2016 pt. 2

Agoraphobic Nosebleed - Arc [EP]

The inaugural of a four-EP series, each "designed to decimate your total being" and allegedly tackling a different genre/a genre differing from their customary psychotic grind-freak blitzkrieg-core. So here we have the officially-dubbed Sludge-Doom Inc. 3-track 27-minute EP from the group whose 100-track LP was a mere 21 mins. and change. Exclusively Kat vox (along with occasional accompaniment from anonymous low-pitched demon) is revivifying, riffery is substantial and sonically pleasing, mech-drums mesh specially well, samples remind that this is indeed ANb -- but though her vox slay they also never really alter, and songs seldom feel comfortable in their own tacked-on skin; kinda just going wherever and doing whatever and transitioning whenever. Which considering the outcome, is fine and good. But I can't say part of me has been decimated, certainly nowhere in the area of 25% anyway. 6/10

The Black Queen - Fever Daydream

Thanx to quite-the-junction of electronically-experienced personnel, the 80s worship-meets-now synth-beast beats are admittedly often worth the ear-lend: between the steamy-n-spooky atmospherics and quivery hectic-techie dance cuts, it's convincing+rigorous in its goth-brood sensuality and doesn't back down from slight weirdo touches like elastic-trap spicings or twitchy-trick xtra-sound whip-outs. But then comes the inescapable wince that occurs during flamboyance this stagy and sentimental -- oh right, that quite-the-junction-personnel's previous works include The Dillinger Escape Plan, Nine Inch Nalls, and er, Kesha. Actually, if you cut DEP from that equation but keep their forays into electro-skeez-pop and stuff the vacant gap with a heap of groaner Phil Collins cliches, that just may be a passable sum-up. ~*~meh~*~

Conan - Revengeance 

A bit by-the-book when it comes to sludge-steeped low-n-heavy simple riffage, not without its dawdling or wearisome propensities -- but their sinister slows-to-crawls appropriately decimate and lure, semi-gauche breakneck burst provides a brief pick-me-up, an appreciated no-frills procedure grants some slight background-space for the customary bubblin' psych-pedal-fx stew. However, the true horsepower comes from the poised+possessed duality of these stationary-scorcher-shouter frontmen, the human-ish mountaineer taking prevalence with a demonic roarer there for foil and further severity. 6/10

Kevin Gates - Islah

Generally known in the public eye as an infamous chest-booter and unabashed booty-eater, K-Gates' official full-length debut seeks to add trap&b crossover-crooner extraordinaire to that list -- a potentiality that thus far has acted like more of a side-sweetener to his ardent ruffneck flows; which when grouped with a flair for hooks/crackerjack rappin'/an endearing-yet-questionable personality, struck quite a honey-mud harmony between tough, tender, and catchy, with a good touch of goofball nasty-nast. All traits that still stand for the most part, but seemingly in favor of carving out a somewhat-contrived path towards hooks-n-glory it's the blazing aggression that takes a hit: adrenaline jack-ups in the vein of "Luca Brasi Intro" and fierce song-long non-stop verses a la "Khaza" are sorely missed in the midst of this hard-but-not mid-range medley. But the soft stuff does shine more than ever, and the deadly rap&sing combo of vivid rhymes and irresistible choruses can be a hard thing to come upon these days -- even harder if they confess erection-reliance over exotic-island pop or make tending to multiple phones sound glamorous as fuck -- and that is the speciality Gates revels in. Right along with, er ya know, making love to the pussy. 6.5/10

Benji Hughes - Songs in the Key of Animals

Complaints concerning the overt corniness, justifiable as they may be, seem like targets too easy -- though he certainly has it comin' what with the ah-fuck-it zoological thematics and boom-shocka-locks and unrestrained use of exclamation points and cupcake-citing and his entire selfhood in general, it's egregious enough to assume there's at least a mondo quantity of self-awareness at hand to back it up. You don't just pen a tune like "Girls Love Shoes" in 2016 or rhyme 'monkey' with 'donkey' in the first stanza without claspin' some serious tongue-in-cheek tendencies, right? Besides, the contrast of panicked screams-n-chatter with a mild-mannered sugar-hook is a-ok in my book, faceless studio-female voice-appendages provide a generic-yet-essential foil, and once the perpetual gag that is this album's first half has passed, far-more-endurable legitimacies are the norm: "Magic Summertime" is actually a bit magical, "Picnic" a mild lovey-dovey pleasure, "Song For Nancy" on auto-pilot ride-out from the get-go but a rather rational and touching instrumental. Then again, anything can seem sensible after good-time peacockery and zebra-saddle yearning I s'pose. 5/10

