Michael's Cut

Just a Postgrad Looking for Good Music

On “Soft Spot,” JMSN scratches his fix for progression with sandpaper, sex, and smog

Published by

on


JMSN's sixth album, "Soft Spot."
JMSN’s sixth album, “Soft Spot.”

In a studio full of sweat without provision, only two people existed: you and the person invited. Atmosphere leaking like a dam slowly cracking. Exchanges about rhythm faltered into breaths, gasps for the groove, the practice from body placement to another as it quickly evolved to muscle memory. A spring into their hands trusted as pillars. The comedown that followed, the gaze that still trailed from the shoulders. The motive for the mouth, the sense of touch indulged the bodies just as silverware met the tongue. 

On the song breakdown for “Soft Spot,” Christian Berishaj, better known as JMSN, emphasizes the “feeling” of the track: sometimes, it’s better to let the groove speak for you. While reflecting about a failed relationship, the Detroit musician portends a spacious Atlanta bass rhythm. Problems feel peripheral as you’re absorbed into the motions. Lasers shoot out when keyboards chant, and drums busy themselves with the footwork. This mantra has so far led JMSN’s work to success, where we witnessed his 2018 LP Velvet peak in this intoxicating presence: dirty beats ebb and flow, and a charismatic tenor leaves a stain or two on the finest silk comforters. 

With his seventh record, JMSN retains this focus on feeling, though with a slight revision. Soft Spot works its sensuality around its blemishes, unafraid of the grime collecting over time. In turn, part of the record’s appeal is its embrace for that roughness, with JMSN’s malleable voice acting as a parallel or juxtaposition. “Cherry Pop” best salvages its tempting nature with a mix of flippancy and sludge: “let’s not wait for the bass to drop / lemme just suck on your cherry pop,” he sings with a haunting falsetto over a musty aerosol of drum work, sighs, and a meaty bassline. Other cuts like “Happens Everytime” carves its vacancy with emcee ad-libs and mumbles pressed against the mic. When he groans, “It’s not my fault it’s just that I was put together this way,” it feels intuitive. We’ve been fully aware of this proposition. 

At times, this philosophy languishes. The penultimate “Groovy” flexes about a woman “with a wild side” through a drowsy speak-sing, and the closer “Outsider” reflects about loneliness and instability over a prolonged R&B wallflower tape. However, the multipotentialite expresses a gift for the contemporary, whether this be in the grooves he curates or the nontraditional gender roles he takes in the bedroom, the latter heard in the syrupy “Feel Like a Woman.” With the singles leading up to Soft Spot, JMSN asks us to reassess his capacity. A veteran with more than a decade of experience in the industry, he doesn’t seem concerned with reinvention. If any, the record only examines his artistry at hand: how far can you adapt your signature into a new conquest of sound? Although playful in its influences, Soft Spot responds with subtlety, like an apparition shadowing your footsteps, less than an inch shy from the entity they desire.

Be sure to check out my RateYourMusic page as well for additional music ratings, as well as my TikTok for music-related updates!

On “art Pop * pop Art,” ZayALLCAPS croons alongside the Los Angeles breeze with a LogicPro trial and a Crunchwrap Supreme on his lap

Sun dressed in an off-white skirt, orange tarnish a patina. With scooters scanning the cul-de-sac, where parents walk with their phones like a pair of gloves. Where chalk marks stretch their limbs on the concrete, and the bedrock sandpapered into a sandbox. Where boys come from the hood and under the transmission, with their wrenches…

808 Hot Cues Mark 2: Mr. Celestic – godfather of DOWN., underground music nerd with a mission towards global club pluralism and never-ending socials

We slouch our bodies in the back of a red Toyota Tacoma outside Miki’s, where late-night cruisers and construction workers share the same curb for Filipino-local plate lunches. Motorcyclists burn so much rubber I’ve to bring the recorder up to our ears. An AriZona iced tea can lounges in his lap, while a Celsius in…

Leave a comment