Fair Maiden

Fair Maiden’s long-awaited debut album ventures into a strange dimension of doo-wop chamber pop, writes FREYA ZAKNICH.

[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.] The tradition of Australian folk music is a relatively obscure vein to strike, considering the steady trend of unearthing and then venerating forgotten troves of rock, punk and new wave in this country. Increased accessibility inevitably leads to a rising number of enthusiasts and experts, and so too a glut of new music that carries the same ream of influences.

And now for something completely different: Fair Maiden. The self-titled debut of Adelaide’s Ellen Carey is a highly idiosyncratic venture into a strange dimension of doo-wop chamber pop. Carey has performed as Fair Maiden for nearly a decade. This is in addition to the exceptionally weird Birth Glow with longtime collaborator Stephanie Crase (Summer Flake), who also appears in the band. Given the excruciating wait time for this release to finally arrive and disperse in the spring winds, it is fitting that Fair Maiden stands removed from the present moment.

It is indisputable that the lead instrument of the piece is the voice. Established 19 seconds into the opening song, ‘India,’ Carey’s soprano is as shocking as it is lithe. Trilling like Kate Bush in mystic mode on Never For Ever, it glows through reverb thick as incense spewed from a sacrificial pyre. A sharp, stabbing hiss intones like the smash of a cymbal to punctuate the pagan hymn, as other elements are kept low to avoid interference.

Other familiar voices creep into view throughout the album, with a chorus-line shared by Crase, Carey’s brother Joel and Liam Kenny (both of Peak Twins). In ‘Lord’, Fair Maiden list reasons for their damnation while they pray for the end of days. In ‘Wait For You’ they are listless without their beloved and in ‘Poison’ it is all but over. All three tracks are misleadingly beguiling and sweet if their message is ignored, but the wistful nostalgia is inescapable. Aside from shared origins with Peak Twins, current contemporaries with a comparable predilection and range to Fair Maiden are scant. Though perhaps the gothic Americana of King Dude is suitable enough to mention.

“It’s a cappella save a lone, trembling guitar note.”

While there are persistent streaks of silvery melancholy throughout Fair Maiden, the unnecessarily demarcated ‘Sad Song’ is beyond everything that comes before it. It’s a cappella save a lone, trembling guitar note and wound incredibly tightly to every audible breath Carey releases. It is pure sublimation, similar to moments on Nico’s devastating Desertshore, though thankfully shorter, allowing for the reprieve of ‘Blue Moon’ and ‘Darlin’ to come just in time. The latter is led by Kenny, barefaced and dedicated, who sings, “Well, I ain’t got a thing to lose … ‘cos I’ve given it all to you” over a tired Carey in the background.

The lead single from the album is in fact the one that closes proceedings. ‘Lady of Fortune’ bristles from the outset, set to a pounding gallop that summons Nancy Sinatra’s star-child-of-the-West persona from the 50% outstanding Nancy & Lee. But within that cloud of dust is perhaps the most evocative of landscapes: “Get them, bring them to me, bring their clothes and jewellery, bring their firstborn baby…”

Fair Maiden is immediately pretty and opulent, yet trails off into the darkness at every turn. The summoning is indirect, but ultimately interest prevails and you will be sure to follow.

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‘Fair Maiden’ is out now on vinyl and digital through Bedroom Suck. Look for an interview with Ellen Carey soon on M+N.