MotherFather

Album review

On each of Petite Noir's releases, Yannick Ilunga's conception of Noirwave -- his fusion of post-punk, electronics, and African traditions -- grows more encompassing, and MotherFather is no exception. Instead of the anthemic declarations of identity he delivered so mightily on his debut album, La Vie Est Belle, this time he reaches out to others, whether it's a higher power or a community of like-minded creators. At just under a half-hour long, MotherFather is more concise than La Vie Est Belle, but as demonstrated on the La Maison Noir/The Black House EP, Ilunga is more than capable of creating artistically rich statements in a small amount of space. Despite its brevity, Petite Noir's second album contains plenty of shades within it. Ilunga created MotherFather while reflecting on a personally turbulent time; traveling between Europe, South Africa, and the U.S., he connected with artists and producers including Theo Croker, David Sitek, Tropics, and Moshik Kop, and each of the album's tracks captures a distinct sound and frame of mind. MotherFather begins with one of its most dramatic juxtapositions: "777"'s smoldering strings, swelling vocals, and surging chords condense La Maison Noir/The Black House's firepower into a single track, making the hazy strumming and laid-back vocals of Ilunga and Zambian rapper Sampa the Great on the standout "Blurry" all the mellower. As he navigates these extremes, Ilunga turns to his faith, as on "Finding Paradise"'s beaming bounce, but he doesn't do it blindly. On the excellent "Simple Things," he clarifies the differences between pure belief and the divisive forces of organized religion over a tightly wound beat and Croker's flaring trumpet. And while Ilunga often takes a gentler approach on MotherFather than on Petite Noir's previous work, letting listeners come closer lets him add more nuance to its sorrowful and joyful moments. He turns the weariness of fighting too long for something or someone into a thing of beauty on "Numbers," while "Play"'s lilting melody adds extra sweetness to its flirtatiousness. MotherFather's detailed sonics heighten its blend of the personal, political, spiritual, and sensual, with "Concrete Jungle"'s layered vocals, strings, and chromatic percussion underscoring the pain of being "best friends or enemies" and "Best One"'s rippling and stuttering tones illustrating Ilunga's internal conflict ("I have so many desires/Welcome to my mind") with surprising allure. Thanks to the approachable, tightly edited songwriting, MotherFather's polarities never feel unfocused -- instead, it's a soul-searching journey that makes for Petite Noir's most well-rounded music to date.
© Heather Phares /TiVo