Music, eh? Music. Music. A cruel mistress or mister. Her indoors. Some mothers do ‘ave ’em…etc. Without further bullshit until the next sentence, here’s another dismissive, unfair assessment of one person’s heartfelt artistic endeavour. Sorry. This album is out now on 37 Adventures.
RYD is a sole man from North London and the style of music is sort of breathy sadboy easy-listening dance music which you’d easily hear soundtracking a Made in Chelsea heartbreak scene just before an ad-break. I mean it slips down easily but I felt like I was listening to brown coloured play-doh spewing from a spiraliser.
Some more of the old Hackney+++ bullshit, unfortunately. That’s not to say it’s particularly terrible, it’s just that sort of thing if you know what I mean. RYD is from North as well, but you get what I’m on about.
Combining the synthetic and the rustic, the album occasionally nudges at the heartfelt , contemplative indie R’n’B of bands like Hot Chip in addition to the sensuality of Frank Ocean. The guitar melodies on ‘Plans‘ and ‘Work it Out‘ are pretty.
It’s like listening to a 40 minute song with someone abruptly jerking the volume way up and right down every three to four minutes or so.
I think if I was going to be slaughtered by a fucking wank in Cambridge Heath or Clapton, or I was monged out in a silly bar making a mock pushing-out-my-lips-right-up-towards-my-nose poncey face while lightly grooving, I’d readily accept that this would be playing in the background. Yes, I am a very unhappy person.
The substantial and engaging lyrics in ‘Don’t‘ – and what I mean by that it’s got swearing in it – are pretty emotional and serious. However, for the majority of this record I was bored, but well aware it wasn’t tuned to my brain. I found RYD by RYD very very samey. The cover art is a sort of mushy mushy of New Order‘s Power, Corruption and Lies and Technique, I liked it.
I mean if it were me reviewing the album, which it is I suppose, I’d knock up the road to the mean streets of one of the top three richest boroughs in London, Camden, about which the artist states: “The other end of Camden is getting cooler now – like by Koko, the Mornington Crescent end. That’s where the people who are not tourists tend to go.”, and I’d do this.
I’d rest my elbow on Robert Downie’s head, and set him right on what an album should sound like. I have no musical talent, btw:
“Make it more like The Cure. Turn that up. Turn it up. Turn that down. No. No. That sounds the same as the last one, no. Turn that down – in fact, turn all that ambient ‘jizz music’ down. More guitars. Shout into the mic. More! Vague platitutes! YASSSS we’ve got it. This is the sort of music I prefer”
IT WON/T BE LIKE THIS ALL THE TIME By The Twilight Sad is out now.