Steve Lacy's independent debut
Apollo XXI earned the
Internet member his second Grammy nomination for Best Urban Contemporary Album -- to go with one for
Ego Death -- and prompted a deal with major-label RCA for his follow-up. Between solo projects,
Lacy as a collaborator was less active than usual, contributing to LPs by
Thundercat, bandmate Patrick Paige II, and
Ravyn Lenae, seemingly reserving a higher percentage of his energy for solo pursuits. More obviously, he went through a breakup, the inspiration behind
Gemini Rights, and switched up his approach by turning the tables roughly 90 degrees with a host of fellow producers, songwriters, and instrumentalists taking seats to assist him with his vision.
Gemini Rights naturally is less scruffy than
Lacy's earlier releases. Without losing the off-the-cuff "don't overthink it" charm of
Apollo XXI or the preceding Steve Lacy's Demo, it's greater in definition and detail, and the songwriting is more deliberate, with no evidence that
Lacy is tamping down his free-spirited, deep-feeling personality. While he isn't above expressing a little bitterness and arrogance now and then, each song has some combination of warmth, tenderness, and a sadness combated at times with shrugging acceptance. The whole thing aches. "Bad Habit" is the emotional and literal center, a ballad with lovelorn diffidence so strong that its candid proposition at the end is (humorously) shocking. "Sunshine" is a post-breakup scene filled with unresolved tension between
Lacy and duet partner
Fousheé.
Lacy is at his sharpest lyrically ("Sayin' 'My ex' like my name ain't Steve...Still I'll give you dick anytime you need"), and his guitar toward the end takes bittersweet flight before landing softly. Although the fun and friskiness in past songs like "Playground" are missed, he does add some different bright colors to his mix here, as on "Mercury," a tough bossa nova groove in which his expressions oscillate between regret, acceptance, and longing. From top to bottom,
Lacy's strums scratch an itch with a tinge of abrasiveness. Keyboards supplied throughout by sensitive and unobtrusive players
John Carroll Kirby and
Ely Rise, background harmonies from a quartet of women (including
Lacy's sisters), and occasional production help from
DJ Dahi and
the Internet's
Matt Martians all enhance
Lacy's sound without complicating it. ~ Andy Kellman