Creole life, as she presents it, is a parade: colorful, communal, on the move. Nearly every song features live instrumentation, even the few cuts produced by dancefloor maven (and long-time Richard collaborator) Machinedrum. Most of the record is co-produced by Richard and the Los Angeles jazz ensemble Katalyst Collective, who blend programmed beats and live playing, always prioritizing forward motion.“chuuuuurch” begins with a recording of people chattering in Creole, takes on a martial drum pattern that morphs into an amapiano rhythm, then erupts into a gospel number—choir included—that melts into golden-hued croons. “l v r,” an ode to making left-field choices, is just as lively, melding liquid harmonies, nimble drums, and rumbling 808s into a slick groove.
“groove city,” a remix of a 1979 song by New Orleans soul and funk band Chocolate Milk, adds jungle breaks that rewire the song. Richard’s singing and rapping weave between the relentless drums like a shuttle through a loom, accented by cool sax notes and vocal loops from the original, which was co-written by Richard’s father. “Funk in their veins, call the bassline genes/Gold grills fashion, no shame in the strut,” she spits in an Auto-Tuned slur, toasting to her lineage.
The album moves like a DJ set, never letting a sound outstay its welcome. Transitions are constant both within and between songs, most of which include an interlude or coda that teases the next track. The setup smooths the music’s flux without sacrificing the flavor of all the places and styles the album spans. Richard’s agile voice leads the way, shifting as often as the music. She can swagger like a Cash Money rapper (“only fans”), slip into the cool, staccato of an Afrobeats vocalist (“motives”), and croon unvarnished like a folk singer (“faith in the fire”)—all while sounding unmistakably herself.
