Here in the Pitch
Jessica Pratt
Here in the Pitch
Boomkat Product Review:
Jessica Pratt fleshes out the bare-boned folk of her previous records on 'Here in the Pitch', sculpting dimly lit Californian memories into tape-saturated, pseudo-hauntological vignettes and sounding almost like Broadcast if they'd been brought up on a diet of The Beach Boys, The Walker Brothers, Burt Bacharach and Van Dyke Parks. Utterly brilliant stuff - Pratt's most satisfying album yet.
Pratt's always been good, but 'Here in the Pitch' is an unexpected and perfectly realised left turn. 2019's 'Quiet Signs' was an intimate delight that zeroed in on the uniqueness of Pratt's voice, bringing out its character with only skeletal folk instrumentation. On its follow-up, she narrows her gaze and introduces a new kind of drama, trading serene folk for '60s Californian pop. She was inspired by the era's shadowy ambivalence: the vivid sunlight that contrasted with the darker side of the American dream as the hippy era stumbled towards neoliberal conservatism. And on lead single 'Life Is', we get to hear exactly what she's capable of as she curls her voice around lavish orchestral swoops and triumphant, marching drums. Not exactly a pitch-perfect replication of the era, it's more like a blurry memory, drowned in era-specific effects and humid tape saturation. "Time is time and time and time again," she coos sweetly. "To make your escape you’ve captured the captor’s fear."
On each track, Pratt decorates her astute observations with pitch-perfect aesthetic twangs that have become so commonplace since the '60s that they've almost disappeared into the collective cultural ether. 'By Hook or by Crook' is a Sinatra-esque bossa inversion that's deviously illusory. "It's the end of dreams, again," Pratt sings against 'Girl From Ipanema' strums, disrupting her lyrics with weightless, wordless scats. And 'World on a String' sounds like the California dream shuffled into a stifling new era, soaring from delicacy to grandeur as Pratt's acoustic guitar is filled out by cinematic harmonies and Brian Wilson-style percussive punctuations. Wondering about the starlets of the past, she almost mimics classic girl groups, adding a shot of necessary melancholy that pierces the sun's glare. 'Nowhere It Was' is even gloomier; Pratt removes the bells and whistles here, singing slowly and mournfully over distant organ drones and watery clacks. If it's romantic, it's about her vacillating relationship with California itself, and the complicated history of a place that's simultaneously raked-over and misunderstood.
As the album moves into its final phase, the mood gets more and more solemn. Pratt carves her voice into back-masked cries on the piano-led 'Empires Never Know', removing it completely on the fluttered instrumental 'Glances'. The finale, 'The Last Year', is the closest Pratt comes to her older material, using just guitar, piano and her voice to usher us towards the end credits. "And the storyline goes for ever," she beams, prompting just one more listen from beginning to end. It's a deep, nuanced record that takes a forensic look at America's cultural epicenter, using its motifs and themes to turn it in on itself at a time when self-investigation has never been more consequential. So, so good.
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Boomkat Product Review:
Jessica Pratt fleshes out the bare-boned folk of her previous records on 'Here in the Pitch', sculpting dimly lit Californian memories into tape-saturated, pseudo-hauntological vignettes and sounding almost like Broadcast if they'd been brought up on a diet of The Beach Boys, The Walker Brothers, Burt Bacharach and Van Dyke Parks. Utterly brilliant stuff - Pratt's most satisfying album yet.
Pratt's always been good, but 'Here in the Pitch' is an unexpected and perfectly realised left turn. 2019's 'Quiet Signs' was an intimate delight that zeroed in on the uniqueness of Pratt's voice, bringing out its character with only skeletal folk instrumentation. On its follow-up, she narrows her gaze and introduces a new kind of drama, trading serene folk for '60s Californian pop. She was inspired by the era's shadowy ambivalence: the vivid sunlight that contrasted with the darker side of the American dream as the hippy era stumbled towards neoliberal conservatism. And on lead single 'Life Is', we get to hear exactly what she's capable of as she curls her voice around lavish orchestral swoops and triumphant, marching drums. Not exactly a pitch-perfect replication of the era, it's more like a blurry memory, drowned in era-specific effects and humid tape saturation. "Time is time and time and time again," she coos sweetly. "To make your escape you’ve captured the captor’s fear."
