Every so often, when I discover some really exemplary music, I’ll make the effort to share it with you, Dear Reader. That’s just the kind of guy I am. Now, I know everyone is always telling you about their favorite band and whatever, and it gets annoying. But you should listen to me, and not those people. Are you persuaded yet? Good. Let’s move right along.
Robyn
One Line: high end pop music with a strong electronica influence, as welcome in your earphones as it is on the dance floor.
How did I miss this one? This is seriously one of most exciting musicians I’ve come across in some time. Robyn is a Swedish pop star who grew up in the music industry, then rebelled against it. The story goes that she was signed to Jive in the late 90s when she discovered a love for electronic music, especially the type made by her fellow Swedes The Knife. When she started incorporating it into her sound, her label balked, and she eventually bought herself out of her contract and started up “Konichiwa,” a label where she could make whatever she damn well pleased. The result was the eponymous “Robyn,” which, for all intents and purposes, is a debut album. Yes, she had put out many before, but this was a rebirth.
For me, the appeal of Robyn is obvious: I love electronica (not techno, mind you, there’s a difference). I love distorted synths, 808s, computerized noises, and so forth. Robyn takes this sound and marries it to pop; a feat often tried, very rarely achieved without being annoying as hell. Many American artists have tried this—Justin Timberlake most famously—but none of them worked for me. In most cases, the musicians who try to go electronic don’t take the music seriously, and do so with a wink and a grain of salt. Robyn works because she’s passionate about the sound she’s crafting.
Very few people can sing on top of synthesizers and make it work. It’s not even about technical skill, it’s about the quality of your voice, and how you respond to what the computers are giving you. You can’t just belt like you’re singing to an electric guitar, you’ll sound disconnected from the clean mechanical feel of the music, but refusing to emote won’t work either. It’s a fine line, and if you don’t believe me, go try and sit through Chris Cornell’s “Scream.”
Robyn joins the ranks of the masters, like Reznor or Imogen Heap. The icy timbre of her voice melds with the clanking machines behind her perfectly, and yet she never goes mechanical (even on a song called “Fembot”). She seems to understand what the music needs from her implicitly, and she answers the call with great finesse. The emotional range she achieves is impressive: somber maturity on “Cry When You Get Older,” sexy rebelliousness on “Konichiwa B*****s,” and dangerous, maybe even psychotic edge in “Don’t F**king Tell Me What To Do.”
And, of course, “Dancing On My Own,” your standard club-ready track about jealousy on the dance floor (I’m so sick of songs about the dance floor). Except it’s not. For one thing, the melody is sharp as a tack, perfectly constructed. Secondly, the wall of synths behind her don’t sit quietly where they belong. They’re loud, aggressive, and they’re mixed way in the front, assaulting your ears and vying with Robyn for control of the song. When her voice peaks through them, it’s more like a sliver of light than a controlling force. She’s being drowned in the sound, struggling against the tide that is overwhelming her, much like her character in the song. If you’re going to approach this genre, this is how to do it.
Anyway, enjoy these tracks.
Four Tet
One Line: gorgeous instrumental music that blends real and synthetic instruments perfectly.
The next act I want to tell you about is a guy who records under the moniker “Four Tet.” His actual name Kieran Hebden, and he’s in some post-rock band I don’t care about. Apparently all that moaning about his feelings made him want to produce some real music, so he decided to start experimenting with electronic song structure and organic instrumentation. Four Tet produces gorgeous instrumental music with a heavy instrumental and post-classical influence.
It often gets billed as “folktronica,” a slyly derivative name that implies it’s techno made with acoustic guitars. Blegh. The very thought kept me away for a while. But rest assured, Dear Reader, that this is not the case. The only name for what Four Tet does is “instrumental.” It’s not electronica, because there’s too much actual instrumentation; and it’s certainly not folk or rock, because the song structures center around dynamics, movements, and builds instead of verse chorus verse. Oh, and it’s not prog or math rock, because it’s…you know…pleasant to listen to (I kid because I love, Battles).
No, what we have here is something quite other. Four Tet employs a wide range of real and synthetic instruments, to the point that your brain doesn’t bother telling them apart. I think Hebden’s goal here is to muddle the battle lines between guys with computers and guys with guitars. They’re all sounds, weapons in his arsenal, colors on his palette, and he blends them effortlessly. Nothing clangs, or stands out, or dominates the audio space; guitars and synths and drums all work happily together, none of them hogging the ball.
Hebden has a serious ear for melody, which brings us to Four Tet’s greatest strength: the sheer beauty of it. This is music that deliberately intends to be gorgeous. It’s emotional, even poetic, but somehow avoids being prissy or boring. It’s light but never thin. Transcendent but always grounded.
I hate most musicians who sit on one emotion all the time, and I especially can’t stand stuff that’s happy all the time. That was another reservation I had about Four Tet, it sounded like gag-inducing sunshine music. It’s not. There’s real joy in these notes, but it’s an honest joy, and the mood it sets is complex and elastic. I’ve found myself connecting to it in moments of deep sadness, as well as when I feel like I’m on top of the world. It seems to work for almost anything.
Anyway, enough babbling, try out these tracks:
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