AFX - Orphaned Deejay Selek 2006-2008 [EP]
Well, this is the Aphexer we're talkin' about here, so undoubtedly it's got a barrelful of fun sounds, dense+restless grooves, enigmatic omnipotence -- but accepting this release as something other than a transient compilation of wonted leftovers that could've just as easily ended up Soundcloud-freebies is going to take some convincing. Particularly as a ~$15 EP that's been plopped alongside the only-7-month old riskier venture from his more-renowned moniker: a costly short-play in itself, but at least one with some semblance of neoteric intent. 5.5/10
Akhlys - The Dreaming I
A deep dark plunge into an infernal vacuum that is bloodcurdling, all-consuming, and curiously accommodating for 5 tracks / 45 minutes of black metal. Though its environment seems inflexible when compared to, say, Leviathan's 'Scar Sighted', this still summons up an admirably hellish aura that spares plenty of room for bleak ambiance and dizzied horror-guitar-pierce within the heavily massive atomization and witch-shrieks. 7.5/10
Alabama Shakes - Sound & Color
Wreaking some havoc in the americana/roots rock world; genres all-too-generally associated with overblown corn and hackneyed songwriting - traces of which are substantially absent here. They cook up a sound-combo so vibrantly vintage+radiantly modernized and perform with sweaty-garage good-natured passion; plus through all the charismatic wails, big-stage slaughterers, psych-outs and slow achers, it's the fast+friendly punky rager that earns the prestigious title of "The Greatest". A band whose commercial recognizance and success not only is well-deserved, but also a declaration of hope in the continuance of quality and innovation in the ol' dinosaur that is rock n' roll. 7.5/10
The Amazing - Picture You
Warm, delicate and hazy, this is tastefully played sad+sprawly psych-folk whose meekness can't come close to upholding the ambition: 10 songs in 65 minutes worth (oof), each one of them beautifully indifferent and softly treading at a snail's pace. Conceivable for classy-cafe atmosphere, if a barista remembers to lower the volume for pop-up extremities (spoilers: noise segment and eruption into crushing 70's acid-rock freakout). 6/10
Aphex Twin - Computer Controlled Acoustic Instruments Pt. 2 [EP]
It seems like maybe around 75% of the total effort put into this EP went into the first track, and definitely around 75% of the total tracks on this EP are hardly songs at all - but I do get a kick out of ol' Ricky D. toying around with this awkwardly plain soundscape and understated equipment, and most of the resulting oddball-cyborg-piano configurations creeping around within. And I'm okay with computers doing most of the work - from the background-sound of it, this guy's got kids and maybe a dog to tend to anyway. 7/10
Arcane - Known/Learned
What originally sounded like stale shlock eventually transformed into pleasant polish, and I got past the leviathan length and shaky concept - partly from taking it one disc at a time, but mostly because, well, the songs are great, even if 90% of them are overlong. Their classily restrained prog rock weaves from the softest of soft acoustics and piano to soaring mellotron symphonics to the heavy stuff with fluidity and expertise, the lack of production-gimmickry is admirable, and of course the vocalist: a sappy and skillful beaut indeed, whose range can take him from genteel+angelic falsetto to triumphant+shirtless mountain man yell. 7/10
Ash Koosha - GUUD
At times it'll keep a sensible beat, deformed voice snippets can haphazardly form some semblance of melody. But principally this is an abstract blob of bizarro-space-synth wonder, satisfying squishes, disturbingly deep bass, and course sounds for sounds-sake: dog barks, reverse chatter, car-starts, and lotsa etceteras join hands with high-pitched blips and bloops and bubblies. Sure, its otherworldly chopped-up charisma is enchanting enough -- but so disorienting, too -- yeah, did I mention the entirety of this sounds sped up somehow? Or how the tracks all seamlessly-yet-confusedly mush into each other? It's either disheveled or elaborate or genius or arduous or all of the above. 5.5/10
Felicia Atkinson - A Readymade Ceremony
There's no mistaking it - this is art-rock minus the rock, so much so that some sections may be minus the art, too. Dread and mystery loom over the entirety of this avant-garde haunted-house score whose magnetism comes from her unique+subtle use of rando-sound-hushery - fuzzy-static-attacks and industrial pulses+ticks are rendered cushiony soft, ominous synths+piano plunks abound, unpredictable splashes of French-accented-spoken-word/page-flutters/footsteps/zippers/whathaveyou are used for eerie coloration. "L'Oeil" for example puts you in a bomb shelter during a tornado while she whispers a books-worth of layered cryptic mantras in your ear ("Hang by the shower curtain's rod" "I wish I was a house") followed by a slipshod spoon-on-glass coda. And that's the ten-minute centerpiece: "2nd track of the compilation". 7/10
An Autumn For Crippled Children - The Long Goodbye
The compressed+processed nature and all-too-abrupt blasts of distortion layers can grate, the black-gaze screech feels a bit by-the-numbers, the eyebrow-raising band name makes 'em a tough sell - but they conjure up admirable atmospheres, they're great at utilizing haunting+ambient new wave synth, and whether it's fast+energetic or soaring-sadness-crawl they always send it ripping towards the skies. Oh and the drumming. Pretty good drumming. 7/10
Aux Field - Imaginable Layers
Imaginable Layers indeed: I envision being sucked through outer space in slow motion during most of these engrossing synth-layers. Plenty of hypnotic and stretched out waves-of-sounds, yet every track is distinct (most even have a beat of sorts), and an exceptional balance is struck between ambient+relaxing and complex+dense - it's just as pleasing to attentively explore as it is to fall asleep with. 8/10
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Daniele Baldelli - Cosmic Drag
Pre-listen, my silly American assumptions led me to believe that Daniele Baldelli's 'Cosmic Drag' was most likely the work of a folkie female songwriter who was feeling down in the dumps - as it turns out, HE is a legendary sixty-something-year-old Italian DJ / proclaimed pioneer of the electronic Afro/Cosmic genre. Being so dead-wrong about this was like unexpectedly stumbling into a dance-club from another dimension. Though rooted in the 70's, these vibrant fat-space-funk instrumentals sound futuristic and fresh, are too weird for disco and too bouncy for kraut but utilize both, and consistently showcase impeccable layering and fun-tastic grooves that are, when at their best, downright savory. The apathetic sequencing actually does cause some Drag (how the last three tracks aren't stuffed upfront is beyond me), but it's more-than-fine as a classic collection of Cosmicality: one that not only carries with it 45 years experience in electronic music, but also, imaginably - and refreshingly - doesn't seem to have much to prove. 8/10
Courtney Barnett - Sometimes I Sit and Think, and Sometimes I Just Sit
I can enjoy me some logorrhea, and while her brand is impressive in a technical way, often the rambling within rests in the realm of wince-worthy rather than whimsical - any charisma is relinquished by it being constantly delivered oh-so-unflatteringly-flat. I can enjoy me some typical sorta-catchy garage-alt too - but the transparence and 6+minute dragger-efforts here can make it difficult. 5.5/10
Mark Barrott - Sketches From an Island 3 [EP]
The a-side follows the title to a novel T and wouldn't seem out of place on a Donkey Kong Country soundtrack -- the second song's exploratory jungle-romp trumps the first's cruise line-ad fodder, but both instrumentals are mellifluously rich and organic enough to persuade even the most hard-nosed cynics that they're not just sojourning in some exotic domain, but are full-on frolicking alongside cackling monkeys. Still, it's the kind of curiosity-listen best reserved for uber-specific contexts: blanket-wrapped on a frigid winter night with the heat cranked while dreaming of warm days to come, en route to a sunny haven as a sort of pre-game pump-up. So the subtler b-side's probable ability to fly on any ol' garden-variety non-island-themed release comes as open-ended relief -- with mellifluous richness kept in tact, and some light bird-tweets to keep you company. 6/10
Battles - La Di Da Di
Voiceless math-strut-rotes held together by bubblegum pep and John Stanier's always-a-pleasure drumming, remaining instrumentalists merrily+melodically transmogrifying into each other while sustaining that playful+busy sound-throng hustle. A bit spotty, yes, begins to blur by the second half, sure. Pretty piquant for a putative comfort zone, though. 7/10
Beach House - Depression Cherry
The systematically churned-out niche being transmitted here is all-too-cautiously measured doses of molasses-drip pop, its crystalline tones and dream-drones and apathetic drum-programming languidly suspended in time. Toss in Victoria Legrand's cherubic vocals and altogether it paints an unquestionably pretty picture -- but one I wish wasn't so complacent within its dead-set aesthetic. On the flip-side of all the floaty ascension there's all this enervated immobility. How about a wee bit of agitation, or a risk here and there? Hey, just throwing "Sparks" somewhere towards the end instead would've lent some assistance. 6/10
Beach Slang - The Things We Do to Meet People Who Feel the Same
Fervid aliveness-devotee-frontman James Alex reveals his 41 years from his immovable worn+torn delivery, but on paper he reads like the overzealous naiveté of a young-buck-punk who sees pure volume, inebriated bliss, and music-in-general as perpetual life-forces worth dedicating his entire being to, for better or worse. Which makes the concision of this concentrated package-o-passion all the more rational: you get the feeling their all-around frankness partially stems from eagerly savoring the same wild nightlife-hazes and noisy shimmer-heavens they sing about and play aloud; too caught up in being young-n-alive to muster much more than direct+assertive sub-3-minute-tunes. But an acoustic/piano/cello ballad-as-centerpiece and lines like: "I try to write, try to use my brain / But every time I try my heart gets in the way" are strong tip-offs towards being consumed in sheer emotion enough to where they just can't be bothered to embellish. Good-to-Know Line #2: "Most of the words get stuck in my mouth / But I mean all the ones that punch their way out". Nuff said. 7.5/10
Belle and Sebastian - Girls in Peacetime Want to Dance
Though nearly every track is overlong and the songwriting is a bit by-the-books, this is still the beautifully vocalized and effortlessly lush Belle and Sebastian we all know and love. And while the disco dance floor-rousers aren't quite their forte, the efforts here are appreciated - the standout of which manages one hell of a coda and compares love to a frog that's been misunderstood. 6/10
Bjork - Vulnicura
Beware: it's looong, it's challenging, and it's a break-up album; an appropriately disjointed one to boot. The many deep and complex stretches of glitchy electronics and choppy strings that never quite synchronize while Bjork somewhat haphazardly Bjorks it up are just-about-always emotionally heavy, difficult, at times disorienting; but consistently engrossing and decently varied. But what really brings this together is the real life rollercoaster pacing; the before/during/after of aforementioned break-up and the mood changes that come with it are a mastery of flowage and help this pill go down. 8/10
The Black Dog - Neither/Neither
The electronic expertise of these ebon-pup-vets shines through, but real ear-catchers are rather intermittent: the title track's sparse sway-beat+lone-pitch synth-scream buildup, the magnetic "Them" with its ninja-esque scratch-clips, the explosion-fraught closed-off-room rave-jerk of "Commodification". Their dark+sedulous gamut that stretches from ambient to no-nonsense-boogie-worthy caters to/should placate those seeking to scratch a multifaceted techno-itch, but between the full-package glut and interludial bog-down, someone somewhere's attention is gettin' sapped. Given most of the beats, I'm gonna go ahead and chiefly blame the ambience. 6.5/10
Boogie - The Reach
An endearing kids-first church-reference kinda guy with a whole lotta soul+sappiness, a tough+unique lisper flow, and down-to-earth expertise in gangland complications and repercussions; all rolled into one big, warm, understated boogie-ball. Gets a bit heavy on the sap, though -- which makes solitary banger "Oh My" feel all the more alien, and towards the end even gets me pining for some more texting/social media melodrama. Yeah, he dabbles in that as well. 6.5/10
Boosie Badazz - Touch Down 2 Cause Hell
Having been locked up since 2009, he's got stored-up verses for days+days and guests aplenty stopping by to help commemorate his return. Straight out the prison gate/right off the introductory bat, he's nothin' but passionate+weaselly all the way, amping himself up in the third person and seeking forgiveness while mingling with soulful ensembles and gaudy drama-trap. Antiquated overindulgence quickly takes its toll as he moves onwards through savage revenge and stripclub tales and radio-friendly nightclub bait; but the ardor endures, and in the process a knack for making the unlikely somehow work is unveiled: the tragically-lengthy name-droppage of "Black Heaven" is touching even when Rosa Parks is labeled "a O.G.", "How She Got Her Name" still manages to rouse up sympathy within its misogyny and saves the day beat-wise with a softly-sampled purr-hook, "Hands Up" feels forced but offers a refreshingly clear opinion on the current police state ("Fuck That SHIT!"). When an ender finally rolls around, he's returned to the basics: piano-only for backing and apologetic shout-outs for everyone - Mama, the crew, the aunties, God, a million fans, all seven kids, etc. 6.5/10
Breakfast in Fur - Flyaway Garden
It immediately grabs you with sun-kissed opener "Shape", what follows sets focus aside and just sorta drifts along like pixie-dust in the wind, slightly devolving into honeyed run-of-the-mill pop-gaze that's heavy on airy vocals and aimless interludes. 6/10
Thomas Brinkmann - What You Hear (Is What You Hear)
The obscure-color-coded track titles may serve to reinforce the enigma but the forthright album title bears mental reassurance -- something that is much-needed here. Other than the out-of-place industranoise that serve as bookends, this coughs out rough and/or stripped bare sketches of formable techno out of slothful extremist minimalism. Sit-still one-note drone-tone-rows drill themselves so deep that they start to sound like voices; shadowy patterns emerge and take shape so slyly, with shifts so gradual+slight, it comes off as aural illusion, as well as tricky coercion into observing+analyzing all the little things. Whether it's softly unfolding, menacingly grinding away, or employing the woozy swiftness and click-clacks of helicopter blade chops and textile mill machinery, these methods of unrelentingly dominating headspace can be exasperating, enlightening, numbing, maddening, world-encompassing. But an hour-plus of it mostly just solicits a desensitized shrug. 6.5/10
Broken Water - Wrought
