Marcus Brown is a diehard romantic. His second album as Nourished By Time might be darker and more dystopian than his critically acclaimed debut, but at its core remains a bloody, beating heart. Absorbing and cinematic, The Passionate Ones expands Brown’s unique vision for post-R&B: his aching, tremulous, earthy vocals swim under rolling Baltimore club breakbeats, flickering synths, gated reverb and uncanny looping samples. And all the while, he makes a plea for big feelings in the face of a numbing world.
Nourished By Time: The Passionate Ones
Blaring as if from a busted speaker, opening track Automatic Love transforms boyband-y platitudes – “my body won’t feel nothing until my skin touches you” – into lyrics with real jeopardy, sharpened by the threat of looming societal collapse. Max Potential, a big 80s synth-rock number, co-opts corporate language to marvel at the pain of heartbreak, treating it as a fluorescent sign of life. Often Brown sings with such wide-mouthed, full-hearted commitment that he could be laughing or crying, but single Baby Baby is witty and aloof, with casual talk-singing and a surfy guitar line as he calls for a global strike to “make the gravy train stop”.
A tongue-in-cheek interlude wonders aloud if The Passionate Ones could be a cult – one dedicated to intensity, drive, even optimism, over any ideology. To hook you in, it’s followed by 9 2 5, a spirit-soaring song of the summer contender about artistic dreams v greasy day job monotony. Real passion is precious, Brown urges, shaking you by the shoulders, hoping you’ll see the light.
