Released August 24, 2013
6 / 10
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Has This Hit?, Foreign 2
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The Krockadile, Will I Come
It's hard to forget Archy Marshall's cavernous voice after hearing it from the first time. Its unique tone, combined with an undeniable presence, heightens the intensity and emotional stake of melodies on the artist's debut under the name King Krule. Only 19 at the time, he made a record that encapsulates the atmosphere of an emotionally turbulent adolescence (adolescence in short) in London in the 2010s (as I write those words I can't believe the "2010s" are now something we can look back on). The music borrows from dub, garage, jazz, predominantly preoccupied by texture and space - and achieving the desired effects with the help of production by Rodaidh McDonald (The xx, Adele, Daughter, Bobby Womack, Vampire Weekend). Parts feel like controlled improvisation, expanding the composition but rarely distracting from the album's MVP: Marshall's voice is pushed to the forefront of the arrangements, oscillating between strength and unsteadiness, bouncing off twinkling electronics and sometimes failing to pass the ball to other compositional elements to shoot the winning shot. "6 Feet Beneath The Moon" has a lot to do with finding your path in life and living with the uncomfortable reality that the future is largely unknown. King Krule isn't afraid to sound vulnerable and share the labor of his search for meaning. The music can then feel disproportionately disquieting until you remember that most tracks were written between the ages of 15 and 19 (with one that can even be dated back to Archy's 12th year on Earth!). It's not hard to relate to youth's anxiety - especially if you're part of the same generation. Easy Easy kicks off the album with this sense of dissatisfaction with your life, looking for a way out of a cycle of monotony. It starts with guitar riffs in the emptiness; from the first notes, Krule's voice strikes as passionate through the slurring and power. It's a decent introduction to the album, built around crescendos and cool-downs that preface the unbridled potential of Krule's vocal performance. The Krockadile sees him struggling with his sense of purpose. From a matter-of-fact observation ("I can't see my eyes"), he touches upon a deeper struggle. His gaze can only directly see and judge everything but itself: to see his own eyes, he needs an intermediate medium, like the eyes of his love interest. He can then only receive a slanted view of the self, through the other person's judgement, and live and act only as a reaction to the outside perception of himself. It gets tiring and exasperating to think of how hard it can be to be yourself when knowing yourself requires so much effort. Throughout, drums roll on, creating an impression of relentlessness that makes the song needlessly long in my opinion. I got lost about halfway through, which is a shame considering that I found the latter half to be richer and more enjoyable in subsequent listens. He finally comes to the slow realization that losing grip is mostly a growing pain and that he has to let time free himself from his burning emotions in Bathed In Grey. The piano-led jazzy ballad, supported by a subtle backbeat, finds Krule asking the listener a question he asked his love interest earlier in the album, breaking the fourth wall in the final seconds of the album - "has this hit?". The palpable malaise in "6 Feet" also has to do with dealing with heartbreak - emotions and feelings that transcend age but can feel particularly suffocating through the prism of youth. The record certainly feels solitary and intimate, yet it strikes a very universal chord. Border Line is set in the aftermath of a break up. Its major flaw is that its clumsy composition suggests lyrics were written without consideration for the melodies, leaving space for the vocals to have to catch up to the ska-infused chiming guitars and percussions at times and vice-versa. Has This Hit? combines the pessimism on future life prospects evoked earlier ("I will end up on the dole / It's my life, and I'll fall into that goal") with a major romantic letdown. Instrumentals resonate so much that the track sounds like it's recorded in a warehouse, with meandering melodies that don't sound like they have much of a structure to adhere to at first, reflecting the lyrical sense of being lost. The guitar compliments Krule's vocals by softening its raspiness, as it trembles from a variety of emotions, from despair to anger. Pain builds up until it turns into resentment and a stark realization: "You're not my heart / You're its breaker". A Lizard State picks up with a similar mood and raises it a couple notches. From the first verse, rejection has not made him a better man. He feels taunted and makes it known - "You f*cking bitch / You don't know when to stop" -, to the point where it can feel uncomfortable for the listener as the rant continues - "And now I'm gonna f*ck things over 'cos that's a start / Well if I can't have her then no one can". Sonically the track feels a bit out of a place on the album and production might be to blame; horns sound too distant and the track feels quite dry, contrary to the rest of the album. In fact, most of the record dwells in a swampy place, running loops in watery sounds and dripping in adolescent confusion. The augmentation of the voice with reverb, muted instrumentals and stark contrast in space creation by the arrangements are all elements of this wet moon's surface. The plaintive trip-hop Foreign 2 relies on an eerie oceanic ambiance, with synth emerging from the depth of the percussion-led composition. Baby Blue shows a more tender side to Archy's voice, as he still laments after that girl who had him wrapped around her finger. The low-lit ambiance features some clicking, sharp percussions very similar to those heard six (!) years later on FKA Twigs'"MAGDALENE". Emotions build up along the song and become achingly desperate by the end of the haze. Cementality is sinister and soothing at the same time. Krule contemplates suicide as a potential escape route. Guitar riffs are notably absent from the better part of the track, while vocals faintly echo on a background of cosmic humidity. The idea of death sounds soothingly inviting, dangerously attractive but the magic is (thankfully?) broken by the inexplicable guitar-led outro. Finally, Ocean Bed takes the water metaphors too far, finding easy and obscure analogies alike, with mentions of "this sponge side", "the warmth of your tide", "I'll cross my coastline", "so let my waves take what I adore" and "off the shore". Musically, it's a sunny take on "6 Feet"'s wet drunken haze and its spoken words phase is enthralling - unfortunately not enough so to make up for the gauche lyrics. "6 Feet Beneath The Moon" really is a debut full of promise, conjuring hazy images firmly grounded in personal experience. It's when Krule is more attentive to his emotions and translates them as they come that he's most effective, or in his own words, "when the scenery starts peeling" (Ceiling) we get to hear murmurs from the kruniverse expanding.
Favorite lyrics
"Enter my bed through that window I hit zero As guiltless loveless sins flow Through me, you threw me I descend smoothly My concrete bed beckons Can you hear me?"
Cementality
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