Robert Ellis Gets Surreal on Self-Titled Third LP, 'Robert Ellis'

June 3, 2016 is one of the year’s most saturated release dates so far; a conflicting conundrum for those who look to listen to any of the exceptional (and not so - sorry Train) releases: Paul Simon, The Strokes, Whitney, Michael Kiwanuka, Tegan and Sara, The Kills, William Tyler all on the same day. One such artist whose newest release deserves the attention and praise his excellent album would garner on any less release-heavy date is none other than Brooklyn-by-Nashville-by-Austin songwriter Robert Ellis.

Much like his revolving door of homesteads, Ellis is not confined by a singular genre – though it could be argued all roads lead back to country music in one way or another – as he mixes strains of jazz, pop, and western music into dulcet guitar sounds layered over his wavering country timbre that resembles a surrealist Willie Nelson. Despite the country tonalities in his music, Ellis’ third full-length record, Robert Ellis, explores musical avenues that past efforts Photographs (2011) and The Light From the Chemical Plant (2014) chose not to venture upon.

His newest, eponymous effort opens with “Perfect Strangers,” a song exploring the inter-relational dynamics (or lack there of) of busy New York City sidewalks and subways, inevitably influence by Ellis’ fairly recent move to Gotham. The song features playful pop piano (a far cry from the saloon style player pianos of The Light From the Chemical Plant), which coincides wonderfully with Ellis’ cheeky lyrical observations – “On a crowded city sidewalk buying hotdogs / Standing awkwardly together” and “Because everything looks better in low lighting” – with the occasional country slide guitar creeping into the song.   

Not to undermine the emotional depth of Ellis’ previous two full length releases, but there’s an intelligible sense of remorse and yearning on Robert Ellis that feels considerably more connective than on The Lights from the Chemical Plant (let’s take a moment to appreciate just how excellent that album title is). “How I Love You” and “California” explore two opposite ends of the relational spectrum – “How I Love You” acting as the vibrant ode to a lover, and “California” chronicling an underappreciated lover tempted to trek to the west coast. The composition on “California” is an interesting combination of Ellis’ excellent jazz guitar work melded with sentimental lounge keyboards with intermittent hyper-produced tones and 808s – a new territory for Ellis that ultimately makes “California” one of his largest and most evocative tracks to date.

There’s a dichotomy between “California” and it succeeding track, “Amanda Jane,” a story of commitment built over a country-tango, and all of a sudden, we’re in “classic” Robert Ellis territory. The narrative of multiple men trying to “fix” the mysterious Amanda Jane combined with the nylon string meandering and lush slide guitar licks make “Amanda Jane” an early favorite on Robert Ellis. The next few tracks on the album return to Ellis’ Nashville-by-Austin roots with the classic country honky-tonk beat of the apathetic anthem “Drivin,’” into the western ballad that is “The High Road” – a falsetto laden lament of indifference and morality (and my personal favorite), featuring heavy orchestral composition that packs a fun wallop of self-loathing - before jumping into “Elephant,” an allegorical parallel to isolationism that revolves around the popular (and tired) Pachyderm turn of phrase. Despite the initially cliché lyrical basis, Ellis manages to present the idea in a tone that is wholly more intelligent than most. Then there’s the fact that Ellis’ finger picking is second to none on all three tracks – Ellis is often left out of most modern guitarist debates, which is more than a crying shame – which is Ellis’ strongest security blanket while exploring different lyrical approaches and unfamiliar tonalities.

In Ellis’ quest to find different sounds on Robert Ellis, “You’re Not the One” serves as his rock orchestra, with abounding strings integrated with the country-fantasm keys and guitar. In certain portions, the emotional emphasis gets a little muddled – is Ellis letting go of a current lover or opining on a former lover whose memory persists – either way, the robust composition makes “You’re Not the One” Ellis’ most inspired effort on his eponymous record. All that to be said, “You’re Not the One’s” intrepid approach is almost subverted by the totally departure from anything expected from Ellis’ catalog, as “Screw” sees Ellis go sans-vocals in order to create a Sufjan-meets-Reznor soundscape of pensive and conflicting guitar tones that warp and entangle an emotionally vibrant record.

Following the equally confusing and exciting “Screw,” Ellis returns to the same playful nature that he began to establish in the early third of the album on “Couples Skate” – a silly setting for an endearing narrative of love and relational engagement – it’s a little cheesy, but clever enough to be the perfect “first date” montage song for any rom-com or three camera sitcom you can think of.

Robert Ellis closes with “It’s Not Ok,” the album’s longest and most speculative and demure track, as Ellis reiterates and extends the ideals presented in “The High Road” and “You’re Not the One” but are entirely more visceral when you realize Ellis is putting none other than himself on blast – “It's not ok that I hide in the words of a song.” It’s the final stoic anthem of a mysterious and alluring personality in music, as Robert Ellis manages to take an artist many had pegged as a “new school of old school country” a la Sturgill Simpson, Margo Price, or Nikki Lane and fully turn such a notion upon its head. While Ellis doesn’t necessarily establish a fully realized narrative or sonic heading on Robert Ellis, he does manage to extend his staying power as a musically mercurial artist with a definitive approach and sensibility. Where many would likely prefer for Ellis to try and solidify his standing as a stalwart of “new” country, you can’t help but admire the strong work Ellis puts forward on Robert Ellis to maintain his own surreal path, away from whatever is considered “en vogue.” 

Whitney Shuns Buzz Band Banality on 'Light Upon the Lake'

No band in the history of everything has managed to avoid “death” in the sense that all bands – from The Beatles to your favorite local proto-punk-neo-folk-soul group – break up for one reason or another, with varying degrees of adversity and dramaticism. Obviously, The Beatles disbanded in 1970, but weren’t “definitively” broken up until Mark David Chapman read Catcher in the Rye in December of 1980, and as far your favorite local proto-punk-neo-folk-soul group is concerned, their drummer Keith was promoted to the late shift manager at Starbucks, so he won’t be able to practice most evenings, and proto-punk-neo-folk-soul drummers are at a premium in Des Moines. But silly comparisons aside, band breakups are rarely ever a joyous occurrence – tensions run high, bridges are burned, and once-hopeful fans are left with a finite discography.

So, when a particularly “buzzy” band such as Smith Westerns calls it a quits, the resulting career uncertainty for the former members can become increasingly unsettling to the devout follower. Fortunately, the legacy that follows Smith Westerns’ end looks to be far more promising than whatever outlook the original group may have had. Former front-man Cullen Omori made his way over to Sub Pop and released his solid solo debut with New Misery in March, and now, former Smith Westerns drummer Julien Ehrlich (who also had a stint in Unknown Mortal Orchestra) and guitarist Max Kackacek have banded together to form Whitney, and release a wonderfully jangly 70s-revival debut record, Light Upon the Lake.