Their heavily-tremoloed-fuzz is highbred and the soft+sleepy/at-times-inaudible female-drummer occasionally gets the vox-reins taken by grungy-guitar-guy - shame about the at-times-inaudibility too, because she seems like the one with things to say. But the overly familiar moments of by-the-book Sonic Youth/MBV worship and kinda-samey songwriting (is "Love and Poverty" not just a slightly tweaked/inferior "High-Lo"?) don't offer them a ton of distinction. Still though - they paint the tedious scene of a cashier-at-closing time all too well with realizations that ring all too true ("my wages garnished for a war"), unexpectedly close it with a 12-minute molasses-creep violin-charged psych-jam, and ya know, there's worse bands out there to resemble. 6.5/10
Built to Spill - Untethered Moon
An amiable "let's-make-this-real-quick" offering that also serves as an excuse to try out all sortsa fun+fuzzy pedals, get all loose+loud, and throw some cares to the wind - and the more power to 'em, they've earned their keep and remain established maestros when it comes to the whole alterna-indie-rock-guitar thing. However, the noisy-feelgood-showcase of the first two tracks dwarfs the varying-degrees-of-passable performances that follow - with an exclusion for the big pay-off finale, which reaches a Wire/Husker Du coalescence of on-point dirty+distorted hypnosis. 6.5/10
Bully - Feels Like
For uncomplicated loud+fun garage-punk it's well-versed, consistently catchy and rightfully polished - spotlit frontwoman guitarist is akin to a grownup Ellie McCrae whose gnarly tantrum-wails are conceivably the most prominent trait, but there's plenty of sweet+sassy contrast to even things out, and bones are broken/exes are ridiculed either way. 7/10
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Cold Beat - Into the Air
Whiffs of ferocity-n-dissonance do show up during the first four portions of this buoyant gal-led-punk platter, as does the electronic leanings -- then in swoops centerpiece "Cracks", which auspiciously fuses all these traits into a delightfully clamant force to be reckoned with. Gelid throwback-synths and mech-beats gain prevalence as things proceed, but nada quite lives up to that decisive first half; the all-electro endeavors in particular coming off a bit stiff when pitted against their dynamic full-band compeers. So they've got a prosperous forte and an emergent alternative -- hey, some bands don't have either. 7/10
The Coneheads - LP1
Self-confessed Devo-dittos whose robotic rapidity and (to paraphrase) 'Alien and Warm' approach land them in some alternate-universe's basement, the peculiar turf of which may have to be divvied up with the likes of The Residents. The full-time flippancy is counterposed by performances both penetratingly-tight and confidently-ruffled and made bearable via sub-20-minute runtime, but adamant non-believers should promptly guide their ears towards the riveting rendition of Talking Heads' "Psycho Killer": what better way to follow up "I Used to Be a Cheesepuff" and "Nasal Load" than with a semi-sincere sped-up sendup of a bonafide classic? 6.5/10
Corrections House - Know How to Carry a Whip
Impenetrable onslaughts of filth-sheen crunch-stomp industrial that carry with 'em glitch-outs aplenty/saxophone/the tormented wails of the damned, absolute antagonism seemingly much more than just a painted-on attitude: this is a fitting soundtrack for an increasingly-plausible dystopian future of merciless machinery and mass shootings, or in a more optimistic light, for instigating a prison riot and then torturing the captured escapees. A midway acoustic slice of bellowing-storm folk is a welcome change-up while maintaining an apocalyptic aura, while charming titles like "Crossing My One Good Finger", "Superglued Tooth" and "When Push Comes to Shank" cement the image of disfigured miscreants as its makers -- grudge-riddled perhaps, but amidst something that resembles a sense of humor. Screams are accordingly vicious-n-acidic, though he's not quite a maestro when it comes to spoken word and mumbling. But hey, that's what all those layers are good for. 8/10
Elysia Crampton - American Drift
If the 2-track sub-10-minute Moth/Lake was the trailer, consider this the 4-track barely-half-hour feature film that exceeds all expectations and leaves your popcorn neglected. Each of these towering compositions go on a bit too long, and all the better for it -- opening again with a prelude of protracted spoken word that is somehow genuinely gripping before moving onwards to a wackily incredible triad of vaguely hip-hop-flavored sound-collage homespun synth odysseys, this emanates enough engaging sounds and unique personality to certainly excuse any duration dilemmas. Coloration a la comic book and/or video game warp zone is fitting for this softly-textured-yet-intense universe -- where an acoustic guitar trance-rhythm meets bird-tweets meets buried-speech meets a gun capable of shooting lasers/piano solos/normal ol' bullets too and The Chirping Crickets (they're back) now coincide with none other than Lil' Jon. Also guest starring Cackling Witch and That Infamous Falling/Screaming Guy. 9/10
Mikal Cronin - MCIII
In a different world he could've been an Evan Dando, maybe even a Tom Petty, but he's Mikal Cronin, awash in utter normalcy. "Made My Mind Up" is easy and hooky and pleasant enough, "Alone" is a decent shot at desolate-despair swelling into lush-instrumental-churn, some commendable guitar tones concerning both crunchy fuzz and ornate acoustic, but it's all so general, formulaic, flavorless. Squealing-loud garage-rock is rendered mundane and the soft stuff is drippy, string sections are mild and strained, there's rehash riffs and everyday melodies and the last six song titles are each single words prefaced with Roman numerals for no interpretable reason. Lyrics are negligible except when they're not - i.e. choruses neutralized deep into Humdrumville: "I feel like I'm dying", from, yep, "Feel Like", and "God I need some control / Yeah I need some control", from, that's right, "iii) Control". ~*~meh~*~
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Dead to a Dying World - Litany
They're good for a crusty-n-leaden soul-swallow ravaging and extended passages of violin-laced snaillike solemnity, the latter of which they may be TOO good for. Forgive me for stating the obvious, considering our band-at-hand is 'Dead to a Dying World', after all -- but lord, how quickly this devolves into an almost-laughably draggy dirge. Vox-variety is nice when present (deep-n-weathered rasper guy, go-to fierce screecher, female..singing!, chanting choir, etc.?) and the intense magnitude of it can't be denied -- but amid a 6-track 70+minute total GlumFest, neither can the uber-rueful meandering. Sepulchral mottos: "Each day more gray than the one before", "The blade is sharp against my throat". 5.5/10
Deafheaven - New Bermuda
Perhaps Sunbather's well-constructed dramaturgic flow was more essential than I assumed, or it could just be that they just lost some cohesion on this one. Sound-wise they're still majestic: heavies remain potent and shimmery softs prevail, arguably maturing as a band too -- the scourge here lies primarily in so-so songwriting and awkward transitions, and secondarily in questionable chugga-chug riffs/soloing of both dead-end and wah-wah varieties. Most Intriguing Moment is also most natural and most unlikely: ender "Gifts for the Earth", which ventures surprisingly close+comfortably to some sort of softie-screamo while fluidly embracing that strong ol' quiet-loud formula. Maybe a niche to consider if they don't wind up sorting all this out. 6.5/10
Deerhunter - Fading Frontier
Monomaniacal discord-days have come-n-gone, and with 'em goes much of the desperate+damaged despondence that arguably supplied the lifeblood and a considerable amount of drive to their previous output. Maybe it's just his very-much-broadcast car accident talking, but this feels like Cox's adieu to a former self; and instead of gravitating towards another gothic transfusion, we're fittingly served something temperate and reserved, reclusive and bittersweet. To call it cozy+complacent would be unfair since actual contentment is never quite felt, but the terse passivity does place this in a comfort zone of sorts. I could've gone for a bit more in the way of snakeskin-spunk, personally. 6.5/10
Desaparecidos - Payola
The return of this status-quo-prober side-project brings with it a big ol' conglomeration of political zeal: student protestors are serenaded and encouraged, silver-spoon CEOs are reduced to boorish frat-boys, laptops are searched+seized, a notoriously corrupt sheriff is called out right alongside passive "slacktivists". But Oberst simply flipping his rhapsodic-turbulence switch back to ON mode is the integral rejuvenator: the emphasis on sweaty anthemic fervor and forthright in-the-moment performances calls for stage dives and singalongs, and gives the commentary tangibility -- which, in true Oberstian fashion, sways between biting+righteous and bumper-sticker. The maybe-most imperative observation coming right from the onset: "We're doomed." 7/10
Destroyer - Poison Season
This venomous juncture sees Bejar ditching the creamily opulent grooves and soulful femme-backups of Kaputt for something less quick-to-click -- which would be a-ok if it weren't so comically histrionic through-n-through. The ubiquity of baroque/piano/bongos sounds hifalutin and hokey more often than not and rarely is there a balance struck between underwritten and overwritten, a reprised Times Square trio seems fairly trivial, "Dream Lover" is a noisy one-off salvo of monumental stadium-rock that comes off as a premature jolt at track two. Furthermore, the nonchalantly-delivered impromptu lines feel stock and curiously charmless this time around -- there was an extensive period where "It's a miracle every time I open my mouth" would've almost rang true. Now I just kinda like whenever he says "scum", or emphasizes the 'kok' in "Bangkok". ~*~meh~*~
Destruction Unit - Negative Feedback Resistor
Ambience-as-ruse thrusts you into a hardcore-on-lsd-laced-steroids brouhaha -- catchiness is a non-factor, commonplace riffs are equipped with dense xtra-oomph enormity, ambiguous rage is swallowed up by the near-relentless ruckus of all-around thunderous heft and howling pedal effects. Principally, it's a blistering affair: although some slow-crawl and dream-lull are permitted, the first moment that could be construed as a concrete breather is near the finish, when the singer-or-whoever lets out a surfer-dude "alriiiight" and a throat-clear as if the preceding ~35 minutes were an ongoing plane-crash that he just walked away from with barely a scratch. The second breather occurs when the album's over. 7/10
Katie Dey - asdfasdf
Promptly captures the heart with warm+coarse acoustic-driven hiss and teeny+moribund cyborg-bug vocal delivery, then proceeds to incorporate jittery electronics and spawn a tender homegrown glitch world out of its schtick -- which for a sub-half-hour at least (smart move), er, schticks with you. Most of the gurgling sounds kinda how the album title looks, and hearing something about bloodsucking during a rare instance of clarity only reinforces the mental image of cartoonish insects behind it all. Some patches of messy confusion, sure, but nothing that should be unanticipated while working under the guise of sonic manipulation with a budget of zilch. 7/10
The Do - Shake, Shook, Shaken
The somewhat-prepubescent vocals, humdrum themes, and familiar hooks (I swear I hear Tears For Fears in there) has this electro-duo feeling too saccharine at times, but persistence prevails - surprisingly deep into the album, my hips are still swingin', fun and succinct songs are still rollin' out, bits of irresistibility still popping up, beats still great, singing slightly leveled. 7/10
Tica Douglas - Joey
Sporting a huskily-delicate eternally-yearning drawl, a rusty acoustic, and a backwards baseball cap, Tica Douglas AKA Joey has a band-o-garage folkie-backups that are only capable of being complementary - whether it be full-fledged accompaniment, backdrop subtleties, or just a feedback burst. But the real essence arguably lies where it's just her and the strums, with or without outdoorsy bug-chirps. Palpable city-life restlessness and faceless-female dependency through-n-through. 7.5/10
Drake - If You're Reading This It's Too Late
Refreshing lack of commercialized furnishings while still retaining the kind of hooks that dominate pop culture, which this lengthy album-quality-"mixtape" delivers one after another after another. Not to mention, his rap game also has more space and time to be properly showcased, and as usual, he's all too eager to flaunt his ever-refined skill-set; bursting with clarity, confidence, and finesse. So maybe it's PartyNextDoor dropping in from Miami with some much-needed warmth and a bottle of tequila or Lil Wayne's touch of muck that push me to realize that it's mostly stylistic neutrality that is his downfall - he's wound up so tight in fame, drama, looking in the mirror, and pushing to be "number one" that he forgets to lighten up, get loose, or mention much else. 7.5/10
Dr. Dre - Compton
The contrivance of this coming into existence solely as a convenient money-maker film-companion seems inescapable, and the shallow greed-boasts and put-downs don't help -- contextually, they come off pretty insensible. But true to its soundtrack-but-not-really appellation, it makes for a high-octane cinematic experience, a grand+gritty ensemble studded with stars and non-stars alike. Oldish-timers Xzibit / Ice Cube / Snoop / Eminem receive red-carpet treatment, The Game gets comparative throwaway and a ref, who's-that-again Anderson .Paak is decidedly spotlit, DJ Premiere pragmatically employs breezy 90's nostalgia; no party involved disappoints. Speaking of which, never underestimate Dre's use of femme-hooks, either. Or Kendrick in general. Or the unforgettable theatrical smatterings that wallop you every time: black-murder doo-wop suspension, the chain-rattling grudge-trudge of a workhorse, murder+disposal, mid-song-crime-spree, an almost-drowning. And the beats? C'mon. 8/10
Damien Dubrovnik - Vegas Fountain
Industri-drone-noise duo, ah you know how this goes: an array of clarion electric frequencies, the buzzes, the squeals, the incessantly synthesized ooos n ahhs, the esoteric rumblings; entrenched in trepidation all the while. Although this one does bear a disturbingly captivating demeanor, and I enjoy its personal flourishes: the door knocks, the well-timed sinister bass-thuds, flashes of static-attacks and crowd-racket. Highlight-opener "On Its Double" features desperate voices coming from every direction spouting unidentifiables and everyday-mundanities-turned-cryptic-slogans ("timing/presentation is everything", "cigarette case placed next to water glass", various actions involving the mouth/upper AND lower lip, etc.), and I wish what comes after was more into the idea of orally following suit. Stolidity gradually grows, momentum is ultimately lost, some sort of unsettling awe remains steadfast. 5.5/10
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Ecstatic Vision - Sonic Praise
Even if they were armed with just propulsive headfirst distorto-space riffage and a taste for trance-inducing repetition it would still enrapture. But given all the screaming organs, claps+bongos, lost-n-floating voices, ghost horns, and perpetually wailing solos that actually don't irk, it near reaches transcendence via full-on rockin' out with a schooled vintage-psychedelic palate. The only possibility for an appropriate pairing being old-gruff-biker-guy (i.e. Lemmy-like) frontman who makes "babe-eh" sound good and is most often coughing up nuggets of advice for when high/tripping/whathaveyou: look in the mirror, don't kill the vibe/just chill instead, free your mind, etc. 7/10
Eskimeaux - O.K.
