And we’re drifting to something like soothing. It’s the pace of the track and the breaks. The Burial and Crack Cloud-like structure of verses, the ease of the sounds that slide by. There’s a movement and freedom that riffs and reflects on the subjects of not having either. In a track that’s both smooth and unnerving, there’s a cute sense of threat that gets wrapped in warm glides, all delivered in soft easy grooves.
It’s too tempting to float along with it, to get lost in it’s high heady drift. As the track wonders by in its mid-tempo chill, it’s easy to ignore all the warnings. There’s tension and fear of torn family relations, splits between wants and expected behaviours, the hurt of those forced separations. How to be, how to act, what to gain, what to lose, these are questions THe LYONZ expand on.
But don’t worry if that sounds too heavy, they’re all neatly condensed into quick tricks of wordplay that slip through the mix without notice. To nu-soul garage vibes with a lushness of tone, all the barbs are tight packed and kept hidden. It’s only when scraping a nail through the sheen that we dig out the grit to connect to.
There’s two versions of ‘Right Of Asylum’. There’s the Spotify track that runs fluid and loose, that time travels through seven minutes. Every time I run through it, all that time disappears, those minutes pass by without notice. Or we can take in the video edit that comes across braver and leaner. New breaks give a chance for reflection, they hold a silence while images play. Institutional centres, dead end work and panic, all the themes the main version hides in its gloss come across with a new weight and meaning.
No matter which one you choose to consume, there’s a rush picking out hidden punches.