How do we remember? What is it that clings to us long after the moment has gone? Memory tends to exist first as a series of images, of sensations encoded in words that we then arrange as we piece together the narratives we think of as our remembered lives. The unsettling truth, though, is that all of these stories are our own constructions, and once we start sifting through them, trying to pin down the kernels of reality, they begin to drift apart, vaporous as curls of smoke escaping up from the dance floor.
There is no chance in hell you can ever expect an unbiased Frank Ocean review from me. I got hooked on his music almost exactly five years ago, but it wasn’t infatuation on first listen. I stumbled upon nostalgiaULTRA when I was heavy into Earl Sweatshirt and Tyler, The Creator’s early work, but it didn’t click for me until I heard Frank described as the neo-soul James Taylor. In a way, the two are uncannily similar. Their musical styles feel homegrown, each with their own kind of longing Americana, each completely different from everything you’ve ever heard, yet incredibly familiar and comforting. Once that connection registered with me, I began to obsess over cuts like ‘Strawberry Swing’ and ‘We All Try.’ Since Channel Orange came out a year later, I haven’t looked back.
Henry: I haven’t listened to much James Blake to be honest, though I’ve heard his music around and generally liked it. That being said, I have to be in a certain kind of mood to listen to him. His slow, atmospheric style has a kind of pensive melancholy to it, which can either be nice or sorta depressing. I do like how smooth this whole album is, almost entirely devoid of sharp, high frequencies, save for rim-shot snares and crisp hi-hats here and there, which cut through the swelling harmonies to carry this thing along.