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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Jenny O “Color Love”

I’ve come to expect some degree of anxiety in the lyrics of young songwriters, so it is a pleasant surprise that the cool, calm, ’60s psychedelia of this song is not subverted by lyrics expressing some form of angst. Or maybe it does, in a more roundabout sense: Jenny O’s lyrics here is basically advice urging the listener to make the most of small pleasures in life, and I’m sure to some extent she’s addressing herself. But in either case, it’s very relaxed in tone and it’s messaging, and not at all pushy in getting across the subtext that these little pleasures are what add up to a good life or what can keep us from losing sight of what is valuable in the world when it’s much easier to see all that is terrible in it. And all of that is factored into the sound too, as the whole thing is built on gently melancholic chords and progresses towards a guitar solo that expels lingering tensions that build up through the song.

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Stephen Malkmus “Brainwashed”

I certainly never expected Stephen Malkmus to ever record a song with a vibe very similar to that of Grant Lee Buffalo’s 1994 masterpiece Mighty Joe Moon, but here we are – one of the few unexpected things in 2020 to actually be delightful. “Brainwashed” is a folksy number with a distinctly woodsy feel, like he ought to be playing it while sitting on a log near a stream, or maybe out in front of a cabin with the scent of a wood-burning stove in the distance. Malkmus’ vocal falls somewhere between relaxed and exhausted as he pleads to be rid of his mind and his memories, and all the responsibilities that go along with it. He sketches out some odd Malkmusian details about what the guy in this song has been up to – some kind of scam involving propane in Maine? – but that’s just color. The main thing here is the way the “brainwash me” refrain sounds so enticing now, and the way Malkmus busts out an electric guitar solo at the end that’s a little like what he pulled out for his Silver Jews song “Blue Arrangements” over 20 years ago and a bit like a more dazed version of Neil Young.

Also, in case you missed it a few months ago, I wrote a full review of Malkmus’ Traditional Techniques for NPR and you can read it right here.

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Crystal Murray “Princess” (Yuksek Remix)

The original mix of “Princess” is very good but the arrangement feels a bit hesitant, starting off as more of an R&B number before sliding into dance music territory. This mix by Yuksek eliminates the slow build and genre ambiguity by making it a house pop song from the start and I think the song feels much more natural in this form, it sounds like it’s the shape it was always meant to be. I suspect the cleverness of the original mix comes from shying away from what a crowd pleasing ’90s-style dance number it is – it’s certainly a little more generic this way, but it’s also far more effective in conveying both a mood and a physical response. And ultimately this sort of music is built on its utility. With both versions being options I’m not sure why anyone wouldn’t choose the more joyful one that really moves.

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Bumper “Red Brick”

Bumper’s first EP sounds like it’s specifically based on late ’80s sophisti-pop along the lines of Swing Out Sister and that music’s aesthetic cousin Japanese city pop, but the music is written and performed without any trace of irony. At other points in time this sort of thing could be expected to be played with a wink even by true believers, but Michelle Zauner and Ryan Galloway do this with a degree of sincerity that makes a song like “Red Brick” feel authentic and pure. Everything in the song sounds bright and joyful, and even as Zauner confronts dark feelings in the lyrics it’s not a subversive move – her point of view is entirely optimistic that difficult times can be overcome in a very “the only way out is through” way.

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Buscabella “NTE” (Jonti Remix)

When it comes to remixes I always prefer the ones that modify the arrangements of a song to those that barely resemble the source material. Jonti’s “NTE” remix is in the former category – he retains the essential vocal hook and groove of Buscabella’s track and replaces the more drowsy feel of the original with a brighter, more “tropical” atmosphere. The song retains its identity but gains a new utility as something better geared to a dancefloor than a chill-out room. Either version of the song has a very stoned vibe but I particularly like the way the bass line fits into Jonti’s mix like this warm center bringing up the temperature of everything that comes close to it.

