Bryan Ferry & Amelia Barratt – Loose Talk
At 79, Bryan Ferry could have easily chosen a nostalgic tour or yet another compilation box. Instead, he delved into his archives, fished out unreleased demos, and partnered with Scottish artist Amelia Barratt. The result, “Loose Talk”, defies categorization – and that’s a good thing.
Ferry has unearthed musical sketches dating back to the early ’70s for this project. Fans can endlessly speculate about their origins: is the noise-laden piano on “Big Things” a relic from the Roxy years? Should that strange funk bass on “Stand Near Me” have ended up on “Manifesto”? It doesn’t matter. Ferry, along with Roxy drummer Paul Thompson, has transformed these fragments into something new. He has also revisited composing for several pieces.
What makes “Loose Talk” truly special is the collaboration with Barratt. Her lyrics, delivered in a cool, detached BBC voice, create an intriguing tension with Ferry’s atmospheric music. She sketches images that are simultaneously clear and enigmatic. You effortlessly follow what happens in “Holiday” or “Cowboy Hat”, but you sense that something crucial remains off-screen. In “Florist”, the narrator ends in tears without you knowing exactly why; in the title track, loneliness feels like both a relief and a suffocating blanket. Barratt remains a cool observer, leaving you never truly knowing what happened.
Barratt’s approach evokes Rachel Cusk, who in her “Outline” trilogy features a narrator seemingly emotionlessly registering others’ stories. There are also echoes of Deborah Levy, where everyday things suddenly become loaded with deeper meaning.
Moreover, the album fits into a tradition Ferry himself has only recently become acquainted: French slam. It’s no coincidence that “Loose Talk” has been warmly received by the French press. The refined fusion of poetry and music known from artists like Grand Corps Malade (who sold over 600,000 records with “Midi 20”) seamlessly aligns with what Ferry and Barratt are doing. The work of Gaël Faye, successful as both musician and writer, and Kwal, who brought the sonnets of Renaissance poet Du Bellay into our time, also shows kinship.
Let’s be honest: this is not an album for the masses. You won’t hear it on the radio or find it in the charts soon, but that’s precisely Ferry’s point. Instead of safe choices, he creates an album resolutely looking forward in the autumn of his career. The melancholy always present in his work – Ferry himself refers to his love for blues musicians like Leadbelly – takes on a new, more abstract form.
The album has its weak moments. A piece like “Demolition” lacks its own character. But there are also beautiful, ghostly passages when old vocal fragments emerge, such as on “Landscape”. Ferry’s melodies are beautiful, and the sometimes unintelligible lo-fi vocals work like a faded memory.
“Loose Talk” demands attention, silence, and concentration – scarce commodities in our time. It will only resonate with a small group of enthusiasts. But those who surrender to the interplay between Barratt’s cool voice and Ferry’s soundscapes are rewarded with a listening experience that lingers long afterward.
It may not be an impending commercial success – and I’d be happy to be wrong – but it is an artistic tour de force, proving that Bryan Ferry, even after five decades in music, still dares to explore new paths. A modest masterpiece. (9/10) (Dene Jesmond Records)
