Annie Hogan should score a movie. Yes, Hogan should score a movie. The pulsating Tongues in My Head utilises pianos, electronics and studio controls to create an evocative soundscape: feeling over form. What words emerge in the microphone dissolve slowly against the backdrop, creating a stylistic undertone that should accompany black-and-white images, a la Robert Eggers’ The Witch (2015) and The Lighthouse (2019). As I said above, Annie Hogan should score a movie.
A powerful organ undulates beneath the idiosyncratic wordplay throughout “Safe Hands”: garbled vocals vibrating over chilling chordplay. What the words represent isn’t important, and may have followed the Japanese paradigm of using symbols rather than letters. Breaths guide the listener through bristling guitars and buzzing melodies. “Deadly Night Shades”, typified by folky drum shimmers, sees Hogan and collaborators wailing over an assortment of percussion. It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if the vocals were put through a backwards loop, adding an ethereal, psychedelic quality. Hogan’s approach to songwriting mirrors David Bowie on Low; keyboards guide the way to a finished, articulate target.
The opening numbers are stentorian, but “The Conjurer” quickly establishes a more ramshackle, fun element to the work. Quick as lightning, the drums flicker and bang, ramping up the giddiness. As ever, a piano emerges, backed by what sounds like a theremin; a clever throwback to Jimmy Page on Led Zeppelin II. A choir of hums joins the listener on a voyage that’s dense, visceral and deeply cinematic.
Closing on a sparse outro, “The Conjurer” scales everything down to an acoustic guitar gently strumming. Rock has made great leaps, yet every artist starts their project off playing on a small guitar, mapping out where the song goes next. One of the focuses of Tongues in My Head is historiography: dotting motifs on a grand map that incorporates perspective, passion and performance.
As a younger woman, Hogan worked as a musician, whether collaborating with Marc and the Mambas or producing the stentorian vocalist Gene Pitney on The Stars We Are. There is a plethora of colours in her arsenal: when applied accurately, Tongues in My Head transforms into an immersive, kaleidoscopic aural experience. It’s all about the minutiae: those splashes, hand-shifts and chord changes. “Scorpions” is practically hypnotic: discordant harmonics and a chant regarding underground creatures have a valiant, vedic effect on the audience it lunges at. It’s difficult to discern whether the symphonic backdrop stems from a violin or an electronic programme; nevertheless, it brings clarity to the tune.
“Death Rituals”, a fuzz-based ballad, comprises an ambient guitar line; imagine Ed O’Brien during theKid A era, and you’ve got the picture. A vocalist whispers and purrs over the ringing tone beneath, a collage that could easily sit next to a movie scene where an animal is slaughtered to the ancient gods. Furthering the comparison, “Death Rituals” closes with maracas, earmarking a dance by firelight, celebrating and commemorating the actions by glistening, hot temperatures.
Angular and accessible, cryptic yet crepuscular, Tongues in My Head stands as Annie Hogan’s exploration of artistic expression. In this world-building, all sorts of paintings, mental photographs, and invisible portraits carry great weight. Rich in direction, cognisant of music that came before it, and purposeful as well as artful, the record succeeds in nearly any area it takes its fancy. It would be nice to hear Hogan soundtrack a movie in the near or distant future, but if she doesn’t, then this is a very close second. The finished results are intriguing, intelligent and expressive. It would be a shame if she didn’t get to score a movie.