Brilliant corners

All hail the Dislocated Genius of Chelonis R. Jones's electronic soul
() In the last year of the 20th century, Kodwo Eshun charted musical forms of Afrofuturism in the book More Brilliant than the Sun. Six years into the 21st century, I wonder what Eshun would think of Chelonis R. Jones.

"Camera! Lights! Action!" The words at the very beginning of Jones's debut Dislocated Genius herald an ambivalent performance. "I didn't want to burn it now, burn cork to dance and sing," he soon recites with lack of affect over a marching beat. The detached attitude and robotic melody outdo Pete Shelley's "Homosapien." In the company of this lyric, and Jones's cover painting for Dislocated Genius, the first utterance in the next song "Life is hardly ever fair," probably sung by New YorktoEurope voyager Jones, but treated to sound like a sample from an old record player arrives with vital irony.

The eight-minute track that follows, "Middle Finger Music," moves through menaced verses and curses over the type of automaton beat that Kraftwerk would factory stamp with approval before being overtaken by abstract daydreams and nightmares. Crying gulls and King Tubbylike dub motifs flicker through the song's lonely, vast inner and outer space as Jones near-whispers the titular words to himself, his voice multitracked into a self-harassing chorus. Here, and on the gloomily humorous next song, "Vultures" (sample lines: "They circle-dive inside my dome ... They never leave my ass alone"), paranoia pervades the atmosphere, which Jones renders like the imaginative painter he happens to be when he isn't making music.

As a writer and singer, Jones possesses many voices, and if on "Middle Finger Music" he both listens to them and claims they'll lead him to his doom, there and elsewhere on Dislocated Genius they yield extraordinary results. This recording's avant-reaches have bewildered some club music writers who know of Jones strictly as the name behind a pair of sublime and relatively straightforward if poetic soulful house-inflected singles, "I Don't Know" and "One and One." On those tracks (as well as another mathematics-of-love number, "49 Percent," recorded with Röyksopp), Jones's voice trembles and swoons like that of Off the Wallera Michael Jackson that is, when he isn't more freely vamping like a diva. Describing a movie-ready tearful good-bye by train tracks, "I Don't Know”’s vocal outdoes some of the sensational male testifying of early Chicago house: Jones laughs bitterly to himself and seems to cradle his own pain while reaching deep into his chest for low notes as he feels a that word again "burn" in describing his crushed passion. He can also do butch swagger witness the quarrelsome and smart (rather than daft) punk of "L.A. Mattress."

Also from this author

  • Sounds of summer

    Concert and music festival highlights from air guitar to Woodsist this season 

  • Soul sounds

    The Weeknd and Hype Williams navigate music and identity in 2011

  • Snap Sounds: Jessica 6

  • Also in this section

  • Good things, small packages

    33 1/3, the ultimate record collector's novella series, turns 10

  • No thanks, Bono

    Three new albums that should magically appear on your iPod in place of Songs of Innocence

  • A show a day: Your fall music calendar

    FALL ARTS 2014 Like a daily multivitamin, your recommended dose of live shows through November