Some albums feel like they were made for the night—No Body is one of them. The debut from Australian singer-songwriter Vanessa Fernandez is a beautifully shadowed, genre-blurring record that bridges the worlds of trip-hop, noir jazz, and cinematic soul. With production that drifts between vintage and modern, and a vocal performance that nods to legends while forging its own path, No Body is both familiar and strikingly original.
Beth Gibbons, Adele, and the Evolution of a Voice
One of the most immediate things about No Body is Fernandez’s voice. There’s a clear influence from Beth Gibbons—those aching, spectral notes, the way she stretches words until they fray. But where Gibbons often dissolves into the music like a ghost, Fernandez brings a warmth and presence that feels more embodied. She’s fully in these songs, not just haunting them.
Then there’s Boom Boom, a track that leans more into the sultry, powerhouse delivery of someone like Adele. The chorus carries that same kind of bluesy, soaring intensity, though it never feels like mimicry. Instead, it highlights Fernandez’s range—she’s not confined to the hushed intimacy of trip-hop. She can smolder, she can ache, and she can soar.
A Sound That’s More Than Just Trip-Hop
While No Body draws clear inspiration from the moody landscapes of Portishead and Massive Attack, it doesn’t stay locked in that world. Fernandez and producer Greg J Walker (Machine Translations) have crafted something more expansive—pulling in elements of jazz, blues, folk, and old-school Hollywood drama.
Walker’s background in film scoring is felt throughout. Strings swell like something out of a noir classic, tremolo guitars pulse with a kind of vintage cool, and the beats have a dusty, cinematic quality that feels both modern and timeless. Tracks like This Ain’t No Movie and Before feel like they could soundtrack an arthouse film—melancholic, atmospheric, and deeply evocative.
Lyrical Noir: Love, Loss, and the Unraveling of Self
Lyrically, No Body is an album steeped in questions of identity, control, and fate. There’s a recurring motif of disappearance—not just physical, but emotional, existential.
The title track, No Body, lays this out from the start:
“I know I’m no body / but what is a body?”
That line alone could fuel a whole conversation. Is she questioning self-worth? Mortality? The idea of embodiment itself? Fernandez sings it with a quiet, almost resigned acceptance, as if she’s already slipping through the cracks.
Be A Man is one of the album’s most powerful moments, tackling gender expectations with a raw, almost bluesy frustration. The repeated line “now you’re a woman, be a man about it” is cutting—both an indictment and a plea, delivered with a sharpness that lands somewhere between anger and exhaustion.
Then there’s Blood On My Hands, which plays like a doomed confession:
“Write no letter, leave no answer / burn the evidence, it’s no love story.”
It’s fatalistic, poetic, and almost cinematic in its imagery—like the final scene of a film where the protagonist walks away, leaving only smoke and memory behind.
Boom Boom shifts the tone, bringing a sense of tension and urgency:
“Boy, I hear them coming for your life / you better run.”
It’s a song that pulses with an almost Western-like energy, as if it belongs in a slow-motion chase sequence. The mix of heavy drums and swelling orchestration makes it one of the most dramatic moments on the album.
Production: Where Past and Future Collide
Walker’s production on No Body is nothing short of stunning. There’s a deep appreciation for analog textures—reverb-drenched guitars, vintage keyboards, sweeping strings—but it never feels stuck in the past. He knows when to leave space, when to let the music breathe, and when to bring in just enough distortion or echo to make it feel unsettling.
The beats throughout have that classic trip-hop weight—slow, deliberate, always carrying an undercurrent of unease. But they aren’t the only driving force. Strings play a huge role, giving certain songs a sweeping, almost orchestral grandeur. On tracks like Faded Daisies, they create a lush, cinematic atmosphere, while on Before, they add a haunting, almost funereal quality.
Final Thoughts: A Debut That Feels Like a Cult Classic
No Body feels like an album that will only grow in stature over time. It’s not a record that screams for attention—it lures you in, whispering stories in the dark, pulling you deeper with each listen. Fernandez’s voice is spellbinding, the production is meticulously crafted, and the songwriting cuts deep.
For fans of Portishead, Air, Nick Cave, or even Adele’s darker moments, No Body is a must-hear. It’s an album that exists in its own world—one of faded film reels, cigarette smoke, and neon-lit streets. And once you step inside, it’s hard to leave.