A Giant Dog - Pile
Having already procured what'll probably be the best band name/album title combo of the year, these Texan rock&punk&rollers aim for a garaged rowdiness that's radiant as it is dirty, sweet without nearing saccharine and rough without reaching ridiculous. Though a bit too customary to contend in any other 'of the year's, I'd say we have a winner -- consistently contagious, loud+blistering+raw complemented with the convivial+melodic, illuminated frontwoman (Sabrina Ellis) and bass-lines (Graham Low). It only really lets up for some post-party stoner-love acoustic whimsy near the end, buzzy keys and horns occasionally jab through and entirely enhance, and the slacker "bop bop" backups come off as both parody and panegyric of antique eras in rock music -- something they're also devoted enough to to make sure "sex & drugs" and "rock & roll" each get their own song; always a good sign. 7/10
Julianna Barwick - Will
Her airy+layered+indecipherable Enya-esque vox are steadily breathtaking; and whether paired with soaring synth drones or ambiance with pinches-o-piano and subtle strings, it makes for a captivatingly churchy tranquilizer -- or straight-up divinity deliverer at its best ("Nebula", "Same", "Someway"). That's not to say the uniform wafting and sense of inactivity don't become a bit snoozy; that they predictably do. But thankfully it doesn't get as vast or inflated as, say, comparable contemporary Gabi; or for better or worse, as weird: instead of Argento vibez for the finale, we just get drums and a lil electro-takeover. 6.5/10
Julianna Barwick - Will
Her airy+layered+indecipherable Enya-esque vox are steadily breathtaking; and whether paired with soaring synth drones or ambiance with pinches-o-piano and subtle strings, it makes for a captivatingly churchy tranquilizer -- or straight-up divinity deliverer at its best ("Nebula", "Same", "Someway"). That's not to say the uniform wafting and sense of inactivity don't become a bit snoozy; that they predictably do. But thankfully it doesn't get as vast or inflated as, say, comparable contemporary Gabi; or for better or worse, as weird: instead of Argento vibez for the finale, we just get drums and a lil electro-takeover. 6.5/10
James Blake - The Colour in Anything
*******HIGHEST RECS*******
Virtuoso when it comes to bonding fragile achiness with chilly cybernetics both vocally and instrumentally -- though sad-n-slender compositions and a nowhere-to-go flow and 17 tracks in 76 minutes make this an undoubtable slog, it's a slog that's oft-striking, satisfyingly sneaky, and sometimes strange; capacious enough to still forget about/get spooked by Bon Iver's startling "wooo!" some six listens in, reliable enough to still get goosebumps on the regz some ten listens in, irresistible in its intransigence enough to accept the 20 minutes it takes to hit his stride and the inessentials and the goofball dog-barks. Crucial Lyric from the pretty much music-less ender: "Music can be everything". 7.5/10
Car Seat Headrest - Teens of Denial
///BRAV-FUCKING-O\\\
A magnified portrait of prototypal indie-boy apprehension; as in the thing flaunts 12 tracks in 70 minutes and one of 'em allegorizes the troubles of being a tyronic adult with the sinking of the goddamn Costa Concordia. But thanx in part to a penchant for rawness+ruckus+mumbling+hoarseness, its sizable scope never really leans toward lofty; and though heavy on the mope and musical miming and diffident drawl, cranium-cushion-commander Will Toledo is personable+pitiful enough to not only draw you in, but make you give a shit too. Invariably observant inward-n-outward, his narrations are oft-laced with wit, woe, candor, nobility; and perhaps some good ol' fashioned naivete -- he cries when a cop shakes him down and needs to warily ask a merciful mademoiselle if what they're doin' is dancing, driving drunk is acknowledged and discouraged without even a scintilla of advocacy or condescension, a shroom+acid cocktail gets him feeling trashy and vile instead of transcendent. Having lotsa mantric hooks never hurts either, take this decisive and descending sequential triplet: "It'll be alright", "I give up", "We're never gonna never gonna get a job" -- considering the ambition at hand, the last one at least is prolly not something worth worrying about. 7/10
