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