Psychogeology (Deluxe)

Album review

Having not only relocated from her native U.K. to Berlin in the mid-2010s but toured the world thereafter, Gemma Ray's eighth studio album, Psychogeology, was inspired by forming connections to some of these far-flung places and their grand physical landscapes, as well as trying to view personal problems with a global perspective. This big-picture lens is reflected in a more expansive sound that incorporates touches like strings, bolder electric timbres, and occasionally elaborate vocal arrangements without changing the essential quality of her familiar, haunted blend of retro-rock and timeless torch song. The opening track, "Blossom Crawls," eases listeners in a gentle, melodic keyboard line, rhythm guitar, and low-key drums on what begins as a spacious, mid-tempo ode to having a panic attack in a taxi. Ultimately lush and dramatic, it adds denser, sustained keyboard and guitar chords, strings, and harmonized, choral-style backing vocals before ending on a solo plea. Later, the epic, eerie title track holds the vague suggestion of Morricone Western scores, thanks to its echoing twang, hand drums, flourishes of flute, and sauntering harmonic rhythm. There are subtle variations on Ray's lush but tender noir here, like the melancholy restraint of "In Colour," which remains mostly in the lower end of the album's pitch range. The final track, "Summer Comes," unleashes a soundscape of rumbling electric guitar; swirling organ, keys, and horns; and escalating layered vocals for a closer that's literally and figuratively uplifting. Besides its epic musical character, Psychogeology is one of Ray's most consistent songwriting-wise, with a track sequence that seems to have a journey and a destination in mind.

© Marcy Donelson /TiVo