Teased all the way back in 2021 with a single that didn't even end up on the album (the wholly worthwhile "Shockerbaby"), synthpop songwriter des hume's sophomore effort FM.era had a bit of a question mark hanging over it, especially after their debut album Bub seemed to barely make it past the finish line. Roll out your favourite "worth the wait" cliché however — this latest from the Vancouver artist is a low-key top-10 contender for the year, a late-night collection of sadboi lullabies that'll keep you bleary-eyed and loving it.
Organized loosely around the concept of terrestrial radio as an exploratory world of free-floating identities, the album has a varied, fragmented structure — it opens and closes with garbled static, and tracks often stop just when you thought they were getting started, as though an impatient hand is turning the dial. Perhaps a bit jarring at first, there's an effective push and pull once you get your bearings, and even des hume's truncated ideas bear up under scrutiny; there's a well-realized vision here.
Moving confidently between compelling minor sketches and fully fleshed songs, des hume works mostly in a washed-out, '80s aesthetic here not dissimilar to Choir Boy, Blood Orange, the 1975 (they're a dead ringer on "Tearaways") and other purveyors of the vibe — a sort of faded-neon-sweatshirt-core. Prince (who gets a name check here), is everywhere in the guitars as well, and any U2 fan will recognize closer "Never Really Gone" as the glorious reworking of "One" it so truly wants to be — that des hume can casually hold on to this track until the end of the album is a testament to how strong the material here is.
The two collaborations stand out as well: "Widescreen," with Prado, whose voice links up with des hume's nicely (awesome sax solo on this one too), and "Onetwostep," a Sunjuicelover feature that can sit easily with the current crop of indie rap bangers, pulling the FM vibes deftly into the streaming age — a nice twist. The whole thing is a testament to the powers of the humble home-recording setup as well; it truly is the home of the auteur, despite (or perhaps because of) its limitations, and the raw synths and dime-store beats des hume often employs here (think Alex Cameron or Kirin J Callinan, kindred spirits both) feel perfect for concept and material.
If you've been following the artist's self-proclaimed song-a-month schedule lately and been wondering what it's all been leading to, or vibing to recent work from Quinn Christopherson or Chain Gang of 1974 — or just can't get enough of the '80s as filtered through one person's radio static — tune in to this. Des hume broadcasts a strong, confident signal here.
(Independent)Organized loosely around the concept of terrestrial radio as an exploratory world of free-floating identities, the album has a varied, fragmented structure — it opens and closes with garbled static, and tracks often stop just when you thought they were getting started, as though an impatient hand is turning the dial. Perhaps a bit jarring at first, there's an effective push and pull once you get your bearings, and even des hume's truncated ideas bear up under scrutiny; there's a well-realized vision here.
Moving confidently between compelling minor sketches and fully fleshed songs, des hume works mostly in a washed-out, '80s aesthetic here not dissimilar to Choir Boy, Blood Orange, the 1975 (they're a dead ringer on "Tearaways") and other purveyors of the vibe — a sort of faded-neon-sweatshirt-core. Prince (who gets a name check here), is everywhere in the guitars as well, and any U2 fan will recognize closer "Never Really Gone" as the glorious reworking of "One" it so truly wants to be — that des hume can casually hold on to this track until the end of the album is a testament to how strong the material here is.
The two collaborations stand out as well: "Widescreen," with Prado, whose voice links up with des hume's nicely (awesome sax solo on this one too), and "Onetwostep," a Sunjuicelover feature that can sit easily with the current crop of indie rap bangers, pulling the FM vibes deftly into the streaming age — a nice twist. The whole thing is a testament to the powers of the humble home-recording setup as well; it truly is the home of the auteur, despite (or perhaps because of) its limitations, and the raw synths and dime-store beats des hume often employs here (think Alex Cameron or Kirin J Callinan, kindred spirits both) feel perfect for concept and material.
If you've been following the artist's self-proclaimed song-a-month schedule lately and been wondering what it's all been leading to, or vibing to recent work from Quinn Christopherson or Chain Gang of 1974 — or just can't get enough of the '80s as filtered through one person's radio static — tune in to this. Des hume broadcasts a strong, confident signal here.
