Maxine Funke – Lace
£24.00
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A joy to see these back in print and with it the opportunity to avoid the ridiculous second hand prices of the OG presses - I'd estimate some people are selling original copies for more than it cost Maxine Funke to make this music. And therein lies part of their charm. If lo-fi means anything at all anymore, then it's this. Effortless, unadorned acoustic laments that seem to naturally radiate from out of Funke. Like turning the eye to a rusty nail, a shiny pebble, a sheet caught in the wind, Funke's music serves as the gentle poetry of the everyday captured in the amber of simple song. But let's not confuse simplicity with the simple. These emotionally cavernous songs carry a true weight, partly because they whisper their truth so as to encourage you to lean in, partly because Funke is compellingly earnest in her delivery so as to make you disregard all else. It takes me back to the golden period of early avant folk of Diane Cluck, Entrance, White Magic, even the atonal psych of Six Organs of Admittance. The profound without the fuss. I'm not going to recommend one over another, because these are two parts of the same expression, and together an essential reflection of why Funke is a maverick outlier of rare esteem.
