Dewy Sinatra - Wasted Youth EP

The London singer-songwriter (Sinatra, not Sartre) glue-guns together an array of noises to create his sound, creating something that’s very familiar, but never derivative. He brandishes a cool, future-soul gloss, crunchy old-school hip-hop beats, a 4am sparseness torn from The xx’s manual. South London balladeers, á la James Blake, creep in via gorgeous melodic subtlety. The words are earnest – sometimes crooned, sometimes spat, but always delivered with an affable honesty.

In Sinatra’s debut release, the Wasted Youth EP, he channels a everyman ennui; a disenchantment and disillusionment from life’s uncertainty that’s disturbingly apropos. It’s a mid-life crisis rearing it’s divorce-wielding, Porsche-toting head all too early, riddling Sinatra’s mind with existential gripes and the hollow clank of nihilism: “Going round and round, coming back to square one/you’re on your own,” he languors on “Round and Round”. The track skitters, the percussion a weird mishmash of dubstep lethargy and trap flutters; bass is sparingly used, leaving the sound feeling empty and unfinished. This is no accident, and provides astute accompaniment to the vocals. Between the tense electronica, there are hulking, roughly-hewn sampled vox and rap passages; it’s a hallucinogenic cut, born from a chronic insomnia.

Wasted Youth is an EP rife with discontent, endlessly frustrated and rummaging for purpose. Searching for meaning in life, love and faith. However, it’s not pure jet darkness; there’s a syrupy gloss in the hooks and charm of Sinatra’s voice. “Questions”, the lead single, is opiate-addled oxygen. It’s weirdly warm, relaxed and content, despite the looming menace: “Nightmares that keep me from my sleep/doctor doctor doctor please prescribe me some reality/I’m dancing with insanity.” The synths are 8-bit and buoyant – and strangely reminiscent of the underwater levels in Super Mario. The drum beat cracks like twig-snap ankles buckling on concrete. It’s a jarring contrast of sugar-laced melody and lyrical peril.

Whether Sinatra excavates a meaning remains unknown. There’s no resolution, leaving a bitter aftertaste poignantly appropriate for the EP’s central tenet of frustration. It’s am ambitious opening crusade from Sinatra, and one that leaves us curiously awaiting his next move. It could so easily crumble amidst the relative happiness and simplicity of other London-based atmospherists, but this is a welcome, challenging release with the potential to be an existential catalyst.