Immune - Breathless

Commences with a play-it-cool litmus test of garden-variety ambience-lean and atypical 10-minute understatement, then advances as an ever-flowing murky electro-river where coarse workaday dream-fog and soft-scratch shufflin' does its damnedest to muck up/enhance the buoyant dance-trance and psych-pensive roving. Smudgy layers are there for the pickin', and the more-than-serviceable beats that waft you through seem to gain cryptic appeal from their semi-concealment -- its Burial is buried, Avalanches avalanched, voices all drowned and now in phantom form. 7/10

OG Maco - The Lord of Rage [EP]

More than just another trite trapper automaton who's an avid yeller and yeah-er -- first and foremost is this lord's rage, the passionate foam-at-the-mouth aggression of which is so blood-pumping and flagrant and gruff that it could put some hardcore vocalists to shame. I wish he didn't save its extremest forms for exclusively "Ape Shit" and "Talk to Em", but it does help for the sake of coherence+tolerance, plus a few decent sing-song hooks and flip-flopping to a close+personal murmur for the ender ain't bad asides. Second yet more consistent is the sketchy-n-expansive trap-fury production, a dizzying and mammoth swirl of piano loops and echo-chamber screams and perscussion drive-bys and bottomless-pit bass and ad-libs of madness. Altogether it's a merging that conjures up one more non-trite trap-trait: this shit actually gets intimidating. 7/10

Rihanna - ANTI

Scrappiness leaves this helplessly disjointed, which is okay cuz so is Rihanna kinda -- sensual swagger shining all-the-while, she prefers her love-tangles scabrous if not outright destructive and to resemble the feeling of crack, the let-loose whiskey slurs and semi-edgy electronic twiddling threatening to overshadow the epic balladry and mushy Drake guest-spot. Both sides of that coin deliver: "Kiss It Better" and "Close to You" are plain-ol' beautiful with their respective thunderous drill-synth geetar-wails and piano-strings subtlety, "Woo" sees her as a defiant mech-ghoul cooer for Travis Scott's stridulant auto-tune-max waltz, "Work" makes a Billboard-smash incantation from a hook that progressively twists into nonchalant gibberish. And despite the discernibly fractional moments and some half-hearted performances, the momentous waste of time here goes to the utterly weak and imitative Tame Impala cover; an instance of indie-exploit if I've ever seen it and one that nears the 7-minute mark to boot. Aw, but what about all those sub-3-minute coulda-beens? 6.5/10

Sia - This is Acting

Salient voc-cords that'll rope in rooters for radio-friendly skyrocket showboating with toss-in tinges of weird in the form of bellower-vibratos and willingness to crack-n-strain -- the inevitable handful of alluring hooks ("Cheap Thrills", "Reaper", and "House on Fire" make for a notable triadic chunk) being no match for the brashly generic club-cliches and exorbitant vociferous schmaltz. Then there's all the nondescript against-the-odds triumph and self-assuring redundancies, oh and the self-sacrificial metaphors: she'd take one million bullets for you babe, she's a house on fire that wants to keep burning baby, etc. On one hand I admire her audacious pluck, but the other has me craving a less-hackneyed tone-down. 5.5/10

Kanye West - The Life of Pablo   
*******HIGHEST RECS*******

Swish, er wait, Waves, er no, The Life of Pablo, yeah, but uh, the first version: as in the pre-month-afterward-addition-of-"Frank's Song"-and-other-play-obsessive-trivial-tinkerings edition, aka the 18-track one rather than that once-projected 12-track one (or was it 11?). So yeah, it's accordingly disheveled and erratic to the point where it may literally still be unfinished, scrappy scraps rub shoulders with some of Ye's most cogent-n-genuine production-n-bars yet, hyped emergence-from-the-shadows cameos from Andre 3K and Frank Ocean seem intentionally wasted via mere titular murmur and deserted+dejected finis-fragment, respectively. And while haters bitch the day away about the glaring lack of focus and perfectionism, I'm left a) wondering why that was ever expected given the loony development of this patchwork from the get-go, and b) charmed and stimulated by its instability.

