English band Bastille have released their fifth LP: & is an ambitious experiment of sound and storytelling. The rich 14-track collection centres around both fictional and historical individuals, including the biblical Eve, Narcissus from classical mythology and impressionist painter Edvard Munch, among other lesser-known figures like the Chinese pirate Zheng Yi Sao. In an Instagram post, Smith invites his listeners to “dig around all of these stories and songs”. And there’s plenty of scope to do just that. & is a goldmine of poetry and passion, provoking thought and retrospection long after the last note sounds. It’s a haunting indie-folk album: quiet and pared-back instrumentals that sometimes swell up to orchestral heights; beautifully poetic lyrics and an atmosphere of melancholy.
Every track title features an “&” — the ampersand symbol highlights the album’s focus on how relationships, narratives and lives form a complex mosaic. More excitingly, the album sometimes creates new associations, displaying a mind-blowing ability to revolutionise, reinterpret, and reimagine. & forces its listeners to see the original narratives in a different, more nuanced light. Giving voices to those unheard—retelling—seems to be the album’s central philosophy and greatest strength.
The album opens with ‘Intros & Narrators’, which is one of the rare times we get Smith’s first-person voice. The sound is sensitive and stripped back, save for the restrained energy of the fingerpicked guitar and a quiet chorus of voices. The latter gives the track a richer, denser texture and foreshadows the collection of narratives yet to come. Smith’s breathy and intimate vocals are the main focus, introducing his role as the “unreliable narrator” who will guide us “through these lives” and tell us stories that are “more interesting” than his own.
The first track is ‘Eve & Paradise Lost’, exploring the biblical Fall from Eden from Eve’s perspective. The song unapologetically makes Eve the subject of the story and refuses to even mention Adam by name, though it is addressed directly to him. Much of Smith’s inspiration comes from literature and myth and at moments like this it is clear that this background underpins his musical modus operandi. The track is clever without pretension, highlighting the unfairness of Eve taking all the responsibility for succumbing to the seductions of Satan disguised as a serpent. Her voice is quietly and gently reproachful when she reminds him that she “will always take the fall”, though they “both ate the fruit”. The mood and soundscape of the ballad match the character’s emotion: a creaky acoustic guitar melody interplays with Smith’s tender voice. Eve is the first of several wronged women given a voice in &, and Smith’s handling of her is beautifully delicate and nuanced. Especially in the chorus, his open and earthily raw vocals perfectly capture her conflicting emotions of love, disappointment and sorrow.
The second track focuses on the misunderstood American poet Emily Dickinson. ‘Emily & Her Penthouse In The Sky’ has a simple, gentle soundscape of fingerpicked guitar and keyboard that allows the echoey, hazy vocals to take centre stage. The narrator offers a new insight into Dickinson’s psyche and asks us to “take the time to look again” and see that “she was never lost”, instead “making worlds up in her mind”. The penthouse is a metaphor for creativity, a sort of mind palace full of poetry and isolation. It is one of the album’s best, marrying soothing melodies with pensive lyrics and it is one to keep coming back to.
At times, the album tends towards overindulgence. The tracks about Leonard Cohen and Marie Curie, ‘Leonard & Marianne’ and ‘Marie & Polonium’ respectively, don’t quite land, though they are both lyrically clever and musically intricate. The former track introduces a new musical motif of symphonic violin and cello, as well as a full choir effect. While this adds pomp and heaviness to the album, the songs lack lyrical substance, giving the aural gravitas an unbalanced feel. ‘Marie & Polonium’ has a more upbeat sound, with a tinkling percussive counter melody — it is energetic in isolation, but feels discordant with the more sombre, folky atmosphere captured in the rest of the album.
‘Red Wine & Wilde’, though, is a gorgeous burst of emotion. Sonically and lyrically, this song is reminiscent of American indie-folk singer and songwriter Sufjan Stevens – especially when the soft, crooning tone of Smith’s vocals and the swift-moving piano melody ebb and flow together. Bastille’s official website hit the nail on the head with the following description of the Irish poet and playwright: “The perception of Wilde as a gay martyr is perhaps to oversimplify him, …his personal life more generally, was much more complex”. Smith’s rather more introspective Wilde asks the lover who will eventually betray him to “close the door”, “stay, make mistakes until the daylight” and “whisper [him] those promises neither of [them] believe” — a cynical but realistic depiction of a man often blown up to a bombastic, larger than life caricature. The misty, breath-softened vocals match this more grounded and humanised figure: at moments, they are hardly more than a whisper, and almost drowned out by the string accompaniment at times, creating a sublime mood of intimacy.
Track twelve – ‘Mademoiselle & The Nunnery Blaze’ – alludes to a sapphic relationship begun by Julie d’Aubigny. The 17th-century French opera singer was the subject of much gossip and rumour, including this particularly colourful anecdote in which she steals the body of a dead nun, places it in her lover’s bed and sets the room on fire, to run away with her. Bastille’s lyrics manage to keep away from the sordidly sensational aspect, instead offering a sweet love song with snatches of French; soft, yearning instrumentalisation and beautiful celestial imagery (“You’rе the Earth, the moon, the stars, thе air in every breath”). The religious irreverence of “They locked you up in a holy place / I joined you anyway, let’s burn it down in flames” is a particularly nice moment of defiant queer love. It’s remarkable how well Smith can portray and embody experiences he has never had, without inadvertent disrespect or trivialisation.
The final track – ‘Telegraph Road 1977 & 2024’ – is as personal as & gets. The song is based on a poem Smith’s father wrote and features Smith’s mother on the backing vocals. It’s a fitting end to a gently rustic album that is about other people on the surface but also reveals much about the band’s sensitive artistic ethos. The beautiful project pulls together threads to weave something new. It pleads with us to keep asking questions, keep making connections, and keep being human.
Words by Jui Zaveri
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