Beginning with an acoustic version of itself, musicmaker Elliot James Mulhern's new track 'How's It Gonna Stop?' asks a simple, very timely question. It's the titular refrain, layered and bouncing in the crunch of its decayed disco drums.
"Looking back on it now I suppose I was actually wondering ‘how *is* it gonna stop?’" Mulhern tells yes/no via email. "This song was a constant dream; I remember during lockdown waking up with it in my head persistently."
Eventually, that persistent creation became a one-take voice memo: "The more I played, the song took on a life of its own, like a chiseled granite statue," he recalls. It was already there: an atmosphere waiting to be captured.
There's a soft nocturnal sound to 'How's It Gonna Stop?' — a sense of fatigue in the low glimmer of the chords, of street-lit tension in the high siphoning strings, of thudding feet on dark tarmac in its clipped bass groove. Mulhern's voice itself flutters among it all; downcast but bright, slow and measured, before skipping up the scale.
The song summons a day lived, a dream dreamt. Or the tired glow you feel walking home from work: happy, but too exhausted to celebrate. Sort of how we'll feel when 2020 is finally over.
"It’s certain none of us knew how bizarre and challenging this year would become," says Mulhern. But he notes a silver lining in the hefty clouds of this annus horribilis, citing how artists are (to some degree) conditioned to work in isolation.
"This was the most extreme version of that," he continues. "And if I’m truly honest, the intense amount of emotional weight on us all drove me to write from an entirely new, rawer vulnerable place."
The video for 'How's It Gonna Stop?' takes Mulhern from the reality of a London phonebox and its surrounding grit, soundtracked by the organic skitter of acoustic guitar, and flings him into a visually disorienting world of rapid cuts and offset angles. Watch it below.
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'How's It Gonna Stop?' is taken from Elliot James Mulhern's upcoming album Tiny Correspondence, Dangerous Ideas and Sensitive Affairs. It's due out 20th November on Mulhern's own Blossöm Records. You can pre-order it on Bandcamp.
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The track was mastered by Frank Arkwright (Coldplay, Elton John, Oasis) at Abbey Road Studios, London. "[I'm] eternally grateful to have ['How's It Gonna Stop?] completed at Abbey Road, minutes from where I was born and raised, whose records had immeasurable impact on my life," Mulhern tells us.
Hazy and sunwarped, the grinding tremolo at work in aptly named 'Widescreen Tremolo' by UK musicmaker Path provides the jagged cradle which rocks the track into unseen oblivion. A gloopy bass groove hides in the background; so too does a shuffling scuttle of a haphazard beat.
Speaking to yes/no via email, Path talks about the track. "I wanted to try to get that early 90s indie vibe but only using synth drums and synth guitar," he says. "I’m pretty happy with how it turned out."
At the halfway mark, the track diverges into a stream of distortion, guitar stabs glittering and the whole thing a ghostly sort of Stone Roses revist meets HEALTH primitivism and self-destruction, plasma-like vocals crooning out from the drone and dust storm of it all.
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'Widescreen Tremolo' is taken from Path's 2019 album Pianoburger, which you can stream and/or download on Bandcamp if you feel like it.
Self-proclaimed maker of "spaghetti pop", the Cape Town-based Gourmet inducts us into a syrupy and psychedelic tribute to WWE star, Stone Cold Steve Austin. Well, tribute or not, much of the song — also named 'Stone Cold Steve Austin' — is spent with a vocal refrain that begins "Stone Cold Steve Austin..." It's wrestler-heavy, but it's not about wrestling.
It's just part of the idiosyncratic nature of Gourmet's music. A lyrical mosaic, stream of consciousness in style, the spoken word lines are unaffected, unpolished, and remain a refreshing strolling vernacular of a vocal.
Similarly, while decidedly modern in its undertaking, with its minimalist appeal and spacious production, 'Stone Cold Steve Austin' dips heavily into the hunny pot of the past, Gourmet also namechecking Michael Jackson as the track gloops onward in a groove, in a galaxy of its own.
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'Stone Cold Steve Austin' by (who calls it "intercontinental left-field pop music") is taken from his Peace Forever Seaside Senegal Castle EP, released by Baketown Records. You can get it on Apple Music among other places.
"Just getting into bad relationships over and over. Then one day you realize that these relationships are just a reflection of what’s going on inside of you," writes Steven A. Clark of 'Karma'. With the skewed bassline cutting a warped groove, the cyclical – yes, karmic – guitar twinkling out of focus, and lyrics that speak of that "internal battle", the spills into your mind, seeping through the cracks.