The oh-so-Kanye synthesis of celebratory playfulness, staid introspection, questionable quirk and whacked-out 'what the's is in full and radiant effect compared to the detached try-hard tantrum that was Yeezus -- and as suggested from the initiatory sermonizing small-fry/r&b cooers/gospel-ridden God-dreams/beautiful-morning proclamations being gaily undercut by the potential peril of a model's bleached asshole tarnishing his t-shirt mid-fuck, this sees outright trolling being added to that list. He utilizes intermissions for uber-self-aware a-cappella hilarity and told-you-so phone-call consent from an imprisoned wave-man, elatedly mistreats a lengthy portion of an elite beat via stammerin' and ad-libs, formulates an invasive wake-up call out of sharp+squealin' feedback and titles it "Feedback". 

And while the multifarious curves and crevices leave plenty to puzzle over -- zombie-eyed ghost girls and impulsive beat-cripplings serving as cryptic outro-chunks, b-movie wolf-cries portraying bothersome fam-hounders, Street Fighter II voice-borrows promulgating perfection, a fanatical ghetto-Oprah poppin' in to offer prizes for no reason whatsoever -- unadulterated surface-level satisfaction still runs rampant: "Waves" busting down the comparably-beefed up second half's door with turnt-up heaven's-gate squawk-pop, the feel-good congregational free-for-all of "Highlights", Rihanna's hook-magic and "Bam Bam"-sample divulgence of "Famous" leading you out of a pseudo-pious beam-light trio and into the ensuing driftless depths.

The iPhone ringtone/answered phone call that (thankfully?) interrupts the meandering of "30 Hours" speaks volumes: sure, he willingly cements a guaranteed-to-become-dated piece of contempo annoyance fluke into his self-touted opulent opus, but it's also slyly prefaced with the utterance of "the media be at me like…". Indecisive and mischievous as this album comes off, deep down the guy knows what he's doing; and when it's on top of a beat that could actually go on for 30 hours without a hitch, meandering ain't too bad either. Not that I'd listen to the album for 30 hours, but one certainly does me fine. 8.5/10

relicz

Burial - Untrue (2007)

Masterly when it comes to the interweaving of various floating voice samples in order to feign/mock singing and form mutant semi-hooks, and embodies the aura of 'late night' like nobody's business to boot. When not drifting about in some beat-less transcendence, these ethereal and haunting assemblages can even resemble good ol' fashioned pop songs -- but even during moments that could be construed as driving+catchy, immersion in a fragile and understated chill-zone is constant. Which leaves plenty of space for the cryptic little things that calmly slither into your ear-holes and tickle your brain: clicks, buzzes, flutters, sparkler-pops, static-swashes, shell-case clinks, slime-crawls, you know. 8/10

Cloud Nothings - Attack on Memory (2012)

Ever aware of their adroit pop-punk tunefulness, and also perhaps the limitations that can come with it -- hence the employment of band-in-a-room optimizer Steve Albini for some extra beef-up, the piano-laced slow-burn ponderer and prolonged Wipers worship serving as an initiatory proving ground, the angsty Milo Aukerman-esque vox shredded into hoarseness and beyond. Revel in crestfallen sonic turbulence and a 'separated' blitzkrieg instrumental they may, but man can they clean up nice too: "Fall In", "Stay Useless", "Our Plans", and "Cut You" make for an eminent foursome that's equal parts approachable and invigorating. As for the angst: "I thought I would be more than this", says the 20-year old kickin' it with Albini. 8/10

Ghost Mice - Europe (2006)

