Klein — Lifetime album review
A trope that has existed for a long time in modern music is that of the “personal album” — an artist usually writing about their own lives in the most vulnerable, open way possible. There is less focus on instrumentation, which tends to be very minimal, as to put a stronger emphasis on the lyrical content. But with time, this has evolved to become an essentially meaningless term used only to market a record, and while there are examples of musicians making great albums that fall under this description — Mount Eerie or Nick Cave come to mind — when the lyrics are lackluster and the music itself is not interesting, there is little to hold on to.
So, how can one convey the idea of a “personal album” without resorting to lyrical content at all to begin with? London producer Klein found a unique way to do so. Lifetime, her second proper album and the first release under her new label ijn inc., comes after many works in which she used R&B and pop music influences to craft hard-hitting, intricate and limitless sound collages. It was written over an 18-month period, and she explained it is akin to a “personal diary”.
This is achieved by stripping down her sound — something that had already started to happen with her Tommy EP in 2017 and the cc EP from last year, but has been fully developed on this album. The hyperactive sampling, vocal-centric compositions and extreme glitching is left behind in favor of drones, field recordings, the building of a dark, dense atmosphere. Aside from the most accessible track on the record, “Claim It” — a hybrid of Burial-esque garage and trip hop — there is a strong absence of beats or even traditional rhythmic structures at all.
Lifetime blurs the lines between dreams and nightmares. While a track like “We Are Almost There” has an almost ethereal, hopeful quality to it due to the choir-like chanting it is built around, it is immediately followed by an ominous-sounding, disconcerting piece like “Never Will I Disobey”. Klein also blurs the lines between electronic music and “real instruments”, not only because of the constant presence of piano frequent in her discography, but in moments such as for example “Silent”, led by pulsating drums and bursts of noise.
“Honour”, the album’s nearly-10-minutes-long centerpiece explores the strong themes of spirituality and growth. For the first half of the track, you can hear two (or more) voices that might or might not be in conversation talking about responsibility, faith, kindness, forgiveness. The voices slowly begin to distort to the point where they become nothing but static, like the way an unresolved conflict presents itself.
Even though the sonic motifs do build the album’s sense of openness and exposure of one’s thoughts, “99”, the only track on Lifetime with proper lyrics, manages to touch on suicidal ideation, generational trauma — especially that occurring in the Black diaspora — and eventually overcoming one’s demons, all in just a minute and a half.
Despite the album’s haunting and grim tone and very experimental nature — it does not necessarily bask in self-indulgence or rely too heavily on its “concept”, but rather sounds like an expression coming from a genuine place, one that also happens to be sonically engaging. Lifetime is quite reminiscent of Yves Tumor’s 2016 breakout album Serpent Music in its themes of spirit, personal identity and its eclectic craft — going far beyond what a “personal album” can be. But what Klein does is unique on its own merits and terms too, coming through with a release that demonstrates her capabilities not only as one of the most inventive producers of the past few years, but also as a storyteller.
You can buy the album here.
