Long overdue. The sentiment remains prevalent when discussing the ever-prolonged delays of Florida native, alternative phenom, Dominic Fike’s debut album, ‘What Could Possibly Go Wrong’. Irrespective of the period of discovery, both those familiar with the initial, abrupt birth of the enigmatic rapper, turned rock star, and those who blindly stumbled upon him through industry advertisement have craved his transcend into a formally recognised big picture project. The year is now 2020, and after almost a full 2 years of dormant silence between breakout releases Fike satiates the starving desires of fans worldwide. Those aware of his previous output remain well adept and familiarised with his usual eclectic and genre-bending approach to the alternative genres of rock, pop and rap all alike, yet on ‘What Could Possibly Go Wrong’, Fike seemingly deviates from his rap roots and undergoes his transition into fully-fledged alternative pop-rocker.
Despite having reveled in constant concentrated appraisal, speculative fears and worries of the world over are brought to fruition, as Fike’s active pursuit to conform to the singular aesthetic sees his multifaceted talents condemned. Where previous endeavours would suggest a sustained appreciation of juggling such influences a logical conclusion, Fike subverts this trail of thought. Sacrificing his previous tendencies to mould a flirtatious balance of several genres at once, Fike’s return is stained with an overbearing saturation of cliched alt-rock aesthetics, met with tasteless and unrevised elements of pop. In a cynical and pessimistic way ‘What Could Possibly Go Wrong’ teases a sense of comical irony as virtually everything that feels imbued with the opportunity to do so, proceeds to spiral into a falsified, abhorrent mess. Dipping into moments of downright deplorable and ugly traits, the amateurish practice feels too out of reach for the songster.
Exempt from the general cliched and overly cheap sensations that plague the album all over is the opening track, ‘Come Here’. Defined by conformity to a nocturnal and outlandish sense of emotional agitation, Fike yearns for the comfort and presence of a supposed companion or loved one. Extracting a hellish sense of dejection, the instrumental follows in a similar vein. Light up by the blistering rage and eerie cascading descents of electric guitars, Fike creates a torturous existence in which his existential cries remain forever unanswered. The track feels like an outlier as it seemingly encapsulates the album’s desired sound, yet remains as one of the few examples that find peace in Fike’s new formula.
Fike wastes no time in further magnifying the aforementioned antithesis-like statement as the album’s subsequent tracks struggle to capture the implicit intensity. Unrefined and struggling with its role in constructing the album’s overall identity is ‘Double Negative (Skeleton Milkshake)’. Defined by a related set of tropes that satisfy the overarching blueprint of the album, yet lackluster and carelessly tedious in construction, the track feels like an example of filler so early into the album as well. It feels like a particularly unrevised and vaguely derivative means of hosting all the defining characteristics of pop-rock crossovers, yet neglected with the necessary care to satisfy the blend. These failures aren’t purely restricted to the more rock-oriented cuts, as ‘Good Game’, Fike’s ode to remembering his roots and avoiding the arrogance of fame, shares a similar uncurated nature. On this occasion, however, Fike exercises a continual miscalculation of the album, as his vocals feel restricted, almost to the degree of sparse and vapid presence. It is through the scarce nature and hollow disconnect of an otherwise inextricably linked narratorial persona and storyteller that deprives the lyrical progression of impassioned and connective roots.
It is through the strenuous and sustained absence of Fike’s vocals in which track cohesion and direction are often sacrificed. Where previous admiration and praise within the minute Dominic Fike discography was granted to his often pre-eminent, zany vocal performances, ‘What Could Possibly Go Wrong’ undermines the importance of such adventurous extravagance. An extension of the identified lack of direction is the track ‘Whats For Dinner?’. Built upon a spine of emphatic bass embellishments, constantly looped with an incapacitating sense of infectious bliss, the organic and opportunistic growth of the track is purely restricted to it’s orchestrated production. Swamped out with unflattering dreary refrains, minimalistic in impact, and far too distant to leave a lasting impact, the track lacks that sense of decadent, boisterous energy Fike has otherwise associated with. The audience is later plagued with a near-exact replica of the plethora of shortcomings on the track ‘Joe Blazey’. In addition to the aforementioned blankness and null void Fike insists on creating, are the ever-persistent pitch-shifted, chipmunk vocals. The track leaves me in two minds, struggling to decipher whether the onslaught of cartoonish irritatence, or absence of enthralling catharsis comes off as the more inexcusable of two evils.
