Liz Lawrence – Vespers

Exactly one year ago today, I published an essay exploring grief in music, and its impact on criticism, through the prism of Ben Kweller’s Cover The Mirrors, a devastating record in which the one-time Radish frontperson explored the tragic death of his son, Dorian. The article also cited Sufjan Stevens’ masterwork Carrie & Lowell, which remains my favourite album of the 2010s, even if the artist himself regards it as a failure.

While both of these wonderful records deservedly belong in any discussion about the most powerful musical documents of grief, it is striking how male voices (think Nick Cave, Phil Elverum, Arcade Fire) tend to dominate in this area. Enter British singer-songwriter Liz Lawrence, who made the same observation while mourning the sudden loss of her older sister, Jessie. With her simple arrangements and plainly spoken sentiments, Lawrence offers an alternative perspective on her wonderful fifth album Vespers—and it is every bit as affecting.

The predominant focus is on the depression and acceptance phases of grief, rather than anger, denial, or bargaining. Lawrence’s observations are those of a sister, a daughter, an aunt, and a partner trying to navigate a world that has changed irreversibly. On the page, the lyrics for “Birthday Party” are startlingly simple. The context, however, is anything but: it’s about Lawrence’s niece and her first birthday party since the death of her mother. The context doesn’t need to be explained, because Lawrence’s emotions, as she delivers agonising lines like “Make a wish that can come true/Not the one that’s impossible,” tell us everything we need to know.

Choosing highlights feels futile on a record as uniformly strong as Vespers. The record follows an arc that begins with the desolate drone of “Mt. Nephin,” named after a mountain in County Mayo, close to where Jessie died, and ends with the sombre instrumental “(coda).” “Black Ulysses” is especially remarkable, its lyrics transforming simple words into seismic hammer-blows (“Only love can hurt like this/Really do the worst like this/Trying to pretend that it isn’t always going to end like this.”)

Vespers is a beautiful tribute to Jessie’s life. Its staggering honesty and the rawness of Lawrence’s performances, coupled with the universality of the subject matter, make it a vital work that will undoubtedly resonate with listeners seeking comfort and understanding in times of grief. Beyond that, it’s simply a phenomenal record that easily ranks among the year’s very best.

Vespers is out now via Chrysalis Records.