Dainty indie-pop arrangements full of sufficient subtleties and bantam buildups - most of which could be carried by the songbird vocals+lithesome percussion alone, though the light+laid-back guitar/bass/keybs are certainly nothing to sneeze at. Themes of nature and companionship fit their low-key sound as snug and warm as a well-worn gardening glove, and barring a trick-or-treater metaphor-flop, even the most audibly nectarous lines have complementary charm: "Let's go walking in the Brooklyn Museum", "Nothing in this world is holier than friendship", "I could be your loner if you would be my stoner". And for the arrestingly defiant mantra: "You coward / You hummingbird". 8/10
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f(x) - 4 Walls
At the risk of coming across as dat dood who thinks Asian girl-groups yield a sort of inimitable and peregrine glee, this album is at least a partly-potent portrayal of such a postulation. Like anywhere else, the blatantly candied club-hypers can overwhelm with their rambunctious sprightliness; but more endearing than most are the quirkified bubbly-bustle pop-tronic beats, the sporadic rap-chops, the personas that can go from the stupidly-cute ad-worthy lure of "Glitter" to flagrant cash-snubbers who possess "swagger like Jagger" to the wistful Carly Rae-reject ender of "When I'm Alone". Submission to English is primarily used to safeguard and optimize the approachability of their catchy hook-splendor, though the more-disputables are likely fated to be misconstrued by goofball 'Merican ears as "show me the asshole." 6.5/10
At the risk of coming across as dat dood who thinks Asian girl-groups yield a sort of inimitable and peregrine glee, this album is at least a partly-potent portrayal of such a postulation. Like anywhere else, the blatantly candied club-hypers can overwhelm with their rambunctious sprightliness; but more endearing than most are the quirkified bubbly-bustle pop-tronic beats, the sporadic rap-chops, the personas that can go from the stupidly-cute ad-worthy lure of "Glitter" to flagrant cash-snubbers who possess "swagger like Jagger" to the wistful Carly Rae-reject ender of "When I'm Alone". Submission to English is primarily used to safeguard and optimize the approachability of their catchy hook-splendor, though the more-disputables are likely fated to be misconstrued by goofball 'Merican ears as "show me the asshole." 6.5/10
F ingers - Hide Before Dinner
From the titular choices that involve cubby-house-bliss/Mum's caress/peculiar places to stash oneself to the vocal choices that involve dead-float incoherence to the never-ending rustic-nebulosity, this evokes the wonder of childhood memories and backyard shenanigans through a dingy and languid set of dream-state-sketches. Atmospherically, it's decently distinct and even eerie and enchanting, structurally they're wide-open, but good lord, the listlessness at hand here. ~*~meh~*~
Failure - The Heart is a Monster
Sensitive alt-grunge-revival fans of the globe, forgive me (or don't). Though I will attest to the fact that this really just ain't my bag, this particular bag is quite superb sonic-wise despite being generally tedious song-wise -- so kudos and all, but lord, 18 tracks? Six of which are segues that offer not-much-more than time-killer-filler? The Album is a Monster; not to mention overt highlight "Hot Traveler" is placed right at the forefront, and most of the residual notables are enclosed to the first half as well. ~*~meh~*~
The Fall - Sub-Lingual Tablet
31 albums / 39 years deep: Mark E. Smith is still up there, murmurin' and rantin' and ravin', dentures rustling around in gum-slime and nostril-breathing all the while, his newfound careless snarls+trollish growls dutifully sullying and intensifying ("Pledge!" may wind up my Favorite Vocal Performance of 2015). And there's still makeshift backup bands ready to provide him the primitive-synth whine-blurts, various-percussion by the boatload, ropey guitar hooks, and skuzzy guitar whatevers he needs. The laugh-out-loud mumbles+bellows embrace scorn, topicality, and the absurd - on a good day, all at once - and will sporadically annihilate the mix just for kicks. As far as the rest of the mishmash goes, it seems he's landed a good crew here - as in they play crashingly, sour, repetitive and strange, could pass for vintage Fall at times ("First One Today", "Auto Chip"), and can whip up some generi-garage-punk to keep up appearances. Notable/deducible subjects include getting prescribed a "bed-wet pill and deep grief", artists' online pleas for "creative money", nondescript Facebook-Troll-hysteria (or is it 'baseball chow'?), and remaining in line with aging-post-punk-band stereotypes, shunning modern technology - though at least they're fun+plaintive about it instead of preachy+pompous ("Stop looking at iPhone / Stop looking at iPad-Phone, alright!"). 6.5/10
Father John Misty - I Love You, Honeybear
For someone who "hates that soulful affectation white girls put on", this white guy sure seems to enjoy filtering his thick-headed sexual transgressions through lush old-timey arrangements and pompous balladry. Starts tellingly sardonic enough; sounding something like a 1950's country ballroom while FJM coos to his honeybear amidst pointing out blood & cum on the sheets and bending her over the altar. Similar eye-roll-cringe aside, there are some shining moments: the dense and bouncy "Chateau Lobby 4", the neutral and electronic "True Affection"; and could-be staple modern satire "Bored in the USA" - the only track where his candor actually comes off as graceful; until it caves in to a laugh-track-gimmick. 5.5/10
George FitzGerald - Fading Love
Never inching even remotely close to any form of grandiosity or succumbing to helpful pick-me-up boosts, this is straight-up late-night mood-pop that could easily transform into an assortment of dance floor bangers if not for the hushed house beats and subdued-bordering-on-completely-detached vocals. Its restraint can get repetitive - three of the four instrumentals are blatantly voiceless mimicries of the non-instrumentals - but if said restraint stands strong and continuously offers up captivating slices of alienated coherence, I'd say that's fair-enough restitution. 7.5/10
Fuck the Facts - Desire Will Rot
The foremost cluster of sub-3-minute songs cram a whole lotta knotty hustle+bustle into those brief timeframes, and though their fusing of metal+hardcore extremes can feel a bit run-of-the-mill they maintain a fairly formidable momentum and abstain from extraneous noodling. That is until things get ferhoodled at the end with some passable-but-extrinsic slow-burn experimentation. Eternally-agonized gender-duel throat-work is always a perk, though. 6.5/10
Ezra Furman - Perpetual Motion People
With an inflection that converges Dan Bejar+Neil Young and a propensity for snazzy doo-wop+emphatic drunkenness, Furman seems like he's starring in his own autobiographical community college stage production; at times utilizing fuzz attacks, sad-sack sleepers and jerky gender-bend jocosity. His jaunty pursuit of a secure-ish place in this kuh-razy world is rich+resonant, but oh can it get irksome -- between horns-gone-wild and all-out drama-warble and shoobie-doops there's also the sad-n-sinning-artist exhibitionism: kneeling at the toilet, whiskey-gulp confessor-sessions, solitary walks/drives/life, rich kids+smoke rings, the concerned grousing of a 28-year old. Which can make not only for riveting performances, but lines here+there that achieve (some form of) poetic profundity -- the trouble is deducting the ones that read like a Dollar Store keychain. Just ask Conor Oberst. 6.5/10
Future - Beast Mode
Though he has the privilege to work with "the coolest DJ in the world" for the fuller follow-up 56 Nights, Future's auto-tuned mushmouth finesse over Zaytoven's production here is refreshingly succinct, smooth, natural - all that's usually needed for a hit is a sparse piano+handclap-driven beat and a dominating phrase/song title, and for nine tracks / less than a half-hour, you have your choice of 'em. And his delivery is constantly so lethargic+understated that even when he "puts Moet on that pussy" or is "living off a key trying to dodge prison", it almost sounds pensive - more like jarring glimpses of his reality rather than mindless braggadocio. 8/10
Future - DS2
His stylistic+thematic limitations are conclusively divulged, but undeniably an emboldened+expanded variant of Future's recent mixtape output. The trap-house essence is more explicit and enveloping than ever: even when cash is being blown, this lucrative kingpin sounds far from triumphal; the overriding grim grime of percocet haze, blood money, and multifarious salacities bleak+plainly-stated rather than glorified+hyped-up. But golly, does it get redundant -- so much so that blatant one-liner quotables about pissing out codeine and thumbing slut-butts may occupy more space in the memory bank than song-by-song disparities. 7.5/10
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Gabi - Sympathy
Cavernous, courageous, the Enya of Brooklyn-based experimental vocal projects - calling it beautiful wouldn't be a stretch, but there's just too much hamming it up, particularly paired with these meager and spacious arrangements. The glacier-slow pace is overbearing, the many good-sized-stretches of exclusively voice fatigue (with/without barely-sounds and string-things), oh but then the last song invokes a Dario Argento soundtrack. 6/10
Kevin Gates - Murder For Hire [EP]
Checkup EP five months after the excellent Luca Brasi 2 - less forceful intro, a hyped-up new-race "John Gotti" remix, more rasp/grime/wooziness than hooks/pop-leans/focus, Spanish flava, a breathless song-long-verse banger ender, undisturbed potential, stagnation avoidance. 6.5/10
Girl Band - Holding Hands With Jamie
While I appreciate this non-girl-band's insistent primodial-minimal take on dirt-punk noise-rock, and of course their feedback gusts that could remove wallpaper, can't say I'm as fond of the try-hard puerile-foodie vocalist. Try-hard as in Taz-in-a-blender conniptions when it comes to obnox-level, try-hard as in embellished snotty indifference. Puerile-foodie as in what that yellin' is all about ("Spend my time watching Top Gear with my trousers down / Covered in Sudocream and talking to myself / Garlic curry cheese chips"). 5.5/10
God is an Astronaut - Helios/Erebus
The skepticism that comes with predominantly Greek song-titles from a non-Greek band is overpowered by a post-path of refined tone-centric prudence and impeccable flux -- perhaps a bit prosaic at its core, but winning-n-worldly when it comes to transitioning from rigid+urgent rock-outs to pensive+shimmery atmospherics and slow-jams. Notable qualities include the ability to resist dragging sections out into tedium, upholding persuasive space-aura throughout, and the interjection of pianos/the most faintly tender vox ever. As far as the English titles go -- who knew something named "Pig Powder" could exude beauty? 6/10
Gonno - Remember the Life is Beautiful
Its oft-lighthearted and trancelike nature invitingly ropes you in: "Hippies" welcomes rather than shuns, "The Worst Day Ever" conveys anything but -- though enduring fascination is truly crystallized by the stupefying and subtle build-ups+tear-downs, the skillful and perpetually-sprouting layers of organic and non-, the diaphanous textures intermingling with dance-worthy grooves. It remains snugly immured in semi-hushed-house mode with a modest soft-boom beat usually there to steer the way, but moments like the floating-in-space-with-a-circuitboard ethereality of "Already Almost" and the all-around soundscape-blanketings that span from squiggling keys+pulse-waves to friendly claps+gyratory cymbals to watery twinkles+sing-snippets to even a bit o' shoegaze-gale confirm that one really isn't necessary. It's enough to remind you that Life is indeed Beautiful -- and joviality that doesn't encounter sugary, well that can be pretty nice too. 7.5/10
Grimes - Art Angels
Initially foreboding levity via sunny-trite sike-out ("California") and animalistic multilingualisms ("SCREAM"), it quickly gains magnitude as a coltish sugar-bounce wonderland -- an alternate-pop REALiTi where sprightly guitar strums and the art-party sound-swirl of whip snaps/sneaker squeaks/bubble bursts meet the persuasive bangerisms of club-bass aplenty/cheerleader chants/chipmunk chirps. Sonically weird and adventurous, nearly unstoppable when it comes to catchy+complex merriment, it's a splendid evolution from the comparably-drab Visions. Mindset perhaps summed up during the particularly ecstatic title-track: "I don't need your medicine / Gonna dance all night / I'm high on adrenaline". 8/10
Gun Outfit - Dream All Over
Inaugural ear-jams had me shrugging in neutrality at their no-rush breezy twang-rock, but what eventually hooked me in was precisely that. Coming across as once-upon-a-time punk pep that has formally retired to a dusty ol' back-porch and hip dive-saloons upon request, this debonair guy-n-gal-fronted-outfit's foremost asset is oh-so-naturally emitting that cooool -- think if Yo La Tengo chopped the eclecticism to just a penchant for sitars, or if X settled down and grew comfortable. 6/10
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Helen - The Original Faces
Perhaps Helen are just master satirists, and this is nothing more than a caricatural culmination of all the faceless+floaty fuzz-pop that has ever bored us with their incoherent and lackadaisical presence. Doubt it, though. ~*~meh~*~
Helm - Olympic Mess
Arduous when it comes to duration, but invigorating in that it expresses a considerable amount more than anticipated for those tagged both 'ambient' and 'drone'. Pulsations still purr and sustained-synth-ahhs remain ripply, yet the bulk of these atmospheric offerings achieve immersion through cryptic bustling, sound-divergence, and principally, simply a willingness to ripen: see the abstractly-has-a-beat-isms of "I Exist in a Fog" and "Olympic Mess", the clamorous stomp of "Outerzone 2015" which simulates being forcibly sucked from the year in question, and maybe the most radical+creepy+personable, the intimately whispered mini-biography/obsession-disclosure of "Strawberry Chapstick". Tru-2-lyfe quote from one-man experimentalist: "I am - well - I'm not really a musician. I don't make a living..playing music." 6/10
Holly Herndon - Platform
