With Drunk, Thundercat gets a little more real even as his music gets a bit more cerebral. True to the album’s name, the music is self-deprecating, anxious, spaced out, and hilarious — often during the same song.

“A Fan’s Mail” sees Thundercat dreaming about turning into a cat (and literally meowing about it). “Uh Uh” has some unreal bass lines that feel like the product of Nintendo and cosmic drugs. “Walk On By”, which features Kendrick Lamar, sounds like it belongs on To Pimp a Butterfly. But “Show You the Way”, the preceding track, is a soft rock track that features both Michael McDonald and Kenny Loggins.

Despite their myriad of differences, these songs are united by their common love of jazz and jazzy experimentation. Make no mistake, even when he’s experimenting with synths and pop beats on album standout “Friend Zone”, Thundercat is channeling his favourite jazz icons.

All of this makes Thundercat’s latest record as hard to classify as always. But one thing is certain: Drunk is certainly more upbeat than Thundercat’s last record, The Beyond / Where Giants Roam. While They Beyond dealt with death and transcendence, and what happens in “the beyond” after our lives are over, Drunk seems to embrace our morbidity in life and celebrate it (with a healthy dose of partying and drinking). Hence the title.

In a lot of ways, Drunk feels like a reaction to 2016. The songs aren’t all politically charged, but there are many that deal with being black. Thundercat’s take on this is racially charged, of course, but also lyrically ironic (which isn’t surprising). But on the flip side of that, Thundercat’s leaving his wallet at the club and getting drunk and friend zoned as he tries to sort out the mess that is life.

It all feels like a poor way or dealing with stress — which maybe we can all relate to, at least a little bit.

In it all of its idiosyncrasies, Drunk feels like Thundercat being his most relatable — even if it is drowning in experimentation. It’s a can’t-miss record that celebrates life and runs away from it, often in the same breath.

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Human is such a different album that Rag’N’Bone Man almost needs a new name. (His earlier work, particularly Disfigured, suited it much better).

But all that withstanding, this new style suits Rory Graham so much better that it’s hard to complain. From the opening (titular) track, Graham totally dominates Human. In fact, his old style was so dominating musically that I had no idea Graham was this good of a singer!

Nearly every track is worth writing about. The afore-mentioned title track is a stunning opener that capitalizes on everything that Human is about: swaggering bass lines, blues influence, and a huge pop sheen overtop of everything. “Bitter End” is a track that simmers thanks to an incredible performance from Graham. “Be the Man” is incredibly pop-heavy, but Graham’s baritone voice carries it through the entire song.

There are some songs that are particularly strong. “Love You Any Less” is a song that will no doubt capture the radio the same way Sam Smith does. It’s an incredible, raw performance from Graham overtop of a remarkably bare backing track that lets his voice breathe.

“Die Easy” is an a cappella performance that simply captivates. There’s nobody with a voice like Graham’s on the market.

Even his older tracks, like “Wolves”, are given a bit of a sheen make-over here that put an extra focus on Graham’s voice. But “Wolves” doesn’t sit as well with this new, cotton candy style that Graham’s performing as now.

And the occasional track features a hip hop performance, which is something that Graham was doing in 2014 too (with a Vince Staples nod then). But these days, it doesn’t sit as well.

When the old Rag’n’Bone Man collides with the new one, there’s a slight disconnect.

But despite that, the debut record from one of the most intimidating voices in neo-blues is an astounding effort, and one that I’ve been listening to again and again over the past week. It’s easy to get into, and it sticks in your head. Rag’n’Bone Man is one of the most promising new performers of the past five years.

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And for good reason. Sampha is one of the most talented performers to come out of Britain in recent memory.

Process is his debut solo record. Unlike the music where he’s provided one voice among many, Process is a chance for Sampha to open up and get personal. And boy, does he get personal. Process sees Sampha dealing with the loss of his mother to cancer in 2015 — and consequently, reflecting on the death of his father from cancer in 1998. The songs are intensely emotional, occasionally dark, but almost always revelatory.

