On her second album Complete Fool, Gloucestershire musician Chloe Foy is ready to admit she may be at fault. She takes her introspective lens and points it both inwards and outwards, trying to answer tangled questions on love, what it takes to last, and why it doesn’t always succeed. Complete Fool is a break-up album that tries to set out the path that leads up to the separation, Foy giving context to the eventual end point like breadcrumbs along the trail. The title shows her concession: she is the fool for not seeing the warning signs but also for her own failings.
Complete Fool succeeds in unpacking its theme when it tackles it head on. On “I Tried So Hard To Disappear” she mutters “I wish I was a joyful person” to herself repeatedly over a bridge of cascading springs and dramatic toms, a quiet self-affirming mantra and moment of doubt, like she’s trying to fade into the background during a moment of conflict. Final track “Empires of Dust” is the sentimental goodbye, Foy reflecting “When I fell for more than the idea of you / I fell in love with you.” “Whisper my name in empires of dust,” she softly requests with a lump in her throat. Silver screen strings play out like an epilogue over quietly insistent piano chords; it’s plainly the album’s tenderest moment. If there was any doubt as to what was going on in the preceding nine tracks, then that disappears immediately here.
And there could be doubt sown, namely from some clunky lyricism which unfortunately mars a lot of the work here. Her enchanting debut album Where Shall We Begin didn’t paint Foy as a detail-orientated songwriter, but she sang with words that were able to evoke affection and compassion. On Complete Fool, the feelings get muddled and meaning gets lost. “I am the paper folding in the light / hold me still and listen”; “You are to me what lungs are to breathe”; “Tonight I will pull you in / grateful to the sculptor on the moon.” All sweet-sounding sentences that, when given a moment’s consideration, make little to no sense. Foy tries repeatedly to grasp at poetic turns of phrases to match complex emotions, but they come out like she’s either avoiding the subject altogether or unaware of what it is she’s feeling. It’s almost like a frustration, an itching desire to make sense of a complicated situation, and opting to fill the space with vagueness that unfortunately evokes confusion and slight bewilderment above all else.
Sometimes the music is there to pick up the slack, which makes opaque lyrics like “Your beauty is your silence” acceptable. The chorus of “Accidents” is as deep as a kid’s paddling pool, but the way it glides into it from the verse is delightfully smooth and easy on the ears. “Elephant In The Room” appropriately skirts around definable feelings and avoids getting to the meat or bone of the issue, but there’s a very slight and congenial English countryside-like gospel inflection in brief moments. Opening track “Complete Fool” is hugged warmly by strings, and with its sprightly vocal melody contrasting a self-effacing admission, it conjures a homely feel that is hiding heartache. Elsewhere the allusion and meaning is clear on “Animals” (“I’m full to the brim / I’m letting you win / Feeding like animals / I’m letting you win / My flesh and my skin / Feeding like animals”), but the track is so lacking in any carnal or voracious feeling that one hopes it’s deliberately trying to capture a loveless romance instead of just capturing a disheartened performance.
The album’s best moments come when Foy manages to build upon or outwards from what she created on her debut. “Blinkers” hammers into a rockier side while keeping a lighthearted bob in the rhythm. It somehow loses its way after just two minutes, but it’s pleasing to see Foy trying out new avenues while also capturing a banging-your-head-against-the-wall feeling that she seems to be tangling with. Album highlight “Drifting” is full of swooning and swooping strings, conjuring the feeling of a fresh breeze on the sea as it crescendos to a wordless high. It’s graceful and elegant; cinematic but personal; windswept but calm. “Who is to blame / Mirroring ways that we move through this game,” Foy questions, honing in on a concern that matches the music’s swaying back and forth.
If Complete Fool were only this sumptuous all the way through then it would be an almost impeccable record. However, like the title of the aforementioned highlight, much of the album finds itself drifting, be it between states of impress or between meaning and tangled imagery. Though the lyrics do leave a lot to be desired in places, the album mostly goes down easy; she captures some of the smooth magic she did on Where Shall We Begin. Foy’s knack for a pleasing lilt or a swirling vocal refrain isn’t gone either, but that spark she displayed on her debut does seem to be that bit further out of reach. Too many instances feel nondescript, ungrounded, or ready to be blown over by a stiff gust of wind. Foy may be ready to admit to her faults in regards to love and being lovelorn, but what may be harder to reckon with is her faults on the album that veer Complete Fool worryingly close to living up to its name.
