Tony Stamp delves into the debut of burgeoning reggae superstar Koffee, an acerbic collection of rock anthems from Ōtautahi band Best Bets, and the impossibly cool sound of New York natives Widowspeak.
Gifted by Koffee
Koffee Photo: supplied
A reggae musician from Jamaica who was discovered on YouTube aged 17, and won a Grammy Award only two years later, Koffee has just released her first album. It’s full of interesting contradictions: its title is a self-affirming boast, but the music is breezy, and the whole thing feels weirdly free of any ego.
Mikayla Simpson grew up in Spanish Town, about 30 minutes outside Kingston. At 17 she posted a song about Usain Bolt called ‘Legend’ on YouTube, and when the famous sprinter shared it, she became an overnight sensation. A year later she was signed to a major label, and at 19 became the youngest person to win the Grammy for Best Reggae Album, for her Rapture EP. She’s the only woman to ever receive the award.
If these accolades led to any pressure to succeed, it doesn’t show: Gifted is more concerned with positive affirmations. As Koffee told NPR “I'm really highlighting the keep-going spirit of the hardworking people who made it out of the mud, coming from where I'm from."
Still, it takes some guts to sample a good chunk of one of Bob Marley’s most famous tracks and create a new one over the top of it. And not just that: have it be the first thing people hear on your debut album. To some ‘x10’ might sound like two songs playing at once, but to me it’s an impressive magic trick, honouring the old while making something new.
Including Marley’s ‘Redemption Song’ in this way isn’t just Koffee inserting herself as his successor. She’s paying tribute to his message, as she told NPR, saying “Bob Marley sings so many positive, impactful songs, he raises people's consciousness.”
The songs on Gifted’s first half in particular are bright and uplifting, but include social messaging in amongst the patois. ‘Defend’ runs just over a minute, and mentions gun crime and police violence, with Koffee positioning herself as a defence against the chaos - hence the title.
The positivity of this music, in the face of sociopolitical realities, is part of what gives it its power, as is Koffee’s way with a hook. Her words are conversational and free flowing, but she’ll sit on a melodic run when it’s good enough, like the four notes at the heart of ‘Run Away’.
That song is our entrance into the album’s second half, more focused on modern Afro-Caribbean trends, with an eye on the dancefloor. ‘Pull Up’ is specifically about partying, and lists a number of expensive brands, but despite the boast, it’s as feel-good as everything here.
Koffee is following in the footsteps of other contemporary reggae stars like Protoje and Chronixx, who similarly follow Marley’s example, and preach unity and social awareness. In among the tumble of words that form her toasting, there are several mentions of lockdown, but it’s presented as something to be taken in stride and overcome.
‘Shine’ is another track about gun violence among youths, and might contain the best distillation of her message, when she sings “I’ve got to shine. You’ve got to shine”.
On an Unhistoric Night by Best Bets
Best Bets Photo: Nick Robinson
We used to talk a lot about tall poppy syndrome in this country, but my sense is that might be fading. I think generally we’re just more comfortable seeing ourselves on the world stage. What still does run through our music scene is a good amount of humbleness and self-deprecation. No one wants to get too big for their boots, until they do.
That spirit runs through the debut album by Christchurch band Best Bets. They trade in exuberant, catchy rock anthems that are stadium-sized, but tempered by a healthy level of realism. If the band’s name is aiming for irony, these songs often say it plainly - it’s not a coincidence they have song titles like ‘Minor Leagues’.
The opening line of that song gives this album its title: On An Unhistoric Night. I like the idea that, if pop music is about mythologising incredible things happening to incredible people, this is for the rest of us, leading normal lives.
The album notes take pains to state that it was recorded on a shoestring budget, and that all the members have day jobs. Positioning themselves as working class suits this music - it evokes kiwi pub rock of the past courtesy of meaty chords and noisy fretwork, and also allows them to punch up at the lifestyles of the wealthy - as on ‘Crystal Mausoleum’, where they have a go at mountain climbers.
The name of that song is a reference to the icy graves on Mt Everest housing unlucky climbers. I looked it up and there are over 200. Best Bets don’t seem too sympathetic, going by lines like “you tried to find fame on a package holiday”.
The track ‘Olympic Sprinter’ tells the story of an athlete-turned-musician, with lyrics that made me laugh out loud, like “he’s got a moustache and a great leather hat, and he’s headed straight to number nine”.
Aside from scathing lyrics there’s plenty to enjoy here musically. The track ‘Whataworld’ has some of the album’s most cynical vocals, but it bounces along on a natty guitar line that reminded me of kiwi indie icons The 3Ds. The album's nihilism is summed up in its chorus, which, in a song about the world, says repeatedly “tell me when it’s over”.
Best Bets clearly have the chops, and I think they know it - the liner notes stress their dedication to the craft, and the beauty of writing songs for the sake of it rather than profit. It’s the kind of rock solid craft where you know a catchy hook or chorus is only moments away, but it’s the super cynical lyrics of songwriters Olly Crawfors Ellis and James Harding that really won me over. What’s more rock n’ roll than partying in the face of a complete loss of hope?
The song ‘Always on the Losing Side’ throws out a reference to the show Who’s Line Is It Anyway, saying “the rules are made up and the points don’t matter”, going on to neatly articulate how society naturally favours some people over others. The beauty of Best Bets is that, for them, being on the losing side seems to be a point of pride.
The Jacket by Widowspeak
Widowspeak Photo: supplied
In recent years, every other American musician I encounter seems to hail from New York - Brooklyn specifically - but they often sound like a different part of the country. In a cultural melting pot that large you’re going to get a lot of imported flavours, but listening to a recent NYC band, I was struck by how thoroughly they sound like their city of origin; disaffected, piercing, and impossibly cool.
Molly Hamilton and Robert Earl Thomas make up the duo Widowspeak. They’ve been putting out albums for over ten years, all on the label Captured Tracks; home to several Flying Nun reissues. The Jacket is their sixth, and it’s a robust collection of deceptively simple tunes, drawing on influences like Mazzy Star Neil Young alongside NYC perennials The Velvet Underground and The Strokes.
The band sounds so at ease those touchstones fade into the background, and on songs like ‘Everything is Simple’, a simple chord change can make a big impression.
Hamilton’s always-breathy voice is the standout element here, but my attention is drawn to her and Thomas’ guitar playing; bare bones but full of character. They manage to do a lot with a little, and the album’s frills are limited to things like the fluttering mellotron on the pastoral ‘While You Wait’.
As simplistic as The Jacket is, it sprang from a narrative that’s anything but. The album’s PR reads: “A chain-stitcher working in the satin district of an unnamed city, a neighbourhood of storefront tailors devoted to elaborate costumery for country-western, art rock, ye-ye cover bands that populate the street’s bars after dark”.
You can see where the record’s title comes from - a jacket is something to be stitched - but it only gets more impenetrable from there. In the dense block of text on the band’s Bandcamp page a description of themes can be found, calling them “the values ascribed to one’s time and labour through the more refined lens of performance and music-making”. They say the album “speaks to the absurdity of ego, codependency and shared visions even as it celebrates them”.
I’m honestly not sure if all that enriches my listening experience. It’s mostly striking as a counterpoint to the songs, which seem to have sprung from a much less cerebral place. Widowspeak clearly think deeply about these tunes, which makes the music’s spontaneous, off-the-cuff feeling that much more impressive. It’s so consistently dreamy that small moments have a big impact, and more than that, it evokes its place of origin perfectly.
