Alternative R&B — Music

FKA Twigs’ reputation precedes her. Since her 2014 debut, LP1, Twigs has released the odd morsel (including the stunning EP M3LL155X) to abate her fiercely loyal fans. Despite their quality, these releases have felt ancillary. Stepping-stones to an inevitable sophomore album. That sophomore arrives in Magdalene, a wounded work which both defies and exceeds expectations.

Twigs' M.O. is a clinical, slightly frightening deconstruction of female sexuality and power. A former Beyonce backing dancer, Twigs knows the dichotomous nature of objectification. To be something both desired and disposable. To feel eyes which linger before they pass. Her name refers to the cracking of her joints when dancing — a reminder of the physicality of dance; the strength and power requisite for grace.

Magdalene extends and deepens this deconstruction with compassion and cutting maturity. Twigs’ widely publicised fight with fibroid uterine tumours left her living with ‘a fruit bowl of pain’. A Spike Jonze-shot Apple ad featured a Twigs who, unbeknownst to the public, bore a searing surgical cut which reopened and bled as she danced. Rooted, as you’d expect, in the gospels, Magdalene is a product of great pain and eventual resurrection. It shoots for the irresistible melodrama of the Passion, and somehow holds together through it all.

The second half of this LP is more raw and emotive than anything Twigs has ever recorded. Its measured pace may discourage some long-time fans expecting the voguing Twigs of LP1. And when Twigs does try to capture this energy in the Future-featuring Holy Terrain, the result is a track which feels asynchronous with the album it sits in. It’s still more banger than clanger — but somehow disconnected from its peers.

Crucially, Twigs still dodges definition. Her work is difficult to categorise, straddling more genres than you can count and doing stuff all of its own on top. Whatever Magdalene is, it bodes well for the future. Twigs has been through the wringer, but emerges refreshed and better than ever.

Magdalene is available for purchase and streaming here.

Words by Andrew O’Keefe

The most immediate confontation presented by Assume Form is its cover. A visual callback to James Blake's Klavierwerke EP (and later his self-titled LP). Back then, blurs and smears smothered a monochromatic portrait. Here, Blake looks us dead-on, in full colour, undistorted. The image is arresting in its normality. This is the artist living by his words; assuming form.

In some sense the music reflects this. The twelve tracks on this record represent a broader bid for mainsteam appeal than yet seen. The whispiness and weirdness of Blake's early career is shrugged off. This comes as no surprise -- Blake's artistic trajectory has been unidirectional. A slow abandonment of the minimal and mysterious. A greater emphasis on catchy vocal hooks, beats and basslines. But what is pleasantly surprising is Blake's forthright and candid lyricism. The mask has been shed and Blake bravely exposes himself. His strength as a lyricist buoys material which from other mouths may have clanged.

Assume Form is a more successful attempt at a mainstream style than 2016's insipid The Colour in Anything -- but it still lacks power. What's more, the same issue plagues Assume Form as its predecessor. Namely, a few memorable tracks have the burden of propping up some forgettable duds. The difference is that Blake has shaved thirty minutes. But this leads to a worrisome question. Is the greatest strength of Assume Form that it doesn't outstay its welcome?

Tracks like 'Into the Red' and 'Where's the Catch?' cast these worries aside. A blinding André 3000 feature injects much-needed joie de vivre. Some material is the strongest Blake has produced since 2011. And the album is as beautifully-produced as you’d expect. But newcomers will likely be underwhelmed. And as ever, fans are left craving greater consistency and experimentation. Until Blake delivers this, Assume Form will have to do.

Curious newcomers should seek out James Blake’s Klavierwerke EP, Enough Thunder, and self-titled LP. Assume Form available for streaming and purchase here.

Words by Andrew O’Keefe