I have a good friend, who is a bit younger than me - eight years to be exact - who I agree with musically up to a point. That point usually diverges for him once things get too heavy, too dark or too loud, and sometimes for me when things get just a little too chill. I have often pondered how any male grows up in the Midwest, as my friend did, and lacks a basic appreciation for things that rawk. Didn't everyone in the Midwest go to their high school shop class only to find “Ozzy” carved onto their desks? or take a trip on a school bus that was filled with the wailing of Eddie Van Halen’s guitar? How was it that my friend knows every b-list R&B singer from the 80s and 90s, but wouldn't be able to name one Iron Maiden song if his life depended on it? It is through this discordance in our relationship that I have come to realize that there is an epic music-based generation gap between myself, representing Generation X, and my friend, who represents Generation Y. Generation X grew up in the backseat of our mothers' station wagons listening to 70s classic rock (in my family, we literally had an 8 track called "70's Rock") and came of age only to rebel against that same classic rock via Johnny Rotten and Sid Vicious. British Punk gave way to Midwestern guitar angst ala Hüsker Dü and the Replacements who were eventually followed by the thrash of Metallica and Megadeth. There was no quarter given to any of the syrupy synth driven R&B that began to populate the musical landscape in the latter half of the 80s, when so many of Generation Y were putting in their time as hostages in the backseats of their mothers' cars listening to Paula Abdul and the Whitney Houston. Generation X were old enough to say "this is shit," and turn it off. We were no longer the captive audiences that our younger brethren were as they were forced to swallow the musings of MC Scat Kat. As Gen Y entered middle school, their points of references grew to include Bell Biv Devoe and Boy II Men, while Gen X were losing our shit over Sonic Youth, Pavement and the Pixies, as well as wasting our time on grunge. When Gen Y did arrive at their moment of rebellion, it was not punk and metal based, but anchored in rap and hip-hop. This is not to say that Gen X didn’t and doesn’t have any appreciation for urban music, but it is not nearly as innate as it is in the musical consciousness of Gen Y. Nor is it to say that there are no members of Gen Y who wouldn’t rather listen to The Clash than Dr. Dre, and certainly there are members of each that would happily listen to both. The point is that during the developmental years of Gen Y, urban musical elements became more prominent as LL Cool J replaced Whitesnake at high school dances around the country.
As a result, a whole new crop of indie musicians have arisen who are indebted to R&B and hip hop more so than they are Thurston Moore and Joe Strummer. You can hear it in the “chillwave” of Washed Out, Toro Y Moi, Memory Tapes and Neon Indian, you can also hear it in Bon Iver’s particularly potent blend of ambient, folk and R&B. Last year, How To Dress Well’s Tom Krell saw Justin Vernon’s R&B inflected falsetto and raised him in moodiness and ghostly ambiance, centering his dense pieces around basically nothing more than his voice and a sonic haze. Now, just when you think that things couldn’t get more skeletal, along comes James Blake who doubles down on the power of R&B vocals reimagined as both atmospherics and primary instrumentation.
Blake hails from London, and while he probably didn’t listen to Bill Biv Devoe’s “Poison” at any school functions, the tail end of trip-hop and the advent of dub-step in England have apparently not been lost on him. He released three eps last year heavily indebted to dance and dub-step, with each recording growing increasingly experimental in nature. His final, and best, ep “Klavierwerke” was the audio equivalent of vapor. Its minimalistic compositions of vocals and electronics were barely even there, but it was nevertheless a gorgeous thing to behold. It was kind of like listening to fragments of a gospel choir transmitting from the other side. It was as haunting and as it was comforting.
The well-earned critical reception of Blake’s eps has given way to an almost deafening buzz surrounding the release of his self-titled debut album, one that looks to sustain him throughout 2011. The buzz is somewhat odd though, not because Blake’s work isn’t worth it, but because this is still highly experimental stuff, even if it does bare the imprint of a traditional pop or R&B from time to time.
The album opens with “Untrue” which is basically a hodgepodge of modulated vocals, auto-tune, woozy minimalistic beats and simplistic keyboards. Its drunken staggering rhythm is mesmerizing in a way, but hardly what you would expect to catch fire as the “next big thing.” The fact is that much of Blake’s album plays out in this manner. There are experiments in a coppela (“Lindesfarne I”), gospel (“Measurements”), and Antony-styled operatics (“Give Me My Month” and “Why Don’t You Call Me”) all entirely centered around the capture and modulation of Blake’s voice, with what little instrumentation there is only existing to color or heighten the mood. Certainly other artists have attempted to craft entire records around vocals before. Bjork’s “Medúlla” immediately comes to mind, as does the work of Nico Muhly. The difference here comes down to the influence and injection of R&B elements. No matter how experimental things get there is always a resemblance, a flashing recognition, of the deep rich sound of soul music and all that derives from it. And, for the most part the results are successful throughout Blake's debut. At the same time, some of the tracks here work better than others.
Blake's work is most compelling when he ups the presence of the album's sparse instrumentation. The record's standout track, "The Wilhelm Scream," begins not with modulated vocals, but a subtle beat and electronic effects before Blake's voice takes center stage. The track juxtaposes traditional songcraft with experimentation perfectly, never losing balance between the two. As the song progresses, drones and percussive effects battle Blake's voice for the limelight making for a dramatic dynamic that is missing from much of the record's second half, where Blake's vocals play out in front of a slight backdrops of IDM and piano. This isn't to say that those later tracks aren't compelling, they are, they just are not nearly as memorable as "The Wilhelm Scream" or the track the follows, "I Never Learnt To Share," another piece that benefits greatly from the increased presence of instrumentation. On "Share" Blake repeats the line "my brother and my sister don't speak to me, but I don't blame them" like some sort of mantra undergoing varying degrees of modulation. It is the track's solid but somewhat restless beat, and squelching keyboards that makes the song truly transcendent though. The piece builds into a noisy climax of vocals and squiggling synth that is one of the album's truly stand out moments. In many ways this record is similar to Bon Iver's "For Emma, Forever Ago" in that even the slightest particular increase in instrumental dramatic tension has a profound and contrasting effect against what is overall a more subtle and nuanced whole.
Blake's debut is an accomplished piece of work, but there is room for growth and improvement. Given that Blake is such a young artist with a seeming understanding of many different styles of music, I can only imagine that what lies ahead for him will only be greater and grander. Regardless, this record marks an incredibly auspicious beginning, and one that announces the arrival of an important new voice in the musical landscape. With the release of his debut, Blake stands alongside Vernon and Krell in fashioning a whole new arena of urban-based ambient music, where voice is the main instrument, and everything else are just surrounding shadows.
"The Wilhelm Scream"
"Limit To Your Love"
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