The delicate ebb that follows it-complete with falsetto from Beck, naturally-is the most vulnerable moment of the album. There’s one betrayal of Flume’s busy hand in the song, in a dubstep-lite drop halfway, but it’s energizing. Here, the production is as nimble as the vocalist Beck opens in staccato leaps, chipper despite the Sea Change-like refrain of despondency (“it was never perfect, never meant to last”), and Flume loops him in a slow, roiling momentum until the sentiment blooms into a battle-scarred catharsis worthy of a John Hughes soundtrack. Snuck in at the close, “ Tiny Cities,” featuring Beck, is comparatively minimalist, a welcome smattering of downtempo new wave synths. There’s a mathematical quality to how he deploys singers in these productions, where the heavier his low-end distortion throbs, the more featherweight smoke curls follow. (“I’m only human can’t you see/I made, I made a mistake/Please just look me in my face/Tell me everything’s OK”). The lead single, “Never Be Like You,” is already a Disclosure-remixed pop hit (and a winking psychotropic video) it saunters on Flume’s languid trap drops and a plummy R&B hook from the Canadian singer Kai, a former Jack Ü collaborator who trills a mundane mea culpa with a gleam of defiance.

The halting, futurist beat of Kučka’s solo track (“Numb & Getting Colder”) nods to Flying Lotus and Four Tet that core is closely repeated on her second turn, “Smoke & Retribution,” which jolts awake in agile verses by rapper Vince Staples. Here, it’s handled twofold by Aluna Francis of AlunaGeorge (the groggy, glitchy “Innocence”) and also Kučka, a young Aussie singer who distinctly echoes Francis in slinky R&B phrasing and tinny topnotes. On his first album, that role was played by Jezzabell Doran on the album’s best cut (“Sleepless”).

The sum suggests that he’s an earnest collaborator, flashier but still casting around for a distinct identity.įlume has a fondness for female voices singing in their upper register. Here, Flume recruits an array of famous guests (Beck, Little Dragon, Vince Staples, Raekwon, AlunaGeorge), padding their radio-friendly cuts with the persistent crescendos of his self-titled debut, then ballasting them with loose instrumental interludes. It’s a stadium-sized upsell of Flume’s prior atmospheric formula-skittish beats that cleave easily to gruff rappers and R&B sopranos alike, rattling future-bass warp, undulating synths-that swells with energy but spills over edges. Skin, the record in question, aims for that level of grandiosity throughout.

Flume sleepless sample