Joanne Robertson - Wildflower

Surprise discovery of deadstock copies of one of Joanne Robertson's early outings from way, way back in 2016. I remember almost nothing of that year aside from Bowie dying and Kula Shaker reforming (and assumed the two things to be connected, which is why i recall the latter), though Wildflower certainly makes its own impressive - and positive - claim for significance. This was to be Robertson's third LP, landing just before her profile-shifting associations with Dean Blunt and thus signalling what was to be an undeniable run that, Covid notwithstanding, hasn't really let up since. If you only came to Robertson after Wildflower and like what you've heard, take this opportunity now to start looking back, because her particular style of close mic-d, lo-fi confessionals has been sharply defined from the start. You know a Joanne Robertson song when you hear it, the post-grunge longing in that voice somewhere between Mary Lou Lord, Chan Marshall and Elliott Smith but with an unswering consistency that establishes it as exclusively her own. The quality of Robertson's records has never been in doubt, it's getting hold of them that's frequently been the issue, and of course adds to the alluring mystery. Not entirely sure how Escho have stumbled across these copies eight years after the fact, but it would be reasonable to assume it'll be a while before we see them again. In which case, you know what to do.