Additional Editing by Anouska Liat

Intro

Nested deep in the furrows of wintertime, it can often be an introspective season as cold air hits the face. In the glacially slow time that is halfway between the festive period and the dawn of spring, a young but ominous figure drifts in the shadows and deals in icy bouts of harsh introspection.

James Blake possesses a soulful, elegiac voice and an innate ability to craft painterly portraits of his state of mind, decorated with bouquets of spinous electronics and morose buds of R&B. Despite this, it seems as though Blake has an abundance of styles and sonic territories he can call home, but has a hard time focusing on one or two and melding them for a cohesive 40-odd minutes. Now, on his fourth effort, he has prevailed and his discography documents this journey.

Pre-LP Work

Blake started out on underground electronic record labels like ‘R&S’ and ‘Hessle’, sharing haunted dance tracks that fell under the title of post-dubstep. However with slow, soul-driven chords alluding to his to-be-trademarked melancholia, he clearly reached for something beyond the spiralling textures already. He also toys with vocal samples; the same jarring, stuttering way he would later on in his timeline, but we also get tiny inches of Blake’s own voice. Through a retrospective lense, his vocals feel as if it is trapped or lost under the sea of synthesizers, as if he is putting up boundaries while breaking them down.

James Blake

Prior to his full-length, Blake’s EP works were incomplete; a cake without a top, flavourful but empty without a clear texture or voice. As he grew as an artist, James would come out of the woods vocally. His first album, self-titled, captures him mid-way through this transition, masking his soul in a cloud of smoke separating him and the listeners. There is something to be said of the artwork, conveying a distinct shape with distinct features yet still awash with obscurities, parallel to the music.

The one-two punch of ‘The Wilhelm Scream’ and ‘Never Learnt To Share’ adopt a similarly minimalist approach to songwriting that uses repetition of abstract lyrics, allowing the instrumental to summon meaning, progressing from small clusters to towering clouds of smoke. Spreading Van Morrison-like vocal ticks along the tracks, Blake’s hollow writing style creates music that does not give you anything, but brings something out of you.

That latter track, ‘Never Learnt…’, features what is now a staple in James’ work. A playful synth bounces around the spectrum of octaves within a lugubrious atmosphere until it starts rising ever higher, like the climb of Kingda Ka. The entire grid buzzes into life, shocking every nerve ending with squealing machinery as you feel the voltic energy transfer from your ears down to the floor, electrifying the room. As well as providing pneumatic thrills, it also shows what few words Blake has for us offer emotions stored beneath the surface level.

Shrouded in misty effects and peppered with auto-tune, James Blake’s eponymous record is organically electronic, as well as a big step forward to him becoming a confident artist of multiple disciplines.

Overgrown

Two years later he would follow up with Overgrown, a haunting R&B record that lulls the listener into quietude by weaving his production in with his natural songwriting to bolster it; it’s a balanced convergence this time. Blake forgoes the dissembling of his voice, making the many ballads uncovered on here much more palatable.

‘I Am Sold’ & ‘Digital Lion’ evoke James’ will to flip worded songs into abstract dance compositions, both beginning with keys as sub-zero as his voice. The former lets its solemn piano loop transform into a grilling sub-bass, ushering in a storm of grainy hi-hats and blunderbuss drum rolls. Meanwhile, the latter expands into an ambient realm that rumbles like a tremor; small wonder that Brian Eno was on co-writing duties. It’s as though James has remixed his own album, so unique in how the balladry falls into bass, all the while his dusty moan is suffused across like cold morning dew. It drips from the foreground to being buried underneath, showing that while Blake has advanced in presenting himself more clearly, he still has tendencies to recede into the distance. Much like the cover art that adorns it.

