Aside from the fact that you'd be hard pressed to find another collection of songs that sound like they're being sung by a sad robot (literally), the success of UK artist James Blake's debut album is almost as fascinating as the recording itself.
In late 2010, BBC Radio 1 hailed Blake's EP Air & Lack Thereof as the "Sound of 2011", and placed him a high runner up for the BRIT Critic's Choice awards. Right off the bat, in 2011, the artist's vinyl only extended play release CMYK was awarded "Single of The Year" for its title track at Gilles Peterson's Worldwide Awards.
How does an artist with a sound so distinctly unique achieve such high honors among music consumers that have all but forgotten what "unique" really is? On second thought, maybe that question answers itself.
The album's opening song "Unluck" is the hook, and really the tell all, for whether or not Blake's style is going to be your thing. It sounds something like a mashed up re-mix of an old blues song - and it also sounds like whatever medium you're listening to it on is badly damaged. Twenty-eight seconds in, a sporadic ticking initiates in the track, combined with a rhythmic "rubbing" sound - like the record is skipping over a piece of debris on its surface. The song cuts out, cuts back - the lyrics warble; and it's all intentional. It's all part of that alienating, but oddly warm and reflective feel that Blake has clearly trademarked.
"I Never Learnt To Share" is two songs in. One line repeats throughout the nearly five minute track: "My brother and my sister don't speak to me. But I don't blame them...". Sounds headache inducing and annoying, right? Wrong. The song glides on the shifting, slow motion pulses of a slow bass thump, electronic keys, and occasional static bursts. All laid expertly behind that increasingly and inexplicably familiar "robotic" vocalization. It's an experience and a state of mind that, undoubtedly, puts every listener in their own individual frame of perspective.
Granted, twelve songs of this kind of novelty can test the patience, if not simply the attention span, of anyone. Fortunately, careful arrangement of the tracks keeps it from falling apart halfway through. "Limit To Your Love", the well-chosen single and stand out track on the album, parts the clouds a little. The song is soaking in a little less melancholy than its bed-fellows, though it remains properly saturated in electronic effects.
Ultimately, James Blake's artistry could almost be called brilliant to a fault. One imagines these songs being recorded with full instrumentation, and engineered entirely in keeping with all popular sound conventions in mind. In post production, however, Blake filters the vocals to the max, echoes them out - maybe for a laugh - but then thinks: "wait a second...". He cuts out the guitar, the horns and all but a few chords on the piano tracks - until the songs sound so sparse and stripped down, and the vocals so morphed, that they appear as ghosts in the machine. That's a fair enough presumption of how this album came to be, and a wager it's right on the money - or damn close!
The concern with a masterpiece like this rests on whether or not his debut album simultaneously spells the beginning and the end of James Blake's career. His record label will likely expect more of the same from a sophomore effort (cause that's how record labels are), and that might please his fans, and maybe even please a few less "progress focused" critics. The truth of the matter is that beauty and genius like this can only ever be captured in moments, and moments of this magnitude can never quite be duplicated.
If you're the kind to enjoy albums that push the boundaries of convention, here's a few other recommendations that will not disappoint:
- His Name Is Alive - Livonia (1990, 4AD)
- Jay Flash - Know, Alone (2010, self released)
- Wilco - Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2002, Nonesuch)
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