Lemon Jelly — Lost Horizons
We take a gorgeous, soft journey back to 2002 where the London based duo took us on a bit of a drive. (I say that a lot in here, I realise)
It comes at 3:32 mark on the track Nice Weather for Ducks where Lemon Jelly, an electronic band hailing from the London, remind you that it’s okay. Well, at least, it did for me when I was losing my stomach to the treacherous, cyclonic skies above Fiji in late 2007. I hate turbulence and the timing of the big-time horn section was perfect as we descended into Nadi International Airport.
Lemon Jelly, containing Fred Deakin and Nick Franglen, didn’t necessarily “blast out of the gates”; their music doesn’t fit that style. If you imagined a cloud just floating over that gate? Then you’d have a more accurate picture of the mellow, cushioned sentiments that Lemon Jelly oozed on all of their records. Describing the Jelly’s work as “purely lounge music” does a disservice to Deakin’s and Franglen’s conceptual approach to Lost Horizons.
Putting aside the fact that their first album, Lemon Jelly.KY, was essentially a compilation album; their follow up, Lost Horizons, showed the band pushing themselves into defining their core sound beyond what you’d find on the latest Ministry of Sound Chillout Sessions CD (to no fault of their own, a few of their tracks, naturally, have shown up on various compilations).
Sitting at a taut 8 tracks, Lost Horizons does an excellent job of taking us on a bit of a directionless drive. There’s a huge amount of delight and sunny disposition to the record with its sampling choices but also the direction the band take with it. It feels designed for a Sunday drive — 60 minutes to be exact. Franglen and Deakin take steps to pull in live instrumentation but also find them flexing their muscles when it comes to getting that true sample hook to each track.
Elements — the album opener — leads with a light little drum break that drives a multitude of little bits and bobs; a pitched down “doo-doos” chorus, an acoustic guitar plucking at the back, a flugelhorn leading the charge with strings cushioning it all.
Ramblin’ Man opens up on the tail end of a gong echoing in a temple to a single beat, with spoken word woven in between the joyous sounding trumpets. It’s absolutely one of the highlights of the album; the grandiose nature of it with the strings laying the bedrock for a vocal listing out places traveled. It combines itself into a bit of a places-of-the-world quiz with music sees vocals ping-ponging left and right, washed out, dusty guitars and a playful little flute that flutters along side a bell tree.
That through-line of a drum break that’s ubiquitous throughout the album continues on Return to Patagonia; a seductive, stripped back bit that nearly clocks 9 minutes of jazzy grabs, pinned down by a sexy spy-movie-stakeout saxophone. It’s a track that never lets its guard down as it builds to its end with transposed choir singing.
Nice Weather for Ducks brings us back to the beach-side drive. A track that flings me back to 2007 when I was a teenager, driving up and down the coast or flying closer to the equator for a holiday. It’s a track I listen to now and fondly remember the salty air: something I don’t really have nowadays…
Whoa! I’m sorry; I completely got lost in the existential crisis that is life!
Anyway, Ducks is a truly delightful tune that grabs the children’s song “All the Ducks are Swimming in the Water” and turns it into summery drive, with bright strings, frantic, light drums and a cheeky horn that will have you humming and tapping your feet. It doesn’t stop there, however. The final two and a half minutes of the track morph into a true party, with a rich-red Samba inspired chorused brass section that catapults the song into something that wants you to take your partner’s hand and dance the night away.
The album closes out on The Curse of Ka’ Zar; a more computer-based affair. A jazzy hip-hop inspired drum loop combines itself with deeply filtered horns and looped guitars that sustain and call out into the night, but not without callbacks to the fundamental bits of Lost Horizons: the horns, the acoustic guitars that always were playing to your left and right, but never quite at the front and vocal bits and pieces that avoid things falling to the downtempo trap.
Lemon Jelly was always a downtempo band that excelled at finding loop perfection or utilising their sampling direction and sticking to it. Sometimes the music didn’t need to stand out, but Lost Horizons (and LJ’s discography) has the nuances that, if found, rewarded you for finding them. Lost Horizons gave you two trophies if you stuck with it: one for discovery and one for happiness.
A disheartening thought it is then to see Fred mentioning the band not coming back together only just recently. Their sparse discography in the early to mid-2000s acts as a perfect mix of music to drive to, whether it’s the city, the country-side, or the beach. Lost Horizons represents that countryside drive where you can see the breathy green of the Sunshine Coast Hinterlands, the deep blue of Mooloolaba Beach, and the light of the sun fueling it all. Simpler times, perhaps?
I miss home.
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