Twitchy twisted electronic that is supremely suitable for the internet/ADD-age - i.e. disorienting, filled with ideas, and maybe too busy for its own good. A seemingly boundless array of voices/computerized et ceteras/inscrutabilities zipping in and out of your periphery before getting sucked back into the sound-collage-vortex does its best to engulf any musical directness that may be buried in the depths - though there are a few definitively melodic moments, on others you really have to dig for it, and some are just plain out there. The fluidity of these arrangements can be surprising considering the complexity and celerity of 'em, and the vague witticism is nice too - like when the faux-Greek yogurt ad is followed up with a squishy flood of slop or when armor-clad horses run through the mix; and of course the blush-worthy skit-turned-intimate massage+pep talk, which brings turmoil relief, feelings of increased self-worth, and suckling noises. 8/10
High Wolf - Growing Wild
Instrumental encapsulations of a tropical-fever-mindfuck -- forever-restless percussion overload, world music dosed with psychedelia, a broad and frenzied league of loopy sonic mutations to hold down the groove-fort and further delirium. Would befit a rainforest-run post-rando-fungi-consumption. 6/10
Julia Holter - Have You In My Wilderness
While promptly inaugurating continuous heart-stop-splendor with opener "Feel You", she has the gall to ask ME if I'M mythological. As if -- they're the ones spawning the stuff of legends, what with all these exquisite string+voice combos soaring to the heavens and beyond. They can slow down time and sweep you into a protracted elysian atmosphere or neatly pack it up into invigorated high-tier quirk-pop; baggy-bass and hopscotch-drums are nimble and vital when they apply, fiery sax and wistful spoken word thrown in for why-nots. Holter's poetic ambiguity can tend to get swallowed or float on by, so she drills it into the realm of unforgettable from time-to-time: "I can't swim, it's lucidity / So clear!", "Uh-oh! / She said". And of course, "The birds can sing a song", which ends up acting-as-anchor to a weightless island-stranding so plausible and exotic that when birds do sing a bit, they fit right in. 8.5/10
Home Blitz - Foremost & Fair
DiMaggio's permanently choked-up flamboyance-vox are something to behold and, yes, perhaps appreciate too -- a voice that loquaciously exudes personality right on through and, yes again, perhaps overbearingly so. Out of the fluctuating-degrees-of-legitimate arrangements, it's the domesticated state conveyed during a handful of great full-band-ish songs where he (and they) come across best, and most self-evidently. Ah, but then there's the flatulent goofy-keyb gasper-sonnets and stagnant chanteys, and a particularly flummoxing crypt-dive into rusty-chain-rustles/spotty yelps/miscellaneous knockings/empty space. 5.5/10
Honne - Over Lover [EP]
Dreamily windswept coo-hook or not, there's gotta be something more woeful in life than homesickness whilst 42 floors up in Tokyo; and despite the usage of 'fuck' as rouse-stabs, this is still generi-bloke electro-soul -- sleek, mild, funk-lite bass, slightly infectious rhythms that wouldn't hurt a fly. If only they were as suave lyrically: "Do you always look so goddamn fine? / You must be tired from all of the time that you spent running through my mind / 'Cause I could really be your guy". Oh and the things this guy is willing to give: "the once in a lifetime chance, girrrrl", "heaven if you want it", "shelter, food, and wine, no-no-nooo", etc. 5/10
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ILoveMakonnen - Drink More Water 5
"Me and my friends don't go to jail": a pretty callous chorus-boast from a guy whose music career took off shortly after escaping a manslaughter charge for accidentally killing, erm, his friend. It's pretty detestable compared to sellin' at the club while under house arrest, which can be said for nearly any time he attempts the drug-money tough-guy thing - the atrocious opening freestyle and amazingly stiff "Cash Cash" verse are exemplary hints that he should stick to singing, and when he does, it's consolation - unique voice with a knack for hooks, and instead of rigid mumbling, he actually sounds sad/happy/impassioned about girls/girls/cocaine. 5/10
ILoveMakonnen - ILoveMakonnen 2 [EP]
No doubt more tolerable than earlier-this-year's mixed-bag mix-tape Drink More Water 5: not just from the comparative brevity of this endeavor, but ya know, the kid's got his singing voice and ear-worm hooks -- even the doltishly simplistic one from "Flippin' All Night" (title says it all) is semi-irresistible. Too bad his stuffy-stiff flow doesn't come close to complementary and verses often still sink into bumbling drug-runner/hoe-hater banality -- particularly glaring when the otherwise splendid dream-ache balladry of "Being Alone With U" and "I Loved You" is marred not just by the eye-roller vaunter gross-out that's in between 'em, but the former's truly rickety-ass rhymes as well. Hard to take his mope-yearn too sincerely when he's planning to steal my bitch and turn out all up in her mouth, ya know? 5.5/10
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Jamie xx - In Colour
The entwinement of softly minimal rave-dayz-homage and cutesy commercial aspects is bound to garner some hate from apprehensive electronic aficionados, and I'd have to concur that there is a breezy elementariness to these compositions that can suggest banality - but given the harmony between the two fields, I'd also say it's for a decent-enough cause. You could do much, much worse than "Gosh", "Hold Tight" and "The Rest is Noise" for doing alot with a little, the mood-tone is fun yet never obtrusive, the actual-vocal tracks desultorily shoved in with the sampled-vocal tracks are the crucial dimension - fellow xx'ers slip in some intimacy assistance and emphasize the club-motif with foreseeable ease, while the Young Thug+Popcaan cameo is legitimately electrifying, refreshingly edgy, and a total curveball. 7/10
Tobias Jesso Jr. - Goon
Relieved having begun my Goon-swoon with this tender-to-a-T classicist before his 6'7" frame and T. Swift date-rumors seeped into the press as much as, well, the music itself: mostly elegantly-sparse piano-pop that has yours truly struggling with the fact that it wasn't already written some 50 years ago - "Hollywood" excluded only for its diffidence towards the city in question and nervous collision-of-horns coda, "Just a Dream" excluded because songwriters hadn't quite formed a knack for no-cheese new-dad balladry yet. Not to say it escapes triteness by any means - this actually revels in it, but it's such a universally-standard sort of trite that it adds to the vintage-feel purity of it all. Another media revelation: though often compared to Newman and Nilsson, he'd never heard either of them at this time. Eh, reminds me more of Lennon, anyway. 7.5/10
Jlin - Dark Energy
Its harrowing and serrated nature may leave the common foot-worker apprehensive and rooted - but from the reptilian rattles and gear grindings, to the chopped operatics and stuttering bobble-heads, to the irresistible finger-snap+air-gust-accented African-military-stomp section, this busy electronic horror-twitch percussion-fest distinguishes itself while still demanding movement and attention. The dialogue-samplings from The Ring/Mortal Kombat/Mommie Dearest seem a bit conspicuous in their familiarity, but thematically feel right at home. 8/10
Jlin - Free Fall [EP]
A transient followup to her feverish debut Dark Energy, arguably one of the more illustrious and ear-grabbing electronic albums to emerge this year. While this one kicks things off sufficiently enough, it winds up feeling like a single plus subsidiary trifles -- "I am the queen" and "Live and let die" sample-utterances are haphazard toss-ins, a Godzilla-roar succeeded by uh-oh-trouble synth-bursts is painfully on-the-nose, fall-flat instrumentals don't quite expose the prowess she's really capable of. Bobble-heads/percussion-fests/Mortal Kombat still abound. 6/10
Jessie Jones - Jessie Jones
Fittingly-titled opener "Sugar Coated"'s downplayed and slightly-cryptic acoustic plucks intermixing with saccharine tease and an overblown chorus hints at some sardonic form of pop, which is then quickly abandoned altogether for middling mundanities both sluggish and perky, which in turn are preferable to the awkwardly unpersuasive diversions of viola-induced trance ("Lady La De Da") and pseudo-worldly waltz ("La Loba"). Then there's a heteroclite her+Walkman quickie-ender. It's a neophyte singer-songwriter hodgepodge with a few standout styles that would be nice to see eventually strengthened and established. The evocative mourner "Nightingale", for example. And onset-friendly as it may be, that ol' sardonic pop packed a punch, too. 5.5/10
Juicy J - Blue Dream & Lean 2
He insists to be workin workin workin workin hard every every every every day day day but it can't be on these songs, though perhaps if you ingest all the weed they suggest you do in the first minute of this album you won't notice how dreadful the rest of it is. As usual, Juicy seems to teeter between miserably-mundane and braindead-offensive, is good for an occasional/unintentional lol-line ("Catch your ass at that Mickey D's / Merk your ass in that drive-thru" - not funny at all, come to think of it) and boy does he have things to say: he's stoned, lines are gettin' blown, he's treatin' hoes like shit, he's really high, he's got lots and lots of money, strippersguns etc. Facepalm Moment: when things get all atypical and a point is almost made on "Don't", only to have it immediately tainted by following it up with the trainwreck "Anybody" ("Grab a bitch by the neck / Say bitch can you suck a dick?"). ~*~meh~*~
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Kauan - Sorni Nai
As one may expect from a post-y concept album about an actual winter-expedition gone terribly terribly wrong, it's epic, sobering, occasionally triumphant and of course gradual; appropriately moving at a glacial pace. Atmospherically it approaches impeccable, but not without some dips into the drab-n-wearying -- but not without its soars towards Blissville either, sure. Transitions into 'hey something dangerous is happening'-MeTaL-mode are just a bit contrived if you ask me, but the resultant viking growler is a worthy change-up from Finnish-lullaby-guy, and perhaps I just get sore when extracted from the pristine symphonic-rock-wonder hypnosis. And much like the Dyatlov Pass incident, it leaves you with questions-a-many: What are those kid-talking samples all about? Is this, like, what it sounded like in those hikers' heads, man? Why don't I speak Finnish? Does the percussionist ever tire of that same ol' pattern? 7/10
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Kauan - Sorni Nai
As one may expect from a post-y concept album about an actual winter-expedition gone terribly terribly wrong, it's epic, sobering, occasionally triumphant and of course gradual; appropriately moving at a glacial pace. Atmospherically it approaches impeccable, but not without some dips into the drab-n-wearying -- but not without its soars towards Blissville either, sure. Transitions into 'hey something dangerous is happening'-MeTaL-mode are just a bit contrived if you ask me, but the resultant viking growler is a worthy change-up from Finnish-lullaby-guy, and perhaps I just get sore when extracted from the pristine symphonic-rock-wonder hypnosis. And much like the Dyatlov Pass incident, it leaves you with questions-a-many: What are those kid-talking samples all about? Is this, like, what it sounded like in those hikers' heads, man? Why don't I speak Finnish? Does the percussionist ever tire of that same ol' pattern? 7/10
Jib Kidder - Teaspoon to the Ocean
Maybe it's just the torture that came along with this being released in the dead of winter, but it seems to capture island warmth in an unassuming and amateurish psych-pop package - particularly noteworthy is the lively live drumming, but the soft+wobbly layers of hazy keys, surf guitar, mystery noise, and dopey melodic vocals that lie somewhere between Animal Collective and Auto-Tune are all a hoot too. 8/10
King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard - Paper Mache Dream Balloon
Reasonable to reason that their daydream-moonbeam sunny psych-rock via acoustic-flute-bongo abundance is a bit tepid, but me be damned if it ain't genuine and contagious, especially for a crew usually much more electrified -- it's got soul, man. Versatility and relative vigor do the trick; and whether conveying a carefree lay-sesh in some sort of wonder-field or cruisin' down a dusty highway in all sortsa style, they do it dynamically+delectably. Also much luv to the polite pop/punk pep entanglement predilection, the healthy doses of harmonica and piano skillz, and the quavery creep detour down a trapdoor next to the particularly sunny one about the chilly carcass at the frontdoor. 7.5/10
King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard - Paper Mache Dream Balloon
Reasonable to reason that their daydream-moonbeam sunny psych-rock via acoustic-flute-bongo abundance is a bit tepid, but me be damned if it ain't genuine and contagious, especially for a crew usually much more electrified -- it's got soul, man. Versatility and relative vigor do the trick; and whether conveying a carefree lay-sesh in some sort of wonder-field or cruisin' down a dusty highway in all sortsa style, they do it dynamically+delectably. Also much luv to the polite pop/punk pep entanglement predilection, the healthy doses of harmonica and piano skillz, and the quavery creep detour down a trapdoor next to the particularly sunny one about the chilly carcass at the frontdoor. 7.5/10
Mark Kozelek - Down in the Willow Garden [EP]
All-outsourced desolate+morbid folkie-quickie: two versions of title-track traditional murder ballad as bookends, one comparably lush Led Zeppelin cover, and one make-or-break by means of plain-as-hell 10-minute John Connolly chapter-read about a family on fire and the kid responsible, in all of its drawly and apathetic anti-glory. For a free-with-purchase EP, it's certainly harmless enough. Very much treads in the realm of completely unessential, though. 5/10
Krallice - Ygg Huur
They've got the vigor and the skill and the scuzz -- and with the exception of the more-traceable non-6:41 death metal-leaner bookends, the majority comes off like a confounding train-wreck, though ofttimes not in a good way. Not to say it's without bits of section here and pieces of passage there of pop-up enthrallment that burst out from these trails of incongruity, but spasmodic bedlam devours all. Vocals that periodically attempt to reside either have no choice but to surrender or get squeezed out, bass primarily serves as an occasional belcher. Let's hear it for that drummer, though. 6.5/10
