I hate clichés. The sort of bullshit no one says in real life, but reviewers and commentators trot out because they’re lazy and can’t think of anything original.
That’s partly why this site is called what it is—because if it’s called Maximum Volume Music, we can review whatever the hell we damn well please.
And those of us who work on the principle that there are only two types of music—good and bad—understand there’s no need for rules. No need for boxes. The idea of what’s “supposed” to happen is nonsense. It’s music. Just do it. Whatever it is.
Which brings us to DE’WAYNE—and specifically, it brings us to june (sic). Seemingly a 36-minute experiment in seeing how much you can cram into one album. The first track, “lady lady” (sic), suckers you into thinking this is going to be a riffing, soulful thing full of arena rock. Yeah. Sound.
But by the second one—the title track—it’s all 80s synths. Ready to be played on a ghetto blaster. It’s ace. They’re all ace.
The breathless, funky “i’ll be there” ramps up the dance, and whatever you want to call “Take A Picture,” it drips with lust.
“highway robbery” is another that taps into the 80s vibe with falsetto in full swing—it’d be wearing shoulder pads if it could.
But here’s the crucial point: DE’WAYNE isn’t interested in your expectations—he’s too busy making the music he wants to. Take “sundays,” for example. If Sam Fender had this, he’d be filling stadiums with it. These songs are just fun. The harmonies on “biological” (why none of these tracks have capital letters is—as with much of this—anyone’s guess), or “forever” (which features I DON’T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME), which is like a sugar rush for three minutes, just make you smile.
“Prize Fight” dials the guitars back up, while the ballad “what does he really know” is the longest—and perhaps sparsest—track here. A fact the final one swiftly corrects. By the time “Love Raider” is done, you simply have to acknowledge the quality of the choruses and the songs.
There’s a name I haven’t mentioned yet—because doing so feels like a cliché in itself—but it’s Prince. I was lucky enough to see him not long before he died, and this man from Houston, Texas is cut from the same cloth.
june is great—but you’ll never second-guess it in a month of Sundays.
Rating: 8/10