The Colour In Anything

This extends into his third project, The Colour In Anything. Children’s book illustrator Quentin Blake is responsible for the artwork, and it envelops an album that possesses similar sketchbook qualities, though not necessarily for its betterment. Scrapbooking the styles of his first two projects into one sprawling collection, it seems that little attention was paid to the cohesion from track to track, some of which lack enough ideas to maintain its potency. Despite regressions on the album experience, there is still some of James’ best material on here. Be it the patina textures and blue tones on the sinister ‘Love Me in Whatever Way’ or the gospel-tinged ‘Choose Me’, the instrumentals burn slowly but lucently to truly empower James and his songwriting.

A heartly yelp from Bon Iver and a tune whisked straight from Hyrule introduces ‘I Need A Forest Fire’. Lyrics are sparse on the ground, but Blake’s trademark singed R&B chords, as well as Iver’s freewheeling falsetto and a frail vocal loop offers much more, all contributing to an anthemic outpour that continues into the slightly sourer epilogue, ‘Noise Above Our Heads’. By every measure, the track still occupies the same airy space but switches tone this time with polka-dots of electronics and dry percussion. A sub-bass lurks on the soundbed by the midpoint, right above the vocal samples that only converse in howls and murmurs, only adding to the impressively abstract way in which the track balances on the cusp between delicacy and forceful introspection.

The final triplet of songs are a notable highlight, beginning with the aptly-titled ‘Modern Soul’. Textbook Blake vicars the ceremony of soul and electronic music, mating warbling piano and muted percussion. Yet, there’s a noticeable distance between you and the track because of the sheer amount of reverb and space, perhaps in attempt to represent the final moments of the separation of a relationship; James wanting the whole ordeal to be over by the song’s outro. Still, he manages to toy around with each element, merging different parts together to see how they interact with each other like molecular chemistry.

‘Always’ is a cut that feels so final, like being at journey’s end, even interpolating Frank Ocean’s narratively-concluding ‘Godspeed’. Bouncing lightly with welterweight drum hits, the overuse of sample hits does border on irritating at points, but is still an achingly beautiful rendition of one of the best songs from Blonde. To draw the record to a close, ‘Meet Me in the Maze’ tunes into the same frequency as Bon Iver. James has long been affiliated with him, extending back to the companion EP to his debut ‘Enough Thunder’, and the influence on him is clearly signposted; this song more pronounced than most. Eschewing his vocals, similar to how Iver did on “Woods”, it’s paradoxically unfiltered, pure feeling, sans instrumentation. Moments like these, though, indicate an attempt at escaping from an underlying dejection in him.

Assume Form

Though James has worked with some of the most gargantuan names in the industry, he’s always suffered from bouts of loneliness as indicated through his music up to this point. Despite this, in between The Colour In Anything and its succeeding leg of work, James found love in the shape of Jameela Jamil, and we first saw a peephole glimpse of the positivity it has sparked in him on the preluding cut, ‘If The Car Beside You Moves Ahead’. Though it would wind up as just a stand-alone single, it nonetheless alludes to Blake’s long-reclusive experiment electronic phase with startling, staggered vocal edits that urges the listener to lean in to decipher the coded lyrics.

James Blake’s newest album Assume Form, is a true revelation of himself. No longer is he piecing together a sprawling collage, but honing in on a watertight eleven song set that culminates into his most cohesive body of work. Even by observation of the artwork that faces this record, it represents a progression of his state of mind. Where before he was obscured, distanced or in another dimension, he is now front and center. He is truly unveiling himself to us, pulling back the intentionally foggy layers that were once present, like he is pulling back his hair on the cover. Lyrically, the album continues this flux into positivity, and while it is hard to distinguish upon initial inspection, the sonics are still textbook Blake.

The songs that make up Assume Form fluctuate between joyous turning points and abrupt shivers of doubt, yet introduces itself with undoubtedly the weakest limb of this body of work. The title track is paradoxically directionless, never settling on a complimentary set of ideas. Its chorus has little impact since it is not built up to or anticipated, it simply appears from the ether. James doesn’t flow from section to section as much as he hops from one to the next, the same way a Concorde used to spread across distant lands - subtle strings come in for a verse, an irritating vocal loop for another. Blake doesn’t greet them fluently, instead actively pushing each element away as if he’s purposely keeping them separated.