Like any good novel would, each track on Process reveals something new about its central character. And Sampha is one of the best storytellers in the business right now. The album’s lead single, “(No One Knows Me) Like the Piano” is one of the most beautiful ballads of the past five years, and it feels like you’re being given Sampha’s private diary.

It doesn’t hurt that his music is so good. While the emotions are raw, the production is anything but. Everything is smooth as butter. Sampha’s voice is amazing — velvety smooth, but rich and textured at the same time.

The album is also difficult to define. It’s one thing to call Process electronic music, but Sampha also frequently dabbles in R&B. Precisely labelling his music is like fitting a square peg into the hole of some complex, hard-to-recognize shape.

At his best, on tracks like “Kora Sings” or “Blood On Me”, Sampha channels the best in his genre. There are times when he sounds like Chet Faker, and others when he sounds like Frank Ocean’s more organic-sounding cousin. Each track is surprising and engrossing, and none of them overstay their welcome.

With unbridled creative enthusiasm, Sampha isn’t interested in defining a genre or fitting into one. He’s making R&B-influenced electronic that defies explanation, but that’s fitting for a clear first contender for Album of the Year.

What Sampha has done, beyond all that, is something tangibly more difficult: he’s captivated us. He’s earned our attention. In 2017, Sampha has made a forty-minute album feel ten minutes long. It’s over in a breeze, and it never feels like it’s repeating itself.

Without a doubt, Process is an incredible success.

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But to ignore Knxwledge, whose name is a big part of the NxWorries title, would be a major mistake. His production serves as the vehicle that .Paak hasn’t had yet in the hip hop world.

In short, Knxwledge is the reason that .Paak is about to explode from being an R&B saviour to a hip hop king.

It’s not that .Paak can rap (although he demonstrates some tenacity in that regard). It’s more that the beats on display here owe more to hip hop than most of the production on .Paak’s last record did.

This makes for a beautiful record. For .Paak, it’s jubilant. His voice is impressive throughout, but he’s clearly having a ton of fun. Tracks like “Livvin” and “Get Better/Do U Luv” have qualities to them that wouldn’t have existed on Malibu, the .Paak record that came out in February. .Paak knows he’s rising in the ranks.

Knxwledge has found a natural complement to his rhythms and beats. His beats haven’t flowed this well or felt this natural in a long time. The vocals lend them some charm, even when they feel too old-school or offbeat for their own good (pardon the pun).

There have been a few people who have compared the partnership to Dilla and Madlib. To me, it’s more directly related to the partnership between Madlib and MF Doom that resulted in Madvillainy. (Coincidentally, or perhaps not, Yes Lawd! was released on the same label as Madvillainy was.) These are two seemingly disparate voices who are able to come together and create something better as a whole than they are apart.

With all that being said, the question I’m left with isn’t whether or not Yes Lawd! is a great album. It’s an impeccably made, joyful record. It’s the record you make when you know you’ve finally “made it.”

No, the question I have is this: is Yes Lawd! the best Anderson .Paak record of the year? Malibu, I think, edges it out only a little bit. But the fact that it’s such a close contest is a remarkable testament to both Knxwledge and .Paak.

Clearly, .Paak has arrived. With Yes Lawd!, he continues to surprise. Knxwledge’s role in the record is the cherry on top of the cake.

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For Solange, this groovy combination of R&B, pop, funk, and hip hop nearly outgrows her sister Beyoncé’s shadow. There are songs on here that will go down as some of the year’s best: “Cranes in the Sky”, “Mad” (which might be the best track Lil Wayne’s ever been on), and “Don’t Touch My Hair” — the album’s standout by far.

These songs are about being black, to be sure. After all, this is 2016. After To Pimp A Butterfly, it feels like every record from a figure in the black community is a statement about black realities. But more importantly, A Seat at the Table is about being a woman.

