On 2022’s Topical Dancer, producer Bolis Pupul and frequent collaborator Charlotte Adigéry examined xenophobia and misogyny by transmuting them into discursive electro pop with a cheeky sense of humor. On his debut solo album, the Belgian-born producer takes a more personal turn. Pupul lost his mother, Yu Wei Wun, suddenly in 2008, a death that shaped his life from that day on. Yet it’s one he says he couldn’t grasp fully until nearly a decade later, when he first traveled to his mother’s native Hong Kong. There, he discovered a connection to his roots that diasporic people often feel upon visiting a familial homeland, forming an elemental bond even without an ancestor to guide him. The life-changing experience informs Letter to Yu, a shapeshifting ode to both his mother and Hong Kong that darts between sawtoothed club songs and more languid comedowns. Pupul’s music is at once contemplative and exuberant, moving with a rhythm similar to navigating the teeming crowds of a new city.
While Pupul was making trips to Hong Kong, visiting landmarks like the bustling Ma Tau Wai Road or traversing the city subway, he recorded every day, even if just capturing snippets of found sound. Those recordings give Letter to Yu a distinct sense of place, like the din of a train platform that courses through the background of “Completely Half.” Over a tugging synth melody, Pupul grapples with the language barrier that deepens the split in his identity: “People talk to me like I’m a local/A sense of shame is my part,” he sings in a halting melody; “I wish I spoke what they speak/So I could blend in easily.” Many of Letter to Yu’s best songs dip into that pondering register—like the brooding, hypnotic title track, on which Pupul pitch-shifts his voice down as he reads a letter to his mother. “This is where you were born 59 years ago/And I’m finally here,” he intones as chimes echo around him. “Why did it take me so long?”
Pupul’s productions alternate between pensive moments and out-and-out floor-fillers. Letter to Yu’s most energized songs recall his limber production on Topical Dancer while ratcheting up the intensity: The martial stomp of “Doctor Says” builds to a jagged synth freakout, while the turbo-charged “Kowloon” folds droning keys into a sauntering drum beat for a madcap French rave-up. It’s a fresh and invigorating take on electro pop, twisting and buckling into different shapes with each surprising beat switch. Pupul puts his foot on the gas on the bracing standout “Spicy Crab,” where crinkled synths clamor for attention over a dizzying spiral of electro riffs; its kaleidoscopic climax is one of the album’s high points.
Through all of its stomping, head-banging turns, the album often circles back to its emotional core. “Mau Tau Wai Road” features vocals performed by Pupul’s sister Salah, adding another layer of intimacy to the project. Over tolling bells and a bouncing, midtempo beat, she sings about forming a connection to their mother simply by walking the titular street: “The sound of the city/The color of the sea/Don’t know what I’m after/… a soft embrace,” she sings, her voice growing more yearning with each verse. On the twilit “Cosmic Rendez-vous,” Pupul puts a finer point on the sense of loss, combining delicate piano arpeggios and a sidewinding bassline as he sings about coming to terms with the finite nature of life. “You will be able to contribute to the creative pool of the universe,” he sings in Dutch, sounding comforted by the thought. “Something permanent will remain after you leave this planet.”
On Letter to Yu, Pupul’s path through grief radiates outward; it is both an expression of acceptance in the face of bereavement and a declaration of enduring optimism. The album also offers ample proof of his singular voice as a deft producer and idiosyncratic musician. Drawing on a sumptuous palette of classic synth pop and leftfield electronic music, Pupul imbues his songs with personality and soul, unearthing complicated truths about his relationship to his heritage while finding welcome release on the dancefloor.