Chronological retelling of a jump across the pond via DIY-4-lyfe acoustic-folkie-punx; neatly separated by country, or on binary occasion, body of water. This all-too-lovable platonic-duo-powerhouse is boisterously chirpy both in general tone and in the puerility of their agog-n-intricate recollecting, and the companionship between 'em is as vital to the journey being described as it is to the tunes being played. They're kindred spirits with big backpacks and stinky feet who can only/barely afford campgrounds/cans of beans/peanut butter and prefer to sleep in a trash-laden bush beside the interstate or procure free fries from a flute-playing hippie anyway. Their cons include monstrous cows, slimy slugs, rainfall, paying for Stonehenge/bathrooms/hotels/almost anything. Pros include feeding animals that aren't bothersome, sunlight, nature, Ireland, interactions with ride-providers, soy ice cream, free anything -- and the overtly overriding sense of freedom and adventure, duh. 7.5/10

Kauan - Sorni Nai (2015)

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

Kendrick Lamar - Section.80 (2011)

Listening to this diamond-in-the-rough debut five years later in a post-pimped butterfly/Compton-turned-media-consortium world makes for quite the humbling experience. This established K-Dot's stance as a forward-thinking hip-hop saving grace -- discussing "money, hoes, clothes, God and history all in the same sentence" with incessant savviness and stylistic dexterity, tendencies towards jazz inflections and breathless spoken word, occasional snap-n-crackle fireside powwows stitching together an unobtrusive concept throughout. Moody-n-muffled lo-fi lambency and like-minded guest spots from co-collectivists act as imperative catalysts for the guy who depicts Keisha's harrowing tale in brutally vivid detail and frets over the dilution of his peers via syrup+technology with palpable earnestness and zero condescension, the guy who means well by denouncing a woman's need for make-up but winds up foot-in-mouth after the divulgence of its use as black-eye-concealer, the guy who rocks hooks like "You ain't gotta get drunk to have fun" and "Woopty-woop-woop", the guy who lets a chorus veer into overt arrogance then calls it "The Spiteful Chant" and throws in horn backups that would befit a funeral procession. Complex as a character Kendrick may be, he's able to sum himself up quite succinctly: "I'm not the next pop star, I'm not the next socially aware rapper / I am a human motherfuckin' being over dope-ass instrumentation." In his case, there's not much more you could ask for, really. 9/10

Nas - I Am… (1999)

Kicks things off with a lump-up of thus-far Greatest Hits snippets and tedious holier-than-thou scurrilities ("fuck all y'all faggot motherfuckers" -- what a moment to oust the beat) and an old guard-part II/remix of a Hit they forgot ("NY State of Mind"), closes shop with theatrical lovers-tiff butchery and a track called "Money is My Bitch". Toss in some Puffy-orchestrated determination-through-pomposity and Nas -- er sorry, "Dr. Knockwood" -- as a sexual lecturer, and all-in-all the pre-mercantile virtue of debut Illmatic seems rosier and more remote than ever. Disappointingly abhorrent and inflated as this can be, his proficient flows-n-wordplay remain irrefutable, and unless he's pulling my chain, deep down he still cares dammit: obligatory-at-the-time 2pac+Biggie paean is heartfelt and ruminative, desire to interrogate societal ringleaders seems burning+bonafide with incisive reasoning to boot. And serving as a paragon of vividly detailed yarns is that aforementioned theatrical butchery, "Undying Love" -- which with the aid of sound-fx, brings nightmarish rancor frighteningly close to reality. 6/10

Pennywise - Full Circle (1997)

Quite possibly the epitome of immaculately static skate-punk -- a more-mechanized, more-moshier, less-literary Bad Religion replication, frustratingly formulaic+fixed in attitude yet so ridiculously tight and adrenaline-pumping, effortlessly banging out a multitude of songs that end up piercing right out the sameness in their own nonpareil way. Appreciated vigor and yep even the semi-sheen, but jeez, just so general when it comes down to the nitty-gritty. And though the closing title of "Bro Hymn" may have an unfortunate connotation these days, this pseudo(?)-live tribute to forever-fallen founding member Jason Thirsk is perhaps the be-all end-all of instantly captivating energy-soaked group-woah-oh-singalongs -- not to mention, a moment that sees 'em bustin' out they mold for once, adopting some tumult, thank heavens. 6/10

