FEATURE:
Lights On
FKA twigs’ LP1 at Ten
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ONE of the best…
PHOTO CREDIT: Jamie-James Medina via The New York Times
debut albums of the 2010s, FKA twigs’ LP1 turns ten on 6th August. Nominated for a Mercury Prize in 2014, I wanted to celebrate an amazing debut. In addition to a Mercury nod, it was nominated for a GRAMMY too. A top twenty success in the U.K., LP1 was voted one of the best albums of the year by a number of magazines and websites. LP1 followed her debut E.P., EP1, from 2012. EP2 was released in 2013. FKA twigs was nominated for the BBC Sound of 2014. There was a lot of anticipation around her debut album. I am going to get to some strongly positive reviews for LP1. I want to start out with an interview from The Guardian. A former backup dancer for Kylie Minogue, this was an artist stepping into the spotlight. Surreal imagery and a seductive and compelling sound, there was a lot of interest around her after the momentum of two E.P.s and honours:
“Tahliah Barnett began her career as a dancer. Growing up in Gloucester as the only mixed-race girl in her Catholic school, a natural rhythm propelled her to childhood classes and through to an eventual career throwing shapes for pop stars; the click her bones made when in motion prompting her stage name. Her clients included Kylie Minogue, whom she worked for even as her own EP2 was getting serious notice. "It was incredibly humbling," she says. "It's really good to be in one environment where everyone's like, 'Twigs, are you OK, can I get you a glass of water' to another environment where you're one of 20 backing dancers in a cold room and no one's fed you for five hours." She also danced for Jessie J, Taio Cruz and Plan B, whom she describes as "a sick, actual artist. He's so involved: there at 10am explaining how he wanted each of the dancers to have their own character."
She sets this positive experience first against much of the world of commercial dancing. "Usually it's just 'look hot and wear hotpants'. You go to dance school, you train your arse off for five years, you can do a triple pirouette on your head and land in the splits, and then you come out and someone's like: 'What are your measurements?'" It's a long way from Josephine Baker, the dancer who scandalised Paris in the 1920s with her nearly naked routines, and whom twigs admires. "She's saying: 'I'm doing this and it's for me.' She's giving to the crowd, but ultimately she's enjoying the way she moves, and her love is in the movement. Nowadays it's: 'I'm going to shake my arse like this, and it's for you, to make you feel a certain way.'"
Twigs rails against this "bizarre time in the world, where you can be so famous, so elevated, but none of it is your own vision". She herself refuses to give up creative control and, in fact, is determined to extend it wherever possible. Take the production on the album. Punk was what she grew up on, and initially tried her hand at, "but I'm terrible at shouting. It wasn't me. I was just trying to fulfil my Poly Styrene fantasies." Instead, she taught herself the software package Ableton and has numerous production credits on her album, alongside Kanye fave Arca, Dev Hynes, Sampha, Bruno Mars and Eminem producer Emile Haynie, plus Paul Epworth, the Oscar-winning Adele collaborator. All were picked for their ability to "fill in my blanks, in things I'm not good at". Sampha helped with chords, conjuring specific emotions like feeling "brooding but with an underlying hope, but mainly depressed"; Epworth helped with "structure". She has also taken control of her music videos, which she's now directing with production company Academy at her back.
"I like that she knows what she wants," says Nabil Elderkin, a director who worked with twigs on Two Weeks and has also shot videos for Nicki Minaj and Arctic Monkeys. "She doesn't sacrifice anything for popularity, she just comes in and does it her own way. That's how some of the best artists today work: Kanye West, Bon Iver, James Blake, Frank Ocean. And twigs is exactly the same thing. She has imagination and art and puts it out how she wants. She's in control of that 100%."
While she gets to be submissive in her personal life ("I'm like, 'Bagsy being little spoon!' every night"), this domination of every aspect of her career is proving a tiring business. But, to wring out the metaphor, she can go all night. "I'm exhausted, but whatever," she says. "Now is the time to be doing it, and as long as I'm happy I'll keep on doing it. But if I'm unhappy, I'll just disappear. I will shave off my hair and live in the south of France, and I'll be learning a new language where no one gives a shit about who I am. I need to be happy”.
