Sorry, K, our phone was out of battery.
[Video][Website]
[5.57]
Michelle Ofiwe: Kelela always reminds me of the luscious, indulgent R&B of the 1990s — that “quiet storm” stuff that always comes on at 3am. I’m always in awe of how *rich* her voice in; there’s a warmth to her voice that comes across super smooth. The upside is that she’s also a whiz at linking up with collaborators who know how to handle her minimalist R&B style: Arca, Bok Bok, FADETOMIND, the list just continues to grow. I’m really hoping to hear more of whatever project this sultry cut slinked out of.
[7]
Alfred Soto: If Tinashe stands at the peak and Jhene Aiko wanders through a fog of perfume at the base, then this is the nadir of laptop soul: aimless and signifying nothing beyond an interest in signifying something, maybe desire, maybe buying a club sandwich. I’m a sucker for this stuff. Often I need a week to distinguish the mediocre from the good.
[4]
Thomas Inskeep: Woozy and provocative like Aaliyah produced by James Blake, with awesome lyrics: this is what I’ve been hoping the new Pitchfork-approved strain of R&B would sound like, and maybe it’s finally getting there. How slow can you go?
[8]
Katherine St Asaph: At his best, on Bjork’s Vulnicura, Arca produced tracks to sound like snuff films. Kelela is promisingly direct — “if I was your ex-girlfriend” — but this time the track is sterile, more like formaldehyde.
[5]
Brad Shoup: I appreciate the thought, but I wonder if A Song would’ve been better. Sharp vocals are converted to aerophone blats, a thick cover for Kelela to keep diving underneath. The stretched-out beat and listless hi-hats have no need to be here.
[5]
Edward Okulicz: I love the haphazardly-deployed whomp effects and the percussive way Kelela’s voice is layered; it’s like beholding tectonic plates moving or an iceberg break into bits. The song’s an immaculate yawn though.
[4]
Micha Cavaseno: It’s funny how this single is both a reasonable step for Kelela but also involves contrasts. Arca’s surging contortionist music involves a certain malleability that the crudeness of the Night Slugs/Fade to Mind crew’s club pastiche never transcended, but his similar work for Twigs automatically comes to mind as the result. Kelela doesn’t attack this song like her old tape’s production required, but her abstract musings seem both more moored by gravity than her collaborator’s other R&B-influenced act, though still too frayed to serve as a conventional single. It displays ambition, talent, and a desire to challenge. Yet I still get tired of this proggish doom-soul sound; for all their enigmatic craft, the artists developing this form rarely go into extremity. Like, I’m talking Tim Buckley, Yma Sumac level vocal departure from the earthly plane. Instead, Kelela just seems to kick a foot up against the air above her, dreaming of disturbing the heavens above. Its nice, and it’s certainly a curious realm to bear witness to, but I’d like to see someone really shove off the cliffs and dive into the unknown sometime. Those are the kind of people I’d love to follow.
[6]