CD: Learning From Falling
All tracks co-produced by
All lyrics and arrangements by Lamya
Executive Producers: Lamya & Jason Herbert
Released by: J Records
Release date: July 30, 2002
Running time: 54 minutes
First we had Sade, that blasé
mistress of the jazz funk sex groove, and now... along comes Lamya, a
strikingly exotic beauty with a five-octave vocal range, clever lyrics, some
great, hook-laden music, and if that ain't enough, well how 'bout we throw in
some retro-psychedelic sitars?
No kidding. There's a new blip on the goddesscope and her name is
Lamya, which my sources say means "dark lips" in arabic. Then again, other
sources say Lamya was inspired in part by the Keats poem, "Lamia". Doncha love
truth in advertising? She's 28, was born in Mombasa, Kenya, of Omanese parents,
and grew up in the UK before going to university in Egypt. It was there she saw
a documentary of Madonna's rise to stardom, and then she decided on emulation
by also running away to find fame & fortune in New York. If you want to
know more, there's a few sites about her on the web, including the
official site, but after all, there's not
much to report, save her semi-career to date as a backup singer and tour
vocalist for cats like David Bowie and Duran Duran... not exactly the cutting
edge of anything.
All of which makes Learning From Falling one
of those glorious debut albums that appears to have dropped in from another
dimension. And one that takes you back with it. Smiling.
One of the first things you'll notice after
playing LFF a few times is Lamya's wide range of lyrical interests.
Don't forget, though, with 28 rings around the sun,
Lamya does have the great advantage of at least having
some life experiences - certainly more than her mouseketeer rivals - and
she appears to be clever enough to express her ideas with intellectual, poetic
lyrics and hook-laden melodies boosted with complex arrangements. Her
re-examination of the lessons of experience forms the basis for this cd, and,
in the end, it is the strength of most of her songs that her intensely personal
subjectivity doesn't fixate itself entirely on moaning or mooning about Love.
Her songs come from her books of poetry, she says, and yes, you can hear the
usual classical wordplays of alliteration, parallel construction and repetition
wafting through her vaguely metaphoric story songs. But there's more: a sort of
jazzy vocal phrasing that magically adds meaning in the way only music can. As
for the general lyrical themes, well, one could say they're exotic. And
singular. Not much for impressionism, Lamya lays a little corporate sexuality
on the line right from the first song, and follows through with a half-dozen
variatioins on the artistic editorial. Does this sound bitchy? Well, it's
really the only downside one can muster after Falling With Lamya a few times.
It's a first-person thing she's got going... which is going to draw attention
and comparison with other genre-busting me-me-me warblers, like those
mind-warping first albums by Kate Bush and Alanis Morissette. You can hear some
of the later Sade. And a lot of Bob Dylan.
Some Simply Great
If you were going to pull some cuts off this cd for your own
greatest hits travelling cd, you'd be surprised at how many great contenders
stride out from their corners.
Black Mona Lisa is the
heavyweight, and its genesis is no doubt a clue as to the improbability of
sussing accurate meaning out of these nostalgic songs. According to Lamya, when
she was six she visited the Louvre Museum with her mother. Unimpressed with the
Famous Painting (she thought it was a man in a wig), she had a youthful
epiphany: "I thought, 'Well, if she's beautiful, then so am I." Today she says,
"I'm a big advocate of beauty being in the eye of the beholder." That idea is
revisited in Black Mona Lisa, a song in which Lamya thanks her mother
for her maternal sacrifices in a racist world, and proclaims independence for
But oh, I am not afraid
to be a lone bohemian
paint a portrait of myself
The song is also a masterpiece of musical technology. Produced
entirely with computer-generated effects, samples, the whole digi universe, the
song hangs deftly on a highly syncopated percussion track -- a loose, floppy
sound that might be time-altered to give it a handslapped feel. Did I say it
was catchy? Programmer Fabian Waltman made Producer Nellee Hooper a slithery
choice of musical colours to work with, and the final result is an otherworldly
collection of fwaps and echo-laden tinkles -- in other words, the perfect
backdrop for Lamya's far-ranging, emotional vocals. There is also a "bonus"
single version mix of Black Mona Lisa included on the cd, and while the
differences are appreciable, they are only variations on the hook-laden beauty
of this masterwork.
Another survivor off this cd is Empire, an
incredibly outlandish song which blends the aggression of imperialism with
Lamya's personal list of men suitable enough to "match my mountains... match my
plains". It starts with drumbeats right out of Lord of the Rings, and, warning,
because it's the first cut on the cd, you will experience a slight shiver if
you're hearing Lamya's almost-kiddieporn voice for the first time. It's Kate
Bushy small and breathy, but then builds as she drops an octave and gets into
the shopping list. Along with the marching drums, the London Session Orchestra
supplies a suitably liquid underpinning in a suitably victorian way, and
Lamya's voice laughs like a rollercoaster as she reels off her suitable suitor
list of professions. It's unusual to hear a singer make such a direct request -
it's like a long personals ad. And the goddess-preferred occupations seem a tad
suspect, too. Need proof? Check out the video.
The next cut to bootleg onto the
Walkman is a homage to Alanis Morissette that's better than anything the jagged
little shrill ever wrote. It's called Never Enough, and it's a bigtime
rant of Bobby Dylan proportions about an alcoholic whose fixation on the bottle
is wrecking their relationship. OK, has wrecked their relationship. The ensuing
finger-point is a good one, but we've heard it all before. The music is nice...
it does a slow burn build to match Lamya's march of angst.
Kiss should also be considered, as it's a fun, bouncy putdown of a purveyor
of "counterfeit love" done in a smart, fancy lyric, and featuring a happily
complex arrangement. Never's Such A Long Time is also outstanding but
more for the music than the message. Obviously inspired in a post-911 mood, the
song repeats the well-worn homily of avoiding remorse through increased
communication. It's an exercise in recrimination, but Lamya's soaring vocal
gymnastics and the pulsating groove ends up making this song a slow cooker.
It's probably impossible to listen to this without some part of your body doing
a dance move.
Honourable mention to Perfect Girl, a sparse,
psychological study, and Pink Moon, a true space oddity written by the
suddenly popular-again Nick Drake.
Learning By Listening
All in all, in impressive debut by an artist who's paid her dues and has
obviously learned the craft, as a songwriter, singer and producer/arranger. Her
lolitalike, breathy voice can flash from ethereal to earthy, and her
multi-tracked background vocals weave complex webs of harmony which float
above, then dive within the often-sparse, but sophisticated simplicity of the
idiosyncratic groove. The disc offers a generous 54 minutes of music, and yes,
she does feature sitars and tablas on two songs... just part of the world music
experience you'd expect from the well-travelled consciousness.
another femme fatale emerges from the R&B landscape. She's great,
and here's every hope that the support tour makes it to this town, and that her
second cd gives her the opportunity to learn from rising. I want to close with
this... it'll no doubt be the line every reviewer uses... but if Lamya did
learn from falling, she must have fallen a lot to learn this much. But don't
worry. I've already volunteered to check for any damage.
© Rick McGrath 8/02
and a half