Because LP1 turns ten on 6th August, I wanted to spend time with it. There are not many features about the album. Maybe the tenth anniversary will change that. I am going to bring in a few reviews for this stunning album. FKA twigs’ new album, Eusexua, will be released later this year. I want to stay with The Guardian and their take on LP1. Even if it will pass some people by on its anniversary, I feel it warrants more acclaim and acknowledgement:
“Tahliah Barnett, a dancer from Cheltenham whose previous brush with fame involved appearing in the videos for Do It Like a Dude and Price Tag by the legendarily enigmatic avant-R&B auteur Jessie J. Moreover, enthusiasm for her work seems to have been undimmed by the sub-genre of alt-R&B reaching a kind of saturation point. From the Weeknd's troubled and troubling reinvention of the priapic R&B loverman, via the divas hooking up with experimental dubstep producers, to the countless indie artists knowingly dabbling, there's been an awful lot of it made in recent years. Even its most dogged adherent must now have enough tracks on which an etiolated chillwavey synth washes over a Rodney Jerkins-influenced beat to last them a lifetime.
That FKA Twigs' releases to date have been met with excitement rather than ennui tells you a lot about how singular the music she makes is. It's not just Barnett's fondness for Björkesque visual presentation that recalls the late 90s: what LP1 really invokes is a radically updated take on Pre-Millennium Tension and Angels with Dirty Faces, the dark, brilliant, career-knackering albums Tricky made while literally maddened by a combination of drugs and candidiasis, an infection brought on by asthma medication. It opens with the kind of choral singing that normally heralds imminent death in a film about demonic possession, rather than an album full of R&B slowjams. Whether cooing or moaning or drenched in effects, Barnett's voice always sounds distinctively British: she shows off her vocal chops not by indulging in melismatic showboating, but by swooping into a high, choirgirl-like register. The arrangements short-circuit, lapsing into dischord or silence; disconnected sounds suddenly arrive out of nowhere and vanish just as quickly; the beats occasionally clatter out of time or appear so scattered and sporadically that it's hard to grasp exactly what's going on rhythmically.
As you might expect, this approach works best when there's a strong melody at the centre of it all. At its least appealing, as on Numbers, LP1 sounds like a load of quirky sonic ideas scampering about in desperate search of a song to cling to – there are moments when the sudden bursts of noise and dischord sound irritatingly intrusive. But when the tunes match the invention of the production, LP1 is genuinely brilliant. The chorus of Lights On gleams brightly through the disorientating clatter, Two Weeks sounds thrillingly like a hit record that's being allowed to unravel before your ears.
The one similarity between Barnett's work and that of the Weeknd is their shared interest in subverting R&B stereotypes: while the Weekend casts the amoral, moneyed "playa" in a disturbing new light, Barnett's songs offer a distinctive take on the traditional female roles of seductress and wronged woman. The sirens she portrays are frequently confused and vulnerable. Their sexual assertiveness is underscored by self-doubt, which seems a pretty realistic depiction of sexual assertiveness, regardless of gender: "When I trust you we can do it with the lights on." Other times, they seem faintly terrifying, lust bordering on obsessiveness. "I could kiss you for hours," she sings, her voice gradually slowed down until it sounds like a threat: you're not sure whether the recipient of her affections should willingly submit to her charms or get their number changed. "How does it feel to have me thinking about you?" offers Pendulum: it should be a straightforward come-on, but something about the musical backdrop – muted guitar, rattling electronic percussion, a creaking noise that sounds like wood about to splinter, her voice high and ghostly – makes her question seem unsettling. How does it feel to have you thinking about me? Um, can I get back to you on that?
Her wronged women, meanwhile, aren't resilient I-Will-Survive types: they sound utterly crushed. "You lie and you lie and you lie … I can't recognise me," complains Video Girl, before the song grinds slowly to a halt, as if collapsing entirely. The abandoned protagonist of the closing Kicks elects to take matters into her own hands, so to speak. "I don't need you, I love my touch, know just what to do, so I tell myself it's cool," sings Barnett, bringing 45 minutes of confusing, fumbled come-ons and romantic disappointment to an impressively bathetic conclusion by giving up and having a wank instead.
