A mixed bag by name, perhaps, but certainly not by quality. For its second release, Créme Club hands the reins to San Francisco-based Natebytheway, an artist already woven into the young label’s story through his contribution to its inaugural various artists release. Now returning for Créme Club’s first full-artist EP, Nate stretches out across four tracks that capture different shades of his wonderfully idiosyncratic approach. Grooves twist, vocals appear from unexpected corners, melodies drift between deep and playful, and underneath it all sits that unmistakable sense that these records were made by someone who understands exactly how much fun a dancefloor can be.
“Wow Says The Italian” makes its intentions clear from the beginning. A crunchy, grooving bassline takes control while Nate’s own vocals add personality around its edges, setting up a track that already feels comfortably locked in before revealing its finest trick. A longer break gradually removes that certainty, holding things back just long enough for anticipation to take over. And then comes the wow. The bassline returns alongside deep, beautifully judged chords, suddenly giving the track an enormous sense of forward motion without resorting to an oversized drop. It’s that rare club moment where nothing particularly excessive needs to happen for everything to feel bigger—the release of tension dancers have somehow been waiting for without knowing it. Powerful, playful, and remarkably controlled, the A1 is an immediate highlight.
“That P” approaches its own moment rather differently. Vocoded vocals open proceedings before subtle percussion begins assembling the track piece by piece, leaving the low end conspicuously absent. Almost a minute passes before the bassline finally arrives—and once again, Nate understands the pleasure of making us wait. Its entrance transforms the track immediately, settling into one of those distinctly Natebytheway grooves that seems loose and effortless while remaining completely focused on movement. Deeper chords add warmth around the edges, while a small break briefly interrupts the flow before everything slips comfortably back into place. Another wow moment, but achieved through patience rather than force.
Turning the record over, “A Tale Of A Delayed Idol” shifts attention away from the melodic character of the A-side and towards rhythm itself. Initially the most instrumental of the four cuts, it strips things back to groove, peculiar little sounds and unexpected intermezzi that continually appear and disappear around the central pulse. Nate’s vocals inevitably find their way inside eventually, but they feel more like another rhythmic texture than the track’s defining feature. There’s a wonderfully odd quality to the whole thing: little details keep nudging the groove sideways without ever knocking it off course. Where the A-side seduces through chords and carefully timed moments of release, the B1 simply gets its head down and moves.
“Flashion” provides the exhale. A deeper melody immediately softens the edges, bringing the EP towards a more laid-back space without abandoning the personality established across the previous three tracks. Nate’s vocals return once more, drifting through an arrangement that feels less concerned with generating dancefloor pressure and more interested in atmosphere and feeling. Yet it never sounds detached from the club; rather, it belongs to a different hour of it—the beginning, perhaps, or those moments when the room needs space before moving somewhere else. Warm, deep and gently introspective, it’s a fitting way to let A Mixed Bag settle.
And perhaps that’s ultimately where the title makes the most sense. Natebytheway hasn’t delivered four versions of the same club record, but four different tools for four different situations: the controlled explosion of “Wow Says The Italian”, the patiently unfolding funk of “That P”, the oddball rhythmic workout of “A Tale Of A Delayed Idol”, and the deeper landing of “Flashion”. Together they make A Mixed Bag the kind of record that can keep finding its way back into the bag precisely because there isn’t only one moment in which to play it. For Créme Club’s first full-artist outing, it’s difficult to imagine a more fitting statement.
Words by Holger Breuer
Torture the Artist 