What’s your favorite FOX crime procedural/dramedy, Michael?
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Patrick St. Michel: The Michael Kiwanuka live set footage and subsequent shots of people wandering around nature featured in the video for “Bones” came from this year’s edition of Fuji Rock, one of the biggest music festivals in Japan every year. I was at the 2012 installment, and even saw Kiwanuka’s late-afternoon set from the back of the stage. Listening to “Bones” separated from the video brings back some other memories too – of a large chunk of the crowd sprawled out on the concrete, using Kiwanuka’s set as an excuse to grab a quick nap before they battled the crowds to grab a good seat for Radiohead.
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Alfred Soto: The aw-shucks ease feels like affect, the vocals a first-class con job.
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Will Adams: The other day some friends of mine complained about my snarky blurbs. One even joked that I hate music. I’d like to submit “Bones” as Exhibit A that it’s the reverse; music hates me, and is clearly plotting my demise by attempting to bore me to death.
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Anthony Easton: It’s not hip, but there is something to be said about the eschewing of irony, or even (and this is a claim that might not be true) the aesthetics of nostalgia for a song whose earnestness and competence are mutually agreeable. Gorgeous and seductive, one has to sit back and admire the seamless construction.
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Jonathan Bradley: Don’t worry: there’s nothing from the past that can’t be revived through the power of pastiche. Be happy: Kiwanuka’s jaunty syncopation is the rhythmic equivalent of a perky stranger urging you to “smile!” on the grimmest of grim days. He was dull before; now he’s execrable.
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Brad Shoup: It’s fine. It’s got that Sam-Cooke-at-the-Copa arrangement, with Soul Stirrers-style backing vocals. While the snare brushes are – when do you get to say this about snare brushes? – too obvious, the guitar and piano are tracked delicately. I can’t imagine a drop of sweat was shed in the creation of “Bones,” which, again, is fine. Kiwanuka approaches some existential state after the first couple verses, but his Zion Cavillers decide it’s better to signify.
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Alex Ostroff: I guess my problem is that this is second-rate in-studio Sam Cooke. If I need a second-rate Sam Cooke – which is debatable – I’d vastly prefer a second-rate Sam Cooke Live at the Harlem Square Club.
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Jonathan Bogart: The construction is classic supper-club Nashville, and if the guitar had hung back from the one-drop rhythm, it might have been something Ray Price would have been proud of. Of course, Ray Price would have enunciated the words.
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Colin Small: Is “a male Amy Winehouse” a dismissive enough description? Kiwanuka captures the same sort of complacency in struggle as the late singer, an attitude that can be both refreshing and frustrating at the same time.
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