Welsh singer-songwriter Hannah Grae writes some ludicrously catchy songs, the kind that can drill themselves into my conscious and subconscious and obsess me for days on end. Just under a year ago, I felt compelled to write about 'I Missed The Joke' (a song from Hannah's debut album), which I described as "just about the perfect indie angst-rock ballad."
This year, Hannah has released a sub-30 minute "mini-album", 'Nothing Lasts Forever'. Its main features are her recent singles, 'Better Now You're Gone', 'It Could've Been You', 'Screw Loose' and 'Who Dunnit?', all powerful songs making full use of her remarkable vocal talents. They've received a lot of attention. But there's also new material on the record, and the new and older songs combine to create something varied and really interesting, and which feels like a lot more than 28 minutes.
The song which struck me and has stuck with me is the fourth track, 'Need Me Now'. It's a slow burner, and I just love the utterly masterful restraint it shows.
The song which struck me and has stuck with me is the fourth track, 'Need Me Now'. It's a slow burner, and I just love the utterly masterful restraint it shows.
It opens with an almost imperceptible ambient sound and a thoughtful, soft vocal from Hannah: “You call me funny, say I’m endearing. You think you love me, you have this feeling …”
This develops oh so carefully. The first minute or so features U2-style, reverby electric guitar riffs, jangling and bubbling along. At this stage Hannah contributes more of that low, carefully controlled vocal, and from the drums there are only toms and snare – no metallic clashes of cymbal or hi-hat.
This carries on for a couple of minutes, with the guitars beginning to chug, muted, and Hannah upping the intensity a tiny amount at a time. Then, she slides up an octave and flicks effortlessly to a higher gear as she repeats the key refrain “But you need me now…”
The guitars build into a lead solo, and Hannah's voice takes on a touch more intensity and passion. It's these subtle shifts and gradual increases of energy which create such drama. The drums become a little more forceful, but it's all still quite limited in terms of instrumentation.
At bang on the 3-minute mark, there's a drop into a bridge section, and the intensity increases by a larger factor.
“I trust too much, I always have
And I played by rules to stay on track.
And I’m too afraid of getting hurt
So I shut my mouth and I stay alert
Now I trust no one, you’re all I know …”
The song-writing reveals itself finally, in a tale of trust, betrayal, manipulation, and complex feelings.
Musically, now, we’re introduced to a section which heralds the beginning of a long end, with cymbals on cymbals making up for their earlier lack. With 25 seconds to go, the layers thin out again, dropping to a single guitar, Hannah's voice lulling again, before the drums play out alone. (Listen carefully, and you’ll hear drumsticks being dropped to the floor, giving a further touch of finality.)
As the song closes, you realise it's been one long extended verse and chorus. A slightly non-traditional structure which is impactful as much because of what doesn't happen as what does occur. This is typical of how Hannah works — upending typical patterns, and using that to truly express herself. At the same time, she creates accessible and addictive songs that appeal to young and older audiences. A great example of how to get a message across while staying entirely faithful to who you are.
This develops oh so carefully. The first minute or so features U2-style, reverby electric guitar riffs, jangling and bubbling along. At this stage Hannah contributes more of that low, carefully controlled vocal, and from the drums there are only toms and snare – no metallic clashes of cymbal or hi-hat.
This carries on for a couple of minutes, with the guitars beginning to chug, muted, and Hannah upping the intensity a tiny amount at a time. Then, she slides up an octave and flicks effortlessly to a higher gear as she repeats the key refrain “But you need me now…”
The guitars build into a lead solo, and Hannah's voice takes on a touch more intensity and passion. It's these subtle shifts and gradual increases of energy which create such drama. The drums become a little more forceful, but it's all still quite limited in terms of instrumentation.
At bang on the 3-minute mark, there's a drop into a bridge section, and the intensity increases by a larger factor.
“I trust too much, I always have
And I played by rules to stay on track.
And I’m too afraid of getting hurt
So I shut my mouth and I stay alert
Now I trust no one, you’re all I know …”
The song-writing reveals itself finally, in a tale of trust, betrayal, manipulation, and complex feelings.
Musically, now, we’re introduced to a section which heralds the beginning of a long end, with cymbals on cymbals making up for their earlier lack. With 25 seconds to go, the layers thin out again, dropping to a single guitar, Hannah's voice lulling again, before the drums play out alone. (Listen carefully, and you’ll hear drumsticks being dropped to the floor, giving a further touch of finality.)
As the song closes, you realise it's been one long extended verse and chorus. A slightly non-traditional structure which is impactful as much because of what doesn't happen as what does occur. This is typical of how Hannah works — upending typical patterns, and using that to truly express herself. At the same time, she creates accessible and addictive songs that appeal to young and older audiences. A great example of how to get a message across while staying entirely faithful to who you are.