There's power in quiet, strength in silence. You can find it in the yawning spaces between beats on D'Angelo's "Untitled (How Does It Feel)"; in the skeletal longing of Prince's "When Doves Cry"; in the flickering throb of Depeche Mode's suitably named "Enjoy the Silence"; in Elliott Smith's "Angeles," which countered music industry excess with stark strums and whispered venom. Bits and pieces of Smith's cautionary tale are woven into "Angela," the penultimate track from dvsn's debut album, Sept. 5th, and though the depressive singer/songwriter doesn't seem like an obvious reference point for this lusty R&B project, the sonic nod makes a certain kind of sense. They both know emptiness. They both allow for holes in which listeners can fill in their dreams, desires, sorrows.
In his book Every Song Ever, music critic Ben Ratliff makes note of the intimacy that can arise from spareness. "Open space, whether in a park or a poem or a song, is first an element of design," he writes. "And then it is a sign, a signifier, or a symbol." Part of Drake's OVO Sound roster, dvsn—pronounced "division"—take this idea of austerity-as-symbol to several extremes: in their gaping slow jams, yes, but also in their artwork, which is dominated by big division signs, and their public face, which has thus far been almost entirely faceless. No videos. No press photos. No needy guest shots from their famous boss. But even following in the fog of one-time enigma and fellow Torontonian the Weeknd, dvsn's elusiveness doesn't seem like a gimmick. It feels assured. It understands that, in the face of digital endlessness, restraint is just as important as creation.
We do know a few things about dvsn. Sept. 5th was executive produced by two of Drake's most vital collaborators, Paul "Nineteen85" Jefferies and his mentor, Noah "40" Shebib, and also marks the the proper debut of Toronto vocalist Daniel Daley. All three men are around 30 years old, and the album speaks to their experience as artists—and their resoluteness as R&B innovators who come from a city that still has trouble sustaining a contemporary urban radio station. Which is to say: The dvsn sound did not come together overnight. Jeffries and Daley have worked together for at least six years, and their early collaborations are flimsy Usher knock-offs, gaudy and green. "Early on in my producing, I would just layer on every single sound I wanted to hear," Jeffries recently told Fader. "Getting all my dreams out on just one song." Compared to those tracks, dvsn's songs sound like photo negatives, selfless and vast.
Daley's delivery has matured as well, trading in "Idol"-style runs for sturdy melody lines that service nothing but the song. All of this can be heard on "Hallucinations," in which Daley's featherlight falsetto is often screwed down with effects to literally halt any extraneous embellishments while also offering up more breathing room. On "Too Deep," which lovingly references Timbaland and Ginuwine's 1999 hit "So Anxious," an unnamed female choir gets most of the spotlight, with Daley chiming in for whispered accents here and there. This grown-up musical strategy is also reflected in the way dvsn approach their songwriting raison d'être: sex.
Sept. 5th uses contemporary sounds to explore the positive and meaningful aspects of carnality. This puts the album in a sort of limbo: It feels much more adult compared to the casual, hip-hop-indebted come ons of R&B up-and-comers Tory Lanez and Bryson Tiller, but it's not as indebted to the genre's traditions as artists like Anthony Hamilton or Jill Scott. If neo-soul found 1990s artists taking inspiration from '70s masters, dvsn's neon soul puts a Blade Runner sheen on '90s and 2000s classics by the likes of R. Kelly, Aaliyah, and Ciara. There's no rapping here; the word "bitch" is never uttered. Some of the album's best moments also feature female voices along with Daley's. This is not corny music, but it is respectful, even sweet at times. It treats sex not as a social transaction but a serious act—something that can make you see things that aren't there, that can be a balm for life's rough edges, that can make you realize the worth of looking beyond yourself. These songs are consensual in every sense of the word.
And in that sense, Sept. 5th can be read as a kind of romantic guide for people who are beginning to stare down their twenties in the rearview, who are considering investing a big chunk of themselves into another person. As dvsn tell it, there will be plenty of heat—the languid "In + Out" is exactly what you think it is—but also a few complications. "Try / Effortless" has Daley struggling to put his pride aside as he considers a commitment; "Another One" is a cheating song that only deals with the act's existential aftermath; grand finale "The Line" is a seven-minute proposal that lingers in the comfort and ecstasy that love can bring. "At the end of it all I'm coming back to you," Daley concludes, as a woman's voice echoes in the cavernous expanse around him.
The project's purposeful anonymity has a few drawbacks. Though Prince is a clear influence, dvsn barely hint at the idiosyncratic kinkiness or sense of play that drives so much of that icon's music. And aside from the album's title, there's a slightly frustrating lack of specificity to be found in these songs; perhaps this is meant as a generous sign of universality, but it can also come across as unimaginative. Then again, considering the unseemly baggage R&B fans are presented with while listening to R. Kelly or Chris Brown, dvsn's namelessness can offer its own relief. "In art, the confident gesture, loud or quiet, is of highest importance," Ratliff writes in his book. "By extension, the acknowledgement of the human behind it… is secondary, if relevant at all." This group is wise and capable enough to eschew nearly every shortcut of today's personality-first music culture and dial into the silence between the noise. It's what confidence sounds like.