Poe - Hello (1995)

Literal-greeting opener promptly conjures up visions of the 1990's with its prefiguring of the Daria theme and metaphorical use of a disconnected modem, and stylistically throughout, they attempt to run the decade's radio-friendly gamut: resentful heavy-alt-fuzz choruses, painless-n-jazzy trip-hop, wahka-wahka guitar, sappy softs. None of which are bad, really -- except the wahka, where that's usually inherent -- but it's fo-sho the r&b trip-hop that takes the cake, or perhaps has just aged kindlier, with now-vintage-dream single "Angry Johnny" and smoky old-school cut-up "Another World" particularly standing out. And though they certainly don't convince in the balladry and spoken word departments, Poe's no doubt got the voc-cords -- shame so many of her deliveries are banal or awkward or both. How many sex-as-violence violence-as-sex double entendres can ya really handle? 5.5/10

The Pop Group - Y (1979)

Their jerky jazz-funk aptitude is implemented only to be giddily disclaimed by just about every crackpot method one could come up with to eliminate cohesion and generally fuck with a mix -- they run the gamut of sketchy studio trickery and idealistic disarray, from abrupt volume discrepancies to wails that redefine demented desperation to rando-sounds and dissonant squeals aplenty to dead air and a-cappella to sprawling piano-slop to so-often refusing to remain locked in a pattern for more than ten seconds. The resulting fickle folly enraptures with its frolicsome unpredictability while that aforementioned aptitude provides validity and a groovy groundwork -- not to say this pitiless mischief doesn't grate over time. It certainly does. But coming from a buncha talented misfits that slyly call themselves The Pop Group, it's the kind of grate you're grateful for. 7/10

Young Thug - Slime Season (2015)

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

2016 pt. 1

Abbath - Abbath

When it comes to metal of the black inclination, the breadth and barbarism of Abbath's scare+despair components just about match that of the silly album cover -- instead of a full-on commitment to swallowing worlds and coercing into abysses, they transmit something a bit more in the way of traditionalist heavy-n-gallopin' thrashy riffage; their sturdy trounce rather stock but proficient and consistent enough to remain engaging and warrant some war-troll kitsch. Particularly adept at crescendo-breaking belches and well-timed synth-horns. 6.5/10

Anderson .Paak - Malibu

Fresh off his particularly illuminated guest-work on Dr. Dre's 'Compton', Paak delivers a full-n-flowing semi-filmic experience of his own: one whose bonafide and infectious old-meets-new soul&b uber-warmth is oft-mated with/accentuated by retro surf-talk samples and bittersweet familial nostalgia. Sure, the sustained breeziness it suffers from transforms to tiresome sex-corn now and again, there's some standouts yet it never really peaks -- but when instrumental suavity is this sumptuous and consistent, those very well may be non-issues. Plus he's got some hip-hop chops and is able to make jumping into bed with him sound nothin' but playful; Miguel could learn a thing or two here. 7/10

Boosie Badazz - In My Feelings (Goin' Thru It)

Losing faith in God cuz of a post-prison cancer diagnosis, in women cuz they stressin' him, in men cuz they failin' him; considering a pooch purchase for some semblance of actual companionship: Boosie's goin' thru it alright, and throughout this wisely-terse relentless downer of varying volumes it's his earnest charisma and unmistakable delivery that help you through a lethargic-by-nature aura and seize some real-life sympathy. And much like on last year's Touch Down 2 Cause Hell, the final track showcases a badazz w/ just piano that is downright touching, if perhaps a bit self-concerned this time around -- though given the circumstances, appropriate enough methinks. 6/10

DIIV - Is The Is Are

Despite their dishy-dream guitar tones/feedbacker squeal-skills/generous bass-lines, the full-time glum-bounce apathy leaves 'em feeling vacuous from the get-go, and they fall so rapidly into reiterations that I wouldn't hesitate to call it impressive. But hey, dishy's dishy; they bore agreeably, keep a fine beat, nurture a stylistic formula enough to churn out a true ear-perker now and then, pay tribute to godfathers Can+Primal Scream with mantric amp-yowl jam-out, etc. 5/10

