Yawny Yawn (Yawny Yawn)

Album review

Bill Ryder-Jones isn’t a sunshine-and-daisies kind of guy. Yawn, released in 2018, toed the line between dream-pop and depression-fueled shoegaze, with the brit’s charming, wavering vocals in the driver’s seat, whispering dreams, regrets and inner contemplations like the ocean at the end of a seashell. There was still a measurable amount of chaos in that tired, Smashing Pumpkins-esque sigh. Out go the guitars, the bass and the drums, and you have Yawn revisited: Yawny Yawn. You could call it a solo album since BRJ is credited as the only writer and performer; whether the overall mood is reflective of depression or complete exhaustion (often these are one and the same), the end result is pretty much this: it seems as though he’s reached the end of his tether. The 10 tracks, reinterpreted for solo performances, are nonetheless striking. Performing solo let Ryder-Jone’s Chris Martin-esque voice, the piano and towering reverbs take up all the sonic space. It’s cinematic, tender and terribly grim. The alternative version of Yawn would fit right in as the soundtrack to a Scandinavian movie – it’s the perfect expression of the gray drizzle and low energy of the longest winters, where days seem to last for barely a few hours before the sun recedes below the horizon. In the words of Henrik Norbrandt: “There are 16 months in the year: November, December, January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November, November, November, November.” © Alexis Renaudat/Qobuz