Keeley Forsyth New Album – The Hollow

When Keeley Forsyth sings, it's as if you're not just hearing her voice, but feeling the very essence of her being emanating through it. It's not about superficial qualities like appearance or demographics, but about the raw physicality—the bones, the sinews, the sheer visceral presence. Her voice seems to emerge from deep within, her chest expanding with each note, muscles tensing, creating a sound that feels as though it's rooted in the very flesh that births it. While some singers strive for an effortless performance, Forsyth embraces the physical strain, infusing her music with a tangible sense of exertion.

This distinctive sound may have its origins in desperation. In 2017, Forsyth, known for her acting roles in British television and recent appearances in films like Guardians of the Galaxy and Poor Things, faced a psychological and physical breakdown that left her tongue paralyzed for a month. The desperation of that experience reverberates through her music, particularly on her 2020 debut album, "Debris," a haunting collection of minimalist folk released when she was 40. Her subsequent album, "Limbs," released in 2022, showcased a more conventional beauty. However, on "The Hollow," her third album, Forsyth harnesses her powerful vibrato to deliver her most intense music yet.

"I’ve always enjoyed making people feel a bit uncomfortable with the sounds and music I make," Forsyth once remarked. Here, it feels as though she seeks to instill a sense of terror. The album opens with a restrained solemnity, her voice mournful and controlled over slow organ tones, painting a picture of agonizing existential search punctuated by stark imagery of physical decay. The title track follows suit, initially exuding a sense of liturgical grace before Forsyth's digitally layered, quavering voice morphs into a haunting sob caught in the throat, culminating in a gut-wrenching cry of desperation.

Keeley Forsyth Tracks Listings

Throughout the album, Forsyth and her producer, Ross Downes, draw inspiration from influences such as Scott Walker's "Tilt," Meredith Monk, Arvo Pärt, and the cerebral goth of This Mortal Coil. Even in the midst of spine-chilling moments, there's an undeniable beauty—both awesome and terrible—in her music. "Eve" serves as a tender homage to her grandmother, delivered amidst themes of mortality, while "Turning" sees Forsyth propelled by Colin Stetson's surging saxophone, creating a sonic landscape of romantic grandeur.

Forsyth's songwriting has reached new levels of precision and peculiarity. "Slush" morphs into an onomatopoeic narrative evoking children frolicking in snow, tinged with the ominous undertones reminiscent of Grimm's fairy tales. Meanwhile, in "A Shift," she intertwines two narratives: one delves into the process of an actor donning their costume through spoken word, while the other delivers a haunting rendition of "We Are Women, We Are Strong," an anthem born from the miners' strikes of the 1980s, merging themes of class solidarity, feminism, and creative endeavor in a provocative blend.

Aware of the intensity of her music, Forsyth keeps most songs mercifully short, many under three minutes in length. It's as if she understands that such profound emotional depth can easily overwhelm. The album's gentlest moment arrives with "Creature," the closing track, where Forsyth, accompanied by Matthew Bourne's searching piano, finds a sense of peace amidst themes of despair. Here, the hollow—a symbol of emptiness and rupture—becomes not just a source of darkness, but also a sanctuary and a wellspring of strength, its emptiness giving rise to a profound resonance of sound and emotion.

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