Because its tracks are mixed with spoken word interludes from important men and women in Solange’s life, A Seat at the Table feels authentic. This is a coming of age record that’s about being a woman, but it’s also about being Solange. While the record isn’t as incendiary as Lemonade, the songwriting here is intimate and the production is warm enough that it feels like Solange is sharing this with you in hopes you’ll empathize with her.

That’s what makes so many of these songs — even less noted tracks like “Where Do We Go” — work so well. I’m a white guy from Canada; I don’t know anything about the world Solange sings about. I can never claim to have recognized it. But A Seat at the Table makes me feel like I’ve experienced it, and I empathize with the plight of black womanhood in America in 2016.

“I’m weary of the ways of the world,” Solange sings on “Weary”. “Be weary of the ways of the world.” On my second play through of A Seat at the Table, I find myself nodding along. I empathize, but I’m also convicted in this. As a white man, I am part of the problem. Can I be part of the solution?

A Seat at the Table is a powerful record. I believe, and hope, it can create dialogue like this in our communities. So yes, this is Solange’s best record. She’s finally come into her own. The music is beautiful and her style is just right. She’s not trying to imitate anybody else (or if she is, she’s hiding it well). It’s a great record.

But it doesn’t matter that this is her best record. None of that matters. Solange wants our attention, and she’s got something to say. It’s time to listen.

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Wise talks about growing up in the church and later struggling with his faith and sexuality while experimenting with the occult. He talks about the confusion between the hurt of his soul and the gospel of the church.

But there’s more to the record, I think, than blending soul and gospel. Wise’s music is comfortable without labels or “comfortable” identities. “Blisters”, the opening track, takes a lot of cues from soul music, to be sure. But there’s also a lot of gospel — particularly in the hand-clapping and the choir (who appear throughout the record).

Yet there’s also something operatic about it. Wise’s voice flutters up and down notes and scales, unpredictably guiding listeners through tracks that often feel like the melodic equivalent of spoken word sections at open mic nights. There are moments when Baroque-flavoured instruments appear on the soundstage, but they blend into the background in favour of Wise’s voice.

To be clear, Wise’s voice is sensational. It carries the project on its own. Each song benefits from Wise’s performance, which gives the sometimes-vague lyrics serious emotional heft.

On “Four Ethers”, the force of an entire orchestra stands behind Wise. The song is beautiful, and the classical influence and operatic flair gives it the weight of a ten-ton truck. It’s my favourite track on the record. It’s dramatic, it’s emotional, and it’s the album’s darkest track.

Blisters is dark the way that D’Angelo and Kendrick are dark. It’s a reflection of confusing times. The album feels confused, despite that the blend of soul and classical sounds fresh. It’s odd to call an album neo-soul when it’s so clearly a mix of classical music and alt-‘90s soul, but there’s a lack of genre in Blisters. It doesn’t have a label. And like its performer, Blisters sounds completely comfortable with that.

The post Serpentwithfeet: Blisters — EP appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

Gold Complex is a mere five tracks long, which the band hopes will be enough to tide fans over while they record their debut. Almost all of the songs are show-ready, though, which makes them perfect for your laid-back house parties and live performances. (And word on the street is that the band’s got a killer show.)

You don’t need to look any further than “Backbone”, the band’s opening track. There’s a great moment just about three minutes into the track: a sax solo fires up in the middle of a track, and for a split second, you think it’s the vocalist gearing up for another verse. The solo’s surprising every time, and never unwelcome.

The blend of soul and pop continues on “O.G.”, which has a couple terrific bass lines. “Cities & Lovers” and “Katrine” slow things down a bit towards the end. These slow-burn tracks harken back to some of the biggest names in old-school soul and R&B. “Katrine” has my favourite solo moment on the record. It’s a simple scale-stepping solo at first, but the way the instruments all bounce off each other is delightful.

