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The story of BADBADNOTGOOD's *IV* reads like a bittersweet love letter to what could have been. Released in July 2016, this album now stands as a monument to a band that would splinter just two years later when keyboardist Matthew Tavares departed to pursue his Mateus Asato project. Looking back, *IV* feels prophetic—a collection that captured lightning in a bottle precisely because the bottle was already showing hairline cracks.

What makes this retrospective sting particularly sharp is how *IV* represented the Toronto quartet at their absolute peak. The album arrived as the logical evolution of everything BADBADNOTGOOD had been building toward since their humble beginnings as Humber College jazz students jamming out hip-hop covers in dorm rooms. Those early viral videos of them deconstructing Tyler, The Creator and Odd Future tracks seem almost quaint now, but they established the template: take the rhythmic complexity of modern rap and R&B, filter it through serious jazz chops, and emerge with something that shouldn't work but absolutely does.

By 2016, the band had shed their covers-heavy approach for original compositions that felt like transmissions from some alternate universe where J Dilla produced Blue Note sessions. *IV* crystallizes this vision across ten tracks that flow like a fever dream through contemporary instrumental music. The album opens with "And That, Too," a statement piece that immediately establishes the band's evolved sound—Alexander Sowinski's drums hit with the precision of a Swiss watch while maintaining the loose-limbed swing that separates great rhythm sections from merely competent ones. Chester Hansen's bass work throughout the record deserves particular praise, providing the kind of foundation that allows Tavares and saxophonist Leland Whitty to explore without ever losing the plot.

The album's crown jewel remains "Time Moves Slow," featuring Future Islands' Samuel T. Herring on vocals. It's a collaboration that shouldn't work—Herring's theatrical, almost operatic delivery against BADBADNOTGOOD's restrained sophistication—but creates pure magic instead. The track functions as both a perfect encapsulation of the band's ability to blend genres and a meditation on the very temporal anxiety that would eventually pull them apart. Herring's repeated refrain of "time moves slow" takes on almost tragic dimensions knowing what we know now.

"Confessions Pt. II" showcases the band's ability to build tension through restraint rather than volume, with Whitty's saxophone work providing emotional weight that most vocalists would kill for. Meanwhile, "Chompy's Paradise" demonstrates their playful side, built around a groove so infectious it practically demands repeated listens. The Colin Stetson collaboration "Confessions Pt. I" pushes into more experimental territory, with Stetson's bass saxophone creating an almost ritualistic atmosphere that the rhythm section navigates with remarkable intuition.

What distinguished BADBADNOTGOOD from their contemporaries in the so-called "new jazz" movement was their refusal to choose sides between accessibility and complexity. Where some artists in their orbit could feel either overly academic or desperately commercial, *IV* strikes a balance that feels effortless. These are compositions that reward deep listening while never alienating casual fans who just want something interesting playing in the background.

The production, handled by the band themselves alongside Frank Dukes, captures their live energy while adding studio polish that enhances rather than sanitizes their sound. Each instrument occupies its own sonic space without ever feeling isolated, creating the kind of three-dimensional listening experience that makes good headphones feel like an investment rather than an indulgence.

*IV*'s legacy has only grown in the years since Tavares's departure. While the remaining trio continues to tour and record, there's a consensus among fans and critics that they never quite recaptured the particular alchemy that made this album special. It stands as a testament to the power of creative tension—four musicians pushing each other toward something none of them could have achieved alone.

In an era where instrumental music often feels like background noise for productivity playlists, *IV* demands active engagement. It's an album that rewards attention while never feeling like homework, a rare achievement that explains why it continues to find new audiences years after its release. Sometimes the most beautiful art emerges precisely when the artists know, consciously or not, that time is running out.