In the labyrinth of modern music, where genres often blur at the edges and mutate into forms as elusive as morning fog, “everyone is from somewhere and also nowhere” by And Y Et carves out a unique auditory experience that tantalizes and challenges in equal measure. At the helm of this intrepid voyage are Nic Jenkins and Kelsey Mines, whose synergy oscillates between haunting beauty and deliberate cacophony, scripting an album replete with multifarious narratives.
The album unfurls like an intricate tapestry threaded with themes both urgent and introspective: mutual-aid sings a harmony to meditation while climate change’s discordant undertone questions over commitment. It’s a reflection not merely on our external crises but also on our innermost caverns of solitude juxtaposed against the warmth of friendship—a poignant reminder perhaps best encapsulated in these pandemic times.
Musically, “everyone is from somewhere and also nowhere” refuses to be pigeonholed. The experimental pop foundation provides fertile ground for lo-fi textures to intertwine seamlessly with electro-acoustic embellishments. Herein lies its charm; it’s collage-form composition bearing witness to genre-defying audacity which mirrors the chaotic yet harmonious existence we navigate daily.
Jenkins’ male vocals interweave gracefully with Mines’ female timbres across ten tracks that feel less like songs and more like movements within a grander symphony—one penned remotely in isolation yet profoundly intimate. Their voices act not just as narrators but as instruments themselves, blending improvisation with structured part-writing that cultivates an atmospheric spaciousness brimming with possibility.
Listeners will find echoes of Brian Eno’s ambient innovations beside Björk’s avant-pop spirit in this project. Yet it resists straightforward comparisons; akin to staring at clouds or interpreting dreams—each moment holds myriad shapes dependent solely upon one’s perspective at any given time.
Drawing deeper into their sonic landscape exposes listeners to unconventional song forms animated by a harmonic language intent on exploration rather than resolution—akin to navigating bewilderingly beautiful terrain without a map or compass but led instead by sheer curiosity.
Despite—or perhaps because of—the isolation-fuelled birthing process bolstered by remote collaboration during unprecedented global conditions, there emerges from “everyone is from somewhere and also nowhere” an essential truth about creation itself: art thrives amidst constraints. With every note played or sung, Jenkins and Mines articulate not just soundscapes but sanctuaries built from adversity wherein reflection meets connection.
And Y Et crafts something both comforting in its familiarity yet joltingly fresh—a timely testament framed against somber realities yet imbued throughout with hopeful strands awaiting discovery amid its layers.