Record Revue: Tommy Atkins, Miko Marks, and Nya

Welcome to Record Revue, an EP and album review series

The year is almost over. I’m not sure how the hell that happened, when 2020 felt like an absolute eternity. With the very last Record Revue installment of 2021, there are three very good, criminally-overlooked records to celebrate. If you’re already feeling the pressures of year-end season, with numerous lists on your docket already, I implore you to give these records from Tommy Atkins, Miko Mark & the Resurrectors, and Nya a chance. You never know, you might discover your new obsession.

Tommy Atkins, Truth Be Told

There’s something wild and unruly running like a wildebeest through Tommy Atkins’ debut record. Truth Be Told quakes with the rush of red-cheeked queer love and inevitable heartbreak (“Kiss Me, Cowboy”), the strain of blue-collar living (“Time of the Month”), and inevitable growing pains (“Met the Man” with Hollier). Atkins etches his words right into your heart, whether he’s imparting a sloshy fairy tale fantasy (“Cinderella’s Had a Drink”) or inviting the ethereal Rissi Palmer for a meditative duet (“It Took a Woman”). Even when he’s rearranging Wham!’s “Freedom” from an elastic club track into a tangy sweet confession, the singer-songwriter barrels you down, flattening your heart right along with his. “I loved you, my friend / And what I wouldn’t give to see you again,” Atkins mourns with closer “Wild in the Wind,” his debut single. Marked with bitter sorrow, the UK singer-songwriter also manages to lace in a droplets of joy, turning his gaze from unimaginable loss to the memories that’ll forever linger in his dreams. Truth Be Told is country music in its purest form — exhilarating, moving, and wondrous.

Miko Marks & the Resurrectors, Race Records EP

Miko Marks’ voice is a matchstick, struck at the right time and it consumes everything around it. With “Foggy Mountain Top,” written by Earl Scruggs, there’s a whimsy to Marks’ inflection, inviting the listener to sail around the world right along with her, whereas an adaptation of The Monroe Brothers’ “Long Journey Home” chug-a-lugs down the railroad tracks with a windy force. Marks sings with precision and passion, but she’s never one to stick rigidly when it comes to infusing tour de force runs and impressing the listener with a sense of tradition and the power of song. “Whiskey River,” a Johnny Bush original, famously cut by Willie Nelson, is another shining beacon. Marks gives you a glimpse into her soul with a true earth scorcher. That’s just her way. She crushes the classics and frames them in the roots of the genre. We all are well aware (or we should be) how white-washed country music has always been; white men have and continue to steal styles pioneered by Black artists and declaring them as their own. Marks’ Race Records harkens to the early days of the genre’s commercialization, when white people made hillbilly music and Black singers, songwriters, and musicians made “race records.” From “Tennessee Waltz,” containing a vocal so sizzling you could refuel the sun itself, to the acoustic-wrought “Hard Times,” there’s no moment to breathe. And that’s ok. Sometimes, you just gotta go along for the thrilling ride.

Nya, Requiem of Me EP

“I would rather be alone,” stings Nya. A simple phrase but razor-sharp, it’s tantalizing like nectar — and wonderfully deceiving. Nya has felt the plummet of heartbreak, writhing in a pit of pain, so she knows better than to let herself become enticed by bad habits and bad relationships. “Won’t Pick Up the Phone” surfaces as a sterling showpiece to Nya’s Requiem of Me, a four-song taste test to her blossoming musicality. With “Little Ole Me,” she further burrows her silky voice in an R&B-coated chrysalis and soon flutters and flits through the air, ever-so smooth and delicate. There’s always a softness draped across the arrangements and productions to allow for Nya to center around her vocal chops. Where “High” jangles with a disco glow, “Lost Girl” radiates a deeply-moving story about child trafficking, laced up with smolder, creamy beats, and moody spheres. “She was only 13, looking for a way out / He said he was 24, trying to put her head in the clouds / She’s another number that we’ll never hear about,” sings Nya with a toothy frankness. Requiem of Me firmly roots in Nya’s personal stories, but it bounds outside of her given moment to encompass a tale of universal sorrow and uncertainty.

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