The career renaissance of George Kusunoki Miller surprised everyone—none more than Miller himself. He cut his teeth in risqué youtube satire as “Filthy Frank”, a defiantly un-PC amalgam of the worst that humankind has to offer. Miller preached hateful rhetoric with such gusto that its absurdities were thrown into a revealing light. Something about the project transcended shock value or leftist critique—it seemed as though Miller was exorcising his own profane demons, confronting his audience with secret, forbidden, but ever-present ideas that they would otherwise self-censor.
For this reason, despite its extremity, there was a sincere vein running through Filthy Frank. Arguably, the project revealed more about Miller than his more recent hustle in neo-soul as Joji. Miller’s music was once his most closely-guarded secret—but the only thing scandalous about it was its expectation that we see him more as man than meme.
Nectar, Joji’s first album, relaxes into conformity. Its lyrics are emotionally raw—but calculated in their universality. An intentional distance is created between Joji and his listeners through muffly and subdued production (think ‘lo fi hip hop radio – beats to study / relax to’). No corners are too sharp. While this doesn’t obfuscate Joji’s intent or individuality, it does slightly deaden his music’s impact.
Exceptions include ‘Run’ and ‘Tick Tock’, tracks which add welcome variety to Nectar’s 18-song tracklist. ‘Run’, an unashamed power ballad, is perhaps the only song here which allows Joji to really cut loose as a singer. It’s frankly surprising he has such a voice in him—the breathy, bedroom-performer approach he takes elsewhere feels like it’s disguising a lack of ability. And ‘Tick Tock’ is quite bizarre; a fence-sitter between banger and ballad, it samples Nelly’s ‘Dilemma’ to ghostly—albeit comical—effect.
For the most part, Nectar’s songs are rather more timid. It feels like Joji and his musical peers find inspiration in Marvin Gaye’s revolutionarily and singular whispery timbre. Perhaps a more likely inspiration is Lana Del Rey. Either way, the gentle emotiveness of their voices suggests a mood rather than forcing it. But—and this should shock nobody—none of these vocalists has Gaye or Del Rey’s range, versatility, or character. The result is a kind of bedroom-soul; a melancholic and lonely genre too scared to walk the streets, instead looking at them through a closed window or a laptop screen. Soul once celebrated in the face of sadness and adversity—neo-soul cleans up after the celebration; it sounds like emptying ashtrays, crushing cans, rustling binbags on a hungover morning.
Perhaps this narcotic effect results from listening to Nectar straight through. The album’s length is likely a tactic to maximise Spotify streams—not the result of some unifying theme or album-wide concept. Nectar feels intended to be listened to piecemeal; one track at a time, or shuffled. That’s for sure how its demographic, raised on the ephemerality of streaming services, consume music. It therefore feels disingenuous to knock points off for the album’s fatiguing effect, even though that’s somewhat tied up in its manner of presentation.
Joji’s greatest strength seems to be a lack of vanity—he has welcomed a host of guest producers and vocal features, all of whom are used very well. Lil Yachty in particular is surprisingly well-deployed, taking to Joji’s sadboy aesthetic like a fish to water. There has been a suggestion that by bringing on so many personnel, Joji’s playing sideman to his collaborators—but Nectar’s tracks feel too consistent in both tone and quality for that to be true.
Nectar is a passable effort which frustratingly fails to take off. Flickers of talent burst through its runtime—but Joji doesn’t have the confidence to follow his best ideas yet. In future releases, more risks will hopefully be taken—perhaps Joji can channel some of the courage he used when dressing up in a pink morph suit and antagonising members of the public for pranks. That this album plays things safe will no doubt earn it the label ‘commercial’—but this is a rather meaningless and unhelpful term. The same tastemakers levelling this accusation probably praised Solange’s releases on Columbia Records. If anything, Nectar emblemises a rags-to-riches story. Very few had even heard of 88rising a few years back—now they’re huge. Joji has blurred the line between superstar and next-door neighbour more comprehensively than anyone before him. Whether that’s a good or a bad thing simply depends on your outlook.
Nectar can be purchased on all formats here.
Words: Andrew O’Keefe
