Album Review: Fabiana Palladino (Self-Titled)

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Fabiana Palladino achieved a nascent victory in her career when underground alt-pop icon Jai Paul discovered her Soundcloud demos. Announced as the first signing to his label/artist development scheme, Paul Institute, a kind of enigmatic mystique is somewhat mirrored in both of their work. Having drip-fed her growing audience five singles in the last seven years, she disregards the often frantic appetite for content in the mainstream music industry. Having only just played her first headline show in February, we are finally getting a fuller picture of the artist that is Fabiana Palladino. 

‘Closer’ is a brooding lamentation of indecision. Driven forward by irresistible drum grooves, a heavenly burst of vocals introduces the subtly restrained chorus: “Standing in your light, I feel it in my heart / I know we’re not together babe, but can we be apart?”. Tension escalates in ‘Can You Look In The Mirror? as she proclaims “I’m not ashamed, babe / Just living on my own / Not waiting for no one”. Vintage synth stabs punctuate Palladino’s deftly controlled vocal performance, the intricate balance of sonic elements lending this song a distinctive poise.

A cinematic gloss hangs over ‘I Can’t Dream Anymore’, with lyrics evoking “This grey illusion / This vision of life / A symbol of our powerful mystery / In the lilac light every night”. Palladino hangs in the balance between waking imagination and nighttime visions, perhaps mirroring the confusion often following the breakdown of a relationship — an effect only strengthened by the dazzling instrumental. This sweeping ballad moves with deliberation, a deeply felt profession of loss and longing.

Combining 80s disco with a novel, subversive production style, Palladino creates moments that approach nostalgia. With no firm grounding however, the result is a faint sense of loss for something already forgotten. This tension drives the album forward, weaving between previously-trodden ground and brilliantly executed twists and turns. 

‘Give Me A Sign’ sees Palladino’s vocal range and emotional expression reach new heights; her icy falsetto glides over the lush, expansive instrumental. Wavering piano chords introduce us to the sparkling, disco-fueled splendour of ‘Stay With Me Through The Night’. Thudding drums root this track in an undeniably danceable rhythm, a welcome diversion from the more ponderous songs preceding it. This number particularly feels that it will be fully justified when performed live — presumably this will be realised at her upcoming Village Underground show in May.

A gritty sonic palette links her excursions into the worlds of funk, ballads and R’n’B. Precipitated by the end of a long-term relationship, themes of love, loss and memory running throughout the album further tie together this stylistic blend. Palladino does not rely too heavily on an 80s aesthetic throughout the record — rather she freely draws from it, moulding it to her needs to spectacular effect.

The album is concluded by the understated yet profoundly moving ‘Forever’. Palladino again climbs into the upper reaches of her vocal range in a beautifully vulnerable expression of the melancholy of change: “Though my life is simple now that we’re not together / Still, I’ll be missing you / Missing you forever”.

Palladino has quietly and patiently cultivated an album unfettered by the anxieties of an industry that increasingly relies on a short-form attention economy. It feels like an ode to taking your time with the creative process in order to produce a piece of work that truly stays with its listeners. We can only hope that we are not left waiting as long for her next endeavour, but the unpredictability of the Paul Institute doesn’t guarantee this. If it means we get another album of this calibre though, it’ll be worth the wait.

Words by Ben Browning


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