Culture Greyhound

“Welcome y’all, to the Timbaland and Missy Hit Factory…. A lot of people try to sneak in and get the ingredients…. But I am the man behind the ingredients…. So please, come to me with the recipe baby.”

Timbaland’s resume is pretty impressive; he’s built beats for some of the most important names in hip-hop, R&B, and pop. Anyone who has casually followed popular music for the past 25 years knows this. But no matter what he does, he will forever be linked to the work he did with Missy Elliott, the most dominant, the most influential, and probably the most talented, female MC of… all time? Together, on Missy’s debut Supa Dupa Fly and elsewhere, they constructed a blueprint of collaboration that few have been able to rival. And it seemed fully formed when it arrived, via this album, in 1997.

Missy, for her part, is a chameleonic force on each track, able to bend and mold her voice, whether singing or rapping, to fit the style Timbaland’s futuristic, slippery, and downright funky production required. While Elliott was well on her way to inspiring generations of MCs with her laid-back flow and iconic presentation, Timbaland was gradually crafting a signature sound by making the studio a chemistry lab for eccentricity.

The unmistakable Busta Rhymes opens the proceedings with a classic verse structured around propulsive ad-libs. From there, the next voice we hear is Lil Kim; Missy is building anticipation for her intro with an impressive duo of opening acts. The first time we hear her voice on “Hit ‘Em Wit Da Hee,” she isn’t rapping, but singing, already showing off her dexterity on her debut album, alongside a funky slap-bass sample. The big-beat 90s hip-hop anthem “Sock It 2 Me” is next, in all its horn-hook and plinking piano glory.

The album is a cornucopia of who’s who in mid-90s rap, with features from Da Brat, 702, Ginuwine, Aaliyah and more. The most prominent guest star, of course, is emerging producer Timbaland, who lends his vocals to a few tracks in addition to innovating work behind the boards.

Timbaland was only dipping his toes into the trademark idiosyncratic sonic choices he’s now famous for, but you can hear glimmers on album highlight “The Rain.” The track also acts as our first listen of a rapping Missy, whose laconic flow pairs well with Timbaland’s echo-y ad-libs, bouncing liquid bass, creeping beat, and foundational Ann Peebles single. The song sounds deceptively minimal compared to what Timbaland would create in the future; there’s actually a lot going on behind MIssy’s bars.

We get another futuristic, albeit busier taste, of what Timbaland brings to the album on “Beep Me 911.” Missy’s croon confidently slides around an energetic wave of funky sounds, unfazed by the extraterrestrial madness around her. Popping percussion and gibberish bars are the standouts on “They Don’t Wanna Fuck With Me,” while “Pass Da Blunt” playfully interpolates Musical Youth while Timbaland beat boxes. The duo then brings in Ginuwine for a vocoder-heavy slow jam in “Friendly Skies.”

The pair are perfectly in sync throughout; when Timbaland pivots to soul, Missy leans in with a dynamite singing verse. When he goes off-kilter with skittering beats, Missy brings surreal, humorous bars to fit the vibe. Though sometimes dropping free association verses, the lyrical theme is consistent – Elliott delivers memorable statements on modern womanhood, relationships, and respect.

With Supa Dupa Fly, Missy and Tim concocted a recipe indeed – one that would be attempted several times over. But decades later, there ain’t nothing like the real thing.

Score: 8/10

To modern ears, at least initially, Tres Hombres probably just sounds like a standard Southern rock album, an eager effort to capitalize on the success of the genre that was beginning to be all the rage in the early 70s. To an extent that’s true – ZZ Top’s third album grabbed hold of the public in a way that their previous efforts did not. But listen closer and you’ll hear something peculiar. Something maybe you can’t put your finger on. That thing is the ZZ Top Of It All, the idiosyncratic tales from Billy Gibbons, the unpolished sound, the supremely fun delivery. It’s a twist on a familiar sound that the trio all but perfected on Tres Hombres.

The lean, half hour album opens with a straight shot of boogie blues on “Waitin’ For the Bus,” which seamlessly segues into another blues rock jam; by this point you might be worried the whole album is going to sound like this, but Gibbons’ raw guitar tone on “Jesus Just Left Chicago” will keep you intrigued. From there, we are driven along a Texas highway via the band’s trademark chugging road trip rhythms on “Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers.” Later on, things slow down and switch up for the love song “Hot Blue and Righteous.”