On each track, Pratt decorates her astute observations with pitch-perfect aesthetic twangs that have become so commonplace since the '60s that they've almost disappeared into the collective cultural ether. 'By Hook or by Crook' is a Sinatra-esque bossa inversion that's deviously illusory. "It's the end of dreams, again," Pratt sings against 'Girl From Ipanema' strums, disrupting her lyrics with weightless, wordless scats. And 'World on a String' sounds like the California dream shuffled into a stifling new era, soaring from delicacy to grandeur as Pratt's acoustic guitar is filled out by cinematic harmonies and Brian Wilson-style percussive punctuations. Wondering about the starlets of the past, she almost mimics classic girl groups, adding a shot of necessary melancholy that pierces the sun's glare. 'Nowhere It Was' is even gloomier; Pratt removes the bells and whistles here, singing slowly and mournfully over distant organ drones and watery clacks. If it's romantic, it's about her vacillating relationship with California itself, and the complicated history of a place that's simultaneously raked-over and misunderstood.
As the album moves into its final phase, the mood gets more and more solemn. Pratt carves her voice into back-masked cries on the piano-led 'Empires Never Know', removing it completely on the fluttered instrumental 'Glances'. The finale, 'The Last Year', is the closest Pratt comes to her older material, using just guitar, piano and her voice to usher us towards the end credits. "And the storyline goes for ever," she beams, prompting just one more listen from beginning to end. It's a deep, nuanced record that takes a forensic look at America's cultural epicenter, using its motifs and themes to turn it in on itself at a time when self-investigation has never been more consequential. So, so good.
Boomkat Product Review:
Jessica Pratt fleshes out the bare-boned folk of her previous records on 'Here in the Pitch', sculpting dimly lit Californian memories into tape-saturated, pseudo-hauntological vignettes and sounding almost like Broadcast if they'd been brought up on a diet of The Beach Boys, The Walker Brothers, Burt Bacharach and Van Dyke Parks. Utterly brilliant stuff - Pratt's most satisfying album yet.
Pratt's always been good, but 'Here in the Pitch' is an unexpected and perfectly realised left turn. 2019's 'Quiet Signs' was an intimate delight that zeroed in on the uniqueness of Pratt's voice, bringing out its character with only skeletal folk instrumentation. On its follow-up, she narrows her gaze and introduces a new kind of drama, trading serene folk for '60s Californian pop. She was inspired by the era's shadowy ambivalence: the vivid sunlight that contrasted with the darker side of the American dream as the hippy era stumbled towards neoliberal conservatism. And on lead single 'Life Is', we get to hear exactly what she's capable of as she curls her voice around lavish orchestral swoops and triumphant, marching drums. Not exactly a pitch-perfect replication of the era, it's more like a blurry memory, drowned in era-specific effects and humid tape saturation. "Time is time and time and time again," she coos sweetly. "To make your escape you’ve captured the captor’s fear."
On each track, Pratt decorates her astute observations with pitch-perfect aesthetic twangs that have become so commonplace since the '60s that they've almost disappeared into the collective cultural ether. 'By Hook or by Crook' is a Sinatra-esque bossa inversion that's deviously illusory. "It's the end of dreams, again," Pratt sings against 'Girl From Ipanema' strums, disrupting her lyrics with weightless, wordless scats. And 'World on a String' sounds like the California dream shuffled into a stifling new era, soaring from delicacy to grandeur as Pratt's acoustic guitar is filled out by cinematic harmonies and Brian Wilson-style percussive punctuations. Wondering about the starlets of the past, she almost mimics classic girl groups, adding a shot of necessary melancholy that pierces the sun's glare. 'Nowhere It Was' is even gloomier; Pratt removes the bells and whistles here, singing slowly and mournfully over distant organ drones and watery clacks. If it's romantic, it's about her vacillating relationship with California itself, and the complicated history of a place that's simultaneously raked-over and misunderstood.
