Kae Tempest Returns with The Line Is A Curve.

I once had an A-Level English teacher who swore blind that poetry and music were like oil and water. Perfectly fine on their own but mixing the two together would always be doomed to fail. Buoyed by the sound of his own voice he challenged us to name a songsmith whose lyrics could also be classed as poetry. 

The usual suspects were lined up before him - Bob Dylan, Patti Smith, Morrissey, Leonard Cohen, Gil Scott-Heron and even Eminem got a mention. But these were all met with the same mocking diatribe about how great lyrics make terrible poems and beautiful poems ruin good music. 

His message, although a bit self-righteous, stuck with me for years and begrudgingly on many occasions I’ve found myself agreeing with him. There’s something quite unsettling about poetry being recited over music. It always seems to sit on top of it, rather than being a part of it. Rap of course, is great and I’ll even settle for a spoken word segment (The intro to All Saints’ Never Ever will never be topped) but poetry and music just leaves me feeling a bit cold. Likewise, reading lyrics without hearing their accompanying melody makes them all seem a bit flat and lifeless. The two creative mediums rarely complement each other and if anything they seem to hold one another back. 

Poems are carefully constructed word sculptures, that stand independently and generate their own rhythm. They don’t need cheap tricks such as guitars and drums to hold the audience’s attention, they are already fully formed. Lyrics on the other hand must be moulded, mutilated and manipulated in order to fulfil their intended purpose. 

But what of the other approach? Could a poem be refined or even improved by reciting it to music? 

Enter Kae Tempest and their latest musical release, The Line Is A Curve. Tempest is a stellar poet and of course, this is far from their first foray into music, their musical output dates all the way back to 2008 when they fronted the South East London three-piece Sound Of Rum. So if anyone was going to perform poetical alchemy and create gold by mixing oil and water then you’d consider them a safe bet.

So how does The Line Is A Curve hold up? Does it manage to achieve what my A-Level English teacher claimed was impossible? Well, the short answer is no, but it comes close. Very close. 

The album has moments of pure brilliance, both musically and poetically, though the two rarely happen at the same time. Tempest might profess to be rapping but her delivery here is barely distinguishable from her poetry readings. This isn’t always a bad thing although occasionally you find yourself wishing for a few extra dimensions to her timbre. 

The Line Is A Curve is a musical juggernaut and it’s clear that Tempest knows how to flex their sonic muscles. It’s just unfortunate their output never quite manages to break the shackles of its poetic origins. 

Priority Boredom kicks things off. Electronic synths and fluttering hi-hats are beamed in from space whilst Tempest’s vocals veer from intense to even more intense. 

Track two, I Saw Light sees Tempest joined by Grian Chatten. The irresistible cut of his Irish brogue lends itself perfectly to Tempest’s desolate twilight vision. Two tracks in and Tempest has already dispelled any notion that this is a novelty album. They mean business. 

Nothing To Prove, drags you further into the darkened recesses of the night, like wandering aimlessly into the crowded basement of a house party. It’s the closest Tempest skirts into Mike Skinner territory and the album is all the better for it. But even when Skinner was subjecting his darkest thoughts there was always an air of fun, something that Tempest is lacking throughout. Not necessarily a bad thing, they’re angry and they want you to know it, but you sense the album as a whole would benefit from a little more wry self-deprecation. 

No Prizes slows things down a little, shifting the focus from the music back to Tempest’s lyrics. “She's got her hat pulled down, full camo suit, sitting on the bass amp, strapping a zoot” Tempest sings, or raps, or at least recites. Lianne La Havas provides a beautiful, almost whispered chorus that elevates the song into radio-friendly territory. 

Salt Coast is a highlight and one of those rare moments where the dichotomy of poetry and music cannot be prised apart, here the two forms need each other. Tempest pins their words perfectly to the beat. It’s so expertly done that by the end their words seem to have generated their own counter-melody, blending perfectly with huge electronic beats that constantly threaten to engulf everything in their wake. Find it in the ‘poetry you can dance to’ section at your local record store. 

As the album progresses, moods change but Tempest remains resolute, rarely deviating from their metronomic delivery. Repeated listens reveal nuances that hint at further emotional resonance but if you’re not a fan of spoken word poetry you’re unlikely to change your mind here. 

The album closes with Grace. Here things are stripped back and Tempest is accompanied by an acoustic guitar. It skirts dangerously close to evoking images of open-mic poetry nights at your local hipster cafe but strangely, it also showcases why Tempest has transcended such places. There’s so much grit and punch to their vocals that even the melodic picking of an acoustic guitar fails to soften the blow. There’s something very real about what Tempest is saying, regardless of the medium in which they choose to say it. It’s intoxicating and love it or hate it, it’s impossible to ignore. 

I guess the ultimate question is this - would the tracks on The Line Is A Curve be better if they were deconstructed back to their purest forms. Poems in one room and music in another, just how my English teacher would have wanted it. Well Mr Whatever-Your-Name-Was, the answer here is no. The Line Is A Curve more than warrants its own existence just the way it is. It’s bold, beautiful, fiercely idiosyncratic, occasionally a bit too repetitive but ultimately a resounding success.