The twin duo of Rachael and Paul Swinton makes lonely, unassuming music as Cloth. Another word to describe their sound is “muted”—as in “quiet,” but also palm-muted guitar riffs, deadened drums, and whispered vocals about struggling with connection. Muted, but not outright dull; a close listen to their 2019 debut record revealed odd, jittery syncopation and nods to the xx-style electro-pop. It turns out a lot of important figures were tuning in: influential British radio presenters, prestige TV music supervisors, and Mogwai’s label Rock Action Records, who signed Cloth and released the more dramatic, post-rock inspired EP Low Sun in 2022. On the band’s second record, Secret Measure, they work with producer Ali Chant and subtly swerve yet again, streamlining their meandering indie rock into something like the slowcore version of a polished pop crossover.
With Chant at the helm, every choice feels intentional, the embrace of negative space particularly deliberate. The songs sound fragile enough to tip over with a small breeze, but with Chant’s production and Matt Brown’s drums, there’s a sturdy foundation. It’s still intimate, but the patient arrangements make the music feel vast in a way their more lo-fi recordings could not. Songs like “Never Know” and “Lido” pace about until suddenly blossoming midway though with arrangement changes, most notably Jemima Coulter’s trumpet on the latter. The increased focus allows them to filter familiar ideas through their own lens. “Drips” takes a well-worn chord progression and feeds it through a thworping arpeggiator, while “Ladder” is one more nocturnal “I’m on Fire” homage that nonetheless distinguishes itself with a chiming guitar riff. "Money Plant" is the one song that veers too close to 1980s sophisti-pop, complete with electronic percussion straight out of a Roxy Music ballad; it works on its own, but the bass stabs take away from the captivating atmosphere elsewhere.
If the band finds comfort in solitude, Paul Swinton’s lyrics are increasingly restless, seeking reassurance while facing the unknown. A spoken word section on “Secret Measure” describes someone staring off into the distance, unable to speak. “Never Know” pushes through writer’s block, asking, “Why don’t you just spit it out/Pick a note and sing it out?” “Lido” applies the uncertainty to an obsessive interest, just slightly too paranoid to be romantic: “Can I get lost with you/With nothing around?/We’re the same, we’re the same soul.” The recurring themes means the record is in conversation with itself, even responding to itself: The existential concerns in “Ladder” are softened in “Money Plant” (“I’m always looking out, when I know you’re thinking all wrong”).
With a more cohesive sound, some of the rhythmic quirks and time signature hops from their past output are smoothed out. On occasion, the music is so pristine that it’s easy to miss the evocative lyrics buried in the tightly wound grooves. Rachael Swinton rarely raises her voice above a whisper, and on the lusher songs, particularly “Drips,” she threatens to become just one more texture in the mix. That’s a fair enough tradeoff for a record this aesthetically airtight, but by the time they get to the closing “Blue Space,” the duo forecasts a shift ahead: “Everybody’s slowing down/You used to say so/But I don’t know/I’m feeling faster.” They sound ready to evolve again.
All products featured on Pitchfork are independently selected by our editors. However, when you buy something through our retail links, we may earn an affiliate commission.