As the album moves into its final phase, the mood gets more and more solemn. Pratt carves her voice into back-masked cries on the piano-led 'Empires Never Know', removing it completely on the fluttered instrumental 'Glances'. The finale, 'The Last Year', is the closest Pratt comes to her older material, using just guitar, piano and her voice to usher us towards the end credits. "And the storyline goes for ever," she beams, prompting just one more listen from beginning to end. It's a deep, nuanced record that takes a forensic look at America's cultural epicenter, using its motifs and themes to turn it in on itself at a time when self-investigation has never been more consequential. So, so good.
Boomkat Product Review:
Jessica Pratt fleshes out the bare-boned folk of her previous records on 'Here in the Pitch', sculpting dimly lit Californian memories into tape-saturated, pseudo-hauntological vignettes and sounding almost like Broadcast if they'd been brought up on a diet of The Beach Boys, The Walker Brothers, Burt Bacharach and Van Dyke Parks. Utterly brilliant stuff - Pratt's most satisfying album yet.
Pratt's always been good, but 'Here in the Pitch' is an unexpected and perfectly realised left turn. 2019's 'Quiet Signs' was an intimate delight that zeroed in on the uniqueness of Pratt's voice, bringing out its character with only skeletal folk instrumentation. On its follow-up, she narrows her gaze and introduces a new kind of drama, trading serene folk for '60s Californian pop. She was inspired by the era's shadowy ambivalence: the vivid sunlight that contrasted with the darker side of the American dream as the hippy era stumbled towards neoliberal conservatism. And on lead single 'Life Is', we get to hear exactly what she's capable of as she curls her voice around lavish orchestral swoops and triumphant, marching drums. Not exactly a pitch-perfect replication of the era, it's more like a blurry memory, drowned in era-specific effects and humid tape saturation. "Time is time and time and time again," she coos sweetly. "To make your escape you’ve captured the captor’s fear."
On each track, Pratt decorates her astute observations with pitch-perfect aesthetic twangs that have become so commonplace since the '60s that they've almost disappeared into the collective cultural ether. 'By Hook or by Crook' is a Sinatra-esque bossa inversion that's deviously illusory. "It's the end of dreams, again," Pratt sings against 'Girl From Ipanema' strums, disrupting her lyrics with weightless, wordless scats. And 'World on a String' sounds like the California dream shuffled into a stifling new era, soaring from delicacy to grandeur as Pratt's acoustic guitar is filled out by cinematic harmonies and Brian Wilson-style percussive punctuations. Wondering about the starlets of the past, she almost mimics classic girl groups, adding a shot of necessary melancholy that pierces the sun's glare. 'Nowhere It Was' is even gloomier; Pratt removes the bells and whistles here, singing slowly and mournfully over distant organ drones and watery clacks. If it's romantic, it's about her vacillating relationship with California itself, and the complicated history of a place that's simultaneously raked-over and misunderstood.
As the album moves into its final phase, the mood gets more and more solemn. Pratt carves her voice into back-masked cries on the piano-led 'Empires Never Know', removing it completely on the fluttered instrumental 'Glances'. The finale, 'The Last Year', is the closest Pratt comes to her older material, using just guitar, piano and her voice to usher us towards the end credits. "And the storyline goes for ever," she beams, prompting just one more listen from beginning to end. It's a deep, nuanced record that takes a forensic look at America's cultural epicenter, using its motifs and themes to turn it in on itself at a time when self-investigation has never been more consequential. So, so good.
Black LP.
Out of Stock
Boomkat Product Review:
Jessica Pratt fleshes out the bare-boned folk of her previous records on 'Here in the Pitch', sculpting dimly lit Californian memories into tape-saturated, pseudo-hauntological vignettes and sounding almost like Broadcast if they'd been brought up on a diet of The Beach Boys, The Walker Brothers, Burt Bacharach and Van Dyke Parks. Utterly brilliant stuff - Pratt's most satisfying album yet.
