Cue mass swoon. Our young
Wayfarer Stranger has come a long way since we heard his saccharine tones construe the wandering journey of a plaintive soul. Then
Night Air arrived to tend to our hungry ears - a perfect synergy between his folk-pop and underground electronica. The ‘Jamie Woon’ aesthetic was something mystifying, charming which held inexplicable depth across the spectrum of eager listeners and, if the allure was enough to rouse elusive character Burial to produce the abstractions of our young Jamie’s mind, it proves our doting sentiments were not unfounded.
Lady Luck sees Jamie slipping into something a little different,
tugging on our heart strings with the same crooning vocals we all know and love, but sees him attending to his woeful sentiments with much greater vigour than before.
We’re lulled and mesmerised by the arresting aplomb of the whole affair, washed with introspective, soulful contemplation but never verging on the unabashed. The spellbinding swagger of his circling vocals melted with the sophomore vulnerability of a bedroom-song-writer seem to arrest and endear. Some may have pigeonholed him as being the indie voice of dubstep, but I’m not so convinced; Jamie’s rugged confessions may play out atop one of the most rumbling bass lines to ever meet your ears, but there’s no escaping its classic bluesy swing. And, though he solemnly laments that lady luck isn’t on his side, with his album just around the corner, I’m sure he’ll be eating his words.