antiquated

Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti - The Doldrums (2004)

There's 'lo-fi' and there's this: aptly titled, The Doldrums is permeating with thrice-dubbed-over+thrown-underwater VHS befuddlement, siphoning early psychedelia and bedroom pop through a deliberately smudged lens. Ariel's homespun solo-specter-scribbles and prolific mouth-fx undoubtedly make for a warm-n-innovative aura, but it's also bumbling and disheveled to the point of utter irritation -- especially as an hour-plus endeavor. Xtra-especially when there was clearly potential being held captive in this closet of incoherent muck, something that would be further realized some years down the road when he embraced clarity and the musical companionship of other humans. But 'til then, cast your ears towards "Among Dreams" and "For Kate I Wait"; which double as this album's back-to-back saving grace legitimacies and circa-2007 skateboarder's interest-kindlers. ~*~meh~*~

Coalesce - 0:12 Revolution in Just Listening (1999)

Sludge-grooves that mathy-metalcore brethren like Botch-n-Dillinger could barely be bothered with and a concise and immediate package they wouldn't let themselves surrender to. Ingram's hulk-man-perpetually-on-his-final-gasping-breath vox and particularly ponderous song titles remain distinct+defining through the resulting wave of imitator-adorers -- but perhaps most endearing here is their ability to stuff a whole-hell-of-alot into a glitz-free sub 3-minute tune, and rather effortlessly at that. The most notable topics come first: right-off-the-bat Tour vs. Family disgruntlement of "What Happens On the Road Always Comes Home" and what may be one of earliest call-outs of anonymous online shit-talk, "Cowards.com", which befittingly glitches things up for the occasion. The experimental twiddling comes last. 8/10

Mac Demarco - 2 (2012)

Twang-centric alt-garage-breeziness that is befitting for armchair-slouches or killing time on a suburban porch during good weather or just a plain ol' chill sesh, man -- and despite appearances, DeMarco is more than just a walking cigarette with no job. His guitar-intertwine of casual surf and gray afternoons with fun-n-oddball psych-flourishes, though treading towards sickeningly light-hearted at times, is never less than engaging. Can't quite say the same for the rather-indifferent vox, or the rather-indifferent overall ensemble for that matter -- a bit-o-vigor never hurt no one, right? More important than those trebly tones (maybe) is his girl: presumed inspiration for the only tune to attempt+approach beauty and summon an inner rough sketch-John Lennon, the goof-proof "My Kind of Woman". Definite inspiration and kinda-participant in the permanent-reversion-to-goof falsetto-serenade-ender "Still Together" -- if that kind of boldness isn't love, what is? 6/10

Future - Monster (2014)

The formal unveiling of a post-breakup Future who's moved past putting blonde in his dreads and hovering in pop factions, and has sunk/risen to an ultimate in iterant mumble-chants who's insistently at the top of everything yet seemingly empty inside. An incontestably filler-ish second half manages to magnify the mechanized soullessness found woven throughout the banger-packed front half: smashin' hoes who're trying to give his dick a hickey sounds like a far cry from an activity that actually gratifies him, fuckin' up commas a vapid duty rather than exultant celebration. He's full-a spiteful nasty-nast, but also piteous enough to quash it -- the surefire example being the two-part emotional-pinnacle "Throw Away", where after blaming ex-boo Ciara for caring too much about his hoe-fucking, the 'you go your way and I'll go mine' concept is translated into thinking about each other during various lecheries with newfound lovers. His specific request? "I want you to fuck him in paradise." Monster, indeed. 7/10

The Housemartins - The People Who Grinned Themselves to Death (1987)

Debut-successor sees 'em newly armed with occasional horn sections and falsetto-builds to be reckoned with, but chirpily crusading against civil ignorami stands firm as their bread-n-butter -- and thanks to dat all-too-facile well-versed alt-rock verve and dem polite+wondrous group harmonies, you too will somehow find yourself merrily wagging your finger at those good-for-nothin' dead kids who dared to put out classifieds and take a risk-or-two, or siding with God in hatin' on those dastardly farmers for the oh-so-despicable acts of workin' workers and rippin' up fields. And when caught in the clutches of the grandest and most sarcastic hook of them all, you may even sympathize with the church going ignored on Sundays. Title of that one: "The World's on Fire". 7.5/10

