Spectreview: SAULT – ‘NINE’

Released: June 25, 2021

Contemporary R&B
(Funk/Soul)
(Dance)

-GRAY-

For a guide to the review color rating system, click here.

Since their debut SAULT have always intrigued me, but perhaps not for the reasons you think. Anonymity is a reasonable request knowing that the Internet has partially poisoned the artist-audience dynamic, and while it would be nice to put names and faces to the instruments, the music certainly doesn’t require it. What I find peculiar is how the band is that since their debut they’ve straddled the line between profundity and platitude, writing rooftop dance music with a socially-conscious edge that might get your older relatives to stop grooving and think about the impact of systemic racism for a moment.

Maybe I’m missing something, but more often than not I’ve found SAULT’s approach to social commentary a tad shallow, though I fully understand that could be because nowadays I expect that kind of message to come packaged with more deadly-serious music, not from the joyous marriage of bass and drum. And it is indeed joyous; SAULT’s last record, Untitled (Rise) was a soaring twin to the grave Untitled (Black Is), with tracks like “Fearless,” “Son Shine” and the tender “You Know It Ain’t” providing a much-needed salve to a pain-wracked populace. It may be light at times, but SAULT’s intentions have consistently been benevolent and community-oriented, and thus not wholly worth criticizing.

‘NINE’ is as similarly thought-provoking as its’ numerically-labeled siblings, though part of that is extramusical. SAULT are offering this record up on streaming services for ninety-nine days as of its release, and are pulling it right after. That could read as a questionable decision to create artificial demand (a la Nintendo’s recent Super Mario 3D All-Stars reneging), except the record is available as a free download on the band’s website, thus creating literally zero reason to complain. Pick up your copy, say “thank you” in your head, and dive in whenever you desire.

There’s technically nothing SAULT does here that they haven’t done on their last four albums, at least initially: the playing is still in the pocket, the beats are still written primarily for bodily movement, and each component returns like an old acquaintance to do what it does best. Up until the spoken-word piece that bifurcates the record, ‘NINE’ is SAULT in classic SAULT mode, pairing paper-dry drums with distorted bass and amp-filtered vocals in their signature display of contemporary funk. The first few tracks are all solid grooves, though they’re decidedly dour for the band and almost entirely free of melody with the instruments instead working as percussion and texture. The front-and-center bass on “London Gangs” and “Fear” rumbles menacingly underneath, and the latter carries eerie reverb on the vocals and a stark concluding mantra. This subtle, pensive darkness, which is signed and sealed by Michael Ofo’s brief testimony about the murder of his father, defines ‘NINE’’s first half.

It isn’t until right afterward that ‘NINE’ finds its melodic foundation, and this is where the record starts to morph into something a little outside of SAULT’s comfort zone. While the darkness persists, its leavened by the presence of guitar and a newfound emotiveness. The strings that close out the jazzy, muted “Bitter Streets,” for instance, make an affecting comparison to the dead-eyed din of the earlier songs. “Alcohol’s” repetitiveness could feel stuffy but instead comes across equally affecting, as the band slows to a stroll and the unnamed singer vocalizes the regret she’s doomed to repeat. “You from London” may subvert expectations for its understated smoothness considering the bombast Little Simz usually operates in, and her verse does last long, but it’s still of a predictably high caliber; meanwhile, the song itself may spend a little too much time dancing in place afterwards, but that’s exactly what you’re supposed to expect from SAULT.

It’s easy to go into ‘NINE’ assuming it’s a slighter effort than before, especially taking into account the twin colossi of their Untitled albums and the fact that it’s a free download. It’s true that there’s a bit of a diminishing-returns effect here, but ‘NINE’ is as accomplished an effort as what’s come before it. In essence, the way its two halves play on each other, it’s almost like an abridged reimagining of those Untitled records in the way it starts diving into a grim reality before rising into a healing environment. It might have one or two indulgances (the well-intentioned but overlong voice call that bogs down the end of the otherwise terrific “9”, for instance) but it remains a compassionate opportunity to enjoy, to ruminate on, to celebrate and mourn.

Recommended for a public fountain.