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Sharada Shashidhar “Loose Ends”

“Loose Ends” is a jazz vocal ballad but its textures are digitally warped to the point of disorienting abstraction. Sharada Shashidhar’s vocal is clear and precise, conveying patience and thoughtfulness in the midst of a track that feels more uncertain and chaotic. Jamael Dean’s music seems to move with and against her flow at different points, almost as if the sound is a storm moving around her stable, meditative presence. There are moments where it feels as though she’s moving against a powerful tide, but as she gets through it the chords settle into a more placid groove in harmony with her. It’s hard to imagine this is not a deliberate metaphor.

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Natalie Slade “Humidity”

Natalie Slade’s voice is soulful but very controlled and understated – she emotes just enough to indicate her power and range, but keeps her focus on storytelling in her verses and conveying a soul-searching introspection in the choruses. Pretty much everything else in the arrangement of “Humidity” displays a similar balance of warmth and restraint. The bass is funky but unobtrusive; the drums have a nice feel but keep to a clean, tight pocket. My favorite thing here is the keyboards by Simon Mavin, whose chords seem like softly glowing lights just behind the groove. His parts get a bit higher in the mix near the end of the song, or maybe it’s more that other parts clear out to give those lovely chords some more space to be heard.

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Dua Lipa & The Blessed Madonna “Break My Heart (Moodymann Remix)”

Club Future Nostalgia has the feel of a club DJ set broadcast over the radio on a Saturday night – all the joy of the music is there, but the physical sensations of being in a room full of people with flashing lights is left to the imagination. Dua Lipa and The Blessed Madonna made this full album remix album as a tribute to those sort of broadcasts and classic DJ mix CDs, but also a simulation of an experience intended for all the people around the world who can’t just go to a club night during a pandemic.

It’s also a way of putting Lipa’s disco aesthetics in its proper context. The songs on Future Nostalgia are all finely crafted dance pop bangers, but in some ways the disco-ness of the music is hemmed in by the pop-ness. The remixes on this record allow the grooves to loosen up, mutate, or merge with other tunes. “Break My Heart,” so tightly composed on the album, is far more fluid here – first as a mash-up with Jamiroquai’s “Cosmic Girl,” and at the end as a longer, airier funk track reworked by Moodymann. He places all emphasis on the bass line – which interpolates INXS’s “Need You Tonight” – and clears out most of the negative space. The song retains its hooks but its vibe is completely changed, pushing it away from the angsty throb of the original towards a more relaxed and elegant aesthetic.

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Blackpink & Selena Gomez “Ice Cream”

“Ice Cream” has a very mid-’00s feel to it – most specifically it reminds me of Beyoncé’s melodies in her 2005 hit “Check On It” and the particular bounce of Swizz Beatz productions from the period. But it’s also just the general vibe of that era, that hyper-glossy hedonistic rap-adjacent bubblegum as deliberate counter-programming to a more pervasive bleakness in the culture. I can see how this could grate on people with a full-time commitment to doom but I think songs like this, which deliver joy and escapism with impeccable craft, are a necessary part of the arts ecosystem. I would be dazzled by this song if just on a melodic level under any conditions, but it coming at this time emphasizes all its sass and sparkle.

This song is Blackpink’s most blatant attempt at an American crossover hit to date, and I think it’s handled very well as an introduction to the group even with Selena Gomez taking center stage in the hook and the video. Rosé, who sings the highest part of the chorus, and Lisa, who does all the rapping, are the ones who really announce themselves as stars in this song and its music video. Like CL from 2NE1 before her, Lisa is a very convincing and aggressive rapper – to some extent they both come across as people who have fully internalized the cadences of mainstream female rappers like Cardi B and Nicki Minaj the way an actor would master an accent with a dialect coach, but the performances have a real spirit to them rather than just seeming studied and rote. Lisa is certainly compelling enough to get away with lyrical references to Michael Jackson and Free Willy, or opening her solo verse with the phrase “chillin’ like a villain.”

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Kate Bollinger “Grey Skies”

Kate Bollinger’s songs have mostly been iterations on a basic concept – the music is a relaxed groove but the lyrics are neurotic and introspective – but to her credit, they all feel distinct in melody and texture. “Grey Skies,” from her new EP, is at the drowsiest and jazziest end of her spectrum. Her vocal melody and cadence in this one reminds me of Erykah Badu at her most mellow, which further exaggerates the gap between her chill vibe and the “who am I, what am I doing, does any of this make sense?” tone of her lyrics. But it’s not necessarily a contradiction: Bollinger excels at giving voice to a very low-key nagging sort of turmoil, the sort that can be buried under just enough self-effacement and repression to not read as anxious on the surface.

