Rose Kemp A Hand Full Of Hurricanes by: Arjun S. Ravi Tue:17-Apr-07 Label: One Little Indian Year: 2007 WB rating 70 out of 100

Rose Kemp is no stranger to the big bad world of indie music. Being the spawn of Maddy Prior and Rick Kemp (both of Steeleye Span fame) and part of numerous projects and side projects, she’s certainly lived an ‘educative’ 21 years. It comes as no surprise then that sophomore effort A Hand Full Of Hurricanes serves up something far more mature than her age would suggest.

Pedigree aside, Kemp has the wherewithal to hold her own among the likes of seasoned players like PJ Harvey and Liz Phair. This influence though is sometimes more than obvious. It’s a tough line to walk, especially when it’s blurred by song construction that one could almost blatantly substitute with either artist. So how then does Kemp stand apart? Put simply, she sings from the gut; her credibility derived from obvious passion. It’s a heady brew of heartfelt and bold themes, executed with flourish and invigoration. While there are instances where Kemp tries too hard, dragging a song on for too long (‘Metal Bird’) or repeating a chorus one time too many (‘Sheer Terror’), she continually redeems herself with a confidence that outshines many of her contemporaries.

Kemp’s songwriting complements her vocal style in a way that is not quite unique, but is still surprisingly refreshing. She usually wavers at the beginning, catching her step as the song builds into a crescendo supported well with clever instrumentation. On the opener, ‘Little One’, Kemp exhibits these qualities, faltering at the start, almost fumbling her way through the first verse. Slowly however, she manages to deliver an almost Karen O-ish like falsetto, packing a mean finale to what would otherwise have been a mediocre beginning.

Thematically, the album moves easily from standard relationship-type stuff to abstract angst and moody feelings about circumstance and situation. It’s a venerable buffet of subjects that thankfully fails to get boring. A lot of this has to do with the experimental instrumentation à la Radiohead’s Hail To The Thief. Choppy riffs are combined with thumping beats, lifting Kemp’s guttural vocals a level higher and adding to the intensity of the record. And just as you think you’re getting used to one instrument’s heavy sound, she throws in a brilliant a capella number in the form of ‘Sister Sleep’ to throw you off balance once again.

Intensity is her forte. Songs like ‘Dark Corners’, ‘Violence’ and ‘Morning Music’ take full advantage of Kemp’s tsunami-crash style of songwriting, building up on a wave of guitars and string arrangements. When she’s miserable, she’s emphatic, making the moodier numbers more ethereal than dense and in the process displaying in full form her strength as a performer. “The stupidest thing I’ve ever done/But it was so much fun” she sighs on ‘Violence’. Without as much as a warning Kemp launches into a guitar-heavy helicopter of an instrumental chorus, in what is an out and out post-rock blast. Sure it’s almost standard stop-start type of stuff, but her veracity and confidence is gripping enough to give the construction its own unique place.

Consistency is her catch though. The album starts well and one can almost ‘feel’ the raw, clenching rip of her voice as she moves from whisper to shout without much effort. But just as fast as you can say “Damn, that’s better than Regina Spektor’s last record!” she shows signs of weakness. Take the exaggeration of vocals on the almost self-effacing ‘Tiny Flower’. Instead of sounding engaged in conversation with the listener, Kemp flounders haplessly and ends up paying tribute, very poorly, to Amy Lee. Now before you go “Eurgh!” do note that it’s a mistake she rarely makes and these faults pass by quickly, appearing mainly on the record’s shorter songs (‘Tiny Flower’ clocks 1:38).
   
Kemp, essentially, is faced with a dilemma that catches most artists who’re trying to find their feet. And the dilemma is just that – finding her feet. The moments of spark and shine on this record, though overshadowing the blushes, can just as easily be called influenced as opposed to inspired. The question Kemp really needs to ask herself is “Am I making a Rose Kemp record, or am I making a Rose Kemp record?” However, given the weight of her own eccentric creativity, it’s just a matter of time before she manages to make an indelible mark in a terribly cluttered scene.

“I lost my best songs in my sleep when I was thinking” croons Kemp on ‘Morning Music’. It’s a pity, ‘cause if she’d stayed awake, this record would’ve been a classic.