2016 pt. 15

Angel Du$t - Rock the Fuck On Forever

*******HIGHEST RECS*******

Rowdy+rapid+punchy enough to claim bonafide hardcore, but opener "Toxic Boombox" winds up somewhat of a tough-guy tease -- granted, they're quite the rigid yellers and mean riffers when they wanna be and shout "fuck you" before a breakdown, but when melodic pop-leans and non-shouted hooks pervade it adds an almost laughably-extrinsic boyish charm; not to mention bring xtra clumps of catchy, a fuckload of fun, and a sort of atypical neatness and innocence. When they vow to make me hurt on, erm, "Hurt You Bad", I assume he means he'll beat me good in soccer next time or something; the barks that fall on chord-changes, simply aggressive aerobic instructions; being addicted to a real bad thing that's gonna take him out, masked by hella-adorable harmonizing. They also whip out a "Twist & Shout" that's terrific and all their own, and a fiery sax for the swan-song. No worries, the tunes don't actually rock the fuck on forever -- 1:35 or so usually does the trick. 8/10

Cough - Still They Pray

Decent if you're lookin' to satisfy that heavy sludge hankering, especially if you want it dragging  and dirty and gradually doleful -- lotsa longanimity necessary to sit through the entirety of this  one despite the appreciated occasional migration into softer non-rumbly sectors. Obviously cuz  it's leaden as hell, but also there's just not a whole lotta noteworthy justifying the enormity of it;  all too handily it begins to blur and/or tilts toward excruciation. The wailing-surfer-dude vox  don't particularly help either. Wait a sec, wasn't that the riff from "Sunshine of Your Love"? 5/10

Elysia Crampton - Elysia Crampton Presents: Demon City

*******HIGHEST RECS*******

Feels fairly frivolous following last year's four-track mini-epic American Drift, one of the finest half-hours to permeate the ol' earholes in quite some time: this is more rigid, less ambitious, even shorter, rid of a striking spoken-word proem, and heavily constructed around other (albeit consentient) peep's productions. But even when it comes across as clutter or a minimalist getting lucky or a whose-song-is-it-tho scenario, the vivid-weirdo soundscape's got me salivating on the regz -- haunted house piano, simple synth lines, warped synth things, synths that just stab, touches of hip-hop, lots+lots of sinister-yet-screwy etceteras. Also very well could be that I just get a kick outta being incessantly taunted. The parenthetical footnotes are telling: one dedicational to a female revolutionist who was publicly tortured-n-killed as punishment, another simply stamping itself as a "No Drums" version; the latter vital in that despite doing away with all of the peculiarly wonderful percussion it manages to convey heavenly gates openin' up wide/Judgment Day, with zealous reggae horn to boot. The prior vital cuz there's clearly a bit more going on here then just sound-mushing and dem "beats". 8/10

Fear of Men - Fall Forever

For the irrefutable irresistibles check "Island" and "Trauma", but on the whole they carry quite the clout considering the skimpy+secretive setup of plain-n-pleasant femme vox/mech-drums/stringent mood-synths and guitar wringin'. Dark and stark enough to curtail cuteness, too poppy and pretty for morosity, but they do nail an in-between fusion that's consistent and concise to boot. 7/10

Mock Orange - Put the Kid on the Sleepy Horse

*******HIGHEST RECS*******

Going on 20 years versed and bearing that congenital era's fuzzy+melodic rockin' proudly and prosperously -- paired with Ryan Grisham's trebly-n-wounded vox they promptly prompt suggestions of FlamingDinoChunkJuniorSuperLipsIndieness; but with gee-tar licks aplenty alongside pedals that peddle both dirty fire and dreamy elegance, lithe drumming and bass that don't slack neither, buzzy keybs and kept-in-check psych-outs as bonuses, and the willingness+finesse to interrupt a clattery grunge verse with a beautiful banjo-glazed chorus, it's safe to say they've carved their own niche. Unassertive catchiness always helps too, as does having a quintuplet of genuine hits out of ten tracks; even if at least four of 'em are in the first half. 7.5/10

