Author Archive

Moodymann “Do Wrong”

Moodymann is best known for making soulful house music, and the majority of his excellent new record Taken Away is in that lane, at least in terms of bpm rates. “Do Wrong” goes another way, framing its often spiteful breakup lyrics with a humid funk groove and snippets from Al Green’s “Love and Forgiveness” that provide both atmosphere and bitter irony. It’s a thick and swampy song with a rhythm that seems to bop up and down, and at some points sounds as though it’s sinking down below its implied surface. There’s an evil vibe to this song, but as much as the lyrics address someone else, the darkness of it feels more like it’s directed inwards. It’s like that great Carrie Fisher quote: “Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.”

Buy it from Bandcamp.

James Blake “Do You Ever”

It’s been interesting hearing James Blake evolve over the past decade from a mostly instrumental electronic musician with buried R&B tendencies into a more of an actual R&B artist with the aesthetics of an instrumental electronic musician. These days he’s somewhere at the center of that spectrum and it really works for him – he sounds like he’s fully comfortable as himself now, and it’s a sound that conveys equal parts sensuality and introversion. “Do You Ever,” like a lot of Blake’s best material, focuses in on the aspects of being vulnerable and intimate that hit the raw nerves of insecurity and doubt. He’s singing about a relationship that now, with some hindsight, was a lot better than he thought it was at the time. He gets anxious with the question of whether or not they think of him still, and maybe if they think of him fondly too. He sounds a little desperate and needy, but in a very relatable way – he’s looking for validation, not just for his past self but for his indulgence in this nostalgia.

Buy it from Amazon.

Helena Deland “Pale”

“Pale” is essentially a song about feeling so self-conscious that every sensation feels a bit off, every emotion is uncertain, and every situation feels either unreal or too real. Helena Deland sounds forlorn and a little shellshocked as she sings about an awkward intimacy, as though she’s just lying there asking herself – does this feel good, isn’t this supposed to be nice, why can’t I feel comfortable in my body? The music mostly sounds like a melancholy daze, but there’s a bit of a sexy tension to it as well. All the questions in the song aren’t resolved, but answers to the questions “can this feel good, do I feel good” don’t seem to be entirely negative.

Buy it from Bandcamp.

Heno “I.D.C.A.S.”

“I.D.C.A.S.” is short, simple, and spiky – mostly just one menacing keyboard riff and creepy ambience supporting a vocal by Heno that’s mostly rap and a little bit of dancehall toasting, but has a very punk energy. The title is short for “I don’t care about shit,” but that’s a bit misleading – he’s talking about having the discipline to not panic about things he can’t control, and to keep focused on things he can change. This would be a good idea at any point in time, but feels especially relevant now when so many people drive themselves mad with anxiety to the point that they can’t really function or contribute in a meaningful towards improving material conditions for themselves much less anyone else. This is not a song about embracing apathy or nihilism – if anything, it’s shaking out of the apathy and nihilism that comes from obsessing on powerlessness and intractable situations.

Buy it from Bandcamp.

Goya Gumbani & Kiina “Erica”

“Erica” fades in and then fades out, a brief groove that’s like a fragment of a sentence with ellipses on both ends. Kiina’s track is all elegant simplicity – gentle percussion supporting an electric piano riff, loose enough to feel improvised on the spot but sliced and treated just enough to introduce some question as to whether or not that gorgeous keyboard tone is actually sampled from something else. Goya Gumbani’s rap is mellow and introspective, perfectly matched to the tone of the piece but also a little subdued. It’s the rare hip-hop track where it sounds as though the rapper is trying not to upstage the beauty of the track, and so he sort of melts into it.

Buy it from Bandcamp.

Lex Amor “Odogwu”

Lex Amor exists in the nebulous but familiar zone; the center of a Venn diagram in which dancehall, rap, and trip-hop overlap in the most organic and intuitive way. “Odogwu,” a freestyle performed over a drowsy but subtly dynamic track by Josette Joseph, has an aesthetic kinship with ‘90s-era Massive Attack and Tricky but it doesn’t feel like some retro thing – it’s a different sort of stoned feeling and tinged with a different sort of melancholy that feel very rooted in the moment. I wouldn’t call those classic trip-hop records optimistic or sunny, but there’s a feeling in them like they’re boldly facing the future and whatever is coming. “Odogwu” feels more hesitant and wounded, like Amor is hoping to find a shortcut around whatever the next doom may be.

