Sam Levin
“Like a bookmark in a book you hate” – Sam Levin
The middle is a weird nebulous place: it requires both the gift of restraint and an impulsivity necessary for propulsive forward motion. It can be either/or but is more often neither/nor. Singer-Songwriter, Prodigy, and Performer Sam Levin gets that, and manages to find it on A General Air of Regret.
Sam Levin
A collection of cohesive sounds: John Renbourn spider-web thin guitar lines; a Conor Oberst disaffected delivery; the squeal and weal of a synthesizer; ambient guitars; a dash of musiqe concrete all come together to define the disparate sounds Levin pieces together across the record’s thirteen tracks. Tracks like “TV Show” have that nice straightforward folktronica sound, with double tracked guitar lines over moderate synthesizers only to veer into territory that Richard D. James or LCD Soundsystem would do.
Despite the polar ends of the sound spectrum being plunged are disparate unto themselves, Levin’s sense of vision unites. All the tracks feel essential to Levin’s vision. Over polysemous delivery of the same word, turned a few times until it’s meaning is warped, one will veer into the light and the electronica. It is as if the Age of Adz was spread a little more evenly. The sound is baked and coated, evenly spread across the songwriting, essential, but never indulgent.
On top of the intimate sounds, the tension of which only stand to bring the listener closer to Levin’s orbit, Levin’s lyrics are at once introspective and looking outward. As Levin himself states: “I don’t only want to write about highs and lows, most of life happens somewhere in the middle”; as such his lyrics float freely between those poetic impressionistic gravures and the down to earth prosaicness of procrastinating and scrolling on your phone.
You can feel that subtle shifting of attention pulling from each strain of influence. Each moment vies for supremacy. But with a deft hand, Levin keeps all the elements standing at attention.
The effect is a fragile balance. Each of the elements threaten to overwhelm at any moment. You can feel that subtle shifting of attention pulling from each strain of influence. Each moment vies for supremacy. But with a deft hand, Levin keeps all the elements standing at attention. It’s how the moments of unfettered folk like “The Only Thing” which feels like something off The Tallest Man on Earth’s Catalogue find themselves so effortlessly paired with tracks like “Therapy” which feel almost like a latter-day Flaming Lips cut.
The breakout single and musical centerpiece “Bookmark” epitomizes this mentality with gentle Drake-esque guitar lines over lyrics that find the middle road: a delicate beauty. And It is this tension that carries one through the album with a grace impressive for one who is only 17. It is an incredible flex from a growing talent. It is a promise of something to come for which we can look forward.
Prodigy is a tough-gig. So often the attendant perfection one attains to at an early age makes it hard to grow into something truly spectacular. The laurels are already there to rest on. Levin has been making music since he was 5 and found a mini-strat at a local music store in Suburban New York.
Mercifully for us all, he recognizes that hard work and persistence are just as valuable as talent; and I look forward to seeing where his creative impulses take him next.
