Jhené Aiko knows how to create a vibe. Whether she’s singing about good sex, pledging to remain independent and undefinable, or even feeling triggered by an ex she still cares about, her songs are dreamy and introspective. Her voice is featherlight, and her vocal runs effortlessly shimmer over lilting keys and dewy, atmospheric synths. On her psychedelic 2017 album, Trip, she used drugs and spirituality to process grief over her brother’s death. CHILOMBO, from 2020, was written in Hawaii, where she immersed herself in Tibetan singing bowls and crystals. She first teased her new album, Westside Whimsy, via a collaboration with Erewhon, an upscale health-food store beloved by celebrities and other Californians, and has described it as an ode to her hometown, Los Angeles.
Aside from a few references to beaches and highways, the album is rarely about L.A. in any literal sense, but a sense of ease and sunniness associated with the city permeates the songs. The album moves from the end of one romantic situation to the blossoming of another, but even at her most heartbroken, Aiko most often sings from a place of acceptance.
No score yet, be the first to add.
Sometimes the tension between the pain she’s felt and the poise with which she analyzes it works beautifully. On “He Belongs,” she sings matter-of-factly about a man who “belongs to the avenues and the alleyways/Lonely Saturdays on late nights”; her cool remove suggests the wisdom of someone who knows another person’s unavailability is not a reflection of her own worth. But heartache still simmers just outside the frame: When she sings, “Don’t take him serious/Can’t take him anywhere/Unless you’re ready to go, prepared to go crazy,” her tone adds heart-wrenching poignancy and depth.
But throughout much of the album, especially on the latter half, musical and emotional glossiness keeps you at a distance; the production is as frictionless as butter gliding across a Teflon pan. Hazy washes of synth glittered with playful keys and subdued drums drift across the arrangements, resulting in songs that are consistently pleasant but often interchangeable.
“So Good” is a warm, perfectly inoffensive love song. The airy synth melody and unhurried percussion foreground Aiko and Kendrick Lamar’s vocals, but their lyrics are frustratingly surface-level. You only need to hear the chorus once—“You look so good/Sinful, but godly/I got you, you got me”—to feel like you’ve heard the whole thing.
“A Living Light” is a meditation on faith and self discovery. Aiko’s gossamer vocals sound lovely over a strummed guitar and gentle synth, and it’s a personal and uplifting note to end the album on. But the lyrics about unity and transcendence feel circular and awkward rather than revelatory, sticking on a clumsy succession of assonant rhymes: “Can you see the light/Coming from inside/It is awfully bright/We can share the light.”
The moments of specificity stand out. On the jazz-inflected piano ballad “Nothing Nice to Say,” Aiko details the red wine she drinks at bedtime, the journaling she’s doing as she’s trying “to believe in something I cannot endure.” She paints a full picture, and as she sings, “gotta let this fade away,” her voice glistening like sunlight on a lake, you feel her heartache and resolve sparring with each other. It’s a quiet but powerful song, a document of a woman in the process of becoming who she needs to be, and showing us the effort it takes to get there. The record could benefit from more songs like this one; too often you’re left sifting through vibes for something more tangible and complex.
