"Lead single "Mirror's Edge" embroiders its murky pulse with vocals from POiSON ANNA that morph from amorous chatter to plaintive queries: "What does it mean when I need you?/Who do you call in despair?" The song eventually boils over, collapsing into a florid haze of orchestral noise before revving back with a full-throttle coda. At its best, the album thrives on that dynamism: "Cruel Love" abandons its steady groove for skeletal chords that flare without warning into blown-out shrieks,"
"Vynehall's adeptness in balancing the character of his vocalists alongside these brazen production choices inevitably dulls the album's lower-key offerings by comparison. The forlorn howls of Birmingham band Chartreuse fail to liven the plodding beat of "You Strange Precious Thing" as it ambles to a perfunctory breakdown; "Scab" rides effortlessly in the pocket of TYSON's breezy flow, but coasts idly on vibes before sputtering out."
"In Daytona Yellow strives to position its jack-of-all-trades style as synecdoche for the album's conceptual intent. As the anxious beat of "Whip" fades out, Vynehall cues a sample of an authoritative voice that states, "We develop our personality based on what's around us... and so that means that we cut off a part of ourself." The monologue begs speculation: Is the album, then, a chronicle of ego death, a ledger of progressive excisions?"
Vynehall's collaborators fit easily into In Daytona Yellow's sonic universe, with lead single "Mirror's Edge" layering POiSON ANNA's vocals that shift from amorous chatter to plaintive questions and culminating in orchestral noise and a full-throttle coda. "Cruel Love" abandons a steady groove for skeletal chords and blown-out shrieks that escalate singer Beau Nox's paranoid refrains to an anthemic climax. Lower-key songs, such as Chartreuse's contribution on "You Strange Precious Thing" and TYSON's "Scab," feel plodding or idling despite moments of breezy flow. Vynehall's production retains underlying sharpness, but the grab-bag approach makes his perspective near-formless, stretching versatility into workmanlike territory while hinting at themes of identity and ego excision.
Read at Pitchfork
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