There’s a lot of lore among ZZ Top fans (my dad’s favorite band, btw.) Speculation endures regarding whether, in lieu of a pick, Gibbons got his unique, Texas-sized guitar tone from playing with a Mexican peso. Southern rock gives a nod to a lot of things, depending on what band you’ve got on the turntable: Dixieland pride, the joy of making music in the middle of nowhere, the lost desperation of living in the middle of nowhere. ZZ Top were all about mystique and elusiveness; their version of the sound is undeniably Texan, at once boastful, mysterious, rooted in history, familiar yet otherworldly. And like Texans, It can’t be bothered with the other Southern notions; ZZ Top were doing their own thing.

“La Grange,” arguably the band’s signature song, is the best example of this distinct sound, a perfect stew of bouncy blues, erratic drum fills, and barely decipherable lyrics. This song, this style, is paramount to the band’s immortal success; they are a foundational group that dodges pesky things like the passing of time and the rise and fall of surrounding trends. It is why a band so indebted to the blues of B.B. King could influence someone on the other side of the rock spectrum, Steve Albini.

That is the ZZ Top Effect. And it all started with Tres Hombres, a one-two punch of blues, ghost stories, and that trademark Texas charm.

Score: 9/10

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce… the hi-hat.”

The opening track, lead single, and main event of Raw Like Sushi is “Buffalo Stance,” which is a perfect song. The track is a funky mash of glossy 80s pop and underground hip-hop, an endlessly fun clapback at shady gigolos, and something of a mission statement for Neneh Cherry, a Swedish-born artist who was raised by other artists (and is the half-sister of 90s hitmaker Eagle Eye Cherry). Notably, the album cover features Cherry showing an example of the “buffalo stance,” a mean-mugging pose that, according to her, represented the attitude needed for survival in inner cities.

I intend to give “Buffalo Stance” its own devoted post at some point, so for now I’ll just say I love the song so much I demanded it be played at my wedding. I’ll also say that the song is a hard act to follow, but Cherry is more than ready for the challenge. Raw Like Sushi serves as a voice to marginalized women of color and their male-dominated communities, a refreshing perspective for 80s pop, or any era of pop, really. It’s also an absolute thrill – a head rush of styles and sounds from the world of pop, rap, New Jack Swing, jazz, and other stuff I probably didn’t even catch.

Another excellent single, “Kisses On the Wind” tells the coming-of-age story of a confident woman who learns to control her fate with the men in her life, featuring spoken-word Spanish dialogue throughout and a heavy hip-hop break halfway through. “Inna City Mama,” meanwhile, is deceptively upbeat, with shuffling percussion and hammering piano solos surrounding a treatise on the despair of urban life.

Cherry is dominant and clever in her raps, but also maternal and compassionate; famously, she recorded and promoted the album while pregnant. Alongside dance-heavy bass hits and horn samples, she delivers a message of advice to young women in “The Next Generation.” The carbon-dated 80s production surrounding Cherry may have aged considerably, but the message remains an important one.

“Hearts” shows up a little over halfway thru, a full-on New Jack Swing banger with a schoolyard taunt rap bridge and skittering samples that you won’t find on a Bel Biv Devoe single. Things slow down a bit for the synth-heavy “Phoney Ladies” before kicking back into gear on the Paula Abdul-esque “Outre Risque Locomotive” and the poised closing track “So Here I Come.”

Raw Like Sushi was forward-thinking in 1989 with its melding of genres, and it remains optimistic in its message of female empowerment and assertive display of streetwise swagger. Even in the 21st century, it’s a fun and hopeful body of work. The lyrical realities are vital, but the vibe is club-ready buoyancy. Neneh told you at the beginning: it’s sweetness that she’s thinking of.

Score: 7/10

It has taken all of my life, but I have finally managed to make time to hear So, the acclaimed 1986 art pop album from former Genesis mastermind-turned worldly solo troubadour Pater Gabriel. The album has always intrigued me, mainly because I love “Sledgehammer,” which was #1 the week I was born and which soundtracks inarguably one of the best music videos of all time. The song is a ton of fun with its horn stabs, bamboo flute intro, and Gabriel’s not-so-cryptic innuendo. The surrounding album itself is immaculately textured, immersed in world music instrumentation and highbrow pop composition, with production by Daniel Lanois. The atmosphere is rich throughout, and there isn’t a skippable song in the bunch.

