binki's Prince Street Stardust
Music — 07.06.21
Words: Brit Parks
Photographer: Aidan Cullen
21% battery left, 1 subway ride, 1 can of sparkling Rosé, 5 flights of stairs, keys tethered.
And what happens now?
That elusive creature I try to never call by name out loud. Creativity. There is not a prescriptive process or method, must have supply. There is also no calculation, I find myself gushing out Jimi Hendrix is the best guitarist that ever lived and I will fight on that one. Old habits die hard, never, maybe, hopefully. The beauty of the digital wires is you can be two people alone in your respective rooms, respective cities, stripped down for a face show.
binki has been walking 5 flights of stairs for hours. I hear the kind yet apathetic tone in my voice, “That’s life in New York.” I lived there for a decade, it’s a familiar kindness, he’s moved to my old neighbourhood even, I list off extinct rock clubs. When you get thrown a track by a new artist, my test is headphones. In my worldview, headphones never lie. I still maintain my shameless NYC habit of dancing and singing in the streets. binki’s new song “Clay Pigeon” is lit. I feel like I am listening to a record at 4 AM with my friends, The Clash live videos where their call to arms of reggae pushed to London politics is making you sweat, a pulse of disco beats that don’t sound engineered, more Studio 54 B-side.
I can’t help but ask if all these layers are all HIM. binki graciously hushes, “Yeah, you know all these takes, then the first one is the best as it kind of leaves the messy parts in.” Having a plethora of inspiration that you term research is a bit rare. He describes his Bowie fixation like a study of a rare bird, fitting. There is a clinical absolution, and then sheer amazement where we agree Bowie was not entirely human.
We fall into the concept of discipline, we exchange a lot of heartfelt confusion on the historic relationship of musicians and bad lifestyle habits. We don’t conclude. That’s a conclusion. He speaks in spaced out emotion about how we romanticise our heroes, I suspect he thinks that can serve a true purpose. And perhaps reveals how his lack of being judgemental makes room for creating his own language.
binki’s voice is stunning. That’s a stone-cold fact. It tracks in low cool and accented perfect beats. That voice is spilling lyrics, several that involve love being a kind of nauseating sickness. The charm drips further. I listen to his new song “Clay Pigeon” on repeat, the video is saturated in Brooklyn light. It’s a kind of rogue soccer match accompanied by his perfect slide clumsy-like-Chaplin dance moves. There is an air here, an unknown air. I feel like he’s a descendant of rock music, not a rehash. binki is a magnet, I see it, I hear it. A breeze back to Blur deadpan telling us, ‘Tender is the night/Lord I need to find/Someone who can heal my mind/Come on, Come on/I’m waiting for that feeling.’
binki’s EP “Motor Function” comes out this August. His new song and video for “Clay Pigeon” are out now and can be streamed below: