I’m Not Dancing
“I’m Not Dancing” was the world’s introduction to Tirzah, and it may have been yours too. If you haven’t heard it yet, stop what you’re doing and listen now so that it can be. Yes, it’s the first song on her first EP, but it’s also one of her most beloved tracks and a certified ear worm. Produced by Mica Levi (at the time under their indie-pop alias Micachu), Tirzah methodically unspools a sequence of couplets that are as loaded as they are casually deployed. “I’m not dancing / I’m fighting / I’m not shining / I’m burning / I’m not touching / I’m feeling.”
The video shows her and Levi grooving out in a white room, exuding a laconic poise in shorts and an “Ultimate Fighter” t-shirt. Immediately, she’s the coolest. But can we take a second to talk about the track? It opens with a simple kick-clap combo, but then this janky whistle sound intrudes. It sounds like a mistake but obviously is not, and it’s beguiling because it never returns. This, in music theory terminology, is called “a flex.” An off kilter, clunky-af rim pattern joins in and is soon followed by Tirzah’s voice atop a “bassline” reminiscent of a pitched down pan flute sample. The “chorus” is a plunky, distorted interlude that barely lasts a few bars, and when we return to the verse, the rims double on top of themselves with all the grace of a shoe in the dryer. There’s an entire genre of TikTok videos poking fun at producers getting too lost in sauce, and by many metrics “I’m Not Dancing” should have stayed in the drafts. But can tell these two were vibing, and through a special alchemy they create something astonishing out of seemingly random scraps of sound.
The song’s structure is hypnotic, but “I’m Not Dancing” clocks in at a brisk 2:22. Chalk it up to the looping, incantatory quality of Tirzah’s unhurried lyrics. “One should always end a film in such a way that it’s not over,” said Austrian director Michael Haneke, “but continues on in the viewer’s head or heart.” “I’m Not Dancing” does exactly this. It haunts you long after it’s through.
*Note: Levi, an exceptional artist in their own right, headlines the Ruins on Sept. 29th. Tickets are available now.
Devotion
“I’m Not Dancing” was released in 2013, but Devotion, Tirzah’s debut LP, wouldn’t make its way to shelves until 2018. That amount of lag can be a death sentence for a lesser artist; five years will erode any scrap of speculative hype if the music isn’t up to snuff.
But of course Devotion was. The album extends all the wonky, mesmerizing flow of Tirzah’s early singles but brings the elements into crisp focus. The title track’s sluggish, off-the-cuff anthemic drift feels like a more introspective counterpoint to FKA Twigs’ collaborations with Arca on LP1, another avant-R&B masterpiece from the same era. Or perhaps it’s a jazzier prefiguration of Billie Eilish’s ASMR-ish mumblecore breakout WHEN WE ALL FALL ASLEEP, WHERE DO WE GO? Somewhere in between kinetic electronics, pop singalongs, and stoney loops, “Devotion” floats weightless in empty space. The song drops you in the middle of the action: collaborator Coby Sey’s voice stretches and slurs in the background, quasi-chanting “so listen to me” while a simple piano figure articulates gentle pirouettes across the keyboard. Tirzah slides in with a simple declaration. “I just want your attention / I just want you to listen / I don't want the solution.” Her sorta-rapping makes what would have been an unassuming moment feel like a mic drop.
Do You Know
What a banger. The loop that underpins “Do You Know” drips with rainy moodiness, embracing its own roughness to incredible effect. Subtle glitches escalate the hypnotic vibe, drawing you deeper into the track. You know when a record skips and it just happens to sound amazing? This is like that, but Tirzah milks it for maximum effect. You feel the music lurch against itself as the sample rams into the end of the measure, and it just feels so right. On the mic, Tirzah lays it down with some low-key soul power, simmering on a simple refrain (her speciality, you may have noticed by now): “do you know?” echoes in the background, her voice mixed to sound distant and spectral, while in the foreground she tells it like it is. “Do you know / I think about the time we were together and / I thought that I would call you but I never could do it / I don't get into begging / To make you want me back, yeah it's my pride.” The water droplet synth, crisp snare and throbbing 808 bass give this track a more overtly hip-hop feel, and it works wonders. Tirzah sounds defiant, tough and powerful in her vulnerability and low-slung cool.
Tectonic
Remember the gnarly whistle and screwed pan flute from “I’m Not Dancing?” They’re back! But this time, Tirzah’s in a heavier, darker and more powerful place. True to its name, “Tectonic” has a weight that feels geologic. A seismic cello (??) line is the backbone of this song, practically burying the miniscule beatbox drums that serve as little more than timekeeper. Atop, the whistle and the pan flute articulate queasy uneasiness. Tirzah practically whispers the lyrics, drawing on a lineage of UK trip hop and bass-centric music that sublimates rage though haunting low-end undertow and softly uttered confrontations. She reimagines steamy club love as something both erotic and uncanny. “The meeting of our lips pursued as a rhythm magnetized our hips / Techno to tectonic plates with no chin / When you touch me, I'm out my body / Instinct takes place.” Fans of Actress’ R.I.P. and Massive Attack’s Mezzanine should take note.
F22
On her new album trip9llove…???, Tirzah sounds more commanding than ever. The murky piano loop and gnarly breakbeat than anchor “F22” harken back to The RZA’s rawest productions for Wu-Tang Clan or J Dilla’s Ruff Draft Instrumentals, mixing a more aggressive, boom-bap starkness with Tirzah’s homebrew UK trip hop quiet storm. It’s a great introduction to her catalog. Her vocals are confident, soulful and even dare we say sexy, and she completely sells the whispering-in-your-ear intimacy that animates her unflashy approach. Lots of producers try to make their bedroom productions sound huge, but Tirzah uses world class studios to conjure the gentle tremors of a late night bedroom conversation.
The whole album recycles the same drum loop on each track, blurring the boundaries from song to song. The piano, recorded in perfectly-imperfect murkiness, returns again and again, evoking the humble sketchiness of a demo. But this is no mere practice tape. As always, Tirzah leans into the gritty, the strange and the flimsy to sculpt a sonic assemblage of devastating power.