David Levesque's debut as Levek might top even Kanye West's Cruel Summer in terms of missing its optimum release window. Now the guy's from Orlando, so perhaps he doesn't realize that most people have taken their parties indoors at this point. Shame, too, since this thing is not only the kind of affably stoned baked goods that could take a barbecue's chumminess to the next level, it's pretty much exactly the kind of guest you'd want there, too: He brings nothing but the most chill vinyl; if he doesn't have anything nice to say, he doesn't say it; he doesn't try too hard to impress his will on others; and he leaves before he wears out his welcome. We can agree these are all fantastic qualities in a vacuum, but do they make for great art? That's where the admittedly ample charms of Look a Little Closer are subject to debate. It deals in a lot of tensions for a record that isn't particularly tense itself: How does an artist signify commitment with such a laidback sound? How does one present his own perspective while foregrounding his adaptability? How can one grow to love a record whose main goal seems to be blending in?
To be fair, even Levesque seems to be grappling with those questions on the job. He's described the sound of Levek as "Mickey Mouse tribal," which is an oppositely opportunistic descriptor for such a kind and guileless album, though maybe there's charm in how it's one that reads like it's trying to grab blog hits from 2010. Either way, Levesque's self-appraisal is hilariously off-base-- there is a certain kind of Disneyficaton in how his globetrotting explorations focus on softer and safer sounds. But there's almost nothing "tribal" about Look a Little Closer as floor toms, hard polyrhythms, and unhinged yelping are nowhere to be found amongst the high thread-count folk tapestries and wine-spilling light funk.
You can sense Look a Little Closer as a projection of a gentle soul uninterested in the physical or philosophical properties of rock, mostly because its dominant sounds are gentle renderings of soul music. If you've been on a straight indie rock diet, Levek can calmly guide you through international flavors, though he's more interested in replication than fusion: "Canterbury Bell" and "With a Slow Burn" are freak-free Ren-folk both charmingly ornate and fussy, yet they ultimately feel more like vehicles for Levesque's exquisite fingerpicking than any sort of expression. His high and feathery wisp of a voice keeps up admirably with the winding chord progressions, though the melodies fail to find many memorable turns. In between, "Terra Treasures" is a nimble bossa nova that's admirable in showing Levek's range, but ultimately feels pro forma, like a pair of jeans he wore right off the rack.
Levesque certainly has a good ear, but without any sort of personal watermark on it, Look a Little Closer gives as many opportunities to tune out as it does to chill out. "Muscat Mingle" goes all in with its South American signifiers-- talking drums, flutes, shakers-- and though its damp analog sound keeps it away from Putomayo sampler territory, it's too stuffed to really groove. The vocoder-laced "Can't Buy This Love" and "Solemn Feeling Forever Healing" are texturally pleasant, lite-jazz workouts so airy they dissipate on contact. Perhaps more than a perspective, they sound like they could use some sort of grittier contrast-- you imagine one day Levek might find himself on Stones Throw, but for now Look a Little Closer comes off as source material that could be sampled by Madlib.
For all of its retrofitted influences, it's hard to shake just how similar the ingredients are to Bibio's breakthrough Ambivalence Avenue, which cuts both ways. If you understandably jumped ship as he ditched a lot of that LP's low-key charms for Mind Bokeh's more overt commercial ambitions, Look a Little Closer comes highly recommended. But in 2009, Bibio had two things Look a Little Closer is missing, namely context and a true sense of discovery-- Ambivalence Avenue revealed itself as an artist's personality emerging after spending years in mirror mode (albeit one that worshipped Boards of Canada). That was a realization for one artist; this feels more like a beginning. As for the title of Look a Little Closer, Levesque could be on to something if he takes his own advice.
