The first time I heard Dear Reader was on a South African TV show, where she sang a snippet of her song, Ode to Confusion live. From that moment, I was hooked. Cherilyn MacNeil seemed to get me in a way not many other musicians did, and she was South African, which was even more exciting. Granted, I was sixteen years old, and easy to excite, but that excitement has not waned, and it has been magical to watch her musicianship and songwriting develop and grow. I can only hope that my own music will follow a similar trajectory to hers. I Know You Can Hear It brings the same word to mind, magic. It’s an ethereal journey, where mystical, glittery creatures find themselves in the wilderness, alongside a beach. Fingers with long, bamboo nails dig to discover strange objects in the sand. A figure in a black and white suit lies motionless on the sand. Feathers, metallic body parts and bohemian coverings are the order of the day and the effect is somewhere between Burning Man and the Beach. It’s a detailed glimpse into a dark, fairytale land and it matches MacNeil’s enchanting voice at every turn. While her earliest songs centred on romantic relationships and clear, introspective questions about life and faith, her more recent offerings have a socio-political edge, firmly set in a South African context although she is physically placed in Berlin, Germany. They are beautifully crafted pieces, made all the more rich by the choir of voices that support her own crisp vocal vulnerability. That said, MacNeil has always included a healthy dose of whimsy in her musical offerings, with liberal use of metaphors and extended metaphors in her lyrics. I read somewhere that MacNeil has partnered with an orchestra in Berlin, and this is what makes for the rich instrumentation present in her more recent work. I Know You Can Hear It seems to meet us somewhere in the middle, with MacNeil’s lyrics taking on a more cryptic quality, and ethereal ooh’s and ah’s accompanied by tinkling xylophone sounds. Folklore and mythology are brought to mind with the lyrics and the tribal influenced rhythms in the percussion and the lilting guitar and baseline. But it’s not enough for Dear Reader to paint an imaginary picture, she takes it a step further by creating an enchanting visual unlike anything I’ve seen before. The artist has moved from the realm of indie folk and into the alternative territory of the likes of Florence and the Machine. Although this comparison may be made, Dear Reader is in a realm of her own. Her lyrics are at once personal and universal, and the accompanying visuals are haunting in their complexity. It’s the kind of songs you listen to a few times over, because it moves faster than you do, and there’s a new detail to notice each time you push play. The musical depth, creativity and technical mastery involved in the making of this song and its accompanying video is impossible to ignore. It’s safe to say I cannot wait for the rest of the album to be released soon.
