Núria Graham

Dreams, fables, and the intimate embrace of home combine on Cyclamen (2023), the fourth album from Irish / Catalan singer Núria Graham.

Where Graham’s third album, 2020’s Marjorie, was her most obviously pop, embracing keyboards and the subtle tick of drum machines, Cyclamen is a tender, jazzy work that invites the listener in with resonant piano chords, serene acoustic guitars, elegant, yet understated, string flourishes and wandering double bass lines, not to mention flushes of bassoon, harp, flute and saxophone. Each instrument is like a character in the dream-like world of Cyclamen, individual, yet part of the greater whole, with Graham’s exquisitely characterful voice as our guide.

It is a mix that speaks to the ambition of this album, which significantly widens Graham’s musical spectrum. But this ambition never comes at the price of intimacy. Cyclamen was recorded over several months, between Graham’s dining room in L’Empordà and the studio, with the help of sound engineer Jordi Mora and arranger Helena Cànoves, building from a basis of piano and classical guitar. And you can feel the warm familiarity of a happy home in its 13 gorgeous tracks, which suggest the return of a close friend, changed, perhaps, but still comfortingly familiar.

Graham was inspired on Cyclamen by imaginary fables, premonitory dreams and messages from nature. The record is named after a genus of flowers that is native to the Mediterranean Basin, and the songs speak of sunflowers, birds, mountains, dust, and fountains. In its wistful, jazzy nature, Cyclamen might bring to mind Van Morrison’s classic Astral Weeks. But Graham brings to the mix a touch of gentle, psychedelic humour, best seen on the album’s first single, “Yes, It's Me The Goldfish”, a ruefully charming song that combines insight and wit with an unforgettable chorus.

Cyclamen sounds uniformly fantastic. But this would mean little without the strength of Graham’s songwriting, which finds its peak on her fifth album. “Procida”, which tops and tails Cyclamen, resembles the Beach Boys at their most airy, all unpredictable chord changes and spectral backing vocals; “Fire Mountain Oh Scared Ancient Fountain” has the woozy strength of musical hypnosis, coiled around a brilliantly catchy chorus; “Disaster in Napoli” is reminiscent of classic PJ Harvey in its primal blues power; and “The Waterway” has the forlorn reverie of Vince Gauaraldi’s much-loved Peanuts soundtracks. It all adds up to a work of gentle power, profound insight, and the bittersweet pull of an impossible dream.