“Red Rain” features some nice hi-hat work from Stewart Copeland and Gabriel delivering an impassioned statement on the destructive state of our world in a more grisly, gravely register, a particular delivery Dave Matthews would imitate in the next decade. The album smoothly transitions to “Don’t Give Up,” a somber take on rising unemployment featuring guest vocals from fellow audio auteur Kate Bush, who delivers the optimistic rebuttal to Gabriel’s dismay. The song fades with an incredible bass line, then we are rocketed into African rhythms and professional 80s pop sheen courtesy of “That Voice Again.”

Gabriel and Lanois capture a haunting soundscape in “Mercy Street,” perfect for a tribute to the confessional American poet Anne Sexton. The abrupt change in mood to “Big Time” is quite jarring initially, but the single is too fun of a moment to stay in that headspace for long. We’re treated to a satire on yuppies alongside a funk-heavy, bass-led arrangement fit for the topical message. He hit the nail on the head, but many of Gabriel’s quips on consumerism in “Big Time” could easily be applied to the culture of 2022 as well.

“We Do What We’re Told,” meanwhile, serves as a dystopian mantra of sorts that has traces of Pink Floyd’s The Wall, before giving way to Gabriel’s elaboration on the song’s theme of blind obedience. The daring “This Is the Picture (Excellent Birds)” was composed with help from avant-garde visionary Laurie Anderson and features a captivating rhythm that would fit well on the front half of Remain In Light. The album (n its streamable version, at least) closes with Gabriel’s most beautiful work, the massive hit “In Your Eyes,” a flawless realization of the artist’s vision and the album’s focus. The song is a spellbinding mixture of Brazilian rhythm and technologically advanced (for 1986, anyway) Fairlight DMI synths.

With So, Gabriel reached the peak of his commercial and artistic journey – the experimentation and gradual shift to pop songcraft produced what is still regarded as one of the best albums of its era, and Peter Gabriel compromised almost none of his vision to create it. Almost forty years later, it remains an intriguing and rewarding listen.

Score: 8/10

I was worried we had almost given up on Animal Collective.

After their magnum opus Merriwhether Post Pavilion, which brilliantly melded avant pop (and Panda Bear’s Brian Wilson dalliances) with the experimental side of the band’s previous work, they created a slight misstep: the sharp left turn into inaccessibility, Centipede Hz. After the underrated, but still somewhat underwhelming Painting With, Panda Bear retreated, leaving the remaining members on their own to produce a self-indulgent visual album about coral reefs (Tangerine Reef). They followed this with the inessential film score Crestone. Overall the 2010s were a prolonged journey into the weirder side of their sound. But while that side produced interesting albums earlier in their career, unfortunately in the following decade it had begun to sound like AnCo had lost their way.

I’m happy to report that Time Skiffs reunites the full group for one of the strongest albums of their career, and by far their best since 2009. Animal Collective sound completely rejuvenated and have a more mature, firmer grasp on their strengths individually and as a whole.

Opener “Dragon Slayer” locks the Collective back in step, featuring oddball rhythms, chimes, and sun-soaked harmonies. Those harmonies are even louder and more prominent on “Car Keys,” while lead single “Prester John” is a spaced-out trip in line with the band’s best work. The oddest song on the album, “Strung With Everything,” is a more subdued, toe-tapping approach to the experimental freak-folk tendencies we heard the group perfect in the mid-00s with albums like Feels and Strawberry Jam.

The band’s homage (though not really a musical one) to Scott Walker, aptly titled “Walker” is the album’s most pop-leaning moment, not unlike the band’s most known song, the blissful “My Girls” from Merriwhether Post Pavilion. This is the one that’s gonna make you dance; skittering percussion and a loping bassline accompany energetic xylophone hits and the group’s trademark layers of sunny vocals.

Things get almost outright jazzy on “Cherokee” before transforming into a wave of soaring synths and layered, echo-coated singing. The song is over seven minutes long, but contains none of the noodling that plagued much of Animal Collective’s previous work over the past several years. Things get more melodic and hypnotic on the slow-tempo tune “Passer-by,” while “We Go Back” is a swaying track destined to be a favorite at the band’s live shows.

Time Skiffs is everything longtime, patient AnCo fans were waiting for. The album is never boring, every song is distinct, the forays into ambiance don’t overstay their welcome. Animal Collective do here what they’ve always done best; they strike the right balance between atmosphere and melody, between the challenging and the beautiful. The group has taken a songs-first approach to Time Skiffs, and the result is nothing short of impressive. Who knew Animal Collective still had it in them?

