The Quietus

When you become a father certain things become apparent: you’re not young any more; night clubs are now things that happen largely to other people; and a significant percentage of popular culture is no longer interested in your fate.

That’s not to say that there aren’t brilliant books, films, songs etc. about being a father: Steve Wonder’s ‘Isn’t She Lovely’ or John Lennon’s ‘Beautiful Boy’, for example, manage to capture the desperate, affectionate thrill of fatherhood without resorting to blind mawkishness. But on the whole, art that speaks to fatherhood occupies a niche in popular culture that seems insignificant compared to the amount of time that being a dad is occupying your thoughts.

In the world of electronic music at large, and grime in particular, this gap is even more pronounced. They are, on the whole, both youthful genres of music, associated with going out, dancing and getting rowdy, not a trio of activities that combines well with young, needy children. And despite what people say, no one’s offspring really appreciates the work of Brian Eno / Kraftwerk / Wiley’s Devil mixes. Instead, the vast majority of children favour poorly animated YouTube songs that will drive parents to distraction by the inevitable 500th listen.

This makes Devout, the second album from Peace Edit specialist Mr. Mitch, a very special release. Mitch (aka Miles Mitchell) has long offered a unique voice within grime, favouring beat-less “peace edits” of Beach Boys’ classics when the fashion was for ferocious war dubs; and releasing vocal-free instrumental tracks when a new wave of MCs was on the march. But Devout, an album that deals with themes such as love and family under the overarching theme of fatherhood, is his most unusual move yet. “We all know the stereotype of the black dad with multiple children from multiple partners who is absent from the child’s life, we see it consistently in popular culture,” Mitch said of the album. “I want to champion the alternative, which to me is just normal.”

This isn’t, it soon becomes clear, an album simply inspired by fatherhood, or one where fatherhood is explored in abstract terms. Rather Devout is as consumed by fatherhood as only new fathers can be, an album with fatherhood stamped through it like a piece of rock. The album is bookended by ‘Intro’ and ‘Oscar’, the former featuring vocals from Mitch’s eldest son Miles; the latter a song for a new-born baby and his older brother (“He’s waiting.… He’s about to be a big brother to you.”). Meanwhile, lead track ‘Priority’ sees MC P. Money talk about his positive experiences of fatherhood (“Birthing’s powerful…. I remember when you first came out, the struggles got easy, hard work paid off”). And when Devout isn’t talking about fatherhood, songs such as ‘Fate’ and ‘VPN’ deal with the emotions we experience at the start and end of relationships.

It would be a step too far to call Devout grime’s first fatherhood album. The soft, polished cleanliness of the production here means Devout feels more grime-inspired - a kind of poppy, minimalist rhythm and grime - than an example of grime itself. And yet Mitch’s willingness to bring such open-hearted emotional honesty into grime’s orbit, a genre still largely dominated by talk of youthful escapades, is a brave move nevertheless.

Thematically, there are very few antecedents to Devout and it is a sign of grime’s new-found maturity that the astral synth lines of Mitch’s grime-inspired instrumentals actually sit pretty well with the album’s feelings of tenderness and parental love. ‘Priority’, for example, combines distant, menacing drones with synth blips and sparse, echoing percussion, ending up at the mid point between grime’s urban paranoia and the artificial euphoria of new age, while ‘Intro’’s mixture of simple chord blocks, auto tuned hooks and the burbling of a baby is a lesson in moist-eyed minimalism, a trick Mitch repeats on Art of Noise-y album centrepiece ‘My Life’. At times like these Devout genuinely - and very impressively - manages to translate the dazed euphoria of new fatherhood into musical form.

The problem with Devout, then, is not so much the album’s themes - although you imagine certain listeners may struggle to get past these - rather it is the monotony that sets in about half way through. Mitch’s sonic palette is well chosen, a mixture of grime’s angular synths, the processed, honeyed vocals of R&B and a certain pan-pipe new age-ness. But it can feel slightly limited. On Mitch’s previous album, 2014’s excellent Parallel Memories, this was offset by a melancholy, shifting lurch, as if the music felt ready to collapse under the weight of its own sadness.

Devout, however, feels more straightforward and self-assured and by the time ‘If I Wanted’ floats along, five tracks in, on yet another bed of airy chords and muffled drums, the feeling is one of slight exasperation rather than delight. It’s just too much of a good thing, like overdosing on candy floss or spending three days in bed, and it subsumes the odd moments of emotional grit that Devout offers (on ‘Priority’ and ‘Pleasure’, for example).

