drugstore: anatomy

‘Comeback’ albums are too often an aimless, bombastic attempt to recapture past glories, but Drugstore’s first studio set in a decade is a deeply introspective affair. Blossoming out of the seven dark years that followed the demise of the original lineup in 2002, and spurred into being by the prompting kindness of an anonymous fan who gifted founding member Isabel Monteiro a guitar, Anatomy is rich with the meditation and bluesy reflection of an artist breaking out a creative limbo. Emerging in the mid-’90s and subsequently riding a wave of indie success (touring with Jeff Buckley, duetting with Thom Yorke on the classic ‘El President’), Drugstore peaked in an era before Myspace and Facebook, when blogs were still shiny and new, but the sparkling, upturned laments and even the title of Anatomy originated out of Monteiro’s desire to share her experiences – both harrowing and heartwarming – with anyone who cared to read her liberating Blogspot confessionals. ‘Reforming’ the band in 2009 for a one-off gig in London further planted the seeds of the comeback, with a more permanent new lineup of “cowboys” selected by Monteiro at auditions.

In spite of its beginnings on a modern platform, Anatomy is a timeless affair abounding with themes of loss and redemption set to understated, alt-country scores laced with sleepy, swooning electric guitar. Recorded at Platt’s Eyot, a remote studio on an island on the River Thames near Richmond – the perfect refuge for an album with spiritual isolation at its heart – it’s cast with a comfortable gloom, the kind of worn-groove magic that comes with age. Monteiro’s tales are intimate and melancholy, her voice cracked yet soothing, and there’s a quiet kind of violence to her narratives, a soul-wrenching sadness that sits heavily on the heart despite the bittersweet, medicated sentiments and gentle balladeering strings. The ticking clock that ushers out ‘Can’t Stop Me Now’ is an ambiguous cue, while the absolute finality of the unrelenting hook in closing number ‘Little Prayer (Wide Angle)’ – “This is the end of the road” – is almost unbearably mournful, compounded by the song’s sparse piano.

While Anatomy is first and foremost a collection of poems that surfaced in the wake of trauma, there’s still a thrill of rebellious joy to be found between the moments of hushed defeat. There’s a desperado flourish to lead single ‘Sweet Chilli Girl’ and its tale of bold, dark-hearted heroines “walking the streets whether other girls won’t go, and no one else would meet,” and Monteiro’s duet with new band recruit Tito Cordiro on ‘Aquamarine’ sees her celebrating her devil-may-care romantic independence with lush, flamenco-tinged Americana and twinkling xylophone chimes. That Monteiro can still sound so elegant and vital in the muddle of depression, addiction and heartbreak makes Anatomy both healing song and elegy, a testament to the grace and wisdom of scarred survivors.

[Rocket Girl; September 5, 2011]

Written by: Charlotte Richardson Andrews

Tags: anatomy, drugstore, isobelle monteiro

This entry was posted on Friday, September 23rd, 2011 at 11:01 am and is filed under albums & EPs, reviews. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.