REVIEW: Nilüfer Yanya – My Method Actor

It’s 19th October when I finally pen these opening words about Nilüfer Yanya’s September release, My Method Actor. It’s actually quite nice to sit with an album longer than usual before writing a review. It means we’re past the knee-jerk reaction phase; my thoughts can be more considered than excitement rendered as exultant praise, or disappointment wielded as blunt criticism. Such reactions often sit in response to expectations. And to be honest, I wasn’t overly excited for this album. Though I’ve followed Yanya since her lovely early Plant Feed EP way back in 2017, her albums have left me a little lukewarm. In striving for big concepts, they’ve felt a bit inconsistent.

But, levels of anticipation aside, it’s clear in my mind: My Method Actor is a wonderful, hugely accomplished record. The weeks have passed now; this isn’t just exaggerated surprise. Nilüfer Yanya’s third album is the sound of an artist who has well and truly found her voice. It’s always hugely gratifying when someone you’ve followed for a while delivers on their potential. That’s the case here. Gone are the shaky concepts; the concept here in Yanya herself. This album is personal and reflective, and it projects its relatable themes onto the sonic equivalent of a cinema screen for us listeners to immerse ourselves in.

My Method Actor is the product of an intimate recording process with producer Wilma Archer. From the sounds of it, it was pretty much just the two of them who recorded this record, and it really shows in the cohesiveness of the material. The theme of self-reflection feels appropriate for an artist at 29 years of age. Turning thirty is a reflective time. With some distance from the tumult of youth, one can look a little at what one has become. And here, it’s a presentation in three parts.

The first is the most turbulent. “What you looking for? Shut up and raise your glass if you’re not sure” are the first words we hear and they’re a scene-setter. This is ‘Keep On Dancing’: the diary is open and feelings are thrown at the page. Feelings of having an unsettled mind, and feeling lost for purpose. From the second verse, a scratchy synth bubbles under the surface, then rises to the fore. She might be, or has been, dancing, but all is not well. It’s the kind of dancing you do when you’re supposed to be having fun, but you can’t escape the worry in your mind. And this uneasiness continues through the opening salvo, as Yanya runs away from confronting finitude on ‘Like I Say (I Runaway)’, and takes out anger on her guitar on the crunching choruses of the title track. 

This track sequencing makes sense; this feels like something of a continuation of her previous album material. But the crux of this album is the second part, a run of five beautiful, longer songs which eschew jagged edges for deeper feelings. This is Nilüfer Yanya as we haven’t heard her before. It’s like she’s stopped thrashing around and is sitting with what’s really going on underneath.

The result is some really sublime songwriting. Coming off the opening salvo, ‘Binding’ reduces the tempo and sets a subdued mood. The lyrics explore depression, and the price one pays for achieving their dreams. The second verse in particular is a wonderful display of songwriting brevity (“Heaven for cash / View from a new height / Happiness tax / Ecstasy builds”) that says so much with so little. And ‘Mutations’, which looks at personal evolution, is propelled gently but constantly by the clatter of percussion, replicating the steady propulsion of change: it’s happening whether we realise it or not.

The record’s three highlights come back to back. ‘Ready For Sun’, ‘Call It Love’ and ‘Faith’s Late’ all compare shame and love, and the idea of Yanya exposing her true self rather than keeping it hidden away – perhaps behind the persona created through method acting. The songs are built from acoustic guitars often surrounded by sweeping strings, which give them a cinematic feel, as if Yanya is reflecting on the landscape of her life. Her deep, soulful voice grabbed my attention all those years ago, and on these songs it feels like she’s singing these epics to herself. She delivers them soothingly, like a lullaby, and the effect is beautiful and affecting. Archer’s production adds the musical space for the vocals to breathe and unwind naturally, giving these feelings the time they deserve to be worked through.

Every journey needs an ending, and the third and final act here is thoughtfully crafted. There’s the lighter ‘Made Out of Memory’ and the Morricone-esque ‘Just A Western’ – the latter named as it reminded Yanya of imagery from the genre films. This is our protagonist riding off into the sunset, leaving her old self behind, declaring she “won’t do it for free anymore”. We don’t know what the ‘it’ is, but it feels like it only matters to her.

The album starts and ends with very short songs. But where the opener has a harried air to it, the closer, ‘Wingspan’ is serene. All necessary feelings have already been expressed, so when Yanya says “you’re dead to me”, it’s with peace and acceptance. There are stunning production flourishes from Archer here. Airy keys float in that could be a train tooting its horn as it gently pulls away. Distant voices appear on field recordings that sound like ghosts drifting away. It’s the perfect ending. We all go through these moments of reflection and resolution. Nilüfer Yanya captures them impeccably on My Method Actor. As the weeks continue to roll by with their inevitable ups and downs, I’ll hold this record close as the sound of someone gracefully flying towards something new.

Words by Tom Burrows