At its centre swirl the vocals of Steven A. Clark himself. Worn, cradled in woozy effects and cutting an infectious R&B glimmer in lines like "Everyday, everyday, everyday / Telling me lies disguised as truths" and laying himself bare (literally) in the opener, "I'm naked / Over you..." it swings between these flying falsettos and a soothsaying mantra crooned in a plasma gravel: "Cause when the karma comes / The karma comes / karma's coming your way." A feverish warning.
"We do some much external shit looking for people, places, things, activities to make us happy, or distract us from the way we feel about ourselves," he explains more about the track. Something like Tame Impala analysing the uglier sides of the brain, 'Karma' is a psychedelic saunter around the block, a me-and-my-thoughts gloopy, gossamer tangle.
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'Karma' is taken from Steven A. Clark's upcoming album Hypervigilant, actual release date TBC. Stream 'Karma' by clicking this text and choosing from one of the various streaming services that you desire.
With gleams of jazz in the wide arms-resting-on-leather-sofa chords, 'Surface Tension' is an excercise in late-night fluidity, a warmly lit space inhabited by mid-century furniture and people murmuring in dark corners, touching each others' elbows and looking into each others' eyes. More than just in the sultry tropicalia groove that swims in the music, Tomos provides a clipped croon, setting the precedent with lines like "I guess there's more to us than being friends."
As the South-East London (via West Wales) musicmaker tells us, however, it was in a "YouTube binge" that 'Surface Tension' was born.
"As a lyric writing technique I often randomly write down lists of words influenced by what I've seen, heard and been interested in that day," he admits. "A couple of years ago, I had been researching the adhesive properties of water, but also found myself watching that trending video by Tatia Piliva, FIRST KISS (the one with load of ‘strangers’ kissing upon meeting for the first time)."
Loop crafted, lyric book in front of him, 'Surface Tension' was born - and then forgotten about, only to be found two years later and be magicked into some brand new music. Tomos carves this pearlescent soundscape not only of watery surface tension, complete with submerged-yet-surfacing synths splashy in their wah-wah-esque repetition, but also the surface tension of a convivial meeting between two people, their underlying desires concealed but bubbling like the agitated, heat-warped percussion shot through the track—and which it ends with, like a hearbeat.
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The artwork, reflecting the shimmering, liquid qualities of the track and the dark, muted colour palette summoning the same nocturnal feel of the track, was created by Geraint Morgan (aka Gray for Days; work for Boiler Room, Ross From Friends, etc.). There's a video for 'Surface Tension' too, which was also created by Morgan.
⌾ LISTEN TO MR LITTLE JEANS FORGETTER REMIX BY CHE ⌾
Mr Little Jeans' original 'Forgetter' inhabits a dark, swaying world entrenched in sub-bass, sometimes pillowed with sun dappled breeziness. But completely destructing this darkness, turning on the light, and transporting it from the gloomy forest of the original, Che hops on a remix of 'Forgetter'.
Now psychedelic, the track cuts a groove with suburban by-the-lake bass that pops and lingers and stumbles happily along; sparkling liquid guitars fall slow motion from one chord to the next with sloppy lustre; just part of the original vocals survive, simmered thin and garbled into each other.
It's a whole new plane of existence, one into which we're inducted and ejected from with cosmic tunnels of thick synth. Mystery and pyschedlia mix in the semi-idyll of Che's remix, propelled by the gentle thump of a beat, well away from the trap dilution and shaded inflections of the original 'Forgetter'
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There's actually a free download of Che's weed-soaked remix of 'Forgetter' by Mr Little Jeans, which is nice.
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And you should check out Shuco by Che, an album he released with Astro Nautico last year. You can listen to it and everything else on Bandcamp.
Last time we heard from GEO it was a glittering trail of intricate percussion and chimes in the form of lovely sound-sonnet ‘For You’. This time around the LA-based musicmaker gives us an insight into what makes him tick musically with a slice of sound that celebrates the rhythms of latin music.
“I sat down and wrote this one in an attempt to pay tribute to my love for the way latin makes me feel,” he tells us via email. And what a homage it is. Rather than pursuing one genre or another, and attempting to make something that is bossa nova, or samba, or whatever, ‘Mágica’ really does feel like a celebration: a rhythm that winds and sashays, more of that texturising percussion we’re used to that gives it some lush depth, and breezy chords that conjure cool scapes by the sea, instantly capitvating satin Ipenema vocals.
“To help pay homage to my roots,” GEO explains, “
Caro Pierotto graced this song with a beautiful Portuguese verse about finding magic in a new love.” Graced is definitely the right word, with this vocal and its pitch-shifted iterations adding beauty to the track.
