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To a newcomer to SG Lewis’ music – on a Spotify curated playlist called ‘Serotonin’, in a YouTube DJ set where he kicks his head in an empty studio for an hour – the 26-year-old singer and producer could seem like you’re a hipster, ready to capitalize on the pop-through nu-disco renaissance. His funk-speckled house tracks fit perfectly with Dua Lipa’s’ 80s basslines and Weeknd’s retro glitter, strobe-lit resurgences of Jessie Ware and Kylie Minogue. But Lewis has turned disco into dance music for years. In 2014, he signed on the same label as Ware, PMR, after having remixed one of his songs. Since then, her flickering singles and concept EP trio have revolved around obvious and easy themes: We’re young, dancing is fun, tonight’s all we’ve got.
His full debut, Times, comes nearly a year after most clubs have closed, when the details of what was once a normal night out took a sort of reverence. In the empty expanse of forties, music made for the dancefloors becomes a eulogy and a prayer, an act of mourning and a symbol of hope. Times is compact and bright, competent and serious. The first song opens with a muffled statement about the power of house music: “There was harmony in music, there was harmony in people’s behavior, and we had a great time. ” Lewis rejoices in the banality of the nightlife with surprising tenderness and grace.
Its influences are blatant – the chatter and slippage of Disclosure, the packed funk of Neptunes – and sometimes the tribute creeps into imitation. The bassline at the start of “Chemicals” is a dead ringtone for Daft Punk’s “Get Lucky”, and it lingers long enough to miss the source material. Once the track unfolds, however, it reveals more: scintillating rumblings of synths, an intricate layer of strings in the background. “I may see double, but I need you both,” Lewis croons, snatching privacy from drunken despair. “Time” draws on a sliced and distorted Dennis Edwards sample as Rhye twists her voice to the tingling beat.
Nile Rodgers stops for a kinetic guitar blast on “One More,” a scintillating ode to party flirtation and the album’s best track. Lewis distorts and layers his vocals, spreading them out over cinematic synths and a spinning drum pattern. It focuses on the tiny, fleeting choices that follow one another one night: a cigarette on the balcony, a move to another bar. “I know you have friends in the bathroom,” he sings begging. “Can we stay here for one more song?”
Small production details propel these songs. “FeedTheFire,” an insistent and haphazard track Lewis wrote the same day he helped produce Dua Lipa’s “Hallucinate,” features subtle but shimmering chords. The drums vibrate on “Impact”, a Robyn and Channel Tres duo which twists and reverberates their incandescent harmonies. Even during an almost forgettable track like “Back to Earth,” the texture of the background shines. The clicking and screaming of a crowd or a party is simply audible over the thudding and flute, a clever reminder tucked away in the drums.
That’s why it’s frustrating when Lewis retreats to safety – the Chainsmokers-esque flicker of “Heartbreak on the Dancefloor,” or the tough closing track. Times is a virgin album of frictionless bangers, but these songs are so controlled they never come close to catharsis. Lewis is clearly an expert student, absorbing and refracting the history of dance and disco with the pain of the present moment. Imagine what he could do if he aimed for the future.
Buy: Rough Trade
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