Tegan and Sara - Love You to Death

Hoppin' back on the ol T&S train for the first time since 2007's The Con and hmm -- ya skip a couple albums and suddenly find these once rock-centric-yet-eclectic bedraggled-book-insert-sporting titan-indie-twins have gone full-on gaudy glittery synth-pop, the enormous choruses crying lines like "when it's love it's tough" and "you're fuel to my fire". But "just let me into your heart", "you can't stop desire", some good points there: can't help but slightly scoff at the comparative gloss and transformative transparency, but damn if they don't sell it well. Emotionally genuine even if simplified and stiff, vivacious arrangements and performances though broadly by-the-books, fun as hell at its peak but can get its sad on too. Ten-track concision is a good thing; especially when near all of 'em rock driving multi-hooks that'll stick around fo sho -- albeit some more annoyingly/emptily than others. 6.5/10

Thank You Scientist - Stranger Heads Prevail 

Between the clarion vox and histrionics and burnish and questionable collision of horns+strings+prog, the mighty forces of obnox are strong with this one -- it'd be super-superfluous to cite the skill and silly to say it's free of stirring moments, but also damn difficult to declare this ain't an overrefined+overstuffed corn-fest whose fusion is usually unwieldy. Speaking of corn, an excerpt from the (blech) epilogue: "We have so many songs still left to sing / Too many notes for normal folks to understand". From a normal folk to y'all, nah I think I'm good, thanx tho. 5/10

William Tyler - Modern Country

Titled perhaps as a knowing wink towards what just about anyone considers to be the majority of modern country, Tyler+troupe bypass words and corn and airwaves for sprawling-n-spotless instrumentals that combine the alfresco atmospheres of finespun folk and the pacific pensiveness of post-rock. Certainly comely, no doubt all-around dexterous and detailed, rarely gives way to abeyance, but the constant composure has 'em gravitating a bit too close to congenial background music -- see the climactic great unwind's seamless segue in-n-out of Birdville for verification. 6/10

Whitney - Light Upon the Lake

The fixed falsettos and soft-boy civility and 'na-na-na's get red flags a-rising, but through warm folk-pop-venerability and instrumentation that's classy+cultivated but never highflown their charm is rather unavoidable. Effortlessly stuffing a 10-song half-hour this full-a soul and flow and sensibilities, well hey that's pretty nice too. 6.5/10

Young Thug - Slime Season 3

///BRAV-FUCKING-O\\\

Cleanliness+consistency uber-upped from the preceding pair of this slimy series -- as confirmed by the right-away gag-hook of a sky-high fellator being labeled an airhead, cleanliness pertains to production only -- but most notable by far in this installment is the benevolent brevity, second most is the resultant consolidated horsepower. Perhaps he got the "Memo" that 8 tracks in 28 minutes is infinitely more viable than yet another half-good 70+minute hodgepodge, 'specially when all 8 tote a hook that kills, a beat that really tries, and an explosion of personality. And in the midst of the aforementioned airhead and the slime bitch and the tatted+pierced bitch, there's the bonafide ballad for the bitch who's "Worth It", i.e. his fiancee. The Cunning Come-on? "I need a deep throat baby, swallow me." 7/10

senescence

Amps For Christ - The People at Large (2004)

Good-sized chunk of flittering fluttering blipping bleeping Bastardized folk. The fully-formed songs are great, the Indian instrument noodling is tolerable, the powerviolence is muffled, the noise is fun, the insect chirps are synthesized, the Old Lang Syne variants strike a nerve. The spoken word poetry, however, is better off left in the liner notes. 6.5/10

Death Grips - Exmilitary (2010)

Compelling pundits to redefine the parameters of hip-hop, this is possessed rambunctiousness that's both vile and worth reading into. Enough electronic-bass-blare and technical drumming to demolish buildings and attract partiers while copious glitchy scramblings and frenzied shouting get 'em running for the door and make the rubble worth cherishing. If the samplings of Black Flag/Bad Brains/Charles Manson are inklings toward their corybantic disposition, maybe the Castaways/Pet Shop Boys ones expose their sense of humor. As for Pink Floyd, perhaps they just needed a viable guitar line. And really -- who needs some superstar guest-spot when you've got Mexican Girl? 7/10

f(x) - 4 Walls (2015)

