Gemma Rogers’ debut No Place Like Home is packed with pithy vignettes about being young in modern-day London. A partial heir to early Lily Allen, she shares her dry, observational humour and post-punk ska influence. The parallels with Allen’s Alright, Still embrace the messiness of drinking with friends, as she cheerfully confesses in a semi-spoken delivery, ‘My idea of fun, is a whole bottle of rum’.
Yet beneath the hedonism, she acknowledges unease with social pressures. ‘Stop’, which has the cheap programming of Le Tigre, admits, ‘I wanna bare my soul to the Instagram nirvana/Another little nibble for the digital piranha.’ This lyrical push-and-pull frequently gives an edge to material that’s been crafted into concise pop-bites. The energetic indie pop of ‘I’m in Love’ and ‘Rabbit Hole’ are tailor-made for audience rabble rousing, which act as foils for the occasional darker tone.
‘Tailspin’, with its Jah Wobble-style bass line, has a minimalism that’s U-turned towards its close. It’s a dynamic that’s repeated on ‘Frida’, featuring a Spanish-style guitar, it moves from sombre to an upbeat waltx in its final verse. This makes it fitting close to an album that celebrates life in all its messiness.
Susan Darlington
