Khruangbin – Mordechai (LP Vinyl) Vinyl Record

Review

On their first two albums, Khruangbin communicated through groove, not literal language. Sure, there were speckles of reverbed coo sprinkled amid their acid-trip guitars and minimalist, multi-cultural funk rhythms—but those were merely a few tools in their arsenal, carrying less weight than phaser pedals and crackling snares. But on their third proper full-length LP, Mordechai, the Houston trio prioritize the human voice with surprising confidence, singing on nearly every track. That stylistic shift broadens the band's appeal: It's easy to picture the dreamy psych-soul pulse of "So We Won't Forget," with its wispy, intertwined vocal hook, soundtracking the bittersweet roadtrip montage of an indie dramedy. The churning disco of "Time (You and I)" showcases their knack for composing ear worms, as bassist Laura Lee struts in a suave deadpan over DJ Johnson's four-on-the-floor groove, retro synth bubbles, tumbling congas and Mark Speer's spring-loaded funk guitar. Crucially, the words are kept to a minimum, never disrupting the vibe. "If we had more time, we could live forever/ Just you and I, we could be together," Lee sings on "Time (You and I)"—no one would consider it Shakespeare, but it's exactly what's needed. The increase in accessibility makes sense: Mordechai follows only a few months after Texas Sun, their sleek collaborative EP with R&B heavyweight Leon Bridges. But it's not as if Khruangbin have gone pop. The record, like its predecessors, is impossible to pin to a specific time or place: There are glimpses of Latin percussion and African guitar patterns, all riding the same spaced-out wave. No other band feels so gloriously adrift in their own ocean of sound.

— Ryan Reed, Relix

Product Details

Khruangbin has always been multilingual, weaving far-flung musical languages like East Asian surf-rock, Persian funk, and Jamaican dub into mellifluous harmony. But on its third album, it’s finally speaking out loud. Mordechai features vocals prominently on nearly every song, a first for the mostly instrumental band. It’s a shift that rewards the risk, reorienting Khruangbin’s transportive sound toward a new sense of emotional directness, without losing the spirit of nomadic wandering that’s always defined it. And it all started with them coming home.