The pair and guests fuse psyche-pop and astral drifting on “Roxy” along with dancefloor sensibilities on “Counting Sheep” and “Bang Bang Boom”. There’s a humming undercurrent of minutiae, clicks, beats, melodies, and lyrics that ease in and out sharing a stream-of-consciousness storytelling style. Focusing their lens on tiny details within the grander scheme of things.
“Breathe” uses its propulsive breakbeats to expand beyond the embrace of rainbow colours and merge beauty with pain, glossing over the lurking dark somewhat to reflect more on the light. The same can be said of the wistful ballad that is “Counting Sheep” as it bobs its head along to a lyric about insomnia and how that paralysis and dazed sleeplessness creates its own creative world, albeit one of delirious visions which may lead into actual dreams, eventually.
The album’s exploratory vibe with high-tempo peaks and breezy valleys mimics the brain's own activity and renders the summer-ready tunes with a cool poolside vibe. "Workin' On It" finds Brijean sounding light and free on what is a standout dance track full of joy and shimmying to bouncing basslines and funky bongo beats. Murphy’s delicate half-spoken vocals sound simultaneously languid and direct.
Latin influences twist within the album’s imaginative arrangements from the choice of instrumentation to the generated beats. An internal romance of this cultural glitter is sprinkled everywhere and deftly done. So is the duo’s commitment to delivering an intimate, charming experience even one that takes such a multi-dimensional trip within the psyche.
Closing out the album with "Rollercoaster", a thrilling roller-disco anthem, and finally the flute-forward indie-pop of "Laura" it’s clear that Brijean’s complex mix of harmonies, rhythms and colourful collaboration aims to shift the album away from any kind of finality and instead move you through all of the pleasure, pain and fantasy having experienced it all. It’s an exploration of that whole and ongoing human experience, every up and down.
“Get Lost”, “After Life” and even the funk of “Counting (Intro)” serve as short dividers or breaks between moods and while they fulfil their roles admirably they also serve to break an otherwise amorphous musical flow on the album, pulling you from the source and deep state of listening. On an album that’s frightfully brief in runtime, these jolts somehow make it feel even shorter. At points when you want the tunes to break out, run on much longer and leap from the speakers but so often they resort to simply fading out after a few minutes each. Maybe there’s a remix album release further down the line that can appease these urges but for now, this version of Macro is what we have. It’s densely packed but never oppressive and yet also feels uninquisitive enough not to delve too deeply or for too long.
