This May, Gay City News reviews the latest albums by indie rock band Model/Actriz, whose singer Cole Haden is gay, and queer, non-binary R&B singer Fielded.
Model/Actriz | “Pirouette” | True Panther
The cover of Model/Actriz’s album, “Pirouette.”Rusty Snyder
The post-punk revival is now into its third decade. We’ve heard infinite variations on music created in New York, London and Manchester between 1978 and 1981. Those innovations have been pushed to the point of exhaustion. Model/Actriz bring the requisite scratchy guitar and vertiginous dance beats. But they also bring something new: singer Cole Haden’s queer perspective, seen and heard both in their lyrics and visuals. He takes everyday situations, like longing after an attractive man on a subway platform, and blows them up till they stand in for something larger.
Guitarist Jack Wetmore, bassist Aaron Shapiro and drummer Ruben Radlauer play expertly in robotic unison. During “Vespers,” they come together like a loop, as a rattling noise threatens to drown them out. They’re rigid enough to sound electronic. Westmore mutes his guitar strings into brittle clicks. (“Acid Rain” switches things up with acoustic guitar.) The notes he plays are much less important than their rhythm and timbre. The band’s sound has a full presence, yet it’s also rather fragile. Together, they sound bigger than each individual instrument.
“Pirouette” could be a 2000s release on the LCD Soundsystem’s DFA label, back when dance-punk came into its own as a genre tag. “Cinderella” recalls the gender noncomformity of wanting a fairy princess-themed birthday party. Post-punk’s pilfering from funk tended to take the sex out, but Model/Actriz put it back. “Diva” looks back at hook-ups during a trip to Europe (“I met a boy in Copenhagen/he was gay but had a girlfriend”) while pondering the idea of settling down. “Headlights” provides a spoken reminiscence about his crush on a boy when they were in eighth grade. “Departures” calls on a roster of gods and goddesses “to be embodied…to be beautiful,” even “to be your girl,” while gazing at a man. Even at his most agitated, Hagen’s voice retains an essential softness. Model/Actriz dodge the macho undertones so often hiding beneath rock. They get noisy — “Ring Road” gets so glitchy it almost disintegrates into digital static — without aggression. The band’s entire sound, even at its noisiest, insists upon its own gentleness.
At this point, Fielded has finally made an album as an artist shining on their own.Alex Mallis
Fielded felt a bit out of place on their previous label, Backwoodz Studioz. While it’s one of America’s best underground hip-hop imprints, they were its only R&B singer. On songs by its roster of rappers, such as Armand Hammer’s “Aubergine” and Small Bills’ “Safehouse,” their voice was a ray of sunshine amidst noisy backing tracks. Their previous album, “Plus One,” was loaded with features. Now fully independent, they’ve started their own label.
Fielded sings with jazz-inflected phrasing. Working with a live band, their production is lush and cinematic.
Jesse Sparkhawk’s harp glistens in the space around their voice. The album looks towards ‘90s neo-soul and its ‘70s inspirations. (The swirling synthesizer on “America” could come from either period, while the melody of “Lost Youth” has a dusting of Kate Bush.) It’s likely to be a future source for hip-hop samples.
“Chuckles Deluxe” catches up with lost time. In their 20s, Fielded’s struggles with mental health limited the possibilities of their art and life. While they’re in a much healthier place now, they fear that as a femme-presenting person, they’re too old to be taken seriously. On “Lost Youth,” they sing “I always wanted to be famous/I can almost taste it/But I’m no longer new.” In an industry that craves novelty, they wonder how much impact they can make at this point in their life. “The City” picks up a perennial subject: New York life as a grinding hustle. They worry about loneliness amidst transactional relationships designed to nurture ambition: “only depend on yourself in the city/don’t wanna let nobody in.” “Salome” refers to the Bible and Greek mythology, pondering men’s projection of negative qualities onto women.
“Plant Love” overflows with warmth, as they sing “I can’t stop myself from finding truth.” They stretch out the words’ syllables, gripping them tightly. They sing “we can grow, grow, grow,” comparing their lover’s positive influence to the power of the sun. The instruments frequently double their voice’s rhythm.
Without resorting to samples, Fielded uses music from the past to express their experiences. As impeccably crafted as the production of “Chuckles Deluxe” is, it nods very heavily to vintage jazz and soul. (The spare opening and rock guitar of “Lose Faith” are a departure.) The songs’ complexities, such as their stop-and-start rhythms, take a while to sink in; at first, the overall sound hits more immediately. With no features, “Chuckles Deluxe” is a terrific showcase for their talent as a singer. Their growth also goes hand in hand with accepting themselves as non-binary. The title track suggests they were alienating themselves from their own life by sanding down their complexity into presenting as a woman. At this point, Fielded has finally made an album as an artist shining on their own.
