Shamir - Shamir

October 2, 2020 - Self-released

There is a moment of arrival in every musician’s career where they release a self-titled album. Some, like The xx, do it as their first album. Others, like Bon Iver, hold back and wait until the sophomore of their careers. A self-titled release is a calculated move, a declaration of identity, and it signals an instant spotlight to us «kulturliebhaber.» I’m not sure where this practice began, who did it first, when in the history of recorded music we started knowing to pay attention when an artist writes their name on the cover twice. But follow we must, and follow we will. We look where we’re asked to look.

And this month, we’ve been called by the light to look at Shamir by Shamir. For the Vegas-born Philly-based artist’s self-titled step in the sun, he has chosen the body of work output in his seventh album release in the six years he’s been active in the public eye. With a fierce prolificity, he’s been working fast and hard and without a label backing him to grow to this moment—making, making and making some more. Gilded by the work that led to it and its namesake blessing, Shamir is a triumph from start to finish, and it feels so good to luxuriate in Shamir’s discovery of this sound after the pressure cooker of his career thus far. In the spirit of the creative freedom the internet age has given musicians, a future where you can bend the genres without anything breaking, the album is filled with punk rock sensibilities reimagined by a 2020 indie pop maverick. Instead of dark, grungy basements that feel like DIY death traps, we get bright, candid walks down city pavement with Shamir’s soaring countertenor vocal range above, leading the way. This music is radiantly confident, bursting with energy, simple and accessible, creative in its influences but clear in its vision. The strategy here is to catch more flies with honey, as they say, but to spice the honey with a bit of cayenne pepper for a twist of an aftertaste. Shamir is artsy as hell, but I could still listen to it with my golden-age-of-rock-n-roll dad.

Shamir Bailey was picked up early and young by XL Recordings, which released his debut album Ratchet. Presented with a Big Career at a Big Label at the age of 21, it was an opportunity that must have been extremely difficult to walk away from. But walk away from XL Recordings he did, over “creative differences,” and every album but one since has been self-released without a label’s support. I would be remiss if I didn’t address how difficult it is to be an artist on your own right now. Even if you are releasing high quality work, holding people’s attention in a room where everyone else is shouting at the same time (aka the world wide web) is like a daily crisp jaunt up Mount Everest. To make the call to walk away from a big label, to protect the integrity of your work from the typecast that inevitably comes with being picked up so young, to recognize the space art needs to incubate and develop, is admirable because it’s a terrifying leap of faith in yourself, especially in an American society that can only see those who have made it to the limelight. The joyful energy on Shamir is no accident—it is fun to listen to because it is a celebration. 

Yet despite all the confetti in the air, there is still plenty of risk taken in the composition of these tracks, hinting at more exciting work to follow. There’s so much material here. At times while listening I’m reminded of Prince, Tom Waits, Johnny Cash, Moses Sumney, early Madonna, Youth Lagoon, and the Sex Pistols. Shamir has crafted a cohesive sound that’s completely his own out of an eclectic mix of varied musical style and influence. There’s also grit in the glitter mix that becomes really apparent when you consider how open, generous and candid Shamir’s lyrics are. He didn’t make it through the dark woods of a DIY career unscathed. These songs sing of some pretty dark moments, of using substances as a form of self-medicating to numb out the bad, of exhaustion at trying so hard, of effort feeling futile in the face of modern existence, of emotionally toxic relationships built out of the insatiable appetites of parasitic baggage.  

My favorite highlights on the album include the anthemic ‘On My Own’ (more about that here), the slirp at the beginning of the grungy ‘Paranoia’ as the sound effect equivalent of, “hold my drink,” the fatalistic locomotive engine ‘Other Side,’ the gorgeous vocal breakdown in ‘I Wonder,’ and the complete tonal shift with the finisher ‘In This Hole.’ That final song is unlike every other song on the album—stripped of its guitars and rock beats, an unravelling of sorts, a pulling back of the curtain, a moment of unbridled fearlessness and freedom from compositional structure where Shamir’s voice shines on its own. I could take or leave the brief interludes of sampled conversations on the album, such as ‘Junglepussy Juice’ and ‘River Is About To Die In This Garage.’ They feel a bit arbitrary, and I tend to overlook them when listening start to finish. Luckily, they are easy to skip. 

Overall, Shamir comes off like a shiny theme song to a biting sitcom about Shamir’s life, like some sort of ultra-catchy internal narration of relatable truths and struggles wrapped up in a comfortable 30-minute experience with a well-timed laugh track targeting the irony. It’s a demonstration of arrival and maturity, of third-person reflection of your own experience, and of understanding how and when to use the tools you’ve collected over years of craft. The success of this self-titled album has me very excited for the future of this promising young star who’s becoming quite an American tale. ☔