Kate Nash is no stranger to pivots, as a kitchen-sink songwriter who later found success as an actor and with a new riot grrrl-tinged musical direction. Her fifth album is another about-face: with lush string arrangements inspired by old Hollywood and musical theatre, it feels more of a piece with Bridgerton than the boisterous wrestling ring of her Netflix show Glow.
Some songs successfully unite her conversational lyricism with this new sound. Kitsch and baroque, Horsie has a twinkly piano melody that could map on to Taylor Swift’s Enchanted – albeit one brought crashing down to earth by lyrics about crying in the car park of a DIY store. Ray and Millions of Heartbeats are similarly upfront about bouts of poor mental health, the former stripping back Nash’s frills to reveal simple acoustic guitar. Promising herself to battle depression and anxiety “with music”, Nash talks herself through a low spell by recalling the support of her friends.
There’s further fortitude here. Wasteman extols self-worth in relationships: “I’m not about it / I’m on my own shit.” But the transition from school-assembly piano to funky house isn’t her slickest. It’s one of a few wayward moments. The swooning Space Odyssey 2001’s blow-by-blow account of a first date runs too long and Vampyre falters on a simplistic rhyme scheme, thick with in-jokes between Nash and her now-husband. This album won’t revolutionise Nash’s mainstream fortunes, but her old spark lights up the best of this crinoline reinvention.
