Review Summary: Rotterdam, goddamn..
It seems only a little immaterial to talk about the aesthetic revival of a young artist who’s yet to properly register with the music world. Ladan Hussein, better known as Cold Specks, is mostly recognizable for the modestly successful single
Holland off her 2012 debut
I Predict a Graceful Expulsion, as well as guesting on Moby’s
A Case for Shame.
The Toronto singer’s maiden effort was a homely collection of acoustic soul, laced with a grim undertone. On her second, she seems to be gunning for two disparate directions at once, leaning heavier on both poppier sensibilities and that dingy undertone. The album even comes with a tokenly oblique title, a sure sign of an artist shedding past skin. Neuroplasticity is the brain’s capacity to bend and twist in order to adapt to a rapidly changing environment. And despite that stark split of notions, she pulls it off in elegant fashion.
On
Neuroplasticity, Hussein abandons the down-tuned acoustic backbone of
Expulsion, and opts for dense synths and lordly bass-lines, carving out the sort of gothic pop that latter-day Cocteau Twins dug into. Though she’s hardly in danger of crashing through the glass ceiling of contemporary pop icons, Hussein’s stab at adaptation still presents a predictable shortcoming. The album is cut up and lightly diluted by pop moments that are markedly simpler, tilting toward radio graces. Both
Bodies at Bay and
Living Signs could sit well on evening FM, and while neither song is phoned-in, they don’t escape the inherent blandness and listlessness of the trade.
But for every misstep, few and somewhat necessary as they are, there are troves of intelligent and nimble pop tracks to find here. The smoggy electronic shuffle of
Let Loose the Dogs, the post-modern jazz breakdown that closes
A Formal Invitation, the abstracted screams of ‘Simmer Down!’ on
Absisto.
Hoary chief of doom Michael Gira handles production and guest vocals on two of the tracks here, but his contributions are distinctly less abrasive than the Swans collective. Still, his presence, though softened and more Angels of Light-like, injects
Exit Plan’s tenderized harmonies with bursts of reprobate woe.
A neo-noir Harlem trumpet forms the wistful spine of gloomy closer
A Season of Doubt, the album’s finest song. Gira’s hushed growl backs Hussein’s commanding soulfulness.
Season is ‘hard rain in a big city’ kind of music, so classically doleful that it is abdicated from shifting trends.
The kind of acts Hussein is aligning herself with does betray a chink in her pop persona. She’s toured with Massive Attack, PJ Harvey and Swans, and while all three are certainly celebrated, they’ve also marched past their commercial prime, opting to continue releasing quality material over collective reverie. She may continue to ply a hand at radio-friendly goth pop, but I think it’s safe to say that Cold Specks’ endurance, if it does come, will be rooted in similarly hard-headed honour.
