Nick Hakim - Green Twins

The Guardian 80

(ATO)

The prog rock-style cover of Nick Hakim’s debut indicates that he is no ordinary soul singer. Like New York’s answer to Lewis Taylor, the cult British 90s singer-songwriter, Hakim drifts between genres and moods, displaying a soft spot for shadowy beats, Shuggie Otis, hip-hop and the early 70s, when psychedelia was embraced by R&B. His voice, like the music, has a dream-like quality, whether mulling over his girlfriend’s resemblance to God (the rapturous Bet She Looks Like You) or dissecting nightmares (the sensual title track). Needy Bees, meanwhile, a murky modern ballad, showcases his ability to gaze into the future without alienating soul traditionalists. Superb.

Pitchfork 79

Nick Hakim songs brim with yearning. There are glimpses of lovers, both lost and present, but he emphasizes the feelings they impart in specific moments. This was the hallmark of his early standout, “Cold,” a break-up song that longed for a reconciliation that would never come, settling for the memory of her smile and gaze. Each of Hakim’s scenes carries singular flourishes, like the souring regret that can come with nostalgia, or the blush of a daydream. These details all bear love’s pull—lusty remarks, frenzied expressions, delicate tremors, caught in the thrall of romance. Hakim’s debut album, Green Twins, is a shrine to these entanglements made entirely of soft-spoken love songs that erupt into psychedelic hymnals.

Growing up in D.C., Hakim’s parents would sing and play nueva canción, the socially-charged folk music of South America. Meanwhile, his older brother was deeply immersed in the city’s vibrant punk scene, and introduced him to the Clash and district legends like Fugazi and Bad Brains. Hakim’s friends were in go-go bands and he sat in on rehearsals. It all shaped his formative years. Nourished by a rigorous musical background, Hakim landed at Berklee College of Music, and as a student, he released Where Will We Go, a two-part project about isolation, intoxication, and how they feed each other. Those arrangements were more hushed and still, but Green Twins is full of life and energy, often operating at a fever pitch.

Inspired by soul singers with an intimate understanding of both the conscious and the sensual—Marvin Gaye, Curtis Mayfield, and D’Angelo among them—Hakim evokes the bluesy heart and gospel tinge of soul music. His songs are indelibly marked by the genre’s forebearers, but there are nods to the sounds of his youth, too. It all might recall the rawness of Archy Marshall’s Zoo Kid phase, Unknown Mortal Orchestra’s psych soul fusions, or Miguel’s “Adorn.” Hakim clearly likes modern takes on classic concepts. “TYAF” and “Bet She Looks Like You” burn traits from neo-psychedelia down into kindling for Hakim’s potent ruminations on the divine. After surging into a steady groove, “Miss Chew” opens in the middle, hollowing out for scattering sax blurts. These are genre-bending songs that find communion in love’s simple truths. Reflective and forgiving, they treat soul like a remedy.

Hakim studied music therapy at Berklee, a major that encompassed theory, composition, and arranging along with clinical skills, and Green Twins has a therapeutic quality. Every reflection, dressed with hums and coos, feels healing, stewing until it finds catharsis. The most intimate moments unravel as hazy reveries. As summery guitar licks and billowing bass bubble into a current of shrieks on “Slowly,” it’s rapturous. Hakim writhes in pleasure, recalling a fantasy, wrapped in the throes of ecstasy as the song swells toward its climax. On “Cuffed,” he relives being devoted and lovestruck—or cuffed—as his enchantress, literally cuffed to her mother’s bed, lies in wait. In its final minutes, it slows to a chug with Hakim reciting the same lyrics like a mantra. The rich brew of tones and textures is intoxicating: Shrinking refrains give way to colossal, layered arrangements; whispers and wails give voice to bliss.

For all the intimacy and sentimentality knotted in every phrase, these songs aren’t so much about what Hakim sings as how he sings them. On “Needy Bees,” his light rasp producing a gentle reverb. On “Farmissplease,” he sways from a falsetto into a whine. Every note is used precisely; when he isn’t drawing outlines with long breaths, as if trying to fill a room, his singing cowers into whimpers, forcing closer listening. The dynamics help construct Hakim’s plush sonic sanctum, and they add depth to his vignettes of old (and ongoing) flames.

In the last minutes of Green Twins, on “The Want,” his harmonies crescendo into a melismatic collage, conveying passion and how unsustainable it can be. As the song ends abruptly, there’s a sense that Hakim has been trying to summon something lost, but is suddenly snapped out of it. The songs on Green Twins feel like attempts to save remnants of the cherished encounters that fill up a lifetime. So few of these moments last long. But Nick Hakim has set out to preserve his any way possible.