![]() But things get really interesting mid-song, when the collapse referenced in the title occurs: a juddering tumble of drums that feels like an astrophysical rupture, time itself swirling down the cosmic plughole. It starts with the whispery crispness of intricately edited beats, skidding and slipping like a tap-dancer on an oily floor: a flashback to the serene frenzy of late-’90s drill‘n’bass, when James and his IDM comrades strove to beat jungle at its own breakbeat game. Opener “T69 Collapse” is an apt herald of the richness within. Continuing his current run, the Collapse EP bursts its skin with ripening creativity: a feeling of plenitude caught in its vocal snippet that promises to lead the listener to “the land of abundance.” Instead of glum, self-plagiarizing stagnation, his artistic middle age has been a sustained eruption of surprise and delight. It’s hard to think of another electronic artist who’s enjoyed a late-career rejuvenation like Richard D. Joaquin Oliver might never have gotten to hear the song, but Frank Ocean’s “Moon River” will now always be his, a tiny consolation for a tragedy too big. It was the ether providing a balm at the same time it produced tragedy: an old-fashioned song sung in 1961 by Audrey Hepburn, pitch-shifted by a modern healer into something to soothe us. But here, in Ocean’s chance release of “Moon River,” was proof of our world’s unplanned joys, too. There have been so many random shocks of tragedy this year that mourning can feel a daily experience. ![]() But according to reports, some friends of Oliver’s saw the confluence as “divine timing,” the lyrics about a “moon river, wider than a mile” and “crossing it in style someday” ringing like a blessed premonition of their friend peacefully floating away. On its own, his version already had a haunting quality, his quivering voice splitting harmonies over plaintive keys. It was a coincidence Ocean has made a habit of dropping songs untethered to any external schedule, preserving his shrouded, shamanic presence. The same day, Ocean released a cover of the melancholy “Moon River,” from Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Joaquin Oliver, an avowed Frank Ocean fan who loved Blonde so much he’d dyed his own hair to match, was only 17 when he was gunned down in the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School shooting this past February. Sweating out a marching band beat while simultaneously meditating on desire and betrayal, Young Fathers make anxiety sound smooth, and then the opposite, too. So “In My View” becomes a sinewy soul song that swings and sways while riding an undercurrent of tension and uncertainty. The group is still adept at crafting music and messages that don’t lend themselves to easy interpretation, no matter how clearly the words are delivered. But nothing in “In My View” is perfectly clear, even if it is one of Young Fathers’ most accessible tracks to date. If this is a hymn, though, it’s a harsh one, with a chorus insisting that progress comes with a price, possibly suggesting an eye-for-an-eye worldview. In this Scottish trio’s half-rapped, half-sung verses, references to kings, saints, sinners, and Delilah abound, and wisps of background vocals evoke a holy choir. There are biblical overtones to “In My View,” from Young Fathers’ third album, Cocoa Sugar. Because as long as there are rich pop stars who need real love, there will be songs about how they can’t afford to find it. ![]() The track brings the latent woe in the singer’s voice to the fore-how he often seems to be sinking in quicksand while yowling of the spoils of success, like a forehead-tatted canary in late capitalism’s doomed coal mine. “I would throw it all away/I just keep on wishin’ that the money made you stay,” Post laments, sobbing into a pile of hundred dollar bills. “Rich & Sad” is buoyed by a psychedelic wheeze that recalls nothing less than “Strawberry Fields Forever,” and the song’s regretful message is a 21st-century twist on Paul McCartney’s 1964 revelation that more money does not necessarily lead to love. Some may consider this changing of the guard a pop travesty of apocalyptic proportions-or, at least, a shameless byproduct of newfangled streaming metrics-but there is actually some kismet at work here. That record held for 54 years, until this May, when Post Malone placed nine tracks in the Top 20, including “Rich & Sad” at No. On April 11, 1964, the burgeoning Beatles both topped the Billboard charts with “Can’t Buy Me Love” and set a record for the most songs in the Top 20 by a single artist, with six.
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