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Kendrick Lamar - To Pimp a Butterfly
Now just a hideaway exec-producer, Dr. Dre phones in some well-informed advice a few minutes into the album, which serves nicely as a proper preface: "Anybody can get it - the hard part is keeping it, motherfucker!" - if what surrounds that is a retort, Kendrick seemingly intends to. Dense+intense, playful+vivid, celebratory yet critical, racially charged and chillingly contemporary; lays the jazz/spoken word/funk on thick and offers a fluctuating array of new+strange vocal styles, which toughen things up, leaving those hoping for more "Swimming Pools" and "ya bish" probably a wee-bit disappointed when they wind up with "For Free?" and "boom boom". 9/10
Mario Diaz de Leon - The Soul is the Arena
A surreal 3-track sensory-plunge into a capacious black hole where the only indigenous activity consists of flute+clarinet duking it out with laser-blip synth-tronics in an avant-garde then-meets-now interpretation of classical. While jazzily oscillating between uber-precise synchronization stunt-work, haywire circuitry-din, good ol' fashioned dead air, and all-sides vagabond noodling, it unceasingly conveys the weighty dread that this musical form has fostered for centuries. Fortunately the squawks -- nay, demented-duck mating calls -- should help ease the tension a bit. Or increase it, either way. A 20-minute monster-ender is aimless+soporific when compared to its predecessors, but does make for a relatively halcyon ascent back into some conceivable semblance of reality. 7.5/10
Leviathan - Scar Sighted
Falling into an endless pit, end-of-The Shining-Jack Nicholson, an enflamed airplane mid-nosedive, boxes of trash getting thrown around: a short list of images this can conjure up. It's rough and vile and heavy as much as it is textured and atmospheric and (legitimately) frightening, all-out raspy-thrash bludgeons are just as invigorating as slow+tortured dirges, and plenty of avant-garde touches and well-placed samples are there to beautify/disfigure. 9/10
Lil Wayne - Sorry 4 the Wait 2
Hearing Beyonce's "Drunk in Love" belittled into goofball skateboard-porn and Makonnen's "Tuesday" mutated into Wayne's A-thru-Z ode for his 'alphabet bitches' may be worth the non-admission alone, sparkin' a blunt during track intros is now a prerequisite, his ever-increasingly quivery squeak is full throttle and oft-crude-to-the-max. And despite some lazy moments and lots-a sex+spite, I swear for my non-money he's never delivered so many zingers - like the sorries, the unpredictable rhymes and ludicrous persona are tireless. Apologies accepted. 7/10
Locrian - Infinite Dissolution
Short-lived vocal bombardments that occasionally swoop in and swarm like nefarious locusts are like fickle prizes whilst undergoing this passive+dreary world's-end post-metal-slosh -- airy-buzz electronics and feedback-whirrs carry the most clout but fizzle out in the long run, and the lack of percussive gumption treads towards unforgivable. But hey, surely the actual apocalypse will have its ups+downs, too -- I just imagine a bit more urgency. Some sapience, perhaps. 5.5/10
Loke Rahbek & Puce Mary - The Female Form
"A Body Reimagined" approximates getting a buzz-cut from a specter in a dank dungeon, "Liquefying of the Flesh" suggests bathtub foreplay gone wrong - both notable compared to what remains, but at its core, this is just some unexceptional disconcertion. Drone-murmurs are dormant, spoken-word is shrouded, gear-grinds are gritty, mechanisms rumble, bleeps spew, "Closure" ends up extraneous. ~*~meh~*~
Lower Dens - Escape From Evil
Often wary of 80's-throwback-indie pop, this came off as too familiar at first - a thought that was relinquished when it became apparent that they really mean business. Every song manages to shake with gravity and shimmer like ice, catchy hard-hitters are constant, krauty post-punk tendencies keep things interesting, and it never even inches towards cheesy - miraculous considering how much the whole of it feels like a mix of roller-rinks, a cool pool-dip on a steamy summer night, and the GTA: Vice City soundtrack. Commanding force behind/in front of it all, vocalist Jana Hunter, is stalwart and self-assured enough to convince that she is indeed The Earth, with a suggestion of coy chic, perhaps exemplified in the album's last words: "Entertainment / I don't care for it / That's no life". Nice. 8/10
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M.E.S.H. - Piteous Gate
Similar to that there Ash Koosha -- is it hereby inherent for electronic artists with 'sh' in their name to deliver some weirdo spaced out+squishy formless-ish form of stretchy-sloven-techno? Comparably though, this makes (some) sense -- the pace is constantly teetering, it's generally random as fuck, complexities boggle, tension deepens, somehow it's not quite obnoxious yet treads close to underwhelming. But at the core of all that maddening jumpiness and what-the subtle industrious intricacies there's a deep and intriguing bag of intermingling sounds. And variety is good: acoustically-driven gloom-fog atmospheres, extended gunshot intervals and briny ship gear-grinds help break things up. Oh and the squishes: like two sets of soaking-wet guts scouring each other. 6/10
Marriages - Salome
As far as atmospherics / genre-mushing goes (dark+dreamy / er, post-metal shoegaze?), they do intrigue and show promise - but the slow-tempo opaque murk it's continuously bogged down in sucks the life out, and the Evanescence-reminiscent vocalist who murmurs verses and overdramatizes choruses never seems to quite fit in. Decent grip on a unique sound, but seems muddled and redundant. 5.5/10
Mastery - Valis
This one-man black-metal brain-scrambler rides the line between gnarly primal exhilaration and ridiculously strenuous torture - three slabs of heroic abrasion with two brief interludes that serve solely as breathers. Abilities include aural desensitization, thrash-lick swoop-ins, and stitched-together change-ups that help keep anguished ears intrigued. 5/10
Mac McCaughan - Non-Believers
As Merge Records co-honcho/Superchunk sovereign, it's safe to assume that McCaughan knows the indie-rock ropes -- i.e. in this case, understands the power of nostalgic pang hybridized with sweet-n-mild tunage. But an ear for sharp-n-trebly guitar-tones and employing buzzy emo-keybs/new wave fixin's/occasional femme-vox certainly don't hurt none; and barring some twee-sentimental-blech expressed during "Only Do", his reflective musings can bear some charm: antsy basement show wire-wind, night-venture into the woods armed with tapes and "the cheapest beer there is", a special someone's hand in his sleeve amid a wet-leaf-walk triggering an emotional-punch-to-the-gut 'ohhhh'. Sure, it's moderate; no ground is broken and they sport some generi-chourses, but in a way that winds up fortifying the simpler-times-anamneses. Still coming across this youthful at this stage of the game though, that's just Mac doin' Mac. 7/10
Mgla - Exercises in Futility
Despite their namesakes, this sextuplet of title-tracked workouts is far from fruitless. Black metal that wallops with galvanic grime and ruthless riffage, meshing moods of earth-shake austerity and melodic semi-hopefulness. Prominent qualities include greatly-gruff frog-in-a-swamp vox, momentum-sag refusal, judicious time-frame i.e. wrapping things up in under 45 minutes, and cymbal-work, cymbal-work, cymbal-work. 8/10
Miguel - Wildheart
You'll be hard-pressed to find a better allegorical summer-sex song this year than "Waves", or a morning-after-summer-sex song more fragrantly soothing than "Coffee" -- which may or may not pardon the lecherous porno-dream gimmick of "The Valley" or the stilted falsetto bumbling of "Flesh". But this r&b crooner isn't all about sex -- er, fucking. Or r&b. Or crooning, for that matter. There's plenty of both pros and cons for both death and California, and that 'alternative' tag runs its ever-adaptable course; from enticement to muddlement to cumbersome gangsta-swagger+amphitheater rock. Which may be why the bare -- er, stark -- confessions of "What's Normal Anyway" are such a relief: "I look around and I feel alone / I never feel like I belong", "Too involved in my own life / to spend time with my family". Ah, there's that exhilarating lapse of cockiness -- er -- yeah, cockiness. 6.5/10
Meek Mill - Dreams Worth More Than Money
If you kick things off with a brazen sampling of Mozart's "Lacrimosa", you best B.R.I.N.G. it -- fortunately, Meek is far from meek and scarcely not in vigorous-hype-mode. Teetering away from the beat to quantify his millions one-by-one, tossin' out nuanced and provocational rhymes with madcap abandon, making a celebrious chorus out of repeating 'check' 13 times in a row; it seems his insistence on possessing "The Juice" is factual. And when the requisite room is made for chart-prepping/star-studding, it certainly could be worse: a back-n-forth with bae Nicki Minaj comes off a bit contrived, Chris Brown is congenial if I overlook that it's Chris Brown, Future mumbles the same ol' same ol', an electricified-hook via The Weeknd is used as reinforcement for lurkin' on another man's girl, Diddy-as-elder brandishes a bumbling perils-of-fame speech. And of course, the now-famously ghostwritten Drake feature -- a beef-sparker that arguably left the accusatory Meek looking petty and Drake an untouchable victor, but given the latter's tidily predictable procedure versus the former's unrefined in-the-moment coarseness, can you blame the guy for gettin' vexed? 7.5/10
Hudson Mohawke - Lantern
A vaguely-hip-hop cute-glitch-conglomeration, the dizzying boom-boom-bap shrillness of which aspires to be inspirative and/or featured in a high-school pep rally/rated-PG-movie score. The lofty vocalized-and-non weaving of buzzy noise-pop and playtime-artillery percussion no doubt brings vigor and lure, but obnoxious production and predictable patterns drag it right back down -- on the sing-side of things, it's particularly disheartening to hear Antony Hegarty misapplied beneath what sounds like firecrackers exploding inside of a garbage can, and while Miguel manages to save himself by intuitively ascending to the heavens, it just feels like overcompensation. Initially, the instrumentals are often irresistible in some sick candy-hype way -- that is, 'til the inevitable big-dumb-beat kicks in, and they promptly morph into detestable-as-hell. 5.5/10
T. Hardy Morris - Drownin' on a Mountaintop
When bitter-pill-narrator frontman T. Hardy isn't calling out phony city-slickers or slinkin' 'round towns and checking into 'cheapies', he puts out the vague notion of having been there/done that/seen it all -- insistent on having "stories that'll make you hurt" but when it comes time to tell 'em, they're rendered into the small-time country-boy rebellion of class clownin' and hair growin'. What does shine however is his knack for an unlikely turn-of-phrase: his choral proclamations of not taking back the things he said OR giving back the things he took have a quintessentially rudimental riotousness to them, "they caught me napping behind a bar / outside the city inside of my car" gradually uncovers his actual sleep-spot whereabouts like a pitiful matryoshka-doll, 'Littleworth' and 'shit in the wind' are shibboleth-worthy. And his Hardknockin' backups? Pedal steel grandeur, raw-n-haggard guitars, happy-to-plop bass, contentedly garage-dweller drums, bonus fuzz for good measure -- a concordance of campestral beauty and alt-grunge-dirt, and also more-than-capable of a stupendously desolate crawl-slow finish. 8/10
Mount Eerie - Sauna
The deep breath into lengthy crispy-crackly warm drone to start things off, along with the all-singular song titles, give the impression this album may be a gamechanger for Mount Eerie. Not quite. But if you dig his established prototype of ragged homebody nature-iffic folk noise, it delivers, per usual. Previous black metal junctures have drifted towards alterna-feedback fuzz, ghastly femme-angel vocals provide some accompaniment, there's more long warm drone shrouds, and many-a murmured musing about things like discarded gourds, how he spends his morning, and of course, the always-prevailing nature. 7/10
Mueller & Roedelius - Imagori
Roedelius as in 81-year old electro-kraut legend of Cluster+Harmonia fame, Mueller as in one-third of even-more-niche electro-tango group Gotan Project; who cooperatively conjure up compositions that are something in the realm of ambient-creeper space-lounge. Any relaxation borne from this placidity is often offset by a feeling of unease -- broody piano rudiments, the alien abstractions of twittery scratch-n-blips and barely-there fuzz-flecks, the aloof melody-shortage. It's cagey and ponderous yet cushiony and finespun, with plenty of meticulous complexity to back it up. Not that they can't have some fun, too: their idea of it being givin' ol' cohort Brian Eno a transformative taste of his own medicine. 7/10
Kacey Musgraves - Pageant Material
A tangible breath-of-fresh-air in the dreaded and effete world of country-pop -- partly from downsizing the whole pop-part to just the essential elements of instant gratification and infinite irresistibility, allowing pristinely superlative old-time-lean arrangements to flourish and shine. But mostly it's due to her smart songwriting and affable personality, i.e. she seems like an actual, even relatable, human: seemingly humbled by fame+travels and rooted to her roots, finding comfort in the simple things, determined to make it on her own, sneering at image-based pomp with Crown in her glass while her party-partner rolls one for two. Any hint of malice from said sneer of course eradicated by the sheepishly self-deprecating confessionals of high-heel klutziness and lacking manners. "I've tried to fake it but I can't", she readily admits, but integrity is a virtue she holds dear: "I'd rather lose for what I am than win for what I ain't".
And sure, the elementary cartoon-special life lessons can be grimace-worthy (top offender being sappy "Somebody to Love"), but her matter-of-fact humor and graceful phrasing consistently does the trick -- the mountain of metaphors for minding one's business on "Biscuits" ("Pouring salt in my sugar won't make yours any sweeter / Pissing in my yard ain't gonna make yours any greener"), the effortlessly sweeping bitter/sweet/black/green varietal of "Cup of Tea", the importance/toleration of Family ("They own too much wicker and drink too much liquor", "They might smoke like chimneys but give you their kidneys").
