Gordi

“Reservoir”

(Album Review) – 25/08/17

“I got older, and we got tired/heaven I know that we tried” — Heaven I Know

The Australian music industry is exploding with new talent. Young voices are finding their homes on airwaves all over the world, regardless of their point of origin. For Canowindra-raised 24-year-old Sophie Payten, aka Gordi, global success has been a long time coming— from first playing an acoustic guitar at 12 years old to an international tour. The singer-songwriter has gone from strength to strength, winning the 2015 Josh Pyke Partnership award, touring with Asgeir and Of Monsters and Men, and finishing a medicine degree (of all things). But it all started with her days on the “reservoir”, what Gordi describes as “that thing you can’t describe, that space that anxious people probably live their life in… in order to write a song I need to go to that place, but I couldn’t live a functional life if I spent all my time in there.”

From those moments of anxiety, those voids of time and space begging to be filled with music, Gordi has woven together her first full-length album, fittingly entitled Reservoir. The album itself is an eleven-track-long ode to time and loss, an abandonment of cliché and trope for the desert of the real, themes epitomised in the album’s leading single Heaven I Know. It’s fitting that Gordi writes in a peculiar folktronica style— the album’s musical space is sparse but rich, endlessly in motion without ever becoming overwhelming. The tracks lead one into another, a vehicle for Gordi’s passionate lyric.

Here’s the track list:

1. Long Way
2. All The Light We Cannot See
3. On My Side
4. Bitter End
5. Heaven I Know
6. I’m Done (feat. S. Carey)
7. Myriad
8. Aeon
9. Can We Work It Out
10. Better Than Then, Closer To Now
11. Something Like This

Reservoir kicks off with Long Way, a story of searching. Ticking taps and a doppler pulse carry syncopated vocal harmony. This track has so many layers, but the restraint exercised here is superb. Proudly a lyricist first, Gordi lets the wistful loneliness that themes the track sparkle. The subtle harmonic differences throughout the track build tension to a drum breakdown over last chorus, which strips back to a flanger that leads right into All The Light We Cannot See. This track feels much broader than Long Way, introducing more tone and inviting its audience to drift deeper into the inviting waves of Reservoir’s superb production.

Speaking of production, perhaps one of the more admirable things about the album (and many of its contemporaries) is the honesty of its production— fuzz, buzz, and stray noise are kept in rather than being scrubbed out. It’s this sort of resourceful production that grounds Gordi and other indie and folk artists, and I can only hope the trend continues. All The Light We Cannot See transitions effortlessly into another leading single, On My Side. One of the more poppy tracks on the album, here Gordi mixes traditional pop instruments such as acoustic guitar with expansive drums and didgeridoo. I feel as if I’m standing on a desert sandhill, and I wonder how much this track takes influence from Gordi’s reservoir days on property in Canowindra. On My Side rounds out the top end of Reservoir with themes of distance and difficulty in relationship at their most musically accessible.

Bitter End holds a special place for me. The energy from On My Side dwindles and it’s the most stripped back that Gordi goes— just guitar and stacked vocals remain throughout the whole song. It’s a devastatingly melancholy track, with instrumentation so perfect I can’t do it justice with mere words here. Bitter End sets up the next act of Reservoir before Heaven I Know, the leading single of the album. Persistent whispered “1-2-3”s carry piano and horns in an anthem to love and loss. It’s relatable and frank without cliché, and near spiritual when it comes to listening experiences. I would love to see what Gordi would do with Heaven I Know live, but whatever it is I’m sure will be earth-shaking.

I’m Done returns to the groove of Bitter End, led by guitar and Gordi’s vocal. Gordi is joined by S. Carey on this track, adding a more earthy harmonic texture where Gordi’s vocal harmony would have rendered a distant ethereal soundscape. I find it ironic that Carey, a touring member of folktronica powerhouse Bon Iver, appears on the least Bon Iver-ish track on Reservoir— however, it’s clear that Bon Iver’s influence flows through Gordi’s music. Myriad sinks back into the reservoir with Imogen Heap-esque vocoder effects and not a lot else. Gordi focuses down on lyrical and harmonic depth here, and it’s a beautiful piece to fall into.

I’m a sucker for the sequencing of albums, particularly on CDs— I love knowing precisely what track will play after the one I’m hearing now, and how long I have to breathe between songs. It’s why I appreciate what Gordi has done in arranging Reservoir how she did. Aeon follows on thematically from its spiritual (and equally ethereally named) sibling Myriad; it serves as a tumultuous climax point for the album, an oddly effective mix of Heaven I Know’s ever-impending emotional blow, On My Side’s lyrical accessibility and All The Light We Cannot See’s broad production landscape. Aeon is a small eternity of emotion waves at the mercy of Gordi’s musical prowess.

Whew. I’m simultaneously fulfilled and exhausted, and there are still three tracks to listen to. What’s Gordi possibly got left up her sleeve?

Fortunately, it’s another radio-friendly jam in Can We Work It Out. Bold percussion merges with acoustic guitar, synth, and the slightest hit of guitar flanger to back Gordi’s passionate melancholy once again. Far from formulaic airwave fodder, though, Gordi matches clever lyricism and next-level musical arrangement to build a track destined for adoration by fans of The Lumineers and Of Monsters And Men. Better Than Then, Closer To Now lives in much the same vein, but with more rock influences. While it’s clear Gordi has nailed the art of folktronica, the results are no less spectacular when she dips her brush into other genres.

Gordi signs off Reservoir with Something Like This. It’s a much quieter piece until halfway through the song, a blissful and satisfied conclusion to the noise-filled void of the reservoir. It’s simultaneously solemn and euphoric. I can’t help but feel as if Gordi was treating Reservoir like a symphony, with each of its acts defined by sweeping musical themes, a coherent experience the whole way through. Whether that was the intention or not, Reservoir is a damn good full-length debut from one of Australia’s brightest new voices in folk.