CMAT – Euro-Country
★★★★☆
CMAT is having a CMoment. Her third album, Euro-Country, comes at the end of an electric summer for the Irish musician born Ciara Mary-Alice Thompson – a summer that included standout sets at Glastonbury Festival and a blistering headline performance at Green Man. In his five-star review of that festival, Stephen Carlick wrote that Euro-Country is “poised to launch [CMAT] stratospheric”. The stratosphere is a tall order, but this punchy and charismatic pop record certainly won’t hurt her chances.
Over the course of 11 tracks (not counting a short, lyricless introduction), CMAT throws herself headlong into the disorienting mess of life under late capitalism. It’s lyricism with a real voice – contemporary, wry, and pop-culture-savvy – set to buoyant pop-rock music that’s catchy and vaguely Chappell Roan-esque. “The Jamie Oliver Petrol Station” interrogates her arbitrary hatred for the British celebrity chef, before spinning off into shrewd introspection. “Lord, Let That Tesla Crash” is a sad, sincere indie folk number, with a defiant wit to it, bringing out the soulful sharpness of CMAT’s singing voice.
On the title track, CMAT takes in the bigger picture, with a song that addresses Irish identity, and the country’s prosperous “Celtic Tiger” period before the economic crash. “I was 12 when the das started killing themselves all around me,” she sings. “And it was normal, building houses/ That stay empty even now, yeah.” It’s strong, ambitious songwriting – ranging and holistic, personal and political at once. “When a Good Man Cries”, the third track and a standout, is probably the most country-inflected the album gets, a soulful number with a snappy power-balladic chorus.
If there’s a criticism to be levelled at Euro-Country, it’s that the music is sonically less distinct and inventive than the lyrics. And nothing here quite has the full-bore earwormish quality of previous hits “I Wanna Be a Cowboy, Baby!” or “Every Bottle (Is My Boyfriend)”. But the large, rousing sound certainly works, and there’s not really a weak entry on the tracklist. These are songs that you can immediately tell will come alive on stage, where CMAT’s effervescent energy is really let loose. On record, they’re still a good listen – but it’s the words, honest and precise, that will keep fans coming back. Louis Chilton
Flyte – Between You and Me
★★★★★
Flyte’s fourth album feels a lot like a coming-of-age record. The folk-rock duo’s brilliant 2021 work This is Really Going to Hurt was steeped in bitterness, tempered by the prettiness of its Seventies California sound. Their third, self-titled album, meanwhile, was bathed in the rose-tinted glow of new love; frontman Will Taylor sounding light and carefree on standouts such as “Better Than Blue”.
Strangely, though, Between You and Me is more restless than its predecessors. The shifting squalls of the electric guitar on “Alabaster”, a fantastic duet with US alt-rock singer Aimee Mann, conjures visions of storm clouds gathered over a violent sea. Lyrically, it speaks to an internal tumult, that mingling of guilt, lust and fear of discovery in the midst of an illicit affair. “If You Can’t Be Happy”, though, is bright and jangling, an uplifting letter to a partner struggling with self-worth.
The coming-of-age part is the nuance with which the duo, assisted by producer Ethan Johns, approach their themes of domesticity, ambition, love, loss and regret over 10 tracks. The gorgeous, lush guitar-picking on “Hello Sunshine” falls like ripples of light on water. Taylor and Hill sing in hushed reverence, evoking Simon & Garfunkel: “All my futures are in present tense/ All this music has started making sense/ Let me write on you/ Throw my light on you/ Every word will be good as gold, good as gold.”
For all its folk leanings, Between You and Me also feels strikingly pertinent. The duo explore the fallible nature of humans – our insecurities, our pettiness – on songs such as the single “I’m Not There”, with plenty of nuance and compassion. Frontman Will Taylor’s lovely, lopsided croon harmonises perfectly with bandmate Nick Hill’s softer murmur: “I am holding on to anger/ Hiding little stings/ Spinning in a circle/ Tangling my strings.”
The key to Flyte’s music is just how evocative it is, setting the scene perfectly and drawing you into their world. Few British acts seem to be taking the time to fully immerse their audience in the music, perhaps encumbered instead by the thought of viral TikTok moments and impatient radio pluggers. Thanks to its unhurried nature, though, this is an album that thrives on instinct – Taylor and Hill feeling their way through the songs together. How wonderful. Roisin O’Connor
