Kate TempestSpoken word artists don’t usually court breakout success, but Kate Tempest gathered widespread acclaim and decent sales for the post-Brexit referendum trauma of Let Them Eat Chaos. Two-and-a-half years on, and Tempest is still very much bogged down in 21st century existential blues.
Although The Book Of Traps And Lessons is bleaker than an abandoned warehouse at twilight, it’s often lit by lyrically vivid scenes, compelling the listener to stop and absorb every detail. Tempest’s unpretentious South London accent where “things” are “fings” and “water” is “wartuh” is brought to the fore by a sparse backdrop, consisting of little more than ethereal drones, the odd faint arpeggio (Lessons) and the lost, ghostly piano on I Trap You. A beat doesn’t materialise until track nine, the single Firesmoke. Drawbacks? Well, it’s chorus-less, and before you say poetry shouldn’t have choruses, it’s worth noting that Gil Scott-Heron never had a problem with them. It could also use a thematic centrepoint, as the album tends to wander around gloomy scenes without any particular direction until the humane finale People’s Faces, an unexpected ray of hope to tenderly contrast the crushing despair.
