Bonobo - Migration

A Closer Listen

Migration is one of the highest-profile releases we’ve ever reviewed; on release day, it was #1 on iTunes.  Simon Green (Bonobo) certainly doesn’t need our help.  So why review it?  First of all, it’s that good.  Second, while minor masterpieces tend to be ignored by larger audiences (often because they haven’t heard of them), crossover albums tend to be ignored by alternative audiences (because they suspect they won’t be worth the attention).  Third, everyone has to start somewhere, and hardly anyone had heard of Bonobo when Animal Magic appeared back in 2000, save for the forward-thinking writers at magazines such as Mixmag, Musik, Jockey Slut and DJ.  Back then, my mix tapes were populated by Tipper, Dusted, Fingathing and Way Out West (I keep notes), and none of them have aged this well.  How has Green done what others have not?

The easiest answer is that Green has continued to evolve.  By keeping one ear to the clubs and another to the streets, he’s kept track of new movements in music, and has adapted his sound accordingly.  But that’s not the whole story.  Listening to Green’s discography, one realizes that he has also kept portions of his core sound.  In other words, he’s integrated innovations, but not trends.  There’s still a lot of soul in these grooves and a faint residue of trip-hop; Green’s roots show, but in a pleasant way.  A secondary reason for the artist’s continued relevance is that while he continues to integrate vocals (first apparent on Days to Come), he also continues to offer gorgeous instrumental tracks; and as many of the vocals are textural, the new album is dominated by the music.

Migration is only Bonobo’s sixth album; each set has been followed by 3-4 years of gestation.  The latest period of refinement has been put to good use, as Migration is his best set in a decade.  It may even be his best since Animal Magic, but we’ll need some time for it to sink in before drawing such a conclusion.  The primary reason is its flow; Migration works far better as an album than its immediate predecessors, more often remembered for their highlights (Black Sands‘ “Kiara” and The North Borders‘ “Cirrus”).  (We do take some pride in noting that both of these tracks are instrumental.)  Apart from wise track sequencing, the reason for the flow is simple ~ this is a concept album.

Where is home?  Is it where we are born, where we live, where the heart is, or an amalgamation?  Green’s reflections on a geographically scattered family, as well as his global experiences of travel, factor into the theme of migration.  As a traveler, Green brings back souvenirs, in this case sonic: “an elevator in a Hong Kong airport, rain in Seattle, a tumble dryer in Atlanta, a fan boat engine in New Orleans”.  He samples Brandy and Pete Seeger; he invites the participation of international performers; and over it all, he paints a wistful tone: you’re my favourite, but we’re phasing … oh, if it hadn’t been for …”

Often the fragment is more powerful than the whole, whether a broken beat or interrupted sentence.  The final statement is incomplete; the strings wrap the album in a bow, a gift to a traveler departing or returning.  But the listener is left with the impression of a restless heart, whose physical and spiritual homes are out of synch, grounded yet still flying, home but not home, pondering the necessity of yet another migration.  This may be an inheritance of the modern world ~ to be so connected and yet feel so out of place.  If so, Bonobo has captured something larger than the spirit of travel.  He’s translated jet lag into soul lag, and provided it with a score.  (Richard Allen)

The Guardian 80

(Ninja Tune)

It might not be the revolution the music world is pining for, but streaming services have recently reported an explosion in the popularity of ambient world electronica. Good timing for the doyen of percussive atmospherics, Simon Green, who returns with his sixth album. Inspired by his experiences as a nomadic musician rather than global issues surrounding migration, the record shares the same melancholic intensity of Jon Hopkins’ Immunity, but its head remains in the clouds rather than the club. Nicole Miglis’ vocals on Surface flicker like the flames of a backpacker’s campfire; the woozy No Reason is verdant and brooding; the languid, half-awake Break Apart caters to the chillout/easy-listening audience; while Bambro Koyo Ganda features energy from Morocco’s Innov Gnawa; and Kerala’s undulating rhythms, pensive and purposeful, mirror the movement of a bird’s wing.

Pitchfork 73

It’s been a long road for Simon Green, aka Bonobo, since his 2000 debut Animal Magic. Back then, he was seeking a bridge between downtempo electronica and the more playful and experimental artists on his soon-to-be-label home Ninja Tune; he came off as a bit too fuzzy for the former and not quite adventurous enough for the latter. Over the years, Green has honed his craft, shedding his early Amon Tobin Lite image and taking downtempo more seriously as a genre. On this way, he’s discovered late-breaking success: His last album, The North Borders, became a mainstream hit across Europe in 2013. On Migration, Green makes his most sophisticated record yet.

