Josienne Clarke Goes Straight to the Heart on ‘A Small Unknowable Thing’

It’s easy to sing songs about love — and so hard to strike a distinctive note. But on her second solo outing since the end of her musical partnership with Ben Walker, Britain’s Josienne Clarke gets everything right, crafting gently urgent vignettes that feel both universal and at times uncomfortably specific as she charts a fraught journey from wrenching despair to tentative optimism.

A spellbinding blend of unsparing candor and delicate beauty, A Small Unknowable Thing is nearly a one-woman show. Clarke wrote all 14 songs, produced, arranged, and played guitar, sax, and harmonium, and she sang everything and self-released it. Her arresting 2019 effort, In All Weather (ND review), pared down the baroque chamber-folk of her work with Walker, and the process of reduction continues here. The melodies are elegant yet lean, and the spare backing band sticks to basics (though drummer Dave Hamblett sneaks in some inventive fills). The lyrics are eloquent yet direct, a perfect complement to her tender voice, which can echo Joni Mitchell or Sandy Denny while displaying an engaging lighter touch all her own.

Shaped by twinkling guitar, “Super Recogniser” opens the album by acknowledging the elusiveness of original expression, of “trying to describe the indescribable.” What follows, however, is a memorable recounting of one woman’s challenges in seeking a relationship where she’s seen for who she truly is, not viewed as a trophy.

To get beyond past disappointments, Clarke confronts those who let her down. “Chains” somberly ponders a doomed relationship, softly concluding, “When every part of you / Is promised to a past lover somewhere / There’s nothing I can do.” The breathtaking “If It’s Not” says, “If it’s not me that you see / You’re really no good to me.” For all Clarke’s blunt honesty, there’s no rancor in these statements, just deep regret.

Elsewhere, her ire rises. Awash in buzzing guitar and crashing drums, the noisy “Sit Out” abandons tasteful poise as Clarke exclaims, “I’ve not heard a word of compassion / You think love is a power to be rationed,” unleashing a wild, discordant sax solo to underscore the fury of her frustration.

Growing calmer, she offers the scathing “Deep Cut,” a putdown for the ages, sighing, “You’re nothing but wasted time / A rejected line / From a song I never sing anymore,” and concluding abruptly, “I’m half as bitter as you’d be / If you were me.” Her disdain is thrilling. Who hasn’t wanted to deliver a rejection so potent?

If A Small Unknowable Thing only settled scores, it would still be a rousing declaration of autonomy, but it’s more. Near the end of the album, in “Out Loud,” Clarke’s tortured protagonist finds the courage to be vulnerable, explaining, “Something has changed / I don’t feel afraid,” and insisting, “If all you ever wanted / Was someone to love you out loud / I can do it, I can do it now.” This new openness defines “Unbound,” the willowy closing track, where she quietly proclaims, “I feel the damage beginning to undo.” There’s no pretense to a storybook romance or guarantee of a happy ending, just the clear-eyed realization things can get better. Sometimes that alone can seem like an uplifting miracle.