Typically, I review albums in a very straight-forward, methodical way. Listen, write, review. Track by track, quick and simple.
No, I couldn’t do that. Not with this. Goddess isn’t just another album. It is an entity all it’s own, a divine spirit in an endless field of velvet black.
I couldn’t just review it. I couldn’t just listen. I had to experience this. I had to subject myself to it. I had to make myself vulnerable, emerge myself in its dark waters. I had to live in the music.
And I did that.
Lights off, door closed, window closed, speakers up. No light, no sight, no distractions. I needed to get rid of all sensors. No sight, no smell, no taste, no touch. I wrapped a black velvet sheet around me. Just sound.
Time was no longer relevant. All there was was the music. Banks voice surrounded me. In the darkness of the room, I felt vulnerable. The sound of the opening track, “Alibi”, began to envelope my being. I could feel the spirits of Goddess surrounding me, holding me captive.
Jillian Banks has been with me for close to a year. With beginning’s in “Before I Ever Met You”, and London EP, we have finally reached the album. Banks has always had the ability to capture me. It’s the silky smooth sound of her voice, like a thick, cool drink running down your throat. It’s the low electronic tones, the openness of it all. It’s the sexiness of the music, the slow sweeping rhythm.
In the dark, it is magic.
I stay shrouded in this beautiful wonder of tones and words, flowing like a river under a new moon. I lose sensation, falling into the pit of sound, living within it’s endless boundaries.
“Waiting Game”, “Brain”, “This Is What It Feels Like”. Familiar territory, but a new experience now. When you take away everything else, you can hear every little tick. Every lick of the lips, every shallow breath. It adds a new dimension.
“You Should Know Where I’m Coming From” washes over with the piano. Bank’s voice grabs me, and drags me inside it’s narrow hallways.
“I was alone when I burnt my home. And all of the pieces were torn and thrown.”
The brooding darkness continues. It travels through “Stick”, a voyage through “Fuck Em Only We Know”, and a swell in “Drowning”.
“Beggin For Thread” projects a whole new theme and motive behind the mission. It gets you to sway, to move, to dance, but holds just as dark and malevolent a spirit as any other.
After this tide of upbeat fever, “Change” is upon us. Speech and thought is held back. Just listen. Know every word. No sensation. Only the emotion behind the words, behind the voice.
“Never guilty,” she croons. “Say it ain’t you fault because you had an emotionally abusive Daddy.”
The albums strongest point comes into our lives and won’t leave us until we have given our soul to the words, soaked ourselves in the memories they evoke.
The acoustic guitar seeps into the ears, slithering through and bringing forth a whole new level of emotions.
“Baby can’t you see there is such a thing of loving someone so much that you need to give them time to let them breathe.”
I focus on the words, the sound of the guitar, the croon of her voice, and the shallowness of my breath in this moment.
“Warm Water” soaks me in its slow jams, shaking awake the spirits that have been laid to rest. There is a hint of subtle movement.
Then the piano. Goddess‘s final bow comes through “Under the Table”, a slow ballad of emotion, summing up the feeling of it all.
“I’m already falling. I couldn’t help it, didn’t think of the risk.”
The sound swells, her voice grows, the orchestra comes to the foreground. And it slows, let’s you slip away like molasses, and let’s you go, just as quickly as it came.
I have goosebumps. My whole body feels cool. I am calm. I feel separated.
This is what Goddess feels like.
Final Verdict: 10/10