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Evening Standard
Evening Standard
Lifestyle
David Smyth

Paloma Faith - The Glorification of Sadness album review: her soul-pop takes a darker turn

Paloma Faith rose alongside Adele as a bombastic modern soul singer with a retro touch, albeit with more extravagant taste in hats. And like Adele, unfortunately she has also reached the point of releasing her divorce album.

As on the latter’s 30, the voices of Faith’s young children can be heard here, on a collection that tracks the end of her nine year relationship with the French artist Leyman Lahcine.

While her personal life has faltered, she has also belatedly been experiencing big TikTok numbers for her 2014 single Only Love Can Hurt Like This, prompting her to reissue the song as an irritating sped-up version and as a duet with Teddy Swims. That one feels apt again today but was written by Diane Warren, the Godzilla of power balladry. On this album the feelings are real, and all her own.

As a child of divorce, Faith is painfully aware of how this all goes. She’s heard the script all her life, which also means she finds it hard to avoid lyrical clichés across 17 songs. “You’re better off without me,” “No one can ever love me like me,” “When you hit rock bottom, only one way to go,” and “I am enough” all make an appearance.

Musically, she’s understandably less upbeat than on her last album. “Angrier” and “darker” were her instructions to her producer, the LA-based Swede Martin Wave. We could add “empowering”. She rarely sounds like she’s wallowing, shifting from “I might be feminine but I’m not delicate” to “I’m not a good girl, I’m a bad woman,” early on. How You Leave a Man is a cousin to Paul Simon’s 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover but there’s no slipping out the back, Jack. She’s wheelspinning on the driveway in a convertible.

There are a few misses, too. Let it Ride goes for Queen’s pomp rock but comes over as too overbearing. The club track Cry On the Dancefloor only serves as a reminder that Robyn’s similarly themed sad banger, Dancing On My Own, is much better.

The old Paloma makes a welcome appearance on the delightfully foulmouthed Eat Shit and Die. As on Lily Allen’s F*** You, her smile is audible while she hurls abuse over swinging strings and bouncy piano. It’s her best bet for another hit – you can visualise an arena crowd waving phone torches and swearing along – and a rare fun moment on an album that is necessarily serious.

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