YAYYYYY! THREE CHEERS FOR HAPPY ENDING!…

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[6.73]

Katherine St Asaph: A cut above fellow nocturnal-brood pieces because of two things: the alternately jaunty and menacing snaps and hums, and the presence of a guy who can actually sing. Everyone forgets that part.
[7]

John Seroff: A kind of David Gray/Faithless crashup that sounds a bit like an audition for a community theater musical version of Dracula, “Night Air” is right on the verge of too clever for its own good. Listen after listen, I kept waiting for the house-lite and Gleek-y vocal flourishes to grate but the whole package is so slick and polished, it passes right by without irritation. It’s hardly a pull quote, but there’s some impressive skill involved in the making of a thing that shouldn’t ever appeal but never doesn’t.
[6]

Martin Skidmore: I guess the backing here is kind of lightweight dubstep, and quite appealing (I’m a total sucker for bells, and it’s generally nicely atmospheric), but it’s all backing for his soulful vocal. He’s a gifted enough singer, but his phrasing and timing could barely be less interesting, sounding utterly mechanical a lot of the time.
[6]

Kat Stevens: I am watching Zane Lowe interview this dude on the red button RIGHT NOW (the snooker finished early). “I hear you produced this album all by yourself?” asks Zane. “Yes, with some help from other people,” replies Jamie, idly fidgeting with his Kaos Pad. Paradoxical claims aside, the sonic palette of “Night Air” puts me in mind of the eponymous album by Swedish tweetronica outfit Little Dragon, of whom I am very fond. Yukimi Nagano has a much fuller, warmer voice than Jamie though — she fills in the gaps in the sparse arrangements whereas Jamie skitters over the top like a pond insect.
[6]

Tom Ewing: The first time I listened to this I thought the singing got in the way of the very attractive music. Now I think it’s absolutely essential. Woon is pulling off something quite difficult here: he has a full, clear voice which still manages to sound distinctively unhealthy. There’s a tint of malign relish to his singing, like the air he wants to breathe is full of spirits and bad humours. And once you’ve got used to that, the backing starts to sound enticingly miasmic too. Deceptively frail, creepily beautiful and — finally! — an artist I want to hear a lot more from.
[9]

Josh Langhoff: One of my most indelible musical memories comes from summer vacation when I was 10, hearing Terence Trent D’Arby’s “Sign Your Name” pouring out of boomboxes around the swimming pool. I had no idea what the song was. Somehow its exotic Caribbean lilt and stately melody got all mixed up with the image of a bunch of half-naked people soaking up oppressive Wisconsin sunshine, and I knew I was in the presence of a voice that possessed some esoteric adult knowledge. I was surprised my parents didn’t cover my ears. Thing is, I don’t even like “Sign Your Name” that much. And I don’t particularly like “Night Air” that much — it’s fine, whatever. But despite having little in common with “Sign Your Name”, beyond minor-ness and a tenor voice and a beat I could imagine Sade copping, “Night Air” seems authentically haunting in the same way. When Woon sings, “I’ve acquired a kind of madness,” I believe him, and I imagine that phrase could forever alter some 10-year-old’s vision of the world.
[7]

Doug Robertson: It’s too timid to grab your attention, and isn’t blissful enough to work in the background. It’s just sort of ‘there’, and there are a lot better places to be than just there.
[5]

Alfred Soto: Beginning with percussive pitter-patter and peaking with Woon’s sung twaddle about night air cushioned by synth pads, this is the sort of track designed for people who wish Burial and James Blake shaped their material like trance-pop. But those guys care so much about dynamics that they don’t need cleanly articulated quivering bedsit hysteria.
[5]

Jonathan Bogart: Not to invoke Arthur Russell AGAIN, but…
[6]

Alex Macpherson: A song that stopped me in my tracks the instant I heard it. Romanticising the night is a cliché in London music, but as with any cliché, the right kind of execution can be extraordinarily effective. That’s the case here, Woon distilling silent nocturnal solitude to its bare-bones essence with a vocal that’s part incantation, part fear-frozen hyper-awareness, part sigh of relief. The beat — which is surely Burial’s finest moment to date — envelops him in gentle electronic pulses and snatches of pretty, disembodied voices, and you’re caught between thinking of the sounds surrounding you as an amniotic cocoon or sinister threats. The Deadboy remix ups the energy, while the Ramadanman remix amplifies the atmosphere. In all cases, it’s the MOR tinge to the song that’s the secret weapon.
[10]

Anthony Easton: Seductive, with a beautiful voice. Drama for the sake of drama, but well worth it for lines like “car crash colours”.
[7]