Light Upon the Lake begins with a stellar album opener in “No Woman,” a seemingly mawkish entrance that meanders aimlessly as Ehrlich’s soft-cooing vocals opine about waking up in Los Angeles and experiencing an indefinite and tiresome change. Kackacek’s deceptively smooth '70s Martin-esque riffs eventually lead the track in a decidedly more confident direction, with a cacophony of horns closing out the introductory track. The succeeding tracks on Light Upon the Lake see an uptick in tone and vibrancy as “The Falls” feels like a mix of Vulfpeck percussive piano playful nudging Ehrlich’s lyrical musings on losing control, leading into “Golden Days,” the wax poetic (and indie rock right of passage) chronicling of some relationship passed (can’t help but think there might be some Smith Westerns undertones) – “It’s a shame we can’t get it together now.”

Where many might try and incorporate aspects of past projects into their current one, Whitney does a fantastic of presenting a definite tone and substantive grip of who Whitney is, namely in the band’s consistent use of horns, bouncing piano, and clean Martin riffs deftly maneuvered by Kackacek – especially on the album’s eponymous standout, “Light Upon the Lake.” The overall feel of Light Upon the Lake could be likened to The Band meets UMO with flecks of Vulfpeck and Blake Mills – in short, its wholly unique. The album features a number of punk sensibilities when it comes to lyrical verisimilitude and general brevity – the three song stretch of “No Matter Where I Go,” “On My Own,” and “Red Moon” runs a whopping 5:38 – with “On My Own” into “Red Moon” being the most impressive track pairing of the bunch, primarily for the excellent showcasing of horns mixed with Kackacek’s ever-tasteful licks. All in all, the two strongest aspects of Light Upon the Lake are Kackacek’s guitar expertise and the incorporation of harmonious brass work – making the record distinctly modern but also managing to hearken back to a softer time in rock music.

Light On the Lake closes out as sweetly and satisfyingly as it opened, with the uber-funk fuzz of “Polly” marking it as best track on the album, a soft cooing-ballad that has features undertones of disenchanted realism under the guise of happy rhythms and horns. The album closes with “Follow” - the sonic sibling of “Polly” – setting Light On the Lake’s with as positive an outlook as any debut featuring lyrics like “I know I’ll hear the call any time…” that lend credence to the visionary nature of Light On the Lake as a whole. “Follow” allows the record to help establish Whitney as more than just another buzz band, but rather a supremely melancholic (but not miserable) introduction steeped with perspective that maintains an ultimately warm purview of the band’s future. Expect to see Light Upon the Lake on many a "year end" list, including Transverso's, as the record exemplifies the ideal dulcet tones of an indie band debut.  

Chance the Rapper Reflects on the City That Made Him in 'Coloring Book'

“And we back, and we back, and we back, and we back!” Chicago’s very own Chance the Rapper has finally released his much-anticipated third mixtape, Coloring Book, formerly known as Chance 3, and it’s got everyone excited for the summer that’s just around the corner. Yes, Chance is back, and so much better than before. In an interview with Complex, Chance summed up the hype leading up to Coloring Book: “This stuff is way better than Surf. I’ll say that on record. Donnie [Trumpet] is awesome, and the project was awesome, but this is all of us focusing our efforts into some hip-hop and some very dance-y shit, and it feels good. So I’m excited about that.”

When I first heard Chance on his 10 Day mixtape I walked with a newfound pep in my step in between classes; frankly it was one of my first exposures to hip hop songs that weren’t all about money, drugs, and women, and it was a very fresh breath of new life into my then stagnant hip hop playlist. This was music you could vibe to, music that made you genuinely smile because it made you want to dance. It seemed impossible to find someone who genuinely didn’t like Chance the Rapper, and he quickly rose to the top of Chicago’s hip hop scene without having anything to do with the drill music that has all but completely dominated the local scene.

Coming in at 14 songs deep, Coloring Book is no different, so grab a friend, take a deep breath, and just let the joy and beauty that is ‘Coloring Book’ dance into your ears as it makes you feel that sometimes rare emotion: pure happiness.

“All We Got (ft. Kanye West, Chicago Children’s Choir)”

Staying true to the beautiful sound of the trumpet, the song starts off with the familiar, “And we back, and we back, and we back, and we back, and we back,” and I can’t help but crack a smile already. Chance is back. The song features a powerful message delivered to the listeners by yours truly, Yeezus himself: “Music is all we got, living is all we got, so we might as well give it all we got The song is a fitting introduction to the project, and with a feature from Chance’s favorite hometown hero Kanye West it seems that Chance’s gospel sound on "Ultralight Beam" have carried over into Coloring Book, and it’s got everyone rejoicing.

“No Problem (ft. Lil Wayne, 2 Chainz)”

Let me be one of the first to say that this song will be one of the anthems of your summer. The song has everything it needs to be a radio hit; a catchy hook, a feature from 2 Chainz AND Lil Wayne, and a beat that you can’t help but bop your head to. "No Problem" is a warning to all the record labels trying to sign Chance: he’s not about it, and he wants to make it clear through lines like, “If one more label try to stop me / It’s gon’ be some dreadhead niggas in ya lobby.” You don’t want any problems with Chance, and he’s going to keep on doing what he’s doing whether others like it or not. 2 Chainz and Wayne do their thing on the song, each with their own flow that compliments the beat. Wayne also references his own struggle with his former record label Cash Money not letting him release "Tha Carter V,” with, “If that label try and stop me / There gon’ be some crazy Weezy fans waitin’ in the lobby.”

“Summer Friends (ft. Jeremih, Francis And The Lights)”

Growing up on the southside of Chicago, Chance reminds everyone about just how deadly the violence really is. He raps about how it’s the first day of summer and people are already shooting each other, and there are less and less students in summer school because of it. Sadly, “Summer friends don’t stay around here” is a stark reminder that the this is still a huge issue in the community, and the pain of losing his friends during the summertime still stuck with Chance.

“D.R.A.M Sings Special”

The shortest song on the project is a repeated verse in a soulful type lullaby by the Virginia rapper D.R.A.M who has collaborated with Chance through Donnie Trumpet and the Social Experiment, and it’s a deep message that reminds us all that we truly are special. Each and everyone one of us has talents and gifts that they were born with, and we need to be reminded that nobody is a nobody. The interlude preaches a message of self-confidence as well as inspiration to create yourself. Positive vibes all around.

“Blessings”

A testament to God, Chance isn’t afraid to show his devotion to his religion. He also touches on the Black Lives Matter movement as well as the birth of his daughter. A feel-good gospel song, and some emotional lyrics from Chance further solidify this track’s place in the project. Jamila Woods adds the cherry on top with her voice that makes you just want to throw your hands up in the air and praise whatever god(s) there may or may not be.

“Same Drugs”

“Same Drugs” is Chance’s farewell song to the drug taking persona he exuded during his days of Acid Rap, highlighting how he’s matured as a person to be a father for his daughter. He reminisces about the old days, but it’s on a positive note with no regrets. He thinks back to his carefree days as a child where everything was still filled with wonder, and even alludes to Peter Pan when Peter told the kids, “All you need is happy thoughts” to fly, as Chance encourages his daughter (who is referenced to as "Dandelion") to think happy thoughts, and in turn she will be a happy child growing up.