Pratt's always been good, but 'Here in the Pitch' is an unexpected and perfectly realised left turn. 2019's 'Quiet Signs' was an intimate delight that zeroed in on the uniqueness of Pratt's voice, bringing out its character with only skeletal folk instrumentation. On its follow-up, she narrows her gaze and introduces a new kind of drama, trading serene folk for '60s Californian pop. She was inspired by the era's shadowy ambivalence: the vivid sunlight that contrasted with the darker side of the American dream as the hippy era stumbled towards neoliberal conservatism. And on lead single 'Life Is', we get to hear exactly what she's capable of as she curls her voice around lavish orchestral swoops and triumphant, marching drums. Not exactly a pitch-perfect replication of the era, it's more like a blurry memory, drowned in era-specific effects and humid tape saturation. "Time is time and time and time again," she coos sweetly. "To make your escape you’ve captured the captor’s fear."
On each track, Pratt decorates her astute observations with pitch-perfect aesthetic twangs that have become so commonplace since the '60s that they've almost disappeared into the collective cultural ether. 'By Hook or by Crook' is a Sinatra-esque bossa inversion that's deviously illusory. "It's the end of dreams, again," Pratt sings against 'Girl From Ipanema' strums, disrupting her lyrics with weightless, wordless scats. And 'World on a String' sounds like the California dream shuffled into a stifling new era, soaring from delicacy to grandeur as Pratt's acoustic guitar is filled out by cinematic harmonies and Brian Wilson-style percussive punctuations. Wondering about the starlets of the past, she almost mimics classic girl groups, adding a shot of necessary melancholy that pierces the sun's glare. 'Nowhere It Was' is even gloomier; Pratt removes the bells and whistles here, singing slowly and mournfully over distant organ drones and watery clacks. If it's romantic, it's about her vacillating relationship with California itself, and the complicated history of a place that's simultaneously raked-over and misunderstood.
As the album moves into its final phase, the mood gets more and more solemn. Pratt carves her voice into back-masked cries on the piano-led 'Empires Never Know', removing it completely on the fluttered instrumental 'Glances'. The finale, 'The Last Year', is the closest Pratt comes to her older material, using just guitar, piano and her voice to usher us towards the end credits. "And the storyline goes for ever," she beams, prompting just one more listen from beginning to end. It's a deep, nuanced record that takes a forensic look at America's cultural epicenter, using its motifs and themes to turn it in on itself at a time when self-investigation has never been more consequential. So, so good.
Limited edition brown colour LP.
Out of Stock
Boomkat Product Review:
Jessica Pratt fleshes out the bare-boned folk of her previous records on 'Here in the Pitch', sculpting dimly lit Californian memories into tape-saturated, pseudo-hauntological vignettes and sounding almost like Broadcast if they'd been brought up on a diet of The Beach Boys, The Walker Brothers, Burt Bacharach and Van Dyke Parks. Utterly brilliant stuff - Pratt's most satisfying album yet.
Pratt's always been good, but 'Here in the Pitch' is an unexpected and perfectly realised left turn. 2019's 'Quiet Signs' was an intimate delight that zeroed in on the uniqueness of Pratt's voice, bringing out its character with only skeletal folk instrumentation. On its follow-up, she narrows her gaze and introduces a new kind of drama, trading serene folk for '60s Californian pop. She was inspired by the era's shadowy ambivalence: the vivid sunlight that contrasted with the darker side of the American dream as the hippy era stumbled towards neoliberal conservatism. And on lead single 'Life Is', we get to hear exactly what she's capable of as she curls her voice around lavish orchestral swoops and triumphant, marching drums. Not exactly a pitch-perfect replication of the era, it's more like a blurry memory, drowned in era-specific effects and humid tape saturation. "Time is time and time and time again," she coos sweetly. "To make your escape you’ve captured the captor’s fear."
