In the act of grieving a loved one, era becomes a confusing double-edged sword. You seek to adapt a future version of yourself less consumed by grief but also realize that in order to become that person, time must pass and you will be further taken from the person you’ve lost. Dexter in the newsagent, alias South London-based R&B singer Charmaine Ayoku, penned her debut mixtape, “Time Flies,“ in the wake of her father’s demise, and the spectre of time and the change it brings haunts the music. These songs are heavy and introspective, a poignant document of a future that feels uncertain and a present that is too painful and too fleeting. Despite its heft, the project remains hopeful, buoyed by an indefatigable commitment to finding and nurturing love amid the loss.
Time Flies commence with Dexter’s most direct statement about her father’s passing and what it means for her future. On “T-shirt,” her voice is gentle and wistful, cutting through a cloud of synth as she sings, “I’ll never get the chance to see your face, feel your embrace.” The song ends with a cadre of different people murmuring “time flies by,” underscoring how daunting it feels for others. Across the mixtape, she worries that the trauma she’s experienced has caused her life to stand still; on “Eighteen” and “Care,” she fears not living up to her potential. On the former song, a lilting ballad reminiscent of 2000s R&B stars like Brandy or JoJo, she laments the understanding she thought she had at 18, singing, “Tell me where the time has gone/I thought I’d know myself by now.” “Care” is one of the heaviest tracks on the record: Over a sparse acoustic guitar line, she admits to feeling she’s “wasting all of my days” and wonders, “If I hurt myself/Will anybody care”?
I’ve often felt women can be especially astute to the effects of passing time, recognizing how it can put our journey toward self-knowledge at odds with our societal worth, which is too often rooted in perceived youthfulness. On “20 Something,” SZA stared down the end of her 20s plagued by the fear that she will lose what she loves most about her life as she ages. On “Life Is,” Jessica Pratt fought to free herself of the anxiety that she’s squandered her potential as era progresses. When dexter sings about her hair turning gray or her panicks of wasting her life, she approaches this fraught dialog with honesty, curiosity, and vulnerability.
Given the gravity of the loss she’s processing on Time Flies, there’s a profound openness in dexter’s approach to romantic love, especially on album highlight “Special.” She blends nostalgia for the warmth of ’00s R&B, the tenderness of PinkPantheress’ honeyed vocals, and earthy finger-picked guitarwork into a track that blossoms like a morning glory at dawn. She describes a budding relationship with a sense of optimism that turns to glowing reassurance, singing, “You’re mine in the morning, I need you like coffee/You’re mine in the evening, I need you like sleeping.” But she doesn’t just exalt the relationship uncritically. She also notices how intense emotion can veer into codependency: “I would give up so much in my life just so I could say you’re mine.”
The best songs on Time Flies pair poised, intentional production with lovestruck euphoria, and the others can’t help but feel lackluster by comparison. Acoustic guitar ballads like “By my side” and “With u” are pretty, but they feel somewhat interchangeable; the dubstep flutter on “Did you try” is distracting rather than additive. But the chorus of “Stranger to love” hits like the first warm day of spring. “I’m not romantic/But I can change if you like/I can’t deny the way I feel/When you look in my eyes,” she sings. It is often said that grief is love persisting, and you hear it in the depth of dexter’s yearning, the way she turns to God for reassurance, the extent to which she feels upstaged and stymied by loss.
