★★★☆☆
London’s genre-spanning darling Bakar returns with his second album in as many years. Halo again showcases the strength of his disinterested songwriting and his natural ability to find a tune, but it is a fine line between nonchalance and rudderless drifting.When he gets it right, Bakar’s music makes for languid, laid-back company. As at-home on dancefloors as it is melting into the sofa, littered with what first seem like off-hand observations, but are actually quite profound little musings. While often introspective, it’s selfless, mirroring its listener; the same tune capable of being happy or sad, energetic or relaxing, depending on your own mood. It’s difficult to place exactly why it achieves this effect, but I would guess it has something to do with Bakar’s apparent lack of concern. He’s cool. He’s going with the flow, his voice almost appearing to drift in whichever direction the wind takes it, allowing, in turn, the listener to project their feeling onto the music. Despite this, the music itself is deliberate. The genres he straddles – from indie-rock, to rap, punk to RnB – are not just destinations he finds himself by accident, but are a delicate balance: creating something that takes time and effort that sounds as if it took no strain at all.
Bakar’s latest attempt at finding this formula is Halo. The 11-track, 34 minute project is his third album, and was predominantly recorded across AirBnB’s, hotels and homes, rather than studios.
You can hear this effect, the sound hazier and relaxed even by Bakar’s disinterested standards. At many points this works well, the melancholy pair of ‘Selling Biscuits’ and ‘Hate The Sun’ both standouts – the latter in particular one of Bakar’s best songs.
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Often, however, it doesn’t. The songs aren’t bad, they still have his catchy hooks, but they almost feel like caricatures of Bakar songs. He drifts and whines, oohs and aahs, and you’re waiting for him to just commit to something. When he does (like at the end of ‘Hate The Sun’), it makes for impressive music. Part of Bakar’s pull has been his ability to circumvent labels, but he’s now at a point where it seems even he is unsure where he wants to be. You can’t drift forever. Halo is, I suppose, a travel album, an artist exploring the already-well-chartered waters of life on the road. The tropes are interesting – disconnect, unhappiness, angst, gratitude, longing – and conducive to Bakar’s sound. The issue is it doesn’t even seem like Bakar’s in control of where he’s travelling. The lack of direction is perhaps embodied by the inclusion, at the end of the album, of a ‘Hell N Back’ remix. It’s a good twist on a very good song, but should an artist in Bakar’s position really be throwing in remixes of their most famous song as their new album’s outro, four years after that first success? He’s 29, undeniably talented and astute, but since he emerged with Badkid in 2018, he hasn’t reached those same heights over the course of an album. While his debut is inconsistent at points, it’s bold, confrontational and unafraid. On Halo, Bakar comes across as apathetic. Whether he’s feigning it for effect, or is actually just losing his appetite, I suppose only he knows.
