Raehann Bryce-Davis’ Evolution is a personal and communally expansive project that completely dispels any arguments about stylistic discordance. Released Apr. 11 on Lexicon Classics, the mezzo-soprano’s debut album is an homage to her transnational upbringing and a stunning curation of her musical tastes, instincts, and skill.
Dominated by new material, including two stunning examples of signifyin(g) on canonical composers, the album is meant to be heard from start to finish, traversing from styles across each track with ease. The arc is clear from the start with the titular track written by Bryce-Davis; it’s a brief overture, effervescent as her layered humming creates a circular polyphonic texture and electronic rain drops emerge. This feeds into “Serenade,” which sees rapper Karl Wine signifyin(g) on Franz Schubert’s “Ständchen,” D. 869 by speeding up the original melody and adding gentle Afrobeats. Bryce-Davis’ vocals fluidly move forward and backward in the texture as she repeats the opening stanza of “Ständchen,” with Wine rapping on the thematic material of Schubert’s song.
“Overcome” by rapper EJ Galvez is a low-key but no less vibrant EDM track, featuring Bryce-Davis and Galvez weaving between Spanish and English lyrics. The opening sample immediately takes our ears to Big Freedia and trap, even more evident in the latter half of the song.
Later in the album, “End of Days” features Jamaican dancehall DJ Lady Ann signifyin(g) on Giuseppe Verdi’s “Liber Scriptus” from Messa de Requiem. It is fantastic – and too short. Similar to Karl Wine’s reconception of Schubert, Bryce-Davis functions as a call-back to the source material, singing the opening stanza of the final judgement. Lady Ann provides commentary on what can be achieved, what may be survived, in the end of days. But it isn’t sorrowful. This feature of several musical traditions from Africa, the Caribbean, and the United States shows that music is not always a tool of emotional reflection, but of action and ritual.
The first of the more classical tracks is Jake Landau’s “Unspoken,” with lyrics by Leslie Andrea Wiliams. Joined by instrumentalists Jeanne-Minette Cilliers (piano), Reuben Kebede (violin), Thapelo Masita (cello), and Christian X. M. McGhee (percussion), Bryce-Davis navigates a dissonant, fractured landscape. Her delivery of the text leans into the tension, her voice straining in her lower range and achieving release as she climbs to her higher range. “The Beauty in My Blackness” by pianist and composer Maria Thompson Corley opens with the unassuming voice of Bryce-Davis’ cousin, Alexandra Gouveia. Cilliers, Kebede, and Masita return to provide a gorgeous texture for Bryce-Davis to interact with and float upon.
Rene Orth’s “I Praise the Dance” is the album’s keystone with its unabashed joy and celebration of self, flinging off any and all limitations. Bryce-Davis weaves through a consonant wash of electronic beats and vocalizations that build to the beat drop where the texture is fully opened. Contrastingly, composer and pianist B. E. Boykin’s setting of Paul Laurence Dunbar’s “We Wear the Mask” is emotionally sobering, a return to the harshness of experience. Boykin pushes Bryce-Davis’ range to the limit, creating an evocative strain without damaging her voice.
Thompson Corley’s “Black Rider’s Freedom Song” features Cilliers and the Ivalas Quartet, of which Kebede is a member. After a somber opening, Cilliers begins an edgy piano ostinato that brings the song into a period of resolve. Corley’s use of blues, classical, and gospel idioms is put to stunning effect with her lyrics that explore emotional, spiritual, and physical freedom.
In Kamala Sankaram’s “Kivalina,” Bryce-Davis’ virtuosity and musicianship are given room to breathe with stunning support and collaboration from the Ivalas Quartet. The work considers the loss of home through global warming, pushed along and evolving thanks to human irresponsibility and greed. The angular, dissonant, and particularly striking second section features leaping, pointed vocalizations from Bryce-Davis and gritty articulation from the quartet, leading into an impassioned, desperate plea.
The traditional spiritual “Stand the Storm,” arranged by physician-composer Timothy Amukele, is an appropriate closer, stylistically and thematically. Bryce-Davis leaves us with the reminder that even amid the terror of uncertainty, you will find a place to settle – a place of repose, peace, and comfort. It’s a shame that the album is a digital-only release, as the liner notes, lyrics, and photos that come with a physical album provide an immediacy and longevity that digital versions cannot fully replicate. It’s also frustrating that the album’s landing page on the Lexicon Classics site has yet to be published; this is an album to read about thoroughly and totally, one’s understanding and listening experience enriched with each repetition.
Regardless, Evolution is a beautiful debut that reflects Bryce-Davis’ musical expertise, heritage, and keen collaborative ear. From start to finish, the project bursts with creative ideas that have been curated and executed with both love and skill.
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