Score: 8/10

Bizarre Ride kicks off with a jazz interlude, which segues, via record scratching, into the rowdy opener “Oh Shit.” All at once we are introduced to The Pharcyde – a playful, satirical, humorous, rap collective from South Central LA. In the age of gangsta rap, these guys were lowbrow clowns by comparison. But time has treated their debut well – Bizarre Ride and its maximalist melodic layers, lush samples from producer J-Swift, and straight-up funny rhymes sound as fresh as the day the album dropped in the fall of 1992.

Punchlines ensue throughout the album, but let’s be clear: The Pharcyde had something to say. The skit “It’s Jiggaboo Time” is a satirical comment on black caricature, delivered in a fashion only the rambunctious, clever group could bring. “4 Better Or 4 Worse” features big beats and echoing piano lines that remind me of East Coasters A Tribe Called Quest. But the colorful, self-deprecating, and over-the-top lyrics reveal these guys weren’t just copycats from LA. The lyrical dexterity was there, but the Pharcyde went into character in lieu of standing on a soapbox. It was more cartoon than conscious, more Shock G than Q-Tip.

The banter and casual back-and-forth of The Pharcyde is immediately recognizable to younger listeners. Because of my age, they immediately remind me of Jurassic 5, a crew that emerged a few years later (so much so that Jurassic 5 seem shamelessly derivative by comparison). “I’m That Type of Nigga” is a party anthem with carefree charm akin to Slick Rick and Beastie Boys. Fatlip, Slimkid3, Bootie Brown, and Imani trade bars like the Wu Tang without delving into the New York collective’s penchant for street raps. The Pharcyde still have a thesis to convey, but the presentation was more lighthearted than their peers, which was probably why Bizarre Ride II The Pharcyde was only a modest success.

Throughout the album, a sly balancing act between socially conscious rhymes and humorous wordplay is consistent. “Soul Flower” is infectious, from the horn line to a deftly-placed repetitive sample of a woman humming. “On the DL” features incessant record scratching, pleasant piano lines, and background vocals that are reminiscent of vocal R&B groups of the time, like Shai. “Officer” deals with racial profiling by police, and interpolates the style of Public Enemy, from Flava Flav’s hypeman intro to the screeching sound effects. The end result, however, is 100% Pharcyde. Lead single “Ya Mama,” meanwhile is pure comedy, a whole gimmicky song based on, you guessed it, “yo mama” one-liners.

Better, and more successful, is the follow-up single “Passin’ Me By” an immediately recognizable track for even the most casual hip-hop listener. The song deals with each MC commiserating about schoolboy heartbreak. My millennial mind just kept hearing Joe’s “Stutter” the whole time, which heavily interpolated the song years later. Near the end of the album, the full goofy side of The Pharcyde come out in the “Quinton’s On His Way” interlude and the spaced-out weed anthem “Pack the Pipe.” Alternative rap has a tendency to reflect on the past (much like other rigid “alternatives” like alt-country) and the Pharcyde lean toward this on the closer “Return of the B-Boy,” paying homage to the origins of hip-hop and giving notice to “sucker MCs.”

Gangsta rap, at its peak, was about telling sobering tales, evoking masculinity and keeping it real. The Pharcyde, by contrast, were about telling far-fetched stories and keeping it interesting. They didn’t take themselves too seriously, which was not common of rappers in their era. They were a refreshing alternative to the onslaught of mostly humorless G-Funk lyricists.

The Pharcyde never reached the dexterous heights they conjured in their debut. Critical and commercial interest waned with each subsequent release, and slowly the group became a revolving door for members and producers. But when they had their moment, it was a pretty significant one. In the age of The Chronic and Illmatic, The Pharcyde probably sounded pretty… bizarre. But for those who were growing tired of the mean-mugging in rap music, they were likely a breath of fresh air. After the dust had settled, Bizarre Ride II The Pharcyde stands out as one of the best in its lane.

Score: 9/10

Like the majority of music fans, I am more familiar with Bleed American, Jimmy Eat World’s breakthrough album from 2001. Their previous effort Clarity, however, is considered very influential, and many claim it was commercially overlooked upon its release in 1999. Having finally heard the effort all the way through, I can attest to the praise: Clarity is a sharp, consistent album with a heavy replay factor.

