Quadeca - Life 1 Review
Quadeca’s most accessible album moves from absurd humour to loneliness and the hope of another life, with remarkable production and some of his strongest melodies yet.
Life 1 almost feels like a life. It begins full of energy, humour and possibility, then gradually becomes darker, weighed down by relationships, regret and questions about what any of it means. By the end, even the arrangements seem to be ageing, losing their initial brightness before finding some peace. Arriving a year after Vanisher, Horizon Scraper, Life 1 feels more immediate and accessible. Its predecessor’s orchestral ambition could be difficult to get through, with details sometimes disappearing into a muddy mix. Here, the production is clearer and the hooks come more readily, making it easier to appreciate just how much is happening in these songs.
‘Life 1 (where did the time go)’ is perhaps his strongest opener yet, immediately establishing that clarity. Across the early tracks, Quadeca layers his voice until it can sound like several people sharing a song. The sudden changes, movement between rapping and singing, and playful production recall Brockhampton, though there’s plenty here that belongs to the indie world too. ‘The hero never dies’ is a particularly good example of his musical instincts: lovely melodies and harmonies surrounded by little sounds that reward closer attention. Towards the end, the piano almost sounds harmonically wrong, creating a dissonance that makes the repeated title feel increasingly unsettled.
‘It goes like this’ is where everything comes together. Its hooks are immediate, but there’s enough happening underneath them to keep pulling the ear elsewhere: horse noises, laser sounds, strings and sparkly piano. Somehow, its rap and pop elements sit comfortably alongside passages that suggest Black Country, New Road’s more recent work. The lyric ‘I can’t even lead a horse to water, and maybe that’s why I’ve been drinking alone’ captures the album’s humour particularly well. A familiar saying becomes a joke at his own expense, then a small admission of loneliness. It’s catchy, strange and affecting, with the production giving each of those qualities room. That ease of connection is what has sometimes been missing from his previous releases.
The album’s sillier moments have their place, too. ‘CELERY’ spends 37 seconds wondering how something made almost entirely of water still chooses to be solid. What that means is anyone’s guess, but the interruption suits a record willing to follow an odd thought. ‘THE GAMBLER’ is more pointed, setting gospel voices and organ against swirling arcade sounds. Lyrically, it finds humour in the excuses people make for themselves, with an AI assistant happily feeding the delusion. The arrangement lends this ridiculous exchange an almost religious seriousness.
‘Regular guy’ introduces a darker mood, its opening chords sounding as though they’re coming from the lowest depths of the ocean. Yet tenderness keeps returning. ‘Like you always do’ begins with glossy keys and a ballad melody that brings late Beach Boys to mind, before its harmonies fill out an atmosphere of death, hospital beds and possible rebirth. ‘Baby steps’ is one of the album’s loveliest songs, with a heartfelt melody and beautifully spaced vocals. Its jokes can be startling, including an airport bomb reference followed by an audible explosion, but the closing acceleration is extraordinary. It has something of the Star Gate sequence in 2001: A Space Odyssey, rushing towards a point where familiar surroundings fall away. The album could end there and leave a strong impression.
Instead, ‘Hell of a time’ arrives with drums that feel jarring after that ending. Its massed vocal refrain is enjoyable, but Quadeca’s delivery becomes a little too whiny, making it one of the weaker songs. That may partly be a sequencing problem; either way, it interrupts the flow. The final stretch then sinks deeper. ‘Illusion of choice’ pairs bass-heavy production with thoughts about depression, lost friends and the difficulty of helping anyone when he’s struggling himself. ‘Good grief’ continues that weariness, until watery guitars return and the instruments begin to screech and squeal. As everything else recedes, the guitars sound almost demented, struggling against the track’s disappearance.
‘In another life...’ initially sounds almost decayed, its voice and drums hushed after so much detail and activity. But there’s a childlike optimism in the promise to return as a tree, a dog or a flea, anything other than himself, and still find the person he loves. Water, birds and other small sounds gather as the music builds, dissolves and settles into something peaceful. The thought of another life offers some comfort here, a chance to try again after everything that has gone wrong in this one.
Quadeca has a habit of trying to fit every musical idea under the sun into his records, and on Life 1, that appetite produces some brilliant songs. The production is remarkably detailed, the melodies stick, and the shifts between styles feel more natural and less laboured than on Vanisher, Horizon Scraper. There’s nobody else who sounds quite like him. What makes this album especially interesting, though, is how its mood changes: the early brightness, humour and excitement gradually give way to regret, strained relationships and thoughts of death, until the music itself seems to decay. Whether those experiences belong to Quadeca or a character becomes less important as they accumulate. By the end, it feels like a life has passed, messy, funny, sometimes painful, and worth going through again.
