Storm clouds gather. The billowy wonders slide across the sky, blocking the sun for as far as the eye can see. Hurricane-strength gales shake the sea, rocking giant wave after giant wave. Rain erupts. From somewhere in the distance, an enchantress calls—or is it from within? “Am I sinking in the nothingness?/Falling into the depths of time/I’m still waiting for the silver lining/Trying to break free from the sombre land/There’s a big wave coming at hand….”
Joana Serrat’s Big Wave is a morass of longing and grief, essentially inner turbulence set to song. It’s the kind of record that that spins on the mind’s turntable longer than its runtime. “The Cord,” which I wrote about a while back, kicks things off with waves of distortion swelling time and again. At first listen, I heard it as a song about a broken love. It now sounds to me more like the conflicted reaction many have to a loved one’s passing, when relief sometimes swirls in tandem with grief and, yes, anger erupts for reasons we can’t articulate. Their past wrongs become lasting wrongs, never to be righted. The turbulence continues with “Feathers,” which questions the loved one about said wrongs: “How come you don’t know the damage you do?” They’re tense and stormy songs, both, as is the album’s compelling third track, “Freewheel,” which I quoted from above.
“Sufferer,” the final teaser track, finds Serrat seeking relief from grief’s fierce grip, while “Tight to You” both clings to and repels conflicting emotions. Side One concludes with the tender yet tough “This House,” in which she faces up to the memories that haunt her. Childhood homes, the homes of our grandparents, uncles and aunts, are rife with figurative echoes of long ago, including from before our births.
“Are You Still Here?” casts aside the rancor to share Serrat’s longing for a sign from beyond the great divide. As I said upon its release as the album’s second single, it’s an ethereal wonder. It’s also a respite from the waves of anger and despair that otherwise consume the LP. “Big Lagoons” floats forth through a fog of noise, while “A Dream That Can Last” finds her unsure of what the future might bring. The unsettling “Broken Hearted,” meanwhile, sums up all that’s come before: “I am broken hearted/I am a lonely soul/There’s no place for me/In this damn old world.” The album closes with the stormy “The Ocean,” in which despair has gotten the best of her: “The more I drown/the more defeated I feel.”
Sonically speaking, the album conjures a certain slice of 1990s-era alternative rock. Mojo, in its glowing review, pointed to My Bloody Valentine and early Cocteau Twins, while Uncut equated the sound to a “windswept Crazy Horse.” I’ll stand by my assertion that it’s most reminiscent of the British duo/band Curve, which often cloaked existential dread beneath layers of distortion. But, honestly, it doesn’t much matter. Big Wave crashes to shore like few others. It embraces the sadness, grief and anger that’s haunted us since the dawn of the pandemic, though the pandemic itself didn’t spur these songs. Anyone who’s lost someone will recognize themselves in the album’s 11 tracks. It’s a great set.
The Old Grey Cat 
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