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**Laura Mvula - Sing To The Moon**
★★★★☆

In the unforgiving landscape of the British music industry, where promising artists are chewed up and spat out with alarming regularity, Laura Mvula's journey reads like a cautionary tale wrapped in celestial harmonies. The Birmingham-born songstress, who would later find herself unceremoniously dropped by Sony Music after her sophomore effort failed to set tills ringing, began her ascent with this remarkable debut that announced the arrival of a genuinely singular voice in British soul.

*Sing To The Moon* stands as a testament to what happens when classical training collides head-on with contemporary R&B sensibilities, filtered through the unique perspective of a working-class British artist who refused to conform to industry expectations. Mvula, armed with a degree in composition from the Birmingham Conservatoire and years of experience directing church choirs, crafted an album that sounds like nothing else in the contemporary soul canon – a swirling, orchestral dreamscape that borrows as much from Debussy as it does from D'Angelo.

The album's sonic palette is immediately arresting. Where her contemporaries were content to layer their vocals over trap-influenced beats and sparse production, Mvula constructed elaborate musical architectures that incorporate everything from harp glissandos to brass sections that wouldn't sound out of place in a Quincy Jones arrangement. This is chamber soul for the digital age, music that demands to be absorbed rather than simply consumed.

The opening track "Like The Morning Dew" sets the tone with its cascading strings and Mvula's multi-tracked vocals creating a gospel-tinged reverie that feels both ancient and futuristic. It's a bold statement of intent that immediately separates her from the pack. But it's "Green Garden" that serves as the album's undeniable centerpiece – a hypnotic meditation on love and growth that builds from whispered intimacies to soaring, orchestral climaxes. The song's unconventional structure, with its stop-start rhythms and unexpected harmonic shifts, shouldn't work by conventional pop standards, yet it remains utterly compelling throughout its four-minute runtime.

"She" showcases Mvula's ability to craft more straightforward soul numbers without sacrificing her artistic vision, while "I Don't Wanna Dance" reveals her gift for vulnerability, stripping away the orchestral grandeur to expose raw emotional truths. The title track "Sing To The Moon" finds her at her most ambitious, constructing a seven-minute opus that feels like a spiritual journey set to music, complete with gospel organ and a choir that seems to channel voices from another realm.

Mvula's background provides crucial context for understanding this album's unique character. Raised in the multicultural melting pot of Birmingham, she absorbed influences from the city's rich musical heritage while developing her craft in church settings where emotional authenticity was paramount. Her classical training at the conservatoire gave her the technical skills to realize her ambitious arrangements, while her experience as a music teacher grounded her in the fundamentals of melody and harmony.

The album's production, handled primarily by Steve Brown with contributions from Kwes, deserves particular praise for its restraint. Rather than drowning Mvula's voice in effects or overwhelming the listener with unnecessary flourishes, the production serves the songs, creating space for every element to breathe while maintaining the album's cohesive sonic identity.

*Sing To The Moon* garnered critical acclaim upon its release, earning Mvula a Mercury Prize nomination and establishing her as one of Britain's most promising new artists. The album's influence can be heard in the work of subsequent artists who've attempted to blend classical and contemporary elements, though few have matched Mvula's particular alchemy of sophistication and soul.

Looking back, the album feels even more remarkable given the industry pressures that would later derail Mvula's major label career. Here was an artist who dared to be different, who refused to sand down her rough edges or compromise her vision for commercial palatability. That such uncompromising artistry found an audience at all speaks to the album's inherent power.

*Sing To The Moon* remains a high-water mark for British soul music in the 2010s, a reminder that true artistry often emerges from the margins rather than the mainstream. It's an album that rewards repeated listening, revealing new layers of complexity with each encounter, and stands as proof that Laura Mvula's voice – both literal and artistic – deserved far better treatment than the industry ultimately provided.