Dijon – Yamaha

After “Yukon,” its producer…

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Julian Axelrod: If The-Dream’s “Yamaha” paid tribute to Prince by blowing out every element of his sound to its maximalist extreme, Dijon’s “Yamaha” picks up the baton 15 years later and runs in the opposite direction. Instead of building a purple shrine out of gleaming million dollar synths, Dijon inverts his homage by sucking all the air out, roughing up the edges, and cramming found sound fragments into every inch of the margins. But somehow he arrives at the same transcendent destination, climbing a rickety ladder of passing thoughts to the upper reaches of heaven to scream the most heartfelt hymn of the ADHD era.
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Alfred Soto: Leading with what sounds like an homage to — or a sample of? — “O Superman,” “Yamaha” teases by revving up without leaving the garage. Dijon’s sticky melodies and delicate rasp scrape the muck off the surfaces. Fifteen years after The-Dream recorded his own Prince-ly ode, here’s Dijon deconstructing “Yamaha” for “The Ballad of Dorothy Parker” era. 
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Al Varela: You ever hear a song so good, so infectious and delightful, that you repeatedly forget that there’s an “O Superman” sample within that gorgeous, shimmering production? So seamlessly integrated too! Dijon’s passionate cries pouring his heart out as the world dances around him… That’s R&B.
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Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: It’s not quite as feverish as the highs of “Many Times,” the song that instantly sold me on Dijon’s slightly curdled, deeply charming appeal, but even in the more restrained environment of “Yamaha” I can’t help but be charmed. He does not show his influences (Prince, Chaka Khan, Hall & Oates) with any degree of subtlety, but subtlety in R&B is overrated; everything here feels like a pouring out of feeling in the most beautiful way.
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Claire Davidson: I’m saddened to report that I was no fan of Dijon’s Baby, which to me sounded like a collection of disjointed samples and instrumental snippets that collide at such a frequency that prevents any emotional throughline or musical payoff from culminating in the wreckage. “Yamaha,” at the very least, tries to haphazardly connect its disparate parts into something resembling a hook, but the process of getting there is slow going, as Dijon’s distorted vocals are made to trudge through the grinding percussion and jagged ribbons of guitar that adorn the verses. That chorus does offer a decent look at the best possible outcome of Dijon’s abrasive approach, its multitracked vocals and huge stabs of piano keys pairing well with the sing-along sincerity he delivers in proclaiming his infatuation with a partner. If what Dijon wants, though, is a total embrace of this kind of elation, a song that can replicate the transcendent bliss of true love, why, then, is there so much clutter around the sentiment?
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Ian Mathers: We cover so many pro forma, formula-following songs here that the mere fact that Dijon is making interesting choices with his structure, sounds, and singing feels like water in a desert. The middle eight where the song practically breaks down into component parts? Yes, more of that please. And yet it’s still a pretty smooth jam. 
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Katherine St. Asaph: The production is so refreshingly multilayered, lush and lascivious. Everyone should be trying to do this much.
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Leah Isobel: “Yamaha” gestures openly at quiet storm, new jack swing, and waves both chill- and vapor-. And yet as it progressed through section after section of plush, escalating crunchiness, Dijon’s voice draped across the song like 50-foot ribbons of taffy, I stopped thinking about genres and started thinking dumber thoughts, like “What the fuck?!” and “Oh my god?!” and “This is insane?!” I didn’t know a major label release in 2025 could still sincerely move my cold, cold heart!
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Nortey Dowuona: This sounds like A.R. Kane using Prince’s drum machine, then having to fuck it up at the last second when Prince catches them and chases them around the studio with pillowcases full of bricks.
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