On each track, Pratt decorates her astute observations with pitch-perfect aesthetic twangs that have become so commonplace since the '60s that they've almost disappeared into the collective cultural ether. 'By Hook or by Crook' is a Sinatra-esque bossa inversion that's deviously illusory. "It's the end of dreams, again," Pratt sings against 'Girl From Ipanema' strums, disrupting her lyrics with weightless, wordless scats. And 'World on a String' sounds like the California dream shuffled into a stifling new era, soaring from delicacy to grandeur as Pratt's acoustic guitar is filled out by cinematic harmonies and Brian Wilson-style percussive punctuations. Wondering about the starlets of the past, she almost mimics classic girl groups, adding a shot of necessary melancholy that pierces the sun's glare. 'Nowhere It Was' is even gloomier; Pratt removes the bells and whistles here, singing slowly and mournfully over distant organ drones and watery clacks. If it's romantic, it's about her vacillating relationship with California itself, and the complicated history of a place that's simultaneously raked-over and misunderstood.
As the album moves into its final phase, the mood gets more and more solemn. Pratt carves her voice into back-masked cries on the piano-led 'Empires Never Know', removing it completely on the fluttered instrumental 'Glances'. The finale, 'The Last Year', is the closest Pratt comes to her older material, using just guitar, piano and her voice to usher us towards the end credits. "And the storyline goes for ever," she beams, prompting just one more listen from beginning to end. It's a deep, nuanced record that takes a forensic look at America's cultural epicenter, using its motifs and themes to turn it in on itself at a time when self-investigation has never been more consequential. So, so good.
Out of Stock
Boomkat Product Review:
Jessica Pratt fleshes out the bare-boned folk of her previous records on 'Here in the Pitch', sculpting dimly lit Californian memories into tape-saturated, pseudo-hauntological vignettes and sounding almost like Broadcast if they'd been brought up on a diet of The Beach Boys, The Walker Brothers, Burt Bacharach and Van Dyke Parks. Utterly brilliant stuff - Pratt's most satisfying album yet.
Pratt's always been good, but 'Here in the Pitch' is an unexpected and perfectly realised left turn. 2019's 'Quiet Signs' was an intimate delight that zeroed in on the uniqueness of Pratt's voice, bringing out its character with only skeletal folk instrumentation. On its follow-up, she narrows her gaze and introduces a new kind of drama, trading serene folk for '60s Californian pop. She was inspired by the era's shadowy ambivalence: the vivid sunlight that contrasted with the darker side of the American dream as the hippy era stumbled towards neoliberal conservatism. And on lead single 'Life Is', we get to hear exactly what she's capable of as she curls her voice around lavish orchestral swoops and triumphant, marching drums. Not exactly a pitch-perfect replication of the era, it's more like a blurry memory, drowned in era-specific effects and humid tape saturation. "Time is time and time and time again," she coos sweetly. "To make your escape you’ve captured the captor’s fear."
On each track, Pratt decorates her astute observations with pitch-perfect aesthetic twangs that have become so commonplace since the '60s that they've almost disappeared into the collective cultural ether. 'By Hook or by Crook' is a Sinatra-esque bossa inversion that's deviously illusory. "It's the end of dreams, again," Pratt sings against 'Girl From Ipanema' strums, disrupting her lyrics with weightless, wordless scats. And 'World on a String' sounds like the California dream shuffled into a stifling new era, soaring from delicacy to grandeur as Pratt's acoustic guitar is filled out by cinematic harmonies and Brian Wilson-style percussive punctuations. Wondering about the starlets of the past, she almost mimics classic girl groups, adding a shot of necessary melancholy that pierces the sun's glare. 'Nowhere It Was' is even gloomier; Pratt removes the bells and whistles here, singing slowly and mournfully over distant organ drones and watery clacks. If it's romantic, it's about her vacillating relationship with California itself, and the complicated history of a place that's simultaneously raked-over and misunderstood.
As the album moves into its final phase, the mood gets more and more solemn. Pratt carves her voice into back-masked cries on the piano-led 'Empires Never Know', removing it completely on the fluttered instrumental 'Glances'. The finale, 'The Last Year', is the closest Pratt comes to her older material, using just guitar, piano and her voice to usher us towards the end credits. "And the storyline goes for ever," she beams, prompting just one more listen from beginning to end. It's a deep, nuanced record that takes a forensic look at America's cultural epicenter, using its motifs and themes to turn it in on itself at a time when self-investigation has never been more consequential. So, so good.
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