Jens Kuross - Crooked Songs (Woodsist) [Singer Songwriter]

The Slow Music Movement
9 hours ago
2 min read

*** This blog post first appeared in TSMM's September 18th Newsletter, where you can get all the tips (and more) first ***

The cover for Jens Kuross', Crooked Songs, showing a grainy image of Jen Kuross with long hair sitting in a dim room, looking down. Text says "jens kuross crooked songs" in the top right corner.

Ten years ago, Jens Kuross was alternating between sparse piano accompanied singer songwriting and electronica bolstered forays into mainstream friendly alt-pop, unifying them with his fragile, yet determined vocals. But despite the quality, it was hard to differentiate him from the pack that were mining similarly James Blakeish territory at the time. Despite his game attempt at musical fame and fortune he became somewhat disenchanted with his time in LA and decamped back to Idaho, probably assuming, like his management and booker who both ditched him, that his music career wasn’t going anywhere.

Jens Kuross with glasses and long hair, wearing a blue jacket and striped shirt, stands against a floral beige wall, looking calmly forward.

Well, with his new album via the worthy Woodsist label, he’s taken a leftfield turn, dimmed the lights, ditched the Brasso for a rawer, earthier sound - perhaps a place where he should have been all along, and possibly leapt a few rungs up that slippery music career ladder as a result. Suddenly the obvious comparisons are a lot harder to make and he really sounds at ease and all the better for being a thousand miles away from the bright lights and heightened expectation.

Initially encouraged by Hayden Pedigo, who heard and was enchanted by Kuross’s new sound when he opened for him Idaho and who co-produced the album, Kuross entered the studio with just his Wurlitzer for company and what sounds like some omnidirectional microphones that soak up the full character of his aged instrument, and the ambience of his surroundings. The recording sounds as raw as the emotions that he’s unearthing and sharing, almost like hearing him in that same small, hushed concert room where Pedigo first laid ears on him. From the lyrics and their almost reticent delivery, to every key press, machine creak, ambient noise and post-song sigh, there is an unpolished candour throughout the album, the antithesis of LA’s studio botox, photoshopped press shots and social media neediness, and how refreshing keeping it real and honest sounds in this AI slop infested, post-truth age.