I confess to knowing next to nothing about John Butler Burns. This happens sometimes. An artist I’ve never heard before will reach out with the desire to promote a new single or record. No one-sheet. No discernible history to speak of. I’m provided with only the music, which, of course, is what matters most. But still, I’m someone who enjoys and appreciates context, so I ask for some background. Here is how Burns begins his response:

“Blurring the distinction between the grotesque and gorgeous, I create work that situates itself within the instant territory of being aurally repulsive and captivatingly beautiful. This intersection reflects a fascination found in the compounding forces of love and lust.”

This is far more thesis than bio, but listen to the arty post-punk Burns conjures on his debut single “My Love (Is Meant For You)” and you can almost hear the gears turning as he works through something beyond a simple song structure or series of melodies. The work is dramatic; it’s a performance in the grand theatrical sense. Yes, that endlessly looping bass and mechanical beat are familiar enough to absorb the force of guitars buzzing and breaking upon their glassy surface. They are insistent enough to allow for a swollen synth melody to swoop in and seize command for several passages. But the vocals—manic, feverish—are not so easy to contain.

There are times when Burns croons with calm detachment, but they are fleeting. There are times when he sings with bemused wonder, but they also don’t linger. And then there are moments when he sounds like someone tearing apart at the seams and it’s precisely this frenetic outpouring of emotion, this febrile intensity, that sticks with you. But the longer you listen, the more you begin to understand that it’s the mingling of these two forms—the placid and the volatile–that gives the track its power.

In coming to this realization, I’m lead back to Burns’ background statement, his creative treatise, which ends with these words:

“Neither motion can exist without the other; and in the finite moments of infinity where the collision of fever-dreamed nakedskinnedrush and clear lunged exaltation spin into themselves lies the pinpoint for my work.”

And who am I to argue with that?

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SoundCloud: @johnbutlerburns