Logic1000’s breakthrough track “DJ Logic Please Forgive Me” is a clever idea well executed. An archly titled edit of an already famous song, it kicks in with the chorus of Deborah Cox’s much-sampled “It’s Over Now” before dropping the kind of cheeky bassline that can send a small club in an English university town into pint-chucking meltdown. Yet these qualities—pop immediacy, winking humour, brash confidence—are in low supply on Logic1000’s first full-length, which aims for sophistication over quirkiness and ends up adrift from both.
Samantha Poulter’s musical journey since her debut has been one of increasing focus—or, perhaps, a steady narrowing of parameters. On her debut EP, along with that ’90s R&B flip (dubbed “one of the big tracks of 2019” by Four Tet), Poulter tooled around with the easy touch of the Zen-minded beginner, exploring the hinterland between reggaeton and 2-step, shaken-up Middle Eastern drums, even stripping out rhythms to expose negative dubspace. But by 2021’s In the Sweetness of You EP, a furrow was emerging: well-behaved rave, taking bits of house, garage, and reggaeton and rendering them in soft pastel shades on remixes for artists like Glass Animals, Fever Ray, and—an obvious influence—Caribou.
Among Mother’s 12 tracks, a solid vocal house EP lurks: three trim, catchy songs with slick pop vocals, not hard or hip enough for underground dancefloors but miles classier than anything blaring out over the stairmasters at your gym. “Every Lil” is the best of them, tapping into the heat of Miami’s Latin club scene through MJ Nebreda’s soft-stroke vocals, a reggaeton-house rhythm, splashy drums from DJ Plead, and—why not?—the chord progression from “Music Sounds Better With You.” It’s smart; it works. The other two are sturdy singles, but could have been made any time in the last decade: “Self to Blame,” with California singer Kayla Blackmon, provides punchy dance-pop on the Disclosure-to-Dua Lipa continuum, and “Promises” is polished to a shine by Kaytranada collaborator Rochelle Jordan.
What’s left over is puzzlingly anonymous. Pushed further and deeper, this material might’ve been its own record—a set of supple, deep house for well-groomed dancefloors, all moisturised and minty of breath. “Heartbeat” turns simplicity to its advantage, ping-ponging around a chiming bassline redolent of Jaydee’s ’90s house classic “Plastic Dreams.” “All You Like,” with its dreamy minor chords sighing around an insistent vocal, is in thrall to Caribou and Four Tet—but without the quirks and tics that gird her elders’ oddball genius. “Grown on Me” serves up the same sort of soft-boiled UK bass, lacking in structure beyond the usual build, rise, drop, repeat. Even cranked up loud, this just isn’t functional dance music—there’s an empty space where the oomph should be.
With a title like Mother, you might expect a more biographical slant, or maybe a return to the archness of that first hit. It’s one of those deceptively simple words with infinite associations, from ball culture slang to Darren Aronofsky’s most divisive movie. And Poulter’s own life story offers plenty of dramatic material, from recent motherhood (as discussed on her podcast, simply titled Therapy) to depression, psychosis, and even a near-death experience after a car accident. Yet Poulter’s presence barely registers, perhaps overshadowed by the steering hand of her producer-partner Tom McAlister (who releases dance music as Cop Envy and Big Ever) and the lyrical thrust of her hired singer-songwriters.
As can often happen with house and techno albums, Mother feels like it’s been willed into existence as a milestone on a CV rather than an urgent statement of artistic intent. If it’s a bid for dance-pop stardom, then the big singles—finely crafted though they are—are too few, too timid. If it’s meant as a deep-house long-player, it’s paddling in the shallow end. The cult of house music can be precious, and yes, a touch snobby, but we know how we want it: raw, hard, messy, uplifting, joyous, transcendent, bizarre. And isn’t that the very stuff of motherhood?