Green’s songwriting on The North Borders failed to match the sophistication of his production, and the album’s persistent moodiness grew wearisome. On Migration, Green has jettisoned the tepid slow-build dynamics: The nearly-eight minute colossus “Outlier” and its shuffling gallop of a beat leave downtempo in the dust, taking the listener on a journey that’s part Burial, part Rival Consoles. The song’s breakdown and slowly disintegrating comedown suggests Four Tet at his most delicate. These aren’t typical reference points for Bonobo, and show an artist still willing to seek new ideas. The piano of opener “Migration” is pulled from the playbook of post-classicists like Ólafur Arnalds or Peter Broderick and an “Amen”-esque drum break midway that amplifies the song’s sense of longing. The triumphant “Ontario” is the closest thing this relatively forward-looking record gets to nostalgia, with a booming beat and sitar that hearkens back to Animal Magic and other turn-of-the-millennium Ninja Tune releases.

Green continues his periodic use of vocalists to transform his ideas into full-fledged pop songs. The results in the past have been hit-or-miss, but he finds his stride here. “Break Apart,” featuring the graceful genderless contralto of Rhye’s Milosh over a sampled harp, is exquisite; “Surface,” featuring Hundred Waters’ Nicole Miglis, is even better. Nick Murphy’s (fka Chet Faker) “No Reason” is less interesting, though it’s easy to imagine how it (or “Surface” for that matter) could become a club hit in either current or remixed form.

All told, Migration is an impressive improvement over The North Borders, and easily the most listenable record of Bonobo’s fifteen-plus year career. It’s a record with equal appeal for electronic music fans and general listeners, something you could put on anywhere. Essentially, it recasts downtempo as a genre with more potential than party music on the Bosphorus.

Drowned In Sound 70

It’s an age-old dilemma that success breeds larger scrutiny, but it seems, for the most part, he has eschewed such pressures and fashioned a record of continued confidence and individuality. The opener and title track ‘Migration’ is a sly way to start, as its chaotic mix of tumbling percussion and repeated piano notes make it difficult to know what to expect from the rest of the record. It makes for an attention-grabbing intro that is paired with the previously released single ‘Break Apart.’ Where the former startles that latter soothes. It’s built around Michael Milosh's delicate and fragile falsetto, incorporating all manner of lightly delivered details. It passes through elegantly, and beautifully, but in keeping with the album's title it feels oddly transitory.

Green makes a theme of shifting between heavier tracks and more contemplative ones throughout the record. And he is largely successful in binding the two and avoiding a discordant narrative. Much the same could be said of the way he marries unlikely vocal choices to his compositions. The Brandy-sampling ‘Kerala’ knocks out a big, bold beat in a diametrical claim for dance floor success, whereas ‘Grains’ almost indistinguishable distorted vocal from folk hero Pete Seeger is used to great effect, creating a touching mood piece.

Similarly, ‘No Reason’ is the most straightforward (and no doubt commercially viable) dance track, featuring a soulful, escalating vocal from Nick Murphy, formally known as Chet Faker. But the record also holds the conversely organic sounding ‘Second Sun’, whose rolling and emotive guitars, strings and pianos are a beautiful interlude. The record consistently makes these shifts between bold statements and quiet reflection. Green has spoken of the recent death of his father and the milestone of turning 40, and the undulating nature of the album seems to be a reflection of his rootlessness and those aspects of his life that were once constant disappearing.

In a more outward looking sense, he broaches the theme of migration musically by utilising a larger palette of global references. His current interest in Moroccan Gnawa music seems to have made an impression on his own work, most obviously on ‘Bambro Koyo Ganda.’ It’s an ephemeral piece that fleetingly rests on one musical motif before morphing into another. It begins gradually with twinkling light touches before building in a bass-heavy driving beat that underpins the chanted vocal, making it one of the most absorbing and successful tracks on the record. And although the migratory themes appear to be mainly personal this engagement with other cultural musical touchstones enters it into that wider discourse regardless.

As with much of Green’s work Migration is the result of a myriad of sounds, textures and techniques most of which are strung together expertly and imaginatively. The record does tend to tail off towards the end with ‘7th Sevens’ and ‘Figures’ revisiting ideas that feel ever-so-slightly repetitive. And although increasingly he seems to be making music destined for the clubs, as opposed to the post party chillout/hangover soundtracks of yore, it marks further progression. The record will likely serve newer fans of Bonobo better than those that maintain a stronger fondness for his earlier work, but his journey is a fascinating one and only time will judge its permeance.

The Guardian 60

(Ninja Tune)

On this sixth album, Brighton boy Simon Green, now based in LA, finds a theme perfect for his melancholic downtempo electronica: travel, diaspora and belonging. Migration is a personal global journey, informed by a recent bereavement; found sounds from across continents mingle with horns, harp, guitar and piano, bolstered by beats ranging from two-step to cavernous trip-hop. New York–based Moroccan band Innov Gnawa contribute vocals to Bambro Koyo Ganda, with its clubby, hypnotic drive, while on Kerala, a sample of US R&B singer Brandy is abstracted beyond language, and Pete Seeger becomes a deep, rich texture on Grains. It all blends into a sonically rich album, perfect for gazing dreamily out of windows at passing landscapes, even if it doesn’t reach any new destinations.