Buy it from Bandcamp.

The Nix featuring Khloe Anna “The Drop”

The Nix is a spinoff of Franz Ferdinand, and while this new production duo featuring former member Nick McCarthy is covering different musical ground, there’s an aesthetic continuity in their focus on groove and air of wry sophistication. “The Drop” is a dance track with the energy of an action film sequence that cuts quickly as a way of boosting momentum and making the actions of the protagonists feel particularly decisive and intuitive. The razzle dazzle of the song is mainly in the sexual tension implied by the contrast of the male and female vocals – he’s projecting a casual confidence bordering on jaded indifference, and she’s playing up a mix of sultry and sassy. Again, very action film!

Buy it from Bandcamp.

Gum Country “There’s A Crumb”

The arrangement of “There’s A Crumb” conveys constant movement but not much in the way of forward momentum – it’s more like jogging in place with a vague frustration that you’re not sprinting ahead. Courtney Garvin’s vocal tone is muted and monotone as she sings about a social anxiety that keeps her from communicating, and it sounds like it’s something of a mystery to her even if it makes some emotional sense. The vibe of the song isn’t that heavy, but the feeling of “wait, what is going wrong, why can’t I do this” is strong. It’s a low-key twitch of angst that’s buried a bit below the surface in the hopes that people don’t notice you not functioning like you ought to.

Buy it from Bandcamp.

Nana Adjoa “Throw Stones”

“Throw Stones” is a song about suppressing rage that has a graceful and mostly placid tone while layering in elements of tension and unease. It’s not always subtle – after the first chorus there’s a sudden harsh tone like a “WRONG!” buzzer, and it’s like an involuntary facial tick that reveals a flicker of unrestrained anger before regaining composure. Nana Adjoa’s lyrics are direct but her vocal performance is very carefully modulated – polite, but just a bit vulnerable. Passive aggressive, but a little ashamed of that. It’s a song that struggles with the idea of anger, recognizing the emotional truth of it while despising cruel and destructive impulses.

Buy it from Bandcamp.

Stewart Lupton “Three Chord Mansion”

In a better timeline, Stewart Lupton would have at least been able to complete the comeback he started with the one EP he released under the band name Childballads in the middle of the 2000s. He was in the process of reinventing himself as a sort of mid-60s Dylan figure, and I think he was doing it convincingly. Obviously, a lot of people aim for that, but he genuinely possessed the raw charisma and skewed poeticism to pull it off. A few more songs trickled out, including a couple from a radio session I produced for a public radio show in 2008 and another EP with a backing band called The Beatins in 2009, and after that he went totally silent until his death in 2018. It’s unclear how much music he made in the last decade of his life, but a 5 song compilation of lost Lupton songs has surfaced on Bandcamp and the most recent track is from 2010.

“Three Chord Mansion” is from his Childballads phase, and I dimly recall it being played when I saw them live a couple times back then. It’s a loose and groovy number featuring Betsy Wright on vocals and keyboard, and it sounds like it was recorded live to tape with the exception of Lupton’s vocal overdubs, in which he doubles his part in a lower register. The live feel suits Lupton well – it captures his ragged spirit without any studio dilution, and the recording centers the raw chemistry he had with Wright. She sings a backup vocal part that tips over into a lead if just by virtue of the strength and confidence of her voice, like she’s there to provide this traditional passionate country rock vocal while he plays it cool. It’s lucky to have this recording now, but also so frustrating – they sound like they’re just starting to figure out this dynamic. I’m sure whatever volatility that resulted in things falling apart is also what makes this sound so vital and present, but it’s hard to get around the “what if?” of it all.

Buy it from Bandcamp.

Oceanator “Goodbye, Goodnight”

“Goodbye, Goodnight” opens with a plodding, heavy riff straight out of the grunge era but as the song slides into its chorus it finds a bit more grace. I like the way this form works with the lyrics – Elise Okusami’s verses are flustered in dealing with someone reading too much into her behavior, but when she shifts gears she’s casually dismissing them with the title phrase. You feel the weight lift off her back, and even if the conventions of pop songwriting dictate that she retrace the verse and chorus a second time the backsliding feels natural and the instrumental at the end hits like the proper catharsis.

