Album Review: Moses Sumney Thrives in Ambiguity on 'græ: Part 1'

The genre-bending vocalist and multi-instrumentalist begins a unrepressed new project about uncertainty and all that comes with it.

Written by Selome Hailu

Moses Sumney asks more questions than he answers. On Feb. 21, he released the first 12 tracks of his sophomore album, græ. As the title suggests, the electro-soul, pop-rock singer-songwriter finds himself in several “in-between” places. Simultaneously ambiguous and precise, Sumney comes forth with more ambition on græ than on his 2017 debut Aromanticism, a feat in itself given his debut’s unique perspective and shining critical reception. The riskier soundscape of his second record supports a deft lyrical project about living within gray areas of power, pain, and purpose.

Besides standout tracks “Quarrel” and “Make Out in My Car,” Aromanticism’s production took a backseat to its vocals. There’s no fault in this — Sumney’s sensual rasp and effortless range let him show off his chops as an emerging artist. But with nothing left to prove, Sumney takes on bigger sonic challenges with græ.

A smattering of robotic voices opens the album, reciting “Isolation comes from ‘insula,’ which means island” over swelling chimes, beeps, and synth. After “insula” reintroduces the same somber loneliness Aromanticism established, Sumney begins to communicate that solitude with bouncier beats. “Cut Me” begins with stark guitar plucking and builds with scattered piano and muffled horns. The instruments feel at odds with each other, until Sumney sings, “When my mind’s clouded and filled with doubt / That’s when I feel most alive,” and the musical theme starts to come into focus.

He continues to the chorus: “Might not be healthy for me / but seemingly I need / what cuts me, cuts me, cut me, cut me.” Here, Sumney abandons the drowsy legato of his earlier work. Instead of singing so his words all flow into each other, he enunciates with the sharpness “Cut Me’s” title demands. He narrates his inexplicable love for “masochistic kisses,” embracing rough edges in a way his discography hasn’t before.

Still, Sumney doesn’t sacrifice his musical fluidity. On græ, he trades in Aromanticism’s slurred consonants for smooth transitions. Several songs seamlessly bleed into one another. And while the throaty, guttural shrieks on “Virile” and choking gasps on “Conveyor” match the punchy staccato on “Cut Me,” the rest of the album feels free-flowing. Several tracks, notably “Colouour” and “Polly,” feature the soaring vocals Sumney is known for, with the addition of swooping, unrestrained synth and strings. The contrasts between the harsh and the fluent in græ speak not only to Sumney’s technical talent, but also to his larger investigation of selfhood. When he says “I insist upon my right to be multiple,” it’s backed up by the myriad of sounds and the complex stories he tells with them.

Sumney’s lyrics have always been intimate, but græ sees him at his most personal and specific. Where before he wrote abstract metaphors about love and lovelessness, græ delivers sharper images and characters. The first minute of “In Bloom” is tense and controlled, detailing the messy, overstepped boundaries of a platonic relationship on the verge of becoming something more. The tension builds until Sumney, backed by a quavering orchestra, cries, “Sometimes I want to kiss my friends.” The confession, only alluded to before this point, demonstrates an inability to hide from his own feelings, and sets up the vulnerability seen in the rest of the album. On “Cut Me” he recounts the experiences that make him feel like a “true immigrant son,” and “boxes” is a first-person manifesto imploring Black people to “think about who gave them their definitions / and rewrite those definitions for themselves.”

And he does. Sumney rejects singular labels with his song titles alone. As græ: Part 1’s tracklist lays out, he is “jill/jack”; he is “also also also and and and”; he is “Neither/Nor.” These songs refuse to commit to one gender expression, personality, or sound. “Neither/Nor,” the album’s penultimate track starts off slowly and then explodes into a frenetic, danceable beat as Sumney’s narration grows more comfortable with defying definition.

græ: Part 1 ends with “Polly,” no doubt a reference to the Greek prefix poly, meaning “many.” On the track, Sumney and his distant partner deal with issues of multitude: many selves, many lovers, many desires. At this point in the album, Sumney is sure of himself, secure in his own duality and ambiguity. But on this final track, he asks to feel seen by someone else.

In a word, the album is expansive. Sumney finds a place for infinite instruments, vocal patterns and lyrical styles to exist on top of each other. But he doesn’t overextend himself to weave them into one neat unit. The writing and musicality on græ: Part 1 are tangled, and carefully so. Sumney doesn’t want to define himself or his music cleanly. He leaves room for græ: Part 2, the 8-track conclusion due this May, to keep making knots in his exploration of identity.

REVIEWSAfterglow ATXFebruary 25, 2020