mari maurice's Leaving debut is her most expansive, ambitious and meaningful set yet, infusing humdrum environmental ambience with gentle folk, neo-hyperpop, Oval-inspired glitch, and lush cinematics.
For such a politically charged record, "Strawberry Season" doesn't exactly shout about its core message - it lets you absorb what you need to at your own pace, gradually revealing its theme. Checkout beeps echo from a dissociated void on 'Suped', crystallizing into a near-rhythm for maurice's wide-eyed electro-acoustic rummaging, while household sounds splash and crash around 'Known', forming a stage for a low-key composition that drapes robotic Autotuned vocals over folksy piano and strings. maurice lets us know that the routine we're trapped in might not be all it seems; even the title is a reference to the ubiquitous availability of strawberries - a fruit that we can now buy all year round, but doesn't quite taste how we remember. It's a smart way to use genre tropes and sonic gestures as political reference points - the popularity of homespun 'ambient' records in the last few years has escalated (see also: claire rousay, Ulla, and Ben Bondy), but it's rare for the sounds to be wielded so purposefully.
When maurice tiptoes into glistening glitchwork - like on 'Blank Check' and 'Cold' - she manages to combine the creaking real world with a projection of virtual reality, splicing James Ferraro's referential "Far Side Digital" template with Oval's late-period electro-acoustic lightheartedness. In maurice's hands, these sounds are a contortion of the hyperpop model, and when she adds soaring vocals it feels as if she's making connections that were always there - we just haven't always been able to hear them so clearly. That's exactly what "Strawberry Season" does so well, painstakingly drawing out cultural connections we can't always see without having to shout or scream about them. In fact, it sounds so natural at times that it's only after the third or fourth listen that maurice's intentions become clear, and the amalgamation of American musical markers begins to form an accurate picture of a society in need of examination.
'Your Call' has the creak and lilt of American primitive music, but floats with the emotionality of contemporary radio pop. It's a tough combination to attempt, but fits perfectly into maurice's musical swatchbook; the fluttering Autotune bizarrely finds a strong match with maurice's similarly fluctuating fiddle wails, and when app-powered blips interrupt the flow, we're almost expecting it. This is the reality of the USA maurice lives within, a world where a recent history has been compacted into a bumpy consumerist landscape of feed and be fed; taste has dimmed but desire remains. maurice's warm-hearted soundtracks aim to put the sweetness back, and allow us to remember what we're missing.
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mari maurice's Leaving debut is her most expansive, ambitious and meaningful set yet, infusing humdrum environmental ambience with gentle folk, neo-hyperpop, Oval-inspired glitch, and lush cinematics.
For such a politically charged record, "Strawberry Season" doesn't exactly shout about its core message - it lets you absorb what you need to at your own pace, gradually revealing its theme. Checkout beeps echo from a dissociated void on 'Suped', crystallizing into a near-rhythm for maurice's wide-eyed electro-acoustic rummaging, while household sounds splash and crash around 'Known', forming a stage for a low-key composition that drapes robotic Autotuned vocals over folksy piano and strings. maurice lets us know that the routine we're trapped in might not be all it seems; even the title is a reference to the ubiquitous availability of strawberries - a fruit that we can now buy all year round, but doesn't quite taste how we remember. It's a smart way to use genre tropes and sonic gestures as political reference points - the popularity of homespun 'ambient' records in the last few years has escalated (see also: claire rousay, Ulla, and Ben Bondy), but it's rare for the sounds to be wielded so purposefully.
When maurice tiptoes into glistening glitchwork - like on 'Blank Check' and 'Cold' - she manages to combine the creaking real world with a projection of virtual reality, splicing James Ferraro's referential "Far Side Digital" template with Oval's late-period electro-acoustic lightheartedness. In maurice's hands, these sounds are a contortion of the hyperpop model, and when she adds soaring vocals it feels as if she's making connections that were always there - we just haven't always been able to hear them so clearly. That's exactly what "Strawberry Season" does so well, painstakingly drawing out cultural connections we can't always see without having to shout or scream about them. In fact, it sounds so natural at times that it's only after the third or fourth listen that maurice's intentions become clear, and the amalgamation of American musical markers begins to form an accurate picture of a society in need of examination.
