Cindy Lee – Diamond Jubilee Review

The warning light is on. Creatively spent and struggling to articulate those fears is one thing, but the bags under your eyes are turning purple and there is a sense of dissatisfaction roaring through. Still, we push on, looking for some personal gratification by talking about the works of other artists. Is what we do on par with the likes of Cindy Lee? Not at all. But is it self-fulfilling? Not at all. Diamond Jubilee is an hour of questioning yourself in the comfortable, unremitting gaze of an artist snatching ownership of their work away from the usual run of streaming struggles. Diamond Jubilee is about the reclamation of your image. Diamond Jubilee is available, an open book of intimate and astounding proportions. Yet within its words and instrumentals is a wider force at play.  

Even the website where a Mega file of the two-hour album can be downloaded, the shock comes from the thin layer of novelty. It looks like a forum build from the mid-2000s. But think about how we now experience new media. For all the worries over streaming services and the dedication to physical media, the unspoken use of piracy lingers on. Cindy Lee undercuts this, a 1.8GB file and a Mega account is all you need. “Piracy is the most successful form of distribution,” the great German filmmaker Werner Herzog said. The proof of the pudding is in the eating. The proof of the piracy boom is in dissatisfaction with how we currently use media. Spotify is the work of the devil. Physical media is an impossibility for some due to a global cost of living crisis. Artists and listeners are on the same playing field of struggle. Diamond Jubilee accepts and acknowledges this on its rich tapestry. 

There is nothing novel about this Cindy Lee latest. Its eponymous track is a sharp, well-mixed selection of instrumentals and floaty vocals. For those half-awake and off the back of binge-listening to Wings in their kitchen, which was formerly a bank vault, Glitz will open something in your brain. A very specific series of steps to get there, but well worth trying it if you can. An overwhelming rush of well-placed noise and wonderful experiences can be found throughout Diamond Jubilee. No round-up of best-of lists this year is complete without it. One of the few albums which needs to be heard on vinyl. Naturally, it does not have one. Yet there lingers something nostalgic and stripped-back about Baby Blue and Dreams of You. 

It kindles an offline approach despite being available in digital forms. Those moments where you hope to recede into the lining of your couch as you listen to a record crackling away on the other side of the room. It is what dreams are made of. Much of Diamond Jubilee explores its welcome warmth without touching on its lyrical observations. All I Want Is You is a clear-cut track of heartbreak. Yet it still relies on the instrumental bliss, the constantly moving tones found in its scrappy-sounding, beaten guitar. Niceties are dropped for demands of the truth, and so the fires of self-doubt and manipulation burn on. These are the crackles of sprawling, lived-in moments. Their theme is relative and their relationship from song to song is none of our business. What we can get from Diamond Jubilee is the thrill of turning the dials. 

Radio is not as adventurous as it sounds, though. There is little love in slotting this track or that into place, and so Cindy Lee becomes a relatively endearing attempt to escape the real world. Diamond Jubilee is what you make of it, effectively. If you have no horrors to project onto it, then you will get little from it. Had your experiences been a little softer, Diamond Jubilee may feel less warm. Cindy Lee has moulded two hours of contemplative whirrs which maintain their lengthy stay with the sort of music which appeals to the mentally drained. An exceptional album to give into. Occasionally ripped from these moments of reflection when having to manually play the next file makes for a unique experience. The romances of the everyday are capitulated. Every song is a striking new moment. When you start to drift from feeling the powerful works within Diamond Jubilee, a new surge of instrumental power appears. Flesh and Blood make up for the creeping feeling of stagnation. 

Ultimately Cindy Lee has crafted a wonderful litmus test in dedication. Give your head a wobble if two hours for a piece of work like this is too long. Grow up. Sudden ends and spiralling instrumentals which, on first listen, are disconnected from one another, spark some real joy later. Experiment after experiment. Diamond Jubilee is an amalgamation of everything. All you could want, and then some. Striking, constant instrumentals are stretched to their limit as Patrick Flegel works their likely artistic peak to its limit. Everything from its structured guitar, its slightly crackling sound and its interjections of lyrical contempt for the self can be extrapolated and consumed as an experience of the burdens we hand ourselves. Masterful stuff in places. Diamond Jubilee is an exercise in forgiving yourself.