PREMIERE: Le Couleur - Underage (In Flagranti Remix)

Phillipe Roberts

Some remixes take special care in disassembling a recording. Zeroing in on minute melodic inflections that even the original artist may not have heard, they surgically remove the vestigial waste and leave you with only the purest of grooves, a Platonic ideal of bodily manipulation. Some remixes display a kind of reverence, a deliberate hesitation in scraping the sacred whole for parts. Some remixes prefer a scalpel.

In Flagranti, on their remix of Le Couleur’s “Underage,” prefer a bulldozer. The laid-back, tropical lilt of the original is sacrificed entirely—its sophisticated exterior shattered, the duo up the tempo and double down on the beat to create a high-powered, intensely explosive release of the densely packed pop energy at its core. It’s hack and slash from the minute the track starts, all sharp edges, with stroboscopic bass arpeggiations fluttering about and those glimmering synths crashing like thick waves of neon across an expanded landscape. In Flagranti do tremendous work playing with dimension; the refurbished song breathes easier even as it constricts around a more jagged pulse.

By the time a vocal sample from the chorus begins to infiltrate the mix, you’ve lost track of time and place, marooned somewhere out on the dancefloor. But In Flagranti know how to reel in a listener with confidence, dangling out all sorts of sonic bait in the form of sensor sweep reverse hi-hats that bend around each other in a feedback loop, and sampled French vocals detuned into a long, slow drip of unintelligible encouragement. Carved up to within an inch of its life, “Underage” is a snapshot of controlled chaos.

REVIEW: Porches - The House

Laura Kerry

“Think I'll go somewhere else / Where I can see into myself / Just watch me go.”

Aaron Maine of Porches sings these lines in a desperate tone that peaks in a vulnerable falsetto as synths swirl and a dance beat pumps beneath him. From the second song, “Find Me,” off of his new work, The House, this moment perfectly encapsulates the album and—if the songs are any indication—the space (both physical and mental) in which Maine wrote it.

Maine’s third full-length as Porches, The House picks up where his last album, Pool, leaves off, continuing to draw from a palette of danceable synths and beats to create surprisingly reflective and dreamy tunes—a departure from his more straightforwardly rock roots. Perhaps a result of newly living alone and mostly recording alone, though, the new album feels quieter and, as the lines from “Find Me” suggest, more introspective.

Beginning with Maine’s bare falsetto singing the surrender “Let it have me,” The House is an intimate experience. In lyrics such as “It's my fault / This I know / It's just hard to swallow” (“By My Side”), “I wonder if you think about me / Not anymore” (“Anymore”), and “I like the thought you think of me” (“Goodbye”), it reads as a breakup album (a reasonable read, considering that Maine wrote it in the aftermath of a breakup). This sentiment reflects in the expressive sadness of Maine’s voice, which is beautiful when allowed to shine.

Elsewhere, though, The House reads as more hopeful. These moments emerge in his odes to love, albeit filled with a dejected kind of longing (“Anything you want / Anything you need / Anything at all / I love you,” he sings in the final song, “Anything U Want”), and in the bright, warm combinations of electronic instruments that demand movement in response.

Sometimes, these two opposing strains feel at odds with one another. In the muddiness on “Swimmer,” the stab of deep bass that feels wedged in on “By My Side,” and a few unnecessary uses of auto-tune (those in which he fails to use it in intriguing contrast to the rawness of the other elements in his songs), Porches’ introspection can occasionally fail to mesh with the sounds that surround it.

When it works, though, it does so to an incredibly satisfying degree. On “Goodbye,” for example, Porches alternates between a bouncy synth melody and a somber piano ballad. As his voice rises, the two parts join, welcoming a gentle but crisp beat and a light touch of guitar, and later, a disco riff and house beat. Here and in many other moments on The House, Maine simultaneously manages to deliver a dose of emotional strife and its antidote, catharsis.

REVIEW: Yaeji - EP2

Raquel Dalarossa

Yaeji is the undisputed rising queen of underground electronic music in New York City and beyond. Née Kathy Lee, the Seoul- and Brooklyn-based producer, vocalist, DJ, and visual artist has practically exploded overnight, frequently headlining some of the best parties in town and enjoying glowing little features in every outlet from The Fader to The New Yorker. If, somehow, you haven’t heard of her yet, then I suggest you look her up. 

Though she’s now signed with L.A.’s Godmode, her sound sits within a more global movement: lo-fi house. Yaeji’s output shares commonalities with other up-and-comers like DJ Boring, Ross from Friends, and Mall Grab, but her cover of the latter’s “Guap” from earlier this year is a great illustration of what exactly puts Lee in a league of her own. Yaeji’s work circumvents many typical house trappings—like, say, repetitiveness to the point of making your eyes gloss over—thanks to what feels like a signature playfulness. She has a minimalist’s ear, curating the details in each of her songs to an impeccable degree, but she also knows how to keep things interesting with ornamental textures, layered vocals, and a hip-hop- and R&B-inspired touch. Altogether, it’s no wonder she’s able to capture the attention of those well outside the EDM scene. 