'Your Call' has the creak and lilt of American primitive music, but floats with the emotionality of contemporary radio pop. It's a tough combination to attempt, but fits perfectly into maurice's musical swatchbook; the fluttering Autotune bizarrely finds a strong match with maurice's similarly fluctuating fiddle wails, and when app-powered blips interrupt the flow, we're almost expecting it. This is the reality of the USA maurice lives within, a world where a recent history has been compacted into a bumpy consumerist landscape of feed and be fed; taste has dimmed but desire remains. maurice's warm-hearted soundtracks aim to put the sweetness back, and allow us to remember what we're missing.
mari maurice's Leaving debut is her most expansive, ambitious and meaningful set yet, infusing humdrum environmental ambience with gentle folk, neo-hyperpop, Oval-inspired glitch, and lush cinematics.
For such a politically charged record, "Strawberry Season" doesn't exactly shout about its core message - it lets you absorb what you need to at your own pace, gradually revealing its theme. Checkout beeps echo from a dissociated void on 'Suped', crystallizing into a near-rhythm for maurice's wide-eyed electro-acoustic rummaging, while household sounds splash and crash around 'Known', forming a stage for a low-key composition that drapes robotic Autotuned vocals over folksy piano and strings. maurice lets us know that the routine we're trapped in might not be all it seems; even the title is a reference to the ubiquitous availability of strawberries - a fruit that we can now buy all year round, but doesn't quite taste how we remember. It's a smart way to use genre tropes and sonic gestures as political reference points - the popularity of homespun 'ambient' records in the last few years has escalated (see also: claire rousay, Ulla, and Ben Bondy), but it's rare for the sounds to be wielded so purposefully.
When maurice tiptoes into glistening glitchwork - like on 'Blank Check' and 'Cold' - she manages to combine the creaking real world with a projection of virtual reality, splicing James Ferraro's referential "Far Side Digital" template with Oval's late-period electro-acoustic lightheartedness. In maurice's hands, these sounds are a contortion of the hyperpop model, and when she adds soaring vocals it feels as if she's making connections that were always there - we just haven't always been able to hear them so clearly. That's exactly what "Strawberry Season" does so well, painstakingly drawing out cultural connections we can't always see without having to shout or scream about them. In fact, it sounds so natural at times that it's only after the third or fourth listen that maurice's intentions become clear, and the amalgamation of American musical markers begins to form an accurate picture of a society in need of examination.
'Your Call' has the creak and lilt of American primitive music, but floats with the emotionality of contemporary radio pop. It's a tough combination to attempt, but fits perfectly into maurice's musical swatchbook; the fluttering Autotune bizarrely finds a strong match with maurice's similarly fluctuating fiddle wails, and when app-powered blips interrupt the flow, we're almost expecting it. This is the reality of the USA maurice lives within, a world where a recent history has been compacted into a bumpy consumerist landscape of feed and be fed; taste has dimmed but desire remains. maurice's warm-hearted soundtracks aim to put the sweetness back, and allow us to remember what we're missing.
mari maurice's Leaving debut is her most expansive, ambitious and meaningful set yet, infusing humdrum environmental ambience with gentle folk, neo-hyperpop, Oval-inspired glitch, and lush cinematics.
For such a politically charged record, "Strawberry Season" doesn't exactly shout about its core message - it lets you absorb what you need to at your own pace, gradually revealing its theme. Checkout beeps echo from a dissociated void on 'Suped', crystallizing into a near-rhythm for maurice's wide-eyed electro-acoustic rummaging, while household sounds splash and crash around 'Known', forming a stage for a low-key composition that drapes robotic Autotuned vocals over folksy piano and strings. maurice lets us know that the routine we're trapped in might not be all it seems; even the title is a reference to the ubiquitous availability of strawberries - a fruit that we can now buy all year round, but doesn't quite taste how we remember. It's a smart way to use genre tropes and sonic gestures as political reference points - the popularity of homespun 'ambient' records in the last few years has escalated (see also: claire rousay, Ulla, and Ben Bondy), but it's rare for the sounds to be wielded so purposefully.
