by David Wilikofsky
I have a love-hate relationship with narratives surrounding albums. I’m genuinely interested in an artist’s intent, but it’s often hard to tell whether these stories are true or just a cynical marketing ploy to package the artist for public consumption. For Those I Love, the self-titled debut album from Dublin musician David Balfe, is the rare album where the backstory feels self-evident when you hear the music. Balfe began recording electronica experiments that form the foundation of the project while playing in a band called Burnt Out. He conceived of it as an ode to friendship, especially the one between him and his best friend and bandmate Paul Curran. Curran tragically passed away in 2018, and both his life and death cast a shadow over this album. It’s a love letter to friendship as well as an elegy for Curran.
Balfe builds instrumentals out of vocal samples, dance beats and old recordings of his friends which he half raps and half talks over. Sonically the closest comparison I can think of is Mike Skinner (who even gets a shoutout on “You Live / No One Like You”), but Balfe’s music is far more vulnerable and emotionally raw than anything Skinner has done. This is apparent from the first cut on the album, “I Have A Love.” Balfe professes his love for Curran and expresses the pain left in the wake of his death. Late in the song, Balfe remembers playing the same instrumental we’re listening to for Curran before his death: “A year ago I played this song for you on the car stereo in the nights breeze this bit kicked in with its synths and its keys and you smiled as you sat next to me you in the front giddy in the backseat going ninety to the sounds as we ride down the street.” The synths begin in earnest soon after, and it feels as if we’re swept up in them along with Balfe and Curran. It’s a moment that brings a whole new level of intimacy to everything that came before it and perfectly prepares you for the emotional rollercoaster to come.
The album covers a lot of territory. You get glimpses of Balfe’s childhood, his relationships, and the ways he coped with Curran’s death. There’s not a bad track here, but “Birthday / The Pain” might be my favorite. It recounts shocking childhood traumas (including finding a dead body lying outside his home) and bleak circumstances juxtaposed with moments of release and relief. Those moments happen with his friends at the pub where “the songs sound fun and you dance with your mates and it’s grand until the next day.” As he speaks this line the song erupts into a euphoric chorus, bringing you straight into that crowded room amongst that love and camaraderie. This is the true power of Balfe’s art; just as on the first track, words and sound come together as more a memory than a song. Each one is a self contained world, a perfectly rendered window into Balfe’s mind and life.
The album comes full circle on the last track. Balfe intones “I have a love and it never fades” just like he did in its opening moments, and the album serves as a testament to that. Balfe has crafted a beautiful tribute to Curran (and all his friends) as well as a heartbreaking work of art. I guarantee it’s one of the best things you’ll hear this year.