This is not a typical bossa nova track, or a song that is typically anything. It’s a creation inspired by latin music, and as such it has taken interesting tangents from elsewhere, encompassing flavours like future funk – with that thudding groove and upbeat atmosphere – and even the somewhat-disco feel reminiscent of Japanese city pop. The lead synth-brass melody that refrained throughout reminded me of the 2 player version of the Casino Night level on Sonic 2. ‘Mágica’ is a versatile track that defies expectations in a modern cosmopolitan retelling of traditional sounds.
Both sexual and sexless at the same time, 'Virtual U' by Spanish band Oso Leone pushes robust breathy basslines and cold drum machine beats – the continuous white noise of an icy analogue cymbal giving it a sense of pace as it slowly unfolds – alongside slinky licks of liquid guitar, chords clanging and chorused, warm timeless synths. Naked groove crawls beneath reverse guitars before it falls away and luscious synth chords play ahead of the song's languorous coda sprinkled with a palm-muted guitar riff that drips with retro tropicalia, the vocals – aching throughout, telling secrets the whole time – soothe themselves in a falsetto mantra till the end.
This whole track is a slow and blissful freefall into a kind of contented nocturnal oblivion, a passage of music constantly in flux, each new change in course or sound presenting yet another face of beautifully soft experimental R&B pop. This realm of organic and synthetic merging, each sound caressing the other like dyed oil and water nebulously embracing in a psychedelic light show. And in relation to the track's title, it is touching from afar, this hazy atmosphere of longing yet remaining inactive, waiting and procrastinating, the song's changing nature a reflection of conflict and deep human desire lost online oozing through fibre-optic cables.
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Oso Leone's 'Virtual U' arrives as a single on 16th February via Barcelona label Foehn Records and El Segell del Primavera (the record label associated with Primavera, the festival). It will be available digitally and as a limited edition 7".
The Montreal maestro of keyboard Anomalie inducts us once more into his world of virtuosity with 'No Way', a squiffy head-nodding hip hop-influenced track that with its boom-bapping organic drums and their ticking hi-hats gives an aching sway to it all, founding the whole thing on a cartoon sea, all of it bobbing on deep blue waves. And if you thought the regular beat was fine just wait till the little fill at 2:09, all riddly diddly—just one of many ornamentations that make this whole experience pretty opulent in terms of sound.
Alongside that bounce is the star of the show, the keyboard, the motif throughout refraining with all the squishy wah-wah you could imagine, plasticine electric slime giving it an elasticity which, although the track is a slow one, crams your soul full of potential kinetic energy, winding you up like a spring. The vocal sample – "No way…" – adds colour to the groove. The crashing cymbals as the refrain rolls around again, they help, splashing metallically. And it ends with lounge piano, warm and sophisticated, the swank of a fancy restaurant dawning as the wonky squelch of the streets ends.
The clattering Latin beat is the complex somersaulting grammar of this piece, beautifully written, percussive punctuation here all a-glitter all a-tumble, the whole of it giving a blissfully contrasting feeling of chill, not of bustling business or stress as a result of bustling business, but instead the clop tap clack of the beat, perhaps because it puts you in mind of the coursing flowing energy of Latin music, of ease and effortlessness. It's all glass and wooden, all organic and luscious, ticking with a light veil of noir settling over its city-flavoured atmosphere.
British-Armenian musicmaker Richard Melkonian aka Only Regal adds ghostly hollow organ sounds to increase the tension, just slightly, just enough to lift the track off the ground somewhat, so it levitates lightly, all diagonal and unconventional. Intensity builds with the addition of buzzing bass synth, plumes of sound fit to burst with their body of robust frequencies, a hefty foundation for 'Side2Me'. Also joining with Only Regal is London-based singer Qendresa, injecting groove and effusing not exactly smooth soul but the jaunt and intrigue of jazz with a strong silken tone, something retro and angular in how she whispers in the deep booming rumble of this sidewinding track.
The groove piledrives through this track, the glossy dancefloor sparkles its glitter and the lights cut through the dark and dust. But mainly let's address that groove: bass guitar seems to somersault and cartwheel, it's an acrobatic full-bodied bass, tinged at the edges with metallic pugilism, something thudding about the way it curls like a snake covered in scaly armour around the bumping beat, the kick and abrasive handclap. Groove lies at the heart of this one, powers it, propels it forward.
LA duo Wild & Free, aside from these disco-summoning rhythmic patterns, also inject some faraway sense of darkness, of faded neo-noir, into 'Ferns and Stuff'. Stuttering synth arpeggios blip and boop twinkling in the air, and gradually there are these high pitched string sounds fluttering around this one particular note and effusing a sort of ambient tension with that soft persistence it has; and with wide sweeping chords that wobble with wonky progressions there is the guitar, half-surf half-late night jazz, distorted and starkly angled against its foundations. Vocals seem to speak from all sides, from beyond the vanishing point, a thin ghostly croon adding human intrigue to the dance steps painted boldly all over this one.
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'Ferns and Stuff' arrives courtesy of Lisbon-based label Discotexas, and is taken from Wild & Free's album Shapes on Shapes, which is out now also on Discotexas. You may purchase it via this hyperlink.
From the first glitching funk of Alive In Screen by netlabel DESKPOP associate Nelward, the rattling fuzzed-out chiptune, is an indication of what's to come. It's theatrical, it's marinated in videogame sensibilities and grilled over coals of groove, summoned by textured bristling beats and found-sound lusciousness. What hits you next in opener 'brain dance' is the melodic motif in its intro: big guitars play this sweeping chromatic introductory statement, grandeur and compartmentalised mystique, as we go swaying into the track's thick synth chords, velcro beats, and more importantly somewhat the space between these sounds that itself is a motif in this otherwise brightly maximalist collection of tracks.
That same melodic motif appears later in the track, wordlessly, floatily, by featured singer Paige Williams. It also pops up as the soapy squeaky clean synth hook in EP single 'apple shampoo', slightly altered, more uptempo, but noticeably there. Later we find it at work in final track 'toy world', a Mario Galaxy-themed environment with a collage of percussion—drip-droplets, insectoid hi-hats, clattering wood, water streaming, marimba. Here the motif is minimally orchestral at the beginning, and in the slow-jam lounge of the second half it appears throughout, the lobby of a space hotel, glorious muzak. This instrumental ends things on a calm note, wrapping up the motif with a neat bow in a drifting, unhurried manner that gives the impression of infinitely floating.
To a lesser extent we see this utilisation of this motif in 'seafoam breeze', where the Prince-meets-playground-rhyhmes of Nelward's vocal sings "easy as 1-2-3", that same melody echoing throughout. Similarly 'the wild firmament' seems to follow that similar pattern of notes, though on a scale that it would only be recognisable to your conscious mind sped-up. This track is a heavenly interlude that sweeps in million mile waves of gentle soft synth, augmented with carefree idling whistles and occasional trills of bopping synth. Tropical, like an afternoon nap on a beach; waking up sunburnt.
'seafoam breeze', in more than just its title, has this upbeat sunny nature that summons tropicalia more than other tracks; and with its glistening lances of synth and warm vocal hook in the chorus, 'apple shampoo' ("…the only kind I've ever used") is similar, though it feels more bathroom based: like a carefree, idealised showertime, it summons suds on shining white tiles, a steaming showerhead, ending in a flurry of lather as the beat double-times and we end up in a neat outro of bubbling percussion.
We did mention Prince. Aside from this tropical-ness, there is groove infused in much of Alive In Screen, but more than this there is a combo of guitar shredding and flamboyant, often sensual vocals, the combination of which really does summon the late great pop maestro himself. 'the minus world', named for the Mario Bros. glitch, begins sounding similar to the creeping urgency of the Mysterious Forest theme from Zelda: Link's Awakening, but goes on with Prince-esque vocals ("Thought I was done before I even began!") a similarity heightened by panting in/exhalations, mingling with its 8-bit neo-noir heist atmosphere, complete with metal guitar bridge and noodling. Again, in melody and emphasis – "You're a strawman, alright / sticks and stones won't break your bones / cause you're a strawman! Alright / la, la-la, la-la…" – the hook in 'strawman' excels in its reminiscence; in fact the whole song, its deep wobbly bass carving a sunken nocturnal groove, gloopy and sludgy with its swing rhythm, the luxury noir with crystalline chimes and atonal chords that effuse pure mystery, it's similar, it's Prince in a SNES cartridge.
Taking compositional cues from both the complexity of classically inspired videogame music and the relative simplicity of pop grooves and hooks, Nelward has incorporated two disparate worlds into one cohesive collection, crunchy textured beats punctuating all the way. Lyrically, it's fun—he speaks of "oatmeal for dinner" in 'Brain Dance', is concerned about his "eggs and toast" in 'apple shampoo' (let alone that song's chorus), and begins 'the minus world' with a line about being in the zone where buffalos roam, amongst other delightful lines, aligning with carefree throughout. There is a clear influence from videogames, owing to chiptune sensibilities – most noticeably in the bitcrushed beat of 'the minus world' – and the general feel, such as the vibe of 'the wild firmament' (see Cosmic Cove Galaxy theme from Super Mario Galaxy 2), the cinematic intro to 'Brain Dance', scene-setting flavours throughout; even the name, Alive In Screen, suggests this.
More than that, the title summarises: in its entirety, Nelward's EP is the interests of a person with their mind rooted in imagination (…In Screen), but which does not stop at introspection and branches into reality (Alive…) with guitars 'n' groove and the vocals of a real-life person aplenty, these two sides joined not only with comprehensive composition and construction, but with that persistent motif bookended by the first and last track. It threads through for seamless relation between each track, and in its repetition and refraining it creates a sense of instant classic, something to be remembered, the grail of pop.
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Nelward's Alive In Screen EP is released tomorrow, 22nd November, courtesy of DESKPOP. You can pre-order, and order tomorrow and thenceforth, from Bandcamp for a paltry $4—or more if you choose using this hyperlink.
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Accompanying Alive In Screen is the created by artist brainfoam. The bubbly lo-fi saturation and pastel flavours of the artwork match with the carefree and imaginative feeling in the EP—not to mention the Saved By The Bell abstract shapes highlighting the friendly, accessible nature of the music. Features a pre-banana Nelward, which makes sense given the mention of food in some of the lyrics; dressed normally, only as somebody who can write a song about the type of shampoo they use in the shower should be.
Heavy on the bass glooping swampy digital gloss clean and rounded with angularity in its gradually sharpening shape and the offbeat syncopation as the thudding techno kicks round it up lasso it together with small but explosive snares that thin and crashing echo in the nocturnal ambience of the track. A great sense of minimalism pervades this one, small changes subtly altering the route of the track as it trundles along like watching a storm that hasn't yet arrived is not yet overhead can't feel the rain but distantly the thunder is booming and the clouds even blacker than the night sky itself and towering. Watching from a distance. Not pulling you in nor under but mesmerising from afar, 'All The Time' by Seattle producer DYR slips into this state of easy awe, a digestible titan of sound.
It is practically defined by that bass, present at almost every moment, which shifts during the track's duration shifts slightly, becomes sharper fuzzier more distorted but not extremely, and also it writhes with delay later on, the now wooden twang of it more rapid fire than its original stark simplicity. Throughout there is a little procession of organic sound in the form of palm muted guitar, whether synthetic or real it is difficult to tell, but this provides a dim twinkle for the murky atmosphere, as do the later additions of gossamer layers of ambient synth like laser light crowning odd rock formations, haloing trees, glittering on dark dewy nighttime grass. A picture-painting morsel that is pneumatic and tireless in its dance energy, and emphatically chilled, yet without a single drop nor vocal sample in earshot, eschewing needless things for the barebones of beat and bass with little jewels of ambience to decorate.
That synth sound at the start instantly calls to mind chillwave, not anything in particular—it just seems to summon the letters that make up that word and the word itself and what it means, which is chillment of the highest degree. The way it wobbles and flaps like a butterfly with molten metal wings or with lavalamp puttiness and making its way across a strangely bleeding sky oil in water on an overhead projector, swirling impressionistic with its wonderful wah-wah effect. And amidst the broad strokes of chill in 'From The Start', the chunky all-encompassing flavour of it, there are carvings of inescapable groove.
The bounce of the beat goes some distance to match the groove at work in this track, the very chords that flutter and effuse their chill going through patterns in the chorus that wholly call to mind grooves past, relatively complex chords that at some points in the song also find their counterparts in glistening tremolo keys that add glassy ornamentation to the proceedings. Los Angeles band Shoos Off manage this cocktail of groovesome danceability and viscous chill with liquid effortlessness, crooning vocals jump in, layered and resonating, popping with funky stutter in offbeat patterns, skipping and hopping over the robust bounce at the heart of this melting popsicle track.
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You may, if you wish, for just $1 purchase 'Shoos Off' digitally from Bandcamp.
Interminable groove sails throughout this track, elements layered with beautiful precision, dynamic turning on and off and adding and subtracting to the tapestry of sound. The main thread weaving through here is the trumpet, its brassy peals moving from that ascending-descending refrain that kickstarts the track with a super shuffling rhythm, to smooth crooning and variegated wailing solo blasts that leave trails like the curling smoke of a missile spiralling through the sky. Philip Lassiter commands the trumpet as an augmentation of voice, the trills and warbles and harmonics spilling out in each slapdash-considered lick, the playful groovesome jumping nature of it perhaps defining the title 'Hopscotch'.