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Lady Gaga “Babylon”

I’ve read that one of the reasons songs get stuck in your head is because something about them – the structure, the lyrics – breaks a pattern your brain recognizes from other music, so it’s left unresolved in your mind. This makes sense for how “Babylon” stays with me, it being this song that’s both totally familiar in its Shep Pettibone early ’90s house moves but totally alien in the way Lady Gaga sings a set of phrases that sound fabulous but don’t really add up to anything logical. “Babylon” is a song of inspired idiocy; absolutely glorious in its dumb genius.

Gaga has always been a creature of kitsch, but this song pushes her aesthetic to an extreme – a song ostensibly about gossip that’s somehow serving it “ancient city style” with a “pretty 16th century smile.” It’s like some bizarre cross-breeding of Madonna’s “Vogue” and Steve Martin’s “King Tut,” but with a vague nod towards the general concept of social justice. I am certain that if you talked to Lady Gaga about this song she could give you some sort of outline of the ideas that were on her mind as she wrote this, as it’s clear enough she was inspired by a few different things. But the magic here is in the goofy nonsense of it all, and in the how this is jumbled up in a fun retro dance song. It’s not easy to deliberately create something campy, but that’s exactly what she’s done with this song. She’s been immersed in camp so long, this is just what happens for her naturally.

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Margaret Glaspy “Heartbreak”

Margaret Glaspy has a warm and expressive voice, a high level of songwriting craft, and writes thoughtful lyrics about the intricacies of mature adult relationships. These are all incredible strengths from my perspective, but I don’t think they do much to win over younger listeners more fixated on her peers who are more about shy vocals, formless melancholy, and adolescent neuroses. But that makes sense. It’s adult music, and while I think anyone could click into Glaspy’s very melodic and accessible songs, it probably is something you need to be in the right frame of mind to fully appreciate.

Framing Glaspy’s records in this way feels a bit like I’m actually doing her a disservice, since in music “adult” is mostly a euphemism for boring. In adult music, emotions aren’t so extreme – they’re nuanced and complicated. And complexity and ambiguity have a way of coming across as low stakes, even if the reality is often that they’re much more fraught.

“Heartbreak” is a ballad rooted in R&B about a relationship that’s becoming too difficult to bear, but might not yet be broken beyond repair. Glaspy’s character frames the situation in a way that makes her passive to her partner’s whims – heartbreak is being induced, and the best defense she has in mind is to try to ignore it. The song resembles Lauryn Hill’s “Ex-Factor” in style and themes, and this makes a lot of sense as that song has been a staple of Glaspy’s live performances for years and she’s certainly fully internalized it by now. Her voice conveys both frustration and yearning, all the angst focused on how unresolved and open-ended the situation feels.

In lieu of some decision or emotional catharsis, the song ends with her trying to get her head around how she gone in this deep: The attraction runs deep, she compromises too often and too easily, and despite swearing to be honest they’ve both holding back some truths. The song ends on that thought and stops cold, as if she’s suddenly snapped out of the spell.

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Okay Kaya “Comic Sans”

The central rhythm of “Comic Sans” is a gentle plodding groove that becomes a bit more emphatic as basic percussion and guitar parts come in but never quite picks up. The lyrics follow through on this feeling of a pleasant rut as Kaya Wilkins sings about moving around in a daze after getting dumped. The song comes from the perspective of not really having a solid handle on the situation – was this actually a bad relationship? Is this actually good for her? Should she feel aggrieved? A situation has resolved itself but left her in a very unresolved state, and even as the music moves laterally through slightly different moods and a chorus that relieves some angst at least on a melodic level, there’s no sense of direction. When the song tapers off and abruptly stops, it feels emotionally true even if it’s a bit unsatisfying in terms of ending a song.

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