by Zach Zollo (@zach_zollo)
Frida Kahlo poetically observed that “nothing is absolute. Everything changes, everything moves, everything revolves, everything flies and goes away.” As attitudes, climates and times change, so do our understandings of our lives, our acceptance of this mortal coil. If our own permanence is futile, then how do we swim in this water? Do we fight against this world and its evils, or do we become of it? Do we cave in the face of absurdity, or do we embrace it to stay alive?
Ruban Nielson knows nothing is absolute. Over the course of four albums masterminding Unknown Mortal Orchestra, Nielson drank from this thematic well to tantalizing effect. The frailty of our relationships, the conditions existent in our world, the ephemeral state of our own mortality; all have been approached and analyzed in his lyricism, as he sings with an indiscernible annunciation shrouded in haze. These burdens have always been supplemented with sonic distinction, as Nielson and co. cook lo-fi, psych, funk, rock, and miscellany into a gumbo both groovy and gracious. It has given UMO’s music an undeniable trademark, a yin and yang of experimental and accessible that rejects clout and idolatry while being primed for remix tapping and festival stages.
It may seem as though this trademark has been minimally changed with their latest record. Upon first listen, V is an album that amalgamates the group’s previous inquiries into an hour of ascension. Doubling down on jams, V leaves plenty of room to breathe and meditate, for bassist Jacob Portrait and drummer/brother Kody Nielson to remain in the pocket unlike any album prior. They allow for instrumentals “Shin Ramyun” and “Drag” to emote a gentle calm with pensive undertones. They commit to these moods and ride them to conclusion, as on singles “Weekend Run” and “Meshuggah.” Every rhythm ebbs and flows, often complemented by twinkling keys and dazzling riffs. Despite being ‘unknown mortals,’ the band sound their most human on record.
However, as each new detail reveals itself in time, V becomes the most pristine balancing act of Nielson’s career. While he has always juxtaposed the tone of his lyrics with that of the music, Nielson’s saudade for childhood has led to stronger self-examination in his writing; with a reclamation of these memories, a newfound proclamation of identity has been created in the music. Nielson embraces his heritage by exploring hapa-haole (Hawaiian for “half-white”), incorporating it into the mesmerizing run of “Nadja,” “Keaukaha,” and “I Killed Captain Cook.” With the stellar single “That Life,” the dangers of luxury - something he was witness to amid his family of performers - are colorfully and humorously detailed. The sentiments throughout, whether decrying systems or walking between the sacred and profane, give robust depth to an album so smooth.
It appears as though Nielson has most sought acceptance of internal conflict with V. Even in his most naïve of memories, the impact hedonism holds on him and his lifestyle is inseparable. This, among other factors, contributed to him reevaluating his own role within his family, for him to aspire towards putting the needs of others ahead of his own. Negative influence may have shaped who he is, but in his quest for selflessness, has not let it define him. What does define him, as V proves time and again, are his instincts, his attitude, and those playing with him.