Sampha, Lahai, and Learning to Fly

Sampha’s music possesses an interminable beauty. While it’s not the only connective piece of his work, it is the most persistent and certainly the most comforting. Even when his songwriting emanates tragedy and heartbreak. From project to project (dating back as far as his excellent EP, Dual, from a decade ago), Sampha has built upon three simple elements to consistently deliver music evokes ease in the face of anxiety. The first element is his delicately dynamic vocals. The second is a driving piano. The final element – and perhaps the most important – is the percussion. It’s the variations that Sampha manages to find within those elements of simplicity that make him – no matter how sparse his music output – one of the most interesting and wondrous artists making music today.

On his newest record, Lahai, the sonic landscape of his world shifts from its previous iterations. Dual always feel a bit like an unrealized dream. One that laid the groundwork for what would be realized on Process, his debut full-length album. But Sampha spun his yarns on Process creating songs that existed in different spaces from one another. “Blood on Me” feels like a nightmare driven by Sampha’s own breathy singing and quickening percussive elements. “(No One Knows Me) Like the Piano” changes pace almost entirely to deliver a heart wrenching ballad – that in true Sampha fashion manages to feel like a friend laying their hand on your shoulder as you feel everything around you falling apart. Both songs excel in different ways.

Lahai is different. Lahai establishes its sound early and finds the nooks and crannies within that sound. It feels more cohesive than any other album that’s come out this year. In that way, it can be hard to separate tracks from one another. It can at times be difficult to imagine individual tracks apart from the whole. Therein lies the beauty of Lahai though. Each successive song doesn’t merely build on what came before it but finds a melody that exists on the same plane in a different way. The result is like entering a dreamscape. In my writing about music before, I have compared certain artists and songs to a hug. There’s a comfort to them that you didn’t experience before you pressed play. Lahai doesn’t feel a hug. It’s too intimately connected to Sampha himself to be that. From the opening moments of the record, it as though Sampha stuck his hand out to ask you to take this journey with him.

I have long envied birds. The ability to fly represents an unburdened peace I may never know. It’s liberation not unconstrained but breaking free of the plane you have always known. It is certainly a romantic notion, but reaching out and taking Sampha’s hand at the start of Lahai feels like it might be the closest I ever get to flying. Unrestrained by expectation. Letting him lead you down paths that feel familiar with new landscapes. The greens appear greener than usual. The foliage takes on a life of its own. You can reach out and touch the clouds. Feel the mist on your fingers. Then it is over. Each time you rewind Lahai you fall deeper into this world, hope never to leave, and soar higher and higher.