Exposure to a Mother’s Unreleased Advice

Singer-songwriter Katie Melua truly delivers with her ninth studio album, Love & Money. Filled with her calming, soothing voice, it’s storytelling central this time around, and that fact is not one that drags the entirety of the album’s vibes down. Rather, thanks to Melua’s lyrical prowess, she seizes the attention of her audience, inviting them along on a journey that leads to blue skies and peaceful meditations. 

Each track on the album shimmers with poetic beauty. Besides Melua’s angelic voice, another crucial contributor is the guitar heard throughout. It varies in what it’s trying to get across, but nevertheless is both a useful and impactful addition, of course. Along those same lines, the piano must not be neglected, either, as it effortlessly squeezes its way into a few rhythms, identifying itself as a helping hand. 

Considering all of these descriptions, it’s humorous to remember the opening lyrics on “Golden Record” as they’re not the most welcoming of words: “All your friends are gonna leave you.” Regardless, what likely will keep listeners coming back is Melua’s motherly delivery of them. It’s not overwhelmed by dramatic theatrics, but complemented by true relaxation on her part, as well as a masterful bit of harmonic cadence. 

Keeping her insightful lyrics in mind, she does not seem to be whining about her circumstances. Instead, she appears to celebrate them, adding beauty to all of them by seeking assistance from Mother Nature’s realm, since she practically relies on the grand imagery of the outdoors itself to give each track an undeniable sense of vibrant personality. 

There’s a necessary progression that’s evident on the album. By providing the ears of listeners unknown with what could come off as the signature sound of mundane elevator music, Melua puts a cool twist on the overall instrumentation that’s present here, giving it a powerfully profound effect. 

An additional factor a part of the album worthy of mention is how all somewhat sounds like country music. While this assessment of Melua’s work might be valuable, it must also be mentioned that there’s so much nuance to what she’s striving for, both lyrically and instrumentally. Thus, it cannot be denied that she prevents herself and her work from being thrown into any kind of distinct genre classification, making everything stand out just a bit more than usual in the process. 

Three songs in particular, “Lie In the Heat,” “Reefs” and “Darling Star,” have stories woven into them. They’re thematically pleasing, and they all work as either ballads or sonnets. Starting with the first, it includes deep reflections that detail the sublime attributes of the world. Melua excellently uses nature as a source of tremendous inspiration. There’s a bit of chanting, too, but it doesn’t become too distracting. “Reefs” has a stubborn, wicked guitar that continuously hits, coming right back to do what it does best again and again. Though odd it may sound, the whole of the lyrics on this one tell a tale about the fate of an unseeable hero who’s destined to save the coral reefs. With the third aforementioned song, listeners are left with Melua howling for love, and it truly is melodious. 

After everything, and especially since the sound Melua is going for, really, is quite quiet, she settles in solemnity. Classifying her album in that way might seem unfair, but what’s important to remember is that there’s so much merit to her vision, so digesting it in any way is worthwhile — that fact being the element that’s incredibly special about Love & Money.