Roísín Murphy, the Irish singer-songwriter, has returned to music once more for her fourth full-length LP. Her appearance in music over the past 11 years has been sporadic to say the least, releasing short bursts of albums as opposed to a continuous string. Various disillusionments with the record industry following her releases through EMI, alongside becoming a mother, have caused her to take a step back at times. Over the years her niche sound has grown progressively unique to herself. It takes glimpses of pop, electronica, soul and Krautrock, melting them together into a logical format.

Her 2015 release – Hairless Toys – saw Murphy make a long anticipated return to music. It was after an eight-year absence that allowed for a backlog in songs and ultimately gifted Murphy with enough material for two albums, the latter of which being Take Her Up To Monto. When songwriting sessions build-up enough material to span two albums, my mind is cast back to notions of Radiohead circa Kid A and Amnesiac with the latter being called the ‘b-sides’ from Kid A. Fortunately for Radiohead their so called ‘b-sides’ could quite easily form the finest material of any other band’s catalogue. Where does this leave Murphy though? With Hairless Toys being slated as her most innovative piece of music, have we just been left the tatters with Take Her Up To Monto?

By far and large the majority of songs begin with a single keyboard or synthesised chord progression. It is an obvious position to build-up songs starting from the quiet and progressing to something more substantial. At times it works well, the likes of ‘Ten Miles High’ loom around a discerning gloom with injections of funk-driven guitar. Similarly the album opener, ‘Mastermind’, seems a fitting position to use this progressive build in a song. Synthesised tactile swells bolster beneath Murphy’s space-like voice. Her voice resonates in a futuristic fashion, similar to Bowie’s circa ‘Space Odyssey’. 80s sampled percussion rings underneath allowing the sound to look backwards as much as it does forwards.

Unfortunately for Murphy this repetitive song introduction grows wary when the same structure appears to occupy around 80 percent of the album. ‘Thoughts Wasted’ travels along the same progressive vein as ‘Mastermind’ but it never develops as a song. It very much retains the demo feel throughout; it is an idea for a song that never becomes anything more than that. Furthermore it begins to cement the niche appeal of Murphy more so. Rather than this offering any gratification, its deconstructive outlook on electronic pop makes her sound become increasingly hard to relate to.

It is this embellished pretence within Take Her Up To Monto that can make for the album to be a frustratingly hard listen. Murphy was never one to tread a path of normality with her eccentric outlook on life and music. The likes of ‘Romantic Comedy’ offer little for the audience to fall in love with except the self-indulgence of Murphy herself. Its left-field rhythm and muddy vocal line lead for quite a discerning feeling for the audience to embrace. It fails to particularly grasp you and drag you into much of a hook but rather opts to try and bamboozle you with its obscurity. ‘Nervous Sleep’ is a solemn outlook on the album, a murky attempt at storytelling from Murphy with her vocals poised upon a thick bass sample that swamps below the surface. It makes for a fitting metaphor to the opaque correlation between Murphy’s invention and audience accessibility.

This is often the risky nature of left-over songs though. Quite often these will instead be used for the band’s B-sides and serve no other purpose than that. Any need to release them as a full album is either a successful brave statement – see Radiohead – or stupidity. It is unfair to lament the whole of Take Her Up To Monto though, as it manages to strike a fine balance between pretence and understanding occasionally. ‘Lip Service’ is an exceptionally beautiful song. Murphy’s voice cuts between samba rhythms and reverberated drum samples. The intonations in her voice are held perfectly as the occasionally murky vocal mix is stripped back to reveal her angelic nature below.

‘Whatever’ treads the same path as ‘Lip Service’. It is a melodic afternoon wander through a country lane. It professes sincerity where other tracks diverged and got lost within the woods of egotism. When Murphy takes this care in songwriting the songs appear as tangible entities to the audience and the album really finds strength in its message.

The closing statement to the album is ‘Sitting and Counting’. Reflective in the way Murphy appears to attempt to clear up much of her personal history. It turns away from musicality, instead putting emphasis on poetical rhetorics within her lyricism: “Who’s better than you / Getting the better of me.” Its remarkable lullaby drawl is a complete respite from the eccentrics that plague the album.

Take Her Up To Monto is a very personal reflection of where Roísín Murphy is operating right now. It is a world full of frivolities but with another attack at pop song structure, her understanding of the art seems to be waining somewhat. It feels slightly lost as an album and unfortunately feels like a musical hangover from Hairless Toys for the most part, despite the few gems that are littered amongst the reels of demo tape.
Tom Churchill

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