DUST - Agony Planet

Sturdy, fairly mesmerizing, dense, robotically groovy, texturally aware -- quite acceptable for sweaty grave raves or when that stringent-creeper-techno scratch really starts itchin', but on the whole this can get old quick, often too quotidian to justify such elongation of both the separate tracks and overall album. Most of the voice utilization is stellar, with the background groaner of "Alien Prey" and "She Woke Up in Water"s anomalous straight-up distorto-shrill screaming serving as pinnacles amongst all the consonant echoey utterances. On the voice-usage flip-side however, the alien-talk is beyond corny; and I'll keep my fantasies/dreams/fears to myself, thank you every much. 6/10

Krallice - Hyperion [EP]

Scuzz-prog gurus ring in the New Year with an EP recorded 30 months prior that is not only more pronounceable than 2015's Ygg Huur, but more pronounced as well -- a comparable lack of superfluous meandering makes 'em more graspable; and no that's not a bad thing, especially not if they're cranking the anguished-black-metal-brutality knob up a notch in return. Other preferable perks include riffs you can dive into, feedback-wash standstills and, sure, the brevity too. 7/10

Luxury Elite - Noir  
*******HIGHEST RECS*******

Twenty instrumental compositions that meld together to form a sort of soundtrack for a nighttime city-strut. It "Arrival"s in style and stays that way -- sleek and austere, simplistic and hypnotic, staggering between frolicsome+groovy and pensive+breathtaking. Thanks to an average track-time somewhere around the 2-minute mark, not-a-one overstays its welcome, each often opting to vaguely convey its title before moving onto whatever act comes next -- all-the-while of course utilizing auras and aesthetics pulled from what one can only imagine as PS1-era cutscenes, hazy late night television, winning a car via gameshow circa 1985, that sorta thing. Just as it shamelessly rips out the swankiest of saxes and absurdly wanky gee-tar note-bends while suggesting Pink Panther walking down an alley at 3 a.m., it also adheres to admiring skyline scenery from an advantageous height, dreamin' and desirin', and perpetual dips into big ol' fountains of soothe. 8/10

Pop. 1280 - Paradise

Their uber-goth disposition leans towards comical, but the industria-synth sci-fi multiplex they invoke is capacious and persuasive -- textural reliability whether it's noisy punk propulsion or nearly-dance-floor-friendly or creepy-crawly bath-house atmospherics or whatever-in-between, rejecting languor on the regz, sovereign 'tude backed by a mien of doomful-yet-playful intrigue. A circuitous dystopian diapason wrapped up in ~40 minutes, not bad. 7/10

Roly Porter - Third Law

Sumptuous industria-tinged ambience whose free-drifting formidability sprouts from the remote nether-regions of the galaxy and hovers above like a smoldering fireball, eternally portending an imminent space-pocalypse. It regularly broods and occasionally bursts; and though the ominous low-end tremors and aerial glitch-grit are rich+dense+dandy, I do wish it did more of the latter -- like the anguished-wail churn-outs that surface from the furor in opener "4101", or when "Mass" bouncily nails electro-parallels into your skull while the world around you deteriorates. But spiking terrorization with riveting repose does seem to increase the sinisterly aspect: never underestimate the meditative unknown or the blazing unexpected. 6.5/10

Savages - Adore Life

Admittedly never was the hugest touter of their debut, but it had its enduring moments and grit-soaked everything and apparitional atmosphere and oft-vicious momentum -- all traits that are in short supply on the followup. Which doesn't need to be a bad thing, not at all in fact, but this just this lacks so much bite: the enduring are now satisfactory moderates stuffed up front, the grit-n-grooves just about relinquished, vox are overly exhausting or plain unenthused, momentum rendered to awkward spurts too caught up in the tangle of dry mid-range draggage and dour 'tude to keep up anything of intense worth. ~*~meh~*~