King Krule’s latest album is his most personal yet

Evan Balikos/Contributing Writer

King Krule (real name: Archy Marshall) writes music that is not exactly easy to fit into a neat and organized box of genres. Many would cite that he employs mostly trip-hop production and pairs it with a rapper’s flow and poetic wit, but with this new album this task of classification becomes nearly impossible.

“The OOZ,” released on Oct. 13, is a voyage into the madness of modern music. The opener, “Biscuit Town,” begins with an indiscernible machine noise in the background before smooth, leathery guitar riffs and faint strings prepare us for Krule’s guttural howl to hit on heavy bass percussion. Then, on “The Locomotive,” things get creepy. A warped alarm bell and sinister indistinguishable dialogue constitutes the eerie crowd that pushes Krule to disassociate as he waits for the train.

“I’m not in the mood, but I gotta move,” he whines before launching into a grungy guitar crescendo that climbs a mountain crumbling under his feet.

Marshall has grown in a big way since releasing his major debut under his King Krule moniker: “6 Feet Under the Moon.”

Back then, he was in and out of love, heartbroken and willing to blame anyone he has been with for the pain and the confusion. On “The OOZ,” he focuses on the spaces in between that, zeroing in on the harsh, relentless reality that makes up the man behind the musical mask.

On “Logos,” a chittering bossa nova-backed beat and watery synth keyboards reveal the buried past of a tortured Archy Marshall who would engage in mindless sex to avoid confronting his drunken, often neglectful mother. Krule speaks in rhyme couplets, his tone deep and dark like a midnight sky.

“I caught my mum, she stumbles home/Through open ground, back to broken homes,” he sings over handfuls of harsh bubbling chords.

In addition to these rounds of painful introspection, he remains human and desperately still obsessed with a girl. On “Lonely Blue”—the same “Blue” that broke his heart four years ago on “6 Feet Under the Moon” –Krule utilizes a poet’s technique of speaking from multiple different perspectives to escape from his past.

“I’d save him but he’s dead” – a line from “Lonely Blue” – is simple but strong enough to communicate that he is working to not only abandon the memory of the girl, but also the memory of himself.

Krule’s frequent change of point of view is a notable example of his skill in illustrating disassociation and disillusionment in his writing. Krule gives you the puzzle box, but he has hidden the pieces in the dark recesses of his previous homes. Krule has never been a stranger to love though, and the sultry sounds of “Cadet Limbo” encompasses everything magical about finding the one.

On it, Krule becomes a crooner that could stand up to the likes of Frankie Valli, as patient guitar strokes, sexy saxophone and charming honky-tonk piano provides the stage for him to dance with his newfound lover.

But how long can this kind of love last and is it enough to support a bruised and broken individual?

Listeners receive their answer on tracks like “Emergency Blimp,” where we see Krule attempting to numb his pain with sleeping pills over punk and jazz fusion, and on the appropriately named “Vidual,” where evil surf rock and Krule’s confessions invoke an image not seen nearly enough: a person behind the personage who’s fed up being glamorized for his murky past.

The album’s final third is the most gorgeous section, but lyrically it is the most anguished. We see Krule leave the girl that made his heart soar on “The Cadet Leaps,” as he flies away to the tune of attractive jazz piano and whirring synth flourishes. And then, on the title track “The OOZ,” a hauntingly beautiful guitar intro descends before cymbals begin splashing over waves of Krule’s plaintive lyrics.

“In soft bleeding, we will unite/We OOZ two souls, pastel blues” – a line in “The OOZ” –  includes every colorful concept that can be summoned from listening to Krule’s music.

He is never too wordy, but he is also not simple. He worships metaphors and imagery, but he never resorts to being cliché. Therefore, King Krule has been deemed a voice of his generation. He exemplifies the sad and anxious teenager in us all, but he writes like Bob Dylan met Conor Oberst in a crowded, rockabilly bar. The album concludes with Krule becoming the ocean on “Midnight 01 (Deep Sea Diver)” and then ditching love for good to find solace under the moon on “La Lune.”

Back to square one.

“The OOZ” is dense, in the best conceivable way. Every track stands out with its own sonic distinction and lyrical jungle to wade through. There are spurts of rap and punk rock, neo-soul and jazz and a convoy of other different stylings that would refuse to be cleanly categorized.

King Krule deserves to be regarded as a captivating and praise-worthy artist. That he is only 23-years old speaks to his full capacity for brilliance in the future. This album refuses to be ordered and easily consumable, and much like real life, it is often hard-hitting, brutally honest and unavoidably dim. For that, it deserves acclaim.

Music Matters is a weekly music column that reviews pop, rock and alternative music albums and singles.  It does not reflect the opinions and views of FIU’s Student Media.