Fike creates a conflict of interest by persisting and demanding that all his experimentations make the final cut. Such inefficient and blatant lack of authoritative refinement wears on listeners, as the inclusion of these cuts leaves a taunting and glorified taste of a more logical representation and continuation of Fike’s eclectic and untamable sound. Although effectively existing as pointless filler, and a liability to the overall cohesion of the project given its deviation from an otherwise distinct streamlined progression of alt-rock, is the interlude ‘10x Stronger’. The euphoric cut excels as a representation of a blissful dream, with its angelic, naive vocal ‘doo-doo’s’ and luxurious string reprisal. It feels like such a wasted motif given its grandiose stature and ability to prevail even when suppressed by the more cliche and tasteless cuts. Basking in a similar blissful, embracive nature is the album’s lead single ‘Chicken Tenders’. Where the more rock-oriented cuts leave me feeling deprived of artistic venture, and instead granted this sense of chilling desolation in which Fike himself is unsure of the outcome, ‘Chicken Tenders’ feels like the natural successor and extension of the sounds Fike has previously operated with. Exhibiting his natural quirks and zany vocal inflections, the track is packed with character. Additionally pampered with flamboyant, palpitating synth lines that bring a certain colour to the track, Fike’s ode to a luxurious and lavish intimacy with his lover is that refreshing return to familiar form. Despite the incoherent failures to comply and organically meld into the crafted sounds and schematics of the album, it feels refreshing to hear moments in which Fike hits his stride and injects moments of exuberant colour and character into his newly found sound.
Flawed by vague, nondescript writing, with previously identified issues certain tracks have nowhere to hide. These issues are multiplied by tenfold when taking into account just how short a majority of the tracks are. On more than one occasion ideas are prematurely cut to usher in whatever initially frivolous transition Fike deems suitable, only to squander and stunt potential development. ‘Superstar Sh*t’ falls victim to both simultaneously, standing out as the most neglected track on the body of work. With its lyrical content concerned with the guilty, simple pleasures that have been deprived of any and all meaning in the absence and aftermath of intimate turmoil, the song comes from a place of passion but when pit against the reality of just how many times the song has been replicated, it fails to remain a noteworthy rendition. The absence of vivid and intricate nuances aren’t the only downfall of the song, as the sheer irritants of the unstomachable, pitch-shifted vocals that gnaw away at one’s sanity make a glorified return, only to once again dissolve any and all sonic pleasantries.
It isn’t truly until the back end of the project when we see Fike enter his proposed sense of structural and instrumental elegance. It feels as if the project has so little to offer, what with its grueling demands to wade through the begrudging and criminally underappreciated imbalance of rock and pop filler that lacks refinement and direction, with it’s only pay off coming into fruition on the last leg. ‘Politics & Violence’ serves as a testament and tangible proof of success through the experimental exercises Fike undergoes on the project. Defined by its forlorn and poignant synth refrains, the track exhibits a masterful cinematic arrangement of constantly evolving and ebbing refrains that orchestrate the grandiose heights of the song’s sentiments. Those being the transgressions of an emphasis on the bliss of love. The euphoric narratorial tables are turned on yet another standout cut ‘Wurli’. Here, Fike reconciles with his inner worth, as he reflects upon the abusive neglect and absence of sympathetic passion within a relationship he feels all but trapped and used in. Such emotive dejection is captured by Fike’s weeping refrains and delivery that strike a particularly ghostly and harrowing chord of resonance. This motif is accentuated by the equally chilling and tumultuous distorted, bellowing synths that shred throughout. At the end of it all, I am simply left scratching my head as to why such intricate and lavish precautions weren’t applied and spread throughout the album. It’s simply mind-boggling as Fike clearly exhibits his talents for storytelling and expansive cinematic scapes, yet relegates such to the dying moments of the project.
After years of tentative anticipation, the conclusive fruition and exhibition of Fike’s talents in a more complete and gargantuan pedigree is riddled with shortcomings and miscalculations. Where previous suits would demand Fike to excel vocally, constantly incorporating and developing an array of inflections and styles ‘What Could Possibly Go Wrong’ celebrates a woeful detachment, as Fike remains easily the least pronounced element of his work. Deprived of his usual zany traits and charisma and character-filled energy the body of work feels like a misrepresentation and waste of what could’ve been. In many ways, I wish Fike had pursued and shaped up to be a disciple or replicator of the contemporaries that shone light on him, namely Brockhampton, as it would at least have been a distinct and focused style. Something that feels nulled here. My fears of the elongated passage of passing time between releases working against Fike may have been all but certified as ‘What Could Possibly Go Wrong’ acts as the bleating whim that condemns Fike to the forgotten depths of an oversaturated industry.
What Could Possibly Go Wrong – Dominic Fike – 3/10
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