“Mixtape (ft. Young Thug, Lil Yachty)”

Wow, where to begin. First of all, Chance the Rapper + Young Thug + Lil Yachty? Never in a million years would I have even dreamed of those two on a Chance song, and yet this turned out to be one of my favorite songs off the project. Thugger and Yachty discuss their concern for the music industry losing it’s legitimacy by somewhat ignoring mixtapes. Yachty recently debuted his first official mixtape, and he’s bound to be one of the fastest rising stars in the scene in 2016. Young Thug on the other hand is becoming a much more common name now that Kanye has even had him featured on The Life Of Pablo, but the real fans knew that Thugger has built his career on his mixtapes, especially with his Slime Season collection. Chance feels like the industry is warping the minds and vision of artists who no longer release music for the passion but instead for commercialized purposes. Young Thug said it best: “How can they call themselves bosses when they got so many bosses?”

“Angels (ft. Saba)”

A true dedication to the city that raised and made him, Chance pours his heart out to his fellow Chicagoans with fellow Chicago-native Saba on "Angels." In it, Chance talks about how he grew as an artist and he expresses his love for his hometown, complete with a music video featuring gorgeous shots of the city from an L train. It just makes me so happy and actually made me crack a damn smile, because for once I get to see a Chicago hip-hop music video that doesn’t have a single gun being waved at the camera, and that doesn’t have to do with what people label as “the dark side of Chicago” hip hop. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love the Chicago drill scene as well as all the new talent that’s sprouting out from it, but I am fully aware of the hardships and problems that have been going on in Chicago’s southside communities. The systematic segregation of the city as well as the fake war on drugs has ravished the communities, and the violence has always spiked during the summer. Chicago needs something to help start working toward solutions to the countless problems with the city, but Chicago will always have hope. Chance is willing to live and die for this city because he believes in it, and so do I.

“Juke Jam (ft. Justin Bieber)”

A song about Chance’s teenage years and an innocent relationship that he says he was too young to be able to take it to a sexual level. "Juke Jam" is sensual while keeping it innocent. The song’s chorus sung by fellow Savemoney rapper and Chicago-native Towkio is a vocal interpolation on R. Kelly’s "Feelin' On Your Booty," and damn it’s good. Bieber comes on here a couple times to do his thing with the song’s bridges, and the whole song just flows together extremely smooth. You’d be lying if you said this song didn’t make you feel some type of way with your special someone.

“All Night ft. Knox Fortune”

Goddamn it’s hard to not jump up and get groovy to this one. Chance proves he can be one funky dude on this track as he raps about how everyone’s drunk and trying to be friends with him now that he’s got fame and success. Chance tells them to give him his space and he just wants his friends and himself to just enjoy the party. Chance promised Coloring Book to be filled with “dance-y shit,” and it’s safe to say he delivered on that promise. This beat alone makes it worthy of a lengthy run in TV / film placements, and it’s a jam that can be played at parties and clubs alike.

“How Great (ft. My Cousin Nicole)”

Continuing on the religious themes prevalent throughout the mixtape, "How Great" is a continuation of Chance praising God. Chance’s actual cousin named Nicole opens the track up with a sample from Chris Tomlin’s "How Great is Our God"; the song is a great gospel addition to the project. Jay Electronica, a Muslim producer, does wonders to the track, and Chance himself throws in Christian rhetoric as he talks about worship and praise.

“Smoke Break (ft. Future)”

What a time to be alive. Chanco and Future Hendrix on the same track? What?! And it worked! Chance rapped about how he used to smoke out of a bowl because it’s much easier and quicker to do since his life is so hectic, and Future is looking for his queen to share his clean molly and whips with wings with, and there’s even what seems like a subliminal shot at Desiigner: “I got designer galore,” which could easily be Future’s passive aggressive ways of saying Desiigner is getting big off of Future’s sound. Guess we have to wait for Desiigner to drop his second official song to see.

“Finish Line / Drown (ft. T-Pain, Kirk Franklin, Noname, Eryn Allen Kane)”

The longest song on Coloring Book, "Finish Line" features veterans and up and coming artists praising the greatness of God and how far they’ve come thanks to him. The first part of the song "Finish Line" features Chance and T-Pain talk about their devotion to God, and how it's helped them to “see the finish line”. The second part, "Drown," features two up-and-coming female rappers from Chicago by the names of Eryn Allen Kane and Noname as they talk about how God has helped them out through their hardships in life, and they remind you that through God you will never drown. Beautiful analogy of how even though the water is deeper than it’s ever been and how life may seem harder than it has ever before, with the help of God you won’t drown and you will be able to get through anything.

“Blessings (Reprise)”

The conclusion to Coloring Book, Chance basically thanks God for how far he’s gotten and for everything that he’s been able to accomplish. Honestly, another work of art, and a fantastic way for the project to come to a close. Uncredited support from the likes of B.J The Chicago Kid and Ty Dolla $ign, amongst others, the song wraps everything that Chance is about up nicely in a song and reminds us just how gifted Chance really is. With God to thank, Chance is ever grateful for everything that he’s been able to achieve, and the dreams that he has still to set out and accomplish.

            Wow, what a ride. Coloring Book was well worth the wait, and it further solidified Chance’s spot amongst Chicago’s legends. With Kanye’s stamp of approval, the messiah of Chicago addresses his come up and how the city made him who he is, and Chance makes sure to pay tribute to that throughout the project. God also plays a major role in Chance’s life and career, and he thanks God for everything that he’s given to Chance and all the times that God has been there for Chance through difficult times in life. This is a project you can smile while listening, and something that will make you want to dance until you drop when you hear “All Night” at the next party you go to. He’s not just another Chicago rapper, he’s an artist, a believer, and an ambassador of positive vibes set out to remind us not to give up, better days are just around the corner.

Radiohead Provoke Immense Sorrow on 'A Moon Shaped Pool'

Chameleons of genre, icons of self-redefinition, dealers of some of the bravest decisions made in music history; the qualifications that reify Radiohead’s legacy are more than laurels upon which the band can rest, they are also the embodiments of character traits that have allowed the band to not only endure time, but claim it, and then redefine it. A Moon Shaped Pool serves to show that these impressive shows of ingenuity, as detrimental as they may potentially be, are still re-deployable in 2016.

On A Moon Shaped Pool Radiohead has demonstrated a mastery of their idiosyncratic approach to alternative music, doing so on the most sonically spare and lyrically provocative platforms of their career while simultaneously drawing upon the subtleties of their best work. The album features the minimalist electronic motifs of Kid A alongside the nimble guitar picking and understated riffs of In Rainbows, without negating its innovation. The album’s lead single “Burn the Witch” offers Radiohead at their most orchestral, while the ensuing single “Daydreaming” reemploys the band’s dichotomy of subtle instrumentals and paining vocals. Though this contrast may evoke comparisons to Kid A’s “How to Disappear Completely,” the song is a pivotal transitioning point into A Moon Shaped Pool’s most unexpected and most challenging material. The new album deals heavily with loss on a soundscape that is even more minimal than Kid A’s ambient tracks. But while the band has curtailed its complex instrumental layering in favor of isolated pianos and finger-picked guitars, the decision has resulted in an emotionally reductive listening experience.

