You Make Me Feel
ven more damaging than faint praise is misleading praise. Once I’d heard Torontonian Mike Milosh’s debut record You Make Me Feel a number of times, I knew what I wanted to say about it, but I have to put it carefully; I don’t want it to come off as insulting, because I mean it as praise.
You Make Me Feel would be an excellent entry into the world of electronic music for adventurous Radiohead fans.
See? I bet you can come up with all sorts of ways in which someone could mean that cruelly. But I’m not. Any dedicated rock fan (and if you think they don’t exist, go to a high school) who heard and liked songs like “Everything In Its Right Place” or “Kid A” or “Sit Down. Stand Up.” but who is unfamiliar, and therefore daunted by, what most electronic music is like, who is still wedded to song structures and isn’t ready for Autechre, could do far worse than to give Milosh a listen. This concise set of eleven songs, nine with vocals, has a hazy, languid atmosphere but is lucid enough to boast plenty of accessible hooks. It’s clearly different from rock music, but similar enough that the wary won’t be scared off.
Not that people who already like electronic music will find You Make Me Feel simplistic or trite. The two instrumental tracks alone are ample proof of Milosh’s way with a melody. In fact, when “Creepy” dopplers in its quiet melody it feels more like the second part of “Push” than anything else; the two tracks could have easily and productively been put together with a little judicious editing.
The vocal tracks make a virtue of oblique lyrics and a smeared production aesthetic, being mostly a series of gentle love songs and the performances are pleasantly soulful, a rarity for this sort of drowsy, computer pop. But the drowsiness doesn’t equal depression. About the most negative You Make Me Feel gets is “The Sky Is Grey”, but when Milosh sings “There’s nothing to do” he doesn’t sound particularly upset. It sounds like he’s looking forward to napping, if anything.
Make no mistake, You Make Me Feel is a minor work. But the last record I said that about and enjoyed this much was Josh Rouse’s Home, and it’s aged much better than its more flashy contemporaries have. This kind of oddly specific, low key pleasure is nothing to be scoffed at; and Milosh’s first effort is one that sticks with you, even if it doesn’t announce itself loudly.