The Singles Jukebox

On some theoretical music map somewhere, this is marked as descended from “Levels.”

[Video][Website]
[7.18]

Daniel Montesinos-Donaghy: Li Shang-Yin once wrote that “one inch of love is an inch of ashes.” Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell had both of their lives taken away at astonishingly young ages under tragic circumstances — he at forty-four shot by his own father, she of a brain tumour at twenty-four. The music they recorded, both together and apart, became an intrinsic thread in the DNA of modern sound and a testament to the power of soul. The only track on the duo’s 1967 United album to be composed solely by Gaye was “If This World Were Mine”, a testimony to the vigor ordained from love and the desire to give back. “You’re my consolation,” Gaye sings to Terrell, intrinsically linking earthly pleasures to the unknown and the infinite. Chris Malinchak samples this lyrical turn on “So Good To Me” — along with much of “If This World Were Mine” — and sets it to a deep house instrumental that is by turns organic-sounding and gentle, shimmering where others would stomp. The romantic vibe is supported by Malinchak’s decision to retain the heart of the source material, especially given that he could have disembodied the voices of Gaye and Terrell and moved their romantic intentions elsewhere. This way, “So Good To Me” becomes an audio tribute, beaming in the romantic gestures of the past and giving them new life. An inch of ashes becomes, once again, an inch of love; somewhere in the cosmos, amongst the consolations, the lover’s wail propagates, reborn anew.
[9]

Katherine St Asaph: If Flo Rida were trendy, and also mute.
[5]

Will Adams: It’s pretty, and I can see the muted euphoria it’s angling for, but it doesn’t quite hit it for me. It’s probably the fault of that vocal drone, which just buzzes around like a mosquito that won’t leave.
[5]

Alfred Soto: Gorgeous minimalism, with the vocals projecting that halff-remembered pre-dawn glow of love. 
[7]

Patrick St. Michel: This is so sweet and subdued, I want to sit in a hammock with it.
[7]

Ian Mathers: The production is such a lovely, low-key, unassuming little thing; you’d think it would wilt under or neuter the vocals. Instead this feels a bit like early Burial having a very good day out in the country, so good he’s decided to allow the samples to breathe a little. 
[8]

Cecily Nowell-Smith: Lightweight, low-key house: a bit too early in the year. The whole thing’s warmed through with the nostalgia of late summer. You can hear it in the long sustained choral coo, the paddy synth chords, the echo-treated guitar sound that bursts deliberately behind the vocal like time-stretched footage of a firework. You can hear it in the vocal, too. Though it’s sewn together from Tammy and Marvin’s “If This World Were Mine” it’s a different cut of cloth, a lonely single voice that warbles at the seams. Above all, you can hear in it the ghosts of all those dance tracks that travel back with us from festivals and summer holidays. It’s sweet, corny, like Roger Sanchez’ “Another Chance,” like Bob Sinclar’s “Love Generation.” Not a good-time banger, but the sound of sunrise, taking a breath, and deciding you could dance for a few hours more.
[8]

Edward Okulicz: When you’re trying to dance but it’s 3am and knees and feet are sore and you can’t do anything more than nod while having a drink to the side, a song like this could make the dance floor seem like a cosy bed. Peacefulness and sweetness are underrated qualities in dance music.
[8]

Anthony Easton: I’ve rarely heard anything that sounds so lovely and so settled — the desire seeking that fits into the desire sought, and the expansion of that, is not a new idea but it is a rare one, and rarer when done well. 
[8]

Scott Mildenhall: The greatest thing about this is how when it’s played on the radio it can just float in and out between songs, a two-and-a-half minute interlude that ends on the same level it’s maintained throughout. There’s no big finish or reconsideration, it doesn’t stop being lovely: it just stops. And then the mercifully even shorter “Paddington Frisk” by Enter Shikari comes on, as happened on Radio 1 the other week.
[8]

Brad Shoup: I was in Houston on Saturday evening with some friends, watching Yu Darvish and his Rangers squeak out a win against the ‘stros. Phillip Humber got hammered in the 6th; we watched his ERA, displayed in real time on the scoreboard, climb from an already-ghastly 8.49 to over 9-and-a-half. Mother’s Day was Sunday, and his presence reminded me of Dallas Braden, who pitched a perfect game on Mother’s Day 2010. Humber’s perfect game was only last year, and after Saturday’s bloodbath, Houston designated him for assignment. Sports prepped me for pop: scanning Total Baseball for unlikely league leaders; reading Bill James’ Abstracts and old SABR issues for tales of guys who had their afternoon, month or season in the sun; making cases for underheralded players. So pop made sense in this way: you recognize the greats, and savor those who attain greatness for any length of time. There are songs and albums; there are also people and stories. When I signed up at Rateyourmusic.com, I chose “Silent Mike” as my username in tribute to a solid Giants right fielder from 120 years ago. Malinchak spends this week lodged at number 2 on the UK chart, underneath Daft Punk. I can’t imagine he’ll be here again, but it’s still a wondrous thing. His moment consists of Disneyfied deep house, an androgynizing of Marvin Gaye streaked with grating coos, stitched together. It’s not All-Star material, but it’s humane and soothing, and just as with Mr. Humber, I wouldn’t complain if Malinchak earned another chance to impress.
[6]