Dieterich & Barnes - The Coral Casino
Deerhoof guitarist and Neutral Milk Hotel drummer/organist/piano man collaborate to create an instrumental something that doesn't particularly sound like either -- part seemingly sporadic and thrown together/part not and slyly byzantine, oft-propulsive and hectic yet lax and lighthearted, the commixing of psychedelic radiance and basement scuzz generating a crudely carnivalesque aura at times. Compatible fellas fo sho who emit a project that's welcome+engaging and do good not to dillydally, but to brand it as bounden would be a stretch. 6.5/10
Brian Eno - The Ship
*******HIGHEST RECS*******
Gradual+grand expanse would probably be an understatement, torpid traipse would likely denote a lack of patience -- cuz as far as the amalgam of atmospheric lingering/refined pacing/conceptual drama goes, Eno and his trailblazer-status evidently still have it down pat. Propelled by a massive pair of ponderers that incorporate obtained-through-senectitude low-C vocals+creaks-n-moans which are all too befitting for sinking into an ocean and haunting image-conjures of young soldier retrospection+"humans turning back to clay"; and for the xtra extraneous weird, there's gasping robots and ticking time-bombs and accelerated bilingual phone-operator chitchat. Clinched by a comparably bare-n-brief Peter Serafinowicz reading and Velvet Underground send-up: the former perfectly proper+somber, the latter perfectly heavenly+gratifying, and, well, perfect. 8/10
Toby Gale - DNA Party [EP]
Short-lived electro-shindig whose super-sparkly bustle is sure to lure and yield a smile, or at the very least create a shrill and unobligatory diversion. 6/10
ScHoolboy Q - Blank Face LP
As a whole it's pointlessly prolonged as are at least a handful of singular tracks, there's a ginormous glut of guest-spots including an inevitable prank-waste Kanye feature, there's the despicable deviation that is "Overtime". But when it hits it hits hard: two-part "Groovy Tony/Eddie Kane" more-than-warrants its 6+ minutes, "Dope Dealer" dispenses a classically criminal chorus alongside a bifocal-bumpin' E-40 verse, Tyler the Creator's production unexpectedly contributes a big ol' jolt-o-vigor a la "Big Body", "Str8 Ballin'" is all sortsa stunning and sports a breathtakingly boastful bush-2-kush hook from Jesse Rankins. And despite the hodgepodge of visitor-n-virtue variance, Q's persona still firmly prevails -- a snarl that's mostly sinister and slightly wise and isn't shy towards slow jamz; a guy who callously dons a Blank Face when he's letting shots ring and giving your mama condolences yet candidly calls his Crip-dad a bitch for leaving him "where hope just don't exist". And he would prefer to fuck right now, as opposed to sometime later. 7/10
Swans - The Glowing Man
*******HIGHEST RECS*******
///BRAV-FUCKING-O\\\
Part familiar rehash, part lenient wrap-up, but ultimately still chock full-a transcendental gravity and cultivated formidability -- while they strip away much of the harsh looniness that was present in the pair of predecessors and tend to linger in lulls perhaps a bit too regularly, the considerable tilt towards composed clamor-chants and portentous rock-hypnotism-as-ceremony continues to bewitch and groove on a plane that only this embodiment of Swans can reach. Notable anchors include passages of punk-esque pep, Jennifer Gira's defiant+despondent depiction of her true-story ordeal with a stinking pig-man rapist, and a comprehensive sense of artistic closure. Fitting final track-title for the group who have released 6 hours of original material in 4 years whilst touring extensively and spittin' out monstrous live albums all the while: "Finally, Peace". 8/10
Torn Hawk - Union and Return
One can't help but be swept away at least a smidgen by this broken bird's elegant ethereality; the cleanly commingling of strings+keys/easy-going electro/silky guitar/bogus brass marked with fitful femme-blurts and reverb aplenty is palatial+playful and steadily sails+soothes. But what initially warms the heart and apprehends the ears so effortlessly ends up blurring into tolerable tepidity and meandering just as handily. Alluring atmosphere, impressive intricacies, verve-sucking mellow mannerisms. 5.5/10
