Monday, 27 November 2017

๐Ÿฃ CITY FATHER — COQUETTE

A tumbling drumkit and a set of disembodied hands engaged in a rapture of rhythm, the hammering and clatter-tshh of the virtousic fills and thuds that trill and flood the air with hard bristling organic sound, the ultimate in percussive propellant, summoning the speed of rolling down inclines and speeding around corners late at night with dim street lights thumping your peripheral vision. The beat in 'Coquette' by LA producer City Father is full of life, both by extension of its sense of movement and also by its intimate, sound-coming-from-the-room-next-door aesthetic, ostensibly real sounds that breathe and scrape with robust physicality.

It begins thin, just this thunder-and-lightning of percussion bumping the track along on a backdrop of nocturnal void, as well as this sampled panting whispering and sheafing through the track like turning the page of a dusty book, the regular breathing of a late-night rendez-vous, but harshly cutting through the sound, a particular detail of memory on loop. The track morphs via scintillating synth details, fibrous and plasma-like, into something with more body, sludgy synth bass rising like a tide towards the end – something like a vocal hooting and crooning wordlessly colourful in the monochrome of it all – heating the track up into a scathing crescendo before it cuts off and fades into forlorn quiet, the empty feeling of despondence.




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