Dawn Richards and Machinedrum entwine one of 2016’s most adventurous R&B albums in Redemption, unpackaging the promise of their Not Above That anthem across a suite of idiosyncratic vocal twists and flighty, vibrant production.
Looking like the starchild of Sun Ra on the front cover, D∆WN really sets to work defining her sound in freestyling opposition to the rest of the scene, embracing a palette of giddy tweaks and unexpected pivots that make the former member of girl group, Danity Kane, stand out a mile on her own terms.
The Redemption LP is literally and conceptually cleft in two parts that correspond to the yin and yang of D∆WN’s chimeric aesthetic. On the one hand, you have the lushly spacious and vertiginous A-side, freewheeling from ascendent new age plumes to teetering dance-pop zingers in Love Under Lights and the brassy bedspring bounce of Renegades, via the ecstatic Black Crimes and weightless thizz of Voices with its spiralling ululations. Allow the guitars on LA, tho.
However, on the flipside, she appear to temper those experimental urges into a subtler run of rugged and bittersweet songs, tipping in with the bleep-gilded swang of Lazarus before tucking the vibe deeper with the RiRi-esque Tyrants and the chiming downstroke of Vines in duet with PJ Morton, prior to really dimming the lights for the pitch-bent rhodes of Sands and fading to close in symphonic style with the aching R&B folk essence of The Louvre.
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Dawn Richards and Machinedrum entwine one of 2016’s most adventurous R&B albums in Redemption, unpackaging the promise of their Not Above That anthem across a suite of idiosyncratic vocal twists and flighty, vibrant production.
Looking like the starchild of Sun Ra on the front cover, D∆WN really sets to work defining her sound in freestyling opposition to the rest of the scene, embracing a palette of giddy tweaks and unexpected pivots that make the former member of girl group, Danity Kane, stand out a mile on her own terms.
The Redemption LP is literally and conceptually cleft in two parts that correspond to the yin and yang of D∆WN’s chimeric aesthetic. On the one hand, you have the lushly spacious and vertiginous A-side, freewheeling from ascendent new age plumes to teetering dance-pop zingers in Love Under Lights and the brassy bedspring bounce of Renegades, via the ecstatic Black Crimes and weightless thizz of Voices with its spiralling ululations. Allow the guitars on LA, tho.
However, on the flipside, she appear to temper those experimental urges into a subtler run of rugged and bittersweet songs, tipping in with the bleep-gilded swang of Lazarus before tucking the vibe deeper with the RiRi-esque Tyrants and the chiming downstroke of Vines in duet with PJ Morton, prior to really dimming the lights for the pitch-bent rhodes of Sands and fading to close in symphonic style with the aching R&B folk essence of The Louvre.
Dawn Richards and Machinedrum entwine one of 2016’s most adventurous R&B albums in Redemption, unpackaging the promise of their Not Above That anthem across a suite of idiosyncratic vocal twists and flighty, vibrant production.
Looking like the starchild of Sun Ra on the front cover, D∆WN really sets to work defining her sound in freestyling opposition to the rest of the scene, embracing a palette of giddy tweaks and unexpected pivots that make the former member of girl group, Danity Kane, stand out a mile on her own terms.
The Redemption LP is literally and conceptually cleft in two parts that correspond to the yin and yang of D∆WN’s chimeric aesthetic. On the one hand, you have the lushly spacious and vertiginous A-side, freewheeling from ascendent new age plumes to teetering dance-pop zingers in Love Under Lights and the brassy bedspring bounce of Renegades, via the ecstatic Black Crimes and weightless thizz of Voices with its spiralling ululations. Allow the guitars on LA, tho.
However, on the flipside, she appear to temper those experimental urges into a subtler run of rugged and bittersweet songs, tipping in with the bleep-gilded swang of Lazarus before tucking the vibe deeper with the RiRi-esque Tyrants and the chiming downstroke of Vines in duet with PJ Morton, prior to really dimming the lights for the pitch-bent rhodes of Sands and fading to close in symphonic style with the aching R&B folk essence of The Louvre.
