Benjamin Booker LOWER

When Benjamin Booker released his self-titled debut a little over a decade ago, he'd rightfully give some of his blues-rock contemporaries—from the Black Keys to Gary Clark Jr.—a run for their money. It wasn't due to his traditional adherence to blues rock—which he was quite skilled at—but how he'd brought more of a crude, fuzz-addled attitude drawn from a punk lineage.

While 2017's Witness felt purposeful, more keen on injecting a message than showing off his musical bona fides, LOWER comes through in smeared, saturated hues for the New Orleans-based singer-songwriter—a fiery statement meant to make you feel a little uncomfortable. Booker had previously touched on subjects like systemic racism and police brutality with skepticism, but his return after an 8-year absence feels like a new beginning. Long enough to wonder where he'd been but not long enough to wonder how he'd return, Booker could've gone in any direction without having to answer any preconceived notions.

With the assistance of luminary hip-hop producer Kenny Segal on board, Booker almost makes it a point to disappear within a heavy collision of boom bap beats and throbbing synth tones. His raspy, whispery croon is barely perceptible over an otherwise elegiac chorus (“Hallelujah, dying fighting”) on BLACK OPPS, calling attention to the never-ending struggle for Black liberation. POMPEII STATUES slows things down to a mellower pace, though the track is no less potent; Booker looks over the homelessness crisis with helpless hope over plucky, discordant guitars, acting as a silent guardian.

While Booker once perfectly matched giddy, charging guitars against a soulful core, he now subverts them in subtle and subverting ways. Within the heavy, opaque morass exists the ballad SLOW DANCE IN A GAY BAR, in which he describes the beauty that surrounds an unidentified man—in this case, mustering the courage to pursue what he wants over a sea of male eye candy—over a twinkling, soulful groove mired in a hazy fog. One could easily focus on the loneliness it depicts, but instead, Booker brings a lightness that elevates the ambiance.

On the other side of the spectrum, there's the less optimistic SAME KIND OF LONELY, which utterly and completely drenches the doo-wop-inspired stylings of his past work into a rippling, amped-up wall of sound. On it, Booker shows no restraint, interspersing audio from a school shooting with the innocent sounds of his baby daughter. Such cynical attempts at provoking others might come across as gratuitous—though one could refrain from being too critical since he came close to losing his life in an actual shooting—but he can't help but find the humor in life's preciousness and futility.

Such jarring artistic pivots like the one Booker took can often inspire hasty accolades. But on LOWER, he challenges one to really consider if his pointed statements are even likable in the first place. If you need more proof, the even more uncompromising Rebecca Latimer Felton Takes a BBC steps into dicier territory. Truth be told, like any true work of art, likability is not the point. One can't help but admire Booker's big swings, and when they are this compelling, everything else becomes a moot point.