I don’t mean to rain on your parade
But sometimes when I bend, I break
Australian artist Claire Birchall, Melbourne’s alchemist of sound, has conjured a collection steeped in foreboding and fragile beauty with her latest album, The Haunting. Here, melodies coil and cascade, wrapping themselves around each other in disarming and daring configurations. The instrumentation strays boldly—vintage and modern synths hum alongside the rustic sigh of a century-old pump organ and the gentle resonance of a childhood piano. Birchall stitches the stark synthetic with the tactile organic, blending drum machines with the echo of a Japanese taisho koto and a tangle of guitars.
This album, born from the whispers of nightmares and ghostly folklore, marks a striking departure from Running in Slow Motion. Fear, grief, and anxiety ripple through its veins, while tempos tilt between jittery disco rhythms and somber, soul-searing ballads. A restless experimenter, Birchall bends genres and bends hearts, drawing comparisons to Julia Holter’s intrigue, Portishead’s aching textures, Lana Del Rey’s cinematic swoon, and Weyes Blood’s wistful grandeur. The Haunting is a feverish meditation on fragility and ferocity alike.
Beasts howls with the tension of yearning for freedom but finding the wilderness teeming with torment. The promise of solace is ambushed by fears that hunt and harry with relentless precision. An unseen force clings like a shadow, an anchor of anguish, pressing down as the battle between liberation and confinement rages in an arena of internal unease. Trigger crackles with collision, where disillusionment and tension meet head-on in a storm of static and strain. Triggers—sharp, dumb, and unforgiving—hammer at the narrator, their weight magnified by the empty hum of distractions like the flickering TV. A frantic heartbeat underscores a relentless restlessness, pushing the need for escape from a state as suffocating as it is inescapable.
Partner in Crime struts through imperfection, wearing flaws as boldly as stitched patches on a frayed sleeve. The song sings of resilience, where shared rebellion and intimacy shimmer like streetlights on wet asphalt. It dances with nostalgia, cherishing connection amid chaos, turning imperfect moments into stolen treasures of joy and defiance. Mirror Mirror peers into the fragile fight against rejection and self-doubt, where disconnection and despair tangle like thorns. Tears spill, mascara smears, and mirrors mock with unflinching truths, reflecting the yearning for solace amid a storm of sadness. Dreams turn restless, steeped in shadowy regret, as music hums faintly in the background, underscoring the aching plea for relief.
Storybook drifts delicately through fragility and fortitude, a fragile flotilla of paper boats and planes that falter against the tides of reality. Each ticking second, a heartbeat closer to confrontation, the story unravels its quiet truth: life loops endlessly through struggle, its impermanence both bitter and bracing, like salt on a wound that refuses to heal. Turn Me Over pulses in a whisper of strange, spacey synths, hammering home its hypnotic mantra in a breathless burst of urgency. Its simplicity is as unsettling as it is striking. 3AM stirs the pot of suppressed emotions, where sour starts and abrupt eruptions meet in a midnight haze. Dreams of the past beckon, haunting gates of former homes, leaving a sense of reckoning and a restless search for release.
Sea of Silence drifts on tides of longing and hesitation, its waves lapping at the shores of reconnection, yet never crossing. Time stretches thin, punctuated by moments of muted joy, but the weight of regret holds fast. Vulnerability lingers like an open wound, anchoring the soul in solitude, tethered to words unspoken and opportunities missed. Bad Bad Tunes spins like a needle stuck in a groove, replaying the discord of indecision and desire. The rhythm is restless, the cycle ceaseless, as conflicting emotions churn within. Each repetition sharpens the craving for stillness, for escape from the chaos into a corner of calm where balance might return, however briefly.
Finally, Sink or Swim sails into bittersweet waters, charting a course between what was lost and what remains. The plaintive hum of a century-old pump organ underscores its ache, blending the ancient with the immediate. It floats on the edge of sorrow, its melody tethered to the quiet reckoning of acceptance, a ballad steeped in soft resilience and wistful weight.
Listen to The Haunting below and order the album here.
The Haunting by Claire Birchall
Claire Birchall’s musical journey began 25 years ago as a surf coast indie rocker, playing with bands such as Paper Planes, Claire Birchall & The Phantom Hitchhikers, and True Sound. Over the decades, she has transformed into an eclectic and internationally recognized artist, known for her exceptional talent as a multi-instrumentalist, accomplished DIY producer, collector of unusual instruments, and connoisseur of obscure vinyl.
For the past five years, Claire has been a vital force in Kim Salmon’s Smoked Salmon, lending her skills on lead guitar, keys, and backing vocals during tours across Australia and Japan. Her influence shines on the new Smoked Salmon album, where she contributes guitar, keys, drums, percussion, backing vocals, and even lead vocals.
A prolific solo artist, Claire’s critically acclaimed self-recorded albums explore diverse styles, from acoustic folk and indie fuzz rock to Casio pop and, more recently, darkwave synth music. Signed to Melbourne’s It Records, she released Running in Slow Motion in 2020 to widespread praise. Claire also debuted Fancy Weapon, a supergroup featuring Australian rock legends Joel Silbersher, Mick Turner, and Guy Maddison, where she anchors the rhythm section on drums.
Claire Birchall will embark on an Australian tour alongside Smoked Salmon, with dates in major cities including Melbourne, Sydney, and Perth. A special Melbourne album launch is to be announced soon.
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