With ‘King,’ Florence + The Machine have returned to the musical helm – in a characteristically enigmatic unannounced manner – with a battle cry to femininity. It manifests as a fusion of Welch’s newest and oldest music, which combines the raw and unrefined elemental power of her debut album Lungs with the precise, crystal vocals of her most recent High as Hope. It is a masterful weaving, into a rich tapestry of a song. 

It begins with commanding drum beats evocative of an army, jarring against the gentle, candlelight vocals that follow. She speaks of private conversations and condescension, and of the question of the value of art. The discussion of human disagreements is so wonderfully integrated into the ancient-feeling environment of the instrumentation – a skill she deployed also in High as Hope’s ‘Big God.’ Much of ‘King’ is evocative of this track in fact, notably the creaky vocals at the end of the second chorus, which conjure the track’s drowning images. Mythology creeps in, as in the Lungs track ‘Rabbit Heart,’ giving the track an otherworldly authority. She proclaims ‘I am no mother / I am no bride / I am King,’ harmonising with herself – one voice low and commanding and the other feminine and vulnerable. The result is an assertion, rooted in an emotive yearn for understanding. 

The song then shifts to an introspective character study on womanhood, and how to be a woman is to be a changeling – ‘Always shifting shape / Just when you think you have it figured out / Something new begins to take.’ She repeats that she is not ‘mother,’ nor ‘bride,’ unrestrained by these traditional roles of service, as a changeling figure. Instead, she is ‘King’ – master of her court. In this second chorus, the vocals are more balanced: the commanding and the appealing meet in the middle to create an assured cry of insistence. 

An elemental quivering follows the second chorus, followed by a vaguely tribal set of drum beats. Then, she is joined by a chorus made up entirely of herself, as her different changeling figures harmonise on a raw and untethered cry of desperation and hope. If you strain your ears, delicate harp strums that were such a staple of her early discography can be heard – the effect is haunting and beautiful. 

‘King’ is a track that tantalises throughout. The first two verses and choruses feel like they are building towards something that is both times snatched away, as the vocals drop away without ascending to the impassioned cry that has come to be expected of Welch. You start to question if it will ever arrive, as the falling away of the instrumentation that follows the second chorus begins to feel like completeness. And then finally, Welch delivers a wail of strength and determination, for which you are so glad you were made to wait. It is an experience as well as a song, a journey from Welch’s oldest to newest discography, and a fine piece of art. 

Rating: 9/10

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