The Turning Wheel
Album by Spellling
Released 25 June 2021
Progressive Pop
Produced by Spellling
Rating – 7/10
‘The Turning Wheel’ is a well-travelled collection of curious heart songs.
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We need this opening paragraph to result in the phrase “this ain’t your grandpa’s Spellling album”. Ready? Well, compare ‘The Turning Wheel’ to the musting ruins of ‘Mazy Fly’ or sheer ambience of ‘Pantheon of Me’, and you’ll notice a fauna-feeding optimism working to the Oakland singer-songwriter-producer’s advantage. Compare the planet’s worth of session musicians – check out all those flugelhorns, trombones and banjos – to the relatively minimal budgeting of past outings, and you may come to the conclusion that this ain’t your grandpa’s Spellling album.
Optimism plays its role according to the double album’s first half, entitled ‘Above’, laughing with high-definition jubilation, contrasting the darkness of the later ‘Below’ period, which takes the brunt of a mind prone to depressive exhaustion.
The loving pieces do indeed blush at the sight of fauna; ‘Emperor with an Egg’, a charmingly ditzy cutter about a penguin, entrains into a world of fantasy, almost as if it’s a theme song to a cartoon depicting a penguin superhero – “he’s a bird, he’s a king / he can swim with his wings”.
It may bend or exhaust the taste of the listener – ‘Little Deer’ is an easier sound; a jazz/soul spellbinder that eyes up a mortality-deer analogy. Serving as the album’s opener, it kicks Spellling’s knack for meticulous production and her unlimited songwriting into gear immediately; numerous percussion instruments spring to life with each of her glamorous yowls, as if each to and fro is a magic spell, spilling into a devoted chorus rally of “dead of winter, dead of eve / little deer will marry me”.
Some of that merriment may appear vacant or lightly forced, particularly as the title track reads like a half-assed Kate Bush; piano, quirky vocals and lyrics about dancing. But some portions of the album display this act as a very human-like desperation; ‘Always’ sees Spellling shoehorn optimism into her life, hurtling into the phrase “don’t steal my heart” while incorporating chord progressions and melodies so familiar that they actually fuel Spellling’s dreamer’s desire.
In my estimation, this is why the ‘Above’ half of the album reigns supreme. The adulation that may emanate from these songs could never be summarised as forced, and hell, almost every granule of Spellling’s thought process appears so grand that the bulk of the compositions end up resembling a series finale; big bangs of thought, the blood, sweat and tears of songwriting.
The never-bargaining result is a genre-surfing essay of progressive pop, which is potentially the only aspect retained by the ‘Below’ half that sways me to return to it. But it doesn’t have an ‘Awaken’ to brag about, which hulks with warning in its luxurious melodies, fitting for prose of divine intervention, tweezing faith before Spellling sings “let your heart transform” with such a boom in her heart, that it may very well be transforming.
Nor does it include ‘The Future’, which spears from genre-surfing to star-surfing; utilising a sci-fi theme appropriately with the most stratosphere-shifting melody on the album, dancing in a gravity suit with enthusiastic reckless abandon and weird alien creatures.
What it does have is ‘Magic Act’, which is incredible pretty, particularly as guitar licks transition into protagonist solos while the monsters that lurk below this heaven stomp around in the form of body-stomping synthesisers.
I’m also fond of how ‘Boys at School’ departs from optimism in a sudden downer that stares at the album’s perambulating first half with tear-stained eyes. Spellling dominates and reclaims, with dramatic guitar and piano interplay standing up to school bullies in a way that she couldn’t, as she frequents the words “I hate the boys at school / they never play the rules”. She sobs, the instruments comfort and confront; it’s the perfect reminder of how music can act as friendship.
But negative bits and pieces like ‘Legacy’ and ‘Queen of Wands’ have the tendency to isolate, bringing the mood down with less pretty music backing it up, though the former at least reserves intrigue in a synth offshoot that serves as a mantra-style outro, alongside the tropical storm of Spellling’s ‘Great Gig in the Sky’-style vocal improvs. The latter has nothing of comparable value; no goods, no services.
‘Revolution’ has a fine production effort to boast about, as horns of triumph wrap themselves around flurrying rhythms and the pipe organs of Satan’s lair. Album closer ‘Sweet Talk’ immediately detaches itself via the slight minimalism of Spellling’s previous work, but more-so in an in-and-out manner, as one instrument is swapped for another every few lines.
The palette is one of the many charms of ‘The Turning Wheel’. Spellling’s musicality, in every single department, is ballooned up, with the ability to impact the listener to the point where they’ll soon be spelling ‘spelling’ with three L’s.
The melon in the room that many feel inclined to address is the impact that Anthony Fantano’s review has had on the album’s prevalence. People have theorised the effect his views have on the views of others – I’m ashamed to be bringing it up – but the backbone of his role is his potential to spark interest, and I’m glad that so many ears have found themselves glued to ‘The Turning Wheel’ in the process. Even if I value one half of the album eternally over the other, ‘The Turning Wheel’ is the work of a musicality completionist; much is enticing, all has purpose, all is progressive.
Best tracks – ‘Little Deer’ – ‘Always’ – ‘The Future’ – ‘Boys at School’.
Weakest tracks – ‘Turning Wheel’ – ‘Legacy’ – ‘Queen of Wands’.
Rating – 7 out of 10
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