Before we go any further, I must express my deep-seated bias for energetic pop-punk over the softer emocore. I have dabbled with The Hotelier and Modern Baseball, but I’m a Blue Album guy more than a Pinkerton guy. It’s just in my blood, y’all! But despite my penchant for fast-paced rhythms and chugging power chords, I can appreciate the impact of Clarity, a foundational album that lays the groundwork for an entire subgenre so effectively its imitators have all but rendered its most ingenious elements a cliche.

The album opens with the mellow, introspective “Table For Glasses,” followed by the now-classic single “Lucky Denver Mint.” These two openers set the tone for the rest of Clarity, and Jim Adkins’ and Tom Linton’s vocal harmonies are signature to the unmistakable sound of Jimmy Eat World.

The variety of instrumentation is startling, but not overbearing; this is not a typical guitar-and-drums listen by any stretch. Zach Lind’s electronic percussion programming, particularly on the aforementioned “Mint,” is akin to something a maturing Blink 182 would lift several years later. Lind’s bells and chimes layered throughout bolster the album’s pensive framework, a perfect setting for the existential, sometimes somber lyrics to shine through.

At times, we can hear what was to come: “Your New Aesthetic” features a chugging guitar intro reminiscent of the band’s future blockbuster hit “The Middle.” Unlike that Bleed American single, however, the song isn’t upbeat or optimistic, but rather insular and shoegaze-influenced. But Jimmy Eat World have always been able to tug at the heartstrings, as is clear on the Weezer-esque “Believe What You Want,” sporting screeching guitars and an anthemic chorus. Meanwhile, “A Sunday” is wistful and pensive with just a tinge of outward emotion and melancholy, a style Chris Carrabba of Dashboard Confessional would adopt.

While the arrangements keep us guessing, the mood rarely changes. This hampers the project slightly, as filler starts to creep in near the middle. Thankfully, things pick up near the end with highlight “Just Watch the Fireworks,” featuring violins and other warm instrumentation. The album closes with a series of Clarity’s strongest tracks: fan favorite “For Me This Is Heaven,” the welcome change of pace “Blister,” the riff-heavy title track, and the epic 16-minute “Goodbye Sky Harbor.”

The heart-on-sleeve influence of Clarity cannot be ignored, but the band refined their style and made a better album a couple of years later, one that arrived just in time for them to receive the accolades they deserved. Clarity is Bleed American’s introverted older brother. The latter may have been more outgoing and more popular, but it owes a lot to what came before. In fact, so does all of modern emo.

Score: 7/10

Rio is considered Duran Duran’s magnum opus, and now that I’ve finally heard it for myself, I wholeheartedly agree. The album is a near-perfect transition from the band’s New Romantic bona fides to the full-on new wave hedonism that was taking hold. When fanatics of this period (read: me) say the 1980s was a great decade for music, we’re talking about shit like this.

Out of the many, many acts that cropped up during this time, Duran Duran probably had one of the more polished approaches to the sound, and their sharp looks and stylish visuals helped them rise to the top of MTV rotation. As is evident throughout Rio, vocalist Simon Le Bon’s confident yelp is paramount to Duran Duran’s distinction from their peers, as are Andy Taylor’s riffs.

But for my money, the backbone of the band is John Taylor’s workmanlike approach. The title track in particular reinforces this, as Rio dances across the Rio Grande to boisterous bass lines, alongside sprinting synths from Nick Rhodes and a sexy sax solo from session player Andy Hamilton. The band knows their way around a hook and an infectious dance beat, as is the case on lead single “My Own Way,” featuring shuffling percussion courtesy of Roger Taylor. (None of the Taylors are related, which is an interesting thing about Duran Duran that doesn’t get talked about nearly enough.)

Then there’s the immortal “Hungry Like the Wolf,” an eternal jam primarily because of that “doo doo doo” hook that carries the verses to infectious heights. The vibe is similar throughout; even deep cuts like “Hold Back the Rain” and “New Religion” are irresistibly danceable jams.

The album is a bit front-loaded, but Side 2 is hardly skippable. The party slows down and draws to a close with the more subdued “Save a Prayer” and “The Chauffeur.” Initially I was disappointed by this change of pace, but these final songs actually function well and mix things up, keeping the listener fairly engaged over nine tracks. What is consistent, however, is the energy; it’s clear the band is having fun, which only adds to the staying power of this classic album. It sounds like 1982, no question, but that’s hardly anything to complain about.

