On his new album Rihla, which means journey in Arabic and is billed as his most honest or diaristic outpouring to date, Mansur Brown stays sonically true to his world while stretching ever farther away from the London jazz scene on which he was forged and the beat-laden soul or sinuous oud-like melodies which have hitherto encompassed his music.
A classically-trained guitarist who can turn his hand to just about any instrument, including saxophone and keyboards, Brown inhabits a fairly unique frame of reference, like a distorting plane as he offers a steeped and vaporous blend of everything from grime and Afrobeats to spiritual jazz and flamenco guitar. When he first broke out roughly a decade ago it was as part of a fledgeling London jazz scene as he accompanied the likes of Alfa Mist, Yussef Dayes and Nubya Garcia on stage and on wax. Drifting in another direction and taking steps to resolutely forge his own path, with most of his solo releases now on his own label Amai Records, his last effort NAQI which arrived in two volumes in the autumn of 2022 spanned both sides of the Mediterranean and beyond, elaborating on the character of nylon strings and flamenco toques while stretching as far as the Sahel with its desert blues and even evoking Indian classical raga.
Brown on Rihla seems to syncretise these influences like never before, as he unfolds a maximalist offering which bears traces of neo soul, yacht rock or acid jazz as the artist for the first time foregrounds his own vocals. Gauzy and heavy as it doubles down on a neon-clad, Blade Runner aesthetic, the album still features a few guitar licks redolent of North Africa and the Middle East, but most of all Rihla reminds me of the works of Yves Tumor and AraabMuzik while probably containing plenty to please fans of The Weeknd at his wooziest like on his unparalleled debut House of Balloons.
Solitary and searching, tender yet possessive, mixing spectral fragments and more fraying textures with his expressively pitched vocals, throbbing guitar distortions and booming or bapping drums, in the end Rihla is the sort of thing that would sound great blasting out of one’s car speakers on a late night drive, serving as a soothing balm even if its beefier moments might make the listener feel immeasurable and invincible.