Amidst this though there is the bass which carves out a bouncing foundation, guitar zipping with it for extra energy in sharpness and distortion, and paired with the back-and-forth of the beat – its thwacking overdriven kicks and clacking metallic snares and shuffling hi-hats – this provides the rhythm that gives the track its feeling of staccato sway, the impatient itch to move; tremolo keyboards wash over the peaks and troughs of the funk with a rounded chiming sparkle, a soft resounding mist that covers all; a breakdown punctuated with handclaps and sparse piano twinklings. These powerful decorations, the beat, the groove, all serve to frame the brass blares in situ, give it a substantial context, and allows the trumpet to follow tangents and zigzags never too far from the foundations that anchor it to such a simultaneously danceable and chilled bedrock of sound.
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'Hopscotch' is one of the tracks to be taken from his recent album, Chill Mode, details of which can be found over here.
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As a related piece of trivia, it's fun to know that Lassiter "is most recently and widely known for leading an 11-piece horn section for the late Prince, with whom he toured internationally and in the U.S."
This track is movement in groovesome proportions, wholly kinetic and body-shaking with its impatient shakers and other shuffling elements of percussion with hi-hats and drumstick clacks and abrasive snare thwacks, giving the impression of movement unabated. And whilst the drums twist and turn with roly-poly energy, nervous and stifling, that groovesomeness pops out from below, a tumble of bass notes polished with slight distortion, clusters of bassline phrases that speak out with undeniable funk—Melbourne-based Australian musicmaker On-Ly carves out these layers of rhythm in 'Puce' with satisfying contrast: the robust kicks and bass; the shivering chatter of high-register percussion.
However, this building-blocks boom and shake of the beat and its accoutrements – a very real-life, very angular buildings, empty roads with streetlights' dim gazes, hard and brickish sort of sound – is juxtaposed with the emoting jazz fancy of the instrumental that whirls around those breezy nocturnal judderings. Tremolo keys chime and weave glimmering, stamping the air with clouds of warm lounge-leaning chords, twinkling virtuoso, whilst a synth refrain beset with peals of reverb plays occasional solos, both elements presenting a resounding sense of space and distance. Like parallel city Moonside in Earthbound there is a sense of elsewhere infused in 'Puce', a glittering warren of instrumental noises tinged with dreamlike flavours turn this into a sort of somnolent noir scene, a cocktail bar on the other side.
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'Puce' is taken from On-Ly's recently released The Purple LP, which can be listened to and downloaded over on Bandcamp.
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The title of the track refers to a colour, a sort of brownish purple. Dictionary.com defines it thusly:
"brownish-purple," 1787, from French puce "flea-color; flea," from Latin pucilem (nominative pulex) "flea," from PIE *plou- "flea" (cf. Sanskrit plusih, Greek psylla, Old Church Slavonic blucha, Lithuanian blusa, Armenian lu "flea"). That it could be generally recognized as a color seems a testimony to our ancestors' intimacy with vermin.
'Flaw' by Duck House. It's a nice song isn't it, a hazy portion of slo-house, a track like melting fog, like distilled summer feelings condensing on the inside of your mind. But then imagine this song faster and less melty and your conclusion will come closer to something like this wonderful remix from Hamburg musicmaker Chris Versas, a clear avenue of funky house, a cyclical trail that lets Duck House's original elements add to the summery veil hung over the legible pulse of this dance-destined reworking.
At once it's that bass, reminiscent of the original bassline, its syncopated rhythms, its rounded muted half-sharp flavour, running the show. From here the drums shuffle with pop-out swing replete with metallic hi-hat and tambourine jangle, offbeat handclap snare running along this etching this carving of rhythm. House, the glorious repetitions, the progressive feeling as different parts flow in and out—those sun-soaked vocals, the squeals of guitar, hovering clouds of ambient sound. And from around the 3-minute mark there is a crescendo of synth, a rising up whooshing and soaring into the sky, before the track settles back into its plain but poignant groove.
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You can find some more remixes by Chris Versas, as well as mixes, at his SoundCloud.
The original 'Rock The Boat' by Aaliyah is a sultry slow-jam, an atmospheric journey of swaying rhythm, hypnotic and hazy, a bastion of early '00s R&B, swaying and seductive; it's all about the sparse groove and the compelling vocals. A track like this doesn't need reworking, of course, but it does inspire reworking. And in that indefatigable groove is clearly where musicmaker james p found the influence for his tribute track, a reworking heavy on rhythm and atmosphere.
