2016 pt. 4

Basic Rhythm - Raw Trax

Raw Trax in that they each clutch tautology like a crutch and can't be bothered to explore much outside of whatever vocal-sample-snippet and twitch-beat was there at the kickoff, and if you're looking for melodies plz look elsewhere. But for how stubborn and protracted these not-quite-Basic stop-n-go Rhythms are, they also never fail to keep things fun, groovy, alive and well; each one drilling its distinct and vaguely hip-hop-flavored concept into your psyche as you helplessly jerk around all the while. Both the ecstatic thrill of weekend rushes and the moody stillness of twilight hushes are channeled, and though the voice-clips dip heavily into the generic, they undoubtedly help anchor the Trax and even form a semi-hook at times. They really are Basic, though. The voice-clips, that is. 7/10

Brood Ma - DAZE 
*******HIGHEST RECS*******

An avant-electronic-noise whirlwind so dizzying it may actually induce motion sickness, so absurdly garbled and flat-out strange at times it could be misconstrued for an hour-long album that was condensed-to-fuck until out shat a non-stop topsy-turvy ~27-minute thrill ride. But given the near-total plastering of hair-raising intensity and how much complex-n-booming dread-fun exudes on through, consider those compliments. The whizzes-n-whirls of fiery toying often invade every passage in your perimeter, and even lil lull-dips never quit squirmin' on the low, and are usually rectified by all-out reemergence-blasts with keyb-guns a-blazin'. Opens with pleasant jungle descent and orphically forewarning countdown, ends with 5-minute industrial crusha that also somehow manages to claim the omg-weirdness-crown, in between is your guess is as good as mine. 8/10

The Dirty Nil - Higher Power

Insubordinate with their arrant amp-shrieks and dual throat-shredders and disregard for the man of a gal he's tusslin' in the reeds to Husker Du with, but these loud-n-earnest rock-n-rollers bring some munchable melodies and a high-spirit ruckus that's palpably sweaty and generally welcoming -- for the first half, at least. A peak is attained at "Friends in the Sky", which suitably reaches near-celestial levels of catchy emotional squall; but barring the prolonged rodeo-entombment-request ender it's decidedly downhill from there, opting moreso for the so-so and inevitable sub-minute thrasher. Timespan of 'prolonged' ender: 3:29. Thoughts on that aforementioned man-of-a-gal: "Oh yeah / fuck him." 6.5/10

Freakwater - Scheherazade

Vet-status ragged-n-sensitive female alt-country-but-quite-country duo that's been active beside a varying cast of fellas since '89 or so -- and though it's their first album in over a decade, it conveys what vet-country damn well should, that is to say they're casually earnest, genuine, down-n-out-n-proud of it, prone to provocative diction and pilfering nursery rhymes for addiction metaphors. Their voice-weave is an uber-gripping and seemingly-sporadic force of beautiful disparity on its own, and the partaking ensemble dispenses just the right amount of schooled swagger-accompaniment for their slurrin' and croonin', whether it be fury-infused rock that wouldn't dare blow its top or the prevailing broken-ache dismay and eerie intimacy. Effortlessly exudes elegance, but never without some tinge of rusty suffering. Usually a solid go-to elegance-buffer, if you ask me. 7/10

Kendrick Lamar - untitled unmastered. 
*******HIGHEST RECS*******

///BRAV-FUCKING-O\\\

Rocks half the tracks/less than half the length/barely a wisp of the pampering dispatched on last year's unassailable do-I-even-have-to-say-it hip-hop smash, but I'll be damned if this isn't nearly as indispensable. The creepin' slow-burn jazz-hop understatements are fresh in their reserve, particularly showcasing Thundercat's uber-resonant bass-work and encouraging flows to come gleam on through the demo-ish dust; the xtra-doses of fervor and clarity accentuated without any abandonment of lexical density. Of course there's also the prolonged+hissy passage of behind-the-scenes badinage/tune-planning, perhaps superfluously consummating the whole 'unmastered' slant. But it makes for some pretty warm waste, I gotta say. Whereas the rest is more like world-class waste. 8/10

