The ascendance of Liv.e has been a slow-burning revelation. Emerging from Dallas’ experimental scene, she first carved space in alternative funk—warped basslines, elastic grooves, and lo-fi textures framing her elastic, conversational voice. Her early projects couldn’t be boxed in: She could murmur like a soul singer, rap with sly rhythmic precision, or dissolve into dreamy harmonies without losing emotional clarity. By the time she released her breakout work, 2023’s Girl in the Half Pearl, the multifaceted Liv.e had transformed those funk foundations into something stranger and more intimate—an underground language all her own. Equally psychedelic and wistful, her music embodies the spirit of neo-soul while pushing toward abstraction. Yet her songs remain disarmingly human, meditating on desire, vulnerability, and self-examination.
The legend (and I do mean legend) of Karriem Riggins is built on rhythm. Born in Detroit and raised among jazz royalty—his father, keyboardist Emmanuel Riggins, was a respected musician—Riggins grew up immersed in swing and soul. He toured as a drummer for Diana Krall, held down the kit for Common, and became a trusted collaborator of J Dilla. As a producer, he bridges jazz improvisation and hip-hop grit, crafting beats that breathe, shuffle, and crackle with warmth. His ear for texture—for dusty snares, muted horns, and subtle shifts—has made him a quiet architect of hip-hop instrumentation.
To that end, there’s a moment on The Pleasure Is Yours, Liv.e and Riggins’ debut album as GENA, that I can’t shake. It’s on the song “Unspokern,” a hushed, sultry gem where Liv.e’s voice hovers just above the groove, whispering within a pocket laid out by the beatmaker. As the vocalist recounts a tryst—“He said, ‘When you come through the door, come and walk to me, and when you walk to me, come and talk to me’”—an extra tap on the drum nods to jazz improvisation. It’s a sly wink, a small percussive hiccup that livens the track even further.
The Pleasure Is Yours is full of flourishes like these, an impressive LP from an unlikely duo testing the boundaries of R&B without jumping the rails. The album reads like a study in contrasts: cosmic experimentalism bent into palatable forms, amorphous funk somehow landing on soul. There’s a looseness to the sound that feels light and playful, with songs like “Theybetterbegladihavetherapy” and its hypnotic drum knock and whimsical lyrics, and “Left the Club Like ‘Really Nigga!,’” which sounds like a ’90s hip-hop cut, down to the trunk-rattling drums and threatening rhymes. “What would you do if you was put in my shoes right now?” Liv.e commands, half singing, half rapping. “I’m thinkin ’bout givin you the blues right now.”
Yet there’s also a tenderness to the album that I appreciate. “Dream a Twinkle” is a fanciful ode to romantic infatuation, the early days when love is new and the colors are brighter. The same goes for “Circlesz,” a How much do I love you? Let me count the ways song that gets to the actual aspects of devotion, the kind meant to sustain you beyond the dating app or the meet-cute. “I like it when you drive it fast down the highway,” Liv.e declares over Riggins’ stampeding beat. “I love it every time you let me do it my way.”
If Liv.e’s previous work was about carving out her own universe, and Riggins’ was about solidifying the foundation he’s already built, Pleasure meets confidently in the middle: eccentric yet grounded, exploratory and comprehensive, rooted in the lineage of Black musical tradition though unafraid to stretch beyond it. By the time the Afrocentric funk of “omo iya ati baba” fades, with its stacked drums and gospel-infused hums, it’s clear that the pleasure isn’t in the novelty of these two forces aligning. The pleasure is in the groove, in the quiet confidence of Liv.e and Riggins making such a curious record, in the way it sneaks up on you and commands your attention.
