Happy 10th Anniversary to Amel Larrieux’s fifth studio album Ice Cream Everyday, originally released October 22, 2013.
Congratulations. You chose the least unbiased writer ever to extol the virtues of an Amel Larrieux album. A couple factors wonderfully ruin my impartiality.
First, I’m a day-one fan who’s explored each peak and crevasse of her career since her Groove Theory breakthrough in 1995. After awaiting the group sequel that never became, her solo debut Infinite Possibilities (2000) was a revelation. That eclectic blend of R&B and jazz swam nicely in the rising neo-soul waters of the time, but mainstream was not her goal. So she left Epic Records to form indie label Blisslife with husband and creative partner Laru Larrieux. On their own terms, they tendered the critically acclaimed Bravebird (2004), its progressive follow-up Morning (2006), and a quaint, trio-backed jazz detour Lovely Standards (2007).
Second, I worked with the Larrieuxs, designed cover art for Morning and was thrilled when they hired me for Amel’s fifth album. I was given a few raw photographs and free creative reign, but no clue of the record’s sound (Laru notoriously guards his process). After trying a bevy of treatments on the gorgeous image, I wasn’t sure what to do next until I looked up at my favorite Chaka Khan LP framed and hanging on the wall.
As a joke, I mocked up the Richard Seireeni and Tim Wild design of What Cha’ Gonna Do For Me with Amel’s image and she loved it. Unbeknownst to me, she had been covering Khan’s “I Know You, I Live You” in concert. Amel Larrieux projects usually bear grandiose and intrepid names, but I was rather perplexed by this one. Why Ice Cream Everyday?
“I was having a [rough] day, and I was like, ‘Ugh, I just wish I could eat ice cream every day!’” Amel explained. “In the interim, I found out I was completely lactose-intolerant.” Being denied this confection inspired a shift to focus on allowable daily indulgences. Laru forwarded me a list to incorporate into the artwork: “Singing, journaling, painting, forgiving others, chi gong, tonglen, less computer, less phone” and the index continued on. It recalled a biblical parallel: “Love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.”
From this came Ice Cream Everyday, a tumbling, alternative R&B paean to emotional fearlessness, mastery of self, and the clash of the spiritual with the mundane. The mundane act I least expected her to start with? Sex.
Sex was never foremost in her artistry until “Afraid.” This rollerskate-able radio jam, springs along with a concrete beat and spacious, churning keys. The language employed swings nimbly from heady infatuation (“Almost walked into a wall, imagining your embrace”), into attraction (“Want you to press against me like if you don’t you’ll die”), and mounting passion (“The blood rushes into each place as if you were here”).
Listen to the Album:
Forging further, “A Million Sapphires” boasts an intergalactic beat that gathers as much from Led Zeppelin’s “When the Levee Breaks” as Biz Markie’s “Make The Music With Your Mouth, Biz.” Its imposing, metallic score glows fiery red against cryptic lyrics (“In the miracle that is this beautiful emotion / Life is breathing with us / You the pranayama / and me the body filled with all the healing energy”). Oversimplified, pranayama in yoga is the life-giving power of breath. Of course, breath enters the body with intention. It’s an elegant metaphor for… “entrances” leading to a specific type of “arrival.”
There’s only the slimmest chance “Sapphires” is not about the female orgasm. As Minnie Riperton maintained of her richly erotic “Inside My Love,” Mrs. Larrieux could still assert that her meaning surpasses others’ basest interpretations. I could promise to listen and nod, but that’s about all. Lest you think her crude, she offers the gentle doo-wop bop of “Ur the Shhh…” as an endearing apology (“There are some things that beg / To be said without subtlety”).
Her bashful charm there likely grants her the object of her desire, but not on “You Don’t See Me” where she’s understandably indignant toward the crush who somehow misses her affection. Meanwhile, its artful clamor of drums join a Dilla-messy bassline to create ‘90s bounce with 2000s technique. That bounce turns futuristic on the amorous “Berries and Cream,” then gets downright psychoactive as “Trapped Being Human” flips those vocals into a subterranean dub. Laru’s adventurous production is a hallmark of Ice Cream Everyday and most often, his risks pay off big.
For instance, the filter-destroyed drum loop at the start of “Danger” seems to predict another house moment like “Bravebird.” Instead, a fire blanket of restless guitar layers atop it, keeping its flames to a controlled smolder. The hushed paranoia of this oddity is dually entrancing and chilling, an admonition from an apparition. Ghostly gospel harmonies ensue, ancestral and sobering—ascending, receding—hoping to be heeded. While these warnings to “watch what you say” are figurative, “Moment to Reflect” is pointedly literal. Never have I so politely and catchily been told to STFU.
It works well, as does the minimally adorned, anti-beautiful nuptial anthem “I Do Take.” While ‘80s-reminiscent, new wave pads swirl like iridescent colors on an oil slick, droplets of clipped snare and guitar strums fleck onto its surface. The verses vibrate with muted hope and faith. When she declares she feels “like there’s enough love in the world / to heal every wound inside / like there really is a god,” you feel it too.
Although Amel Larrieux is dutiful to project strength and fidelity, she’s strongest when brandishing vulnerability. She confronts lightweight insecurity on the jaunty, woman-child confessional “Have You.” The weight is heavier on “Don’t Let Me Down,” also featured in the 2014 film Beyond the Lights. This ballad grapples with believing in love and goodwill after a lifetime of disappointments. It is in this fragile state where she shines not just as an artist, but as a human hoping for the best for humanity.
“I’ve been an avid practitioner of meditation because I was a super nervous, anxious kind of person,” Amel offers. “What you do is you try to be present. When you [do], you get to be a more chilled out person. And the more of us that are more chilled out, the more happy we are as a world community.”
She encourages this most unconventionally on “Orange Glow,” first launched as a single in March 2009. The lyric was inspired by a guided meditation inviting the listener to imagine their body filled with warm, liquid light from head to toe, but then it adds an attitudinal mothership funk that would make George Clinton proud. Your chakras may align, but nothing else will sit still. Amel nearly sacrifices her larynx to attack the bridge like a stage-humping “Darling Nikki” performance. Comparatively robotic and rendered vacant of hi-hats, the existential “See Where You Are” sounds like the mindfulness it espouses. Though understated, it elicits repeat play with satisfying layers of vocal counterpoint.
Despite vast merit, Ice Cream Everyday did not chart, had no videos, precious little promotion, and to many, may not exist at all. Its national release was canceled in favor of direct sales via Blisslife’s now-defunct website. Consequently, the physical CD is now a rarity fetching nearly $100 per copy. Unfortunately, this means the handiwork I’m so proud of remains unseen by most. And it’s not the only missing element of concern.
“Lay down your pencil / Computer off / Say not a word / Get out of your car / Step away from your desk / Don’t look at the clock / Stand there in silence / And see where you are / Do you like it?” As if she wrote “See Where You Are,” then dared to actually live it, Amel Larrieux hasn’t released music since 2013 or toured since 2018, and has largely vacated all social media. Her entreaty that we unplug from the modern world perhaps wasn’t just idle poetry.
In the absence of new releases from the originator, it’s comforting to hear Amel-isms from newer artists. Sometimes they appear in Solange Knowles’ glassy falsetto. Most recently, I warmed quickly to Cleo Sol’s Heaven due to her warm, soft alto occupying similar frequencies as her musical foremother. There is no substitution for the original. And should this be the cap on her recorded discography, in another ten years, it will still be something we can enjoy. Everyday.
Listen: