The term "otherworldly" is often bandied in relation to Antony Hegarty's vocals. It's not without reason, but one might argue that they are more other-timely; a fragile warbling reminiscent of a distant relation to Nina Simone; a voice and a tone that might be more at home amidst the crackle of an old gramophone recording than the hype and hysteria of the modern music world.
The Johnsons often fall into the trap of overstating melancholy to the point of wretchedness - the kind that induces a propensity to wallow, or worse, violent urges towards the whine-merchant that's inflicting this misery upon you. Refreshingly, The Crying Light begins with a soothing, mellow mood rather than utter despair. Though the deep and concentrated strings of opener Her Eyes Are Underneath The Ground encompass with a startling intensity, it's not long before proceedings are lifted by light flutes, soft piano, and airy acoustic guitar. Intricate arrangements are infused throughout, always understated, and never distracting from a vocal that could but prevail.
Sadly, parts of the album, particularly the latter parts, still incline towards alienation, as Aeon takes on attributes of soul but fails to engage, while the unintelligible, minimal, Gregorian chant-like vocals of Dust and Water may appeal only to those with an appreciation for Church music. Understated epic Daylight and the Sun dazzles in its midsection with its careful fluctuations in magnitude, but drags towards the end of its six minutes. Still, critically lauded single Another World is honestly spellbinding, while the (relatively) upbeat tone of Kiss My Name never fails to ignite a smile. Admittedly and inherently lacking in immediacy, time spent with The Crying Light can result in moments of tear-stirring serenity.
