Philadelphia producer Eev Frances has covered a lot of ground in four years. A given Frances track might be built out of rave stabs, Memphis-style beats, or Merzbow-grade noise blasts, any one of them looped and compressed into a blunt-force instrument; her more elaborate productions have taken the form of brooding post-dubstep, yearning shoegaze gabber, and misty-eyed jungle. No matter the style, the common denominator has been an omnipresent patina of damage: blown out, bitcrushed, and bristling with distortion, as though her DAW were buckling beneath the surfeit of ideas.
Frances’ new release, Sometimes I Forget to Breathe, marks a shift. The outlines of her music are more vivid—the beats have sharper teeth; the melodies glint like the backs of dolphins. If her early work often seemed like a kind of primordial soup, the new record fast-forwards a considerable distance through her music’s evolution. So long, protozoa: Here we see the creature fully formed, striding confidently into the wilderness.
It’s not just that the music sounds more polished; everything about it is more intricate, more carefully thought out. One influence looms large: the hyperkinetic blasts of late-’90s and early-’00s IDM. The opening “Pistol Whip (Demo)” is a riot of barely restrained energy. A furious drum’n’bass rhythm assembles itself out of clattering cutlery; calming pads keep the mood placid while the bassline tangles itself into increasingly contorted shapes. There’s something almost cartoonish about the squelchy textures and crystalline tone colors, but the giddiness is tempered by a more downcast undercurrent. As the track builds, the melodies grow hydra-headed, branching into contrapuntal chaos. It’s an unabashed homage to golden-age Squarepusher, but it holds its own in its sheer depth of feeling.
A similar palette and stylistic sensibility carry across most of the record. “Burstintotears” spends its first three minutes tossed by a wistful chord progression that lurches like butterflies in the stomach; a tinny crash cymbal announces a climactic drop and the arrival of a rushing, reassuring kick drum. (The title is self-explanatory.) “Blistex” is an atmospheric sketch for burbling synths; “Bala Cynwyd” channels them into a spring-driven electro anthem festooned with lush pads, metallic delay, and another bassline so squelchy it practically leaves soggy footprints where it lands. Frances’ music, despite the blasted surfaces and often breakneck pace, has always had an unabashedly emotive bent, and here she puts her feelings front and center. Suffused in video-game bleeps and chords that refuse to neatly resolve, it’s nostalgic and hopeful all at once.
