British singer-songwriter Lianne La Havas is an adept storyteller, capable of both capturing who we are at our most alone and making us feel closer to one another. Her love songs conjure a striking intimacy, even when she’s backed by the sumptuous BBC Symphony Orchestra in the storied Barbican Hall, and take on a degree of universality, even when she’s singing directly to a video camera in her living room. But it’s the latter method, when her sound is at its most stripped down, that best conveys the evocative immediacy that caught the attention of Prince, who mentored La Havas in the years before his death.
On her third album, La Havas settles into that immediacy, positioning her guitar as the beating heart of the music. The eponymous album finds her again chronicling the course of a romance, but this time she quite intentionally does away with the glossy fuss of 2015’s blindingly polished Blood, subsisting throughout on her hard-earned wisdom. The album instantly feels more purposeful than its predecessor: Where Blood can feel labored over, perhaps too hungry for hits, Lianne La Havas isn’t seemingly beholden to such expectations.
As she recounts the fate of a relationship from its onset to its demise, La Havas often prioritizes the passion of the moment over the logic of hindsight bias. On “Read My Mind,” you can practically hear her smile as she sings, “The pure joy/When a girl meets a boy/Pure chemistry.” She never loses sight of her needs, however distressing they might be. She’s quick to provide counsel to herself and outright plead with her lover on “Paper Thin.” Her vocal floats, at times on the verge of cracking from emotion, atop harp-like fingerpicking: “Baby, you gotta run free/Please don’t forget about me.” La Havas leans into the heartrending grief of prematurely losing a relationship.
A cover of Radiohead’s “Weird Fishes” appears at the climax of Lianne La Havas as a fretful turning point in the album’s central relationship. La Havas’s version of the In Rainbows track is slower and earthier than Radiohead’s more cerebral original, yet it retains all of its fragility. Radiohead articulates the unspoken fears and doubts that occupy a night spent overthinking, and La Havas is seized by the same impulse to verbalize her grievances, gingerly handling the painful edges of rejection and abandonment, albeit with more self-compassion.
Sonically, the warbly synth of “Courage” and frantic drumming of “Seven Times” don’t feel too far removed from In Rainbows’s sonic palette. But La Havas’s style remains tricky to pin down, existing somewhere in the nexus of the soulful warmth of Corinne Bailey Rae, the confessional lyricism of Amy Winehouse, and the folky melodicism of Joni Mitchell. To call it soul music would be reductive; too many black artists have hastily been assigned the label just for the color of their skin, a restrictive tendency that La Havas herself has railed against. But without a doubt, La Havas makes soul music insofar as it originates from the soul.
The album’s twinkling denouement, “Sour Flower,” depicts the metamorphosis that can occur after overcoming a breakup. La Havas’s voice is rich and robust as she belts, “I’m not crying over you/When I cry/Now I’m free.” She attains catharsis by providing herself refuge and realizing that she can heal herself. She leaves us with an empowering moral: that we possess the ability to revive our spirits after loss, and that it may well be boundless.