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The Collective
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The Collective
Current price: $17.99
Barnes and Noble
The Collective
Current price: $17.99
Size: CD
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The new sides
Kim Gordon
revealed by her fearless experimentation on
No Home Record
were thrilling, but on her second solo album, she surpasses herself. Where her debut album explored the breadth of what she could do as a solo artist,
The Collective
goes deep, homing in on a sound and viewpoint that feel like the essence of her entire oeuvre. Working once again with producer
Justin Raisen
,
Gordon
doubles down on
's fusion of noisy textures and trap beats with knife-edged sonics that are constructed around her voice with architectural precision. She's fiercely elegant on "BYE BYE," reciting a packing list ("call the vet/call the groomer/call the dog sitter") over a squalling beat
Raisen
thought was too wild for
Playboi Carti
, with a hypnotic stillness that harks back to her mesmeric roll call of '90s supermodels on
Dirty
's "Swimsuit Issue." Of course,
's affinity for hip-hop stretches back to 1990's "Kool Thing," but it sounds so fresh and present on
that her previous forays feel like dress rehearsals.
and
find a wealth of shades within the album's formidable grind: Alongside the malfunctioning trap of "The Candy House," surging electro-punk and a clanging hook that sounds like banging on pipes give a fittingly apocalyptic aura to "The Believers," while "Dream Dollar"'s pummeling beat unites
Suicide
's legacy with forward-thinking rap production. Even more so than on
removes the boundaries between pop music and performance art as she examines identity and capitalism, two of her lifelong themes. She peers into what lies beneath purchased and manufactured personas on songs like "I'm a Man," where she exposes the hollowness of masculinity that relies on possessions with her lyrics ("so what if I like the big truck?") and the seething electronic wasteland behind her, or "Shelf Warmer," which fashions a short story about the strings attached to gifts out of phrases like "return policy" and "gift receipt." The bleakness she depicts so eloquently takes on many forms, from the suffocating free-association isolation of "It's Dark Inside" to the wide-open horror of "Tree House," one of several moments that seamlessly incorporates the tension and guitar outbursts of her previous band into her own work. Though she's never been a hesitant or unfocused artist, listening to
come into her own on
is a wonder, especially because she's not remaking herself to stay relevant -- it's the rest of the music and pop culture world finally catching up to her. ~ Heather Phares
Kim Gordon
revealed by her fearless experimentation on
No Home Record
were thrilling, but on her second solo album, she surpasses herself. Where her debut album explored the breadth of what she could do as a solo artist,
The Collective
goes deep, homing in on a sound and viewpoint that feel like the essence of her entire oeuvre. Working once again with producer
Justin Raisen
,
Gordon
doubles down on
's fusion of noisy textures and trap beats with knife-edged sonics that are constructed around her voice with architectural precision. She's fiercely elegant on "BYE BYE," reciting a packing list ("call the vet/call the groomer/call the dog sitter") over a squalling beat
Raisen
thought was too wild for
Playboi Carti
, with a hypnotic stillness that harks back to her mesmeric roll call of '90s supermodels on
Dirty
's "Swimsuit Issue." Of course,
's affinity for hip-hop stretches back to 1990's "Kool Thing," but it sounds so fresh and present on
that her previous forays feel like dress rehearsals.
and
find a wealth of shades within the album's formidable grind: Alongside the malfunctioning trap of "The Candy House," surging electro-punk and a clanging hook that sounds like banging on pipes give a fittingly apocalyptic aura to "The Believers," while "Dream Dollar"'s pummeling beat unites
Suicide
's legacy with forward-thinking rap production. Even more so than on
removes the boundaries between pop music and performance art as she examines identity and capitalism, two of her lifelong themes. She peers into what lies beneath purchased and manufactured personas on songs like "I'm a Man," where she exposes the hollowness of masculinity that relies on possessions with her lyrics ("so what if I like the big truck?") and the seething electronic wasteland behind her, or "Shelf Warmer," which fashions a short story about the strings attached to gifts out of phrases like "return policy" and "gift receipt." The bleakness she depicts so eloquently takes on many forms, from the suffocating free-association isolation of "It's Dark Inside" to the wide-open horror of "Tree House," one of several moments that seamlessly incorporates the tension and guitar outbursts of her previous band into her own work. Though she's never been a hesitant or unfocused artist, listening to
come into her own on
is a wonder, especially because she's not remaking herself to stay relevant -- it's the rest of the music and pop culture world finally catching up to her. ~ Heather Phares
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