Grip

Like Deacon before it, Grip suggests serpentwithfeet's confessions and declarations can take many forms, and its light, limber songs don't sacrifice any of his innovation or soul-baring.

Wise's third album is striking not only because of his unparalleled voice or his candid verse, parts of his artistry that already caught our attention on the last two albums, but because of the way these elements come together in such an assured way, in a space that demands swagger bravado from its virtuosos delivered with a welcome vulnerability.

GRIP is more than just a showcase for the return of Black queer spaces. It’s a celebration of the relationships — passionate, platonic, lasting, fleeting, loving, lustful — that these spaces foster.

Wise’s third record is a glossy-smooth addition to a stellar discography, oozing with infectious melodies, tempered production and lashes of sex appeal.

It is a dynamic and sensual album, rich with imagery, peppered with romance, and imbued with joy.

These songs are not as impassioned or ornate as “cherubim” or “four ethers,” but serpentwithfeet hasn’t lost his bite.

On GRIP, the singer-songwriter has a voracious appetite to be loved, but equally apparent is his capacity to give love, too. This is an album of romance and sexuality, but in these general terms is a symphony of emotions and feelings.

For all of the album's lushness, Grip may be most defined by its unabashed lustfulness. [May 2024, p.39]

The sounds can seem a bit insubstantial when compared to his earlier work, like 2018’s Soil, where serpent angled to suffocate the listener in raw emotion. But he eventually finds a nice groove that yields rewards. [Mar 2024, p.59]

Grip is OK, but it should make more sense on stage.