Jack J likes to create an atmosphere only to harden it. The Australian-Canadian producer debuted in the mid-2010s with two acclaimed singles of opulent deep house that brought attention to Vancouver's fertile electronic scene and the Mood Hut collective he co-founded. But his two full tracks have been characterized by reduced song length and terrifyingly vulgar lyrics, delivered in a voice whose untrained readiness makes his delivery feel that much more urgent. In 2022, Opening the Door made him an indie-rock sad sack not far removed from fellow Canadian Mac DeMarco, but his new album Blue Desert features a range of vintage references, from sleek new wave to 90s chillout and diva house. The dull brutality of it all makes the contrast with his lyrics all the more terrifying: a space-age equivalent of Adam Sandler in The wedding singerconjuring up his deepest emotions through cocktail music.
The lyrics show a traumatic breakup, but with Jutson you can never be sure. He's notoriously shy—he's probably on the cover, looking like a cross between Lawrence of Arabia and a cult leader in puffy white pants—so it's hard to tell how seriously to take his on-record pleas. (His most detailed interview so far, with Shawn Reynaldo's First Floor newsletter, was coy about a “difficult time” in his life, but didn't go into much detail.) Combine that with the downbeat music and you've got a recipe for almost unbearable passive aggression. He seduces you into underestimating his music by putting the tempo on slow and the vibes on the couch. Then he makes it clear that all is not well — that something deeper is going on, that maybe you can't just write it off as another rosy pastiche.
Blue Desert is it a solid listen; finished in the time it takes about three listens to Jutson's most beloved track, 2014's “Something (On My Mind).” Few songs exceed four minutes, and some seem to end or fade out a chorus earlier than they should. He seems to move on to the next idea as soon as he thinks of it. You get the sense of a disturbed mind – someone whose thoughts are too hot and too fast to sink into a groove like the instrumental “Show Me Love” from monster Andrew Weatherall's “Wrong Again.” 'Down the Line', or the atmospheric, almost knife-chilling keyboard of the 'Pink Shoes' dip. Fans who came to Jack J's early work for its effortless rhythm and understated tone may find the listening experience Blue Desert annoying, but if it was allowed to run longer, it might have been a little too easy for the listener to drift away.
