Three short-and-long years ago, the world was locked down. People had to stay indoors, only go outside when necessary, and adapt to a new way of living which, we assumed, would only last another few weeks. At most. For the world at large, this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. There was growth and healing within natural environments, and animals were able to enjoy their various existences without the more oppressive aspects of humanity being inflicted upon them. And while lockdown did have some upsides for people, such as the extra time it allowed for hobbies, passions, creativity and curiosity, it was an incredibly testing time for many, as essential aspects of our collective being were stripped away: socialising, connection, human touch; sports and physical activity; freedom of movement; the joy of dancing and somatic expression; music. Live music. The seemingly infinite ways that human beings can express themselves with their words, their voice, and musical instruments.
When lockdown was at its darkest, which wasn’t any one point in time but rather a sporadic smattering, pockets of time sprinkled here and there throughout, it truly felt like it was the death of gigs, concerts, and live music in its various manifestations. There were times when it felt as though the singularly uplifting feeling of hearing someone perform heart-written songs would never again return.
Thanks to some idiotic, bumbling, chaotic choices from the callously empty heads of political so-called leaders, there were periods when lockdowns were lifted, only to fall back in place weeks later, and in some farcical instances, mere days later. During these times, restrictions were often eased slightly, and definitions of what constituted live gigs and what constituted social gatherings were seemingly up in the air. As a result, it meant that, for a blissful period in late Summer 2020, buskers and bands ruled the streets of Belfast. Despite police pressure and nagging, people flocked to the likes of Cornmarket and Ann Street and many of the winding nooks, crannies and alleyways of the city centre in order to stand together under the sun and let guitars, basses, drums, ukuleles, trumpets, saxophones, and many, many voices grace their eardrums and encourage their bodies to move, to tap, to ebb and flow and dance. The fact that the city boasts the incredibly rich and varied musical talent that it does was the cherry on top of a cake whose main ingredient, for many, was salvation.
Considering this, it is impossible to overestimate the joy of hearing a voice as dreamy and captivating as that of Sasha Samara when wandering the newly populated streets at that time. Armed with a ukulele and an insanely talented bass player, she treated passersby to dazzling renditions of covers as well as original songs. Her voice was so mesmerizing that she even managed to snag some people away from the large groups that always surrounded the legendary Belfast Busking Band.
Fast forward the three long-and-short years to now, Sasha has released her debut EP, Why Am I Still Here, I Never Learn, a soulful, indie-pop collection of songs that showcases an incredible voice, intelligent lyrics, and emotional depth, as well as moments of pure boppery. Keeping the ukulele and bass foundation that she had in her busking days, she’s added drums and sumptuous keys to complete the musical core of her songs, with some synth and sampling to round out the edges and fill out the sound.
First track ‘Problems’ opens with sparse uke strings accompanying her voice as she admits, “try as I may, I can’t fix you. I keep falling short.” This opening lyric is a hint of things to come, as the EP is filled to the brim with raw emotional introspection and painful self-awareness, with creative lyrical leanings painting pictures of entanglement, regret, and eventual understanding and growth.
As the song slowly progresses, drums, bass, and piano are layered over and on top of each other until the song explodes to life during its chorus. There are excellent dynamics at play throughout, with light and shade, potent use of silence, and tiny little drum buildups and bass slides that inject an upbeat energy which contrasts against the downturn lyrics.
This masterful control of dynamics is found throughout the EP, and is rendered even more effective by the recording’s supreme production. Everything is crisp and clear, with Sasha’s voice soaring through the mix above the other instruments, themselves complementing and weaving through each other, coming in and out as and when needed. No one instrument overstays its welcome, and nothing overshadows anything else.
Second track ‘Sobering Up’ is a meditation on the intoxicating, addictive qualities of relationships, especially ones that are less than healthy. It’s a metaphor that is utilized exceptionally well: “your love is like a poison; it’s killing me but I’ve got a taste for it. I need to flush you out.” The sentiment of seeking people to fill a void, but then not being able to understand why the hole inside the heart isn’t fully covered is expertly conjured by a consistently clever choice of words. There is a succinct rawness to lines like, “I’m just a slave to my empathy” and “would it make your burdens less if they were mine now?”, a rawness that delivers a gut-punch sharp enough to leave a new inner hole beside the original one.
When the music gets going, Sobering Up sounds like something that would have topping the charts around the mid-2000s, a fact that is helped by Sasha’s occasional Hayley Williams inflection. Don’t be surprised if, in the future, the song is added to the dictionary definition of ‘Absolute Bop’ as being a perfect example of one.
Third song ‘Under My Skin’ continues the metaphor, summarising it as “a losing battle against chemical attraction”. It’s a much more restrained and mellow song compared with the first two, driven by a hi-hat rhythm that pulses things forward, with some short-lived bass melodies winding their way around it, and a shimmering synth that adds a dreamscape quality to the song. The vocals are a sublime blend of pop-meets-soul, with high soaring notes being anchored by a rounded depth. Much like the aforementioned lockdown, the song’s restraints and restrictions are eventually lifted toward the end, when a grand buildup leads to a drop that actually wouldn’t feel out of place in a dubstep song. Yes, really.
If Under My Skin feels mellow, a new word would have to be invented to describe ‘Broken Vessel’, the final song. Encapsulating a morning-after/Sunday afternoon vibe of rumination, it is an absolutely beautiful song, something which is immediately apparent from its slow, sombre opening piano chords. Despite, or perhaps because of its desolate sparseness, it has an incredible atmosphere and an intense quality of depth, like still waters running deep down the bottom of a dark well. Sasha’s unrushed vocals fill the empty spaces between the gentle, poignant chords, the silence bolstering her voice and her words, making them stand out even more. Utterly wonderful stuff.
Why Am I Still Here, I Never Learn is an incredibly, incredibly accomplished piece of music, a collection of four songs that are genuinely hard to find fault with, which, anyone who listens to music let alone writes about it already knows, is a rare feat indeed.
The instrumentation, dynamics and interplay are phenomenal; the lyrics, emotional expression, and songwriting are all top tier; and the record’s shining star, Sasha’s vocals, are immaculate. The package is tied together by a visually arresting minimalist cover that subtly evokes many of the sentiments explored within.
There is one major flaw, however, and it is a glowing one: it’s an EP, not an album. It’s only fifteen minutes long, not half an hour or more.
Usually, when something is so good it leaves you wanting more, it’s a positive experience (apart from co-dependent relationships, of course). But in this case, it almost seems criminal that something so good is so short. Hopefully it’s a taste of more to come, without too long a wait, but either way, with Why Am I Still Here, I Never Learn, Sasha Samara has undoubtedly cemented herself into the Belfast music scene, if not further afield.
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