The best soul and r&b EPs of 2019

In a parallel universe where only beautiful things happen, Mariah Carey put on her magical strap-on glittered up to get busy Kelela, and a beautiful baby girl named Semma was born. From parent one, the little one inherited a staggering vocal dynamism that lets her leap between registers and octaves as easily as downing a glass of water, while parent two is responsible for passing down a love of alternative electronic sounds and a pronounced intimacy in the songwriting. Raised first on a diet of Uk-garage, and then sent to study at Los Angeles' Fade To Mind studios with Kingdom, Semma has packaged up one of the year's most exquisite EPs. It's a journey travelled with nonchalance , from the martial stride of the opener "Trouble In Paradise" to the jagged rhythm punctuated by menacing velvet basslines of "My Boy", passing through a title track that unwinds like a lament under a starry sky, and the therapeutic song of hope garage-pop of "In Time". It's clear, then, how vocal flair, productions avant-garde and solid r&b songwriting all come together in a product so well put together that its only real flaw is how short it is. Special mention goes to the irresistible "Bittersweet", with its Bollywood and a vocal performance that sends shivers down your spine, riding over a dry digital beat. In one word: perfect. (Pandolfini)

Yerin Baek – Our Love Is Great (JYP)

It's recent news that singer-songwriter Yerin Baek has left the ranks of JYP to sign with the much smaller Blue Vinyl, releasing these days her debut album “Every Letter I Sent You”. A bold but necessary choice, one that suits the refined, almost self-effacing nature of this young talent of sophisticated r&b, who was behind one of the best made in Korea moments of 2019. Driven by “Maybe It’s Not Our Fault” (number one on the Gaon Chart), a delicate soul-tinged tune that shrugs off any comparison to the tear-jerking ballad thanks to its plush beat and lovely keyboard flourishes, “Our Love Is Great” is an Ep that's sweet and breezy at once, in which Baek proves an efficient, versatile songwriter, translating into melodic lines that are light but never insubstantial. Electro shadings (“Merry And The Witch’s Flower”), acoustic filigree (“Dear My Blue”, sung entirely in English), reggae openings (the title track, introduced by a velvety jazz prelude) round out performances that aren't exactly explosive, yet are always precise in bringing a tangible sense of romance even to the most understated of phrasings. Beyond the sickly-sweetness of so many Korean balladeers, this is a record of striking lightness. (Karagiannis)

MorMor – Some Place Else (Don’t Guess)

 

Picture a dinner party at a house on the outskirts of town: among the guests you spot Terry Callier and Beach House deep in conversation about the meaning of human existence, while sitting in a corner is Peter Buck, picking out an arpeggio on his guitar, offering everyone in the room a poignant filigree of sound that smells of a distant, long-gone adolescence: this is “Outside”, a songwriting gem capable of splitting your heart open with the gentlest of caresses. “Some Place Else” follows last year's Ep, already covered on these pages, and only reconfirms the special place MorMor occupies in today's indie landscape: the guy writes songs so hushedly beautiful they disarm you, delivers them with a voice sweetly rich in inflection, and adorns them tastefully with acoustic and electronic touches. It's genuinely impossible to single out a key track beyond the already-mentioned single: from the nineties-tinged, thick guitars of “Make Believe” to the sweet embroidery of “Pass The Hours”, with that falsetto that suddenly takes flight, this Ep is a new compendium on what the word “beauty” really means in music in 2019. Can you also picture yourself waltzing by the sea in winter to the notes of “Get Away”? This guy has a gift, and let's hope he never runs out of it. (Pandolfini)

Dua Saleh – Nūr (Against Giants)

It's easy to be captivated by a personality like Dua Saleh, a multidisciplinary artist from Minneapolis (though born in Kassala, Sudan), involved in poetry and activism alongside music. With their debut record (“Nūr” means light in Arabic), the artist immediately grabs attention thanks to an assertive vocal flow and a lyrical skill marked by both sharpness and warmth, unafraid of thorny subject matter but equally capable of stepping aside for moments of pure wordless expression. The production, dense, urban and industrial-leaning (4 of the 5 tracks courtesy of fellow Minneapolis polymath Psymun), nonetheless never pushes the record's vibrations toward hip-hop territory, allowing Saleh's singing to express itself in all its soulful abandon, often bent away from the norm (the falsetto, almost like a solipsistic spiritual, on “Survival”), yet steeped in an emotion that never lets go, making every single line count. An important launching pad for an artist who could well become the next big thing. (Karagiannis)

Jnr Williams – Withers On The Vine (Insanity)

 

When it comes to London's Jnr Williams, the word "apprenticeship" gets thrown around a lot, but at least 2019 finally proved to be his breakthrough year, and “Withers On The Vine” is his second Ep in just a few months, proof of an enthusiasm finally paying off. The four tracks here place the emphasis on his most distinctive trait: his voice. At times you can hear echoes of the archaic, velvety timbre of Louis Armstrong and the greats of the jazz tradition, learned by heart like childhood memories and then filtered through instinct in search of a natural mode of expression that never loses sight of the East End's most modern urban inflections. Especially beautiful is the tribute to the Caribbean community on “Us In Major”, a track built on blunt lyrics and a lovely video that gracefully captures the fragility and pride of that community. Elsewhere, the autumnal meditation of “Another Page” unfolds as gracefully as jazz under the sign of Mark Hollis, while the spare gospel toll of “Don’t Give Up” and the electronic pulse of “U 4 Ever” make “Withers On The Vine” an intimate, close-knit listen, whose strength lies in a mature, composed observation of the human soul that's never short on pathos. (Pandolfini)

Lexie Liu – 2030 (88rising)

A fully-fledged member of 88rising, the production company-record label-artistic collective aimed at giving space to Asian artists looking to release music in the States (Joji and Rich Brian being the best-known names), Chinese-American Lexie Liu is one of its most distinctive and ambitious names, responsible for one of the happiest moments in the still-young label's entire catalogue. Born from a meeting of cultures, an expressive collision that also shows through in a bilingualism wielded with absolute mastery, “2030” is a fluid work whose language draws on a composite urban code, coated however in a hazy, in its own way psychedelic patina that isn't averse to venturing into very different territory too. From the mandopop reverberations that animate “Hat Trick” to the tropical atmospheres of “Strange Things”, Liu moves with agility without stumbling into any embarrassing missteps, making the elaborate sonic backdrop entirely her own. Standing out within the record are the electro modulations of “Nada”, with a vocal delivery not far from Rihanna at her most patois, and the trap spaciousness of “Outta Time”: a grasp of the present handled with the poise of a seasoned musician, one that will earn her far more than a few simple indie nods of approval. (Karagiannis)

Joviale – Crisis (Blue Flowers Music)

A voice that trembles yet knows how to sting at just the right moment, paired with guitar work that sounds gloriously ramshackle yet always on point: that's "Crisis," one of the leftfield funniest and most interesting listens of the year. The free-spirited approach to songwriting and the thousand colors of the arrangements (courtesy of producer Bullion, who has already worked with Sampha e David Byrne) make Britain's Joviale a sort of Aldous Harding, certainly less artsy but at the same time far more down-to-earth and endearing in her slightly awkward way. The swing of "Struggle Cuddle" is bound to raise a smile, while "Ride Away" ventures into the territory of a pale, sulky PJ Harvey who's been dragged along, against her will, on a prize holiday cruise to Cuba. Then there's the single "Dreamboat," mysterious in its quiet swaying, enriched by percussion and a voice that winds through backing vocals and a flute-like falsetto with real personality. "Crisis" confirms what's long been suspected: soul music may have lost some of its passion at the top of the charts, but in England's backwaters there are still plenty of notable characters, and Joviale is certainly one of them. (Pandolfini)

Yehaiyahan – Under The Moonlight (IdleBeats)

More a short album than an actual Ep/mini-album, “Under The Moonlight” marks Chinese producer ChaCha's switch to her given name and the adoption of a more multifaceted language, which she herself has described as “cinematic soul”, in which the electronics chart more personal, atmospheric paths, meant to support vocal contours that are rarefied, watery, at times even unsettling, yet never lacking in soul and pathos. The title track, backed by a keyboard base that sounds like freeze-dried garage-house, best defines the concept, allowing Yehaiyahan to lay down a vocal line with clean r&b contours, perfectly embedded within the minimalist, repetitive backdrop of the musical accompaniment. “Hold On No More” brings her close to the electro explorations of a pioneer like V V Brown, wrapping its course in blurred percussive hints; “Something” is Kelsey Lu in a seductive swarm of synthetic tolls and a-melodic sighs, while “Know U More” offers a bridge to the fine trip-hop of days gone by, pairing it with a more modern electronic structure. Surreal, dense with a sweet humanity, the Chinese musician's new path, however early on (and by her own admission far from simple), already reveals top-notch material. (Karagiannis)

Zalma Bour – Safe Space (self-released)

In the online bickering between baby boomers e millennials, the concept of safe space has often stirred controversy, exposing a generational gap between parents who criticize the oversensitivity of today's youth, and the latter who, in order to cope with the challenges of modern life, have developed a self-defense mechanism based on exclusion and retreat into figurative safe spaces. Zalma Bour digs the knife into the issue without hesitation, crafting her own sonic "Safe Space" in which to lick her wounds and seek a meditative peace of the senses. Undeniable, however, is the skill with which the artist puts together a carefully considered listen from start to finish; starting from the cybernetic accents of the opening FKA twigs with "Redesign" and "Not For Me", the material soon turns warmer and more carnal, as if staging a process of emotional healing and a return to one's own state of grace. On "Prove It" a voice as clear as spring water emerges, over a crisp chill-funk rhythm, which Toro Y Moi pops up on "Joke", and there's also room for the jazzy acoustic sketch of "Try" and an "86.2" that sounds like it came straight out of the songbook of Jhené Aiko. Sparse and stripped-back, yet always effective thanks to sound design distilled down to the smallest detail, "Safe Space" has everything it needs to stand out in the ocean of Soundcloud self-releases; let's hope that, for Zalma Bour, the healing has only just begun. (Pandolfini)

 

Celeste – Compilation 1.1 (Universal)

Celeste is admittedly not the most cutting-edge act on this list: her soul ballads, brushed by piano like autumn leaves, wouldn't be out of place on an album by Rumer or the calmer side ofAdele . But there's undoubtedly a vocal and sonic quality that manages to turn the classic into an asset of her own, and Celeste has a personality that cuts through beyond the form. An urban candor born of Amy Winehouse ("Lately", "Summer"), and certain husky, jazzy vocal inflections that recall her fellow artist Rebecca Ferguson (the sullen "Strange", the beautiful and shadowy "Ugly Thoughts", a lithe "Coco Blood") add up to a listen that's definitely recommended to all fans of classic auteur soul. "Compilation 1.1" is a handy streaming collection of seven tracks released this year – some of which already appeared on the previous EP "Lately", out just a few months ago. With three sold-out shows in London just this autumn, Celeste is already well and truly on the launch pad, and industry insiders in the UK are betting everything on her. Let's hope that, going forward, she manages to keep intact that same pathos which right now makes her equally appealing to mainstream audiences and to slightly more demanding listeners. (Pandolfini)

 

Joy Crookes – Perception (Insanity)

 

Sometimes all it takes is one song to gather the entire essence of one's art into less than four minutes, and this year Joy Crookes strung together the perfect moment: the unbearably bittersweet “London Mine” is one of the finest tributes to a city heard in recent memory, a 90s-style electronic beat holding up its framework while the singer voices, with serene grace, her affection for a harsh and often lonely urban reality. Daughter of English and Bangladeshi parents, young Joy Crookes lays out her thoughts with an unusual realism that leaves little room for embellishment, and the remaining tracks on “Perception” play out like scenes from a short film about life in the capital during a rare quiet Sunday. There's the indietronic little groove à la Saint Etienne on “Hurts”, the witty vintage-youth-club tune à la Lily Allen on “No Hands”, and a more melancholy love song like “Darkest Hour”, dressed up with touches of jazz brass. But “Since I Left You – demo” best showcases the peculiarity of Joy's performances: her voice, so simple and unadorned, has her building practically everything around the storytelling, and the result feels so fresh it grabs your ear immediately. (Pandolfini)

 

Jeuru – King Of The Cruel (Sony Denmark)

 

First discovered a few years back thanks to the beautiful collaboration with Danish duo Kyo, American-born Jeuru – now based in Copenhagen, where he works as a model – confirms with this debut solo Ep his taste for raw, dramatic and baroque performances, always poised between formal rigidity and youthful abandon. His songwriting takes its cue from the electronic r&b typical of this decade, but the influence is little more than a faint guide; Jeuru immerses himself in a bath of languid guitars and blocky ambient inserts (“All The Same Dream”, already released on the record with Kyo), emerges like a Sphinx out of the desert in the dramatic sacredness of “Midnight Lullaby”, gives himself over with an uncertain, trembling voice on the interlude “As Time Passes By”, and then lets himself drift for the more than eight minutes of “Distorted Rainbows”, split between a first acoustic part of heart-wrenching beauty and a second part of drones and walls of post-rock guitars. In between it all, a title track with a symphonic crescendo but a melodic turn that smells of 90s rock. Original, inspired, quirky, hybrid: there's no doubt that “King Of The Cruel” is a record for a select few, but those are exactly the qualities that make Jeuru an ultra-niche name to follow no matter what. (Pandolfini)