The Italian songstress bravely confronts cognitive dissonance as she attempts to paint the town red under the watchful eyes of youthful mayhem.
Do you remember parties? Whatever they are. AM.I does.
Those communal havens for the social butterflies and proud extroverts of this world to gossip and rollick. Meanwhile the stone-faced onlookers and wallflowers take a back seat, cutting anxious figures as they cling to the walls like jittery silhouettes. From precariously stacked kegs, to the sea of plastic cups that beam a hue of white light onto the beer soaked floor, the pandemonium is electric, but for some ultimately overwhelming.
Cut the dance floor down the middle. The left contains the blabbermouths and newly loquacious glow-uppers, the right a bashful bunch of brooders and cynics. Sometimes it’s hard to know which one you fall into, especially when the middle ground is so chillingly sparse. It’s a conclusion AM.I finds herself pining to make, but unable to pick out. A bruised and volatile psyche is like a wounded animal, at its most dangerous when provoked.
In an allegorical take on the unadulterated soirée, ‘A Party’ dismantles the inner workings of indecision, stimulated by the raw ambience of alternative pop; think FKA Twigs but with a dark-twist. Cast aside the prima donnas and superficial luminaries of modern music and the salient attributes for what it means to be an artist become apparent.
‘A Party’ possesses the bread and butter for which every self proclaimed music aficionado will take a bite of; authenticity. This record proves that the parameters of genre-bending have officially snapped, with AM.I standing pridefully above the remnants, fervently clasping an R&B stained sickle as she serves to evince that hiding behind a microphone only gets you so far.