On ‘Pointy Heights’ a Chameleon Comes Home

Fousheé’s latest project is a love letter to the eclectic sounds of the Caribbean

Have you considered the sea? I’d bet Fousheé has. Pointy Heights sounds like it was written while facing the ocean — like she knows what the sea knows.

For people of the African diaspora, the sea has many faces. At times it has been an accomplice to our captors; at others, a courier on our quest for freedom; in Fousheé’s case, it is a crossing for her journey home. Nonetheless, the sea knows how we yearn for home, whether we’re coming or going. On Pointy Heights, Fousheé bottles the knowledge of a swaying ocean into a feeling that can only be heard, never truly described. 

IMAGE VIA SPOTIFY © RCA RECORDS

Pointy Heights is named after Fousheé’s family property in Saint Catherine, Jamaica, a mile-long plot of land in a tight-knit pastoral community perched outside of Kingston. After taking an unforgettable trip to Jamaica for the first time since childhood, Fousheé felt moved to make an album her people would be proud of.  

This album is nostalgic, unlike her highly contemporary projects, softCORE and time machine, on which she played with new punk, indie and R&B aesthetics. In contrast, Pointy Heights has a diasporic point of view. This culminates as a glorious and easygoing melange of sounds that pay homage to all that has touched and been touched by Afro-Caribbean music. 

Pointy Heights moves like a migration, fluttering through different continents and time periods in its rhythm and instrumentation, picking up new and old things along the way.  On “birds, bees,” Fousheé opens with a distinctly ‘70s American disco-funk bass line. A few tracks later, on “100 bux,” she samples Musical Youth’s iconic ‘80s song, “Pass the Dutchie,” but reimagines it as a sing-songy indie-rock tune. By the middle of the album, Fousheé settles firmly onto the two pillars of the modern Afro-Caribbean sound — ska and reggae. On “war” she delivers the comfort of classic reggae-ska swing, with a sample from Jamaican singer-songwriter Prince Buster, known for his early influence on ska in the ‘60s. 

Yet nothing with Fousheé ever remains as it seems. Even as she gets into the fundaments of ska and reggae, she pulls influence from other places. For example, “rice & peas,” with its unmistakably Jamaican title, has both British synthpop and jazz elements, featuring a synth organ that evokes the sounds of Ethiopian jazz keyboardist Hailu Mergia. As she travels this vast musical terrain, her lyrics reflect this sentiment too. She sings of birds, bees and butterflies, each a symbol of migration:

You're still the one reminding me / That the birds and bees got history / We wrap around like dancing feet / That down bad soliloquy

— “birds, bees”

After her tour through the Caribbean’s musical array, and beyond, Fousheé truly comes home on “still around,” the album’s penultimate track. It’s an exquisitely marbled harmony of styles, anchored by a guitar that strums in a quasi-reggae fashion but has an indie-rock treatment. You’ll also find Afro-folk in the hand drums, R&B in the twinkling keyboard, and funk in the bass runs, all guided by Fousheé’s singular genreless vocals.   

Pointy Heights masterfully blends old and new musical flavors without being overly referential, clunky or overwrought. Fousheé has made something deeply rooted in tradition yet highly original — a balance few people can achieve as excellently as she has. Critics often praise her knack for shape-shifting; Fousheé moves across genres effortlessly, while keeping her core musical identity intact. But this album shows us why she is at home in so many genres. Jamaican music is inextricable from the diverse and culturally rich sounds of the African diaspora, and as such, its unique magic comes from its sprawling musical influence(s). When the music of your people shapes so many parts of the world, it’s no wonder you’d feel at home in so many places.


Fousheé’s Pointy Heights tour kicks off in Dallas on Nov. 19th. Go get your tickets for a taste of Jamaica!

Previous
Previous

The Obscenity of Self in Ethel Cain’s ‘Punish’

Next
Next

Hippo Campus Names “Flood” Their Best Album Ever