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Nourished by Time – The Passionate Ones
Marcus Elliot Brown, AKA one-man project Nourished By Time, has a classic R&B singing voice in the style of Freddie Jackson or Luther Vandross: warm, earnest and with every word enunciated as if to express his keenness of feeling. But his music is quite different: a slippery layer cake of samples, multitudinous keys and lo-fi pop production, with Brown singing of a world where “the ebb and flow isn’t ebbing right”, be it in love or civic life. There is still room for an instant-classic R&B ballad though, in Tossed Away. Ben Beaumont-Thomas
49
Rochelle Jordan – Through the Wall
Everything is just so on the British Canadian producer’s sixth album: expensively plush deep house suggesting club lights low,…
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Nourished by Time – The Passionate Ones
Marcus Elliot Brown, AKA one-man project Nourished By Time, has a classic R&B singing voice in the style of Freddie Jackson or Luther Vandross: warm, earnest and with every word enunciated as if to express his keenness of feeling. But his music is quite different: a slippery layer cake of samples, multitudinous keys and lo-fi pop production, with Brown singing of a world where “the ebb and flow isn’t ebbing right”, be it in love or civic life. There is still room for an instant-classic R&B ballad though, in Tossed Away. Ben Beaumont-Thomas
49
Rochelle Jordan – Through the Wall
Everything is just so on the British Canadian producer’s sixth album: expensively plush deep house suggesting club lights low, gleaming mirrors, potent looks igniting across the dancefloor. As much as the cold beat and ballroom flow of Ladida or the slapping “body, body, body” incantations of On 2 Something suggest a steadfast commitment to abandon, Jordan maintains impeccable poise and control throughout, whether in diva mode on Words 2 Say, breaking hearts on Bite the Bait, standing up for her needs on Doing It Too (“I’m not too much / You just give too little”) or patiently waiting for a frustrated lover to see the light on Ladida. Commanding, wise and committed to atmospheric excellence, party hosts don’t come better. Laura Snapes
48
Jerskin Fendrix – Once Upon a Time … in Shropshire
Harebrained prog cabaret … Jerskin Fendrix. Photograph: Tim Gutt
Jerskin Fendrix’s high-profile scores for the last three Yorgos Lanthimos films can’t really help prime you for the Midlands composer’s eccentrically beautiful second album, which pairs pristine musical theatre with the harebrained prog cabaret of Faith No More and (particularly) the under-sung Morphine. At first, Once Upon a Time … casts the rural bliss of growing up in 00s Shropshire in a golden light, a haven of getting ratted on Baileys and listening to Kanye on a farm, then having a lovely hungover group breakfast in someone’s kitchen. But the unexpected deaths he has experienced in recent years intrude to spoil paradise, eliciting feverish, absurdist expressions of grief – Jerskin Fendrix Freestyle is a bravura wig-out – and fathomless devastation from his camp, craggy voice. It demands a full theatrical production. LS
47
Clipping – Dead Channel Sky
Clipping frontman Daveed Diggs is best known for being in the original cast of Hamilton, and for all that this album is filled with noisy industrial rap, you can easily imagine it being successfully adapted for the Broadway stage. Dead Channel Sky is set in a cyberpunk dystopia not dissimilar to the scorched-sun “real world” of the Matrix, humming with janky tech and populated with fascists and freaky hedonists. Producers William Hutson and Jonathan Snipes render it in acid squiggles and revving breakbeats, while Diggs delivers his mutoid poetry like a prophet jacked up on some amphetamine he’s synthesised in a backstreet lab. BBT
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The Tubs – Cotton Crown
In different hands, the Tubs’ second album might be a crushing listen, and understandably so. In 2014, frontman Owen Williams’ mother, the songwriter and author Charlotte Greig, died by suicide. Grief, as these songs detail, made him a rubbish boyfriend. But Cotton Crown is often funny and ardent, and especially self-aware about how new love might feel like a life raft to a depressed mind ill-equipped to reciprocate: “Know it’s all in my brain / Caught in the middle of loving you and being insane,” Williams sings on Fair Enough. His striking voice, somewhere between Richard Thompson and Bob Mould, bolts through the band’s joyful jangle-pop. Clear students of the form, they’re virtuosos with zero patience for perfection, their riffs hurtling and plundering like seagulls going at a spilled catch as they vigorously rough you up with profundity. LS