Dawn Richards and Machinedrum entwine one of 2016’s most adventurous R&B albums in Redemption, unpackaging the promise of their Not Above That anthem across a suite of idiosyncratic vocal twists and flighty, vibrant production.
Looking like the starchild of Sun Ra on the front cover, D∆WN really sets to work defining her sound in freestyling opposition to the rest of the scene, embracing a palette of giddy tweaks and unexpected pivots that make the former member of girl group, Danity Kane, stand out a mile on her own terms.
The Redemption LP is literally and conceptually cleft in two parts that correspond to the yin and yang of D∆WN’s chimeric aesthetic. On the one hand, you have the lushly spacious and vertiginous A-side, freewheeling from ascendent new age plumes to teetering dance-pop zingers in Love Under Lights and the brassy bedspring bounce of Renegades, via the ecstatic Black Crimes and weightless thizz of Voices with its spiralling ululations. Allow the guitars on LA, tho.
However, on the flipside, she appear to temper those experimental urges into a subtler run of rugged and bittersweet songs, tipping in with the bleep-gilded swang of Lazarus before tucking the vibe deeper with the RiRi-esque Tyrants and the chiming downstroke of Vines in duet with PJ Morton, prior to really dimming the lights for the pitch-bent rhodes of Sands and fading to close in symphonic style with the aching R&B folk essence of The Louvre.
Vinyl re-press.
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Dawn Richards and Machinedrum entwine one of 2016’s most adventurous R&B albums in Redemption, unpackaging the promise of their Not Above That anthem across a suite of idiosyncratic vocal twists and flighty, vibrant production.
Looking like the starchild of Sun Ra on the front cover, D∆WN really sets to work defining her sound in freestyling opposition to the rest of the scene, embracing a palette of giddy tweaks and unexpected pivots that make the former member of girl group, Danity Kane, stand out a mile on her own terms.
The Redemption LP is literally and conceptually cleft in two parts that correspond to the yin and yang of D∆WN’s chimeric aesthetic. On the one hand, you have the lushly spacious and vertiginous A-side, freewheeling from ascendent new age plumes to teetering dance-pop zingers in Love Under Lights and the brassy bedspring bounce of Renegades, via the ecstatic Black Crimes and weightless thizz of Voices with its spiralling ululations. Allow the guitars on LA, tho.
However, on the flipside, she appear to temper those experimental urges into a subtler run of rugged and bittersweet songs, tipping in with the bleep-gilded swang of Lazarus before tucking the vibe deeper with the RiRi-esque Tyrants and the chiming downstroke of Vines in duet with PJ Morton, prior to really dimming the lights for the pitch-bent rhodes of Sands and fading to close in symphonic style with the aching R&B folk essence of The Louvre.
Finally available on CD.
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Dawn Richards and Machinedrum entwine one of 2016’s most adventurous R&B albums in Redemption, unpackaging the promise of their Not Above That anthem across a suite of idiosyncratic vocal twists and flighty, vibrant production.
Looking like the starchild of Sun Ra on the front cover, D∆WN really sets to work defining her sound in freestyling opposition to the rest of the scene, embracing a palette of giddy tweaks and unexpected pivots that make the former member of girl group, Danity Kane, stand out a mile on her own terms.
The Redemption LP is literally and conceptually cleft in two parts that correspond to the yin and yang of D∆WN’s chimeric aesthetic. On the one hand, you have the lushly spacious and vertiginous A-side, freewheeling from ascendent new age plumes to teetering dance-pop zingers in Love Under Lights and the brassy bedspring bounce of Renegades, via the ecstatic Black Crimes and weightless thizz of Voices with its spiralling ululations. Allow the guitars on LA, tho.
However, on the flipside, she appear to temper those experimental urges into a subtler run of rugged and bittersweet songs, tipping in with the bleep-gilded swang of Lazarus before tucking the vibe deeper with the RiRi-esque Tyrants and the chiming downstroke of Vines in duet with PJ Morton, prior to really dimming the lights for the pitch-bent rhodes of Sands and fading to close in symphonic style with the aching R&B folk essence of The Louvre.