Like a Ribbon

I love the type of album you just can’t stop listening to, where it starts to become the default sound of your brain and putting on anything else feels like cheating. That happened to me this past week with languid British rapper John Glacier’s Like A Ribbon. I first put it on passively while online shopping for perfume and that haunted doll dress I mentioned in my previous post (still haven’t found it). Soon I was addicted. I’ve since listened while climbing the hills of Griffith Park, driving to errands and random parties, and now, while writing—and fine, online shopping again.

"Nevasure" was a first love (because WHO is ever sure?). Cold and spiraling, weightless synths, quiet dread. “Never mind me ’cause I’m icy / let it thaw, have a meltdown.” I mean, mood. "Emotions" hooked me with its strange, hypnotic beat. And more lyrics about being an icy bitch: “Now they’re calling me a bitch / You best believe it / I’m as cold as the ice.” Glacier’s voice is soft and blasé, bleak but chic. I’m embarrassed by my anglophilia, but she reminds me of fellow Brits Tirzah, Mica Levi, Dean Blunt, even early M.I.A.—that muted, minimal production, and offbeat flow. (I’m also getting Swedes Bladee and Yung Lean.) But there’s something so elegant and effortless about Like A Ribbon. It’s like an addictive dream. Like walking on slick London streets with huge headphones on, lost in thought, finding beauty in the mundane, innit?