Review Summary: An album that doesn’t pull its punches, no matter how strong.
Jillian Banks is not the person you listen to for a pick-me-up. Creator of cathartic, confessional R&B/electro-pop, Banks falls perfectly in line with the current breed of female R&B singers who’re stretching the boundaries of how the genre can be constructed. Using deep emotive instrumentals inspired by other genre visionaries like The Weeknd and James Blake, these artists make uniquely melancholy music that, when done correctly, tell heartrending stories of love, loss and vice. Some of these artists (FKA twigs, Tinashe), have either already released albums or are poised to do so. So how does Banks’ debut stack up?
Well, fairly well. Album opener “Alibi” is one of Bank’s best songs, showcasing her bluesy contralto over earthy production that doesn’t stagnate or falter. The title track also does justice to Banks’ overriding theme, with Banks characteristically bemoaning mistreatment by one of her lovers. The next three tracks are ones we’ve already heard before, either on her “London” EP or in single form, making for a somewhat uninspiring album flow. In fact, all the tracks from “London” have been rehashed here, maintaining the same effect they had on the EP--“Waiting Game” is still fantastic, “Change” is still a standout, “Bedroom Wall” is still meh--but the sequencing of the album gives them less focus. The tracks that fill in the gaps, “Brain” being a good example, hold up remarkably well within the context of her older material, but never quite tell a strong narrative.
But something I find interesting about this album is that it’s really not about the album’s narrative or flow. The songs on this album play out like a collection of vignettes--sneak peeks into a more expansive and disturbing story of continuous heartbreak--with Banks herself being a common thread. Banks, on “This Is What It Feels Like” (another “London” track), opines about being hopelessly enamored with an individual who actively tries to not share her feelings. On “Brain,” she mocks a man who, when confronted with her pain, is rendered speechless. These are just two of the various disheartening narratives that Jillian tells of over the album’s runtime.
It’s quite unfortunate that she had to experience loneliness the way she does (or as she details on “You Should Know Where I’m Coming From” or “Beggin For Thread”), but the musical byproduct is quite extraordinary when taken for what it is--a multifaceted, 21st century breakup album. Many of the tracks have a folksy singer-songwriter quality to them, a quality that evokes comparisons to some of the greats--Joni Mitchell comes to mind when listening to tracks like “Someone New”--and also elevates some of the sleepier tracks about generic heartstring tugging. The production is never stale, keep up with contemporaries while not adding anything too new (this is no “LP1”). The lyrics are the real highlight though, as they have always been for Banks. “You Should Know Where I’m Coming From,” “Change,” “Brain,” and “Stick” pack longing, forlorn couplets that out of context would seem like poetry. She desperately says on “Stick” that she can make her lover feel better any day, while later she tells him to tell an unspecified female (not her) that he’s “down for it.” On “Drowning,” another highlight, she cries about her lover not needing her or seeing her.
Visibility is a very common theme on the album too. Many of the songs make mention of being unseen, or sinking beneath a wave of invisibility (which ties into another theme of water, evident by the presence of songs like “Warm Water” and “Drowning”), and the consistency of the lyrics helps to mitigate some of the album’s problems with flow.
For a debut (and a highly anticipated debut), “Goddess” is a remarkably complex yet flawed record, taking all that’s made Banks a stellar artist so far and reliably expanding it in scope while maintaining its luster. Of the songs on the album, only a few fall flat, and the others are all quite good, despite being somewhat monotonous. Banks has never been an artist that forgoes tough ideas or concepts in order to make things easier to grasp. What “Goddess” is is an unfiltered look into Jillian Banks’ life, warts and all. A record this personal and unfettered has to be admired, if not revered, in spite of these. Much like the individual, there’s no straight narrative, no perfectly plotted moments, but lots of heart.
