Seventh Tree unveils an Alison Goldfrapp quite different to the one we saw on her career highpoint to date, 2005's Supernature. Whereas that album was grandiose, glammy, and almost aggressive in its brash, thrusting sexuality, Goldfrapp's fourth album is no less sensual, but rather more subtle in its approach. Recorded with longtime collaborator Will Gregory out in rural Somerset, Seventh Tree feels like an attempt to fuse the pagan folk of cult English horror classic The Wicker Man< to a lush backdrop of woozy electronics and a restrained orchestral sweep reminiscent of '70s-era Serge Gainsbourg. In practise, this means much of Seventh Tree goes where earlier Gainsbourg disciples such as Air have gone before: chilled-out, soporific electronica with a light organic edge. Luckily, Goldfrapp remains a compelling enough figure to keep matters on the right side of ethereal: the gorgeous "Clowns" imagines the Cocteau Twins' Liz Fraser guesting on some long-forgotten Nick Drake out-take, rustic folk with an all-but-indecipherable vocal and an undercurrent of desolation, while "A&E" shows Goldfrapp's pop urge has not deserted her, uplifting electronica with a warm, bucolic twist. --Louis Pattison
Goldfrapp's Black Cherry inhabits a dark alley, bristling with urban menace and throbbing with a deep electronic pulse--a far cry from their breezy debut, which gently led the listener to a fairytale aural utopia occupied by Parisian pop, whistling divas and baroque masters. Having given up the countryside for a neon-lit studio, Alison Goldfrapp and Will Gregory have infused Black Cherry with an intensity and brooding claustrophobia that's both exuberant and sensual. Simultaneously mellifluous and mechanical, tracks such as "Train," with its fiery industrial rhythm, steer Goldfrapp dangerously close to the ailing electro-clash scene, before veering back to more familiar territory with the likes of the sultry, downbeat "Black Cherry" and languid dreamy ambience of "Forever." Elsewhere our Hampshire-bred heroine gets deep down and dirty on "Twist," an ode to oral that finds Goldfrapp waxing lyrical to a fierce driving Kraftewerk-esque synth. No Felt Mountain to get lost in, but at least there's "Hairy Trees" to make up for it. --Christopher Barrett
You might expect the debut album from a woman who has collaborated extensively with Tricky and Orbital to be both wondrous and strange--and you'd be right to. What you might not expect is the depth of Alison Goldfrapp's beguiling, distracting 21st-century noir visions on Felt Mountain. She and her fellow composer Will Gregory can mix in Brechtian cabaret; classical instrumentation; left-of-field electronics; decadent, Gainsbourg-style French pop; and the odd piece of whistling on just one track ("Felt Mountain"). "Oompa Radar" almost reaches Tom Waits heights of infamy from the way familiar instruments come together in such a simultaneously comforting and alienating style. The baroque "Paper Bag," meanwhile, uncannily recalls Joe Meek's toy-town visions of 1960s grandeur. All this and a seductive vocal to die for. --Everett True
