Sophcore EP

When Moses Sumney sings, “I am not a woman, I am a man” in something similar to his voice in “Hey Girl,” I thought, Right above. It is both he and his artistic forebears—namely, Prince who offered a similar affirmation in “I Would Die 4 UThen the kicker: “I'm an amoeba.” San Bernardino, who hails from Ghanaian parents, sings over squiggly, chipmunk tracks whose post-Maxwell R&B foundations harbor damaged rock riffs and modest gospel undertones. you might imagine him doing vocal runs in the bedroom before church. The six song EP Sophcore—a biography describing his powerful laryngeal resources—recapitulates Sumney's achievements and defines what audiences can expect from a new comprehensive statement. It's a tease in the best sense.

Four years ago, on his breakthrough album, graySumney longed for a soulful sonic force she loved to be, singing on one of her strongest tracks, “neither nor.” This album is “Manly,” a collaboration with industrial rock act Yvette, considered masculinity as a land worth invading with a conquering army. To master such a whisper-to-shout dynamic requires a sense of self that avoids fuss, but it's pretty sure.

A fast-paced, fast-paced collaboration with Portland producer Graham Johnson pays off Sophcorehis most beautiful and vivid moments. “Gold Coast” begins as a sensual, heavy Bjork's Vespers. Sumney's salty falsetto complements and works against plucked guitars, multi-tracked distorted vocals and synths. his impressionistic lyrics (“Talk in languages, testify/Sunrise skin, color of clay”) say no thanks for consistency, bless them. A symphony of purrs and jukebox melodies “I'm Better (I'm Bad),” in which Sumney recreates with tepid relish a dialogue between himself and a feminized object of desire.

Over SophcoreSumney's remixed grooves exude a sense of fun. Confidence in his vocal talents does not boil down to self-respect. Turns out he's right: Trills and melismas fit arrangements that swell and contract like protoplasmic organisms. The toe-tapping rhythm track at the close of “Love's Refrain” is almost an afterthought, a metronome to remind Sumney that his charm remains fixed despite the stratospheric vantage point of his vowel experiments. “I was in my world, you were in yours,” he whispers, “so let's break up.” Of what—independence or romance? Gathering with itself in the infinite, it deepens the enigmas.