At the risk of coming across as dat dood who thinks Asian girl-groups yield a sort of inimitable and peregrine glee, this album is at least a partly-potent portrayal of such a postulation. Like anywhere else, the blatantly candied club-hypers can overwhelm with their rambunctious sprightliness; but more endearing than most are the quirkified bubbly-bustle pop-tronic beats, the sporadic rap-chops, the personas that can go from the stupidly-cute ad-worthy lure of "Glitter" to flagrant cash-snubbers who possess "swagger like Jagger" to the wistful Carly Rae-reject ender of "When I'm Alone". Submission to English is primarily used to safeguard and optimize the approachability of their catchy hook-splendor, though the more-disputables are likely fated to be misconstrued by goofball 'Merican ears as "show me the asshole." 6.5/10

Kevin Gates - Luca Brasi 2 (2014)

His idea of funny is kickin' a bitch out the car, mine is his hook about likin' bitches thugged out in between baby 'waahh's and mud grunts. That mix of all-too-honest gravelly street grit and willingness to get 'in his feelings' is the gleaming strength here - we get an unforgiving world of constant grind&hustle, sobering prison tale excerpts, packages going across the water, and betrayal-a-plenty; but he also can have a good cry/ex reminiscence to a Drake song and drown in the syrup a paranoid mess. His knack for catchiness ultimately culminates with the semi-miraculous "Wassup With It" - maybe the best ballad for a good ol' fashioned no-strings fuck since Biggie & R.Kelly decided to skip on the Cristal. 8/10

Goldfinger - Goldfinger (1996)

For mid-90's gloss-punk, competent and consistent: catchiness is all-too-effortless and there's no need to rely on the singles. When ska comes 'round it's congenial and complementary, and they even throw in a thrashin' L.A.-grouser/bandname-dropper/fuck-tallier. True to genre-era-customs, some infantilism pervades, but has the decency to mostly lie dormant till the filler-ish second half -- a shower is lamented, a prank call is made, a cat gets cussed out -- yet somehow, someway, considerable highlight "Mable" has the power to persevere through a faux-English-accent "she's the bomb" hook (the last of which is actually followed by an explosion) and a package comparison (tube of cookie dough vs. small pencil with broken lead). 7/10

Lack of Interest - Trapped Inside (1999)

Wad of compressed+curtailed drill-sergeant-grunt hardcore, moments that really break away from the flatly breakneck bark blur tend to be - gasp - the change-ups, like the here-and-there struck high strings and pick scrapes and slowdowns. When a song title is identifiable that's nice too ("My Life / my life", "What's up / what's up"). Serving as a mid-way marker is the true highlight; a sustained one-note eye-bulge bellow of vigor and hilarity. 6/10

Len - You Can't Stop the Bum Rush (1999)

Their 'peace, man' positivity 'vibes' can be pukeworthy, the rhymes are stuck usually somewhere around 1987, the maturity level in the vicinity of an 11th grader, chunks of stale live-show hype-up are too often used for filler; but sugar-coated female vox 4e, and I do enjoy their brand of sunny light-heartedness and wide diversity in dispensing it: stoner-chatter-inflected summer wonder single, scratchy hip-hop, video game-ish synth pop jams, Kraftwerk homage, "Hot Rod Monster Jam" (the name fits), play-around punk. They save the big stuff for the last three and muck up most of it - check the delightfully floaty arrangement in - sigh - "Big Meanie", only to hear the lyrics ("It's been so crazy, too bad / And a shame, so sickening and lame / A shitty motherfucking pain"), which is followed by the Moon Safari-quality "Junebug", which makes up for it. Then it all somehow ends with a soul choir. 6/10

Lil Wayne - Tha Carter III (2008)

It's got the kind of budget that allows him to appear as a doctor, a martian, a political Robin Thicke collaborator, and a cop seducer back-to-back, and then there's also T-Pain and Babyface and "Lollipop". But it's also got ridiculous rhymes (too many good ones to quote an example) over primordial beats, absurd personality aplenty, a blunt-laced political collaboration with himself, and "Pussy Monster". A Jumbled Commercial Package it may be, but the benefits are reaped, and little is done to lull "the best rapper alive" - his words, not mine. 8/10