With EP2, her second release this year (and ever), she gives us five great tracks that add further credence to her dominance and show off the versatility in her music. Like the bowls of Japanese-style kare (curry) that she serves at many of her live shows, her music feeds the soul, offering an opportunity for both connection and introspection. EP2 opens with the sleepy “feelings change,” a short track that sets the tone for a late-night collection that takes you from pensive moments straight into the party. Though “drink i’m sippin on” found popularity as the EP’s first single, “raingurl” is no doubt the standout banger on this set, with bongo-style percussion floating around the slapping main beat. Like in all her songs, Yaeji switches seamlessly from Korean to English lyrics; she’s quickly becoming a face for Brooklyn’s Asian Americans just as much as a staple for women seeking to break into the male-saturated electronic scene. 

The second half of EP2 follows you as you make your way home at the end of the night. “after that” would fare just fine on the dance floor, but Yaeji’s whisper-quiet vocals seem designed more for your cans at home than for the club’s sound system. The track is simultaneously understated and catchy, hazy and foot-stomping. It leads nicely into closing number “passionfruit,” a nightcap that puts a warm, poignant spin on the already softly rendered Drake song. Here, the vocals are so tender that they bring new emotional weight to lyrics like “I think we should rule out commitment for now / ‘Cause we’re falling apart.” 

There’s a sad undercurrent to the EP that comes to the fore right as it ends, but this subtle sentimentality is part of what brings Yaeji’s music to life and makes EP2 a mesmerizing release. Most of all, what’s most evident here is that Yaeji’s reign is just beginning.

REVIEW: KRTS - Close Eyes to Exit

Kelly Kirwan

It's easy to see that our fabric of global and social relations is frayed, at best. I'll be quick in reiterating the hot topics of late: terrorism, racial profiling, climate woes and struggling economies, all of which are working in tandem to create an undercurrent of fear and mistrust (or, on the flip side, a dissociated sort of numbness). In response to this world-teetering-on-a-pin state of current affairs, electronic producer KRTS (Kurtis Hairston) crafted a think piece told in broken beats, jungle, and deep house. The lens through which he views world affairs is of particular interest—as an American expat in Berlin, watching the unrest in his home country as both a native and now (technically) a foreign observer.

His sophomore album, Close Eyes to Exit, was crafted under the German-based label Project: Mooncircle, which describes the LP as an “exploration of progressive beats and elegant melodies.” It’s a compilation that cuts on a deep, emotional level, because entwined with the moments of frustration and anger are delicate and classically-infused reprises. KRTS doesn’t go for the obvious, stylistically or thematically. Close Eyes to Exit stirs the desensitized and calms the enraged—a welcome change from talking heads and cold, hard statistics. 

This exploration of our unsettled world begins with "Sealed," which stretches just over a minute. It builds with a misty, choir-like chorus of “oohs” that are both softly sung and ominous, coming across as more of a mourning than a warning. Adding to its intensity are deep, deliberate piano keys, rising in a staccato style beside a taut and frenzied string section. These elements combine to craft a lamenting, eleventh-hour urgency that then deflates into crinkling, white-noise ambiance. A metaphor for our world’s current trajectory, perhaps? 

Whatever the intent, it catches your interest and bridges your investment. Other, “softer” tracks include "Reizenstein" and "White Privilege" (even with its charged title). The first dives into light and sweeping interludes after a fuzzy, tinkering metallic start. The second has an ethereal, fluttering, harp-like accent with a muted percussion reminiscent of clapping hands and snaps. It’s a beautiful melody to match an ugly reality, and perhaps that’s exactly the point. 

The harsher counterpart, then, would be "Serve and Protect," featuring Sacramento-based rapper Mad Flows. It begins with a looming police siren, punctuated by low, warped vocals as he raps overhead, “Ghetto children like ghosts / Their face expressionless / And all the news say / Another thug from a violent home.”  It’s a powerful outcry against discrimination, with Mad Flows assuring us that turning the other cheek is no longer an option. “That’s why I bring fire to these cavemen” he asserts towards the song’s end, a promise to catapult humanity forward (and also a likely reference to the plight of Prometheus).

As for the album highlight, I would have to award "My Head is Jumpin’," featuring Charles and Tito of Brooklyn indie outfit Legs. It has dreamy undertones, mesmerizing vocals, and if you’re not one to save the best for last, listening should start here.

In all, Close Eyes to Exit faces the tough subject matter of our everyday without rose colored glasses or hot-headedness. It’s abstract and still organic, adding a visceral component to the news that’s so often lost in our feeds. Well done, KRTS.