Review Summary: Feel like garbage // dance like trash
Fuelled by production wiz Nate Donmoyer (ex-Passion Pit; engineering for Neggy Gemmy, Crosses, Brandon Flowers, Gesaffelstein) and expertly held in check by vocalist Ami Komai, Kumo 99 are on a quest to reboot the rave nostalgia and lurid RGB aesthetics of the golden neynteen-neyTs for a fractious, net-addled audience that just
wishes they had experienced of either of those things in their heyday – fuckin' A!
This much was already apparent on last year's excellent
Body N. Will, a slick two-way between cruising breakbeat and throbbing hardcore (as in dorky stomp-techno, not your rat-brained punk snackaroo), but latest effort
HeadPlate takes everything attractive about that formula, doubles down on its juiciest nuggets of gratification, and tones up everything vaguely obnoxious about it to
just the right extent that you either love 'em or beat it. Komai plays it cool for most the record, her panther-smooth tones an impeccable fit for the seething basslines and restless beat switches that sustain this thing like a deliciously unhealthy heartbeat, but she also flexes a newfound flair for good ol' naked aggression that rounds off many of the album's peaks. Highlight rager "Dopamine Chaser" shows this off at its best, with Komai gobbing off all manner of claustro piss and vim (
Breathe calmly! / Grab your hair in your hands! / Hug each other til you're one and the same! / Leave a bruise where your hand was!) over a rager so replete with brute force as to recall the iconoclastic rampage of heyday Crystal Castles (a hole that has been plugged umpteen times since their disgrace and departure, yet never quite sealed). "Gomi" verges on the same onslaught, but finds Komai on the verge of snapping rather than full-flow, supported by her brilliant succinct lyricism: get through the Japanese language barrier, and her lines are a highlight factor across the board here, each perfectly poised to see off a clear intention without a single wasted syllable (translation really is no substitute here).
On "Gomi", this comes out in delightfully antisocial smack-talk (
You're a great match for that scumbag / nothing worse than the two of you / just looking at you makes me sick / and this is you living your best life), but the album packs a deceptive amount of depth in its less frenzied moments: a cursory listen may suggest a prevailing focus on seething bangers and catchy hooks, but there are plenty of more reserved cuts that grapple with various anxieties no amount of dopamine can lay a scratch on.
Every year goes too fast / one day flies out of sight / as time passes / I lose sight of it all muses late-game pop highlight "Solitaire", while the following "Sorosoro" is a decidedly moody coming-of-age number delivered over a progression that recalls the likes or Dolphin or Sneaker Pimps in their most sullen downtempo stews. "Plume" is another highlight in this regard, its instrumental gear-switches a savvy counterpart for Komai's revolving door of sheltering thoughts and lurking anxieties. There's a recurrent sense throughout
Headplate that she's ticking all the boxes of an escapist rush while looking for a way out of escapism itself – as slick and
absurdly infectious as this record is for prospective rave fuel, it distinguishes itself still more in the voice and feverish energy it gives to stir-craziness and frustration.
Every profession of wanting to fuck around like a kid ("Gelus"), every unhinged party mantra seems to stem from a central sense of dissatisfaction or uncertainty (as per the title-track,
Whichever way I face, all I see are my screwups / whatever I do, I know I won't like it), and that Kumo 99 play these two sides against one another such cohesion, across such a balanced tracklist is an ostensible feather in the cap of an apparent Hot Shit act.
HeadPlate could probably have posited riotous sulk-exorcism for the ages (and I would not be surprised if we hear exactly this on a future outing), but there's something bracing and – actually, yes – inspiring about its willingness to touch base with the more fragile impulses surrounding that inescapable need for violent cheap thrills (one thinks here for a shadow of moment of fellow candid-hollerer Haru Nemuri). And so, yes!
HeadPlate stomps all over your brittle e-space and backs itself with more meaningful undertones than any other drippy personality-crutch you've had on rotation today. Dig it or scram.
