If you'd told me a few weeks back that I'd be lusting after some chick named Goldfrapp, I'd have told you to pack your bags for an all-expenses-paid trip to my fist. But writing this review, all I can think of is Goldfrapp. Sweet, sweet Goldfrapp. Mmm... Goldfrapp.
Before I get accused of any level of chauvinism here, I feel I should defend myself. I am, after all, only a male variant of the human species. And what sane, sexually functional guy could resist a woman who whispers in a throaty voice, "No time to fuck/ But you like the rush?" Not me! What's more, she's English! English from England! And she hangs out with Orbital! C'mon, now!
Taking cues from apparent influences ranging from Marlena Dietrich to Siouxsie Sioux to Björk, Alison Goldfrapp has constructed an album that's simultaneously smarmy and seductive, yet elegant and graceful. Describing the sound of Felt Mountain comes easy not because it's a simple album, but because the devices used throughout are so ingrained in our musical vernacular.
If Austin Powers had been a film noir flick, its soundtrack would probably sound something like Felt Mountain. The hushed vocals, the crying analog synthesizers, and the sustained seven chords all evoke amazingly strong images of things past. Still, the album manages not to sound dated, kept fresh by occasional journeys into more experimental electronics and Goldfrapp's always-engaging vocals.
Felt Mountain opens with "Lovely Head," a track that juxtaposes a shuffling drum beat and whistling that sounds like it could be 50 years old with futuristic analog beeps. Goldfrapp's voice, with all its warmth and expressiveness, sounds instantly familiar. And it retains this familiarity over the course of the album, excepting a throaty, Siouxsie-esque yelp or two in "Human," and a bizarre passage at the end of "Deer Stop," in which her voice is made to sound eerily childlike. Creepy, especially considering the sexual undertones present.
All this taken into account, Felt Mountain's greatest strength lies in its overall elegance as a record. While certainly not "poppy," it never has a truly weak moment. And while the songs aren't all that different from one another, the flow from track to track makes perfect sense.
To summarize, Felt Mountain is a really swell record, and I am madly in love with Alison Goldfrapp. I'd have her name tattooed on my arm, but... you know. There just isn't room in this world for a man with "Goldfrapp" inscribed in his flesh. Luckily, there's always room in the world for a damned fine record.