The second album from the experimental rock trio—producer emeritus Nigel Godrich, veteran drummer Joey Waronker, and singer Laura Bettinson—is mostly immaculate electronica. Listening to Ultraísta is like plunging underwater: a swift blast of relief, followed a need to get orientated. The vocals are muffled; the instruments gleam through burbled layers. This is music to swirl and splash around in, but it doesn’t leave you with much to remember when you come up for air.
This may be, at least partly, because Ultraísta feel less like a holistic group with a distinct identity or purpose and more like a few extremely talented musicians messing around. The band came together through a shared love of Afrobeats, electronica, and art, piecing the album together from improvised sessions over the years that Godrich sculpted into songs. Eight years after their self-titled debut, the result is once again lovely-sounding, but a pristine blankness permeates the record. “Water in My Veins” teems with stretched-out synths and immersive lopped vocals and ends with the blare of the outside world—cars honking, the muted purr of engines, footsteps, like the song has scooped you from the street and deposited you back where you are standing. Ultraísta intend to transport you, but the world it creates is too easily punctured by weak lyrics.
There is no narrative or structure to Sister’s writing, and Bettinson’s monotone doesn’t offer any clues as to what each song might be about. Are we meant to feel pensive while listening to her chant, “Be young, be hungry, be wiser” in “Mariella”? “If you wanna go, please don’t stay,” she croons over violins on “Anybody,” another statement tossed out for the sake of texture. “Lift me off the ground, so I can see/The twenty-first century,” she intones on closer “The Moon and Mercury.” The album’s production tends towards controlled distortion—blurred synths, twinkling mashes of drum and piano and violin—and the lyrics could be a foothold in all the intricate chaos. Instead, they just further confuse, or land as bleary platitudes to fill the space.
For a project born out of improvisation, the record mostly stays within the boundaries it creates for itself. Even the most complicated drum patterns never devolve into anything frantic or surprising; the added layered vocals are too faint to become panoramic. These are tightly-wound songs that highlight the band member’s obvious gifts. Sister is never anything less than adroit, but it’s also never anything more.
Buy: Rough Trade
