What’s real? What’s in your head? When will you be honest with yourself? Or, are you honest all the time, in a world that runs on lies? Thiago Nassif can’t answer these questions for you (at least not definitively), but he can provide you some esteemed listening while you probe the machinations of your mind. Based in Rio de Janeiro, Nassif has been one of Brazil's best-kept secrets in the world of art rock (at least here in the United States, apparently he has more of a following in England). His fourth album
Mente, translates to “mind” in English, and maybe more concerningly, also “to lie,”and is produced by Arto Lindsay, a fellow traveler from another era who also produced Nassif’s third album from 2018
Três.
Mente sees Nassif embracing a more fluid approach to his live-wire, wave-denying tropicalia and dry, dyspeptic bossa nova. This new lush and lugubrious approach is achieved by leaning into the funk undertones of Nassif’s sound and allowing svelte but bawdy basslines to form a thin layer of connective tissue that binds constituent, acerbic apexes. This is certainly true of “Plastico,” which slinks out from under the shade and foliage of a looming, rag-barked tree to offer you a fresh sip of slightly sour mango juice, blended with scratching synth notes and neon electric pulp. A similarly cagy funk groove burps its way through the moist and conductive, suck and swallow swap of “Transparente.” However, the potential of Nassif’s experiments in no wave and funk exchanges is best exhibited at the outset, on opening track “Soar Estranho” which feels like a genuine successor to David Bowie’s Berlin-era forays into American soul and R’nB, caressing these familiar sounds with his electrifying grace and imbuing them with maverick charm. Next, “Pele De Leopardo” oscillates and percolates with motorik run-off, a signal that is intermittently jammed with spectrum-bleeding smooth jazz. More traditional Brazilian musical forms take shape on “Vóz Única Foto Sem Calçinha” and “Feral Fox,” ablate with cryptic, side-winding distortion and a seedy Tom Waitsian vocal delivery on the former, and formidable, stalking feedback as a contra point to the yé-yé naiveté of the melodious vocal performance of Ana Frango Elétrico on the former. Brittle rubber grooves, tropical tones blanched by the persistent pour of desiccating sunlight, passion and desire slickened, beaten to a froth, and then slowly dried to a milky resin. Strange and conflicting flavors. Familiar comforts made obtuse. Thiago Nassif’s latest album is not mental vacation and will give you more to ponder than maybe what you’ve bargained for.
Grab a copy of
Mente from Gearbox Records
here.