It almost goes without saying that not many albums of any genre end like that. But then not many albums sound like LP1, a singular piece of work in an overcrowded market. It has its flaws – as you might have intuited from the videos and press shots, they largely stem from trying a bit too hard – but you leave it convinced that FKA Twigs is an artist possessed of a genuinely strong and unique vision, one that doesn't need bolstering with an aura of mystique. Given the times we live in, that's probably just as well!”.
A couple more reviews before I round things off. The Line of Best Fit awarded LP1 9/10 when they sat down to review the album. It still sound enormously original and fascinating. I don’t think there was anything like LP1 in 2014. I was really curious about FKA twigs when she came through. Her music instantly connected with me. I was engrossed. I am not sure whether there is a tenth anniversary reissue. You can get a vinyl copy of LP1 here:
“Although, the sound is all very familiar in one sense – it’s traumatic and tender, it’s sparse and frail – it’s also completely otherworldly. A bizarro take on R&B, seizing and erupting with the jolt of surging electricity; there’s a matte pulse of bass here, samples of broken glass or car alarms there, and instead of beats, the sound of a skeleton falling down a staircase in slow motion. Barnett, and her cabal of producers (including, but not limited to, Paul Epworth, Sampha and Dev Hynes), jury-rig a possessed, soul-infused machination. A creaking automaton, gushing steam from armor-chinks, and clattering with each agonising step, it blends ecclesiastical urban hymns, neo-classical art music, ambient electronica, ‘90s R&B, pop, soul and all essentially all mutations of modern dance.
Akin to Halls his more elegiac moments, the record’s highlight – “Closer” – takes the essence of a tearjerk eulogy and wraps it up in a futuristic coating, like some kind of sorrow-laced pig-in-a-blanket. At times, as on “Preface”, she spasms through crumbling chancels, Barnett’s choral coo distorting through demonic electromagnets, ocean-filled lungs and Poltergeist-static as if foolishly stoic faced with the abrupt void. “Closer” is a solemn hymn for a decrepit future, with sample-heavy synths and ambient R&B backing her death-rattle: “Isolation/isolation/isolation…”
“Lights On” is a supernova at the other end of the spectrum. It’s stringently mellifluous, foaming with melody and fluid grace. Most of her tracks rest on a taut tune, but they’re often cracked and dispersed – for example of “Pendulum”, with the hook-diaspora floating between gizmo chirrups and the staggered techno-yells. On “Lights On”, a paean to making luuurve, Barnett is explicit. She oozes an unseen bravado. There are dark implications: is this a momentary lapse in anxiety? Is this her skin peeled back, beaming true colours? It may still seem fraught with terror: “When I trust you we can do it with the lights on…”, but delving into semantics, she’s knowing. She’s not some flimsy damsel. It’s “when I trust you”, not “if I trust you” – she’s expectant. There’s a confidence in where the relationship is going. It’s subtle, but it implies a more Machiavellian side to the siren-song of Barnett as she takes the psychological control of the situation. There’s more scalding fury, primal energy and swaggering confidence than she lets on initially. Perhaps it’s too deep a reading; perhaps, like the deep-sea angler fish, she’s lured us close with something hypnotic, so utterly transfixing, that we won’t see her lethal strike until we’re spewing merlot from a perforated jugular.
Whether the above is true or not remains to be seen. Regardless, it is testament to the depth available. It’s an ambiguous record, erring towards certain scenarios and emotions, but ultimately, you can glean a variety of readings. It’s not a record that’ll smack you in the face with bolsh and pace, and so in the inevitable repeated listens, as you listen harder, you’ll find yourself scurrying through various interpretations of the lyrics – is “Video Girl” about fame and image-obsession or is it about self-confidence? Is “Two Weeks” filthy or comforting?
In a climate where instant gratification is rife, where the adhered-to pop formula of massive hooks, massive beats, dumbed-down lyrics, monosyllabic choruses and plastic parping pap, this is a complex beast, and one that can’t be defeated overnight. LP1 is not an easy record by any means – though you may be lucky enough to be completely besotted on first sight. Like any relationship, it demands work and effort; if you’ve been hooked by Barnett’s early noise (admittedly, tracks like “Papi Pacify” are simpler to love), then you’ll want to put the hours in. You’ll need to. This longform escapade is the real McCoy, and where the magic happens. The honeymoon period is over”.
