This is the second full-length that Carla Dal Forno has released since returning to her native Australia and those sunnier environs continue to have a welcome warming effect on her songwriting. She has also grown considerably more eclectic and inspired in both her instrumentation and her assimilation of fresh influences over the last few years while her songwriting talents have sharpened significantly, as this “album of quiet upheaval” is a hook-packed, intimate, and refreshingly sincere collection of would-be indie pop hits about heartache, yearning, desire, and every other deep human emotion that matters. In that regard, Confession is a significant leap forward, but Dal Forno is otherwise still the same bass-wielding post-punk chanteuse as ever.
Amusingly, I noticed the other day that Dal Forno self-described her early Berlin work as “lone kosmische misanthropy,” which is quite a far cry from her current stripped-down and bass-driven Young Marble Giants-style indie pop vision. The interesting bit is that Dal Forno’s radical stylistic transformation happened without her making any major foundational changes to the essence of her sound: ten years after “Fast Moving Cars,” she is still essentially making bedroom pop magic from little more than a bass, a drum machine, and some honest and introspective musings about life, heartache, and relationships. The only thing that truly changed is that she gradually cleared away all the murk, gloom, reverb, and rigidity to let in some welcome light, space, warmth, fun, and leftfield inspiration. In short, she focused entirely on being real, human, and direct and jettisoned everything that diluted or blunted those aspects. There is one semi-throwback to Dal Forno’s Blackest Ever Black past, however, as the rubbery slow-motion stomp of “Nighttime” feels like it should have been THE shadowy, bloodless Berlin party anthem of 2016.
Everything else great about Confession is pure execution, as the songs are tight, the hooks are great, and the bass lines vibrantly bounce and chug. Aside from a few instrumental interludes, literally every song could be a hot single and they all have their own distinctive character. For me, the album highlight is the absolutely gorgeous “Gave You Up,” as Dal Forno hauntingly remembers a lost love over little more than a strummed acoustic guitar. “When I gave you up, the seasons were changing, now that you’re gone I notice again” is such a perfect and heartbreaking line. The ghostly opener “Going Out” is another great break-up song that movingly captures yearning and desire for a past love, but things otherwise seem to be going alright for Dal Forno in the romance department, as “Under The Covers” is a poignantly tender and warmly chugging celebration of new love. In fact, I think Dal Forno covers damn near every phase of the love’s life cycle on this album and does it beautifully.
The album’s other top-tier pop gem is the sensuous and exotica-inspired slink of “I Go Back,” as Dal Forno’s hushed voice floats through a dubby and spacy swirl of warbling synthtones and smudgy psychedelia. Beyond the parade of hits, however, I was most struck by how much fun this album can be even when Dal Forno is recounting romantic frustrations and imploding relationships. The title piece is an especially fine example of that phenomenon, as it has a charmingly ‘80s-sounding pop-reggae groove and an endearing lyrical tendency to force extra syllables into lines to get the sentiment just right. It also uncharacteristically features some nice backing vocals and harmonies. “Blue Skies” is a similar delight, as Dal Forno’s annoyance with someone who always fucks up her plans feels like a bouncy, clapping-heavy summer anthem for clearing all the dead weight out of your life.
I genuinely think that this might be my favorite Carla Dal Forno era, as she increasingly sounds like she’s conjuring up a cool Australia post-punk beach party without sacrificing any of the poetry, soul, or introspection that made her previous work so great. I also genuinely love how seamlessly she has managed to assimilate the best bits of reggae, dub, and kitschy pop fun into a palette that is essentially just a few cool bass lines, primitive drum machine patterns, and her own voice. I am tempted to say that Confession beautifully continues Dal Forno’s sustained hot streak, but I think it might be more accurate to say that an even hotter streak is now fully underway.
