A bold, quantum leap forward from the critically and commercially successful UK Top 3 album, “Not Waving, But Drowning,” this is hardly music aiming simply for the pop charts; instead, it is turbo charged with the kind of fury and potency, confusion, and anxiety that make up the modern experience of being Black and British at this particular point in time. However, this is no mere philosophical exercise; the result is Carner’s most ambitious track. Powered by lush, almost cinematic production, it is a visceral no holds barred essay about lives lived in the cross-hairs of society, fuelled by fear, exhaustion, frustration, and political awakening. It’s a full-bore, high-stakes, facing-up-to-death riposte, as urgent as it is compelling. At its core, Carner is keen to remind us, “I fear the color of my skin/ I fear the color of my kin” – and here he’s driven to document every unsparing detail.
Loyle put it best, “One of the few songs made from a hateful place. I was angry at the world, frightened, and overwhelmed. It’s unfiltered. Really just a stream of consciousness that builds to an understanding that hate is rooted in fear. It reminds me of times the red mist takes over, and how alone you feel when the rest mist passes. Arrogant and self-righteous but at the same time vulnerable and somber. I listen to this one in my car at night. Especially after an argument when you need to get space and take a breath.”
Of the many voices in music today, Carner’s is among the most vital and exciting, netting him Mercury and Brit Awards nominations and making him one of the most beloved artists on the UK music landscape.