Pantera - The Great Southern Trendkill (1996)

An improvement over Far Beyond Driven in that it swaps out some of the sluggish dragger despondence for riotous thrash-against-the-media vehemence. The dirges are a bit tighter and less self-serving, the bipolar duel of "Suicide Note"'s is preferable to the shock-value depravity of "Good Friends and a Bottle of Pills" any day, the screaming is Seth Putnam-assisted, and "Drag the Waters" may be their groove-pinnacle. Questionable Phil-drivel still abounds - he confirms his cock is getting hard and there's something about "a nazi gangster jew", but then there's the show-stopper show-portrayal "The Underground in America"; which while painting a mosh-pit-scene as a picturesque utopia/disease-infested drug-hole and calling out phony punks, might kinda hint towards some form of unity: "Lesbian love is accepted and right / Shaved heads meet hair in the mix / Blending the 80s and 90s with hate". Hey, it's a start. 7/10

Savage Garden - Savage Garden (1997)

If fluorescent-bulb lighting being reflected off the just-buffed linoleum floor of a major-chain supermarket aisle was in the form of a song, it would be "Truly Madly Deeply" -- but that's the easiest jab this album offers, really it's not all so bad -- "I Want You" on the other hand is a kinda-quirky smash single that's not nauseating, they can drive a beat home if they want to, they're somewhat vocally equipped. But jeez, they do make it difficult -- between the front-loading, being unable to find a safe-sound-slot that's not sappy or strained, the Spanish guitar, cheap wah-wah effects and orchestral hits, there's stinky pseudo-romantic cheese: "Your kisses are like pearls / So different and so rare", "Feel my caress so soft and gentle / So delicate you cry for more", I won't go on. How about these sincere+descriptive "Santa Monica" excerpts?: "All the people got modern names like Jake or Mandy / and modern bodies too", "You'll have to dodge those inline skaters / or they'll knock you down". ~*~meh~*~

2016 pt. 14

18+ - Collect

Comes off as somewhat surplus when taking into account their more-sprawling/parentheses-packed release from three months prior, especially being plainly plainer and really no less obnox persona-wise. But if you dig/tolerate/get a kick outta their apathetic weirdo disposition and art-n-pills-at-night mood-trap beats then this shouldn't disappoint -- matter-o-fact, a reduction in glitch-work experiments and the comparative cleanliness arguably give this the upper hand in some ways. "Drama" sees 'em at a surprising tier of legitimate despite repeated allusions to tigers+chimps, "Glow" is an anomalous shrill-effect acoustic solo effort via the femme-side, standout bangers and hooks sprinkled healthily enough throughout. Patent silliness toned down here too, but they still manage to bust this one out while simultaneously kinda summing up their schtick: "If you ain't depressed then you probably dumb / You could probably choke you so full of cum." 6/10

A Sagittariun - Elasticity 

Admittedly began skipping past most of the talky transmissive interludes after a few plays; cuz hey, 70+ minutes of heady techno is mentally taxing on its own, never mind the added occasional shift into philosophical brain-buster discourse. But they do make this beat-ridden beast feel comprehensive+cogent and also complement the surrounding compositions, as in they too make you sit back and think "like, whoa, man": spacey but never limacine, involved without being too burdensome, a vivacious and varied sound palette that's fond of muzzling its melodies. The ender emergence into the hustle-n-bustle-n-rainfall of Myrtle Avenue fittingly feels like being dropped back into normal ol' reality -- though there's no 23s noticed throughout, it's safe to say Elasticity is this sagittariun's very own version of Operation Mindfuck. 7/10

Aesop Rock - The Impossible Kid

*******HIGHEST RECS*******

///BRAV-FUCKING-O\\\

Bars are anti-generic, defiantly daedal, and constantly enthralling; and he's got enough of 'em to handle the whole sans guests. A word-wiz wonder-man whether he's blathering absolute absurdities or molding said absurdities into meticulous yarns that are keen, personal, comical, even pensive: there's the neck-tatted kid at the Baskin-Robbins who makes him feel hoary as hell and half-hearted bout his own body art+its creators ("Now some 22-year old inside a cube of brick and mortar / Got me questioning my morals and their corny pecking order"), the 'specially standout story of one estranged brother's ballgame-impeding gopher and another's letdown after mom won't let him see Ministry, the acknowledged defects and resultant kitten of psychiatry ("When you start getting all exact and algebraic / I'm reminded it's a racket not a rehabilitation"), the blunt bashing of a prominent quote ("Knowing ain't half the battle / That's a bullshit quip written by some asshole"), this ("Airhorn airhorn airhorn airhorn"). Oh and he also found the time to bust out the beats too -- those lively, heavy, funky, eerie, beats. 8/10

