less than twenty minutes of "CRACKED" we've felt and seen a lifetime's worth. It's a rare kind of record. Go and experience it too.
It ends on the chorus, which is a list of everything the narrator cries for — caged birds, dead plants, teenagers, the chanting crowd. Not one item on it is her own loss. The song stops there, somewhat looking away: half-promise, half-regret. Still, everything in "LHF." is filled with adoration and acceptance of life's beauty and complexity that shares room with lamentation.
That arc runs through the whole EP. It opens cold and muscular — hyperpop tools, processed and pushed forward — and ends up in a quieter place: harp, bells, a melody that could be four hundred years old. The record moves from armour to attention. By the end Sylva isn't fighting anything, she's looking at things.
What holds the song together is that the contemplation and introspection don't cancel the rest. All the dramatic and tragic events in the narrator's life are still present — none of it gets resolved or forgiven, it just stops being the only thing in the frame. The forest fire in "LHF." burns and then it's over and whatever's left of the forest is still there. What's more important — there's a promise of new life and new flowers in bloom where there's nothing more than ashes now.
That's the note that the album ends on — in less than twenty minutes of "CRACKED" we've felt and seen a lifetime's worth. It's a rare kind of record. Go and experience it too.