Score: 8/10

Emo bands usually wear their hearts on their sleeves, but the guys in Anxious leave room for their influences as well. You can clearly hear traces of their fellow Connecticut elder statesmen The World Is a Beautiful Place and I Am No Longer Afraid To Die. There’s also still a hint of their earlier inspirations, like post-hardcore stalwarts Texas Is the Reason. But when I listen to Little Green House, the quintet’s debut for Run For Cover, I keep thinking about a band they have never mentioned in interviews: Jimmy Eat World.

Maybe that’s because, with the pandemic forcing them to cancel their touring plans, Anxious holed up in the basement of vocalist Grady Allen’s mom’s basement to immaculately transform these ten songs into indie punk brilliance. (The basement is located in a little green house, thus the name, and emo-centric artwork, of the album.) These tracks come just in the nick of time, as bands like Turnstile and Vein.FM have turned heads toward an anticipated gold rush of post-hardcore sounds; it certainly doesn’t hurt that TikTokers have embraced a pop-punk revival and brought loud (albeit more processed) guitars back into the zeitgeist.

Little Green House is packed with razor-sharp melodies, in-the-pocket percussion, and seemingly endless layers of hooks. At just over a half hour, without a second wasted, the band try their hand at a number of styles, like modern punk (“Growing Up Song”), power pop (“More Than a Letter”), acoustic pop (“Wayne”), Midwest emo (“Afternoon”), and the aforementioned post-hardcore (opener “Your One Way Street”).

The band may not be shooting for anything other than recognition in their devoted underground, but crunchy riffs on “Speechless” (with vocals that will remind listeners of raw Nirvana demos), and a Cranberries-esque star turn from guest vocalist Stella Barnstool on closer “You When You’re Gone” give signals Anxious are built for much larger print on festival lineup posters. Still, the band doesn’t stray far from A+ contemporaries like Tiny Moving Parts and Somos, even when the songs could pass for Pinkerton-era Cuomo.

That’s what is most striking about Little Green House – unlike other albums of its ilk, there are charming surprises throughout, and the whole thing is pretty damn diverse. The band covers a lot of ground in 30 minutes, and it all works really well. Even the lyrics, which deal with typical emo tropes like romantic relationships, broken homes, and fractured friendships, give the melodies a buoyancy not found on recent albums from others in the genre. For my money, the best song is still “Call From You,” a relatable rumination on Allen’s obsession with perfect articulation and communication with others; it was one of my favorite songs from last year, and it encapsulates the best qualities of the album into three wonderful minutes.

Despite the lyrical content, Little Green House is a fun listen; it’s endlessly repeatable and a soundtrack for those more pensive moments in 2022, particularly if you prefer your introspection with energetic drum fills and power chords. Jim Adkins would be proud.

Score: 9/10

In just under a decade, fka twigs has garnered significant acclaim for her art, pairing grotesque visuals with glitchy, industrial, avant-garde forrays into the world of progressive 21st-century R&B. For her newest release since 2019’s immersive MAGDALENE, twigs has dropped a mixtape without fanfare and very little promotion beforehand, save for one single released to streaming services a few weeks prior. (That song is “tears in the club,” a duet with The Weeknd that is by far the best track on this new project.)

I’m not really sure what twigs fans will think of CAPRISONGS – it is by far her most accessible collection to date. Perhaps the culture has finally caught up to what she was doing, as nowadays we can hear even weirder and more deconstructed perspectives from the likes of Arca and some far-reaching areas of hyperpop. Those familiar with previous work will appreciate the slight updates on textures twigs is best known for; heavy vocal manipulation and her trademark soft falsetto encompass songs like “lightbeamers” and “minds of men.” But in many moments, twigs goes a different direction – “oh my love” could be mistaken for a low-key deep cut from Doja Cat’s Planet Her, and (as the mixtape’s title would lead us to believe) twigs is currently very inspired by tropical sounds, as is evidenced on “papi bones” and “jealousy.”

At times, I’m not certain these new styles work with twigs’ off-kilter approach to seductive, foreboding atmosphere in her music. Another strange example (but by no means bad) is “pamplemousse,” which is by far the most upbeat song she has ever written. It is clear, from the lyrical topics of self-worth and maturity in relationships, as well as the willingness to try new sounds, twigs is more confident in her approach, and ultimately that is a good thing for future projects. But overall, CAPRISONGS is a transitional moment in her career, as she aims to become a more prominent part of the mainstream conversation.

Score: 7/10