Buy it from Bandcamp.

Thanya Iyer “Bring Back That Which Is Kind to You”

Thanya Iyer’s music is gentle and introspective, navigating difficult emotions and complicated relationships with a generous and forgiving spirit. “Bring Back That Which is Kind to You,” the jazzy centerpiece of her album Kind, is an extremely soothing piece of music that allows for sounds that indicate tension and anxiety to exist in harmony with musical elements that convey serenity and warmth. This is most apparent in the melodic parts that float into the arrangement after she finishes singing the first verse – I think it’s woodwinds and piano, but the pitch is bent and distorted just enough to make them feel a bit alien. The tonality is a little bit annoying and a little bit magical, and I think the way your ear gets used to it and starts to hear it as a fully beautiful sound is part of the point of this song. It’s letting go of a sense of order and expectation, and finding beauty and grace where it’s not entirely obvious.

Buy it from Bandcamp.

Logic1000 “Perfume”

“Perfume” is essentially a radical dance remix of an R&B song from 20 years ago – “Separated,” a Top 40 hit for Avant from his debut album My Thoughts. Logic1000 kept Avant’s vocal track intact but otherwise removed every trace of the song’s ultra-sleek late ’90s/early ’90s R&B aesthetics, trading that track’s sweet sentimentality for a more minimalist and up-tempo track that feels far more raw and urgent. There’s a real magic to the pacing here, particularly as the verses lock into a tense rhythmic holding pattern before layering in fast beats for the chorus and bridges. This mix provides a catharsis that simply doesn’t come in the original version of the song, which just sort of drifts along in a melancholy haze without resolution. The melody and feeling of this song feels unlocked in this form – it goes deeper into its sadness, but also gets the chance to reach some ecstatic heights.

Buy it from Bandcamp.

Prince “Forever In My Life” (Live in Utrecht, 1987)

The version of “Forever In My Life” we’ve known for decades is one of Prince’s greatest minimalist productions – a gorgeous soul ballad of devotion and vulnerability backed mainly by the crisp, electronic clatter of a drum machine. There’s vocal overdubs, but it’s all his voice responding to himself, emphasizing the sense that he’s totally lost in his thoughts while contemplating his love for someone else. There’s a bit of acoustic guitar at the end, which is a tonal shift that suggests arriving at a peaceful emotional grounding. It’s a brilliant and evocative arrangement, and now with the alternate versions of the song featured on the new expanded reissue of Sign O the Times, we know it’s the work of thoughtful revision.

The studio outtake version included on the fifth disc has a drastically different character with its emphasis on a strummed acoustic guitar groove and a generally warmer tone falling somewhere between country rock and classic soul. It’s a far more straightforward piece of music and works very well on its terms – it’s not hard to imagine this one becoming a minor hit if it had been released in this form instead as it’s a very radio-friendly mix. But knowing where he went with it, it’s easy to hear what he thought was missing: It’s a little too normal, and not really getting close to the raw and candid emotional place he got through revision and cutting out so much clutter. This version is gorgeous and says the same thing, but it doesn’t quite look you in the eyes like the eventual album mix.

The more stunning alternate version was recorded live on stage after the album was released. The Utrecht recording splits the difference between the two extremes, centering the song on the mechanical beat but playing the groove on an acoustic guitar with a bluesy flair. Prince reorients the song towards blues and gospel, integrating groups of male and female backup singers but calling out through the performance when to silence parts of the band like he’s leading a band the way he’d move sliders and twist knobs on a mixing board. The live version is long but very dynamic and engaging, particularly as it moves along and he starts working the audience as part of the arrangement. The recording is actually too crystal clear in capturing the musicians on stage to include much audience noise, but it’s just enough to get a sense of what’s happening.

Buy it from Amazon.

