Part of the
enigmatic London collective, the singer-songwriter’s third album is a balm of
cool, dreamy reflections on faith, love and courage
The soul
singer Cleo Sol is a big part of Sault. But compared with them, the enigmatic
vocalist is – almost – an open book. We know what she looks like. We know she
was born in London as Cleopatra Zvezdana Nikolic; her parents (Jamaican and
Serbian-Spanish) are thought to have met in a jazz band. She has a social media
presence; she plays live. Earlier this year, Sol sold out two nights at
London’s Royal Albert Hall. (It was easier, complained some on Twitter, to get
tickets to Beyoncé.)
We know
that Sol and Sault also share a label, Forever Living Originals (FLO), run
independently by producer Inflo (Flo for short), the alias of Dean Josiah
Cover, whose productions have racked up Mercurys, Mobos, Ivor Novellos and
Brits either for Inflo specifically or for his clients. Michael Kiwanuka and
Little Simz have both made award-winning records with the producer and have
guested on Sault outings; Sol has appeared on Little Simz tracks such as Woman.
Inflo and Sol are an item, and it’s assumed that it’s their sleeping child on
the cover of Sol’s very personal 2021 album, Mother – watched over by a photo
on the wall, thought to be of Sol’s own mother.
Other than
her social media posts, some since deleted, Sol hasn’t explained her art in
detail in quite some time. Sol/Sault records drop most often with no warning,
as Heaven, her third overall, did just over a week ago. Context and motivations
can only be guessed. (This is where FLO’s independence is key: letting the art
speak for itself is easier when there aren’t multiple stakeholders to please.)
But while
Sault’s more rhythm-forward music comes with a distinct political edge, the
music of Sol can be heard as the yin aspect to Sault’s more outgoing yang. Her
work is cool, dreamy, downtempo; inward-facing and often consolatory.
Like those
before it, her latest record feels like a balm; succour offered in the context
of the continuing challenges of living. Sol often sings simply of faith, love
and courage – all at play on Heaven. It’s unclear who the title track is
addressed to, but it seems to pick up where Mother left off, thanking the
almighty for a child.
If Heaven
feels a little less cohesive when compared with the unifying themes of Mother,
where Sol sang about new parenthood in the context of her experience as a
daughter, it’s a short and delicate offering that crystallises her distinct
appeal. Here, her butterfly vocals, gossamer instrumentation and stylistic
breadth are all allied to a quiet righteousness.
Hard
lessons, personal growth and ways to cope all receive an airing in these
delicate, matter-of-fact songs that often wrestle with everyday situations.
Miss Romantic, by far the poppiest tune here, recalls the 1990s tendency for
dishing out advice in R&B form: TLC’s No Scrubs, say, or the work of Lauryn
Hill. In response to a love triangle, Sol deploys an iron fist in a velvet
glove, redirecting a friend towards self-respect. Her voice climbs to peaks of
clarity without resorting to showy melismas.
These retro
musical touches – 90s neo-soul, 70s soul fusion, jazz inflections – continue
across nine brief songs that seem to hover outside time. Most startling here,
stylistically, is the guitar-led Airplane. It borders on 60s folk music. “You
will find your power/ Little bird, wait,” Sol counsels.
The road to
Heaven has been winding. Sol started off more than a decade ago as a featured
vocalist on pop-grime era tracks, via producer DaVinChe. After a hiatus, the
singer came back more soulfully in 2018 with an EP called Winter Songs – and a
more personal set of themes and motivations. Her first album proper, Rose in
the Dark (2020), appeared at times to be addressed to her younger self.
Sol doesn’t
just dish out advice to others; a great many of her songs are addressed to the
mirror. Self is a jazz-inflected plea for self-development, for doing the
internal work before trying to “change the world”. (“Ooh, save me, save me from
myself,” she sings, featherlight, at the start of the record.)
Cleo Sol: Mother review – intimate, spacious soul-jazz
The core
diffidence that pervades the Sault family does crop up in the music too. Old
Friends, one of the more direct tracks on Heaven, regretfully calls time on a
friendship. “You had my trust and we had choices,” croons Sol delicately, to a
simple backing of keys: “But you told my secrets to strangers.”
PR-wise,
then, Sol keeps things on the down-low. But she does share with strangers – in
the controlled space of her own music, where confessionals about her life, and
the lives of those around her, open up generously, full of love and conscious
thought. And if these songs occasionally feel underwritten – many are brief,
jazzy sketches that seem to wander in and meander back out again – they
contrast pointedly with the overwritten, attention-deficit music crafted to
punch out on today’s Spotify playlists. Sometimes all you need is a little
tenderness.
- Kitty
Empire - theguardian.com
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