FKA twigs – LP1
“Futuristic” is a weird word to use when describing music, precisely because it’s so vague. Does that mean it sounds like it’s made with not-yet-existing technology? Or that it sounds like what we imagine the kids twenty years from now are listening to? Or that evokes sci-fi films that guess at the near-future? As much as a cop-out as the word can feel, though, FKA twigs’ debut full-length, LP1, sounds futuristic to me—not for just one of those reasons above, but for all of them. With Tahliah Barnett’s use of breathy vocals and reverb-heavy production, the album definitely has its roots in the early-2010s R&B and indie electronic scenes, but this music is so slippery that it can’t be pinned down. The production sounds more intricate with each listen: drums scatter and stop, synth lines spring down from the sky and fly off again, drones rise and fall, bits of digital noise jump in a for a split-second before stretching out into something sweeter. Barnett and her fellow producers (who include Clams Casino and Blood Orange’s Devonté Hynes) merge disparate styles like UK garage and church hymns, and then turn it into a seductive come-on without getting too fussy about it. That description makes LP1 sound more fragmented and difficult than it actually is, though. This is a sound Barnett’s been fleshing out on the EPs that preceded this record, but she brings it all together here, where the music is formally experimental but the songwriting is refined enough so it sounds immediate and human, even poppy, working as well in the headphones as a slow-jam club set.
“Two Weeks”‘ pulsing hums give its sexual longing a desperation and subtle anguish—which makes it even sexier. “Pendulum” begins almost as a kissing cousin to James Blake, all spare, clipped falsetto, but eventually the dam bursts, creating a climax of quivering effects and layered vocals. Meanwhile, “Closer” rides on a drippy, high-pitched synth whine with Barnett singing like a one-woman children’s choir, belying the vulnerability underneath it. “Lights On,” though, is all about vulnerability. “The man that you are is defined/By the way that you act in the light,” Barnett coos, carefully gauging each step as she moves to a new lover. Barnett’s words don’t always hit as hard; some of her yearning can get a little broad (“Why you gotta go and hurt me babe?/Why you gotta go and make me cry?” wasn’t particularly evocative when Boy George sang the same sort of thing 30 years ago either). But this hardly matters when the wash of the music helps to develop the lust and heartbreak she sometimes can’t convey lyrically. And that’s pivotal: this is a sensual album that’s actually sexy, not because it can get vulgar (though that helps), but because of how the music creates an emotional intimacy. Rather, if LP1 has a stumbling block, it’s that while it’s distinctive in its own right, it could stand to change it up more from track-to-track. As a whole, it holds together wonderfully, but it’s also the type of album that doesn’t have a ton of dynamic range: If you tuned out for a few minutes before locking back into it, you’d be forgiven for thinking the track hasn’t changed up yet. But that’s no matter, especially this early in her career. What’s important is that Barnett has been building up steam with each successive release, and LP1 is the culmination of her work so far, a formal announcement of a unique talent, one that hopefully continues to push toward the boundaries of commercial pop. Hopefully the kids of the future will be listening to music like this.