Ignoring the implied imperative in its title, “Take a Chance” stars silky verses from Anderson. Mostly, though, it's nuanced and mature, with a slickness that sometimes drifts into banality and makes you crave a reprieve in the form of surprise gastric sounds or cavalier testicle jokes. That silly side hardly appears on NOT TiGHT just the odd fleck of folly, like the meandering “Bowling,” where Thundercat drops a Big Lebowski reference and entreats someone to go bowl. It’s like when you’re so good, you can afford to goof off. These hi-jinks obviously don’t translate to the record, but a trace of the puerility lingers in the track title “Sniff,” which was originally called “u can sniff my butt.” All of which strengthens the idea that they’re the 100 gecs of jazz. At the top of one live set, for instance, Domi broadcasted airhorn and fart noises into the mic. Beck unleashes a deluge of fitful kick patterns and snare flams that sound like armies of Spirited Away soot sprites scrabbling across floorboards.Īs a comic counterpoint to their technical poise, the duo also became notorious for inane antics. Everything comes alive here rhythmically: The keys somersault and distort, a cheeky pizzicato peeks its head in every now and then.
“Space Mountain” reminds me of Pokémon Mystery Dungeon music reimagined as hyper-jazz. For the virgin ear, swaths of sweet texture: the dreamy vamp wash of “Duke,” the skittish yet serene pulse of “Moon” with Herbie Hancock on vocoder. For jazz heads and trained musicians, there’s a treasure trove of inventive drum and keyboard patterns and time signature mayhem to unpack. The amalgam of influences and stylistic echoes-from Squarepusher and video game music to ‘70s jazz-fusion like Chick Corea and Weather Report and LA’s beat scene-can be overwhelming. It’s an impressive but fatiguing listen, like nu-jazz-hop played by savants typing 250 wpm, that doesn’t really cohere into something more meaningful than the sum of its very busy and skillfully imbricated parts. Based on NOT TiGHT’s cover, where the duo appears like doll-cute indie poppers, it feels part of their project is to bring jazz fusion to a new hyper-brained generation. It’s undeniably virtuosic but optimized for smooth listening to dazzle the widest possible audience, like a 44-minute display of the brightest neon-shell fireworks on the market.
NOT TiGHT doesn’t try to replicate the magic of a haywire improv experiment pushed to the brink of delirium. All they were missing was an album, or any kind of release at all.Ī key part of Domi & JD Beck’s online appeal was the live-time thrill. Paak, who signed them to his Blue Note imprint Apeshit. Frenetic live sets and sponsored jam sessions garnered them a sizable fanbase and the respect of folks like Thundercat and Anderson. Like many young online stars, the duo’s fame outpaced their output. You could mistake Beck for a cyborg his drums rattle with the controlled ferocity of jungle breaks. DOMi weaves intricate melodies of bass and piano played ambidextrously.
Domi (22, keys) and Beck (19, drums) communicate preternaturally on their debut record, sculpting blocks and chains of rhythmic architecture for the other to link with.
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