I am going to end with a positive review from Pitchfork. They saluted a monumental debut from FKA twigs. They noted how none of her mystique was lost. Experimental, bold and stronger than anything her peers were coming out with, this was an artist fully-formed and truly magnetic. I stand by the claim that LP1 is one of the most important and strongest debut albums of the 2010s:
“Building on her co-produced debut EP with Tic and her Arca-produced EP2, the sound throughout is a crystalline jumble of splinters and shards, of stuttering drum machines cutting against arrhythmic clatter—metronomes winding down, car alarms bleating dully into the night. Her voice, the most awe-inspiring instrument on the album, flits between Auto-Tuned artifice and raw carnality. As an acrobat, she's a natural, but she's not afraid to lean on a little digital enhancement. One minute it's a flash-frozen sigh; the next, it's a melon-balled dollop of flesh. As futuristic as her music is, no single technology dominates. Elastic digital effects brush up against 808s, and icy synth stabs share space with acoustic bass. The common denominator is the crackling sense of dread that persists when the notes go silent and the beat drops out, which is often. The overall effect is that of R&B that has been run through some kind of matter-transporting beam and put together wrong on the other end, full of glitches and hard, jutting artifacts.
The most obvious reference points, aside from the spectrum of breathy, synth-heavy R&B that stretches from Ciara through the Weeknd and Beyoncé, are first-gen trip-hop acts like Portishead and Tricky, with their charcoal-streaked affect and sumptuous sense of texture. There are also clear links to contemporary UK artists working the margins between R&B and electronic music, like James Blake, the xx, and even Sophie, she of the deconstructed Saturday-morning rave choons. Her own vocal style, or at least her stratospheric range, evokes Kate Bush and even Tori Amos. More provocative, though, is the way she and her producers wrangle a whole host of unlikely references into the mix: "Two Weeks" features blushing chords reminiscent of late Cocteau Twins and a junkyard guitar lead straight out of Tom Waits' Rain Dogs. Even more incongruously, "Two Weeks" cribs a fleeting riff from Air Supply's "All Out of Love."
At the same time, it's a testament to the strength of her vision that the album is as cohesive as it is, despite having so many producers involved, including Arca, Devonté Hynes, Clams Casino, and Grammy-winning journeyman Emile Haynie (Eminem's Recovery, Lana Del Rey's "Born to Die" and "Blue Jeans," Kanye West's "Runaway"). Sampha helps out on the brittle "Numbers," a Portishead-gone-footwork number that serves as the album's energetic peak, and, perhaps most surprisingly, Paul Epworth (Adele, Coldplay, the Rapture) is responsible for "Pendulum," the album's literal and emotional centerpiece.
FKA twigs is not a masterful lyricist, at least not yet; some of her couplets feel clunky, like she's grasping in the dark for rhymes and coming up with the objects closest to hand ("If the flame gets blown out and you shine/ I will know that you cannot be mine"). But when she zeroes in on the essence of a thing, she hits hard. The brazen "Two Weeks" features lines as vivid as red welts: "Higher than a motherfucker", "I can fuck you better than her." (The Weeknd only wishes he could make depravity sound so soul-destroyingly desperate.) On top of that, there's a whole thing about pulling out teeth that tips the song into some kind of freaky David Cronenberg territory, making her drugged-up and tied-down fantasies all the more tantalizingly surreal.
If "Two Weeks" represents the album's sensual core, "Pendulum" is the epicenter of the record's underlying sense of heartbreak, with its glum mantra, "So lonely trying to be yours." Lyrically, the song finds twigs at her most plainspoken—it's a long way off from last year's similarly devastating, but far more cryptic, "Water Me"—so it feels significant that it's one of the album's most sonically out-there songs, with a rhythm built out of what sounds like a roulette wheel run amok and its wash of synthesizers like a sky full of fireflies in death spirals”.
On 6th August, LP1 turns ten. An album that warrants a lot more column inches and discussion, FKA twigs has since gone on to release more material and appear in films. One of our very finest artists. I really love LP1. From the wonderful Two Weeks, Lights On and Hours, through to deeper cuts like Closer and Numbers, this is a majestic and hugely powerful debut album. One that still reveals new layers and aspects a decade later. Tahliah Barnett’s alter ego released a spectacular debut in 2014. LP1 proved that in there was nobody out there like her. It still sounds…
LIKE nothing else.