Listen: Betrayal — Emco

As a fan of video games, I’ve recently secured myself a Playdate — the intriguing, beautiful and quirky handheld video game system from software developer Panic. The Playdate is quite unlike any other modern games console, firstly because it has a 1-bit, non-backlit, black and white screen (it looks a bit like e-ink), and secondly because it has a crank. The crank is an input device, a way to control games, not a way to charge the device.

One of the initial games that comes with the Playdate is called Whitewater Wipeout, and the concept is simple — you are a surfer, and you use the crank to pull tricks.

Crank!

What you may be thinking at this point is what does any of this have to do with the bit-crunched piece of electronica you find at the bottom of the page. The answer is very little, outside of my own head… But, in my mind, the two things have become intrinsically linked. Whitewater Wipeout actually has its own soundtrack — an 8-bit inspired chugging surf-rock track. But I find myself gravitating towards Emco’s track Betrayal in place of the the game’s actual soundtrack.

There is a combination of beauty and fear in Emco’s Betrayal that feels perfect for my compressed little adventures on the ocean waves. A haunting piano refrain floats like shifting water before a wall of distortion and bass hits you with the force of a rip tide. When I’m pulling triple-360s and racking up combos it feels just right, and then when I smash face-first into the water or get consumed by the advancing wave, it is still perfect.

Betrayal itself was inspired by a time when Emco felt betrayed and left alone — as such it depicts a sense of helplessness, and a story of resilience. Both feel relevant to adventures on the waves, a beautiful and terrifying balance between control and the loss of control.

Listen: Katie Boeck — Over Again

Over Again is the latest song from Nashville-based musician, singer-songwriter, and actor, Katie Boeck. What drew me to her latest song is just how simple the performance and production is — Boeck’s vocal is sat atop a simple strummed guitar, gentle keys and, well, very little else… It creates a simplicity that reminds me of the early-00s trend of acoustic chill-out music.

The star of the show here is, undoubtedly, Boeck’s overdubbed vocal harmonies. The restrained delivery of her vocals are a depiction of coming to terms with the past, and it is a delightfully restrained performance. The few moments that reflect that Over Again is the product of a recording studio rather than a live performance are so subtle they could almost be missed, if they didn’t add just a touch of emotional emphasis. This is the sound of an artist at peace.

Check out Over Again below, and look out for Katie Boeck’s forthcoming album, Calico, due in April 2023.

Listen: Everytime I Go To Bed — Nicolás

Nicolás is a music producer whose work tracks a vein of nostalgic melancholy. Describing his experience of the world, he notes the apparent tension between the fact that his may be part of Gen Z, but Nicolas has an affection for the world his parents grew-up in. For all the utility modern technology provides us, it can leave us forgetting the things that aren’t instantly accessible. We can immerse ourselves in the digitised experiences we recorded, but none of it conveys the emotions or sensations we had at the time.

Single Everytime I Go To Bed is an exploration of those overwhelming emotions — the feeling of being consumed by a desire or passion for something or someone. A yearning vocal depicts a sense of isolation as it slides across clattering jungle-styled drum and bass. The overall experience is beautiful, and yet haunting at the same time.

That sense of loneliness and isolation comes from the experience of being trapped inside yourself, and your emotion, as Nicolás describes:

“We all had a moment in our lives where passion was too strong, you want to get out, but you just can’t, your head is becoming a big loop where you feel lost and stuck.”

Listen to Everytime I Go To Bed below.

Watch: Make U Mine — Morgen

Make U Mine opens like a glitter doused grunge record — guitar notes, and bass guitar-led melodies plucked out as clattering drums roll in, all obscuring the vocal. Yet, it is quickly clear this is something more pop than a conventional grunge record. As we arrive at the verse, Morgen’s vocals are front and centre in the mix, an electronic kick drum pulsing as that glossy vocal depicts the complexity of a relationship that never quite found its footing.

The relative sheen of that verse is what really allows the chorus here to rip — applying a polish-grunge-polish take to the Pixies’ age-old quiet-loud-quiet model as Morgen shouts, “I wanna make you mine… again”. A bridge only adds to the high-octane pleasures, heavily filtered samples cutting through like a mangled electronic guitar. The result has all of the desperate energy that comes with needing something you can’t have.

Her first track of 2023, Make U Mine was produced by Morgen herself, together with Joe Mason, Matias Mora and Cary Singer. Describing the song, Morgen says:

“I wrote ‘Make U Mine’ about the nostalgia of a friendship I lost through unsaid feelings and miscommunication. It’s about the veil that time puts on memories, making them seem better than they actually were, and how that leaves you longing for something never even happened.”

Check out Make U Mine below, and look out for the forthcoming EP of the same name, due soon:

Listen: L.S.D. (Love So Damaged) — Charlotte Plank

Charlotte Plank’s new single L.S.D. (Love So Damaged), to give it its full name, kicks 2023 off with the kind of explosive burst of energy we need right now. Fuzzy guitar sizzles beneath Plank’s vocals as she confesses, “I play him like a video game, like a video game I do”. The song’s initial grungy elements giving way to confounded expectations as rolling drum & bass kicks in.

The sound 21-year-old Charlotte creates here is quite unlike anything I have heard before… A distinctively British take on the brutal honesty of anti-folk, evoking the vulnerability of Amy Winehouse, Lily Allen and Kate Nash, but thrust into an unexpected soundscape. Plank’s diverse influences, which include Winehouse but also take in Nirvana, Four Tet and the Prodigy, give rise to her kitchen-sink sound. Beyond the confluence of drum & bass meets grunge and anti-folk, L.S.D. utilises unexpected production flourishes – a record scratch moment, a telephone ring as she references making a desperate call. The result is infectiously organic and alive, despite its electric techniques.

L.S.D. is a song about a somewhat toxic relationship, with co-dependency, love and hate all tied up in one person. As Plank explains:

“This was written about the turbulent, habitual, addictive cycle of being in a toxic relationship. Whereby you know that it’s bad for you, you continue to hurt each other out of spite and lose respect for each other, yet it’s like you both subconsciously crave the problems and toxicity within one another and keep the rose-tinted glasses on yet another last chance despite your views of love being distorted and forever damaged.”

The feeling that opens L.S.D., of a relationship feeling like a video game, is one I am all too familiar with… Sometimes people feel like puzzles, with levels to progress through and situations to optimise your stat points against. It’s an unhealthy notion that can lead you to contorting yourself into someone you don’t actually want to be.