For all this, Devout works well on several levels. If Mitch’s goal was to create a vivid alternative to “the stereotype of the black dad”, then he has more than succeeded in his task. Quite frankly, the Mitch household sounds like an idyllic place to grow up in. If he wanted to show that grime, now well into its second decade, can engage with subjects like fatherhood, love and family then Mitch has largely succeeded in that too. And yet as an album for sit-down listening Devout is too one-paced to really satisfy. As a relatively new father, not yet ready for slippers, pipe and Travis, I wanted Devout to work. But over 12 tracks momentum starts to drag and it is hard to imagine a sleep-deprived new father getting much further than track six before they are lulled into an inappropriately deep slumber.

Devout is bold, fascinating and sweet, then, with moments of melodic brilliance and sonic mastery. But taken as a whole, the result is slightly unpalatable. As a good father Mr Mitch undoubtedly knows that too many sweets can upset the stomach. And the same logic applies to Devout: you need some some roughage to balance out the sugary treats.

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Tiny Mix Tapes 80

Mr. Mitch
Devout

[Planet Mu; 2017]

Rating: 4/5

Pitchfork 72

For a brief period in September of 2013, the UK grime scene went to war. This time, though, the battleground was Soundcloud, and the soldiers were the genre’s producers, who turned out a fearsome barrage of beats—christened “war dubs”—aimed at their peers and rivals. In the spirit of Jamaican soundclash culture, there was the sense that this battle was as much about the flexing of technical ability as any real enmity. One producer rose above the fray: Mr. Mitch, real name Miles Mitchell, who dropped a selection of soft, sample-driven tracks he called “Peace Edits,” and in doing so, all but left with the spoils.

Time has proven this to be not so much a conceptual feint as an expression of Mitchell’s character. There is no front to the music he makes, no rough edges. Instead, Devout—like its predecessor, 2014’s Parallel Memories—explores a pared-back, gossamer sound, with emotions to the fore. Mitchell is no outsider: he runs his own label, Gobstopper Records, and is one of four producers behind London clubnight Boxed, a home for inventive, off-the-wall productions that has been credited as an engine behind grime’s revival. But he is also a father of two from suburban South London and his own artist albums reflect this reality, exploring the sanctuary of home life and matters of the heart.

Parallel Memories was pretty but almost too minimal, sometimes feeling short of a layer or two. It would be deceptive to claim Devout is heavier, but it is compositionally tighter, and roughly half the tracks feature vocals from Mitchell and a small coterie of guests. There are still qualities that harken back to grime: the 16 bar structures, the wriggling, liquid melodies. But where grime generally works from an abrasive, lo-fi palette, Devout feels polished and tactile, reminiscent of Fatima Al Qadiri’s forays in sino-grime, or the ’80s synth ambient of Ryuichi Sakamoto.

ASMR enthusiasts will find a lot to love in the pizzicato violin and breathy synth washes of “Lost Touch”—or “Black Tide,” with its analog camera sounds and melodies that squeak like a squeegee on a windowpane. The album’s vocal turns, meanwhile, veer soulful, grappling with love and relationships from a mature perspective. On “Fate,” Denai Moore whips up a quiet storm as she puts an end to a floundering love affair. “VPN” captures the pain of separation, with fellow South Londoner Palmistry’s airy cod-patois afloat over blown-glass melodies and a gentle kick.

Parenthood is a vexed topic in popular music; the rap album blighted by the saccharine track about Dad life is a cliché for a reason. Devout tackles this conundrum head on. The sole MC moment on the album comes courtesy of P Money, who raps about fatherhood on “Priority.” His delivery balances #blessed vibes with a glimpse of struggle and challenge, and Mitchell is canny enough to pair it with a beat laced with just a shred of anxiety—you can feel the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. More sentimental are the moments when Mitchell himself takes the mic, his voice tinted with Autotune. On “Intro,” he croons accompanied by samples of his sons at play, while “Oscar” is a song directed towards his newborn, set to childlike xylophone chimes. They come over as more imperfect than the rest of Devout, but their homemade intimacy feels like an end in itself.

Describing the concept of the album, Mitchell has spoken of challenging negative representations of black fatherhood: “We all know the stereotype of the black dad with multiple children from multiple partners who is absent from the child’s life, we see it consistently in popular culture,” he says in promotional materials. “I want to champion the alternative, which to me is just normal.” Loyalty and accountability are topics that seldom make it into popular music, but Devout finds bliss in its sense of balance. From its gentle textures come a calm centeredness, from its soft words a sense of strength.