Lungs

Florence Welch has a penchant for dramatics. But what would be a dubious distinction for most twentysomethings becomes an advantage when paired with Welch's otherworldly vocals and a trio of top-tier British producers who elevate her Mercury Prize-nominated debut album, Lungs, to something that manages to be grandiose, relatable, and incessantly catchy all at the same time.

Because those pipes are big enough to shake the rain from the trees and, with an eclectic balance of genres leaning heavily towards folk and soul, she's got enough support to make her seem powerful rather than overbearing.

Lungs showcases Florence's dramatic voice as an instrument that the other instruments follow, from the urgent, rhythmic drums on "Drumming Song" to the fluid harp runs on "Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up)."

As it is, they're more than quite good, and all the better for the tracks that surround them.

It's a bold, inventive record that bristles with energy and passion.

Sometimes the rough edges have been over-smoothed: there are all kinds of strange, cheap synthesised noises buried under the layers of polish that I'd like to hear more clearly. But this is a minor gripe, for despite its dark heart, there's a real joy about this debut.

Lungs is one of the most exciting, compelling, fearless and ultimately promising debuts of the year.

Freed from her irritating live persona, moments here justify the hype.

There's a lot going on, but Welch never confuses breadth with depth. [Aug 2009, p.98]

Lung's song peaks and valleys can occasionally be tiring. But when taken as an insight into the artist, it's nothing short of brillianrt. [Fall 2009, p.62]

While the comparisons were apt at the time, 'Kiss with a Fist' turned out to be a red herring in the wake of the release of Lungs, one of the most musically mature and emotionally mesmerizing albums of 2009.

From the way she sings, in big gulps and Teen Wolf growls, to the mystical art-rock ballads she bedazzles with sleigh bells, harps, and choirs, there's enough drama here for a Broadway musical. But her delivery is so raw that every mess feels genuine.

Florence's music is particularly sensitive to studio gloss; her singing is a fine balance between elegance and frenzy.

Even though damn near every third song sounds designed to sell overpriced sweaters at the Gap, the nectar at the heart of this album is worth the roughage you have to chew through to get there.

Lungs is a cloud-headed introduction to Welch's world, where It Girl hype, coffins, violence, and ambition combust on impact; it's a platinum-shellacked demo reel drunk on its own hi-fi-ness.

If Lungs fails to make as much impact as those other debuts, it may be because Welch puts a little too much emphasis on singer and not enough on songwriter.

The best bits feel like being chased through a moonless night by a sexy moor witch.

It may be breathtaking in places, but Flossie's Lungs are just a bit too full of bluster.

This is a brave, bold, inevitably flawed record from the kind of talent we should be esctastically happy to have around. [Aug 2009, p.92]

Too often a limited voice and over-egged arrangements strain to little effect. [Aug 2009, p.94]