Lyrics such as “Dreamers / They never learn / Beyond the point / Of no return” repackage the warnings of Radiohead’s signature doomsayers’ message with more consequential and permanent subjects such as hurt, regret, love, and longing. Paired with characters like those introduced in “Identikit," “Sweet-faced ones with nothing left inside / That we all can love… Pieces of a rag doll mankind / That you can’t create,” Yorke’s lyrical content offers a scathingly futile, yet beautiful message. His vocals vary between a soaring falsetto and an unembellished delivery; sometimes offering levity to weighty material and other times presenting disheartening scenarios straightforwardly. The latter is the perfect pairing for “Identikit"’s antagonistic guitar-riff – a palm-muted baritone melody teeming with attitude.

The shifts A Moon Shaped Pool takes between moods are noticeable, but not coarse. The piano arpeggios and trills of “Decks Dark” and “Glass Eyes” have a very secluding effect, though their background orchestration attributes a certain grace to the songs which yields an air of peaceful helpless, exemplifying the careful balance found in the pairing of lyrics and instrumentation and the selection of songs as well. The acoustics of “Desert Island Disk” and the dissonant synths of “Ful Stop separate “Decks Dark” and “Glass Eyes,” allowing listeners to shift between the various mental spaces these songs inhabit. It is the transitions made between moods, instrumentation, and lyrical content that allow songs such as “Ful Stop” and “True Love Waits” to coexist and help create one of the most unique Radiohead albums.

A Moon Shaped Pool is an album that may find some fans flat-footed. Those not expecting to deal with themes of loss and the fulfillment of love may find themselves either uncomfortable on occasion or dissatisfied. But if allowed to thrive past any initial sock, A Moon Shaped Pool will knock anyone on their ass and place them in the grips of an existential dilemma. But maybe “existential” is an inappropriate term for this album. It is modernist, as evidenced by details as spare and as fleeting as Thom Yorke’s buzzing background vocals. These droning and abruptly cutting falsettos provide the most succinct and holistic summations of what A Moon Shaped Pool offers: impressionistic whirs of pain and restraint, and a heart-hollowing sense of loss.

Burn The Witch.

Devon Welsh's First Solo Release: Out of the Cloudz and 'Down the Mountain'

Majical Cloudz may have sadly dissipated, but as promised Devon Welsh has not slowed, and on his first solo release (not an “album,” but merely a “collection”) since, Down the Mountain, he proves that even in tracks deemed excess he is capable of smoothly tapping into your synapses with a softer pierce and purer honesty than most would-be crooners could ever hope to achieve.

Welsh explains,

“This is a small collection of songs that were written at different times over the last two years. Some of them were written during the same time as ‘Are You Alone?’ but did not end up on that album for one reason or another. Others were written and recorded for fun last summer.

I want to release all these songs because I like them a lot and since I am working on new music, my attention will inevitably go to that new music and these songs will be forgotten, and forgotten songs are sad.

So this isn’t an album, and it isn’t an album of ‘new music’, but it’s a collection of older songs that I like and that I feel deserve to be released.

Note: The recordings might sound a bit rough, I mixed and mastered it myself and am in the process of learning how to be better at that..”

The titular track consoles a friend over the loss of their mother with the belting of “It’s alright" willing its soothing empathy to eclipse the darkness through volume as we’re treated to Welsh’s boldest vocal injection in recent memory. This gives away to a bouncy piano trot paired with lyrics as light as you’ll hear from the Montrealiant; “Every month is a pleasure / Enjoy this love with me.” “I want to sing to a room full of strangers just for fun / Oh what could be stranger,” Welsh admits in “I Won’t Let You Down,” hopefully hinting at solo performances to come, signature white shirt and all, the blankness of which always served as the perfect canvas for his soliloquies.

It’s fitting that his last tweet before the release was, “I hope I'm alive to see close-up images of other habitable planets, or even any planets outside our solar system…” Welsh’s music has always started with the bare-bones necessities - a rock, an atmosphere - and seemingly welded them together a galaxy away before gently beaming them back closer to home than you could have ever anticipated at first glance.

Collection closer “Dreams” ends with, “I will help you dream / I am your friend,” a sentiment not many could get away with in any meaningful way as he does, but with a steadily ebbing earnestness the heavy space inherent between Down the Mountain’s airy melodies and sedative vocals trawls the deepest veins of feeling such minimalism can mine. The hum and quiver of synthesizers are the breath and pulse while Welsh’s murmurs are the consciousness dancing upon them, but in a way altogether more beautiful than the sum of the parts. Words fail to quite describe such flawless liquidity.

“I don’t know why we’re born and we die,” “Starlight” ponders. It may be the mystery for the ages, but one thing is for sure: Welsh’s continued creative output into this world gives it just a little more meaning to hold on to.

Julianna Barwick's 'Will' Wanders Into the Furthest Recesses of Sound

Ambient artists, post-rock bands, and noise performers have a rough go of carving out a name for themselves in music. On one hand, being that the music is almost wholly composition based, most listening masses ascribe an immediate “cerebral” rank to any and all releases (which, if you’re an egoist, can be both of great benefit and detriment). The inverse of the scenario is that being any sort non-lyrically driven artist can relegate one to the realm of conceptualism and/or performance art (not that either is necessarily an arena of “relegation,” perhaps just to the less exploratory masses) that would be viewed to many as a piteous endeavor. It is for that exact reason that I believe the noisemakers and ambient ascendants who are forced to push the bounds of sound conception without the assistance of lyrical direction are some of the most vital assets in the continued progression of sound as a whole.

There’s many a noise artist that has received considerable accolade for their efforts in sustaining the pioneering nature of their ambient, post, and cacophonous predecessors – Explosions in the Sky, Mogwai, Xylouris White, SUNN O))), Phantom Orchard, Faust – all of whom deserve their celebratory credit where such credit is due, but one artist who has quietly and quite consistently continued to challenge and progress the ambient arena on both large and small scale is one Ms. Julianna Barwick.

Perhaps one of the more ethereal ambient artists (such a description may be akin to calling a fuzzy rabbit soft, but I digress) having debuted in the past decade or so, Barwick has charted a course in music that is centered firmly upon her voice. I understand that this review was prefaced under the guise of ambient artists and post-rock albums are devoid of lyrics etc, but Barwick’s incantations are virtually indiscernible, like an atmospheric Wurlitzer manipulated and warped in a variety of manners to propel her music. A brief look at the Brooklyn transplant by way of Louisiana’s songbook, and its evident that despite having one or two repeated lines of lyrics in some of her songs, they are merely vessels for her to layer and loop the tracks in the name of ambient sounds.

