When I pressed play on the latest release from Shelita, titled “Sailors”, I wasn’t expecting the floor to drop out from under me. You see, “pop” is often a safe word, a designation for the palatable. But this? This is something else entirely. It’s as if someone took a tender ballad and threw it into a particle accelerator to see what sub-atomic emotions would fly out.
The track operates in the collision zone between atmospheric pop and the frantic, twitchy nervous system of breakcore. The percussion doesn’t just keep time; it stutters and spasms, a rapid-fire assault that reminds me of the way rain hits a tin roof during a cloudburst chaotic, yet strangely hypnotic. Amidst this percussive shrapnel, Shelita’s voice weaves a narrative of desperate longing. She doesn’t fight the chaos; she rides it.
There is a specific texture here that triggers a sudden, tactile memory of touching rough-hewn granite while standing in a warm sunbeam. It’s that contrast the abrasive reality of the drums against the hazy, dreamlike wash of the harmonics. It feels vast. Lonely, too. Like standing on a shoreline where the fog has swallowed the horizon and you aren’t sure if the tide is coming in or going out.
The lyrical content tackles the idea of love as a survival mechanism in the face of life’s metaphorical squalls. Given the artist’s history with both the depths of the ocean and the perils of the sky, the stakes feel genuine. When her voice climbs from a soft croon to a guttural, impassioned peak, you believe her. It’s a sonic representation of holding onto a lifeline when the waves get too high.
“Sailors” manages to be aggressive and soothing simultaneously, a lullaby for the hyperactive mind. It leaves you wondering: is the storm happening outside, or is it strictly inside the speakers?
