When Shamir Bailey returned only six short months ago with his second album, Hope, it signaled a drastic change in direction, sound, aesthetic—frankly, just about everything. The Las Vegas-born, Philadelphia-based songwriter had been previously lauded for his excellent debut, 2015’s Ratchet, an all-killer dance record filled to the brim with bubbly choruses and club-pop hooks. Hope was meant to wipe the slate clean, to rid Shamir of a persona he no longer felt represented him as a musician, and it did just that. The record, while uneven and imperfect, showed a side to Shamir that merely a few years earlier, no one would have dreamed existed. Exploring lo-fi bedroom pop, indie, experimental rock, and outsider music, Hope basically positioned Shamir as a new artist. With the total rejection of Ratchet, and splitting with his label and management, he was now free to make whatever kind of music he chose.
The main issue with Revelations, the follow-up to Hope, is that it fails to make good on that momentum. By its end, Shamir is in the same place he was at the end of Hope: a collection of introspective songs strummed directly into a four-track, a decent album full of interesting ideas that never quite jell. To be fair, Shamir has had a difficult few years. Diagnosed with bipolar disorder right after releasing Hope, his artistic process feels raw, real, and valid. Sometimes there’s no balm more soothing that disappearing into the dense feedback of a fuzzy rock song, and Revelations feels cathartic. Still, it’s frustrating that through the resulting haze, the songs don’t shine, and you’re left with a feeling of empty-handedness.
The setbacks are apparent from the album’s opening bars. “Games” begins with a plodding keyboard riff, repetitive and hypnotic, but teetering on clumsy. You can practically hear the wheels turning, Shamir’s fingers plonking on the keys. It’s that brand of lo-fi production that’s distracting—it should sound effortless, laissez-faire, but instead comes off as labored, which defeats the purpose. The song itself strives for a sort of extremely stripped-down Tori Amos atmosphere, the lyrics both passionately personal and endearingly colloquial. “I think you’re totally mean to the core/But I won’t blame you/I won’t shame you/But I can’t continue to play this game,” Shamir sings, his voice climbing and sliding across the simple melody. Like on most of the album’s tracks, Shamir’s voice is the star here, his instantly recognizable soulful tinge giving the song a hint of sophistication and wonder.
Other than his voice, there are other aspects of Revelations that carry some of the trademarks that made Shamir popular in the first place. His lyrics are biting and fun, spiked with clever wordplay and a bluntness that draws you into the emotions he’s describing. The lead single, “’90s Kids,” asks the listener to “Put a drink in the air for the college girls and boys/Paralyzing anxiety is just a chore.” Another single, “Straight Boys,” makes good use of Shamir’s tendency to speak directly to you while also barely recognizing he’s writing for an audience: “I always seem to let these straight boys ruin my life,” he reflects, not necessarily looking for an answer to the problem.
And there are glimpses where Shamir’s production does deliver satisfying, grungy guitar pop. “You Have a Song,” with its syrupy bassline and sandpaper guitars, recalls something the Deal twins would have bashed together in 1991. More than anything else on the record, “Blooming” is an uptempo indie-pop song that points to where Shamir could fulfill his talents in the long-term.
Until then, Ratchet remains the benchmark of Shamir’s career. Not because he wants to leave it behind, or because he’s not allowed to pursue his creativity however he sees fit, but because it’s his best work. No one is asking Shamir to release another pop record—it does not seem in the cards—but cutting himself off from his past doesn’t absolve him from creating a future that lives up to it. Largely, Revelations leaves us waiting for the subtly brilliant moments its title suggests.