The music works because the band is able to pull off the blend so perfectly. Gold Complex (the EP) is a perfect blend of soul and pop that’s both completely impressive and utterly inoffensive — which makes it a great introduction to the genre for those of us who have a time approaching it. It also shows great potential for the band.

If the EP has any downside, it’s that it’s nearly too polished. Gold Complex could benefit from letting their music get a little rough around the edges. As it is, lovers of soul music might find the EP pandering. But if the band stripped away any of the polish, I don’t know if they’d have the same audience.

So let me just say it, and get the elephant out of the room: Gold Complex is soul music for white people. But the band is so good at it that it’s hard to fault them for it.

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The changes in the band’s sound are evident from the first track. “Crumbling Light Posts”, which is a three-part theme throughout the record, is the strongest sign that the band has changed. The songs have more emotional, visceral depth and sincerity. They’re also the best songs the band has ever written.

The album is filled with catchy tracks. “Flow with It (You Got Me Feeling)” is one of the band’s catchiest songs, and “All I Ever Wonder” is already one of their most popular tracks.

But these tracks have more depth than before. “I can’t tell what side I’m on / I can’t tell what’s right or wrong,” the band sings on “All I Ever Wonder”. On the Tom Petty-inspired “Sanctify”, he sings “I want to feel something real.”

These songs are no doubt inspired by life on the road. They’re dazed and confused, but they’re emotionally stirring. They’re exhausted, but not exhausting. They’re questioning the realities the band thought they knew before they saw more of the world.

It’s worth restating how great these songs are, even if they do feel more “aware”. Tracks like “Brain Matter” deviate from the band’s traditional soul inspiration, sounding almost like Arcade Fire tracks. And when they get back to their roots on tracks like “Sanctify”, “Burning Rome”, or “Tears in the Diamond”, the band is stronger than they’ve ever been. These songs all feature decadent performances.

Half the City felt like a live record. It felt like an album that captured all the visceral energy of a band known for its live performances. But Sea of Noise is different. The band doubles down on writing earnest, sincere, mature music. It’s not as energetic, but it’s more convincingly emotional — without feeling contrived.

The strange result of all this is that Sea of Noise becomes the intimate counterpoint to Half the City. We got to know St. Paul & The Broken Bones on Half the City, but on Sea of Noise, they open up. They share their deepest secrets.

Sea of Noise proves that St. Paul & The Broken Bones have something to say, and a more varied toolkit than any of us expected. It’s a sign they’ll be around a while longer.

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And all of it is deserved.

Izzy’s stage name is interesting to me. It reminds me of the sensual French pop that was sweeping New York City in the 1960s: full-bodied French singers taking jazz by storm with their mix of classic ability and full-throated sexuality. I don’t know if that’s the image that Izzy Bizu wants to conjure up, and I don’t presume to think it is, but it fits.

First things first: Izzy has a phenomenal voice. Reminiscent of Amy Winehouse, with hints of Adelle, Izzy’s voice hits the rafters with ease. Fitting with my theory on her stage name is her jazz-inspired singing style: it’s playful and sometimes inspirational. It fills a room. But she brings this jazzy style to big pop tracks.

Most of the tracks on this record have a lot of radio potential. “White Tiger”, “Skinny”, and “Diamond” are all excellent — and those are only the first three tracks. None of these songs are particularly thoughtful — “Skinny” is about the body size that Izzy looks for in men — but they’re loads of fun.

Interestingly, A Moment of Madness was supposed to be released in June, but got delayed. This is a summer record if I’ve ever heard one. (Just in time for an “Indian Summer”, right?)

That being said, many of the tracks towards the end of the record feel more traditionally jazz-inspired. “Hello Crazy” feels like a live track. “What Makes You Happy” is an Adelle-like slow burner that thrives off its jazz connections. “Mad Behaviour” features a big, radio-ready chorus, but can’t escape its own lethargy.

