Patrick Wolf had a moment back in 2007. It was a time when Pitchfork had the power to make or break a band, and the publication awarded The Magic Position, the erstwhile wunderkind’s third LP, the much-vaunted Best New Music designation. Never mind that Wolf already had plenty of accolades in his native U.K. and bagged Marianne Faithfull for a guest spot on that album. The exposure allowed him to play chic New York parties and go on a world tour that included two sold-out evenings at the prestigious Shepherd’s Bush Empire (now O2 Shepherd’s Bush Empire) in London.
Wolf’s subsequent albums and EPs, though well-received, could not match the critical acclaim of The Magic Position. After 2012’s Sundark and Riverlight, which featured re-recorded versions of old songs, he went on hiatus. During this time, the musician was dealing with financial and legal issues and addiction. In 2015, he was struck by a car in Venice. Shortly after, his mother died from cancer. He returned in 2023 with The Night Safari, a five-song EP, to little fanfare. Now, Wolf has released Crying the Neck (June 13), his first LP of original material since Lupercalia (2011).
Having given up London for a quieter life in East Kent, Wolf began healing in his new coastal home. Crying the Neck allows Wolf, who steeped himself in the history and culture of the region, to step outside grief, making for one of the artist’s most emotionally stirring albums.
Just listen to the opening track, “Reculver.” This 6-minute song, which Wolf began to sketch out 20 years ago, begins as a quiet piano ballad but turns into something more magisterial as it progresses. Strings, drums, and guitar appear as the tempo quickens. And then Wolf’s soaring vocals enter. As a mission statement, it’s impressive, but it also sets the tone for the 12 other tracks that follow.
“Limbo” is a heartrending duet with Zola Jesus, while “The Last of England” is a gentle ballad that finds Wolf in crooner mode. But it’s not all sorrow and mist on Crying the Neck. The clattering drum samples on “Jupiter” and “Dies Irae” are reminiscent of early Jens Lekman. The latter song is Wolf’s poignant imaginary conversation with his mother, where he sings, “Take this moment / You’ll always have home in it / The time is here.” Though it doesn’t quite soar like “The Magic Position,” it is perhaps the best distillation of all the threads Wolf does best: pop meets melancholy meets electronica.
Wolf has been away for a long time, and sometimes Crying the Neck feels like he has too much to say. There are so many moments of beauty and surprise packed into the album’s generous runtime that it is easy to get overwhelmed. But those who give Wolf repeated listens will be rewarded. A cleansing, literary, and intricate album, Crying the Neck not only feels like a rebirth for one of this century’s most unique artists, but perhaps the melancholy statement we need to meet these difficult times.
