The Weather Station - Ignorance Review

Ignorance is not only a musical triumph but also an anthemic ode to a sense of guilt that’s been gradually emerging in all of us, whether we choose to admit it or not.

Over the past decade Tamara Lindeman’s musical output as The Weather Station has been making a gradual seismic shift away from her humble folk beginnings. With her latest offering, Ignorance, it feels like the tectonic plates are finally coming to rest, with Lindeman making the kind of music she was always destined to. What began with acoustic guitars and stripped back production has now blossomed into a luxuriously produced full band experience which still manages to retain her captivating intimacy.

Musically, Ignorance is the natural evolution of The Weather Station’s 2017’s self-titled release and lyrically it’s more pertinent than anything Lindeman has written before. You’re never quite sure if she’s singing to a lost lover or to the planet as a whole. It plays out like a gloriously lamented environmental plea that thankfully never feels sanctimonious or pious.

‘Robber’, like all great psychological thrillers, builds the tension slowly. Muffled guitars and woozy trumpets glide beneath Lindeman’s brutal lyrics, “Turn your gaze from the window light, turn your attention to his sharp knife”. It’s edge of your seat stuff. ‘Atlantic’ raises the pace a little. Driven along by a precise drumbeat and foreboding piano stabs, the track’s instrumentation soon takes a backseat to Lindeman’s tender vocals.

Though Ignorance is heavy in its subject matter, it never becomes self indulgent or overly despondent. There’s even moments where the album’s innate grandiosity bubbles over into foot-tapping pop sensibilities, never more-so than on ‘Tried to Tell You’ and ‘Parking Lot’. ‘Parking Lot’ in particular, really shakes off those folky shackles, skirting very closely to a Rumours-era Fleetwood Mac. Occasionally Lindeman’s lyrics are lost beneath the richness of their surroundings but that doesn’t matter, on form like this she could be singing a shopping list and it would sound urgent and agonising.

‘Loss’ has Lindeman shifting effortlessly between her falsetto and her lower register. At times her vocals evoke Janis Joplin and even Kate Bush but she never strays too far and staunchly remains herself throughout. “You lay in bed. The sun streamed through the blinds. Sweat soaked through your shirt. Lay your hand across your eyes. Every other part of you hurt”; like much of Ignorance, it makes us feel voyeuristic just by pressing play. It’s a door left ajar that we can’t bring ourselves to close.

‘Separated' is a highlight. Musically, it leans further into pop territory than anything else on the album. In fact it’s practically joyous until the lyrics fall into earshot, “If you can't bury the silеnce of the bruise. If you can't look at the wildness of the wound. If you won't look out the window onto the sea. If you can't carry your pain you'll lay it on me” Lindeman sings, as synths and strings tread a fine line between naturalistic birdsong and intrusive ringtones. Just when you’re lulled into a false sense of pop-induced security, horror movie strings emerge from the depths and briefly threaten to engulf everything. It’s a perfectly timed moment of tension that reminds us that we’re not out of the woods just yet. Producer Marcus Paquin’s deft handling of such an array of ideas and instrumentation is impressive throughout, but even more so here.

‘Wear’ has Lindeman’s relationship with the world around her brought to the emotional fore: “I tried to wear the world like some kinda garment, I reach my fingers down inside of all the clinging pockets, in fabric stained and torn and scratched, pulling at the seams”. Again, it’s a moment of intimacy that makes us feel like we’re intruding on something that was never meant for us. It’s also a two fingers up to my A Level English teacher who said musicians could never be poets.

By the time we reach ‘Trust’, Lindeman has us in the palms of her hands. So much so that when she sings “Dim the lights and draw the curtains” it almost has you reaching for the dimmer-switch. In an album that’s excruciatingly personal throughout, Lindeman seems even more vulnerable here. Gone are the lavish strings and synths, instead ‘Trust’ remains devoted throughout to the haunting piano that it opens with.

Alongside ‘Separated’ before it, ‘Heart’ is another album highlight and it also steers us back into pop territory. Here, the drums are decorated by the subtle inclusion of a shaker that seems to lift everything with a renewed sense of optimism. “If I should offend you, I will show myself out” has Lindeman sounding like that friend who doesn’t realise how much you want them to stay. It’s almost enough to break you all over again and testament to the emotional resonance of Ignorance as a whole.

‘Subdivisions’ brings the album to conclusion. Like most songs on Ignorance, Lindeman’s vocals seem to have the otherworldly ability to conduct and transmute the music around her. It’s an effect that’s as naturalistic as the world she’s lamenting. ‘Subdivisions’ ends with a moment of personal introspection, “What if I misjudged? In the wildest of emotion, did I take this way too far?”, and with that she closes the door and leaves us to ponder our own relationship with the planet that we all inhabit. Ignorance is not only a musical triumph but also an anthemic ode to a sense of guilt that’s been gradually emerging in all of us, whether we choose to admit it or not.