Matmos - Ultimate Care II

All spin-cycle and AWOL-sock jokes aside, this makes quite the mercurially labyrinthine romp out of exclusively washer-derived sounds; transmitting a sort of exorbitant cut-up reconstruction of what the super-DUPER-wash setting might be like. Thus its format as a single 38-minute composition, in all of its cumbersome delight -- of course one consistently fluctuating with ups+downs, vigor+lulls, pure meandering, alien+domestic. The alien being that many-a-sound could be construed as just about anything other than a washing machine, having been mutated into whatever-the-fuck fits; the domestic being the reality-reminders of knob-cranks and soapy aqua-shuffles that seemingly cleanse the mind. And when they just flat-out rhythmically beat the shit out of the thing, that's cool too. Always nice to see object-technicians that acknowledge both mad manipulation and plain ol plainness. Is it just me or does that buzzer-click closure absolutely epitomize a domestic reality-reminder? 6/10

Ritual Chamber - Obscurations (To Feast on the Seraphim)

Opens with a bestirred beast and ominous drum-march+bell-tolls, ends with ambiguous chanting and an approximation of being swallowed by Satan complete with a slimy slide through his gullet-n-guts -- and though what's in between is fittingly chock full of substantial low-end grime-riffs and exclusively-low-growl vox to match, this is quite the protracted and dispiriting trudge on the whole. Which may be par for the course perhaps, but when coupled with a lack of memorability and range, it makes for a rather tolling and eventually exhaustive listen. Further fusion of the freakishness found in the bookends throughout woulda been just dandy. 5.5/10

Santigold - 99¢

She bursts out her curio-crammed airtight chamber and promptly gets you bobbin' head and yelpin' incoherence with a one-two punch of sunny-island busy-n-bubbly pop greatness; laying on thick+cheeky the exotica cocksure jauntiness that triumphantly emanates throughout and rhyming 'sycophant' with 'elephant' while she's at it. And sure, just about every arrangement here churns out concordance, but it's ol Santi's invincible chorus-belting and forever-pleasing potpourri of enunciations that keep on keepin' on -- even during dives into the dramaturgy of circle-strolls/ran races/pre-fires and a bumbling-per-ushe ILoveMakonnen feature, she always makes singing along a wildly obligatory hoot. For my money however, it's the straight-n-steady joyride finale of "Who I Thought You Were" that takes the elation-cake, while also showcasing her punk-fronter roots. Barely comprehensible message for the man who's been modified by money: "I like you more when you poorer / Your new ID is a borer." 7/10

Secret Boyfriend - Memory Care Unit

Skulks things off with an immovable 7-minute simmer-slab that indeed could be likened to warbling umbrage, and each act of patience-testing crust-dream hypnosis that follows seems to be progressively more evocative, enigmatic, and dammit, downright despondent -- the kind of electro-moan VHS-scum melancholia that gradually sucks you into its turtles-pace vortex and instills an unabated state of cogitative concern. Its version of sweetening is the aptly-titled "Little Jammy Centre", which actually rocks a beat (albeit the world's most archaic) and vox (albeit the world's most unintelligible) alongside beatific twinkle-keys/low-key sparkler bursts/glitchy rumblings; and stabs at ultimate bittersweet ascendancy are the terminal twosome of "Stripping at the Nail" and "Memorize Them Well" -- the former an arguably fully-formed and legit stunner, the latter able to pass for a steadily-beating heart sluggishly soaring towards a sketchy-n-staticky heaven. Never underestimate the power of an uber-rudimentary keyb-note pattern. 7/10

Skee Mask - Shred

Eloquently shifts between/skillfully marries floaty atmospherics and zippy microcosmic beat-work, consistently hits a junctional sweet-spot of driving+elaborate+reflective while remaining sufficiently subdued -- the expanse and expertise of it is admirable, and though I dig some tossed-in hand-drum+spoon-clack percussion and possible skateboard references and complicated-chill-beats as much as the next guy, the whole of it feels so drawn-out; and ultimately i.e. maybe halfway through, rooted predictability settles in. Driving as it may be at times, scarcely do I get through a track-or-two without gettin' at least a lil snoozy. Not a bad thing obviously, especially when it's imaginably somehow beneficial to the brain and momentarily wondrous -- would like a bit more moxie in its tatterin' is all. 6.5/10