Elsewhere, she calls out a self-sabotaging curmudgeon in the prettiest way possible, salvages a YOLO-esque anthem from the clubs by downplaying the hell out of it, and covertly collaborates with the same name-dropped legend she once had her "picture made with". Not too bad for a dime store cowgirl. 8/10
Mutoid Man - Bleeder
Too quick for filler and too robust for dismissal, the savvy intensity of their concurrent roles as technical metalcore/hardcore mainstays melds itself alarmingly well into this thrill-ride slab of unabashed comic-book-rockin'. As the artwork implies, be prepared for reptiles, surveillance-paranoia, ivy, and of course, full-on vibrancy - which when inflected with group-woooahhhs and falsetto-screeeeams, can reach power-metal/classic-punk levels of joviality. But they also never fail to deliver that sludgy crush, or excellent instrumental workouts (we are talking Stephen Brodsky and Ben Koller here). And just when it seems they're ready to take it easy on the title-track ender, in comes one Sarabeth Linden to vocally help crank it up just one more preposterous notch. 8.5/10
Meg Myers - Sorry
Hits both 90's-alt-angst and unabashedly-huge-pop-chorus soft spots -- Meg's incessant trembly-fierceness can feel forced and overdramatized, but it's a reasonable compromise for all her yodeler oh-oh-ohs+ah-ahs and compellingly unstable personality. Unstable as in starting at "Baby I wanna fuck you / I wanna feel you in my bones", switching out 'fuck' for 'love', 'break', 'hurt', and 'taste', then ending up with "I'm gonna kill you / I'm gonna lay you in the ground". Compelling like she promptly goes from boldly serving herself up on a platter to a self-admitted good-for-nothin'. Extraordinary and slightly absurd relief from all the strained histrionics comes from the invincible power-chord-pep of "Lemon Eyes"; which not only sports shark-chomp-percussion and huff-n-puff coloration, but not-one-not-two-but-THREE super-hooks -- two of which are half-gibberish. Personality as in she's "no mother of a child" but later-on nonchalantly mentions her daughter. That could be just a flub, though. 7/10
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Nao - February 15 [EP]
A pretty prime example of the difficulties involved in trying to make a solid statement via sub-20-minute EP, especially as a new+unfamiliar artist. Really especially when new+unfamiliar artist semi-intrigues with quirky electro-r&b fronted by a skillful helium-sucker, but despite adequate exhibitions of fat-funky-fun and soft-airy-intimacy, don't particularly bring forth anything noteworthy. Here's hoping they give themselves more time to do so for the next one. 5/10
Joanna Newsom - Divers
My deepest condolences to those who will never prevail past the birdy hurdle of her vocals; a lovely instrument in itself once you're accustomed to 'em. But between the unfathomably beautiful "Anecdotes" and Newsom-version-of-frolicsome-single "Sapokanikan" making for a bulletproof one-two-punch induction and the per-usual lifetime's worth of history-referencing+soul-searching poetic wonder from start-to-finish, underlying concerns merely consist of seeing if they can up the ante and said poetic wonder becoming obscured in baroque intricacy. Fortunately for the worrywarts, it's absolutely sweeping -- from whimsical labyrinths to sapid sparsities, a chock-full of depth is delivered and goosebumps sprout on the regz. And given the eminence of the busier arrangements, I'd say some word-concealment is a fair swap -- but those looking to fully experience "the nullifying, defeating, negating, repeating joy of life", do yourself a solid: sit down with a damn lyric sheet. 9/10
Noisem - Blossoming Decay
Infamously known as a buncha young bucks that are wise beyond their years in the world of thrash metal/hardcore worship, but isn't this stuff sometimes the best when played by enthusiastic and fresh-faced devotees? Particularly when it's pure, sincere and bullshit-free - which, during what could pass for a tightly wound+relentless 25-minute live set with brief feedback squeals as song connectors, smoothly prevails over the pardonable lapse of individuality. They also sneak in some time for creeping violin-laced ambiance and a midway slow-build, which serve as dexterously welcome changes of pace. 7.5/10
No Joy - More Faithful
Little-by-little these femme-led fuzzsters have become knottier, denser; riffs are riffier, drums more expressive. The blissed-out submergence in floating-dream harmonies and feedback fun continues to derail the songwriting, but they're less reliant on pedal-shrieks, and can go from cute drifters to punky galvanism at the flip of an amp switch. Divergence is peachy and development is peachier, now let's strive for comprehensibility. 6/10
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Jim O'Rourke - Simple Songs
Ambitious+lush yet cool+collected -- certainly understated, but a distinguished display of proficiency in both the playing and mixing of this array of folk-pop apparatuses. The concision also suits the whole levelheaded-complacency thing. These vocals, though -- so aloof, so hushed, frustratingly inaudible at times -- given his 25-year laundry list of production credentials I presume it's intentional, to accentuate the instrumentation perhaps. But this preference feels more like sorely missed potential: wouldn't boosting 'em a hair-or-two-or-three add some much-needed punch? Put forth that ostensible wit with a bit more plangency? Make these songs, I dunno, worth it? 5.5/10
Obnox - Boogalou Reed
Should satisfy any loud+dirty psych-garage-crunch fix you may be craving, but those who search for meaning beyond said crunch may come up short, finding it all-too-easy to scoff at the contrast of piles-of-volume vs. lack-of-topics, the too-drunk-too-punk rocker dude posturing, the customary playing itself - but it's made up for with an unadulterated dedication to steroid-injected punk-metal-hybrid sonority. Of the few decipherable lyrics outside of song titles or something about money in a cooch, here's one from what happens to be the least-maxed track: "I only care about maximum rock n' roll". Sometimes that's all you need. Though having good amps helps too. 6/10
OJ Law - Let's Be Adult
These polite-indie-poppers might have something good going if they weren't eye-roller clean-cuts steeped in sentimentality and unnecessary-line-repetition. The piano-laden lushly-light-electro lacks persona but is easy enough to like/certainly could be worse and their harmonization-charm is not unlike the Beach Boys', but "If you'd like to be my muse / I will be your rockstar, yes I will" - just by example, is painful even once, and then there's the overselling - particularly uber-drippy "Waves Gently" (no pun intended) with scene-setters as gag-worthy as its tender buildup ("Sweet perfume smells of exotic fruit" "Sipping wine as we dine"). If you're somehow offended by my chosen numerical rating, allow me to also quote the opening track: "I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry...." 5/10
Ought - Sun Coming Down
Akin to country-cronies Viet Cong, they're palpably post-punk-conglomerates -- markedly when it comes to vocalist Tim Darcy; who manages to summon Bryan Ferry's wounded vibrato, Andy Gill's fun-free deadpan, Mark E. Smith's cluttered mutter, David Byrne's bug-eyed solicitude. Not that his pliable mimicry isn't really damn riveting. It is, matter-o-fact, so fortunately the driving+noisy shard-squeal-guitar tunefulness more-than lives up: tangly full-band dynamism is a wonderful thing, and their ears are wide open when it comes to the whole tuneful thing. They've even got a sorta-master/center-piece: "Beautiful Blue Sky", whereupon they're rendered, well, beautiful, and Darcy temporarily transforms into a social-nicety-spouting pull-string doll. Duly noted from title track: "I'm talking out of my ass." 8/10
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Panda Bear - Panda Bear Meets the Grim Reaper
Probably his most fully-formed album and a good listen - and though I enjoy the pulsating dirty/busy/warm compositions they kinda just sit there, and the vocal harmonies (usually more befitting than significant) kinda just sit there too. The standout harp&piano-sampling ballads make you wish he'd try breaking out of his habitual monotony more often. 6/10
Paradise Lost - The Plague Within
Veteran-status showcased: they pummel and capture with straight-up rock-solid heavy riffage+jus' big ol' drums while remaining melodic, implement piano/strings/choirs that add touches of gothic majesty+awe to the apocalyptic-crush disposition, clean-vox/fierce-yells/harmonies are comfy alongside impeccable and coherent growls that have been shaped+nurtured over some 25 years: lines such as "You wish to diiiieeee" appropriately sound like the world being swallowed. Structures sprawl some but never dream of fleeing that groove -- they're particularly proficient at the slow stuff, even when it gets down to a decimating crawl. And other than the aforementioned orchestral implements, they seem to reject extravagance -- as if they need it. 8/10
Parquet Courts - Monastic Living [EP]
While the antecedent full-length Content Nausea was a charismatic fuck-around hash that can arguably still hang with their more decisive work, this EP here is more along the lines of a nugatory fuck-around hash that just don't give a fuck. Presumably conceived for the sole purpose of testing+trolling fans/non-fans alike, the minute-long muffled kick-off of "No, No, No!" doubles as the solitary vocal performance and a possible mission statement: as in, "no, no, no, we refuse to make this worth your while, here are some discordant spur-of-the-moment jam-outs that barely reach middling and are of no actual consequence whatsoever." And believe me, I'm all for crudely wasting people's time -- but, er, mission accomplished? ~*~meh~*~
Parquet Courts - Monastic Living [EP]
While the antecedent full-length Content Nausea was a charismatic fuck-around hash that can arguably still hang with their more decisive work, this EP here is more along the lines of a nugatory fuck-around hash that just don't give a fuck. Presumably conceived for the sole purpose of testing+trolling fans/non-fans alike, the minute-long muffled kick-off of "No, No, No!" doubles as the solitary vocal performance and a possible mission statement: as in, "no, no, no, we refuse to make this worth your while, here are some discordant spur-of-the-moment jam-outs that barely reach middling and are of no actual consequence whatsoever." And believe me, I'm all for crudely wasting people's time -- but, er, mission accomplished? ~*~meh~*~
Phantom Posse - Home
Each of these anonymous ragtag vocalists (Chris, Renee, Eric, etc.) present their own unique flair, as does the more recognizable Makonnen (seemingly the bumbling leader of the pack) - and when intertwined with this charming easy-listening haze-pop, it gives the impression of a shy-but-talented living room karaoke session. But when none of these guys+gals are around (probably all off working on different music projects), the instrumentals still stand strong - partly in thanks to Cale, the anonymous ragtag instrumentalist. 7/10
The Pop Group - Citizen Zombie
Zany post-punks rise from the dead with their first album in 35 years, and though elderliness is affirmed through dated monster-metaphors and self-destructing messages, they still churn out jerky-catchy dance rhythms, zonk bizarro-keyboards, vocally blend shrill whateverisms and political preachings, and play around with oddball+overblown production with peculiarly fresh-faced enthusiasm. 7/10
Post Scriptum - Post Scriptum 01
Initiation "Decades to Millennia" seems harmless enough with its playful persistence and mysterious sprinklings, but followup "Even the Nearest" reveals what kinda techno non-party we're really in for: one where insistent fat-pound rigidity and impossibly deep bass blend into a cold-n-dense force to be reckoned with, and said force is pretty much principal. Mechanical repetition that, yes, after an hour-plus will result in my head slamming against a wall, sure. But these uber-textured grooves have a way of inculcating -- they leave so much room to get lost in, yet deceivingly provide oodles for ears to attend to. Mystery-sprinkles continue on as alien garble, circuit play, muffled explosions. At times there's even a detectable melody. Let's call it tautological hypnotherapy that is bound to drive you up a wall. 7/10
Jessica Pratt - On Your Own Love Again
This delicately-picked and softly-chirped affair rarely strays from that description, letting up only for subtle vocal & guitar overdubs and the rare touch of faint keyboard. These charming limitations are led and composed by a 27-year old who vocally summons an elderly woman with a taste for hummed/la-la-la/do-do-do choruses, and it's all hauntingly wrapped up in a warm cocoon of room hiss, nodding towards a sort of sparse & intimate friendly-ghost folk. 7.5/10
Prurient - Frozen Niagara Falls
This ambitious tour de force of gloomy poetic harshness spits out a bountiful and disturbing goulash, and whether it be minus-two-minutes or ten-plus-minutes, each of these sixteen tracks is monstrous. The scale of it is a badge, and also a hindrance - but ultimately, it's just that most of the brain-eraser noise blowouts/muffled spoken word sections don't do a whole lot for me. Call me a square, but I was left wishing for more "Dragonflies to Sew You Up" and "Christ Among the Broken Glass", whose broken drum machine/piano-synth bliss and haunting+rainy acoustics (respectively) feel almost docile compared to the rest of it. Though I do like some torture too, really. 7/10
Public Service Broadcasting - The Race For Space
A decently-executed educational yawner novelty item: an abundance of newscast samples tell the ol' space story with conservative-but-mostly-inoffensive electronic/rock backings (exception goes to "Gagarin", which could be used as an alarm clock substitute in a practical joke), while cinematic extravagance glazes over all with tension and despair and humor and drama and joy. But I prefer these disembodied voices of the past when they're simply utilized for cheap thrills, like the standalone track-greatness of "Go!", or the line "He's walking in space" punctually followed by groove-increase. 5/10
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Quarterbacks - Quarterbacks
Timid and speedy pop-punk trio who like their songs simple, their sixers from Mobil, and their boyish crushes numerous+unresolved. 6/10
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Jeff Rosenstock - We Cool?
