Nick Hakim released his new studio album I Can See on Friday, July 24. This is his fourth album, released through Earseed Records and distributed via Stem.

Nick Hakim is a singer, songwriter, and producer based in Queens. His first album was released in 2014. This album is full of melancholic lo-fi R&B and beautiful songwriting. Each track is slow and subtle, playing into the idea of quiet and introspective thought.

The opening track, I Can See, is pure, simple, and eloquently sad. Nick’s pitched-up voice recalls some of Ryan Beatty’s contributions to other artists’ songs, particularly his falsetto on Tyler, the Creator’s Igor. Know My Name continues within a similar distorted space, with ghosts seemingly wandering around the track, though its approach to love carries the warmth of gentle sunshine. The Reason is also optimistic, but in a strange and distrustful way. The song talks about healing from past wounds and finally opening up to loving someone again after they have hurt you. His vocals resemble female vocal harmonies in a really pretty way.

Endlessly Waiting is restless, dark, and sad in its chords, lyrics, and vocals. It talks about the pain of memories and moments that can never happen again, as much as one wants them to. Many songs on this album, especially this one, share the careful detail of Maribou State’s work, full of samples that have gone through layers and layers of warping and distortion. It makes the music seem like a living being with its own history and story, like reading newspaper clippings in an attic or discovering lost notes between strangers.

That ghostly quality carries into Real Here Now, where the faded piano is beautifully harrowing and plays a crucial role alongside the vocals. The acoustic guitar serves a similar purpose on U Can Make It. At such a low tempo, Nick’s layered vocal doubles and harmonies act almost like strings, bringing an emotive texture to the song. The reverb and studio delay draw out the longing, desperation, and pain in his voice.

River Rising begins ominously, with twisted percussion that recalls BadBadNotGood’s crunchy, heat-warped cassette sound. The comparison fits naturally, as the band previously remixed Nick Hakim’s song Qadir. River Rising explores the nuances of having support when the days are dark, allowing small glimmers of light to enter when he mentions his brother’s guitar playing. Still, much like a James Blake track, the lyrics may be saying one thing while the chords and melody suggest the opposite. The contrast creates a gut-wrenching expectation of loss, almost as though the singer is trying to convince himself of something he does not fully believe.

The small hints of country in Inwego’s meandering guitar lines bring Ryan Beatty’s music to mind. The love, loss, and regret carried through Nick’s vocals and the backing instrumentation speak of grief in a way that specifically recalls Beatty’s Delancey. Hakim’s lyrics move through images of smoke, poisoning oneself, and pain.

While much of the album is shaped by this questioning of oneself, Soft Wet Clay arrives with more confidence through its bolder percussion and bass, even as it maintains the album’s low tempo. A forceful drum fill cuts in near the end, briefly breaking through the quietness of the record. Some of the lyrics are beautifully intimate:

I feel a warmth in your chest, its gentle power.

Nick’s singing on Barii, the song that introduced me to this album, brought me back to Little Dragon’s music. I love their songs for the way they help regulate emotions and serve as reminders that we are all flawed, we all fall flat, and we are all human.

You’re not a machine, you’re just a silly little human being, laughing with your hands on your side.

The pacing and playing almost make you slow your breathing and ascend.

The two tracks that follow are similarly meditative. 7 Days talks about sitting still with only oneself and one’s memories, recalling a place the speaker shared with a lover on a Sunday before May. Water carries a warmth and wholesomeness that brings Mac Ayres to mind. It explores the effort and care required in a relationship, comparing love to nurturing a plant by watering it. While the song is largely happy, small traces of sadness and uncertainty remain, connecting it back to the complicated optimism of The Reason.

The album is an exercise in restraint, tempered emotions, and sitting inside one’s memories. Happy moments turn sad, and sad moments become unexpectedly bright. Nothing is ever completely certain in the world Nick Hakim creates.