“Richard Russell Is Temporary” isn’t made for playlists, it moves as one, shifting through moods and ideas. Each track feels like a piece of something larger, refusing to stand alone, with an all-star lineup of collaborators who aren’t just lending their names, they’re part of the architecture. My And Me is a pitiful piece with thick, gospel harmonies. Sampha’s vocal carries the weight, broken and almost whispered at points, harmonising with Laura Groves in a way that feels half-remembered. The track sounds like it’s holding onto something just out of reach. That tension is intentional. It’s a moment that sets the tone for what follows, raw, unresolved, and unwilling to tidy things up. If you’re still holding onto a formula, this is where you let go. Porcupine Tattoo breaks expectations completely. It’s a blues track at its core, but the pairing of Noah Cyrus and Bill Callahan makes it unpredictable. Cyrus sounds completely removed from the pop sphere, stripped back and deadpan. Callahan, as always, speaks more than sings. His delivery is dry, weighty, almost indifferent, and it anchors the track in a way only he can. Never Felt Better is ambitious and hymn-like, with Sampha and Florence Welch on vocals. Russell has worked with Florence before—she appeared on the Everything Is Recorded debut—and here, her vocal is less dominant, more blended into the structure. It swells and recedes, working with the space rather than filling it. Ether, co-written with Ezra Koenig of Vampire Weekend, leans on contrast. Dry percussion and synthetic clicks cut through the stillness, with Maddy Prior’s voice (of Steeleye Span) drifting in and out, more ghost than guide. It’s a weird, bare track that sounds like it’s missing something, but that’s the effect, it’s uncomfortable remaining just on the edge. Losing You drops the pretence. It’s the closest thing here to a traditional single, with Sampha again at the centre. The rhythm is steady, almost deep house, but warped and underwater. This one hits pretty hard, it doesn’t chase hooks and Sampha probably sounding least like himself with a mostly speaking style of vocal which is quite a refreshing change. Firelight sounds distant, like something from another time. Berwyn and Florence + The Machine trade lines that don’t fully meet. Alabaster DePlume plays through the gaps, his saxophone bringing a kind of melancholy that hangs over the whole thing. The track nearly fades out before it’s finished, like it wants to disappear. No More Rehearsals jumps from one era to another without pause, refusing consistency. Roses Gabor, Jah Wobble, Jack Peñate, and Yazz Ahmed all show up, but you don’t get a sense of order, you get flashes. The track plays out like a half-tuned radio, sometimes clear, sometimes lost in itself, yet it’s totally gorgeous and captivating. You Were Smiling starts fragile, with Samantha Morton on vocals. To say she’s not a singer would do her an injustice, but that’s the appeal. Her voice is unsure, soft, nearly spoken. The percussion clicks like clockwork behind her, mechanical and precise, which makes the vocal feel even more exposed, building slowly, like it’s learning to stand again. Bill Callahan takes centre stage again on Norm. His voice is low and heavy, speaking more than singing. Midway, everything shifts with pieces of Norm Macdonald’s comedy sampled. It’s a bit disjointed but Russell doesn’t really try to shape it. Swamp Dream #3 is jagged and unstable, with Mary in the Junkyard on vocals. The track pushes against itself, horns against fuzzed-out synths, voice against noise, It’s uneasy, gripping and never breaks. The Meadows brings back the vocal harmonies, with Roses Gabor on lead, backed by Kamasi Washington and Rickey Washington. It doesn’t really build to anything, it circles, vocals repeating like a ritual. Kamasi and Rickey are subtle here, like they are playing with the focus on listening rather than dominating. Goodbye (Hell Of A Ride) strips everything down. It closes the album with final words from Nourished by Time. The vocal is casual, almost careless, which is what makes it so sharp. There’s no goodbye, no climax. It just ends. This album needs time to unfold. The moment you try to break it apart, it disappears. It’s almost impossible to pick out favourites, it’s a listening experience all the way through to the end or not at all.