On their recent album Rumspringa, Jonah Paz and Yaelle Avtan’s iPhone recordings feel simultaneously like a ripped page out of a scribbled diary and a dilapidated house party anthem, as if the album is safeguarding secrets but is also fickle in how it carries them. Their music oscillates between bewitching stillness and hypnotic electronic scraps. Then came New York's Nicholas Gay and his Lockimara album Only Sun, Only Moon; and Nashville’s prolific Logan Hornyak, aka Melaina Kol, with his album Okay that’s a great idea if I do that then; and Eau Claire five-piece gash on their full-length at least you know what you’re laughing at; and the duo of Mikaela Oppenheimer and Hayden McGarvey, who just dropped their new EP The Point’s A Truss, My Trusselina under the moniker Trusselina.
These artists all conjured some kind of digital rucksack sound, something that feels both introverted and extroverted. Moments across these releases range from electrifying to startlingly naked. Most songs occupy both poles.
Melaina Kol’s “Bleater” transforms chopped vocals from Lowertown’s Olivia O. into something shamanic while string pricks are balanced by arco pulls of sustained notes. The effect is hushed and tactile, like hairs standing up on the back of my neck. gash’s “Data Master” operates on noodling guitars, gear-shifting clangs, snagged vocal clips, and possessed whooshes before the track completely undresses with a standard drum kit and moody guitar strums. And, of course, there's Lockimara's "Lose Her," where Carolina Smith recites hopeless romantic lyrics: "Loser/ Always you'll lose your heart/ Stuck in your head phones/ Tapping the same beat/ Talk to me." The haptic assistance of piano and acoustic strums during the verses fall away for the euphoric non-chorus — a rhythmic explosion of metallic clanks with her voice spliced in the background.
Whatever she divulges amidst an explosive drumbeat and billowing synths evaporates. I’ve become increasingly fixated on this sound where the tendrils of folk and the wires of electronic glitch music get tangled. For months I’ve been twirling the words "glitch folk" around my head.
There was even a blog post where I gave the term "intimatelectro" a test run. This series of albums has felt simultaneously nostalgic and innovative, with the signatures of fragile voices, testy electronics, warm acoustic instruments, or transfixing melodies. The nostalgic essence stems from resemblances to 2000s acts like the Postal Service, Frou Frou, múm, Architecture in Helsinki, Atlas Sound, maybe even Ariel Pink.
The term "laptop twee" has been thrown around to a nauseating degree lately, with ear often in the conversation. This essay is not about that, but it maybe nestles up to similar concepts. "Twee" almost seems oxymoronic when describing these albums, especially compared to the sounds of Ben Lee or Boy Least Likely To.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
