There are voices that impress with range or power. There are voices that captivate with uniqueness or texture. And then there are voices that nearly hypnotize with emotion.
The Blue Nile—those rather mysterious British cult favorites who issued just four albums across a 20-year career—had a lot more going for them than just singer/songwriter/guitarist Paul Buchanan’s voice; the group relied substantially on the performances and arranging and programming skills of bassist Robert Bell and keyboardist Paul Joseph Moore, supported by drummer Nigel Thomas and engineer Calum Malcolm.
Still, there’s no point in denying it; when you listen to a Blue Nile album, one element consistently jumps out at you: THAT VOICE. That keening, supple, earnest, silvery, magnetic voice singing songs rich with longing and melancholy, a rainbow of organic emotional color against a backdrop of dark, brooding ’80s synthesizers.
The other characteristic The Blue Nile consistently manifests is patience. They never rush, and songs rarely come in under 4:30, more typically extending toward or past six minutes. Certainly opener “Over The Hillside” is in no hurry, a gentle, subdued and honestly rather nondescript number other than, yes, those vocals. Buchanan’s voice—unprocessed, unfiltered, un-auto-tuned—provides all of the warmth needed to make the track engaging, a moment that you just fall into. It’s a voice that makes you want to know more.
As “Hillside” winds up, mechanical percussion sounds offer sharp contrast to the warmth of his voice, encapsulating the yin and the yang of The Blue Nile right there. And then we’re into “The Downtown Lights,” a sharp-eyed examination of the introvert’s dilemma: “Sometimes I walk away / When all I really wanna do / Is love and hold you right.” The gently pumping bass and shimmery synths lead into this self-soothing chorus: “It will be alright / The downtown lights.”
As the languorous “Let’s Go Out Tonight” enters, Buchanan sings “Baby, let’s go out tonight” with unconvincing enthusiasm; it sounds less like a light-hearted invitation than a desperate plea, as in, “If you say no, I might have a complete breakdown.” The pleasantly pulsing “Headlights On The Parade” accentuates the band’s flair for the cinematic; it’s the song you would use in your film underneath the part of the road trip your main character takes where they made an important discovery about themselves.
The particularly spare “From A Late Night Train” is so quiet and somber, it’s almost funereal, just voice and electric piano with a hint of muted trumpet deep in the mix. Next up, “7 A.M.” adds dimension with a rather complicated, almost proggy backing track, with guitar, synth, bass, drums and percussion weaving a spell as Buchanan pleads “Where is the love?”
And then there’s “Saturday Night.”
The album culminates with what’s generally regarded as The Blue Nile’s signature song, and why wouldn’t it be? It’s somehow both bright and melancholy, overflowing with a distinct, swoony charm. Here the normally rather downcast Buchanan is at his most effusive—it’s Saturday night, he’s in love, and life is good. There’s still sadness lurking in the shadows, of course, but inside this particular moment, he’s celebrating. The guitar chords are bright against a steady, pulsing, open arrangement as he sings that “An ordinary girl can make the world alright.” His vocals are passionate and optimistic, working to convince both her and us that it’s all going to work out after all.
Each element within the arrangement increases ever so gradually in intensity as the song progresses and evolves over the course of six and a half minutes, until Buchanan finally gets the payoff he’s been longing for the whole time: “She’ll love me,” he sings over the close. It’s clear why “Saturday Night” was a hit and got a lot of people excited about The Blue Nile; it’s distinct and unique and powerful and memorable, and my favorite of theirs by a substantial margin. It also feels like a wise choice to end the album right there, because where is there left to go?
The truth is, I shouldn’t even like The Blue Nile; they’re one of the few rock bands that I’ve ever enjoyed that don’t feature guitar as a cornerstone of their sound. But there’s something about the contrast of Buchanan’s emotive, colorful voice against the cool, muted background of synthesizers that just works. It’s a magic trick I can’t quite figure out, and to some extent don’t want to—I’d rather just let it keep delighting me again and again.
Hats was the consensus pinnacle of The Blue Nile’s catalogue, and it’s easy to appreciate why. It’s a masterful work of high-contrast art whose gentle grooves and atmospheric arrangements form the perfect backdrop for Paul Buchanan’s beguiling vocals. I didn’t know I needed this album, until I did.