Clementine Valentine Photo: Katya Brook
As much attention seems to be given to the mythology behind local duo Clementine Valentine as to their music. Raised in Hong Kong, based in the Coromandel, part of a legacy of songwriters, and given to talking about things like moonbathing and Arthurian legend in interviews, the sisters - formerly known as Purple Pilgrims - court the question of what separates their art from them as people.
The answer appears to be not much, and their new album - the first under their birth names - finds them more immersed in their own lore, with a notable sonic boost.
The press for this record highlights the Nixon sisters’ heritage, with centuries-worth of travelling musicians in their lineage. Their mother taught them to sing traditional ballads as children. Her father was Scottish troubadour Davie Stewart.
It’s possible to hear echoes of that in the formal structure of Clementine Valentine’s’ music, and as you can hear on that song ‘Time and Tide’, they’re very good at a sort of windswept musical drama.
‘Endless Night’ edges toward a more traditional pop sound; listen closely though and alongside the sisters’ soaring voices you’ll hear a wealth of sonic detail.
After their work as Purple Pilgrims, this album represents an aural levelling-up. They worked with American producer Randall Dunn, hired legendary session drummer Matt Chamberlain, and Brooklyn mastering engineer Heba Kadry.
The results have plenty of sheen, and - aside from their voices and Chamberlain’s insistent backbeat - a palette that’s hard to pin down. It’s music that’s constantly swirling and churning, the odd eighties-inflected keyboard peeking out on tracks like ‘All I See’.
This is art-pop with the emphasis on art, and as such it’s lyrically rich and often impenetrable. Sometimes though, as on the stripped back ‘Actor’s Tears’, some personal-feeling lyrics will jump out. The song seems to be about a breakup, with a title that implies cynicism, but lines like “You’re not to blame for the ruin of me”, and “didn’t we have fun” suggest the opposite.
One more thing to note about The Coin That Broke the Fountain Floor is that the Nixon sisters are very good at crescendos. On many songs their singing subsides to let the music swell, and they earn it each time.
It’s an album that feels grand; not just through accompaniments such as the painted portraits of the Clementine Valentine, or statements from them like “We made a record by futurist alchemy, informed by our most ancient roots”, but through music that feels momentous enough to deserve those extra trappings.
