Tony Stamp sifts through the maelstrom of responses to Beyoncé's latest, discovers a new Melbourne singer called Feign Jima, and checks out the 8th album from NZ's queen of drum n bass, Tali.
Renaissance by Beyoncé
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The term ‘poptimism’ appeared in the mid-2000s, essentially arguing for pop music to be treated with the seriousness afforded to other genres. In 2004 critic Kelefa Sanneh wrote in the New York Times "stop pretending that serious rock songs will last forever, as if anything could, and that shiny pop songs are inherently disposable, as if that were necessarily a bad thing.”
Fast-forward to 2022 as a new Beyoncé album enters the world, and look at the discourse it has fostered: within minutes people online were sharing opinions on its place in Black musical history (particularly dance music), its approach to gender and queerness, its critique of America, and its inclusion of musical techniques like sampling and interpolation.
She’s such a fixture in pop culture, and this album is such a rich blend of elements, it’s hard to imagine it treated with anything other than the utmost scrutiny.
First single ‘Break My Soul’ samples the hugely distinctive keyboard line from Robin S’s ‘Show Me Love’, a 90s house music hit, and the vocals of Big Freedia, a pioneering queer musician who helped popularise New Orleans Bounce music.
The album is dedicated in part to Beyonce’s late cousin who was gay and had HIV. She credits him as "the first person to expose [her] to a lot of the music and culture that serve as inspiration for this album."
Like a lot of blockbuster releases these days, Renaissance runs long at a whopping 16 tracks. As has also become standard, a lot of writers and producers are credited on each one. Thewrap.com crunched the numbers and counted 104 songwriters credited songwriters. A lot of this is due to sampling, where the original composers receive credits.
This became newsworthy when Diane Warren, who’s written hits for Celine Dion, Cher and Aerosmith, tweeted “How can there be 24 writers on a song?”, in reference to the one we just heard, ‘Alien Superstar’.
She went on to say she meant no offence, and received a thoughtful reply from one of the writers involved, The Dream. He said “You mean how does our (Black) culture have so many writers? Well, it started because we couldn’t afford certain things starting out, so we started sampling and it became an art form.”
A conversation also started about sampling vs interpolation, which is when a melody from another song is used. This too became news when Kelis, famous for her song ‘Milkshake’, objected to part of its melody being used in this song, ‘Energy’.
After her objection, the melody was removed, as was her writing credit. And that’s not the only change made to the album since its release - an ableist slur has been removed from another track.
Perhaps all this controversy is to be expected when you’re one of the world’s biggest stars. But it hasn’t overshadowed the music, which is impressive even just in terms of sequencing - each track flows into the next, and a lot of the album has the feel of the nineties dance parties Beyonce is drawing on.
She raps almost as much as she sings, an interesting move when you have one of the world’s most distinctive singing voices, and continues what I think is a big part of her appeal, a defiant sort of feminism, which can be traced back to her time in Destiny’s Child (think of ‘Survivor’ for example), and is prevalent here in tracks like ‘Move’, which features none other than Grace Jones.
A common thread in the maelstrom of responses to Renaissance is its call for self-love in hard times, and for Black joy, whether that be through hedonism or comfort in one's own skin - as per the reference to stretch marks on ‘Move’.
There’s also a critique of America running through the album - she refers to herself as "un-American" on the very first song, and there’s a track called ‘America Has a Problem’.
It’s a safe assumption she’ll keep digging into these topics in the near future: Renaissance is Act 1 of a 3 act project. It can only be a good thing that all this discourse is being fostered, and all from an artist straddling many demographics, reaching anyone who feels the need to dance.
Funny How Things Turn Out by Feign Jima
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There’s an artist on the rise in Melbourne whose songs have a timeless quality; filtered through generations of folk music, but perhaps hewing closer to dream pop thanks to their languorous quality. The finest component might be her voice - stately and sad, but endlessly listenable.
Feign Jima is the project of Jamie Fanning, who lists names like Weyes Blood and Julia Jacklin as influences, and drew comparisons from me to locals Tiny Ruins and Nadia Reid.
The roots of these songs go back much further though - a lot of the chord changes and melodies evoke pop from the 50s and 60s.
This is her second EP, consisting of 4 songs, with the fitting name Funny How Things Turn Out. It suits the mood of defeated optimism that runs through the collection; with Fanning’s voice the perfect conduit for that particular sensation.
As you might expect from tracks this yearning, they tend to focus on relationships gone awry. On the song ‘Ultimate Defender’ she addresses a friend she’s become estranged from. She called it “a desperate plea for connection”.
Fanning has pointed out she wrote both her EPs during Melbourne’s various lockdowns, but it’s hard to imagine her making anything too upbeat - never say never though.
In the meantime, these are four songs designed to offer moments of serenity in a turbulent world. ‘Beaches’ does have a few moments of harmonic dissonance, but they only make the remainder that much sweeter.
Future Dwellers by Tali
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In 2019, drum n bass MC and producer Tali won Best Electronic Artist at the NZVMAs, and in her speech acknowledged the fact that, in the 18 years she’d been a musician, it was her first nomination or win. This despite a career that includes a top 40 hit in the UK.
The PR for her 8th album comments on the fact that she’s still NZ's only female DnB MC, and that she's the first woman vocalist in Drum & Bass to self-produce her own album.
These facts are startling, and perhaps the reason that on Future Dwellers, she’s often absent from the mic, choosing to focus on production, and hand over the spotlight to some up-and-coming vocalists.
Tali’s career involves time spent in Melbourne and London, working with some of drum n bass’s most notable producers. She’s written a book, released an album of music for kids, and created the Women in Electronic Music workshop at Massey university.
The mid-2010s saw her moving into engineering and producing her own music after she grew impatient waiting to receive tracks to sing on, and on Future Dwellers is the latest proof of how accomplished she is at it.
Guests include Elipsa, Luca George and Jaz Patterson. Tali only sings lead on one song - ‘Firecircle’.
That one’s notable for its departure from drum n bass’s hectic tempo, keeping some interesting textures but opting for a dubby 4/4 groove.
There are a handful of instrumental cuts here too, and it’s on these that she really gets to flex her production skills. Opener ‘Mansion’ skitters along on pitched-up drums and shimmering synth arpeggios, and occasional wisps of her disembodied voice.
The tempo slows again on ‘Cause and Effect’, which retains the moodiness of DnB, but comes close to being an affirming party-starter, thanks in part to the presence of INF from SWIDT.
I’m not sure who the 'future dwellers' of the album’s title are, but drum n bass has always modelled itself as a prescient genre - despite being around for over thirty years now. There have been constant reimaginings and emergent subcategories of course, and here Tali seems to be drawing on the darker side of the genre… until the last track.
Called ‘My Remedy’, it’s an unashamed pop song, with Ruth Royall’s vocals celebrating the healing properties of music. Tali’s spoken voice enters near the end, giving thanks to every dancefloor she’s blessed during her career. It’s an appropriate endpoint, and a well-earned one.