In this version we find ourselves maybe almost a decade before 'Rock The Boat'—a spirit of early '90s R&B imbues the track with its clean organic instrumentation carving deep channels with slapped bass that slides and rolls throughout, slow yet acrobatically considered, skipping and weaving through the clacking of the beat. Chimes sparkle. Glassy vibraphone sounds cushion and spread softness in this intimate expanse. The magic, still now as it was, is in Aaliyah's vocals, the cresting cadences, the silken tone, the voice now in this new vessel still shines, a simple but marvellously potent reworking.
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A few hours after filming the video for 'Rock The Boat' in the Bahamas, Aaliyah was killed in a plane crash on 25th August 2001.
Mr Oizo, oh Mr Oizo, it's Mr Oizo. I saw a tweet from Mr Oizo at some point in time before today (let's just say this one to be done with it) that said this Charli XCX collaboration called Hand In The Fire was going to drop sometime soon and well, yeah, it's today. It's arrived today, 14 days before Christmas, ho-ho-ho.
The headline and USP of this EP is the Charli XCX-featuring bit and it's what everyone's gone with:
Pitchfork: Mr. Oizo Teams With Charli XCX for "Hand in the Fire"
Stereogum: Mr Oizo – “Hand In The Fire” (Feat. Charli XCX)
Pigeons & Planes: LISTEN TO MR. OIZO AND CHARLI XCX’S “HAND IN THE FIRE”
The FADER: Mr. Oizo And Charli XCX Share "Hand In The Fire"
Idolator: Charli XCX Returns To Springy Electro-Pop On Mr. Oizo Collab “Hand In The Fire”: Listen
Beatport: HEAR MR. OIZO’S CURVEBALL COLLABORATION WITH CHARLI XCX, “HAND IN THE FIRE”
The 405: Charli XCX features on Mr Oizo track, 'Hand In The Fire'
NME: Charli XCX teams up with Mr Oizo – 'I was inspired by Ed Banger'
Paper: LISTEN TO MR. OIZO'S WARPED TROPI-LEANING TRACK FEATURING CHARLI XCX
DIY: CHARLI XCX IS WORKING WITH ED BANGER’S MR OIZO
FACT: Stream Charli XCX and Mr. Oizo’s ‘Hand In The Fire’
And so on and so forth in different languages on multiple sites and blogs around the world (one of the middle ones, The 405, I wrote that one). Oizo and Charli XCX, boom, ruling the world and whatever. It shows that MR OIZO can produce for pop, that's one thing that it shows, and very well at that, of course of course: bass booms and cold skeletal low-end melodies and skiffly swaying beat with orchestra hits exploding, raw tom rolls for extra flavour, plus the hook in FX'd vox wah-wahing in the appropriate places.
Mr Oizo has collaborated with singers before, twice on Lamb's Anger (2008): with Uffie on 'Steroids' and with Carmen Castro, whom Oizo calls "a mysterious person", on 'Two Takes It'; and more recently with Marilyn Manson on 'Solid', which scared and worried me but it was fun nonetheless. None of these, however, overshadowed a whole release, which is the case with the Charli XCX collaboration – three other tracks appear on the Hand In The Fire EP, one of which is an instrumental version of the Charli-featuring title track so what's up with that?
What is up with that? What is the actual problem here? Is there even a problem? Maybe, maybe there is. Like, the instrumental version, although it's a nice instrumental like I said a couple of paragraphs above, does not excite me a great deal, like it's definitely been made with a conscious effort of leaving space to putt a vocal on top, making it with a cyclical formula in pop song format. The actual song 'Hand In The Fire' feels weird: here's a different scenario: This is a Charli XCX track and then it's revealed that the producer is Mr Oizo, nice yeah, it's a catchy tune, jostling and slithering — somehow that feels cooler and more natural than this in its actual obvious collaboration state. Why?
Because the other two tracks on the EP are sooo Mr Oizo you'd be a fool to miss how typically Oizo-sounding they are, and how similar they are in feel and speed, which many publications indeed seem to have overlooked, drooling instead over the "curveball" (misfit???) collaboration itself because Give Pop A Chance and because Pageviews Mean Prizes and because Dat SEO.
I mean, there's 'A Rekurd', which with all its unrelenting repetition of the eponymous sample – "a record, a record, a record" – and mad sirens is an intense dance track, ending with a simple juggernaut of overdriven crunchy kicks and the vocal sample itself, filled throughout with familiar creeping atonal arpeggios. But sitting above this both actually in terms of track number on the EP and also in my esteem is 'Being Flat': yaaaaa! This one is nuts, perfectly nuts, wtf does nuts even mean, it just came out, I'm sorry. It's that blaring dissonant menacing groove that is so comfortable and yet so nerve-singeingly body-affecting that you can almost feel the tiniest hairs on your body vibrating with it.