Deeply entangled in the punk scene long enough to suddenly be in his thirties, embracing power pop, and "daydreaming under a novelty sweater" as he so cunningly puts it: friends are beginning to move away/get jobs/get married/become "good Americans" while he finds himself still harvesting the traits of any reputable traveling musician: ignoring loved ones, getting fucked up all alone (optimally, while switching between porn and Robocop), attending house parties and crashing on couches. Not that he's complaining about it too much - sometimes it's good to just ponder. Makes him better-off than the guy who thinks the answer is 'always say yes', at least. 8/10
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Savant - Artificial Dance
This compilation of a 1983 re-issue+more-recent unreleased tracks is no doubt a disinterred treasure trove of often-warped sound-collage dub-funk -- grooves simultaneously jerky/random/dreamy/hypnotic, polyrhythms aplenty, occasional talking that alternates between being backwards and becoming an instrument all its own, and of course the imminent lunges at banal-grotesque spoken word and faux-newscast. But I'll be damned if this doesn't ride 'My Life in the Bush of Ghosts'/its-creators-in-general's coattails so hard it hurts: probably a trivial objection, but just when you think it's blatant it gets blatant-er ("Stationary Dance"). Either/or, many arrangements just can't withstand their timeframes, therefore/furthermore, this is quite the slog. An end-lean slight-ambient-ish dip clinches the faulty cohesion that usually comes with this sorta assortment, but also makes for a restorative sound-shift. 6.5/10
Scale the Summit - V
Even whilst scaling an actual summit, these mum-prog drill exercises translated only as obviously-adept-yet-utterly-neutral. They certainly know how to perform this here metal+rock music, all of 'em pulling together to instinctively channel a 4-way Berklee audition. But with near-to-no personality -- not even the vox-omit, but just a real lack of salient flourishes -- this just feels like drab talent. It'd be straight-up erroneous to say there's not notable moments, or proclaim this as Unpleasant Listening. Skillz-Gone-Sterilized however, that I could see. ~*~meh~*~
Travis Scott - Rodeo
Renders the redundancies of hip-hop profligacy into an elaborate and intoxicating Terminator-esque wasteland where everything+everyone sounds larger-than-life: the hooks are I-give-up indomitable, malefic bass strangles the senses (and apparently broke all his mama's vases), bushels of nuance continuously tumble from the smoky depths. Some leeway is lent for oddball playfulness and mopey warblers, and though gravelly grandeur is most certainly a massive hoister, let us not forget the oh-so-essential profusion of show-stealer guest spots: The Weeknd's miraculous alien-hook, the hilarious gasconade of 2 Chainz ("My bathtub the size of swimming pools / Backstroke to my children's room" "Drinking breast-milk out a lean cup"), a Toro y Moi collaboration that somehow does fly pretty damn high, T.I. as part-time narrator (!), the amalgamation of Young Thug+Justin Bieber (!!). Ah and there's this "Kanye West" character stumblin' and wailin' through some anti-art attempt at artiness -- supposedly he's a mentor now or something. 8/10
Shamir - Ratchet
Brat-pop persona+Prince-esque falsetto with super-deep-voice-man as occasional opposition and fat+fun production backup that nods heavily towards old-school house-tronica - which is instantaneous+substantial enough to overcome the puerility while still helping beef up the attention-grabbing fun-factor. Low-key-strut nighttime-creeper initiation "Vegas" does little to prepare you for the ensuing kinda-Too-MUCH bubbly pep, which manages to smooth itself out a bit for an easier-to-handle second half. 7/10
Sightings - Amusers and Puzzlers
Clamant assemblage of irate noise-rock-shamble laced with unintelligible rants, jackhammer gurgles, total turbulence both shoved into your cerebrum and hovering at a distance; usually with some obscure form of stable flow that can be extracted during the derangement. Yet the real patience-trier is arguably the calmest: "Syllabus of Errors", which may be just that since it's mostly buzz-crackle-hum for 16 minutes. I assume these sultanic expert-roughhousers are the type who get a kick out of irritating audiences and eroding eardrums via premeditated kinda-torture that doesn't necessarily puzzle or amuse. I respect that. It's the listening part that can get tricky. ~*~meh~*~
Sleaford Mods - Key Markets
This duo's scant restriction and ceaseless repetitions of plain ol' bass line-n-drum beat in a plain ol' room, occasionally graced by toyish+bygone keyb-taps, grants a whole lotta room for a whole lotta rabid rant and even a few almost-sung choruses. Opportunely, frontman Jason Williamson has the kind of vastly venomous thick-English vitriol that The Fall hasn't managed since some thirty years ago. Vocab is intelligent without giving a shit (the troublesome inner-workings of the world come up as often as farts, eloquent evaluations are expressed right along with absurdities and "DIE DIE DIE"), the anti-'s are copious (complacency, gimmicks, frippery, music, etc.), and the scathe is colorful -- many-a fuck/cunt/mate/arse, sure, but this roster of mockeries includes everything from limited-edition Vans and chinny wine tasters to "Tumbling Dice" receiving too much radio-play and "that tool from Blur". And equally riveting is all the slang I will never/wasn't meant to fathom -- titcakes, purple polo lards, you know. 7.5/10
Sleater-Kinney - No Cities to Love
The opening full-on ferocity of "Price Tag" had me double-taking at these ladies' ages - and though from thereon out they tone down the turbulence, it allows for some pretty idealistic blending of tough+raw with sweet+catchy; with consistent mastery in forming crooked+crafty hooks out of their jagged guitar jolts throughout. Confident, fun, hard-hitting, oh and a reunion album at that. Mean age: about 44. 8/10
Sorority Noise - Joy, Departed
Anxious bedroom-cell confinement, hospitals and hellfire, desperately eager to be the tingling lip-spit who gets to crawl under the skin of that special someone - sure, they're emo boys, decked out in all-black with gentle strings+dream guitars to help weep for the cause. But damn it all if the depressive disposition isn't persuasively reinforced with some dynamic bipolar sequencing: by the time "Your Soft Blood" rolls around with its rockbottom nightmare despair, vicious pedal-squall and doom-ridden thunder-riffs, things seem direly inconsolable; only to segue into the morning-after slacker-stumble mull-over optimism of "Art School Wannabe" ("I might not be as dark as I think"). And damn it all again if the metaphorical initiation of drugs/heroin/gin doesn't build into autobiography bit-by-bit: staying clean+sleeping in to stoner veins+fainting death to "Using"; which tiptoes in to nonchalantly put it all out on the table and accept relapsing as a tradeoff for a slice of temporary mental contentment, hence the joyously boastful chorus ("I stopped wishing I was dead!"). These guys should consider a tour with fellow pop-punker Jeff Rosenstock: he could cheer 'em up and propose the more-sustainable vices of beers+bongs, and they can all call+hang up on loved ones together. 8/10
Vince Staples - Summertime '06
Staples' version of summertime is not so much chillin' in the rays with a pair of shades on and more nervous perspiring under the sunbeam-bake of gangland reminiscence and social tensions with eyes wide open. It corresponds with the avoidance of star-studding, and his lack-of-effort hooks - that's what Future/whisper-girls/James Fauntleroy are good for - and when feelings of tiresome excess start to materialize over the course of these 20 tracks, the mini-two-disc sequencing is there to offer major flow-support, as is the ear-catching stew of production: sloshy seagull interludes, quick-claps, Latin shufflin', robot choirs, and a dreamy-molasses-haze centerpiece all find their niche amongst buzzy bangers and ominous loopers. 7.5/10
Stern - Bone Turquoise
Anti-groove grungy-basement-prog plod that is not so much a train constantly careening out of control as it is a stumbling+depressive prisoner dragging a boulder by his neck-chain, lurching from sensitive croon+mumble to bestial grunt+holler to blatant bellowing that Brad Roberts would be proud of. The shivery "tunes" tensely follow suit with what initially comes off as careful reluctance, but ultimately emerges as semi-planned jerky-shamble slug-rock -- but you know, the disciplined kind that most likely is quite-quite planned, the compellingly creepy kind that utilize bell-toll pianos and are prone to seasoning subdued desolation with fit-of-rage halts instead of the more-hospitable vice-versa. Even their most avid advocators will find this fatiguing -- and when it comes to fatiguing, or waking you the fuck up for that matter, they're pretty adroit. 8/10
Sufjan Stevens - Carrie & Lowell
Managing to still sound like a rosy-cheeked ghost-cherub at nearly 40 is a feat in itself, but the truly-beaming-accomplishment is songwriting that's simultaneously this sparse, powerful, and even catchy. Strewn with bereavement, animal metaphors, religion, mythology and retrospection, he seldom needs more than acoustic pluckings and piano taps to caress you like a thousand feathers and create an optimized aura of tenderness+melancholy. 8.5/10
Sun Kil Moon - Universal Themes
"My heart is drawn to the small out of the way things / That I can't help but to give my focus and attention and care" - a noble and unofficial manifesto for someone who, particularly at this point in time, may be the antithesis of nobility. A guy who casually+brutally berates journalists (or any other ill-fated targets that happen to make his acquaintance) in and out of the studio yet shows uber-empathy for dried up lavender and a mangled marsupial can be puzzling and questionable, indeed.
But these kind of contradictory perplexities reinforce the curious fascination now more than ever - not often do we hear a musician describe their concert as such: "…my heart wasn't there / I came back to my room and slouched in my bed", only to assure us in the following track that till he dies he's gonna write songs "that make grown men shit their pants like little fuckin' babies".
Universal Themes is stubborn, vulnerable and even infantile, self-deprecating and self-defensive, beautiful and grimy. And besides the expected hypnotic barebones acoustic guitar+drums there's raw dirty-dog-distortion that never could've surfaced on Benji. Other than the customary perpetual peppering of unforgettable scenes, nostalgia-driven detail, everyman-ramblings, and boxing/movie/music references, the main gained strength on this album is the multi-sectioning and accompanying transitionary even-more-barebones acoustic passages.
They not only feel like a nod toward his 70's rock infatuation, but also are great for scene changes: the head-banging ferocity of attending a Godflesh show to the flatly spoken dull calm back-to-reality aftermath ("Then we had pizza and I came back to my apartment"), lonely panoramic wandering and semi-girl-wooing in Switzerland to the comforting relief of coming back home to kitty cats/collard greens/genuine smiles, the discordant+incoherent rage over a friend in pain to the gorgeous+delicate sun-soaked fluttering of a childhood-revisitation block-walk ("It smells so much like our old neighborhoods"). Less dramatic touches are vivid as well - extra plucks for the bluejay pickin' up a seed, keyboard chimes for the handicapped kid deciding what he's gonna do with his life (he's just gonna live it).
He's 48, his gums are fuckin' bleedin', he's got a goddamn ear infection, he rocks the same flip phone as "the smartest guy in the world" ("they said he was a physicist or something like that"). I'm just glad he got out of that big soft bed. 9/10
Sunset in the 12th House - Mozaic
Gradual and imposing instrumentals with sections drove into the ground before giving into finespun adjustments: yep, it's post-y alright. The moderately moderate jammy-hypno-flow of heavy/soft/'om' synths can make for some elegant background metal, but the impeccable detail and clarity that's provided for each+every instrument rewards closer listens. Impatients can also take comfort in each of these songs being shorter than the last - so if the 14:43 opener feels like a trek, know that it's followed by a 10:56, along with eventually-reduced-rigidity and an exotic-tinged second half. Finale tosses ya a 5:48 and some bonus vox for a job well done. 6.5/10
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Tame Impala - Currents
Adorned with soaring+sumptuous synth-waves and flawless finger-snaps that firmly install themselves into your subconscious, but seldom is there a song that rises to the occasion to truly grab your face and refuse to let go. It could be that the nearly 8-minute opening tour de force "Let It Happen" with its pronounced urgency and beat-skip-trickery and the leisurely coming-of-age acceptance soul-melter "Yes I'm Changing" set an ivory-towered bar for the remainder, but what about the offhand sub-2-minute ditties and ceaseless compression? The tedium of uninflected+immovable vocal performances? 6/10
Tink - Winter's Diary 3 [EP]
The EP's first half is blissfully absorbed in the rodomontade of a fresh going-great relationship, and of course the laundry list of charming analogies that inevitably come along with one: "This feels like Jupiter", he's the "sweat to my pores", "cone to my ice cream", "soup to my cold", just to name some favorites. Opener "I Like" sees her longing for the commitment of a chest to cry on -- a no-rushin' mind-openin' guy who's down for tees/sweats/Netflix. A mere two tracks later, the Timbs and V-neck are coming off, "Baby we should wake up and get married" becomes a hook, and he's formally dubbed the "type of nigga I respect like the law / type of nigga that I let hit it raw".
But after a Timbaland jump-in midway through with his bounce and flutes and money and lean and yeahyeahyeahs, down comes the break-up realization devastation. She's hangin' it up and drivin' away, and a bruised+witty defiance predominates ("Well is she pretty or what?", "She must be some type of superwoman"). Here things get a bit less enticing descriptively and musically, but it's also nicely padded out by a couple thematic anomalies.
There's "Stripclub": the story of a young+helpless single mom-turned-stripper might seem hackneyed these days, but the gritty+unrelenting details and lack of condemnation help this stand out. We get cause: "Never had love from her father", "Nineteen, had a little baby / Dropped out of school just to raise it", "Mama won't let her stay no more" and effect: "Paying for tuition with her body / Popping X pills in the lobby / Don't wanna remember what she did", "She's climbing up thinking of all the things she could've done else".
Then comes the true antithesis: quickie-fun night-out ender "Afterparty", which radiates with the puke-glitz intoxication of upstairs rooms, dance floors, little dresses, bathroom stalls. It not only hints towards any leftover animosity being diminished, but after all that damn spoutin' about crash-n-burns and distress and FEELINGS and whatnot, it's really quite the vital distraction.
