Emeli Sandé - Long Live the Angels

The Guardian 60

(Virgin)

The mistake Emeli Sandé made on her debut album, Our Version of Events, was to allow any rogue edginess to be eradicated. But becoming synonymous with pop tameness – albeit an impressive, immaculate tameness – didn’t prevent it from becoming the bestselling album of 2012, which puts her under considerable pressure to not stray far on the follow-up. If anything, parts of this album creep even closer to the middle of the road: whisper-to-a-scream ballads such as Happen are interesting only for their vastness. But Sandé has diverged in other ways. Her towering voice – sometimes, as on Hurts, quivering with the aftershock of her recent divorce – is frequently complemented by the sparsest possible backing. I’d Rather Not is shot through with harp, percussion and nothing else; on Tenderly, an African choir pays delicate tribute to her Zambian heritage, and Garden uses spectral Auto-Tune and chilly bars from MC Jay Electronica to achieve its ghostly effect. For Sandé, that’s tantamount to edginess.

The Guardian 60

(Universal)

Four years on from the Scottish soul soprano’s breakbeats and gospel debut, and following a divorce from her teenage beau, Sandé’s second album shifts into the more downbeat territory of lovelorn confessionals. The former medical student makes plenty of references to physical discomfort – bones shake and ligaments tear on Selah; by the end of the thunderous Hurts she’s shivering with pain. But a repetitive wash of acoustic guitars and consoling choirs dull the emotion, and Sandé is too polite to go for the jugular. Her voice still powers through the octaves, but she sounds more comfortable and less exposed on Garden, with rapper Jay Electronica playing the earthy foil to her wounded angel.

Pitchfork 54

For the better part of the 2010s, the role of British misery troubadour has been occupied by two people named Adele: Adele Laurie Blue Adkins—the Adele-Adele—and Adele Emily Sandé. Industry-wise, they occupy much the same niche: colossal-voiced balladeers of inoffensive angst and outlier sales. But the two artists are subtly different. The mononymic Adele’s music is rooted in Northern soul and not much else; when she brought popmaker Max Martin in for 25 it was both surprising and, for Max, restrained. Sandé follows more trends; her solo debut “Heaven” was hitched to the UK’s breakbeat revival, and subsequent singles have brought in grime and David Guetta’s brand of EDM. Adele’s music was adopted quickly by the X Factor-industrial complex; Sandé, who began her career as a Syco songwriter, was part of it from the start.

Perhaps as a result, Adele’s music, with the notable exception of “Rolling in the Deep,” is human-sized—her songs are written to slot into the mundane heartbreaks and little resignations of everyday life. Sandé writes songs that start at cinematic and scale upward. (She must have been peeved she didn’t get to do the theme to Skyfall.) Her natural home is the place many Britons first met her (if not Americans): the 2012 London Olympics, where she performed in the opening and closing ceremonies.

This is all well and good if you’re cheering on thousands of athletes, or soundtracking a trailer. It’s somewhat less so if you’re recording an album. Several tracks on Long Live the Angels, Sandé’s second, long-gestating LP, were co-produced by English DJ Naughty Boy, best known for crossover hit and Sam Smith showcase “La La La.” But instead of doing what he did there—curating bubbling-up dance trends like the ones on Sandé’s best hits—Naughty Boy indulges his, and her, most maudlin tendencies. A gospel choir appears barely one minute in; it remains in residence for most of the album. Sandé sings, well and interchangeably, over over a dozen tracks of stately but amorphous gloom—the sort of beige dramatics The Guardian dubbed, in 2011, “the new boring.” This is your pain with an acoustic guitar. This is your pain as a piano ballad. This is your pain with “Bleeding Love” drums. This is your pain with a small choir. This is your pain with a large choir. When Sandé finally perfects the formula, on “Highs and Lows,” it's after at least eight other tries.

“Garden” would normally be a waste of Emeli—she's barely on it—but here it's triply a relief: for its sinuous, minimalist beat, for the bookending performance by British poet Áine Zion, for its being among the rare times Jay Electronica is a refreshing presence. “Tenderly” isn’t much of a song on its own, but the inclusion of the Serenje Choir—a nod to Sandé’s Zambian heritage—at least distinguishes the track. “Hurts,” the big single, takes a bit to get going, but once it does, it really does: a sudden tempo shift, handclaps, mood like gathering clouds. The tempo leaves no time for X Factor emoting, which means Sandé can provide emotion instead; her voice goes ragged and her words turn bitter (“oh man, what a tragedy, ha ha”). Being an Emeli Sandé song, it eventually turns into a power ballad like the rest, but the swell feels earned. Too much of Long Live the Angels just feels turgid.