Mates of State - My Solo Project (2000)

Actually not anyone's solo project, but may as well be given the peerless compatibility of this hubby-n-wife dyad -- the latter opts for bass-y organ-buzz melodics and the former bashes out backseat-but-binding drum-work, and thanks to pliant playing, their scant instrumentation is a non-issue. But it's the unbridled enthusiasm of their vocal duality that makes scantness not only a viable platform, but a complimentary one as well: their harmonic sanguinity showcases the sort of cutesy+un-fuckwithable union that should make the eternally-single and common-couples alike feel envious and queasy, yet it's so damn contagious, genuine, and straight-up affable that deep down all parties tuning in are secretly hoping for a dinner invite or double date. Like any righteous meant-to-be's, they're in sync even when they're yelping discrepancies over each other -- actually, that may be their forte. And like any righteous meant-to-be's scoping a future together, they got goals: "Let's unravel the edge of time", err maybe a bit high-flown. "I'd color the sky with you / I'd let you choose the blue", now that seems feasible. 8/10

Parkay Quarts - Content Nausea (2014)

With their second full-length in six months sporting the title 'Content Nausea', it can be deduced that at the very least they're self-aware. Avoiding a rehash of the comparably-cultivated precursor while finding fuck-around opportunity in absentee drummer+bassist, our two guitar anti-heroes are often left to their own dexterous anything-goes devices -- noise-ridden anxiety-anthems that both confront and induce the symptom at hand, feckless instrumental morsels, why-not Nancy Sinatra cover, oh and some regular ol' songs just to keep in good form. Unkempt deviance that delivers charisma foremost and spottiness secondly. 7.5/10

Parquet Courts - Monastic Living [EP] (2015)

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~*~

Sun Kil Moon - Tiny Cities (2005)

Scourged upon release -- partial blame goes to the covered troupe at hand's appellation as the 2005 Music World's untouchable luminaries, but an actually-reasonable reason being setting out to tackle Modest-goddamn-Mouse songs and settling primarily for half-hearted+abridged sleepy sketches. But if you fancy the idea of all the gruff that oft-obscures Isaac Brock's discourse stripped away and seeing its more-sorrowful qualities accentuated via expert sad-man Mark Kozelek -- or simply Mark Kozelek in general -- and can forgive some steps towards Sap-ville, it's ducky. The discography-reach is appreciated, the guy knows his acoustic tones+mood-setting, "Space Travel is Boring" receives bombastic string-soar treatment and "Grey Ice Water" could pass for Spanish waltz. And maybe just for kicks, "Truckers Atlas" is wrapped up in 2:49. 6.5/10

Swans - Cop (1984)

Out-bleaking debut Filth is a feat in itself, but revamping all possibilities+expectations when it comes to full-blown low-end vile negativity in the form of sound? Quite literally a towering obsidian mass from which there is no hope, this one earned Swans a Lifetime Achievement Award: servility and barbarism trudge rampant, excruciation is epitomized, and front-man/beast Michael Gira's speciality soulless drone-chant murmurs and strikingly harsh growls-n-groans sound straight from the dingy assembly line and piss-stained prison floor, respectively. And before it shifts to psycho-militaristic bellows, the title-track actually allows for some plainly-spoken scorn; which is not only unfortunately warranted and all-too-relevant, but also an admission -- that despite appearances, he's no match for the biggest brute on the block: "Nobody beats 'em like a cop with a club". 8/10

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The Beatles - Let it Be (1970) 7/10

My Revenge! - Less Plot, More Blood (2004) 7/10
Sonic Youth - s/t [EP] (1982) 6.5/10

Swans - Young God [EP] (1984) 5.5/10