Early last year, Fousheé went viral on TikTok by sheer coincidence. In 2019, the New Jersey singer-songwriter—who’d been playing gigs in New York for years and had a short-lived stint on The Voice—recorded a fluttering vocal for a royalty-free sample pack that became the backdrop of Flatbush rapper Sleepy Hallow’s inescapable “Deep End Freestyle.” Fousheé didn’t know about the song until it had begun to rack up millions of views. She took to TikTok to identify herself and rally users’ support to secure a feature credit, granting her exposure to a massive new audience, followed by a record deal with RCA. Now Fousheé is taking advantage of the moment on her own terms with time machine, a debut album that flits effortlessly between guitar-based soul, alt-pop, and R&B. Despite some tepid moments, Fousheé’s skillful vocal delivery and coolly collected personality shine through.
time machine’s pensive frame of mind comes through in its warm, ever-present lead guitar, whether quietly fingerpicked on the fed-up “I don’t love you no more” or lighting “my slime” with rosy chords. Fousheé picked up the instrument after a recent move to Los Angeles, and it has become a reliable partner for her satiny voice. The delicate “my slime” is an especially striking example, using light-footed acoustic guitar and airy backing vocals to disguise lovelorn turmoil. “I would rather be with no one,” she sings in a heady falsetto, before quickly flipping her line of thought: “You make me want to be with someone.” On “candy grapes,” she and Steve Lacy noodle back and forth for seven and a half minutes. The guitars and vocals are loose and rambling (halfway through a melody, Lacy pauses singing to correct it), and eventually the song drifts into a long, wailing guitar solo beneath Fousheé whistle-tone improvisations. It’s indulgent, but the energy is potent, like peeking into a studio occupied by two talented friends.
The album nods to Fousheé’s 1970s and ’80s influences to mixed effect. She delivers a straightforward vocal performance on a cover of Depeche Mode’s “Enjoy the Silence,” paying faithful tribute to Martin Gore’s fragility and torment without adding much, either. She interpolates Carole King with more success on “2 L8,” lifting the chorus from “It’s Too Late” before veering between rapped and sung verses of her own over a ping-ponging beat. Here, the nostalgia feels more personal and gratifying, especially in the memorable kiss-offs that dot her lyrics: “For my sanity I’ll never fall in love again,” she raps, with a spiteful shrug. “I changed your name to ‘Don’t pick up the fucking phone again.’”
That deft balance between Fousheé’s whispery, enticing flow and her aching falsetto is time machine’s greatest asset. She includes her version of “deep end” early on the album, an extended cut that creates a full song around the hopscotching chorus. Recorded at her home, made of little more than a wobbling beat and a trembling guitar line, “deep end” strips down to focus on her breezy vocal switch-ups. time machine doesn’t always flex that same level of agile melody and clever songwriting, but Fousheé’s clear talent nonetheless makes it worth the trip.
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