Santigold: Spirituals album review | pitchfork

Santigold Her ear to the future has always been a pioneer gravity Before the age of broadcasting and social media, its borders collapsed. on me spiritualHer most introspective and extant work to date, Santigold concocts her own version of African American gospel music that supported enslaved peoples through horrific conditions. Using the modern sounds of heavenly pop, punk rap, funk, electronica-reggae and smidge from hyperpop, she reimagines the kind of music that can comfort people in times of sadness and stagnation. It is an experiment with transcendence as a means of catharsis, which, at times, is muddled by attempts to anchor its explanation within the music.

Since beginning her solo career, Santigold has served as a kind of witness to racial, social, and economic injustice. Dating back to her days as the head of the punk rock band Stiffed, she was met with dismissal from the industry: “Never will black, female, punk artists happen.” The quiet Sante White characters you usually see in interviews have turned their frustration into a confrontational punk character. Whether it’s the cunning of the music industry in its progress Santogold Or Consumerism on her third album 99 ¢, Her words speak of the truth to power and archives of corruption. She spent her time as a child listening to artists like Villa KotiAnd the spear burningAnd the Nina SimoneAnd the Marvin Jay He appears in “Ain’t Ready” and the Afro-Caribbean-influenced movie “No Paradise,” where freedom fighter Santigold takes center stage. In the video aboutNot readyShe goes mad in the interrogation room as she returns the invasive look of the security camera. The siren-like introduction serves as a warning to opponents, a wake-up call to comrades and to oneself.

Strong gaze control. Being in the know is stressful. “My job as an artist is to feel and absorb, you know, and that’s a lot. And it’s heavy,” she explains recently an interview. In songs like the opening song “My Horror,” where she laments her dissociative stupor through disturbing ethereal vocals, Santigold haunts her viability of being a black woman in American society. She lingers in her ego dying moment after recently penning her comment in contagious pop rhythms and satire: In “Nothing,” she sings: “Am I free to prove that I’m just better until I’m not less…You tell me I’m nothing?” / Say I mean something.”

With the song “Shake,” Santigold taps into the stimulating rhythm that characterizes the music of the civil rights movement era. It fills the song with positive affirmations of a bold bass instrument—”I won’t bind under pressure/I’m fine”—and body-stimulating commands to honor those who have used music as a collective ritual to deliver through times of “no stumble.” She just wants you to escape from your body. and on naughty youthThe High Priestess, Santigold produced in her most futuristic state: “Bow, don’t panic / In the presence of a queen / I guard the gates here / Keep secrets as you wonder.” She slips in and out of rap, reminiscent of childhood playground anthems, on metal synths and strong drum beats. . In the Tarot, the card of the High Priestess is associated with intuition, mystical knowledge and magic.

Santigold certainly acts as a spiritual guide here, guiding us from anxiety toward the mass release of the body. As when someone pioneers an innovative audio field, sometimes the journey encounters some obstacles –spiritual It is peppered with chunky, highly literal lyrics that disrupt the spell cast by the emotion of music. But in the end, we get a glimpse into the next phase of Santigold’s art—a project unrelated to genre, form, physicality, or language.

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