Francis Farewell Starlite, the creative force behind the contemporary R&B project Francis and the Lights, has always been billed as somewhat of a self-made pop star, a man who bucks record labels and all their corporate trappings for unchecked artistic freedom. Over the last decade, he’s released a string of EPs and one album (2010’s eclectic It’l**l Be Better) all under his own imprint, toured with a line of pop acts from Drake to Kesha, and guested as a vocalist or a producer with a procession of influential artists including Chance the Rapper’s Coloring Book and Frank Ocean’s Blonde. Clearly, you don’t accumulate this kind this kind of resume without a perceived sense of individuality and vision, which is why the stakes seem high six years after the group’s debut LP. While not totally missing the mark, Farewell, Starlite! doesn't quite live up to those expectations either, a shortcoming that is further compounded by Starlite’s many intriguing triumphs on other people’s records.
All of Starlite’s signature production is present, from swollen synthesizers to super-processed vocal overlays. Opener “See Her Out (That’s Just Life)” shifts from squelchy keyboard stabs to the quiet introspection of Starlite’s falsetto in the chorus. While it succeeds in setting the tone for the rest of the album, it’s a sound that is replicated so often in subsequent songs that after only one full listen, it’s lost its show-stopping power. Turning an album of similar-sounding tracks into a solid, encapsulating block of music takes astounding finesse—doubly so for pop music. The majority of Farewell, Starlite! is something along the lines of James Blake’s stoic pondering and Blood Orange’s futuristic soul, but less compelling. By seeking to avoid both mainstream bombast and underground obscurity, Francis and the Lights have landed squarely in the middle with a safe and uninspired choices.
Farewell, Starlite! is not without its pleasures. The album’s focus is, rightfully, “Friends,” a collaboration with Justin Vernon of Bon Iver and Kanye West. It’s a deeply affecting, mellow slice of alternative R&B, gliding along on a placid sea of finger snaps and interlocking vocal harmonies by all three artists, like some impossibly cool barbershop trio. When Starlite sings, “We could be friends/Just put your head on my shoulders,” it’s lusher than velvet. It sounds more like a lovesick supplication than a call for restraint. Francis and the Lights have been compared to Peter Gabriel before, but nowhere has this been more apparent as “May I Have This Dance,” a song that truly could be added to a reissue of So without anyone batting an eyelid. Its subtle Afro-pop drumbeat and jubilant chorale of lyrics about reclaiming lost love are so evocative of mid-’80s art pop that it defiantly stands out as an example of the kind of diversity Farewell, Starlite! could desperately use more of.
Surprisingly, another highlight is “Thank You,” a 90-second ballad tucked away at the very end of the album. Layered vocals create a one-man choir and Starlite’s voice shines in its strongest form yet, raw and semi-unfiltered. Towards the end, just as the song gathers momentum before fading out, he chants, “I should say thank you, thank you, thank you.” He knows he’s charmed, that he has both the talent and the connections to make music more or less on his own terms. While Farewell, Starlite! has its share of engaging moments, it’s a shame that under all its technical flairs, its overall mood isn’t gripping enough to do justice to its creator’s vision.