45
Smerz – Big City Life
An album of stilted beauty … Smerz. Photograph: Alva Le Febvre
Catharina Stoltenberg and Henriette Motzfeldt feel like the pop girlies of the incredibly prolific and off-kilter Copenhagen Rhythmic Music Conservatory scene, making music that’s more outward-facing and arch than some of their insular and traditional (and equally great) classmates. Their second album lurches between throwing yourself at life – “you’re a girl in the city and you shouldn’t think twice”, they chant in deadpan harmony on Roll the Dice – and actually thinking twice quite a lot in existential spirals about purpose and desire. The dissonance between confidence and anxiety comes through in the album’s stilted beauty: one minute, their whorls of prepared piano carry you along like clouds amid perfectly turned pop-R&B and balladry; then they stab and stutter, like cracks in the pavement destined to trap your heels. In 2023, K-pop’s brightest hopes NewJeans hired them as co-writers: more pop bearing their imprint can only be a good thing. LS
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Sabrina Carpenter – Man’s Best Friend
Released almost exactly a year after her superstar-minting breakthrough Short n’ Sweet, and using a palette of soft rock, 80s pop, light disco and yearning country melodies, Carpenter added rich colour to one of pop’s most distinctive self-portraits. Her blatant sexuality is offset by an ironising sense of camp and a deep streak of cynicism, as she wonders whether to wrap her little finger round a series of hot but useless men. But whether dialling her exes while hopped up on “go-go juice” or being toxic for the sport of it (“you think that I’m gonna fuck with your head / well, you’re absolutely right”), Carpenter knows she’s part of the problem. Her fake helplessness at her own worst impulses is just one part of a formidable screwball comedy arsenal – she’s a Rosalind Russell for the dating app era. BBT
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Jennifer Walton – Daughters
Bolt from the blue … Jennifer Walton. Photograph: Liam Cosford
This Sunderland producer’s previous work included one EP of power electronics, one of antic club tracks, collabs with Aya and 96 Back as Microplastics, gigging with Kero Kero Bonito and a smattering of other credits. So her staggering, fully formed songwriterly debut was a total bolt from the blue. A swarming orchestral epic with shades of Julia Holter and Phil Elverum, it addressed her grief for her late father in serenely surrealist images – hitting a deer with a car in the middle of the night – and the painfully mundane realism of sitting in hospital corridors together. The standout Miss America combined both to stunning effect, a numbed incantation of everything Walton had seen on the US trip where she learned of her father’s diagnosis, the familiar now remade horribly mythic. LS
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Erika de Casier – Lifetime
Erika de Casier’s fourth album updates the Y2K R&B template that fought for body-to-body sensuality in the face of rising digital creep. The old-school dial tones that pierce Lifetime’s rapt, liquid atmosphere work both as Janet homage and ironic sigh at how good those forebears had it when emotional warfare could only be conducted via pager: “Took a screenshot so / I could look at your pretty face all the time now / Without a sign that I’m online,” de Casier sings on earworm Delusional, a low-slung anthem for contemporary dating anxiety. “Hit midnight / Not even a text to hold me warm,” she rues on The Chase. That’s one of the most inviting things about Lifetime: its seductively cool surfaces conceal de Casier frantically kicking her feet below the surface, just like the rest of us. LS
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Danny Brown – Stardust
The Detroit rapper’s first post-rehab record totally disproved his fears that sobriety makes artists boring. On Stardust, Brown is still hard-wired with cartoonish verve, coupled with a genuinely touching sense of gratitude: “Sleeping real good at night ’cos I’m proud of myself,” he raps on Book of Daniel. While you probably wouldn’t describe someone who ponders “going bonkers and knocking out your chompers” as a wise elder, his hunger for life, opportunity and unmediated sensation blares through in how evidently gagged he is to centre younger producers from the digicore and hyperpop undergrounds: his unruly kids 8485, Jane Remover, Underscores, Frost Children and more make Stardust trip with glitch, rave, squealing riffs and overdriven noise. The rare record that makes you want to riot and shed a smiling single tear emoji. LS
40-31 coming soon
Come back tomorrow for the next 10 albums in the countdown!