Anti - Epitaph

Singer-songwriters Jade Jackson and Aubrie Sellers have toyed with melding rock and country on their respective solo records, but with their new team-up as Jackson+Sellers, the duo have created an irresistible genre of their own. There are dirty garage-rock guitars and racing drums on their cover of Julie Miller's stripped-bare "The Devil is an Angel," speeding up and beefing up the backwoods Americana track into something that sounds like it could've been recorded by a 2000s rock band like the Kills or Jet. That song is a pretty good encapsulation of Jackson+Sellers' style: devilish and angelic at once. So is "Wound Up," a rockabilly honky-tonk dervish set at a hyper-pop pace and adorned with sultry vocals, as well as "The World Is Black"—outlaw posturing with super scuzzy guitar and defiantly strutting drums. How many country songs do you find yourself head-banging to? "Breaking Point" is more country-flavored, with Sellers taking the lead and sounding like an edgier version of her mom, late '90s country superstar Lee Ann Womack (who broke out of Nashville's confining box herself with 2005's There's More Where That Came From, presaging a return to classic '70s sounds). "Fair Weather" feels like a big '80s ballad with crisp, almost synthetic drums and breezy vocals; you can imagine the sunset-on-the-beach video that would've accompanied Wilson Phillips or Belinda Carlisle's version. There's a sparky, surf-rock cover of Shannon Wright's "Has Been" and a drawn-out and completely unexpected, countrified take on Suzi Quatro's glam-punk "The Wild One"—bratty guitar like a slow-spreading sneer while Jackson and Sellers coo lines such as "I'm a green-eyed bitch and I wanna get rich" as if butter wouldn't melt. Spooky lullaby "Hush" illustrates Jackson's poetic and evocative flair for lyrics: "Wind's wild, sparrow beguiled/ By a rose of fragrance so sweet/ She swooped down low like wind to an arrow/ And crashed in its soil and seed." And single "Waste Your Time" is a charmer, unfurling as a reimagining of '90s alt-pop: Jackson and Sellers' angelic harmonies colliding with quirky, punch-drunk guitar and soft-thunder dynamics that turn into a fury of crashing drums and a raucous guitar solo. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

Worn down from touring for her acclaimed 2016 album, Black Terry Cat—a remarkable melding of Erykah Badu-style hip-hop, neo-soul, wild synth noise, Latinx traditions and loads of swagger—Xenia Rubinos saw a curandero. The healer diagnosed the Connecticut-born Rubinos, whose mother is Puerto Rican and father is Cuban, with "perdida de espiritu": a loss of spirit. But there was hope, as he assured her she hadn't lost her gift of music. To revive herself, Rubinos looked to the past, recalling a wind-up lamp in her abuelita's home that played the dreamy, romantic traditional "Una Rosa"; she used that to create her own version of the song, with airy flute that turns more aggressive, underscored by looming bass, as the song and, presumably, Rubinos, moves forward. Una Rosa feels, and is, different from her past work—it's more electronic and with more Spanish lyrics. That's incredibly striking on "Sacude," which alternates between spare clave and hip-hop-meets-rumba thump as Rubinos slips between Spanish and English. "I'm carrying the weight for both of us," she sings, the pulsing, throbbing music evoking pain and fear. And if she doesn't let it go, death will come: "Cuanto quisiera salir de esto ya/ Si sigo este rumbo/ Pronto me sorprende la muerte." That dilemma of trying to keep it all together also plays out in the lightly bouncing '90s R&B of "Cogélo Suave," as Rubinos' smooth assurance of "I'm doin' fine like all the time" confusingly crashes into an admittance of "well, I don't know"—which then dissolves into a nonsensical "menamena" chant. R&B-inflected "Don't Put Me in Red" cleverly puts it straight to concert-venue lighting engineers who like to give her fiery-tinted "Latina lighting." "Dress me, undress me/ I'm so spicy, you don't like me" go the snappy verses, before she croons like Sade: "Don't you put me in red/ I hate it." "Working All the Time" weaves in air sirens and an early Destiny's Child vibe to cast side-eye at the trap of capitalism; bright-and-shiny "Who Shot Ya," with its stuttering "get it get it get it," is about cheering people to stand up for themselves rather than putting their faith in power players: "Get their rest, get their peace, get their money, get their justice—to get up and get it," Rubinos has said. But perhaps the most stunning moment on the record is the pulsing electronica of "Did My Best," about the shock of a loved one's sudden death. Against a backdrop of industrial-sounding chaos, Rubinos adopts a robotic voice; you might expect it to be cold, but it's painfully human. "I didn't even get to say goodbye," she yells with so much confusion and angst, the intimacy is almost unbearable. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

"[T]he album works surprisingly well. Because it’s beholden to no overarching conceit, the music sounds looser, a bit wilder, more lackadaisical..." © TiVo

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Experimental music can be often hard to digest, especially due to the gate-keeper culture surrounding it, however, noise poet, artist and musician, Camae Ayewa aka Moor Mother, packages up her experimental ideas and delivers them to the audience in a way that is digestible, and more so than that, thoroughly enjoyable. Ayewa’s latest project, Black Encyclopedia of the Air, is a thirteen-course degustation that will leave you feeling full to the brim. Ayewa’s intention with this album is clear, she mentioned that “I wanted to make it more accessible, and to get to ears that don’t really know me or have been afraid of me.” The album does that perfectly by blending soul, 90’s RnB beats and house music which on a surface level, makes this album already replayable, however, it is when you look deeper into the lyrics that you can understand the full breadth of Ayewa’s genius. Although palatable, the tracks never lose their powerful meaning, such as on Race Function Limited where her words cut through the track...“Mama made me/Tall baby/Out the guts of slavery/Grits and gravy/Shackled babies.” One frequent downfall of experimental albums is that they can often become tedious, especially when the tracks tend to drag on, however, Ayewa has successfully triumphed over this cliche. All tracks other than the explorative ambient track Tarot, keep themselves to under 3 minutes. Although the full album is only just over 30 minutes in length, we are taken on a journey through Ayewa’s message of collective responsibility and intergenerational trauma, which is spoon-fed to us in a way that sounds somewhat familiar, yet completely new. The opening track, Temporal Control of Light Echos, introduces us to the album like a narrator would introduce a play. The curtains rise and the show begins... Race Function Limited treats us to a feature by Brother May who gives us a taste of that classic South London sound. The following track, Shekere, transports us to the West Coast with a sound that is reminiscent of the Odd Future gang, whilst Iso Fonk has hints of a more experimental Yeezus.  Made a Circle lulls us in with a lo-fi beat and buttery flow before Nighthawk takes us to another planet. The album is rounded out with Clock Fight where the incessant drumming and agitated ambience under Ayewa’s intense poetry is maddening yet exhilarating. This album is a journey through hip-hop culture whilst also being an insight into the genre’s future. Although softer than Moor Mother’s previous work, this album is no less exciting than the others. Every track seems to propel you into the next, making your listening journey invigorating, interesting and inspiring. Ayewa is quoted “It’s about understanding the different ways that I have to go with such a radical message. My music is tied to a future and a history.” And that future is in Moor Mother’s hands. © Jessica Porter-Langson / Qobuz

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