Emika
Emika

It's been seven months since I last wrote a review, having found myself in the middle of the classic de-existential period of the de-reviewer. I asked myself, but why talk about music if I can't dance about architecture? Then I thought about it poorly and realized that I am going through an existential period since I exist, but if I exist at least that's good, so if I de-exist that's also good, and if it's good it certainly stands between sufficient and distinguished, which gives me a good reason to de-scribe another review on debaser.

Today, on the day of Epiphany, I want to talk about this sufficiently cute English girl, with black hair and sky-blue eyes that are so vampiric chic. Distinctly appreciated even by the English press that wasted no time labeling her as the "female James Blake", in reality, she has very little in common with that whiny brown-haired kid (who, judging by the disappointing following EPs, I consider already boiled barring last-minute surprises). What connects them is the Dubstep genre, because the syncopated rhythm and the basses fuckyeahbasses are those, but then stop. Where Blake drew on soul singing, dubstep minimalism, and the day-before pepper stew, this Emika draws on the darkest Berlin techno (that's where she lives and works nowadays), the darkest Bristolian trip hop (indeed she was born in Bristol), and probably also her darker youthful classical studies, because darkness, you know, is cool. The result of this mix of genres (especially trip-hop and dubstep, I had already said at the time that I'd happily enjoy like a pig if the two genres merged) on paper can only be an excellent thing, if not even outstanding. I say on paper though, because in reality this record provokes a feeling of boredom, a sense of déjà vu, a sense of inconsistency, a sense of a powerful screwing over with Vaseline, so you don't feel pain (or at least that's what they say, I know nothing about screwing over, and that's excellent) like I haven't experienced since the times of...James Blake? (and to think I even liked that one...).

But let's try to explain better WHY this record tends to constantly head towards your back, after all if this woman woke me from the de-reviewing stupor she deserves to be properly analyzed, right? 1) excessive repetitiveness of compositions, all extremely minimal (idiot electronic percussion, ohmygodbass basses, boring synths making up the melody, minimal noises, ironic piano riffs making you yawn, suffering voice that's so cool) 2) disillusionment: "3 Hours" starts, and you say "oh this piece really kicks ass!" (but meanwhile you yawn) then you laboriously get to "Common Exchange" that manages to create an atmosphere (but meanwhile heads dangerously towards your rear) and "Professional Loving," a piece that uncannily resembles Portishead in atmosphere and singing, and you already have a smile on your face... included with a piano riff at the end. Then the tacky "Be My Guest" starts, and you again fall into a lethargic sleep. And it continues, between not very highs and too soporific lows, until you listen to it five times and realize no, it's definitely not the masterpiece you expected, nor even a good album to stay awake to. 3) poorly exploited ideas. Not throughout the album, mind you, but for a good part. Basically, it always sounds cold, icy, and refrigerator worse than The Last Resort by Trentemoller.

All the warmth that could be provided by the piano and the holyshitbasses is taken away by minimalism, by the paroxysmal use of fake electronic sounds (the classic toilet flushing sounds particularly used for the buzzy minimal-techno), and by choosing not to use any damn sampling or guitar, which negatively distances Emika from both Massive and Portishead. What's that, this is the future, am I too far behind? screw the future then! too easy to fiddle around with a laptop and a piano (right Mr. Blake?) and expect to create listening dubstep, a whole different story is having a band with guts and expecting to create listening hip hop. Am I wrong? 4) where good dubstep atmospheres and a good Gibbosian voice sink into a sea of electronic nonsense, not even the idm-techno pieces manage to take off, and although I don't consider myself an aficionado, I believe I've listened to enough electronic music in my life to know what I'm talking about. We are more or less at the levels of inconsistency of Ellen Allien of Sool.

CONCLUSION: once again great premises and once again a missed opportunity to revolutionize a genre that perhaps I will never fully understand in its exaggerated minimalism, but which probably isn't meant to produce SONGS (because that's what we're talking about) that will go down in history. And while I desperately wait for a new Burial album, even without fully appreciating him either, politely farting over those insipid (some more, some less) Jamie Woon, XX, King Midas Sound, SBTRKT, I pass the ball to you and ask for some of your suggestions, perhaps I've missed the best and am rambling like a dolt. Even because, in reality, I do have a soft spot for dubstep. And distinctly so.