It’s really interesting, watching the development and career trajectory of Geordie artist, film maker and musician Beth Jeans Houghton. It doesn’t seem so long since we were captivated by her saucer-eyed, psychedelic folk as she stood in body paint and vertiginous wigs singing sad-eyed, swooning songs that wouldn’t have felt out of place in The Wicker Man. But now she records as Du Blonde, and it’s a hell of a transformation. She’s badass.
Like a sexy but elusive road trip movie soundtrack, possibly directed by an auteur like Jim Jarmusch, Lung Bread For Daddy (very Beefheartian title, that) is full of sass, even when it’s mired in self-reflection. It’s an incredibly confident album, and pulls off the trick of sad lyrics barely contained within strutting anthems: a classic rock ‘n’ roll dichotomy. The best music often comes from big bubblegum bubbles popped with a razor blade, and so it is here. It’s all about introspection, cloaked in swagger.
Lately, Houghton has been working and touring with the mighty Ezra Furman, and there’s undoubtedly a soupcon of his influence. The grunge glower of Coffee Machine dissolves into a very Furman like scream. Take Out Chicken dips a spike heel in glam rock, and plays with ideas about voyeurism and sexuality. Days Like These too, with its pretty piano chamber pop lines, has a Bowie bite to its melody as well as a very Mick Ronson styled guitar lick.
If this all sounds a little too retro, Houghton knows how to navigate her way around a hook, and there’s enough modern production and little quirks to stop it falling into rawwk clichés. Her voice, much deeper and huskier these days, has the timbre of Rid Of Me era PJ Harvey.
So even as she castigates herself for feeling old before her time in the country fuzz of Holiday Resort, or faces off death in Peach Meat‘s low Gothic rumble, it seems likely she’s aware of the transience of bad moods. Clouds can, will, and do pass over. Don’t pass over this album, it’s an incredibly fun ride while it lasts.