All the Time

Jessy Lanza made Pull My Hair Back and Oh No in close proximity to Jeremy Greenspan, but she and her musical partner communicated in primarily remote fashion for All the Time, which was only completed in person at Greenspan's studio. Whether by consequence or coincidence, All the Time has a lighter and more sensual touch than Lanza's two previous albums. Characterized less by lavishly layered and hypercharged whiskings of electro, house, and footwork, its pared-down sound and slower tempos suit Lanza's higher prioritization of lyrics. These changes don't curtail her and Greenspan's eagerness for stretching voices like taffy or pumping them full of helium, and the two are still game to coax weird effects out of their machines and offset glinting keyboards and plump basslines. The most salient point is that Lanza's post-disco R&B inspirations have never been so pronounced. It's not for nothing that "Alexander" is named after Alexander O'Neal, inasmuch as it shares chords with the singer's "A Broken Heart Can Mend" and is a guard-down quiet storm ballad. Yet it's a clever and glistening delicacy that only Lanza can write and deliver, flirtatiously and persistently asking "Would you rather be lonely?" -- a threat to the object of her desire, or to herself? -- after a blithe declaration of "I don't care what they say if I go on repeating myself." Later, on "Baby Love," Lanza evokes another Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis affiliate, Janet Jackson, in euphoric and petal-soft vocal style, supported by a sparse production that burbles and chimes. Two more delightful and clear-cut love songs finish it off. The rippling "Over and Over" is as effervescent and invigorated as the like-titled Shalamar classic. Its lengthy fade-out sets up the moonlit atmosphere of the unfurling title track, where Lanza still fights overthinking, but she's at least able to stop wondering about what it means and where it's headed, if only for a moment, to enjoy some unrestricted romantic contentment. This album's apex is on the other side. Apart from being a pleasurable avant-pop jam, "Lick in Heaven" is where Lanza's knack for ambiguity is most evident. Written about her short temper -- "Once I'm spinnin', I can't stop spinnin'" -- it's expressed instead in a manner that suggests ecstasy, leaving the song open to interpretation while provoking nonstop turntable action. ~ Andy Kellman