It’s perhaps his most successful attempt yet – “Oblivion” sinks to an absolute nadir as Parker aimlessly sprays his falsetto over a limp dembow rhythm that barely musters an ounce of what, say, DJ Python would make of it. He wastes the first half of “Not My World” running through one of the emptiest, most nothing beats of the year, eventually arriving at a shimmering bell melody that actually doesn’t sound too bad. But is there really a reason why you’d go for this over one of the countless deep house producers who can actually pull off this style with finesse? Time and again, Parker finds himself in a mushy middle: striving to reach the heights of a sideways R&S epic on the eight-minute trance “Ethereal Connection” without ever finding an exit, and continually sabotaging whatever momentum he manages to build on the closing Balearic snoozer “End of Summer.”
Between all these potential workouts, there are some serious hiccups. “Piece of Heaven” is a half-hearted mashup between Enya and “Hollaback Girl” that refuses to deliver on its promise of fun, and the Brian Wilson-lite dead-on-arrival throwaway “See You On Monday (You’re Lost)” really sounds like something we weren’t supposed to hear. It’s admirable for Parker to take on something new and continue to redefine how people perceive him. But the sense of craftsmanship that made Tame Impala stand out in the first place has all but disappeared. Instead of sumptuously reminding us of simple joys like a snappy R&B beat switch or a good flanger pedal drop, we have drum machines plugged casually into guitar amps and left spinning their rudimentary loops; none of this really explores how liberating, powerful, or even therapeutic dance music can be.
The worst part is that, through it all, I can still hear a world in which this could have been something: the sound of a bad trip, a murky commentary on adulthood and success, or simply harsh, hypnotic beats accompanying Parker’s spiral into self-doubt. Most of these songs aren’t offensive on their own: “Dracula” may not be anything special, but its cheesy boogie is quite catchy. “Afterthought” would have been the weakest and most repetitive song on Currentsbut that still makes it the strongest thing here. The cumulative effect, however, is exhausting, a series of flimsy half-measures that don’t even seem particularly depressing.
The other problem is that Parker has already tested several of these hybrid dance attempts with better results on his latest album, The slow rush. In this album’s standout moments, you could see how Parker’s concept of rebuilding house tracks from scratch with his analog disco setup could potentially lead to lush, new endings. But on DeadbeatParker mostly just seems in love with the sound of big, empty beats blaring through space. On the first single from his debut album, Parker sang: “There’s a party in my head/And no one’s invited.” » Fifteen years later, he exploded that image to superclub proportions; It’s a sad sight to see.
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