Its been three years since Barwick released her astounding Nepenthe, an album which served as a secondary debut bringing larger appeal and admiration from the atypical music listening crowd. Barwick’s ability to juxtapose the confinement of being a soloist with the congregation of sounds of one voice is moving and more emotive than most lyrically based efforts. Where the soaring tones of Nepenthe helped elevate the listener to a higher plane, Barwick’s newest release, Will manages to do the same, but by eliciting heavier synth to most tracks, which in turn brings a darker, seemingly introspective gravity to the record. Will is more mature - both in the Gregorian sense of time, as well as sonically – as Barwick manages to effortlessly exude a tonality of crisp and clean, yet unpolished melodies that were at times overwrought on Nepenthe and previous efforts.

Rather than waste the reader (and listener)’s time giving the typical track-by-track review, rundown, etc. it may be of more benefit to the reader/listener to interpret Will as a whole, without dissection or individual critiques. Will is an exercise in rumination, stripped of any expressive production than might obfuscate Barwick’s innermost workings while crafting the album, in turn presenting a body of work that is wholly humble and fragile, at times even worrisome. Spirals of emotion and synthesizer help transport Barwick and the listener onto an almost lunar-like plane, which prohibits any mental impairment when it comes to digesting Will, as there are no clever production tricks or snippy lyrics to distract the listener from the album’s core principles – the sweet cafard that is being alone. Its spacious enough to peer into the furthest recesses of sound, in turn coaxing out the purest form of emotion and meditation for both Barwick and listener alike. Will is a heart-searching odyssey of observation and reflection navigated by Barwick’s deft ambient touch.  

'The Colour in Anything' Expands James Blake's Emotional Spectrum

2016 is on a fast track for the most GOAT-worthy 365(ish) days of music this decade, from immortal icons passing on to musical Valhalla, to an inordinate number of “surprise” releases. First there was Rihanna, then Yeezy’s TLOP shenanigans, Beyonce putting Jay-Z on blast in cinemascope, and Drizzy Drake releasing an un-essentially long collection of Toronto woe-odes last week. Needless to say, there is a glaring trend amongst the artists who elected to forgo the mundane predictability that typically coincides with name brand artists – with many of them even going as far as debuting on the god-forsaken lost cause that is TIDAL – and it appears the taste for purposeful inconsistency has grown more pervasive outside of hip-hop and pop now as well.

James Blake, one quarter of the 2010’s indie Mt. Rushmore – Justin Vernon, Ezra Koenig, and Win Butler being the other of the four stone heads – released The Colour in Anything this past Friday, unannounced, but not totally unexpected – two singles were released leading up to the album’s release, creating a sort of pseudo promotional calendar.

The Colour in Anything, has been long overdue in the minds of critics and Blake fans alike. Blake had canceled extensive tours in order to capitalize upon creative whims and fancies, which in turn developed a capricious grapevine of rumors and hearsay regarding whether Blake was merely taking extended measures to forge LP3. In 2014, Blake originally announced that this new release would be titled Radio Silence and was slated for release in early 2015, but as you're now reading this over a year past that date, it's quite apparent something got in the way, and whatever it was, Blake’s reticent nature certainly did not lend itself to buoyant reverie amongst fans (though it did, ironically, lead to literal radio silence).

Blake had entered the Frank Ocean (a collaborator on the album) territory (but without the over zealous opining – WHERE ARE YOU FRANK?) in terms of hotly anticipated releases, and there was nothing but confusion and perplexity for some time. Apparently, during the interim that was Blake’s Radio Silence announcement and the eventual release of Colour, Blake had managed to write two tracks on Beyonce’s Lemonade (full circle!) – “Forward” and “Pray You Catch Me” – along with heading out to Shangri La Studios to finish the record with much needed vigor from Duck Dynasty doppelganger Rick Rubin.

Colour came out of nowhere, but it wasn’t without excitement. It’s an offertory record that showcases a side of Blake that has long been underdeveloped – the Enfielder’s most expressive and innermost musings – subsequently breathing new life in Blake’s career (not that it was ever really without it). Colour opens with a “what might have been” in “Radio Silence,” and the once eponymous track turned solitary lead off exudes a singular glance into the now defunct direction that was Radio Silence, instead enacting a startlingly apologetic new Blake.

The production is as tight as ever, but somehow feels more fragile and wavering than quietly confident, a la Overgrown. In comparison to Blake’s previous releases, many are likely to accuse the Londoner of wearing his heart on his sleeve, when in reality, it’s a more mature comfort with his songwriting process, unabashed, but polite, like the production on a track like “Points,” in which Blake warps his "No longer" hook over trap and dubstep afrobeats that build and swell with momentum in alarmingly smooth fashion. “Points” along with “Love Me in Whatever Way” establish Blake’s most singer-songwriter intentions with little to no pretense over the forthcoming nature of Colour as a whole, with lines like "Where you lead me I will go," and "Tell me when I have to go / And then love me there." It's gut wrenchingly frail, as if Blake has only just begun to come to grips with his emotional capacities, but just like that, he shuts himself off on “Timeless,” featuring wild “sound the alarm” synth wandering, as if to indicate to Blake that the time has come to shut oneself off from this strange new world of open opining. Interesting side-note about “Timeless”: Kanye West was originally slated to appear as a feature on the track, however, according to Blake, the verse from Mr. West “didn’t materialize.”

The record bounces back with the fully transparent “F.O.R.E.V.E.R,” a ballad that features only Blake and keys, as his voice infectiously wavers over simple chord structures speaking on his time alone while “you” were away. An interesting line in “F.O.R.E.V.E.R” – "I notice I can still ghost the streets" – a seemingly innocuous phrase, but when juxtaposing Blake’s reclusive tendencies with his abnormal level of public interest, it highlights an intriguing dynamic with which Blake (and those closest to him) undoubtedly struggles with. “Put That Away and Talk to Me” is the mandatory millennial musing over the use of phones and technology and the schism they cause, but the name itself provides more enjoyment than the creepy lullaby that is the track itself. Colour feels increasingly morose as the album progresses, all the while maintaining some mode of hope in the interim on tracks like “I Hope My Life” with opening refrains of, "I hope I’m right / When speaking my mind / I hope my life is not a sign of the times," as he struggles to distinguish and relate at the same time. “My Willing Heart” embodies such struggles by narrating a sort of out of body experience for Blake, a narrative that resembles – get ready for a stretch – an Icarus fell type of story, except Blake’s sun is love, which makes him altogether too vulnerable for his liking. It should be noted that “My Willing Heart” has a co-write feature with one Mr. Frank Ocean, who didn’t necessarily lend any lyrics, but certainly lent a spiritual boost for Blake when it came to "Making a record on your laptop…”

Halfway through the record at this point, Colour really comes into its own once “Choose Me” comes along, a production whirlwind that has clever nods to Blake songs passed – “A Case You” – all the while asserting a new domineering side to the fully transparent Blake that’s become so prevalent on Colour – "You don’t owe me anything / What could I want back from you?". To this point, “Choose Me” is the best standalone track; a nice confluence of Overgrown and Enough Thunder. Colour finds its footing on “I Need a Forest Fire,” the album’s second single featuring fellow indie-demigod, Justin Vernon. His influence is felt immediately, as the airy organ noises lead in a Vernon yell and a muffled loop. Vernon leads off the first verse, and in all reality, the track itself feels like a Bon Iver song a la Eaux Claires 2015 more than anything else, but hearing both Blake and Vernon trading verses and harmonizing over pastoral Ralph Waldo Emerson sentiments is a truly beguiling experience. According to Vernon, the track came from “wonderful accidents and good friendship,” which echoes the same warm sentiments Blake expressed about working with Vernon, that the two seemed like they were “separated somewhere down the line.”

Colour’s final third issues the close of a hesitant love manifesto from Blake, with “Noise Above Our Heads” expressing Blake’s desire to connect with an unidentified suitor – “I’ll find no peace until I know” – as Connan Mockasin’s wandering bass leads the meandering thoughts of Blake along. The eponymous track features a soliloquy with Blake addressing a significant other as a last ditch effort to preserve an already fast fading love; it's “classic” James Blake, with elegant vocals over keys, and elevated pitches thanks to his preferred double tracking takes. “Two Men Down” takes a left turn elementally, as Justin Vernon’s production injects a livelier demeanor to the track that centers on Blake’s prospective outlook over competing with another man in order to gain a lover’s hand. “Modern Soul,” the premier single for Colour back in February 2016, Blake expresses his disdain for being overwrought with social interaction – “What I didn’t see was I was talking to so many people at once / I had no idea…” – and the interminable confusion of whether one’s interest in Blake is over his personal being or “because of a few songs.” The penultimate track of the album, “Always” features one of the most devastating ideas on Colours, in which Blake enters a dreamlike state where he can control and manipulate every aspect of his world to mold it into its most ideal form. “Meet You In the Maze” closes Colours in a sanguine yet indeterminate state – Vernon’s influence can be felt heavily on the acapella (except for a vocoder) track, a la Bon Iver’s “Woods” – as Blake assures the subject of his rendezvous request that “music can’t be everything.”

The Colour In Anything is most definitely Blake’s best record to date, despite the album’s first half struggling greatly with the themes of transparency and love within Blake’s purview. The trials and tribulations of James Blake in love make for an apparently personalized record that’s all too unfamiliar to Blake’s previous modus operandi, but has subsequently bolstered his songbook and production tactics. The album receives a giant assist from Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon, whose production on a handful of tracks really manages to stretch Blake past his former boundaries. While the album did not feature the fated 20-minute track that he had once hinted at in the past, The Colour In Anything distributes his muted sensibilities and elicits a more forthcoming Blake that will hopefully continue to open up in the future. 

Sturgill Simpson Trades Psychedelics for the Sea on 'A Sailor's Guide to Earth'

In the midst of a cultural renaissance, country music is in as good a spot as any genre (if not more so). At this point, we’ve all been beaten over the head of how incomparable Chris Stapleton is (which realistically is still an disservice to the man), how cool it is that Margo Price was christened Jack White’s prodigal country daughter, and how “bro-country” has finally succumbed to its own interminable existence.

That’s all well and good, but for country music’s resurgence to extend its tenure and avoid falling out of the zeitgeist, the genre needs an indomitable force of innovation, conceptualism, and metamorphosis. Enter Sturgill Simpson - whose 2014 sophomore effort Metamodern Sounds in Country Music was effectively a Waylon Jennings record on six tabs of acid – the country artist most poised to venture out into the furthest weird reaches of country music’s sonic dimensions.

Simpson’s first record, High Top Mountain, was his foray into the crowded country scene, an effort that was arguably released before its time. Metamodern Sounds’ release saw Simpson (with the help of Dave Cobb, country music’s present day King Midas) shove a bag full of mushrooms down the throat of country music, creating a psychedelic haze of country wax poetics and a sound wave of intergalactic exploration. The record was a bonafide success, as Simpson saw himself assume the mantle of country music’s resident “outlaw,” spitting in the face of conformity all the while showing the utmost reverence toward those that preceded him in the genre.   

As Simpson’s near two year long tour run in support of Metamodern Sounds came to a close, he and his wife experienced the birth of their first child, and Simpson gained perspective on his newfound life as country music renegade and newly minted father. Viewing life through a different lens – one that featured the dependency of a now full-fledged family – Simpson’s third record maintained Simpson’s continual sonic exploration, this time taking to the sea in A Sailor’s Guide to Earth.

In short, the record is one of the (at least to my knowledge) few concept albums in country music – if not the best – as A Sailor’s Guide to Earth sees Simpson navigate his new life as a father and touring musician in the form of a Motown/R&B/country amalgamation of the finest ilk. Furthermore, the majority of the album is dedicated solely to Simpson’s wife and son, as the former Navy man navigates his life on the road and at home, creating an impassioned narrative of love and trepidation atop the bounding mains of existence.

"In Bloom" off Sturgill's new album - A Sailor's Guide To Earth // Available Now Download Now - http://smarturl.it/DownloadSturgill Stream Now - http://smarturl.it/StreamSturgill Limited Edition "A Sailor's Guide To Earth" Bundles Available here: http://atlr.ec/ASGTED2CYT "In Bloom" Official Music Video Directed By: Matt Mahurin Follow Sturgill Simpson https://www.facebook.com/sturgillsimp... http://www.twitter.com/SturgillSimpson https://www.instagram.com/sturgillsim... https://soundcloud.com/high-top-mountain

A Sailor’s Guide to Earth wastes no time establishing itself as a distinctly different Sturgill Simpson record in both theme and scope, as “Welcome to Earth (Pollywog)” sees Simpson come down from the interdimensional travels of Metamodern Sounds and settle (not by much) down as a loving ode to his newborn son – “Hello my son / Welcome to Earth." The track features emotional conviction that pulls at the heart strings of the listener almost instantly – “I’ve been told you measure a man by how much he loves” – as he speaks directly to his son – “You may not be my last / But you’ll always be my first” – utilizing the sea-faring metaphors as the analogue to his life on the road in support of his music. The song rips into a Motown groove that was unbeknownst to Simpson’s music prior to A Sailor’s Guide to Earth. “Breakers Roar” reneges the initial tonal promises from Metamodern Sounds, as Simspon sticks to soft acoustic picking over orchestral strings and slide guitar imitating the cries of a far off whale, all before cajoling the listener into a roundabout boogie jumping right into “Keep It Between the Lines;” Simpson’s do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do life instructional. The track incorporates heavy brass horns and chorus backing vocals that seem alien to Simpson’s music on paper, but on the actual record, good gracious its incredible. If anything, A Sailor’s Guide to Earth is beginning to feel like Simpson’s genre bending answer to his disco-country predecessor Conway Twitty’s varietal discography.

At the beginning of the album’s middle third, “Sea Stories” see Simpson return to the sweet psychedelic country rock as he revisits his time spent stationed in Japan as a Unite States naval man. Ever the humble man, Simpson pretty much recounts his entire life to date in the span of a three minute and seventeen second country song that features lyrics like ‘From Kawasaki to Ebisu/Yokosuka, Yokohama, Shinjuku…’ the track is easily one of the most amusing features on the record.

