For most readers of BrightonsFinest Gwenno Saunders will be familiar as a member 60s inspired indie pop girl-group The Pipettes where she was a singer and keyboardist. Whilst the music of The Pipettes was an inoffensively well put together throwback, Y Dydd Olaf  is a more mature and singular record than anything that group produced. As an album it’s deeply ingrained into the landscape and culture of Gwenno’s place of birth, Wales. The fact that the record is nearly entirely in Welsh has, understandably, been a major talking point around the album but it isn’t a decision that should be dismissed as a mere gimmick. Inspired by a 1970’s Welsh science fiction novel by Owain Owain of the same name, Y Dydd Olaf  is a concept album that explores the theme of language as a way of preserving identity and resisting cultural annihilation, meaning the fact that the lyrics are in Welsh is integral to their message. It shows strength in vision that Gwenno is willing to stick to the concepts her album is trying to present at the expense of potentially alienating a section of her audience.

 
Whilst the albums rich electronic palette and sci-fi inspiration means it has one foot firmly in the future, the other foot is placed so far in the past the album is virtually doing the splits. The breathy and eerie melodies have a mythical quality that conjures the uncanny atmosphere that informs so many representations of the British landscape. It’s the same evocation as something like Alan Garner’s classic chiller The Owl Service, a book that uses Welsh folklore to show how our landscape is both inhabited and haunted by its history.
 
Welsh is an incredibly old language and the effect that it produces in this electro-pop context is a sensation that’s both transient and strange. For a fleeting moment there is the feeling you are able to understand what is being said, only for this to evaporate immediately once you actually try to concentrate on the words. It feels much like listening to the phonetic babble people use when trying to approximate the intonations of a language they aren’t able to speak. The only difference here being the language you are failing to understand is one you’re usually fluent in, the language of British pop music.
 
On initial listens it’s the synth lines that make up most of the immediate melodic punch, with much of the vocals consisting of long, drawn out syllables so the patterns are only revealed upon repeated returns. The album begins with lead single ‘Chwyldro’, its opening spooky vibrato chords eventually giving way to a pulsating psychedelic bass line. The bass parts are particularly strong throughout the album; they have an elastic groove whilst also anchoring the songs and the weightlessness of the other sounds.
 
Throughout everything is awash in a kaleidoscopic haze, only occasionally dissipating so a clearer image might emerge. ‘Fratolish Hiang Perpeshki’ is an exception and one of the most sharply defined moments on the album with its crisp drum sounding machine and synth part reminiscent of the raw analogue of Giorgio Moroder. But in general the records strength lies in its subtlety and when things get a bit vague. Many of the songs create the impression of drifting along, the changes slowly blending and morphing into each other instead of being the result of clear breaks. ‘Patriarchaeth’, Welsh for patriarchy, is constructed from an effervescent arpeggiator and ascending harmonies that feel almost like they swirl and wrap around each other. The translated lyrics explore some of the key themes central to the album. Gwenno gives the warning that “your soul is under siege”, reinforcing the records perspective that the fight for identity is a fight with much broader social and political implications.
 
‘Golau Arall’ starts with a flurry of rapid finger picking before snapping into a tight and driving guitar line underpinned by percussive, disembodied panting. The chorus arrives with a wave of reverb and synth texture and Gwenno whispering into your ear in Welsh “the darkness is another light”, capturing the tension that drives the song. ‘Stwff’ is the most reminiscent of Gwenno’s previous life with The Pipettes, with jaunty upbeat piano chords and plinking melodies. But there are still elements that hint at it being something much odder, with hyper compressed drum rolls and a woozy accordion that comes in near the end of the song as its traditional pop structure begins to disintegrate. Album closer ‘Amser’ breaks from the continuity of the record by actually being sung in Cornish instead of Welsh but has the same fugacious quality as the rest of the album, slowly evaporating before disappearing off into the ether. Gwenno’s debut is unambiguously pop without sacrificing any of its weirdness. It effortlessly brings the margins into the center and turns something familiar into something totally new and otherworldly.
Louis Ormesher
 
Website: gwenno.info