‘Mile High’ is undoubtedly the most tantalizing track on paper through its star power - a collision of James, psychedelic auto-crooner Travis Scott and ominous super-producer Metro Boomin. The product of studio time with these three is, however, not exactly the blockbuster collaboration one would expect. Instead of bringing out the best in each other, compromise takes its toll on the sonic eccentricities of each other’s sound, prefering to step into a dull grey area rather than into one another’s world. The wild jungle of sounds of Scott and Blake’s previous collab ‘STOP TRYING TO BE GOD’ is light years above this, let alone miles. It certainly sets a vibe thanks to Metro and his production cauldron, stirring in rattling percussion, a woozy bassline, and ethereal vocal calls. But disappointingly, the result is drab moodiness rather than the flashing fireworks we should expect from these names combined.

In his moments of doubt, James can offer tense tidal waves that send him away from shore. ‘Tell Them’ demonstrates what could have been with the previous track, one again employing Young Metro’s rattling percussion, but this time with alt-soul talent Moses Sumney. His liquidated vocals soar past Scott’s dreary autotune, especially at the tip of the refrain, cutting through the volts of synthesizer and shattering the glass strings crescendos. Metro adds more punch to this track, finding the balance between James’ style and his own understated hip-hop groove, lacing crushed drums into the backseat, supporting the song as it glides along. James’ vocal woons and harmonies are incredibly potent here also, as he reflects on the fling he had on his previous song and how his conflicting mind holds him back: “In the snake pit so long, I've got posters up”.

Finally evading the crowd of feature guests that pack the first part of the record, James becomes numb to the serenity at the true bulk of Assume Form, beginning with ‘Can’t Believe The Way We Flow’. James creates a rainforest of sound, brimming and overflowing with aural wildlife, his vocals guiding them like Snow White. Excitement courses through the nervous system as the drum snares switches the rhythm up from the initial vocal sample hinting at a less stimulating, more plodding tempo. Deep vocal chasms pollute your headphones, layering over each other like tidal waves, the instrumental is so eloquently molded. Plus, the song James pens matches the standard too, one that really harnesses his bewitching falsetto, and one where you are living and thriving in the happiness Blake is experiencing on this album, the daily surprise of being with someone you love.

James asks two questions to himself later in the saga, ‘Are You In Love?’ and ‘Where’s The Catch?’. He is at his most irresolute state, lost from the contentment he seeks. The former is refreshingly minimal, how the organ plays with the electronic synth glissandos. It allows for James to fill the song with his thoughts, the most pertinent being a continuation of the title, ‘Do your best impression for me’. The second part of the story’s emotional climax is ‘Where The Catch?’, a song that sees Andre 3000 steps off his golden throne to bless us mere mortals with a golden verse, no sweat drips from his crown. Blake’s vocals are aching, the song is propelled by a well-balanced kick-drum, cutting through the escalating piano that provides an audio backdrop to the tension James feels, tension that he is creating himself and will soon realise and rise from.

‘Don’t Miss It’ provides a hopeful closing statement, James giving us advice about appreciating the world around us as if he’s experienced it all so we don’t have to. The warbling pianos sound as strained as the vocals, actively displaying emotion rather than being an unnecessary production trick to blanket Blake’s hidden tribulations.

A gushing epilogue to the record forms with ‘Lullaby For My Insomniac’, a song James literally penned to help someone to sleep, serving as a meditative, albeit quiet ending to Blake’s most upfront and positive album so far. It’s also a return to form for him musically, and the two aren’t strictly linked, it just so happens that Blake has finally developed a form of beautiful concision, taking a few of his many sounds and realms, focusing on them, and using them to project his current state of bliss.

Although Assume Form does miss out on those electronic freak-outs, what we get in return is an album that puts songwriting first, using it the launchpad for the atmosphere circulating around it, as well as the satisfying conclusion to a narrative arc that spans James Blake’s entire career so far. Spring has sprung.