Following “Sea Stories” comes one of Sturgill Simpson’s finest moments – his magnificent cover of Nirvana’s “In Bloom.” Simpson is a deceptively – or in current terms, “low key” – profound cover artist, as Metamodern Sounds saw him cover When in Rome’s 80s hit, “The Promise,” one of the finest covers of the decade, if not the new Millennium. Anyway, “In Bloom” sees Simpson rework the brooding Cobain piece into a convergence of smooth soul and cooing country, before the track explodes into a crescendo of wailing horns and pedal steel. As Simpson returns to his original tracks – though the “In Bloom” cover is about as original as a cover can get – the album’s single “Brace for Impact (Live a Little)” rounds out the heavy hitting middle portion of A Sailor’s Guide To Earth.

The closing third of A Sailor’s Guide to Earth sees Simpson turn to his more sensitive side, with tracks like “All Around You,” acting as Simpson’s bellowing soul ballad while saxophones and brass instruments run wild in the songs latter half, rounding out Simpson’s exceptional sonic exploration of soul and country music. “Oh Sarah,” the album’s penultimate track, as well as the record’s sweetest. While most of the album had been directed to Simpson’s son, “Oh Sarah” is a loving promise to Sturgill’s wife – as an assurance that the continued life on the road is bound to place a modicum of strain upon their family’s life, but it will never create anything detrimental. After creating a warm and loving lull in the album’s final third, “Call to Arms” sees Simpson step onto dry land with a country-soul jam that celebrates the fullest combination of Motown/gospel/country/soul in a jam that would make Charlie Daniels blush.

With A Sailor’s Guide to Earth completed and circulating throughout the airwaves and streams of online musical content, it rests in choppier waters than most of Simpson’s other “classically” country compatriots. Still lauded as a country artist (and justifiably so), Simpson has truly separated himself from the country renaissance that he helped usher into the musical zeitgeist. Instead, Simpson has elevated himself from pioneer to innovator, within multiple genres that opens up the musical floodgates for his next project. Its an interesting notion that an artist of Sturgill Simpson’s ilk may have put out the year’s finest country album (not to mention one of the best in general) on a record that has more unbridled satin soul than country twang. 

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros Eulogize Their Eponymous Leader on 'PersonA'

It seems PersonA is the end of the ephemeral Edward Sharpe as we’ve known him; just the cover alone implies that the all-father of New Millennium folk-pop, Alex Ebert, has chosen to end his warbling messianic stage sobriquet in martyrdom. During a conversation with Transverso preceding the album’s release, Ebert explained, "There was no character to begin with, so why not kill him? He never really was there. If anything, and at most, Edward Sharpe was a vehicle for me to get to slough off whatever I had become up until that point, and to get back to or sort of allow my pure self to come forth into sort of a clean slate." This reinvention is paralleled with a disillusionment with the impact particular whistle stomp clap laden tracks from his catalogue have made on the current music landscape; "As an artist that cares about moving things forward, it makes me not want to do that music anymore," he told us.

PersonA, ostensibly a sort of portmanteau of "persona" and "Person A," aligns almost narratively with Ebert’s desire to jettison himself from the moniker altogether, as the album acts as a revelatory eulogy for Edward Sharpe, with his vocals - and thus persona - clearer and more focused than usual along the way without the back-and-forth dynamism brought by former bandmate Jade Castrinos for the first time.

Within all of his musical endeavors, Ebert has remained inherently spiritual, with melodies ranging from gospel chorus odes to fear-of-god folk confessionals. PersonA leadoff “Hot Coals” intertwines both musical provinces, dancing from brooding folk ballad to bouncing gospel pop doo-wop as Ebert’s harsh “Get the fuck out my sight” ushers in distressed feelings of incendiary love turning into nothing more than memorable embers. One could argue that the “hot coals" could act as metaphorical introduction to Edward Sharpe’s musical exeunt, but whether or not that is the case remains unseen.

“Uncomfortable” elicits feelings of forced unease in order for Ebert to progress – “Uncomfortable / You got be uncomfortable” repeating throughout the track before shrieks and a piano crash bring it to a jarring close. Only the second song on PersonA, it’s seemingly the gospel confessional Ebert needs to atone for the constant that Edward Sharpe has inevitably become. “Somewhere” returns to Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros’ natural proclivities, as the “Here Comes the Sun”-esque folk picking tenderly prods lyrics of “She’s got a belly full of baby” and “Now we’ve come together and we’re wandering home.” For the usual cacophonous nature of The Magnetic Zeros, “Somewhere” is a softhearted, sort-of throwback to early Edward Sharpe love letters, but eschews the delightfully campy Jade days past with seemingly more honest anecdotes of current real-life relationship and child.

From the album PersonA - Available 4.15.16 LP & CD - smarturl.it/PersonAMerch iTunes - smarturl.it/PersonAiTunes Amazon: smarturl.it/personaPreOrder Spotify: smarturl.it/NoLoveSpotify Tidal: smarturl.it/NoLoveTidal Director - Olivia Wilde Production Company - Anonymous Content Executive Producers - Eric Stern, Nina Soriano Producer - Saul Germaine Producer - Barbara Burchfield Co-Executive Producer - Bryan Ling Directory of Photography / Camera Operator - Reed Morano, A.S.C.

It seems fitting that “No Love Like Yours” would be the heavy hitting cleanup track on PersonA, primarily because of the song’s well intentioned demands of “Show me love” throughout. Combined with its video, the track extends the proclamation to all who may have listened to Edward Sharpe as a sort of humble request to be happy with what Edward Sharpe became, and know that his purpose as been fully realized and fulfilled - as he willingly enters his own coffin. “Wake Up the Sun” almost feels like a Fela Kuti track mixed with big band jazz/rumba from Dave Brubeck, while the classic Ebert vocal warbling is in full force on the track, as it echoes familiar sentiments and features of Edward Sharpe songs passed. It's here he also further severs himself from the spirituality firmly wrought to his character: "I'm tired of Buddha / So bored of Abraham / I'm tired of Krishna / Feels good to say I am" he admits, soberingly stripping away yet another fabled layer.

“Free Stuff” is one of the sweetest sounding diss/beef/callout tracks in recent memory, as Ebert spends the majority of the song mocking the folk pop styling that his songs “Home” and “40 Day Dream” brought to the mainstream way back when, with Of Monsters and Men and The Lumineers even being mentioned by name during the track's live debut. Ebert has spoken out against the continual imitation that was flattering initially, but eventually wore upon his creative process, telling Transverso, "To my mind, it’s more palatable than eras of sort of alternative pop that I’ve lived through. But if something’s already happening and I’m just gonna reiterate that all I’m doing is participating in a commercial venture." For those introduced to the bearded figure via Volkswagen advertisements, be glad you got on board when you did.

PersonA then begins to build a head of steam with a capricious repurposing of hope into reverence for the Edward Sharpe of old, as “Let It Down” speaks of allowing “it” to turn into a memory, running as far and as fast as possible to escape the ensuing perpetuity of the act, before evolving into a rapturous tribal breakdown. “Perfect Time” is a loving recounting of past exploration for purpose in a world that is unequivocally fucked up, with Ebert literally asking for guidance from a higher power, questioning the need and timing for a love injection into the world paired with hopeful brass melodies. Despite - or in spite of - rampant misfortune in the world, the hippie archetype rears its head again; it's always time for love. As he sat on the edge of stage during this song's first performance he mentioned resisting the artistic urge to be vague and "poetic," saying the subject at matter at hand deserved to be conveyed bluntly for a change. And that's exactly what you get.

