On her second album, the Brit condenses her influences into a danceable and innovative mix that takes Brit soul further.
Jorja Smith took her time, over five years between her debut LOST & FOUND and this second album. Meanwhile, a handful of singles and EPs, features and a BBC radio show in which she explored music as a healing force served as occasional signs of life. The Brit showed one thing: she has many interests, many faces, sometimes works close to the dance floor, sometimes closer to jazz, more spherical, more reduced.
It can’t really be nailed down on FALLING OR FLYING, but there is still a densification of the sound language, more on that later. Smith initially appears to be taking two opposing approaches. The move towards a more American sound, closer to the charts R’n’B, which some suspected, does not materialize, with the exception of “Broken Is The Man”, which is reminiscent of Drake’s “Take Care”. Nevertheless, she looks for the hit and finds it, for example in the form of the catchy pre-single: In the stressed complaint “GO GO GO” you suddenly find quite distinctive indie guitars and (almost) rock drums.
Or “Greatest Gift”: a rhythmic and sentimental love ballad with a feature by Jamaican reggae singer Lila Iké. The second feature also has all the qualities: “Feelings” with the rapper J Hus is a thoughtful slow jam that sits between early noughties British garage and contemporary reggaeton moods.
Lots of room for imagination
On the other hand, she positions herself as a border crosser who doesn’t seem to care about the limitations of the streaming pop age, who, when in doubt, relies on musical moods rather than the chorus that pops up in time and parries complacency with musical diversions. For every gospel choir there is a disturbing noise, for every “Waterfalls” memory guitar there is a beat that doesn’t run smoothly, the songs often sound strangely nocturnal; as if both the performer and the listener had just woken up.
Opposites? Only apparently, because as I said: a tonal compression can be noticed. The means for this is Jorja Smith’s voice, which sometimes reports lasciviously from the darkness, sometimes pushes the instrumentation aside with a powerful hum, sometimes goes on hikes at high altitudes, but is always incredibly present. The second link: despite all the stylistic differences, an almost consistent rhythm characterizes the songs, pushing them in a pleasant flow sometimes towards garage beats, sometimes cautiously towards the Caribbean, sometimes letting them flirt with dubstep, sometimes with jazz and sometimes with whatever else happened again 30 years ago in Bristol.
“Falling Or Flying” shows how cleverly analogue, almost old-fashioned structures merge with a contemporary post-R’n’B understanding. The title song of the album suggests shimmering soul and reduced funk, a guitar sends a few licks into the reverberation room, and at some point the synths light up. At the same time, the track seems as if it were taking place behind a frosted glass pane, although distance running is already a popular move for Smith. At the end of “Makes Sense,” a door closes; and “Little Things” from minute three sounds as if it was recorded in the club – but not on the dance floor, but ten or 20 meters away, where it goes towards the dressing room, exit, and the rest of the night. Lots of room for imagination. And that’s exactly what pop music is for.