By Sammy Stein
When Paula Rae Gibson contacted me to ask if I would review her new album, she described it simply yet profoundly as ‘an ode to friendship.’ Her best friend had died the year before, and, as she explained, “the least I could do was try to articulate what she meant to me, as a way to heal and a way to stay close to her.”
Few artists possess the imagination and musical instinct required to translate grief into something tangible, but Rae Gibson does exactly that here. This album is steeped in loss, love, and longing, yet reaches far beyond. It becomes, ultimately, a path toward hope, reminding us that beauty and sorrow are often inseparable. That such beauty can result from loss must be a sign of hope and a vehicle towards acceptance and light that we all crave at times.
The album’s origins are as intimate as the music. A small Japanese publisher released a limited edition collection of photographs Rae Gibson had taken of her friend, and while collaborating with trumpet and cornet player, producer, and live electronic musician Alex Bonney on a soundtrack incorporating her friend’s voice messages, the project gradually ‘came to life,’ as Rae Gibson described the experience.
The music moves through emotional and sonic spaces that feel almost suspended between worlds. Bonney’s visionary electronics don’t just accompany Rae Gibson’s vocals; they deepen and amplify them, creating an atmosphere that feels immersive, spectral, and oddly transcendent, as if the listener is afforded fleeting glimpses into another, almost tangible dimension.
The eerie opener, ‘Alive’ is atmospheric and backed by electronic fuzziness that perfectly depicts the sense of otherworldliness that loss can blanket us in. There is a keening keyboard that carries throughout the number, and layers of electronic haze drift beneath whispered words like a prayer, and distant church bells that toll like a summons but also set an undertone of reverence. The sense of emotional dislocation is carried into ‘The Gloves That You Gave Me,’ which sums up the strange power objects acquire after loss. Everyday items become saturated with memory, carrying traces of those who once touched them. The whirring background rhythms feel like a whirlpool, the undertow dragging us towards a darker place. The organ-like background and the gentle, mesmeric vocals of Rae Gibson, punctuated by occasional birdsong, evoke a deep sense of absence. The words ‘everything feels broken’ and ‘nothing will ever be the same, only rain feels right, right now, only tears feel right, right now’ perfectly sum up loss and cut to the heart of bereavement with devastating simplicity.
‘Dreamt of You’ is a beautiful summation of how we dream of those who have gone, and how our imagination fills in the gaps, using phrases they used to say. Offering herself comfort, the singer tells of dreaming of a lost one and how they tell her they are fine – comforting and yet disturbing, as the music adds touches of menace and uncertainty to the snippets of conversation, which the intellect tells us cannot be real, but is redolent of the collective brainstorm our minds flood us with when we have lost. Tender, unsettling, and painfully human.
‘Wait For Me Wait’ is heartfelt in its sincerity. Pitched against relentless rhythmic repetitions, the vocals sing their plea but also accept that it cannot be different. The words speak of talking forever, that there is so much more to say, and a wish for just a little more time. ‘Funny Confessions’ is about sunshine, joy, and how the presence of someone can change things, and the lingering instinct to wonder what someone might say if they were still with you.
‘Lean On’ is an investigative journey into the feelings of leaning on the love for someone, sharing their fire, dancing, and celebrating who they were with the world, while ‘Very Alone,’ is the album’s emotional centrepiece, a number that will resonate with anyone who has experienced deep loss. The lyrics, ‘checking in with you, checking in with me,’ capture the strange ongoing dialogue we maintain with people we have lost, while the line ‘I’ve got to learn to do this alone’ lands with heartbreaking honesty, demonstrating the reluctant acceptance our minds understand we must come to.
This album could have turned into something of an introspective journey, but, while the essence of the album is loss, there is also music that continually reaches outward, and this carries the listener beyond the subject. There is warmth and connection. The album is uplifting, a testament to music’s ability to hold pain, transform it, and return to us a gift. The journey toward the light of how music can carry us, heal us, keep us close to those we have temporarily lost, and offer a vehicle for emotions that no other art form can do.
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