"Do you wanna go to hell, children, with Adeem the Artist? Gonna dance around on the fiery ground." I'm not sure Adeem exactly planned to have their music fit perfectly for an apocalyptic, smoke-filled atmosphere, but here we are. At least with Adeem, I'll have some damn fine tunes to enjoy while choking on Canadian ash.
Then again, "from the ashes" sort of feels like the story Adeem is telling us. Throughout the album, Adeem grapples rather stunningly with a range of sociopolitical issues ("But white men would rather give the devil praise than acknowledge a Black man's worth) along with deeply personal journeys around identity and heartache ("Everyone gather 'round, we got another one here. It's got the pronouns listed, it's a genuine queer"). And frankly, this is where straightforward country music storytelling really comes in handy. They don't mince words. They tell you exactly how things are. The good, the bad, and the very ugly.
In delivery, Adeem the Artist is very country—and in subject matter, they are oh so un-country (broadly speaking) all at once. That very tension of a queer, gender nonconforming artist in a famously straight, white (stolen from Black artists), blue collar musical landscape is what makes the music so arresting. The unbelonging. "I am worried for my children" is a sentiment any American parent might opine. And yet.
There's also a softness to the album, a need for self-compassion—which reminded me very much of MUNA's "Kind of Girl." The quiet solitude of an empty church, a wide open field under a hot sun. It's all in there too.
"Middle of the Heart" will sit with me for a while, and the album is one I do intend to return to. Maybe when our own skies have cleared a bit.
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