Ma Fleur - The Cinematic Orchestra

Ma Fleur

The Cinematic Orchestra
Ninja Tune Records.


SCQ Rating: 67%

Listening to ‘That Home’, the minute and a half introduction to Cinematic Orchestra’s first album in five years, was shocking for just about everyone. Long-time fans were expecting another bass-heavy collection of twisted jazz samples. Ninja Tune enthusiasts were looking for a new release that might stimulate the trip-hop genre. Anyone else who knew of Jason Swinscoe was likely surprised to hear he was still working under the moniker. And then, there’s myself, who was shocked to be buying a Ninja Tune record, period. It’s a label I have much respect for, as the English-based brand was responsible for my interest in turntablism and DJ-ing; the baby-steps in my pursuit of electronica. All the same, I thought the odds of me buying a new Ninja Tune record in 2007 were as likely as me tracking down CDs from the long-defunct Mo’Wax label, but here we are.

Listening to the first song of Ma Fleur was also curious because it was bound to upset anyone who maintained expectations on the band. The influence of jazz is only evident in the exploratory nature of these ten Swinscoe originals, meandering through piano-led melodies that stretch into new age ethers. The beats are irregular, and faceless to any particular genre. And most fascinatingly, the album’s opener and closer (variations on the same song book-ending the release) sounds unusually like Coldplay. Yes, the Cinematic Orchestra purists can squawk all they like over my Coldplay reference. Deep in their contrary hearts, they know it’s true. And since, beyond my brief interest in their material on Everyday, I had no expectation on J. Swinscoe, this was a pleasant surprise.

Maybe too pleasant…? Ma Fleur has had wide-appeal, largely because it was written to be such, and I doubt many could resist its melancholy (or the vocal contributions of Patrick Watson and Fontella Bass) on first listen (note ‘To Build a Home’s diligent inclusion on Grey’s Anatomy, if you’re unsure). Sadly, the magnetic array of sounds which drew me to this record ended up being the songs themselves; every emotion sought and detail recorded was at face-value, hiding nothing, and within a few listens it becomes clear that Ma Fleur is not intended for deep listening.

Once that disappointment settles in, the record has enjoyable moments: the acoustic reverie of ‘Music Box’, the collapsing beauty of ‘Breathe’ and the aforementioned vocals, for which I credit Swinscoe, who made some wonderful casting decisions concerning who would sing for his material. And despite its mellowed atmospherics, one can still hear the Cinematic sound, from the deep bass in ‘Familiar Ground’ to the beat-work that wakes up the aptly titled ‘Time and Space’.

Let the fans debate whether Ma Fleur was intended to be Cinematic Orchestra-lite from its conception or not, I for one feel that the album is too thematically tight to be a failed attempt at following Motion or Everyday. Jason Swinscoe knows what he’s doing, and that’s why the underwhelming songs, pretty as they are, weigh heavier on the scale than its bright ones. As the liner-note pocket of photographs explains, the songs of Ma Fleur are “inspired by but not tied specifically to any…” of the photos, and are present to aid the listener “in constructing or creating the narrative contained at the heart of this suite of music”. In other words: these songs lack emotional impact so imagine your own. And if you can’t, it’s your own fault. Well played, indeed.

Listen to The Cinematic Orchestra here.