ALBUM REVIEW

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MICHAEL GEORGE SMITH

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ABBEY: Crack On The Street. Something happened to Abbey. It’s never made explicit, but in the opening song, Up, of this 30-song cycle the pretty clear implication is that a character named “The Beast” has, well, “damaged” her, “All in white… such joy you’ll bring”. The fact that that damage is never made explicit makes it even more sinister. Across many of those 30 songs, it’s the sinister undercurrent that make’s Abbey’s story just that much more disturbing, and gives the songs, especially those “Abbey” sings, their emotional power. As “The Beast” takes over the second half of Up, it becomes clear that he is a priest, and the weight of all the revelations of the past decades about abuse at the hands of the clergy of all stripes hits home. But again, the listener never has to hear of the abuse. It’s implied, buried within the text as it is within Abbey’s shattered psyche.

The Beast” to deliver the final line of Up – “My daughters”. There are other victims… and there will be other victims.

 

The lyric sheet “names” the other characters that step in and out of focus as the story proceeds, beginning with “The Beast”, who slinks into focus in the second song, delivers Little Child, recalling, at least to my ears, the shadowy Lamia that tormented Rael in Peter Gabriel’s epic Genesis doublealbum, The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway. Not that McLean has created some epic “progressive rock” opus in ABBEY.

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The music underpinning each song is delivered in clean, subtle, defined lines – no prog-rock excess or embroidery – though other musical reference points are inevitably brought to mind as they tumble together, though never obviously derivative of any of them – Pink Floyd’s The Wall for instance in Delinquent Child), the many “rock” musicals and operas that have come and gone over the years, and even the late “dark Angel” himself, Doc Neeson in his more maniacal moments in the delivery of the next major character in the story, “Jack”, who arrives in a song that reveals how Abbey sees herself, Broken In Three. Jack sees the part of her that she believes is lost – “you look like an angel doing time”.

 

Six songs in and there is a glimmer of hope. The title says it all – I Never Knew Love. In Jack, Abbey sees a future, if she can only trust it, if only she can trust and allow love to save her. Everything finally seems to brighten and, in the next song, Hands, she can allow memories of innocent childhood slip through as she walks through a park, children on swings, warm sunlight… until she sees “The Beast” – “our bench, a child sits by his side” – and the shadow falls. She runs… Now, I should fill in the players delivering the story of ABBEY, and especially the is the limpid and extraordinarily flexible voice of singer and arranger Yehlee Ng McLean, who sings Abbey’s part of that story.

 

Yehlee is the real star of ABBEY: Crack On The Street, written and composed by David McLean. Her deeply emotive and lyrical voice embraces everything from a cautious whisper through an anguished cry to a towering soulful celebration, from hope to desolation to freedom, sometimes all in the one song – Stay springs to mind, the only backing a cello, some splashes of backing harmonies, a shimmer of keyboard here and there and an emphatic drum beat each for “shake it”, “fake it”, “beg you”, “take it” and “away”. Jack has tried to calm her in the song that precedes it, Hush, but Abbey is shattering again, making her all too vulnerable for all his efforts to “hold her through the fear” (Scream). Even Jack doubts himself.

 

Enter the next major character, “Magic Man”, who enters the story with ColourS. His delivery, again to my ears, recalls Frank’N’Furter in The Rocky Horror Show. But there is none of the camp humour of that character; no “jolly Uncle Ernie” as there is in Pete Townshend’s masterpiece, Tommy, to abrogate the nature of what’s been done... or what’s to come. “Magic Man” is a malign influence, in the game for what he can make. Choir Of Angels tips us into another dimension of pulsing dance club minimalism, Abbey’s desperate voice pleading and shattering into electronic fragments by turns until all is subsumed by an angelic swirl of voices.

 

Enter a gently picked acoustic guitar, accompanying a reassuring “Magic Man” with just a hint of Bowie in Little Princess. The sting comes with the realisation, made explicit in the next song, High, which begins with an innocent childhood music-box theme, that “Magic Man” is, well, a drug dealer. Abbey has allowed herself to turn to drugs to escape the pain of that unspoken trauma that broke the innocence of childhood. “Magic Man” takes over the second half of the song, kicking it up into classic Stones Sympathy For The Devil style. This way madness lies, and the nightmares only get worse as the “happy faces” flit past with the bluebirds.

 

Happy Faces descends into an extraordinary vocal piece sung in a language that might be Elven… or perhaps Enya, before settling into Abbey’s plea to the “Magic Man” – Cold. Again, you know where we’re going. The title of the next song says it all – Crack On The Street – and the entry of the next character, simply named “Pimp”. But “Pimp” is, of course “Magic Man”. After all, how else is Abbey expected to pay for the colours that push the demons away? Faces float in and out of focus as Abbey descends into the shadow world of “paying companions” and their various peccadillos – and they’re always men – “Man, it’s always you” (Man) – so the sins of “The Father” – “The Beast” – “The Priest” – are inescapably brought down on her once again, and again and again. Even so, she can mock her abusers.

 

Surprisingly, it turns out it’s Jack who tries to find her. But can he save her? As he confronts her in Abbey, she denies him. His reply, Pretty People, is delivered as a gentle acoustic ballad, but there’s “nothing here to see” she replies, her voice tremulous, despairing. And why not? After all “Magic Man”, all smarmy swagger with music to match, is just around the corner ready to ensure he isn’t losing his “investment”. So she turns Jack away… and is surprised that she regrets it, even as she indulges in another dose of “colours”. “All I can do is dream,” Abbey pleads with all her strength in Her Knife. She sings her death with as much vital dignity as any classical opera character, from Carmen to La Bohème’s Mimi.

 

So, no happy ending… though, just for a moment, perhaps… flashing blue lights, her life bleeding out… After 30 songs, there is just one final word – “Survived”.

 

As truly harrowing as the story of ABBEY becomes, unfolding across those 30 songs, the production is so crisp, the playing and arrangements so clean and tasteful, the vocal harmonies superbly executed, especially those that counterpoint the lead lines in some of the songs, aurally ABBEY: Crack On The Street is quite the most extraordinary and fulfilling listening experience. It’s all there – a love story, a cautionary tale, an indictment on both the church and the illusion of drug culture, a Greek tragedy with the gods toying with their creations – us. Take the time to immerse yourself in all its surprising grandeur – you won’t be sorry.