The Crying Nudes, a group of unknown size and origin, released two singles in March 2023. The only key to their affiliations at the time was the record label the singles were released under: World Music Group (WMG).
The record label based out of London is a project of Dean Blunt and Inga Copeland — neither of these are their actual names. The duo have previously collaborated musically as Hype Williams, but have since handed this moniker off and continued their own projects. Blunt has been particularly prolific in his production, releasing projects under an array of aliases, making it virtually impossible to outline his entire discography. This aversion to transparency seems to carry through to WMG: For some of the artists signed to the label, there’s an apparent lack of information on who they are, as was the case with The Crying Nudes.
However, along with the release of their self-titled album in the beginning of September, came the crediting of Blunt and Fine Glindvad Jensen as writers of the tracks. The voice on the album, presumably, belongs to Fine — the solo tag of Jensen —` a musician and composer hailing from Copenhagen. The production throughout has a distinct aftertaste of something made by Blunt, with its dark undertones that make the work seem somehow both rigid and faded.
The mystery shrouded in Blunt’s discography has made writing about his work an endeavor comparable to deep sea diving. The further down you go, the more glimpses you get of the musical universe he’s created. But upon resurfacing, the realization hits that there’s a whole ocean out there and you’ve only explored a few square feet below.
Yet, there’s a certain beauty in not being able to trace every origin of this work and not fully understanding how it came to be. It leaves a space to judge the music not by its technicalities, but rather, by its feel and how it provokes one’s mind on the journey through.
The album, bookended by the pre-released singles, opens with “Unabomber,” immediately throwing the listener into the sound of an acoustic guitar mid strum and the soft, haunting vocals of “Fine.” The lightness of her voice and the richness in her tone evokes the feeling of closeness, insinuating that she understands the “secret heart” she sings of.
Second on the album is “Bandit,” where Fine’s vocals feel more sharp, but not without the distant memory of reverberation. It’s one of the songs that feel like a transition, guiding the album along, but ultimately runs the risk of losing the listener. This track hinges on whether or not the listener finds Fine’s siren song alluring on its own accord.
“New York mystic pretty,” the third track on the album, shifts the energy to a more developed design. It feels like wading around a crowded room illuminated only in the slightest, flickering light. You’ve caught eye contact through a sea of faces, and something sparks in the back of your heart. But only for an instant, their face has vanished and so has your mind as you spend the next moments of your time trying to find those eyes again. “New York mystic pretty” evokes a fleeting feeling and captures it for a moment, slowing down kismet to be contained to two minutes and ten seconds.
The melody of the fourth track, “blood meadow,” showcases a balanced dynamicism. As the riff carries a consistent undercurrent, it’s altered only slightly throughout in an equitable manner that doesn’t overtly affect the rhythm, but carries a sense of novelty in the repetition.
Following closely behind, “plead the blood” puts Fine’s vocals over Blunt’s previously released track “THURS 17_11.” The result sounds like the backing track of a Third Eye Blind song if they decided to lean more toward Slacker Rock and gave the mic to Hope Sandoval.
The next track, “real star,” is another song that runs the risk of losing the listener, and personally offered me nothing to hang onto. The whimsical, carousel-esque production coupled with Fine’s melodic circles, left me feeling dizzy rather than enchanted.
“angel heart” is a track that is in the simplest of terms: sexy. There’s a melancholic seduction in the chords that fade in and out of strength to tease the listener into swaying to a distant ring. The deep reverberation of Fine’s words fade into the music to find avenues to differentiate from the production while maintaining a connection that serves as an extension.
“Suzuki Rhythm Boy” feels like a love song, but not in the sense of an excitement but rather a sense of ease in the journey. The lyrics of seeing “stars” in each other’s eyes and the simple introduction of the lyric “it’s time to go” add to the feeling of sitting on the Suzuki, cruising down empty city streets. The stars in my eyes are the buildings lit up as we fly past. There’s a sense that this feeling, the song evolves, will end, if not is actively ending, taking up the rhythm only for a couple minutes before moving along.
It ends with “Unabomber II,” signaling the end of the road. As Unabomber spoke of turning their lover’s arms to stone while she’s embraced in them, the final track showcases a more matter-of-fact twang in stating, “I’m not as used to being alone.” In this, the album has taken the listener on a complete journey, lyrically and sonically. The production shifts from the acoustic musings of the first track to pointed, repetitive movements to produce a nostalgic yet manufactured sound.
What the album lacks in extensive lyrical development it makes up for in a sonic journey that contains novelty and cohesiveness. In an album that contains tracks that tend to ruminate on a certain phase or baseline, the repetition leaves room for a subjective experience to find themselves lost within the melody or, to be lost on what they are listening to.