When maurice tiptoes into glistening glitchwork - like on 'Blank Check' and 'Cold' - she manages to combine the creaking real world with a projection of virtual reality, splicing James Ferraro's referential "Far Side Digital" template with Oval's late-period electro-acoustic lightheartedness. In maurice's hands, these sounds are a contortion of the hyperpop model, and when she adds soaring vocals it feels as if she's making connections that were always there - we just haven't always been able to hear them so clearly. That's exactly what "Strawberry Season" does so well, painstakingly drawing out cultural connections we can't always see without having to shout or scream about them. In fact, it sounds so natural at times that it's only after the third or fourth listen that maurice's intentions become clear, and the amalgamation of American musical markers begins to form an accurate picture of a society in need of examination.
'Your Call' has the creak and lilt of American primitive music, but floats with the emotionality of contemporary radio pop. It's a tough combination to attempt, but fits perfectly into maurice's musical swatchbook; the fluttering Autotune bizarrely finds a strong match with maurice's similarly fluctuating fiddle wails, and when app-powered blips interrupt the flow, we're almost expecting it. This is the reality of the USA maurice lives within, a world where a recent history has been compacted into a bumpy consumerist landscape of feed and be fed; taste has dimmed but desire remains. maurice's warm-hearted soundtracks aim to put the sweetness back, and allow us to remember what we're missing.
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mari maurice's Leaving debut is her most expansive, ambitious and meaningful set yet, infusing humdrum environmental ambience with gentle folk, neo-hyperpop, Oval-inspired glitch, and lush cinematics.
For such a politically charged record, "Strawberry Season" doesn't exactly shout about its core message - it lets you absorb what you need to at your own pace, gradually revealing its theme. Checkout beeps echo from a dissociated void on 'Suped', crystallizing into a near-rhythm for maurice's wide-eyed electro-acoustic rummaging, while household sounds splash and crash around 'Known', forming a stage for a low-key composition that drapes robotic Autotuned vocals over folksy piano and strings. maurice lets us know that the routine we're trapped in might not be all it seems; even the title is a reference to the ubiquitous availability of strawberries - a fruit that we can now buy all year round, but doesn't quite taste how we remember. It's a smart way to use genre tropes and sonic gestures as political reference points - the popularity of homespun 'ambient' records in the last few years has escalated (see also: claire rousay, Ulla, and Ben Bondy), but it's rare for the sounds to be wielded so purposefully.
When maurice tiptoes into glistening glitchwork - like on 'Blank Check' and 'Cold' - she manages to combine the creaking real world with a projection of virtual reality, splicing James Ferraro's referential "Far Side Digital" template with Oval's late-period electro-acoustic lightheartedness. In maurice's hands, these sounds are a contortion of the hyperpop model, and when she adds soaring vocals it feels as if she's making connections that were always there - we just haven't always been able to hear them so clearly. That's exactly what "Strawberry Season" does so well, painstakingly drawing out cultural connections we can't always see without having to shout or scream about them. In fact, it sounds so natural at times that it's only after the third or fourth listen that maurice's intentions become clear, and the amalgamation of American musical markers begins to form an accurate picture of a society in need of examination.
'Your Call' has the creak and lilt of American primitive music, but floats with the emotionality of contemporary radio pop. It's a tough combination to attempt, but fits perfectly into maurice's musical swatchbook; the fluttering Autotune bizarrely finds a strong match with maurice's similarly fluctuating fiddle wails, and when app-powered blips interrupt the flow, we're almost expecting it. This is the reality of the USA maurice lives within, a world where a recent history has been compacted into a bumpy consumerist landscape of feed and be fed; taste has dimmed but desire remains. maurice's warm-hearted soundtracks aim to put the sweetness back, and allow us to remember what we're missing.