Bonobo & Totally Enormous Extinct Dinosaurs “Heartbreak”

“Heartbreak” pulls its vocal hook from Class Action’s “Weekend,” a classic from the early ’80s NYC club scene that’s probably best known now as a remix by Larry Levan. Bonobo and TEED use an odd bit of the song – half of the first line of the first verse – so its relationship with that song is more abstract, like it’s a talisman or some ingredient for a spell to conjure up the spirit of this era long before most anyone that would be at a club today was born. The music itself is more rooted in ’90s house music, with its fast breakbeats and constant push towards ecstatic heights. It’s built to be a highly efficient jolt of energy and joy, and even if it’s being released a time when dancing in public is more or less forbidden around the world the emotional and physical effect of it is very welcome.

Buy it from Bandcamp.

Thee Oh Sees (Osees) “Red Study”

“Red Study” has a sinister but playful groove, bouncing along on a bass line that’s quite perky but also sort of unbalanced and seasick. John Dwyer runs with this vibe in the lyrics by singing from the perspective of a modern trickster figure who openly tells you that he will lie to you and ruin your life, and you’re left to wonder whether that’s just another one of his lies. (It’s not.) It’s not hard to get why Dwyer would write this song now – if anything, the tricky part is figuring out which demonic presences in culture preying on rubes specifically inspired this song. It could be anything, but this one feels particular to Q for me.

Buy it from Bandcamp.

Sault “Free”

Sault’s second album this year is directly inspired by Black Lives Matter activism, but as much as the lyrics feel very of-the-moment, there’s not much said on the record that couldn’t have been said at any time in the past few decades or probably also the decades to come. Even a track like “You Know I Ain’t,” which specifically mocks the dubious surface-level support of white people in terms that feel particular to 2020, is still pretty much evergreen. A similar theme is explored in the lyrics of “Free,” which questions the arrival of supposed saviors a bit too late to change much of anything. The implication in both songs is that while support and awareness is appreciated to various degrees, the strength that developed in the absence of that has become more important and reliable. Whereas “You Know I Ain’t” is snarky, “Free” is more gracious and overtly spiritual – and not simply for invoking God’s love in the chorus. As the music shifts from breakbeat funk to an up-tempo gospel feel, it feels like ascending towards a more “galaxy brain” state of mind and perspective.

Buy it from Bandcamp.

Suuns “Pray”

“Pray” is the type of song that’s built like a ride, like you’re moving around a rollercoaster, gradually gaining momentum and being brought up to a peak so you can have the experience of suddenly dropping down. In this song, it’s all about building up tension until you finally hit the 3:15 mark and a screeching solo kicks in. It doesn’t fully register as music – it’s more this extremely loud and cathartic sound that rips through the composition. It’s strange how this shrill, shrieking metallic sound can alleviate the tension while sounding like something that should actually make you feel more tense. I think it’s that it gives you this satisfaction of destruction, like this place you’ve just escaped is now being burned to the ground.

Buy it from Bandcamp.

Jana Horn “Time Machine”

“Time Machine” is a pensive song with the atmosphere of the first genuinely cold day of autumn, when your body reacquaints itself with air so chilly it sort of stings with a light breeze. Jana Horn sings about the end of a close relationship – it’s not obvious whether it’s romantic or platonic – with a slightly detached tone, as though she’s already moved through the stages of grief and has arrived at acceptance and resignation. In the verses she deals with the aftermath of the other person’s decision to end things and the impossibility of changing their mind, but the choruses entertain the fantasy of creating a time machine and… maybe undoing something? There’s no specific idea suggested, just the open-ended magical thinking of the possibility of building a thing that’s never existed.

Buy it from Bandcamp.

Bless the Mad featuring Edson Sean “Show Me the Way”

Ibrahem Hasan and Matthew Rivera bring a crate-digging, collage-making hip-hop DJ mindset to their recordings as Bless the Mad, even if the music on the record is all live instrumentation. “Show Me the Way” is driven mainly by Rivera’s drums and keyboard parts but is carried by Edson Sean, whose soulful gospel wailing and warm bass are the most expressive parts of the composition. The arrangement of this song feels tidal, as though the music and vocal parts are waves cresting and crashing. There’s a turmoil to it but also a very peaceful feeling, as though Sean’s pleas to God are answered by the music’s own flow towards moments of equilibrium.

Buy it from Bandcamp.