Tink comes off strong and sensible -- content with being shown off and willing to hold her man's nine, no tolerance for bullshit, but susceptible to/folds under heartbreak and betrayal like any normal+decent human being. These pencil-scratch confessionals are both heart-warming and sensual-raunch, r&b and rap, hopeful+elated and rainy+pensive. 7/10
Titus Andronicus - The Most Lamentable Tragedy
Akin to Zen Arcade with its character-driven manifestation of crumbly mind-states and intermittent impulses, and The River by way of americana-jingles and triumphal destitution; this is cluttered exorbitance that just can't help itself, salmagundi be damned. Ran ragged and perspiring with perfervid desperation, roguishly structured -- but for all the self-referencing, easter eggs, bracketed moments of silence and parenthetical symbology, only a handful or so of these 29 tracks are standalone-great, even fewer worth hunting down specifically. This pile of broken shards has trouble perceptibly shaping the bigger picture: the 'acts' come off as claptrap, and the long-anticipated conclusion is a cut-short purport (aka acknowledgement that one doesn't exist) and a reflector-loop right back to square one. Which compels the listener to repeatedly trudge through until they begin to vaguely grasp the stuff about the doppelganger, the dream states, the love interest? Maybe. But what's foremost and palpable is that bandleader Patrick Stickles is a snarlin' visionary-guy with an affinity for allegory and Daniel Johnston who's goin' through some shit -- valuable qualities when in the right hands, methinks. 6/10
Frank Turner - Positive Songs for Negative People
Not sure 'bout all the other crapehangers out there, but I find this type of overeager jubilation fulsome enough to stay put in my pit of despair. Gotta give Frankie T. some cred for trying though, because try-try-try he does: emotional flowery rhapsodizing, triumphant punk-plus-piano vitality with plenty of big-singalong-solace, some unquestionably great melodies, poignant live-acoustic eulogy-ender. His staunch dedication to keeping your (and his own) head up and stickin' through this shit we call Life is inspiring, really -- penning fully-sincere choruses like "rejoice, rebuild" and "goddamn it's great to be alive"? Quite gallant. Oppressively zealous and wince-worthy, too, but hey. 5.5/10
Turnover - Peripheral Vision
Despite the sort of dramatic love/anti-love/self-loathe lyrical retch that has practically made 'emo' a three-letter curse word (red stains in drains, pinning girls up to the wall, cutting off fingers, etc.), for just having caught the dream-pop bug, these guys play it as if they've been doing this all along. Bathed in wistfulness yet pretty and catchy, consistent enough to save two big hitters for the end (self-destructive summer-scowler glee "Take My Head", self-righteous grudge-fest "I Would Hate You If I Could"), skillful+subtle guitar intertwining - this offers much more than a simple distortion+vocal tone-down. 7/10
Twerps - Range Anxiety
Well-rounded Aussie-accented guys+gal jangle-pop whose warm allure is instantaneous - right-off-the-bat slow-burner softie "I Don't Mind" establishes itself as a sort of anomalous touchstone to the breezy twee sunbathing that follows; exhibiting bonafide 60's flair with casual ease without a beat missed along the way. Their sanguinity never feels irksome (or, ahem, twerpy), but doesn't particularly lend a helping hand in the depth department, either - as in, there was nearly nothing new to note between the first play-through and repeated listens thereafter. That being said, repeated listens were plentiful. 7.5/10
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U.S. Girls - Half Free
Abba-swagger, ice cream shop-pop circa 1960s, cogent+chilling tense+dense electronics, a proper rock n' roll song just for kicks -- the warm+wonderful catch being the bulk of it filtered through a subaqueous vhs-muck of sorts with general spectrality throughout. If somehow forced to make a wager, I'd say at least two songs are slow-mo'd, at least one guitar solo is a sample, and "Window Shades" would've been a surefire hit in 1976; then you've got sinking ships and wobbly-riddle-noise in the mix. U.S. Girl Meghan Remy is both show-runner and cake-icer: haunting and passionate and even grandiose when applicable with uncanny vintage-charm, does her own backups, knows a good hook but commits to the weird, starts by abhorring her husband's familial whoring and finishes with the promise of a presumably-permanent black limousine send-off. 8/10
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Viet Cong - Viet Cong
A somewhat quick and spotty post-punk chameleon album that works its way from a crackly industrial intro to noise-synth new wave to jerky-riff punk to 11-minute closer; enhanced by warm and drony production that resembles an old dubbed over VHS tape. Comparisons to contemporaries Deerhunter and Wolf Parade are as valid as old standards like Joy Division and the Bunnymen - like these bands, Viet Cong has a knack for combining unique and catchy rhythms with goth-bleak dissonance. Not to mention hi-hat blitzkriegs, which never hurts. 8/10
Levon Vincent - Levon Vincent
Though he seems heavily reliant on a rarely-wavering 4/4 stomp to set the path, the layered bass-synth textures, lucid rhythms and subtlety galore that he surrounds it with are often minimally danceable and mechanically spellbinding - so much so that you may let out a gasp of your own when some voices finally surface for air ~45 minutes in. The insistence, restraint and length both captivate and fatigue. 7.5/10
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Jimmy Whispers - Summer in Pain
When he's not dropping coins or spouting rants that are usually reserved for startling pedestrians at street-corners, Jimmy Whispers is the self-proclaimed "greatest bedroom popper in the tri-state area"; sporting a voice not even a mother could love (if only he lived up to his name), cliche Casio hums+homegrown percussion-hits, and a whoooole lotta whine. Think a bland, guitar-less Daniel Johnston that's nearly devoid of charisma. "Love is easy when you don't give a shit", Jimmy wails. Whaddya know, so is music. ~*~meh~*~
White Reaper - White Reaper Does it Again
Full-on poppy brat-punk saturated in sunny-honeyed garage fuzz with tambourine rattles/buzzy organ/familiar riffs galore. Perhaps most applicable for an insouciant summer backyard bash, one where so long as good vibes are voluminous and undemanding, no one would ever complain. And definitely one that involves a trampoline and a pool. With a slide. And noodles. 5.5/10
Wilco - Star Wars
As to be expected from a sporadically-dropped freebie whose cover is adorned with a cat painting, this is a fun little let-loose romp, exposed right from the spastic and cryptically acronymic get-go and clinched by the casual tinny-guitar tunefulness that follows. The calmly at-ease attitude revitalizes the spirit as do the squall/squeal-buryings, those tinny-guitars sound all sorts of great, they know enough to toss an extended+shimmery ballad-of-sorts in between joke explanation explanations and ceiling tastings. It's trebly-twang goof-rock performed at a professionally erratic level. 7/10
Steven Wilson - Hand. Cannot. Erase.
It takes the monstrous drag of "Ancestral" for it to finally feel like noodling and break an impressive streak of wide-range polished-prog-plethora - cleaned-up Yes-circa-1971 impressions, radio-friendly alt-rock, well-incorporated electronics, deadpan spoken word, euphoric mantra-buildup, children laughing, explosive synth/fiery guitar orgy, nostalgia, rainfall, wondrous mellotron and choirs and piano aplenty - how can you go wrong? The musical proficiency and variety seems a bit under-utilized with Stevie Dubz as frontman, who is a bit awkward (Title. Is. Giveaway.) but gets the job done, though I do tend to prefer the instrumental sections and when his femme-counterparts take the reins. 7/10
Windhand - Grief's Infernal Flower
The molasses-swamp density of snails-pace sludge-grooves is spellbinding on its own, but there are those little personal touches that help distinguish it from your standard ol' leadenly ~70-minute stoner-metal trek of doom: solos that come oozing out the cauldron, following-suit-yet-attentive drumming, ear-relief in the form of bare-bones downer-folk acoustic that sounds fit for a dusty+desolate dive bar. And a vocalist like Dorthia Cottrell certainly don't hurt: on the heavy stuff she's graceful and tough, possessed but cool+collected about it, and ineluctably semi-buried. When she's suddenly deprived of all the muck five tracks deep, bewitchery only increases -- which may explain the subsequent retaliation of extra-extra-emphasis on slow+heavy crush, which includes back-to-back 14-minute monstrosities. The peak, if you ask me. 7/10
Wire - Wire
The crotchety 'tude towards what seems to be the entire internet doesn't really prevail past the opener, C.N.'s Morrissey-simulation while saying "Manchester" is made up for during the finale's mightily-sustained-yells; the safe, simplistic, no-frills (well, maybe lazy too) approach here is almost complimentary to simply how great this band still sounds - Wire Lite, in a way. But it's the kind of Lite that showcases consistency and ease, only further cementing their status as tight-tension-titans. 7/10
Chelsea Wolfe - Abyss
Permeated in weighty doom+gloom yet cohesive and cogent enough to persuade even the perkiest joy-heads into its stygian hellancholy depths -- her downplayed emotional vocal elegance and refusal to showboat makes for a lullingly placid descent, and are quite the consummatory contrast to the impenetrable walls of low-end industrial demolitions/cavernously eerie smaze/haunted folk tinctures/squall+squeals+sound-sucks. 9/10
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Young Fathers - White Men Are Black Men Too
Torn apart by what's more lovable here, the wacky swirl of rando-timbre crammage (bass-y piano plunks, muffled thud beats, tinkling twiddles, wonky noise pulses, video game spaceship gunfire?) or the spontaneous+organic anything-goes energy that constantly oozes out. Weirdness so damn melodic, insistent and fun that it blends into shortish-song pop seamlessly, enthusiasm so damn infectious an eye ain't battin' when they switch from soul-soothe-croon to throat-scathe-scream, or harmoniously beckon each other round-and-round via whistling/yells/chants/handclaps, or just settle for some plain ol guttural gibberish. 8/10
Young Thug - Slime Season
The sort of prolix mixtape hodgepodge that can eventually bore-n-vex even the most fervent Thugger fans -- by the time the aptly-titled "Overdosin'" oozes on through 12 tracks deep, I'm doin' just that and then some, only to realize there's still 6 left here, an even-longer not-even-two-months-later Slime Season sequel, oh and a third one on the way. And there are those who will wholly prefer the raggedy unrestraint of this suite to a more decisive and commercialized effort like Barter 6: that I won't dispute, but the inconsistency of this quantity-over-quality configuration paired with a style that grows onerous all-too-readily makes this a total skip-around fest. However, the handful of absolute gems surely make it worthwhile, and the handful of satisfactory sufficiencies help as well. While opener "Take Kare" chiefly comes across as a way to embarrassingly exhibit an unusually pitiful guest-spot from idol/rival Lil Wayne, bonus-ender "Wanna Be Me" is a conclusive slice of sparkly quirk-wonder that's no-doubt one of the aforesaid gems -- also perhaps the only post-"Overdosin'" song that's even close to eligible for such a thing, but hey. 6.5/10
Young Thug - Slime Season
The sort of prolix mixtape hodgepodge that can eventually bore-n-vex even the most fervent Thugger fans -- by the time the aptly-titled "Overdosin'" oozes on through 12 tracks deep, I'm doin' just that and then some, only to realize there's still 6 left here, an even-longer not-even-two-months-later Slime Season sequel, oh and a third one on the way. And there are those who will wholly prefer the raggedy unrestraint of this suite to a more decisive and commercialized effort like Barter 6: that I won't dispute, but the inconsistency of this quantity-over-quality configuration paired with a style that grows onerous all-too-readily makes this a total skip-around fest. However, the handful of absolute gems surely make it worthwhile, and the handful of satisfactory sufficiencies help as well. While opener "Take Kare" chiefly comes across as a way to embarrassingly exhibit an unusually pitiful guest-spot from idol/rival Lil Wayne, bonus-ender "Wanna Be Me" is a conclusive slice of sparkly quirk-wonder that's no-doubt one of the aforesaid gems -- also perhaps the only post-"Overdosin'" song that's even close to eligible for such a thing, but hey. 6.5/10
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Ben Zimmerman - The Baltika Years
In a sense, an archaic-computer version of Sebadoh's 'The Freed Man' -- a frowzy throng of homemade bit-n-piecery where "lo-fi" is genuine circumstance rather than ersatz aesthetic. The machinery in question is a 1992 Tandy DeskMate, which is approached with a prowess for purely-personal-experimentation, managing to humor, haunt, puzzle, and enthrall as it galumphs along in a non-duplicative raw-relic fuzz-world. The chronological aspect is fairly captivating, too -- these 31 tracks span a decade -- though little-by-little progression-over-time is discernible, it's overridden by just seeing what sounds+tones he can get squelchin' out of this thing. Some selections lean towards sketchy download-only old-school RPG soundtrack (is "Grumble Grumble" not a nod to Legend of Zelda?) and others go for breakbeat techno even if the equipment seems determined to withstand a fluent groove. And of course it's got your sheer fuck-around next to moments of genius, grime-warp voice/pitch/sampling ventures and some rather-beautiful plain ol' piano. 8/10
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Adventures - Supersonic Home 6/10
Arca - Mutant 6/10
ASAP Rocky - At.Long.Last.A$AP 5.5/10
Between the Buried and Me - Coma Ecliptic 5.5/10
Sam Binga - Nuh Chat [EP] 7.5/10
Bitchin' Bajas - Transporteur 6/10
Elysia Crampton - Moth/Lake [EP] 7/10
Zella Day - Kicker 5/10
Dr. Yen Lo - Days With Dr. Yen Lo 6/10
Eartheater - RIP Chrysalis 7/10
Earthen Sea - Ink 5/10
Edenfield - Sometimes During the Winter ~*~meh~*~
Edenfield - Sometimes During the Winter ~*~meh~*~
Empress Of - Me ~*~meh~*~
Enslaved - In Times 7.5/10
J Fernandez - Many Levels of Laughter 6/10
FKA Twigs - M3LL155X [EP] 6/10
Flesh World - The Wild Animals in My Life 6/10
Future - 56 Nights 7/10
Ghost - Meliora 7/10
Ghostface Killah & BADBADNOTGOOD - Sour Soul 5/10
Helena Hauff - Discreet Desires 8/10
Hiatus Kaiyote - Choose Your Weapon 5.5/10
High on Fire - Luminiferous 6.5/10
Hop Along - Painted Shut 6.5/10
Inventions - Maze of Woods 6/10
Jay Rock - 90059 6.5/10
Joey Badass - B4.DA.$$ 6.5/10
Kid Cudi - Speedin' Bullet 2 Heaven ~*~meh~*~
Natasha Kmeto - Inevitable 8/10
Lightning Bolt - Fantasy Empire 6.5/10
Lil Wayne - FWA (Free Weezy Album) 8/10
Lil Wayne - FWA (Free Weezy Album) 8/10
Little Simz - A Curious Tale of Trials+Persons 6.5/10
Marina and the Diamonds - Froot 6.5/10
Holly Miranda - Holly Miranda 5.5/10
Modest Mouse - Strangers to Ourselves 5.5/10
Ron Morelli - A Gathering Together 7/10
Nef the Pharaoh - Nef the Pharaoh [EP] 5.5/10
Oneohtrix Point Never - Garden of Delete 6/10
Panopticon - Autumn Eternal 7.5/10
Panopticon - Autumn Eternal 7.5/10
Pile - You're Better Than This 6.5/10
Pond - Man, It Feels Like Space Again 5/10
PWR BTTM - Ugly Cherries 5.5/10
Spencer Radcliffe - Looking In 5.5/10
Rival Consoles - Howl 6.5/10
Riverside - Love, Fear and the Time Machine 7/10
Rivers of Nihil - Monarchy 7/10
Rolo Tomassi - Grievances 7/10
Christian Scott - Stretch Music 6.5/10
Rolo Tomassi - Grievances 7/10
Christian Scott - Stretch Music 6.5/10
Soilwork - The Ride Majestic 8/10
Laura Stevenson - Cocksure 6.5/10
Sunn O))) - Kannon 5/10
Sunn O))) - Kannon 5/10
Tamaryn - Cranekiss 6.5/10
THEESatisfaction - EarthEE 6.5/10
Kamasi Washington - The Epic 8/10
The Wonder Years - No Closer to Heaven 5.5/10
Billy Woods - Today, I Wrote Nothing 6.5/10
The World is a Beautiful Place… - Harmlessness 7.5/10
Young Thug - Barter 6 9/10
Young Thug - Slime Season 2 5.5/10
Young Thug - Slime Season 2 5.5/10