My point is, there are two Izzy Bizu’s here: one is a pop-ready, crazed machine of a singer. The other is a quiet and introspective jazz singer. I don’t know which one I’m supposed to be rooting for. Both are excellent.

All of this is to say that A Moment of Madness is too long. It feels like two records. At seventeen tracks, this isn’t a “moment” of madness (if it’s madness at all). It’s fifty-nine minutes of occasional sobriety.

That’s not an insult. I quiet enjoyed both records here. But there are two albums. If you want my advice, take A Moment of Madness and split it in two. Alone, these conflicting sides of Izzy Bizu are both more powerful.

“Mad Behaviour” is a better song when it’s not listened to in the context of “Give Me Love”. Again, both are excellent, but they’re so different.

As odd as it sounds, because of its personality crisis, this is a record we should treasure. There’s no doubt we’ll be hearing more from Izzy Bizu. But in the future, her records will be shorter and more focused. This sort of sprawl is exactly the kind of music Izzy should be making while she fine-tunes her musical identity. If A Moment of Madness is mad at all, it’s only because Izzy doesn’t know who she’s going to be yet. That makes A Moment of Madness exactly the sort of debut it should be.

In an era of perfection, where artists are polished to a shine, the polished production on A Moment of Madness can’t hide the joy of Izzy’s slow self-discovery. For all of the record’s complications and multiple personalities, I love that.

It would be a shame if you missed the debut from one of music’s biggest future stars. A Moment of Madness is to Izzy Bizu as 19 is to Adelle. Don’t skip it.

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I always felt that Zaba was the first record in its post-rock style to challenge Alt-J’s dominance in this ill-defined genre. On How to be a Human Being, Glass Animals surpass Alt-J to become, in my mind, one of the most inventive post-rock, alt-electronic groups out there.

How to Be a Human Being begs the question: How does one classify music like this? The pop structures, rock energy, and electronic sounds create a bizarre — but appealing — mix that seems eminently malleable and mineable for a new generation of musicians. How to Be a Human Being is a record of constant imagination.

Even people who don’t like Glass Animals couldn’t accuse them of being unoriginal. Every track on the record sounds different — compare “Pork Soda” to “Take a Slice”, for example. The band rarely, if ever, repeats themselves.

How to Be a Human Being has hints of everything from Justin Timberlake (“Season 2 Episode 3”) to blues rock (“Poplar St.”). It’s one of the most diverse records of the year. It’s a record that’s a result of touring, and all the new life experience that entails.

But at the same time as the band is rapidly — and aggressively — expanding their sound, they’re also doing something unexpected. How to Be a Human Being strips back the production slightly, dressing down the tracks compared to Zaba.

It’s a subtle effect, but it works nonetheless: despite Glass Animals’ continued experimentation, it never feels like they’re anything less than approachable.

To be clear: the production doesn’t sound bad, not even remotely. It’s still a well-made, well-executed record. But the production allows Glass Animals to make experimental, unusual music without ever sacrificing its listen-ability.

All that being said, it’s hard to discuss How to Be a Human Being right now. It’s the musical equivalent of The Empire Strikes Back: a sequel whose language is so different from what came before that it will take time to judge and understand it properly. I imagine we won’t fully understand the magnitude of this record until we can judge it within the full spectrum of Glass Animals’ complete discography.

That’s a good thing. The Empire Strikes Back was panned when it was released, but now many regard it as one of the best films ever made. Clearly, How to Be a Human Being is a tremendous record. It has the all the feelings of a masterpiece. But I don’t know if it’s a masterpiece yet. It’s too early to call it. (If it’s not a masterpiece, then it’s certainly evidence that Glass Animals is capable of making one.)

For the time being, How to Be a Human Being is an impeccable record. It demands your attention, and your repeated listening. And I can’t wait to talk about it a decade from now.

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