As PersonA comes closer and closer to its end, songs like “Lullaby” feel increasingly comforted by the fact that the album is issuing Edward Sharpe’s death, juxtaposing it with the new beginnings of his three year old daughter. Thoughts of incredible struggle, immovable stubbornness, and painful education map the narrative for Ebert’s loving letter to his child, before “The Ballad of Yaya” presents the exuberant “end” of his PersonA with glowing affirmation: “The movie’s over / Lay that dirt on me.” The cinematic reference is an appropriate metaphor, alluding to Ebert’s extensive film scoring work in the bands off-seasons. Where other tracks on the LP only marginally felt like issuance of Edward Sharpe’s curtain call, “The Ballad of Yaya” is the culmination of his collective body of work, as it ends with a frenetic chorus and cheerful barrage of horns while Ebert sings of resurrection and not fearing death, only looking to the future. 

Read our interview with Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros here.

Gallant's Debut 'Ology' Is a Study Of His Diverse R&B Abilities

It's hard to believe that the ever pensive and introspected musical styling of Sufjan Stevens would some how be involved in launching the public facing career of a full blown R&B debut, but such is the case when it comes to Los Angeles/Columbia, MD transplant Gallant. Christopher Gallant, better known solely by his surname, supported Detroit’s favorite songwriting son on Stevens’ Carrie & Lowell tour in 2015, which featured the most Snapchat-able moment of Stevens’ career – a collaborative cover of Drake’s “Hotline Bling,” with Stevens and Gallant exchanging verses. The pairing of Gallant, a slick dancing, falsetto pitched R&B singer as Stevens’ opener felt oddly appropriate, mostly due to Gallant’s vivacious stage presence, prohibiting anyone in attendance to question his right to the opening slot.

Cross-genre pollination can work to an artist’s benefit or detriment, and in the case of Gallant, it's safe to assume that his time spent on the road with Stevens paid off in spades. Gallant’s long overdue debut record, Ology, recalls the most beloved R&B truisms while invigorating the overall landscape for a cornerstone genre that grown predominantly stagnant. The new school of R&B features futuristic samples warped through auto tune and Serato, something uniformly absent from the crisp organic sounds of Gallant’s sound. Furthermore, the lyricism in Ology is distinctly different from the coke-lined confessions of The Weeknd or trap music lyrical passiveness of Bryson Tiller; Gallant opts for the more vivid and warmer waters than his subdued contemporaries. In short, Ology is the R&B album no one knew they were missing.

Gallant has the honey-resin vocal tendencies that feel like melodic allusions to Usher and MJ, but his avant-garde leaning intricacies help him avoid any direct creative connections. Ology opens with single note echoes as they usher in a fever dream entry into the album’s first full length track, “Talking to Myself,” which wastes no time showcasing Gallant’s exceptional falsetto range amongst a shifting soundscape of R&B 808s, dubstep leaning drops, and coarse baritone saxophone; where Gallant’s melodies are wholly R&B, his instrumentals are other-worldly. “Shotgun” is an early album contender for best track of the record, as it stretches the genre confines of soul and R&B in a more modern mold. Gallant’s lyricism is a refreshing apologia from the cynicism of other contemporary R&B artists – “my God forsaken weakened pulse / I knew I have to admit this / I never was a force to be reckoned” – who would rather imbue stubborn self-righteousness. “Bourbon” is a pop R&B throwback with an injection of space age mysticism, harkening back to late '90s and early 2000s shimmery pop R&B tracks from the likes of Boyz II Men and Anthony Maxwell.

Gallant’s Ology presents an interesting movement within R&B, where he and fellow R&B disciples like Daniel Caesar further the genre bounds with gospel-esque runs mixed with heavy pop R&B production. Where Caesar straddles the line of Gallant and Bryson Tiller, Gallant operates in a realm of Usher-esque confidence that is propelled by his vocal chops. Songs like “Bone + Tissue” and “Weight in Gold” are Gallant’s vocal breakouts in the album’s first half, as if his capabilities (which are indeed more than capable) were so immense that he could no longer take holding such epic runs for later in the album.

As the record continues into its latter portion, the songs begin to explore other sonic realms, as “Episodes” flirts with surf rock, glam rock and '80s synthpop top-lined with effusive lyrical questioning of a relationship gone awry. Following “Episodes” comes “Miyazaki” – presumably named after the famed Studio Ghibli animator – a proverbial 180 from its predecessor, as a cool jazz rhythm allows Gallant to make short vocal runs before hopping into a The-Dream-esque vocal whisper. The lyrics of “Miyazaki” aren’t the most inspired – “If you want, I can make your body tremble” – but it somehow makes the song feel like an earnest mid-90s R&B panty-dropping ballad. “Miyazaki” fades into “Counting,” one of those obligatory R&B love lost nostalgia trips, but the track is revamped with light afro-beats over inspired lyrical vignettes – “I lost my pride in the crater / In ancient coal mines” – that suggest a truly thoughtful writer.

As Ology progresses, the vocal analogue for Gallant becomes more and more apparent – Gallant sounds startlingly similar to a young Seal that happens to have more vocal range and better taste is instrumentation. “Jupiter” kind of moves like a galaxical version of a Seal song, but Gallant deftly maintains his unique falsetto timbre as Moogs and shimmery percussion glimmer and glow. With Ology’s end in sight, we see the album’s first feature artist – new age hip-hop and R&B collaborator extraordinaire, Jhene Aiko - on “Skipping Stones.” It’s a nice R&B noir that sees light production, clean sounding drums and guitar, along with Motown adjacent horns that allow for Gallant to make some of his most impressive vocal arrangements. Aiko’s unique and affectation-less voice make for a nice addition on the duet portions of the track, but when she leads into her feature, the hip-hop singer as a lounge singer comes off as a bit of a stretch. Nevertheless, “Skipping Stones” is a true standout on the album, and a nice penultimate track. Ology closes with its most hopeful track, “Chandra,” where we hear Gallant opine, "Maybe there’s a home behind these eyes," which make for sweet sentiments within an emotionally confounding song that ranges from hope, to faith, to despondency, to attraction; all over a spacious orchestral arrangement.

Ology operates on a plane, which most debut records should aspire to achieve – it presents a cohesive sonic presence for Gallant, all the while allowing him to explore other musical pathways for future endeavors. Gallant is certainly not an avant-garde artist, but his willingness to consider other musical realms implies that his creative output could resemble something of a conceptually based artist. Gallant has entered an R&B arena that is already saturated by “new” and “groundbreaking” artists staking their claim to unforeseen R&B adaptations, but Gallant remains unfettered. His nouveau riche take on classic R&B is less of a gamble, and his diverse talent makes Gallant seems poised to experience a long standing career in and out of the genre.