Florence and the Machine - Lungs

If media hype is designed to generate excitement and buzz around a new artist, then it appears to me that we are now living in the age of 'anti-hype'. Far from generating excitement, The Critics’ Choice Brit Award, won by Florence & The Machine earlier this year, makes me want to run for cover. There’s something so dispiriting, so cynical about doling out prizes seemingly for sales yet to be achieved that makes me almost certain I can’t possibly like anyone who’ll win it.  That last year’s winner was Adele only seems to confirm my worst suspicions.

The good, indeed surprising, news is that Florence & The Machine are a rather idiosyncratic selection for such a predictable, sales-driven institution. Neither Duffy-esque crowd-pleaser nor vogueish electro-popper, Florence Welch is more a Bat For Lashes-type oddball. A bit posh, somewhat theatrical, she doesn’t so much sing as holler, chant and bellow out her songs. Something of a force of nature, restraint doesn’t appear to be in her make-up. It’s all rather fantastic, if at times almost overwhelming. Occasionally, as on ‘Rabbit Heart’ and ‘Hurricane Drunk‘, the big production gets in the way, trying to shoe-horn the songs into radio-friendly shapes, but for the most part, Florence’s winning musical vision beams through.

Any preconceptions of a fey, new-age folkie are quickly dashed: Lungs will rock your balls off. It’s an album that punches you in the stomach and keeps you coming back for more. Drumming starts ebulliently, and only goes on to ratchet up several notches. Welch’s hollering only knowing one way to go. ‘Kiss With a Fist’ sounds like a more exotic Libertines, while ‘Between Two Lungs’ brings a welcome lightness of touch. It could all get a bit much for those who aren’t card-carrying fans of, well, hollering, but I loved it – indeed, Florence looks like the foremost competitor to The Horrors for Best Posh Vocals of the Year.

Something of an acquired taste, and a little out of step with most musical trends in 2009, it’s entirely possible she won’t shift the units expected – demanded, perhaps – of her. One hopes that Florence Welch is not suffocated by the hype.  It’s a slight regret she wasn’t afforded a quirkier setting for her superb songs, as Laura Marling was allowed on her debut. Still, if the Brit Awards are going to decide in advance what’s going to set the Tesco tills ringing, let’s hope their choices are always as good as this.