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LP
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O0 008LP
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Never Cursed is an unpredictable introduction to skins' ethereal, drifting meditations. A onetime producer for Metro Zu and Goth Money, his early, collage-style productions are here mixed with a palette of piano, organ, violin, guitar, and washed-out effects. The flux of styles reflects a life in transit from his parents' home in Jaffna, Sri Lanka to Toronto, CA, where the instrumental parts were recorded at St. James Cathedral, and ultimately to London, where he is now based, and whose mutant underground patently informs his nods to the post-everything scuzz, the radical ends of rap, and ambient-pop-noise. As debut statements of intent go, Never Cursed leaves a heady impression. The plangent, instrumental blooz of "my life, my soul, and all that i sacrifice" sounds like some Sade breakdown wafting over a Cocteau Twins instrumental from another room; harmonized, cascading guitar and whirling sax -- blissed and immeasurably sad. From here, the album runs like a downbeat mixtape, submerged hip hop drums, melancholy, psychedelically-activated texturing. "Thick skin" could almost be Honour jamming with Grouper, and the grungy swag of "tidying a tide" feels like Yves Tumor on a downer, while "skin extract" or "hide" land in the midst of Oxhy or Felix Lee's emo-tronica. The final transition from "when will the leaves at my window turn green" to "my looking glass" and the heart-in-mouth denouement of "at the altar" exemplify a knack for harder-to-place, mutant ambient chamber musick á la the c.a.n.v.a.s. label or even James Ferraro. Like pretty much everything we've heard from the shadowy O___o? stable, it comes shrouded in a peculiar fog of mystery and romance. Cover art by Rosita Evelyn C. and her son. Mastered by Amir Shoat. Clear vinyl; edition of 300.
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LP
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O0 005LP
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Astonishing smoldering R&B flex from Brooklyn's Dawuna, making strong debut moves on the ace O___o? label that gave you LA Timpa's first record. If u like it slow x dripping in a Prince/D'Angelo style with intricate. Almost concrète production -- this is as good as it gets. The debut of the decade? Aye, v possibly. Slow baked for a gooey core and crispy texture, and laced with sonic THC, Dawuna's Glass Lit Dream settles on the soul like the time delayed release of a good edible. It's a hugely accomplished first effort, drawing comparisons with everyone from Tricky to Prince at his wooziest and most downbeat, to the timeless frayed intimacies of Leila's Like Weather, or the asymmetric pop skew of Mica & Tirzah, yet patently possessed of its own worries. The magick lies in how Dawuna works them out, channeling a quiet stream of consciousness thru velvet vocals, ranging from aching croon to ASMR whispers, and most nimbly stitched to crunchy drums and nagging licks that feel like Burial and Timbaland productions re-imagined by Bernard Parmegiani. Occupying a shadowy fidelity that's too meticulous to be called lo-fi, but clearly not oozing typical R&B gloss, the ten songs hold a huge amount of broad appeal while boldly reserving the right to fuck with you and switch track at right angles without notice. They play out in mixtape form, crucially bridged with crafty transitions that make it feel like we're sleepwalking around Dawuna's dreams between the mechanical knocks, domestic rustle and close miked vox of "The Ape Prince" and bruised blooz of "The Lethe, The Sea." You'll be totally snagged on the stranger Afro-goth R&B lilt of "The General" (that ends with a remarkable ASMR/concrète spell), and the Timba-tight drums and sore vocal motif of "Bad Karma" lay a proper earworm, while "Moon, I Already Know" is an unmissable piece of gently curdled, alien gospel recalling a tempered, less flamboyant fusion of Arca and Autre Ne Veut to the lugs. Aqua vinyl; edition of 1000.
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