16 OCT 06 FEB
In Burak’s Los Angeles studios, he got his hands on renowned I Love Makkonen’s Tuesday song with vocalist Danelle Sandoval.
With his remix of single ‘Tuesday’ reached the #1 position in iTunes, Shazam, Apple Music and Yandex in Russia & CIS countries. It also peaked at #14 in the Apple Music World Chart and the global release on 2nd of September, 2016 by Warner Music and DJ contest victories like other stamps, but is still regarded as an insider tip of the electronic dance music scene.
Future and the Weeknd went in very different, very well-documented directions in 2015. Eschewing pop fame, the Atlanta rapper immersed himself in codeine and the dense trap beats of his pre-Pluto ;days. The Toronto singer, on the other hand, largely shed the sparse sound of his famed ;Trilogy in favor of MJ-worshipping, ;Max Martin-heralded pop success.
But the Weeknd did maintain his trademark destructive behavior. In this regard, he and Future are kindred souls. They’re self-aware yet unapologetic, and operate best in the shadows. On “Low Life,” Future drags the Weeknd back into the depths from which he had hardly receded. “I just took some molly, what else?” Future confesses from the onset, as if there’s no alternative. The Weeknd simultaneously pulls some melody out of Future Hendrix, who never really starts or stops singing. Together, they find a middle ground of deadpan lyrics and palatable sonics. The Metro Boomin and Ben Billions-produced beat creates a similar contrast with echoey vocals or piano chords layered on top of drill snares. Nothing is surprising to Future and the Weeknd. No behavior is deplorable. They both sound natural and expressive on “Low Life,” free to act and emote however they’d like.
As Porches, New York’s Aaron Maine typically writes from the perspective of a sordid loner. Right on cue, the hook from “Be Apart,” off his upcoming LP Pool, goes, “I want to be apart of it all.” It’s very much in character, and it subdues any speculation that his Domino debut might be a starmaking endeavor. Thematically, “Be Apart” seems to contradict its form—a synth pop song mixed by Chris Coady (Tobias Jesso Jr., Beach House, Future Islands) in L.A.—but it’s still 2-D, nearly monophonic. This is a mockup of dance music made on Mario Paint for people whose dance moves have as much rhythm and range of motion as those of Toad.
Context matters, though, and “Be Apart” is an unusually upbeat, innocent song for Porches. When he sings the hook, it comes across as: “I want to be a part of it all,” echoing the city’s definitive paean to personal reinvention. (Not surprisingly, it was inspired by Maine’s move to the big city after growing up nearby in Westchester.) But Maine’s handsome, hungover tenor and the deflated synth tones express that success is not a foregone conclusion. “Be Apart” appears less about the ecstasy of the dance floor than a more particular kind of excitement—one that comes with embracing the fear of the first step towards it.
Nine albums in, ;Woods ;have changed course a few times, albeit marginally. Just compare “Sun City Creeps,” the opening track of the upcoming ;City Sun Eater in the River of Light, ;to the opener from their ;last album: ;”Shepherd,” with its Sweetheart of the Rodeo ;pedal steel, was warm and beautiful. ;”Sun City Creeps” ;veers away from country sheen, instead riding a sort of world music noir. A horn section opens things on a gentle, mournful note, and their staccato guitar and languid horns ;nod to old Ethiopian jazz records, mariachi bands, and Ennio Morricone soundtracks. For most other bands, these sort of aesthetic shifts from record to record rarely work, and worse, tend to look like desperate attempts at staying vital.
Most other bands aren’t Woods, though. And given their pace—nearly a record a year for 11 years—it can be easy to forget that they’re phenomenal musicians. But when the song calls for it, they’re expertly flashy, coming through with a frantic electric blues solo at the song’s midpoint. They’re arguably even better when hammering out the details—how they suddenly double up a melody, the way Jeremy Earl’s trembling voice adds tension, how they shift from minimalism to their all-hands-on-deck funk jam, and so on. It’s thoroughly captivating. Considering how many genres you could peg in “Sun City Creeps”—and despite how they’ve never made a song quite like it before—it’s impressive that this sounds definitively like Woods. Perhaps Earl’s vocals provide a through line, but it’s heartening to see this band consistently head in new directions without ever losing their voice.
From the movie Race, a film about Olympic athlete Jesse Owens.
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