Welcome to this week's Review Round-Up. This time around we have five projects from an array of genres. Traveling from the bedroom to the dance floor, a deteriorating mind to a frozen wonderland, there's bound to be something you enjoy.
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Perhaps that's not Kelela's goal though. Perhaps I wrongly assumed her to be an innovative shapeshifter given the aforementioned visionary artists she's worked alongside. Her identity, it seems, is best expressed through Take Me Apart's title track, wherein Kelela submits herself to submissive desires, all whilst assuredly showing her strength in the process. One of many positive side effects of the feminist movement in R&B, that perceived weakness and subjection only role-play for women who understand their power under the sheets. And believe me, if labeling this by-the-books R&B wasn't indicative enough, Take Me Apart sure is sensual. Tracks like 'Frontline' or 'Blue Light' pound away, either by using steel drums or stern synths, all while Kelela's vocals offset the aggression with passion and lust, like a silken sheet draped over two lovers caught up in the moment. The weakest tracks here tend to be those that embrace the ensuing drama of an ineffectual relationship, like 'Onanon' or 'Truth Or Dare.'
A few spotty low points aside, Take Me Apart really does posses a fair deal of high-quality Alternative R&B. The production throughout is polished and refined, both in the traditionally sincere cuts like 'Waitin' or the UK Bass-bound bangers like lead single 'LMK.' There's also 'Enough,' which seems to intwine both halves, scaling back the in-your-face production with something as tactile as Ambient Pop, all whilst losing Kelela's voice in a machine of automated repetition. The major problem of Take Me Apart is that, while there's a lot of good tracks, there's none that step above and stand the test of time. There is one that could achieve that plateau, as it aspires to the fleetingness of relationships by using empty space, an extravagant structure, and a mesmerizing hook. That's closer 'Altadena,' likely my favorite track here. The impact of the finale may be exacerbated by the wear and tear of an exhausting project though, one that drains into 'Altadena' with a six-song streak of undemanding tracks, excluding 'Blue Light.' However, 'Altadena' ends Take Me Apart with style, bringing the warmth, comfort, and calmness of a late night cuddle session following a ravenous night. A successful finish to a successful project, but one that could've been even more had it not been tampered by cliches.
Not only are samples reused, in much the same way as their origin within Everywhere At The End Of Time, The Caretaker's characteristic titles also return. What's perhaps most interesting is their slight alterations, as if remembering the truth has become increasingly more difficult. Nearly every title is a reimagined version of past works, with 'Drifting Time Misplaced' ('Misplaced In Time' on Stage 2) and 'Aching Cavern Without Lucidity' ('Mental Caverns Without Sunshine' on An Empty Bliss) being just two examples. Paired with the music and you can see why The Caretaker decided upon this repurposed imagery. Many tracks, potentially all, use the noticeable samples that have commandeered his past works. Which, ironically, makes Stage 3 both the least and most impressive work thus far in terms of creativity. No new sounds are used, but the context in which they're interpreted has changed.
How I feel about this has yet to be decided. Of course, Everywhere At The End Of Time is meant to be appreciated as a start to finish process of mental rot (once it's completed), yet I worry for the ensuing stages if the third one already has this tremendous deal of repetition. Stage 5, let's say, would've been more apt, with Stage 6, if my expectations are accurate, descending into a total annihilation of memory turned arrant Ambient drone. Dementia, as far as I'm aware, doesn't benefit from relapse. It's a slow, cruel, painful descent. Continued repetition just won't work. Even as it stands now, Stage 3 may be the weakest effort thus far based purely on its musical merits. Conceptually, it's strong and steadfast, finding Kirby the artist uninhibited by risk. But Kirby the arranger, well, he's not really here. I can't help but feel as if Stage 3's nothing more than an elaborate remix album.
The best example of this is the pitiful three-song stretch spanning 'Hey Drum,' 'Medellin,' and 'Joli Mai.' You needn't listen to the entire 17-minutes, just scan a few seconds of each, noticing the absurd similarities between the drums, and more importantly, how they're utilized. 'Medellin' and 'Joli Mai' in particular should have never been sandwiched together, whereas 'Hey Drum' looms above the rest as worst track thanks to some elementary vocal sampling that lasts far, far too long. A few tracks, like 'Xing Tian' and 'Vikram,' borrow influence from some foreign landscapes, but even their repetition bores as there's nothing rhythmically or melodically-appealing to attract to. Want a better imagination testing those waters? Try Clap! Clap!'s projects, either Tayi Bebba or this year's A Thousand Skies. While Joli Mai disappoints throughout, either from lackluster ideas or Techno-induced tedium, the finale, of course, rectifies that with a bright, shimmering, melodious party anthem in 'Life’s What You Make It.' It's pretty, and resembles the kaleidoscopic colors of the cover, something no other song can attest to.
Problem being, it's not entertaining. I'd pontificate "at all," but 'Mirrorman' corrects the tedium with a heavy dose of haunting beauty. Truth be told, two of those three inspirations I disliked as well, Nico withstanding based purely on her uncompromising nature and enthralling surrealism. Eternal Recurrence finds that balance between the others, Vespertine and 50 Words For Snow, in that it excels conceptually but fails to drag me in when there's better, more alluring treasures elsewhere. Why join Deradoorian adrift in the dark, sightless Arctic ocean when I hate cold weather to begin with? Sure, her vocals are mediative and prepossessing, as seen on the foreboding 'Return-Transcend,' but even she recognizes the dead of air, the nip of sea. The slight melody found on 'Nia In The Dark' or the wistful Jazz of 'Mountainside' can't make up for the ponderous sulk, a problem for my overzealous mind. For some unexplainable reason though, 'Mirrorman' scratches the itch Deradoorian set. The looming synths and chilling bass, along with Deradoorian's fantastical lyrics and elongated melody works all too well. In reality, Eternal Recurrence does as well. It's just not my cup of tea.
However, while Kirby's titles almost always draw curious attention, it's the sonic distinction that's most pressing throughout We So Tired. Never before, to my knowledge, has Kirby inserted drums to his repertoire. The rarity actually heightens their usage, giving an instrument that's inconsequential elsewhere, new meaning through a new lens. They pound along, like slaves forced to work through the night. Tired, beaten, and marred. Sometimes they're combined with flighty strings, like 'Momentum Is Not On Our Side' or 'Back In The Game,' that give the slightest tinge of hope in this dreary world. Other times, like 'Rain Drenched' or 'Drowning In The Quagmire,' they fracture like palpitated heartbeats over cacophonous ambience that bears resemblance to downtempo Vaporwave artists 2 8 1 4. Then there's tracks like 'Solid Mentality' and 'Bursts Of Anxiety' where they're not included at all, as Kirby resorts to pure Ambient, the former crystalizing like a momentous video game soundtrack, the latter defying hope with a bleak and downtrodden drone.
The change of pace for Kirby is one that breathes new life into his talents, ones that have become noticeably one-dimensional. Echoing 20's vocals samples or not, the UK producer can still successfully conjure dark and ominous reverberations with whatever outlet he's given. The one glaring problem of We So Tired is its length, not a surprise given the 90+ minute duration. You'd think with that kind of time, ambition and scale would mount, but in reality these tracks do tend to follow a uniform pattern. One ends, the other begins anew. Broken apart, their intention still resonates. In other words, after the 90-minute endurance test, I'm not exiting We So Tired feeling exonerated or alive, but defeated and spent. Maybe that was Kirby's goal. Given how dark each pressing moment is here, leaving satisfied with a sense of hope optimism isn't something to expect.
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