For all the excitement of a new artist, the music industry can be pretty unforgiving. For every artist burning brightly after a long and successful career, there lie the dying embers of thousands. That’s arguably especially true of electronic artists. The rewards are there: high-profile festival sets, big-name collaborations, and major awards. However, one false step can just as easily consign them to regional student nights for years to come. For British electronic artist Barry Can’t Swim, the stakes could not be higher.
After the initial buzz of his early EPs, Barry Can’t Swim (aka Joshua Spence Mainnie) served notice of his talent on his debut, When Will We Land? It saw him shortlisted for the prestigious Mercury Prize and garnered critical acclaim across the music press. His ascent must have been dizzying. From appearing low on festival bills just four short years ago, he has suddenly been elevated to headliner at renowned British festivals such as Forwards and All Points East. A rare feat for someone with just one record and a handful of EPs under his belt. That was even before the world heard what he was cooking up on his new album Loner.
Loner is a snapshot of what happens when an artist suddenly gets shot into the stratosphere. It sees Mainnie take stock of where he finds himself and ask himself what kind of artist he wants to be. The answer is to distance himself from any sense of expectation and make something authentic. Something representative of him as a person and as an artist. With the general chaos of touring and gigging, it would be forgivable to release something, anything, to keep up the momentum. Thankfully, Loner is something different. It reaches the highest heights without compromising its artistic integrity.
“The Person You’d Like to Be” features his friend and poet Seamus. It’s a disconcerting and powerful opening with Seamus’ Scottish burr framed by blaring, car alarm synths. Initially, it feels wonderfully abstract, but over time, seemingly throwaway lines take on almost devastating significance. Lines such as the revealing “Can you sit down with me for a moment, please? / Can you hold my hand / I am frightened” reveal an emotional depth that few electronic artists manage to achieve.
The track encapsulates the record’s overarching theme of separating the artist from the person, with both coexisting and apart, yet often coming into conflict. “Different” is the first certified banger. Opening with quick-fire breakbeats, it soon launches into orbit with a whirling, climbing bass line like a rocket tearing away from the launch pad. However, the genius comes with the dynamic shift as it idles into more ambient territory before firing up again.
“Kimpton” perfectly encapsulates why his rise has been so rapid—the piano breaks, the perfectly chosen vocal samples, the warm, evocative synths. There is something beautifully familiar yet fresh about it. Featuring his friend, O’Flynn, it could just as easily come from Bonobo‘s incredible Fragments album. “All My Friends” plays like an update from Moby‘s ubiquitous Play. Coming from a similar place, he mines soulful, vocal samples and blends them with smooth electronics that make it sound both hopeful and mournful at the same time. It builds to an almost transcendent drop, designed to overcome misty-eyed festivalgoers everywhere.
Barry Can’t Swim follows it with probably the finest one-two combination you’ll hear on an electronic album this year. The pumping acid techno of “About to Begin” should be the dance soundtrack for Gen Z. It flies out of the traps with eagle-eyed precision as he channels a host of 1990s rave influences. “Still Riding” is the kind of anthem that a host of his peers would kill for. It’s a confident and bold statement as he marries a Kali Uchis vocal sample with dextrous and fluid synths before somehow finding the perfect moment to carry the listener home on a blissful wave. It would be difficult for any artist to maintain that kind of quality, which makes the subsequent slight dip all the more understandable.
“Cars Pass by Like Childhood Sweethearts” is probably the safest song. All the signature elements are in place—the glistening piano, the neo-soul, and female vocal samples—but it doesn’t quite connect in the same way. The same could be said of a lot of the rest of Loner. “Machine Noise For a Quiet Daydream” sees the return of Seamus, who again spins his ambiguous poetry over 1990s-influenced house.
However, it plays like an inferior retread of the opening track, struggling to match its emotional depth. The shuffling “Like It’s Part of the Dance” is much more effective. Percussive claps give way to soulful vocals before rolling synths take it to its euphoric conclusion. The build, the drop, and the undeniable sense of fun have already made it a live favorite.
“Childhood” feels a little formulaic in comparison. The surging horn swells are a welcome addition, but the whole thing follows a well-trodden path. It’s too smooth, and it’s begging to be taken in a more unexpected direction. It’s one of the tracks that needs someone to come in and rough up the edges and force open the cracks.
The same could be said of “Marriage”, which seems a little lost, as if it could end up anywhere but ultimately arrives at the most apparent point, despite the addition of big drums and swelling strings. Thankfully, “Wandering Mt. Moon” concludes the record on a sublime note, thanks to the gliding strings. Taking its inspiration from Bollywood soundtracks, it’s the kind of tune that could soundtrack bold, expansive camera shots of nature.
Loner feels like a classic touring album. There are moments of genius where all his influences meld together perfectly, but then there are moments that feel a little rushed; a sure sign that a record has been crafted on the road. Next, perhaps he should consider some of the remixes of songs from this album. Have faith in taking things in an unexpected direction or scuffing up the edges. For now, Loner will see him continue his rapid ascent and, in turn, cement his status as one of the most exciting new talents in dance music.