4/5
Alchemizing Fur and Gold into low-fi tech tricks and pealing instrumentation, Two Suns fans Brighton-based lead-singer Natasha Khan’s folk fire with mystical effect. Clearly, the Pakistani-born Brit has matured well beyond the hippie hymns she yowled over a spare set three years ago. The bones from her chilly debut are still there ‘mdash; handclaps, curling horns and chamber-music tribalism ‘mdash; just polished with a backup choir and crisp studio techniques.
After reviving herself on ‘Glass’ (‘I will rise now/ And go about the city’), a pummel of drums runs through layers of lithe woodwinds and harpsichord, and Khan’s pitch wanes to porcelain. Instead of relying on a minimalist appeal as in 2006, she shifts between ethereal ornamentation and a somber tenor, pacing her vocals alongside the fluid tempo of ‘Siren’s Song’ and the PJ Harvey melody of ‘Travelling Woman.’
It’s the same runway off which her Mercury-nominated style took flight, with new varnish to her woodsy mysticism. But even after adding ornate textures to the walls of her moonlit shanty, Khan pells through to keep some of the Old World ocher. In fact, tracks like ‘Moon and Moon’ are some of her shaman-songwriting bests, sublimating the animal oneness and PETA-friendly poetics on Fur and Gold for proverbial mythologies in the ghostly vein of Hopi storytelling.
And yet, as Wordsworthian as she’d like us to believe she is, Khan’s still willing to throw in a postmodern tribute to ‘The Karate Kid’ without us even noticing (‘Daniel’). Melding outback affinities with her Gen-Y upbringings, Two Suns not only holds up the boho cords that caught our ears, but rubs in a spiritual salve.