Review by Bobby Green
It’s not often I’m lost for words, but after hearing Lost Languages I’m finding it difficult to summon up worthy praise for this delicately beautiful album. It plays upon your heart strings early on, laying you down and lulling you into a tranquil sense of ethereal warmth with glowing embers lighting up your soul. And just when you think it’s safe to just – let – go ‘ATTACK’ slaps you about your face and wakes you up reminding you that your full attention is needed.
There’s been so much nonsense written by modern journalists about the death of the album, but I believe that these lazy blaggers honestly have no love for their job because Lost Languages is very much alive and with so much diversity flowing from my speakers it’s impossible not to fall in love with The Crayon Set, but ultimately fall in love with this album. “Closed Lines”, “I can’t say No”, “O’Connell Street” are songs that tell a story together, on an album. In a world where even the people we are supposed to trust with our art are telling us we don’t have the attention span to appreciate the creative beauty of an album, Lost Languages reminds us of how wonderful this art form is. This isn’t a wake-up call, far from it, but never underestimate the power of a gentle whisper.
This is an album of real beauty, something not only they should be proud of but an album that Dublin should be proud of. I only wished it was on vinyl because something this good deserves it. My problem with CD’s or MP3’s is you don’t build a relationship with the art, perhaps this is where my earlier complaint about journalists has its roots. With vinyl you commit to the music because of the ritual of how you listen to that format. Because this is an album you want to get to know better, you want to spend more time with it and have a connection beyond the digital play button. Lost Languages lives, breathes, and has a pulse. It holds your attention as well as your heart.