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In the warm, red heart of the Royal Albert Hall, we’re celebrating Lungs. The debut album by Florence and the Machine recently marked its 15th anniversary; lead artist Florence Welch is observing the occasion with a full orchestra in one of London’s grandest venues.
It’s a perfect fit. Released in 2009, Lungs is a tempestuous collection of ornate, baroque-pop compositions, each one unique, as if suspended in the eye of a hurricane. There are filigreed arpeggios of harp; sharp plucks of the violin; the menacing military punch of a drumbeat. Reigning over it all is Welch’s voice, drenched in reverb as she bellows, hollers and chants like a sorceress reciting spells.
At the BBC Proms, conductor and arranger Jules Buckley galvanises his orchestra as Welch accompanies the choir onto the stage, red hair cascading around her. She’s known for embracing the pre-Raphaelite look – now she’s gone full mediaeval princess, in a scarlet silk gown with bell sleeves. Fans have endeavoured to emulate their heroine, turning up in flowing dresses and bejewelled headpieces. One woman has wrapped herself in fairylights.
An opening salvo of “Drumming Song” and “My Boy Builds Coffins” feels oddly rushed. Singers setting their songs to orchestras is nothing new, but Welch’s songwriting – steeped in poetry, myth and folklore – is naturally suited to such a dramatic backdrop. But the arrangement of “Drumming Song”, in particular, is just a touch obvious – dominated by pounding, menacing beats.
Her signature cover of Candi Staton’s “You’ve Got the Love” unfurls with the RAH’s “Voice of Jupiter” – the mighty pipe organ played tonight by the wonderful Anna Lapwood. It’s always a shock to hear Welch speak after singing – evidently shy, she speaks in a bashful half-whisper. “I really have had a time re-learning some of these songs,” she admits. “Because these ranges are crazy – you are young, you are drunk, and you only think you’ll sing them one time. And here we are, 15 years later…”
There’s such a hush on the first verse of “Bird Song” that you can hear the click of the microphone as Welch pulls it from the stand. This is when the arrangements take flight: Latin guitar inflections precede a warbling woodwind section, the elegant harp and the dark pomp of brass. Welch’s voice is as agile as it was 15 years ago but now more refined, she hits her top notes with apparent ease, throwing herself into belts and runs on the gripping “Howl”.
Lungs was written while Welch was in the throes of her first real heartbreak. It was messy and manic, to the chagrin of many a male critic, who deemed her Ophelia-esque despair “annoying”. But Welch is just as capable at poking fun at her own drama, demonstrated perfectly on an Irish jig interpretation of “Kiss With a Fist”, which opens with the eerie gusts and flurries of a violin solo before kicking into high gear with an army of fiddles, whistles and… is that a banjo we hear?
It’s a tremendous effort. Whether in the jazz and hip-hop-influenced bass grooves on a rendition of “Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up)”, or the sweeping, cinematic romance of “Cosmic Love”, Welch and Buckley haven’t missed a trick. “Dog Days” is ramped up into a John Williams-inspired score; “Blinding” harnesses the full might of the orchestra, a masterclass in musical storytelling.
“When I first heard Jules’s orchestrations, I cried, because this was an album created with so much feeling – it was about feeling,” Welch tells her audience. “I never thought anyone could add more feeling to it.” Both she and Buckley understand that setting her songs to an orchestra shouldn’t just make them “bigger” – instead they’ve singled out the subtleties that, arguably, critics missed the first time round. Easily done, when Welch’s voice has so much pull. But tonight, the record’s ambition and depth is here for all to see. Bravo.
