Okay Kaya: Oh My God – That’s So Me Album Assessment

From the identical college of finely turned disco wiggles as Arthur Russell’s poppiest moments, “Verify Your Face” romances frequent sense—Wilkins urging it to “season me in reasoning,” and approaching so sturdy that there’s an excellent probability this would-be seducer doesn’t perceive the equanimous object of her affections in any respect. It speaks subtly and incisively to how ideas like frequent sense, boundaries, and bandwidths have turn into buzzwords, but in addition sees the delusion of attempting to conclusively attain them as endearing, as the best of basslines contrasts Wilkins’ exaggerated purr. The dreamier “Oh Trivialities” comes on the devotional have an effect on from a unique angle, a waltzing torch track performed on what seems like an affordable keyboard in regards to the tiny rewards to be discovered on the earth round you: the seaweed, “funny-looking oak leaves,” the “snowflakes and cornflakes” of a Norwegian winter. “They are saying the satan lies within the particulars,” Wilkins sings, coining one other pretty, wonky aphorism: “I believe that’s only a phrase … Not all good issues are named after saints.”

These humorous, bizarre, tender songs are solid in a softer mild than Wilkins’ earlier albums, not least the unsettling SAP. Some might lament the dearth of eeriness on Oh My God, however her adept songcraft, enveloping melodies, and mood-conjuring is sure-footed and enchanting—recalling Marry Me-era St. Vincent and the uncanniness of latter-day Cate Le Bon—and never quick on off-kilter element. Opener “The Wannabe” is straightforwardly rapturous, bluesy neo-soul that by no means lapses into pastiche as a result of the sensuality Wilkins is craving just isn’t rote carnality however that of primary human feeling: “I’m not a sculpture,” she sings. “I’ll take the frustrations/Simply let me again into my physique once more.” “Assist, I’ve Been Put Into Context!” laments the pinned-butterfly indignation of being incorrectly perceived with wry humor—“Caught up on my hind legs/Communicate in languages I by no means knew”—and tactile, rehumanizing magnificence: chimes like tapped jars, snippets of soul drum fills, gently climbing acoustic chords.

The fragility of all that is underpinned by the potential destruction lingering across the edges. “My Berenice,” a story of obsession and breakup, is suspiciously pure and loving till the tip flares with hysteria: “They are saying you dig your personal grave,” sings Wilkins, constructing to a match of pique, “however I dug hers too.” A canopy of Shirley Collins’ 1960 track “Area Lady” (subtitled “(Shirley’s)”) is a prescient story of a woman appearing towards her personal pursuits, advised by her mom’s warning towards the damaging lure of house know-how; it winds up with Wilkins shrieking in a pained voice towards sharp, bullheaded guitar. “And I Have a Blessed Life” is an insistent incantation of gratitude that adheres on amid invocations of dread and seismic bass. “Life is Nietzsche on the seaside/And then you definitely die,” Wilkins sings in an ecstatic conclusion.