"I liked the idea of making a record called Caramel," Connan Mockasin told NME. "Then I made the whole record around what I thought a record called Caramel would sound like." It might not be an especially deep concept, but take a listen: His Caramel sound quickly introduces itself. The album's title track begins with a deep voice, which is pitched down and smoothed out for a flirtatious monologue in the vein of Barry White. "Oh, and what is this?" Then, there's a coy giggle before Mockasin delivers a gentle, melodic howl ("ah-oooooo") over a soulful, beatific, far-away synth. "Welcome, this is Caramel album," the voice says. In a stereotypical universe, this is the moment where you're prompted to pick up the album's sleeve. Welcome. Take a moment to study Connan's platinum hair, pencil-thin mustache, and averted gaze. There he is, dressed all in white, swaddled in pillowy fabric. His stainless world is both unsettling and fitting; everything on "Caramel" shines. Each new instrument seems to come out thick and globby, gradually dribbling out with an adult contemporary sheen.
The 30-year-old New Zealand psych pop virtuoso recorded his sophomore album in a Tokyo hotel, and this time around, he's feeling sultry. He closes out the bridge of "I'm the Man, That Will Find You" by cooing a mostly unadorned falsetto. After one careening moment of calm, he moans and launches into the belted chorus with its slinky R&B groove. It's the perfect sort of pause to force anticipation in a love song—a calm before a storm, a gaze before a conversation. Throughout Caramel, he's ready to employ sonic examples of human emotion (like sobbing and moaning), and he doesn't make those details subtle. As he proved on Forever Dolphin Love, he's not afraid to go theatrical. Like a cartoon madman, he delivered a warbling, wide-eyed plea on that record: "Please turn me into the snat". The title track of that album featured over 10 minutes of cluttered, kinetic, continuously shifting music. Connan's clearly got it in him to create a sizable, at times unsteady odyssey.
Caramel is an album that demands patience. With a concept in mind, Mockasin seemed to be taking his time, playing the long game, establishing a gradually mutating mood. His broad view seems especially evident with his five-song "It's Your Body" suite—16 minutes with one abstract narrative wherein Connan forces the listener to slow down for a few lengthy slow jams. It takes over two full minutes of soporific minimalism to break into the primary melody of "It's Your Body 1". Then, things come to a standstill with the respectively loud and quiet (and equally stagnant) instrumentals on "3" and "4", which feel similar to the dragging mid-section of "Why Are You Crying". Thankfully, there are moments where Connan springboards into some well-executed, catchy grooves, like on "Do I Make You Feel Shy" and "I'm the Man, That Will Find You".
At the end of the "It's Your Body" suite, the melody resolves into that familiar beatific synth line from the title track. There's a petite voice repeating the words "thank you Connan Mockasin". The subsequent reply is loud, bursting out in that same voice from the title track: "Ahhhh. You're very welcome." The echo from that last word is intentionally overemphasized, ending with two very blunt repetitions: "COME. [beat] COME." Then, album closer "I Wanna Roll With You" kicks in with some cartoonishly sexual moans. It's tempting in that moment to nudge Connan toward the novelty bin, but he never quite makes it there. Instead, he occupies a similar space as Ariel Pink—a guy with offbeat sonic inclinations, a loudly absurd sense of humor, and a knack for writing ultra-weird soul songs. From the hair to the warped yacht rock soundscapes, comparisons to Ariel seem inevitable. Both men are weirdos and self-recorded savants whose careers will likely continue to take them to far-out, primary colored spaces.
When the moans clear away on "Roll With You", Connan delivers some quiet, mournful vocals (followed by, yes, a spoken word monologue where he says, innocently, "Please, roll with me"). The word "caramel" is most readily embodied by this music's sensual, flirtatious leanings. Unfortunately, sometimes it seems to just mean "slow", i.e. the pace of swimming through caramel.
