The whole strange ordeal made me wonder even more about the guy behind it. Instrumental drones before and after each track added to the woozy atmosphere, and when the music stopped, I felt a bit bewildered.
Some of the record’s guest artists are recognizable-Badu sugarcoats lusty violence in dreamy sing-song near the start of the record, and Albarn murmurs cryptically toward the end-but many artists’ contributions are layered to the point that some, particularly D’Angelo, are barely audible. The lights were flicked off-Slingbaum had evidently insisted on darkness-as plush, tactile sonics filled the space. I was seated in a cushy windowless room, in front of a speaker system that looked like it could beat me up. The record’s overall effect is blurry and collage-like, with links to cosmic jazz-funk explorers like Flying Lotus and Thundercat in more than just the personnel list (Thundercat’s brother Jameel Kirk Bruner, formerly of the Internet, plays organ). And so, wearing a mask and packing sanitizer, I took an Uber to hear Slingbaum One.
0 kommentar(er)
