Róisín Murphy
Róisín Machine

Everyone has experienced listening to a song and being struck by it. It's a strange sensation, comparable to the spark ignited between two strangers after a fleeting glance. A mysterious attraction that leads us to press the PLAY button multiple times and repeat the experience in a state of feverish excitement.

Many might have felt this thrill with "Simulation", a track by Róisín Murphy from 2013. We're talking about seven minutes of captivating deep house, full of whispers and rarefied atmospheres, perfect for a sophisticated dancefloor. Well, this track will hypnotize you, and you'll find yourself dancing in your living room or on the street, protected by an FFP2 mask, while rushing to the nearest supermarket. "Simulation" will make you forget everything and take you on a journey to "faraway worlds," strictly with your eyes closed. And it is truly pleasing to discover that it has been chosen as the opening track of Róisín Machine, the latest effort by the Irish singer.

Róisín Machine arrives four years after Take Her Up to Monto and, like other works released in 2020 (Chromatica by Lady Gaga, DISCO by Kylie Minogue, the notable What’s Your Pleasure? by Jessie Ware) marks the return of disco and dance sounds in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic. Whether it’s a move by producers or a desire to gather "crowds" of home dancers matters little, because the phenomenon, though bizarre, has a clear objective: to transmit positivity in a difficult period like the present.

For Róisín's album, this is only partly true, as its genesis dates back to the early 2010s when the already mentioned "Simulation" was created. Between one record and another, work continued and everything was overseen by Richard Barrett, a long-time musician and collaborator. We arrive in 2019: the release of "Incapable" hints at the end of the journey, completed in 2020, when Róisín Machine was finally released.

The first element to catch attention is the title, a result of the assonance between the artist's name and the word "machine." Beyond the playful character, there is, however, a hint at the disruptive force of Róisín Murphy, a true performer (have you seen her performances during the lockdown?), endowed with a deep voice and a more than eccentric look. This explosive mix is diluted into ten tracks for fifty-four minutes of music. And what music, one might say, because Róisín, while not abandoning her cerebral approach, changes direction towards a "dance-oriented club music" that can be labeled as nu-disco.

It is "Simulation" that opens the dance, and after seven years, even in a rearranged version, it still manages to transport us to another dimension. As we continue listening, we encounter songs that not only meet expectations but achieve a balance between past and present capable of offering new and intriguing possibilities for experimentation. This is what happens in "Something More", where references to the 1990s intertwine with typical elements of grime and dubstep, while Róisín lets herself go to frank and genuine confessions ("I live my life the way I want, I own my mistakes/And if it all goes up in flames/I will only ever have myself to blame"). "Incapable" is equally impressive, an immersion into the most profound house whose strength is the refined and engaging crescendo production (the lyrics, on the other hand, reflect on the end of the relationship with artist Simon Henwood and stand out for their bitter considerations: "Never had a broken heart/Am I incapable of love?/Never seen me fall apart/I must be incapable of love"). The album doesn't just offer lounge bar delicacies but also rowdy tracks like "We Got Together", with its mix of acid keyboards and reverberations that project us directly into hyperspace. "Narcissus" seems to have come out of the 1970s, provoking a sense of vertigo and disorientation (who would imagine dancing while listening to phrases like: "The saddest story ever told/The narcissistic glory to be all alone/And I could show you, listen to what I say/To feel real love is to give it away"). There are also bizarre moments like the endless build-up of tension in "Kingdom of Ends" and the sudden deceleration of "Game Changer", an anthem to artistic renewal dedicated to producer and friend Richard Barrett. The level is so high that "Jealousy" doesn't sound liberating but melancholic, as it sadly ends the playback.

It is indeed superfluous to add more and the only criticism we have for our heroine is that she only now reached an album of such proportions. And yes, because with this album Róisín Murphy has surpassed herself, creating a compendium of club culture that doesn't sound like a nostalgic tribute to bygone times, but as an absolutely successful attempt to fuse past and present music. Without relinquishing the strength to look forward and desire something more. And in a period like this, we can't help but agree.

"I want something more!"