Ever since he crashed into the world with that eerie masterpiece, Maxinquaye (1995) – an album that has never aged – Bristol-born Tricky, once a maverick member of Massive Attack, has mined a vein of suffering and pain, extracting, disc after disc, the essence of his troubled shadow and ancestry.
The new solo venture, hot on the heels of a rich diversity of collaborations, is no different. This is the music of a haunted man, whose wounds have nourished streams of musical consciousness that speak to all of us, and never feels like maudlin navel-gazing or confessional self-indulgence.
Tricky approaches his demons as a Greek mythological hero might confront the death-dealing Medusa, who turns all those who approach her to stone: instead of a mirror with which to deflect the monster’s gaze, he mostly relies on an alter ego to voice his lyrics, keeping his own voice a mere whisper, low in the mix. In the last 30 years, there have been several women, his female side, he suggested. But now it’s an angelic-voiced young man from Bristol, Mitch Sanders, who takes the lead on most tracks, except the closing one that features Marta Złakowska, with whom Tricky has frequently collaborated in recent years (it's a vibrant track that shares the punk energy of his cover of "Black Steel" from 31 years ago). Sanders is a versatile vocalist, with an emotional range that reaches well beyond the ethereal soul we’ve become accustomed to. He’s a pleasure to hear, and blends beautifully with Tricky’s evermore self-effacing presence (or should one say, absence).
The absence Tricky has always preferred – not least on stage, where he avoids being in the light – is fundamental to what makes his music so original, and timeless. They say the spirits of the dead in Hades are invisible. And there is something of a ghost about Tricky, who manifests the spirits that the Kikongo called the nkisi, spirits that accompanied the slaves shipped from tropical Africa, and worked their magic in blues, jazz, gospel and reggae – and indeed any music that can be traced back to a world in which everything was alive, and free of the illusions of time and space.
Go there if you dare: this is not feelgood music with which to wrap your troubles in dreams. Tricky – whose mother killed herself, and whose daughter tragically did the same – is a haunted man, touched by the shamanic power that requires such a dark apprenticeship. There are moments of incredible beauty on the new album as well as a great deal of pain. This is a surprisingly varied collection, for there are, as so often with Tricky, some off-piste collaborations, with surprising musical partners, such as the pianist Jim Molyneux, rapper Red Run Rambo, vocalist Christian Pattemore, and violinist Coco Inman, never for effect but reflecting his wide-ranging taste. This is one to savour with reverence, allowing its hidden treasures to reveal themselves over time.
