Shura – ‘I Got Too Sad For My Friends’ album review: radiant teases under beige, indie fug
THE SKINNY: It’s easy to forget how far-reaching the pandemic’s shadow casts even five years later, with albums still being released, delayed and shaped by the era’s upending solitude. Exploring love’s euphoric rush on 2019’s Forevher, British electronic art-pop artist Shura was forced to halt the accompanying tour halfway through and spend lockdown in New York away from family and severed from social circles. Amid this universal yet unique relationship with Covid-19’s historic tumult, the need to exorcise the confusing inner wanderings would sow the seeds for her long-awaited follow-up.
I Got Too Sad For My Friends offers a clue as to the emotional terrain Shura is stewing in for her third record. Lonely musings, isolated reflections, and a defensive shield of wry humour to save from lapsing into draining self-absorption, enough of a ruminative aura is whisked up. Shura has conjured a pastel pop collage of shimmering psych-folk and evocative synth washes which, to a certain degree, spell its intended rippling contemplations.
The sonic stir that should match I Got Too Sad For My Friends’ forlorn wrestle only ever mines a certain depth of aural immersion. What appears as pleasing mists of digital indie flourish soon dissipate into glossy, beige clumps of muted production and half-baked sophistipop formulas. Languishing in a pallid pool of soft-synth clot, Shura can often struggle to pull her earnest pop examinations away from a staid and sluggish atmosphere that clouds the record’s high points and compounds the fluctuating intrigue of her compositions.
Variety pushes the album a respectable distance, with moments of subtle R&B groove or even a flashy pop strut stridently vying for attention among the indie-folk cuts. When wafting away with the mushy sonic front that clogs up the record, a piquant soundfont can be confoundingly discovered—a skewed guitar lick, pitch-altered backing vocal, or fluttering string—which smatters such eccentricities like buried treasure underneath the uninspired fug. While contrary to its ambitions of easy transportive elevation, the soundfont helps by rewarding the listener with aural jewels if paying close attention.
There’s an undeniable sincerity to I Got Too Sad For My Friends‘ thematic core, and a slightly affecting imbue of relatable meditation on a time when the world was plunged into chaos. But Shura’s third album effort’s reach for moving pop catharsis, fundamentally, is never as interesting as it could be due to thin song templates and generally flat sonic presentation.
For fans of: Carpet samples.
A concluding comment from Lae’zel: “I have a confession, this album slaps”.
I Got Too Sad For My Friends track by track:
Release: May 30th | Producer: Luke Smith | Label: PIAS
‘Tokyo’: Lilting folk introduction that demonstrates Shura’s knack for simple harmonies. A subtle swell of dramatic frisson throughout. [3/5]
‘Leonard Street’: A hectic swirl of jazz illustrates the titular street with enough evocative grasp. A hazy stroll interrupted by the pressures of the modern world. [3/5]
‘Recognise’: Rousing anthemic grab that touches on a moment in pop’s yesteryear and hasn’t been heard in a long time. A stirring shine radiates from its core. [3.5/5]
‘World’s Worst Girlfriend’: Whatever ethereal plane we were traversing has hit a dead end of on-trend pop homogeneity. Feels like backing music to a third-rate festival’s tedious round-up. [2/5]
‘Richardson’: An attempt at woozy country flavours that never arrive anywhere to make the soul sing. Its psych coating is frustratingly airy and wafer-thin. [2.5/5]
‘America’: Sounds just like ‘Richardson’. Swirling around in the same territory here. [2/5]
‘Online’: Soaring synth washes and ambient guitar strums coax one of the album’s more authentically evolving moments. [3/5]
‘I Wanna Be Loved You’: Really irritating vocal choir stomp pop, as if Ryan Tedder’s been roped in for production duties. [1/5]
‘Ringpull’: A welcome jump into soft grooves and retro-futurist soul. A glimmering strut. [3/5]
‘If You Don’t Believe In Love’: Another soul stab, featuring Helado Negro. Shimmers enough with little frills. [3/5]
‘Bad Kid’: Highly personal lyricism still nagged by tepid songcraft. Ending the album on a plea for just a little more zest and life. [2.5/5]
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