Miracle is so unapologetically disco it borders on parody, while Madhouse is a tight, carefully crafted amalgam of Prince, Janet Jackson and the entire Ghostbusters soundtrack. Track after track is knowingly crammed with joyful pop tropes. Meanwhile, for someone labelled a jazz-pop singer, “I don’t want to die / Without knowing what it’s like / To move inside you / The flesh and bone in me / Suddenly it feels so good” is the best R&B lyric since Bey declared her intention to fill the tub halfway and ride it with her surfboard.
His fingerprints are particularly visible on the abrupt, synth-laden chorus of opener Teen Heat, more or less setting the tone for the rest of the album.
Johnson has a mischievous love of the surprise, ear-popping wall of sound – a task to which she set producer Rich Costey on almost every track. Moments later the rising R&B chant in Goldmine wrongfoots us again, and the departure from the art-pop stereotype is all but complete. The track opens with a child’s laughter, giving way to swelling woah-woah vocals that tumble towards that soaring, shamelessly moreish chorus.
It seems effortless, but you get the sense that Johnson knows exactly what she’s doing. Carolina cleanses the palette with a barrage of etherial harmonies and rippling arpeggiated hooks, cramming an implausible amount of sunshine into four, short, ecstatic minutes.
0 kommentar(er)
