Musician James Blake burst suddenly into public view with his strange and original take on dubstep, before the puttering blares of today changed the genre forever. He rode the movement to fame, but by the time his self-titled debut was released he’d morphed into something more versatile – a singer-songwriter with a penchant for moody, contemplative pieces.
His second album, “Overgrown,” released this year, was recently awarded the 2013 Barclaycard Mercury Prize for best album in the United Kingdom. In light of this recognition, writers Sebastian Torrelio and Tony Huang discuss Blake’s merits. Torrelio keeps seeing new revelations in Blake’s composed experiments, while Huang contends that Blake misuses his talents.
BY SEBASTIAN TORRELIO
A&E; senior staff
storrelio@media.ucla.edu
James Blake’s eponymous 2011 work accomplished what many artists of the modern era had been doing: releasing debut albums experimental enough to be noticed for their innovative direction, and good enough to mark them as “artists to watch” for several years to come, whether or not their future albums would remotely resemble their new, nearly unmatchable quality standards.
Fortunately for Blake, one of the few acclaimed artists from 2011 to already release his next work in timely fashion, he may have outdone himself. “Overgrown” takes the ideas of “James Blake” and expands upon them, providing a satisfying evolution to the mellow tunes that Blake delicately controlled two years prior. Where “James Blake” exhibits mastery of the basics, “Overgrown” finds Blake appropriately outgrowing the restrictions placed upon his genre.
It’s difficult to see “Overgrown” as a new style of music, however, or at least difficult to pinpoint it. Perhaps “Overgrown” is more alternative, whereas “James Blake” was more experimental. Honestly, the details matter little in the end – as an electronic artist mixing the recent appeal of dubstep with the classic appeal of blues, Blake does what he does so well that he can only be compared to himself, a man of a genre all his own.
How, then, did Blake win the 2013 Barclaycard Mercury Prize, outshining pieces of art from other musicians who had similarly shown off their technical proficiency in the past year, from Arctic Monkeys to Laura Marling? Unlike “James Blake,” where the most standout tunes were covers that Blake reinvented to make his own, “Overgrown” gives center stage to Blake’s own writing, allowing him to majestically design a musical environment with a quiet drum beat and a low hum.
Blake has never redefined himself – or at least hasn’t done so yet – he’s only doing what he’s been doing better and better, somehow finding places to go that we thought we’d already covered.
Plus, it helps that PJ Harvey wasn’t nominated this year.
BY TONY HUANG
A&E; contributor
thuang@media.ucla.edu
My problem with James Blake is that he’s caught between two worlds and doesn’t feel like giving up either. His dubstep background is plenty to chew on – the EPs before his debut, for instance, are splendid electronic pieces that create a thoughtful atmosphere without sacrificing rhythm. And his singing isn’t too shabby either, especially when he first album revealed his vocal ability on his cover of Feist’s “Limit to Your Love.”
But somehow putting two and two together didn’t make for much at all. The first album was passable, with at least two or three compelling, straightforward R&B; tracks (my favorite: “The Wilhelm Scream”) stuck in a bog of half-formed, structureless songs. “Overgrown” makes his ambivalence about his own talents even more apparent. He’s evidently grown extremely confident, and fond of, his crooning abilities. He’s going for even more experimental rhythms, but the strange music this produces comes off as inexplicable and rarely memorable.
Perhaps he really wants the singer-songwriter handle to mean something – he wants to be a “serious” artist. He flexes his lyrical muscles, loading the album with obscure and melancholy musings, but the overworked sorrow only makes confused musicality signify as dour. His vocal swoons, “oohs” and “aahs” come to dominate the only melodies that he’s willing to spare. And through the whole thing there’s such a total absence of joy that the RZA feature on “Take a Fall for Me” might be the weirdest thing on the album.
There’s no denying Blake’s originality or his ambition – if nothing else, he’s not content with being average. But I always wish he’d admit to emotions other than melancholy, that he’d condescend to write choruses, and that he’d tell a joke or two, once in awhile. He might still be great as an electronic artist, but if he’s going to put his voice out there, then I need him to seem a little more human.