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Dec 18, 2024 Web Exclusive By Caleb Campbell

There is something special found in the bliss of the dancefloor. Few feelings can match the collective, kinetic joy of being caught up in a rush of rhythms and moving bodies, each individual moving at once to a shared transcendent pull. At its height, it can feel like a dream. That same euphoria lies at the heart of Kelly Lee Owens’ fourth full-length album, Dreamstate.

After the breakthrough moment of her gorgeous and insular 2020 record, Inner Song, her follow-up, LP.8, represented a further retreat inward. It was an icier, taciturn, and abstract turn, full of challenging constructions and unexpected stylistic turns. In contrast, Dreamstate moves in the opposite direction, rediscovering the joy of thumping bass, entrancing loops, and pure euphoric movement.

Dreams move in a fluid intransient way, rarely staying static or operating by the logic of the waking world. Dreamstate feels similarly immersive, pulling the listener inexorably deeper into its rushing tide of decadent techno pop. Owens’ music moves in constant motion, building imperceptibly atop looping synths and pulsing rhythms until the track has been flipped on its head. It can feel akin to a magic trick. In one moment, the album’s title track feels like a celestial dance, only for Owens to pull a deft sleight of hand and transform the airy and otherworldly washes of synths into a cold, metallic techno pulse.

Owens has always been a skilled crafter of these sorts of shifts, but Dreamstate feels particularly seamless. Owens hits the listener with a veritable deluge of synths, textures, and beats, yet they are all tightly layered and expertly placed, moving together like the minuscule gears in a watch. While often linear, Dreamstate has an intuitive ebb and flow, with many tracks beginning as dreamy mood pieces such as the glassy trance sprawl of “Rise” or the sweltering house beat of “Sunshine.” These tracks grow steadily until they spiral into joyous highs, sweeping the listener along atop the propulsive, metronomic beats. When each element is working together at full force, the results feel towering and triumphant.

Much of the album moves along at this propulsive pace, centering on Owens’ talent for sleek, richly textured dancefloor fillers and sharp pop melodicism. Throughout Dreamstate, Owens makes you feel like you are up in the air, twirling in seemingly infinite bliss above the pulsing techno rhythms. It is an association Owens makes explicit with track names like “Rise,” “Higher,” and “Air.” In the latter track, Owens’ only lyrics are ghostly whispers, dreamy invitations to “feel the air,” nestled within the track’s hypnotic loops and stabbing synth accents. It is one of several moments on the record that seem to evoke a meditative spirituality, even as the track’s sound remains firmly rooted in the incessant movement of Owens’ techno pop.

These contemplative undercurrents have run throughout all of Owens’ previous records. However, where those albums often felt like solitary affairs, Dreamstate draws its power from how communal it feels. Rather than tributing solitude and self-sufficiency, these tracks draw resonance from yearning and connection. The lyrics on the lead single “Love You Got” bring this theme to the forefront: “Feel these desire lines / They pull like the tide / Between you and I / I want it…Wanting pure euphoria.”

However, most often Owens lets her lyrics fade into the background, allowing the listener to lose themselves in the rush of her music as her ethereal vocal melodies operate as another flickering instrument within the beat. When she does put the spotlight on her vocals, they often are mantra-like repetitions, emphasizing the hypnotic or spiritual nature of the track more than its lyrical content. These tracks feel meant to be experienced rather than dissected, offering a tailor-made soundtrack to new love found on a club dancefloor.

The album’s two exceptions come with its ballads, “Ballad (In The End)” and “Trust and Desire.” Both tracks stand out as the only two songs on the record that are not driven by a beat, with the former shining as a gorgeous ambient pop piece and the latter a glassy piano-led confessional. “Ballad (In The End)” finds Owens offering a tender and hopeful paean to love, set against shimmering ambient synth swells and sunlit strings: “I tried / I tried / But what is life on the sidelines…Open / I do my best to stay open / Lust for life, my heart’s open / Just ahead, it’s mine.”

In contrast, “Trust and Desire” feels hurt and lovelorn. Although most of the album comes coated in futurist dance pop euphoria, its finale feels like a reflective ride home alone after the night dies down. Muted keys and atmospheric production are Owens’ only accompaniment until she is later joined by strings and a crystalline chorus of harmonies in its final moments. Her lyrics offer the record’s most stark and aching confession: “Crave someone to / Live this life with / More than one kiss / Got hope and desire / Hope and desire / On my own / On my own / But I own it / Trust and desire / Trust and desire.”

No matter how idyllic, all dreamstates eventually end and make room for the light of a new day. Dreamstate’s final comedown offers a meditative denouement, chasing away the album’s airy warmth with cold reality. Yet, what comes out is not just uncertainty but possibility. That is what makes Dreamstate ultimately feel so potent. It captures dance music’s sheer kinetic high, but also the emotive undercurrents that make it so affecting. The album is a tribute to bringing dreams to life, pushing the listener to share in their heightened rush and imagine better times ahead. (www.kellyleeowens.com)

Author rating: 8.5/10