Kissom

XEXA’s debut album, Vibrações de Prata, was an anomaly for Príncipe. The Lisbon label made its name releasing batida, a percussive strain of dance music that rewires Angolan styles like kuduro and kizomba with jagged synths and samples. But you probably wouldn’t dance to Vibrações de Prata. Album closer “Clarinet Mood,” with its field recordings of squawking seagulls and splashing water, transports you to a haunted space—imagine Brighton pier shrouded in Silent Hill 2’s impenetrable fog. The track has more in common with the moody improv sets you’d expect from a midweek night at London’s artsy Cafe OTO than Lisbon’s raucous MusicBox. In fact, XEXA made “Clarinet Mood” in London as part of her course at Guildhall School of Music and Drama.

Despite growing up in Quinta do Mocho (the home of batida pioneers like DJ Marfox), XEXA has no particular allegiance to Lisbon. She is more interested in Afrofuturism, as she told Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian, and “visualising the future, where the future means development and independence.” Both Vibrações de Prata and Kissom are equally ambitious experiments in form, but XEXA’s debut now feels like a work in progress when compared to her latest record. Kissom binds together the far-flung ideas of its predecessor into a vibrant, fully imagined world.

Kissom sounds the way heat waves on the horizon look: Rapidly oscillating synths absorb everything from rhythm to XEXA’s own vocals into their rippling mirage. She pitches “Project 8”’s shimmering bassline up until it morphs into a snaking glissando similar to the one on Pinch’s dubstep classic “Qawwali,” wobbling at 140 BPM. On “Txê,” synths flutter like the distracting hand of a magician, merging with dog barks and babyish gasps from the background. She finds resourceful ways to stretch and shorten her hypnotic motifs, weaving peculiar effects and exotic hues into an elastic patchwork.

In other instances Kissom’s pulsating ambience pumps XEXA’s lolloping rhythms with a bit of life. Hi-hats sketch out the faintest outline of kizomba on “Kizomba 003,” but the arcing rise and fall of the synths bolsters the beat into a forceful march. XEXA’s singing also embodies these shapeshifting surroundings. “Tenho o coração apaixonado,” (I have a passionate heart) she sings in a smooth contralto before warbling, “Como assim trabalhar,” as though a lozenge were lodged in the back of her throat. Her singing bends as much as her synths do, but rather than feel vague or ethereal, her voice—deep in tone and prominently placed in the mix—is rich and full-bodied.

Such a hearty foundation becomes a bed to cushion XEXA’s freeform percussion. On “Pulse Bounce,” stereo panning causes cymbals to crash off to the left, snares to spill over from the center, and hi-hats to surface right in front of us, while on “Será,” toms explode as erratically as a fireworks display, and as softly as colourful bags of powder at Holi. These flurries are dynamic and varied and, most importantly, feel like they all belong in the same world—unlike Vibrações de Prata, where “Nah Dêdê”, “SectionAudio” and “Clarinet Mood” could have belonged to folk, classical, and ambient albums, respectively. Kissom only feels disjoined when a track like “Xtinti” concludes before it has the chance to develop into anything more powerful.

When given time to unfold, XEXA’s music can be wonderfully moving. After an opening of twinkling keys and doleful brass, the glowing synths on “Transversive Line” lose their anchor as the bass slips away, and they drift off like balloons from the hands of a child. It’s a curious feeling—a sadness tinged with a fleeting wonder. “Quem És Tu” is even more evocative. Over the course of 12 minutes, a brooding synth line eventually reaches a climax of sitar riffs and rattling wood percussion. “Quem És Tu” is an outstanding moment in XEXA’s quest for futurism. Batida has always been about finding your own lane, but the boldness and depth of Kissom’s psychedelic world prove that XEXA’s not just in her own lane—she’s light-years away, in another galaxy.