James Blake got his start, first and foremost, as an instrumental beatmaker. Early singles like “Air & Lack Thereof” and “CMYK” showcased his aptitude for fusing dubstep drops with airy, filigreed sampledelia. At that point, no one even knew he could sing, not until he lent his spectral yet powerful voice to his 2011 debut album. Blake’s penchant for off-center, skeletal production melded effortlessly with his entrancing vocals, and it was clear that he was destined for bigger things. Albums like 2013’s Overgrown and 2016’s The Colour in Anything amplified his celebrity, so much so that he’d eventually collaborate with some of the most famous artists of the 2010s’ zeitgeist, from Kendrick Lamar and Travis Scott to SZA and Frank Ocean. But his compelling origins have remained starkly absent from most of his more recent work, save for 2023’s impeccable, stirring Playing Robots into Heaven, which drew from techno and dancehall to mesmerizing effect.
His first studio album with the LA-based independent label Good Boy Records, Trying Times sees Blake revert back into the singer-songwriter mode so heavily present on 2021’s Friends That Break Your Heart, but the results are mixed. At times captivating and at others boring, Trying Times feels like a step backward from its exceptional 2023 predecessor. Despite occasional glimmers of intrigue, such as his mostly well-crafted lyrics and experiments with new instrumentation, Blake’s seventh full-length is an occasionally bland, albeit never outright bad entry in his catalog.
As we’ve come to expect from Blake, his production choices are lush and refined as ever. The panning synth noise and formant modulations on “Through the High Wire” and the melancholic house pulse on “Rest of Your Life” are both highlights on the album’s more electronically minded latter half. The first half, on the other hand, configures Blake’s style into new shapes that are sometimes beautiful and sometimes dull. The title track saunters along at a leisurely pace; its lilting guitar arpeggio and muted, acoustic drums provide new textures for Blake’s cooing melisma. Here, he sounds more like a conventional singer-songwriter than ever, something that unearths an alternate side of his music but ultimately strips away his idiosyncrasies. That trend continues on the jangly, Britpoppy “Make Something Up,” whose guitar-and-drums bedrock is an interesting counterpoint to our preconceived ideas of James Blake Music. But those walls of distorted guitars, likely meant to be explosive and cathartic, instead sound flat. It sounds like a by-the-numbers rock band with Blake as the unlikely frontman. “Didn’t Come to Argue” is a smooth segue into the record’s back half, acting as an apt middle point between Blake’s songwriter traditionalism and his free-form electronics, even if it traffics slightly more in the former camp.
Although it’s perfectly pleasant, Trying Times, as a whole, seldom rises above a serviceable standard. It’s a fun exercise to hear someone like Blake engage with new ideas rather than coast by on what he has already done well, but these attempts at expanding his sound too frequently deprive the vital life-force that his music once abounded with: the emotional restraint; the gradual layering; and the stop-and-start unpredictability are all traits that are largely absent here, save for a few examples. “Days Go By” shapeshifts with washes of droning synths, a chopped-up vocal sample, and a snaking flute ostinato, and its propulsive breakbeats give it some momentum as the track takes a trajectory that follows no logic save its own. “Doesn’t Just Happen,” which features British rapper Dave, floats on a plaintive cello melody that’s repurposed with polyphonic synths near the track’s end. Both songs happen to be lyrical highlights, too, each about the intentionality that goes into making your own joy, how finding love requires a willingness to do so. Sequencing them together augments their impact and reveals a dialogue between the two.
Instrumentally, the record sometimes suffers from a strict adherence to conventional verse-chorus formats. Typically, Blake is at his most memorable when his music eschews structure, when he lets the songs naturally build of their own accord. But the album’s beginning moments lack this level of layering that makes for some of his best music. “Death of Love,” kicking off with a Leonard Cohen sample, crawls by at a tiresome pace that wears thin by its conclusion. But its meditations on emotional distance and aloof indifference demonstrate Blake’s striking abilities as a lyricist: “When everything you have seen is from above / It’s the death of love,” he sings in the chorus. “I Had a Dream She Took My Hand” similarly falters with its monotone, stiff balladry, yet it contains some of Blake’s sharpest writing on the album. “She began to dissolve / Along with her soul / I couldn’t remember her face / Remember her name,” he sings, his voice subtly rising in intensity, fraught over an amorphous memory that’s eating away at him, grasping at a content life that now hopelessly eludes his efforts.
It all culminates in Trying Times playing like a scattershot splintering of ideas that gel together as often as they drift apart. Regardless, there are bona fide gems littered throughout, serving as concrete reminders of James Blake’s singular talent. He’s still an incredible beatmaker, and his affinity for production choices remains a major draw. But there are too few rabbit holes to burrow into, soundscapes to get lost in, and aural ephemera that challenge and satisfy in equal measure. As a concept, hearing Blake in pure singer-songwriter mode is a fun novelty, but in practice, all you’re waiting for is the song to slowly, almost imperceptibly, grow into a cumulative wonder, like a small knoll that steadily, eventually, molds itself into a mountain. Trying Times doesn’t quite make itself into a towering peak that ascends above the clouds, but it’s still pretty to look at, even for a brief moment. [Good Boy]
Grant Sharples is a writer, journalist and critic. His work has also appeared in Interview, Uproxx, Pitchfork, Stereogum, The Ringer, NME, and other publications. He lives in Kansas City.
