To round out his time under his Childish Gambino moniker, Donald Glover has thrown a bit of everything at the wall in a stuffed last record. As such, his final album is a more of a sporadic mixtape that may be given coherence once its source-film comes out, but for now feels like an album that gives enough to everyone without succeeding as a larger work. With this in mind, our review will focus in on the songs we enjoyed the most. “Steps Beach” merges a Kauai and modern era Gambino, with the soothing vocals and guitar relaxing your soul, before the divine synth rolls through every chorus like a beautiful wave. The slinking bass of “In the Night” gives a playground for the entrancing rhythms and Jorja Smith’s vocals to fly, while the kick leaves just enough attitude for the Amaarae verse to work. “No Excuses” feels like a completely different record and era of Gambino, like an alternate world where his Awaken My Love sounds expanded into elevated and mysterious score-like creations for him to harmonize on. And the full freakout they all go into in the funky second half of the song makes for an explosive shift, and one that cements itself as a standout on repeat listens. Similarly, “Happy Survival” feels like a meld of this missing era and everything Khruangbin is known for, just effortlessly groovy, and with a touch of island warmth baked in.
There’s a very theatre-style, rock opera energy as the tension builds on Harriet Chung’s “Popcorn Film.” While the initial ramp-up of the track of the song almost seems like a too vague round-up of random couple activities, Chung at least changes things up when the true drama of the track kicks in. As she melds in the cinematic themes into their own love life, the narrative steps up and helps overshadow the track’s occasionally generic lyrical choices. Brief and to the point, Chung takes a simple premise and quickly elevates it.
After years of honing their craft and shifting pop sensibilities, Cults find themselves in a lo-fi heaven. Though not always as hook heavy as their previous work, there’s a sharp production to their latest work that leaves a stamp in their discography. The duo’s dreamy worlds are at the forefront on “Crybaby” as warped bells and pianos give the vocals their place as a centring point, and the calming place in an otherwise demented lounge pop track. There’s such a singular feeling to the retro tones of “Onions” that it manages to thread the needle of feeling of a time without being derivative, as the blown-out beauty creates a kind of collage-like sound reminiscent of MGMT and Vampire Weekend’s tinkering that is a beast all its own. The fantastical narrative scope elevates “Eat It Cold” beyond a simple swing of synth organs, bringing you through a mythical dimension of wonder. Between a bit of David Lynch and other cinematic romanticism, “Cells” echoes genres of sci-fi where there’s something supernatural amidst, but the whole mood itself is charged with a romance that makes it feel almost haunted.
Between sparseness and a deep world of sound, Mo Kenney carves out a whole new dimension on “Signs of Life.” Modulating between rustic, sci-fi and a more sporadic sound, the track is a rotating wheel of aesthetics, following the inner highs and lows of dealing with a new romance. More than that, the cold and harsher tones do as much to reflect the harsh feelings from others, while also shedding a light on the pain that can come from self-doubt alone. The rotating shape of the track flows effortlessly nonetheless, showing Kenney is refined as ever, and ready to make a big splash on their latest record.
More pop-punk and emo-esque than ever, while mixing bitcrushing with sprawling dance production, Porter Robinson has a one-of-a-kind sound here. While the sound is often out of this world, the corny tendencies of the lyrics create an atmosphere where you’re either on board or cringing at times. “Cheerleader” does some of the best work pulling all the catchy and powerful notes out of Robinson’s combo, with the song constantly exploding into the stratosphere of its lush futuristic tones, and never sitting too long in its sappier moments. A barrage of sunny and glossy 90s nostalgia overtakes you on the shimmering glow of “Year of the Cup,” while the recorded chatter gives a brilliant contrast for Robinson to play over. The cracks show the most in “Easier to Love You,” as much of the production stays stripped away, and Robinson’s crooning comes off all too cheesy and self-indulgent in this case. The opposite feels true in the dense sound of “Is there Really No Happiness?” as Robinson finesses all the intense emotions of their writing through the sonic waves and makes an immersive listen that yanks you in deep and never lets go.
