“Can’t we just talk / Figure out where we’re going?” Khalid questions, as politely as an orphan in “Oliver!” That same patiently-waiting lyrical idea is the topic of “Right Back,” only here done up in weird, whammy-bar electronica with a lower-octave croon from Khalid for deeper, stringer emphasis.Ī similar vocal tenor (low, like Bill Withers) and a detuned, wah-wah-filled backing track (think “Young Americans” played backwards through a filter) allow Khalid to sound luridly sleazy without worrying about that wait. Not only does the syncopated, slab-synth-pop of “Talk” (penned with the UK dance duo Disclosure) apologize “for moving too far” too fast, he sings - through multiple harmony versions of his own voice - that “there’s no reason we should hide” and wants little more than the intimacy of time and patience. Then there is “Better.” The contagious cymbal-dancing, piano-tinkling mid-tempo smoothie with production by the Stargate crew and a Roger-like talk-box solo (makes Khalid seem content about the passion of a secret affair - that is, until he sings “Just hold me in the dark/No one’s gotta know what we do.” Is this undercover affair okay with him? The high school Khalid craved teen love out in the open. “I’ll take you home if you let me / Just promise you won’t forget me,” sings Khalid on the flickering funk-lite of “Outta My Head,” which, despite John Mayer’s withering solo guitar, must be soul music’s most unconfident track. Those same guitars are slowed down and detuned, with a clacking pulse behind them, as Khalid “puts my phone on silent” and tries to go about the business of romance on “My Bad.” Yet he’s thwarted at every turn. “No one really means it when they’re wishing you well / I got no one to call, no one / And people only love you when they’re needing your wealth,” he sings through a tangle of plucky repetitive guitars about the shaky, shallow ground he’s standing on once he’s reached the top. “it’s a shame you don’t want me,” intones Khalid through the tech-y stringed din of “Intro,” before swimming into “Bad Luck” with a mournful falsetto and a bushel-full of doubt.
No longer surrounded by the fellow “young, dumb, and broke” high school pals of “American Teen,” Khalid must wade the machinations of his new world all on his own. This time, though, the problem with being Khalid has at least as much to do with fame and notoriety as the pre-existing condition of restless youth.
But the first album’s sense of anxiety and insecurity remains. Everybody’s got to grow up someday, and for Khalid, two years of maturation has made something of a difference with “Free Spirit.” Here, at 21, the El Paso-raised vocalist and composer kicks - or shuffles - everything up a notch with a handful of fresh producers (including Digi, Charlie Handsome and Hit-Boy), richer, more lustrous sounds, and further explorations into AutoTune.
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