Day 93: Perfume Genius — No Shape
In a revelatory cover story published in The Fader earlier this year, Alan Wyffels talked about what motivates Mike Hadreas, his partner of eight years, to make music as Perfume Genius. “He wants to be the musician he would’ve [needed] as a teenager, and I think he’s doing that. He’s singing about things that no other gay male singer is singing about. About his pain, about his experiences.”
If his aim on No Shape was to make songs that span from joy to confusion, from the anthemic to the vulnerable, he’s done it. There’s just something captivating about how Hadreas has expanded upon the template used in past Perfume Genius work, drawing on musical allusions to everything from M83 to Pet Sounds in order to create music that feels personal, prickly, vulnerable, and altogether mesmerizing.
On opening track “Otherside”, Hadreas sets the range of listener expectations, juxtaposing some of the album’s softest songwriting right alongside one of its most dynamic moments. A quiet, measured piano that feels like it was stolen from Sufjan Stevens’ songbook soon gives way to an explosive, shimmering chorus, bursting with glimmery exuberance. From there, the album finds ways to sound grand in scope without going overboard into camp.
Subsequently, No Shape’s most valuable asset is Hadreas’ willingness to play with so many different tones and sonic elements, introducing subtle emotional and thematic shifts through small flourishes. “Just Like Love” sprinkles in stringy synths and feather-light percussion to imbue the identity ballad of longing with a sixties pop feel, suggesting a desire to reframe queer self-actualization as something classical and legitimate. “Wreath”, which (knowingly or not) sprinkles in some of the same new harpsichord-ish textures that fellow queer songwriter/producer Baths used on recent album Romaplasm, suggesting a new, happy day freed from bodily constraints.
What makes the music here so special is that it Hadreas often intentionally distorts beautiful ideas into ugly or unfamiliar shapes, forcing us to grapple with the complexities of the imperfect. “Sides”, a duet of sorts with Weyes Blood, turns an otherwise sweet guitar melody into something sour. The percussive bass of “Go Ahead” feels delicate boulders tumbling unevenly down a hill. His voice on “Choir” sounds like the dying breath of a body about to be carried away by a chorus of angels, or a ghastly presence calling out from the other side of death’s threshold. These sorts of elements feel like birthmarks, unique “flaws” that Hadreas deploys to show how these songs are powerfully, unmistakably his.
While his songs show plenty of personality, he also knows how to work within the templates of others to create great songs. “Die 4 You” — which is somehow not a Prince cover even though Hadreas told The Fader it’s about auto-erotic asphyxiation — sounds like a Portishead song stripped to its barest bones, with Hadreas doing his best Beth Gibbons impersonation over a sparse, gloomy melody. It may not get credit as an album centerpiece, but it does an excellent job fostering the same sort of musical atmosphere the Bristol group is known for without feeling derivative.
While I can only critique from my own cishet perspective, these tracks capture the complexity of queerness, equal parts anxious and exuberant. From the rush of giving into the temptation of a seemingly forbidden love on “Slip Away” all the way to ender “Alan”, a track named after Wyffels that explores the unexpected peace of stable domesticity. These songs also occasionally seek out and find moments of liberation, but are compelled just as often by fear as they seek out love. It’s only political in the sense that the personal for someone like Hadreas is inherently political, but there are plenty of songs here that can offer comfort or guiding light in these dark times if you’re willing to invite them into your life.
No Shape has shown up towards the top of certain year-end lists, and it’s easy to understand why. This is Perfume Genius’ most daring work to date in some ways, and he navigates through grander territory with a natural ease that feels suspiciously uncharacteristic given how some of these songs feel. I haven’t heard anything that so flawlessly mixes unease with joy like this in a minute, and it’s hard to think of a better encapsulation of what good music should be in 2017.
This is Day 93 in my 100 albums in 100 days series, where I review a new album or EP I haven’t heard in full before every day through December 31st. Check out yesterday’s post or see the full archives for more.