It's those little ad-libs to the beat, a slicing hi-hat thrown into the pattern; it's that ambient soaring synth break providing liquid gentle oasis between the hard jittering notes of the second part and the delicious substantial bass patterns of the first half. It's the robust sounds in the beat, thumping and full of texture. It's the crowd noises in the background, which add depth and effuse the placebo effect of feeling like you're at an actual party.
When these two tracks finished, and the instrumental 'Hand In The Fire' began to play I paused it. I PAUSED IT. Now all I have in my head is the Charli XCX collab and I'm confused at why I don't like it all that much if it's in my head? I guess labelling things really does change your opinion even before you've sampled such things.
"The medium is in the message": in this instance the message is Charli XCX song, clearly that is the case. The medium, however, via or as part of a Mr Oizo release, loads it with meaning and expectations. Association kicks in and, being a human being, I cannot help but be influenced by how things are packaged; everyone's perception of something changes depending on its delivery. If you don't know Mr Oizo, then cool, Charli XCX is working with someone; do a little google, oh yeah, this Quentin Dupieux, he's done some cool stuff, he's pretty well known – therefore Charli is held in even higher esteem. But for those who know Mr Oizo, or know and like Mr Oizo's music rather, having a Charli XCX song delivered through his musical output feels jarring, even wrong.
This leads me to conclude that this song, this EP with its typical and more digestible Oizo sound outside of the title track, is meant for those who are not well acquainted with the French producer or his music. At the same time, it's sort of fan service because both these tracks do not exactly push new ground for Oizo, serving as a nostalgic vessel for pre-existing Oizo-lovers; indeed as of this current moment, 'Being Flat' has had more plays than 'Hand In The Fire', showing that fans will find their way to the morsel they like the most and play it maybe a few times cause they love it and they gotta show someone else, too. Oizo fans get to see Oizo tackle pop production, and he does it well – perhaps the reason why the instrumental version is also included.
Charli XCX fans, on the other hand, get to hear a new and unique somewhat Santigold-sounding song and then, hidden behind the cover story, there's these other tracks from the same producer, buzzing but not too abrasive and instantly addictive for those with an ounce of dance-leaning tendencies in their souls. Everyone's happy.
This is a lovely and super delicious meal of music arriving courtesy of Vancouver-located production duo Jack Juston and Liam Butler, better known as the musical entity that they engineer and inhabit, Pender Street Steppers. It's called 'The Glass City' and usually with names such as this I'm just completely besotted with them because they conjure sceneries for the imagination that can then be soundtracked with the music once it's actually playing.
But I found out that "City of Glass" is a nickname for Vancouver (one of many, according to Wikipedia), coming from the title of a Douglas Coupland book of the same name, referring to the mainly steel-and-glass nature of the city's architecture.
BUT ENOUGH OF THIS.
The track itself 'The Glass City' is a not over-complicated yet totally bustling journey, moving along in a progressive fashion, picking up and dropping different elements as it slides glisteningly and blissfully along.
Organic drums with super-subtle delicate feather-touch hi-hats and punchy kicks, punctuated with the occasional muffled tom fill, are the foundation for the track, with plenty of percussion jumping in to add extra spice and flavour to the mix: güiros (or scrapers if you want) provide a flush of white-noise-esque insectoid chattering of humid crepuscularity, lassitudinal open hi-hat sounds shuffle with a sleepy-disco feel, gloriously crafted handclaps alternate with and lock into satisfying snare hits. It's all there.
Add to this the founding lounge-leaning chords of soft electronic piano, caressing your ears like sunlight on skin, syncopated spheroid bloops of synth bass, and slightly disorienting, seemingly directionless gentle rapid-fire horn sounds, and you've got yourself a winner of a track, something fit for the blissful afternoons of summer, and something very worthy of associated with that real-life El Dorado of chilled-out house music, Café del Mar. 8:46 minutes of understated rapture.
It arrives in vinyl form as a single on collective/label Mood Hut (of which Pender Street Steppers are a part). The B side is another very, very tasty number called 'Golden Garden' (place names again – name of a Vietnamese restaurant in Vancouver says Google), a slower track with a steady beat and a definitive groove in the form of bulging peals of bass, all of it veiled with ultra-chill soft synth chords, a 100% atmospheric flute fluttering in towards – listen to a snippet of that below.
You can buy 'The Glass City'/'Golden Garden' courtesy of Mood Hut.
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