Repetition, Development, Unpredictability - and their Displacement to a Different Level. feeo: Goodness
In some of feeo's tracks, the main structuring principles of songs are displaced, assigned to different layers: synths, drums, noises. That leaves the listener without the familiar signposts.
feeo frames her album Goodness (AD 93, 2025) with dualities, as “an exploration of simultaneous yet opposing states of being; darkness and lightness, obscurity and visibility and most fundamentally, solitude and togetherness”, as she is quoted in the liner notes. Most of the reviews follow suit, using various contrasts, oppositions and ambiguities to describe the music.*
Not denying the importance of these dualities, I want to propose a triad of three structuring principles: repetition, development, unpredictability - and their displacement.
It could be argued that all songs have to balance these three principles: a stable, recognizable core that remains the same throughout; a sense of movement from the beginning to the end; avoidance of being (too) predictable which kills the drama and makes the listener lose interest. All sorts of advice on “how to write a (hit) song” can be reframed using these terms.
The peculiarity of some of the songs in the first part of Goodness is that the three qualities are displaced from the structural level and assigned to different instruments and layers. It’s not the song itself that is repetitive and developing and unpredictable at the same time. In the tracks “The Mountain”, “Requiem”, and “Win!”, it’s the synths that are repetitive (some songs are underpinned by the same motif throughout, others introduce a new sound halfway through or at the two-thirds mark); it’s the drums and percussive sounds that provide a clear progression (usually starting simple and getting richer and more intricate later); and obviously the noises (quiet, harsh, pulsing, humanlike or machinelike) are more or less unpredictable.
This is something like a “category mistake” as defined by Gilbert Ryle: structuring principles of whole compositions are used on a different level of the music.
I don’t see that as a “conscious” guiding principle on these tracks, let alone the entirety of Goodness; I would rather propose it as something that could pinpoint what makes these tracks unique, much more than just some of the many examples of the “songs with experimental flourishes” quasi-genre.
Halfway throughout the album, “Sandpit” not only introduces new instrumentation, but also changes this approach. Obviously we can use these principles in analysing the tracks (for example, at the end of “Sandpit”, repetition is pitted against development: it’s as if the piano wants to move on to a new melody, but is struck repeating a few notes again and again, stuttering) - but in a more or less general manner, like with any other song.
The above-mentioned three tracks work in a very peculiar way due to this “category mistake”.
Repetition, development, unpredictability, when applied as structuring principles, are perhaps the most powerful tools to guide the listener: they indicate what to pay attention to, what to expect, and what to be suprised by - what are the key elements in understanding the song, in constructing its meaning.
When applied to specific layers, they lose this function. My experience in listening to these tracks is that I find myself without signposts. I am free to pay attention to whatever I want, and the music changes its nature obeying my will. I can choose to concentrate on the repetition, relegating the development and unpredictability to the level of ornamentation, and the music itself becomes / seems to be repetitive. But when paying attention to the development of the drums, or the unpredictable noises, the music seems to be much more eventful, even hectic.
Of course it’s true for any music that you can choose to pay attention to any detail, but it is evident that it “stays the same” even if you are not following its instructions. Here, there are no instructions.
What makes these tracks even more striking that feeo as a singer doesn’t seem to notice what is going on: her expressive, captivating singing goes on as if it were part of a “normal” song.
The result is that these are songs / not songs / almost songs, depending on how you choose to listen to them. But that of course means that they are not songs, because a song is a song, isn’t it?
* A few examples: The Wire: breathy lightness - darker edges and brooding sense of introspection. The Guardian: extreme conviction - delicate atmospheres. Pitchfork: beauty - bleakness etc. Boomkat: powerful Beth Gibbons-esque vocals - muggy, quietly psychedelic noise and ambience. Chain DLK: “the confidence of someone who knows that ambiguity can be a superpower.”