Review Summary: 10... 9... 8... continue?
As a kid, my favourite place to be was the arcade. I'd walk for 10 minutes to the local mall, energised by digital addiction and obsessively avoiding cooldrink cans (a leftover paranoia from when we were told in school that terroists hide explosives in discarded cans waiting for an innocent kick). The arcade was like a cave, and the games were like strange electronic stalagmites, their screens glowing like luminescent fungus. They also bleeped, vomited bitty music, and exclaimed snatches of inane dialogue between explosions. It's this world that Kilo Kish (real name Lakisha Robinson) has partly used as a conceit for her new album
American Gurl, a loose exploration of an observer introvert in the music industry (and indeed, the world at large). The songs utilise maximalist aesthetics to mimic the assault on the senses of an arcade (or a social media scrolling session), but Kish also tries to find that feeling of hiding in the umbra of an indoor world. I'm going to induce some groans here but... the album is definitely a high score.
Kish has progressed steadily towards a pop release after her mixed bag debut (she is also a visual artist and multiple disciplines probably contribute to slow release cycles), and while she runs through many textures and styles in
American Gurl, the game plan can be summed up as: make everything tight and up the energy. Her comparatively ramshackle and relaxed debut seems removed from the pulsing bass assault and prickly rapping of "New Tricks: Art, Aesthetics and Money". She confidently assumes center stage with her flow while guest Vince Staples runs around the ring gleefully playing hype man to her snarky influencer discontent.
Kish maintains her playful nature though, shifting from the traditional electro pop of the title track to the effortless uneasy drum and bass of "Choice Cowboy", complete with dreamy string interludes. "Attention Politician" runs with a warped keyboard line over big drums, Kilo singing her descending melody lines then switching up to a hip-swinging sung rap that begs you to point to the ceiling. On the chorus hook it almost sounds like she's bottled the ghostly echo of Gwen Stefani and she lets a little of it escape briefly before screwing back the lid tight. The song finishes with a fiery shoutout and deep in the connective tissue of the sonics you can hear a nod to the video game theme without allowing it to overtake the song. The dense palette continues in musical divider "TV Baby V.2 (Latch Key March)", which sounds like a funeral march for a toy. Kish's childlike vocal has a mournful edge, blankly eulogising an identity which has been eroded by media parenting.
The themes of the album comes to life in the vivid "Death fantasy", with Miguel's floating guest vocal mimicking the freedom from requiring external validation that Kish's menacing voice craves. Her virtually spoken delivery sounds low slung, hiding in the weeds of the deliberate midnight drums and oil slick synth. As Kish has alluded to in press for album, seeing the traps of an ambitious lifestyle doesn't mean you don't still willingly succumb to the snare.
When Kish isn't exploring the creative wilds, she still backs up her statement of intent with adept songwriting on the crowd pleasers. Her recent comments suggested this was supposed to be a very different album but nothing from the initial approach synchronised with her current spikier outlook. A brave recasting of the material and assimilating contemporary cutting edge sounds and older pop trends has yielded a sleek, smart and accessible work that still has massive bite. The venom, humour and self-awareness cut through in the brief 39 minutes that feel like a complete sonic world, just like those beckoning screens at the arcade each housed a mysterious path you could potentially get lost on.
American Gurl has that addictive replay value to lure you for repeat excursions. Unlike some of her peers, Kish doesn't necessarily need your attention, but she does demand it.