Olga Bell - Tempo

Bell's playful sass and pushing of the electro-pop envelope intrigue, but the beats often seem far too eager to eschew cohesion for abstraction+eccentricity, and usually the result comes off labored and lumbering more than it does engaging or felicitous. Potential abounds but it seldom gels here -- not looking for total uniformity or nothin', but some more solidity would go a long way. Doing away with the pesty pitch-shifts and hackneyed house hi-hats would too, methinks. 5/10

DJ TiGa - The Sound: Vol. 1

*******HIGHEST RECS*******

///BRAV-FUCKING-O\\\

Replete with rambunctious rumbling, hacked-up repeato voices, and dizzying intensity, this remix-exclusive wingding seemingly longs to intimidate yo ass right outta the club more than provide dance-friendly cordiality -- bass often simulates an impending stampede, gunshots+guncocks are standard soundbytes, percussion is accelerated and unquantifiable, screams-n-grunts are plentiful. Hip-hop party aura (albeit an aggressive one) happily emanates through all the buck-wild twitchy thud electronics, the pop balladry of "Your Love" provides a midway kinda-cooldown (albeit a zippy one), scared Scooby yelps go up against incessant inquisitors and Jersey trite-talk is mockingly (sincerely?) tossed around like a rag doll, a football video game is semi-serenaded. It's commanding and uncivilized to an extreme that's deserving of its general-yet-pompous 'The Sound' titling, and doesn't exhaust nearly as much as it probably should; and while the evident recognizables stand out as such, in this bunch-o-bangers they're just the easy ones: the m.a.a.d city gone madder and torn free of context, Biggie coming back from beyond to full-tilt suck tits and grab paper, a Drake-collision whirlwind which has him sounding harder+woozier than ever before (maybe). Where Vol. 2 at? 9/10

Kevin Gates - Murder For Hire 2 [EP]

Checkup EP one year after the original and four months after a mixed-bag major label debut -- welcome return of emphasizing da rough stuff and rappin' over pop propensities and romancin', a self-comparison to Kurt Cobain, still puking via depression and pining for privacy despite his swelling success, notable hooks crafted from goin' stupid and a "fuck it" chant, Muslim flava, proof that his excess offerings are more stalwart than most of his peers, sustained stagnation avoidance yet not particularly pressing. 6.5/10


Kvelertak - Nattesferd
Parched production is rather beseeming for their old-school rock/metal homaging -- as is the could-be-an-NES-game-case album art -- but I can't help but hunger for the punchier 'oomph' these riffs-n-anthemics deserve. Still, they gotz a fair flair for summoning the fun and the forceful, the past and the present: their sound can oft-channel parties+motorcycles, they're partial towards a good trebly+jovial singalong and not opposed to grandstanding a la Kiss; but the black-n-thrash tinging is rife, the snarled Nordic vox are permanent, and considerably complex ~5+ minute songs are the ushe. Also apt at gracefully driving a riff home ("Ondskapens Galaske"), brutal berserker breakdowns (ahem, "Berserkr"), and acoustic coloration when applicable. 7/10

Klara Lewis - Too

Its tenebrous subtleties render this most effective while lying down in a dark room, or perhaps seated in a corner facing the wall while wearing a blank expression. Bookended by blatancies with a kindly curt in-between that goes somewhat hard+bold for creepin' ambient synth-drone -- a sorta-tune at hand on occasion, uber-covert itty bitty details, static-ridden dialogue fragments, oppressively opaque atmosphere -- but ah, just so much of a muted float-by bore on the whole. It is, however, a murky drifter that'll color that corner at least, and provide a light at the end-o-the-tunnel to boot. ~*~meh~*~

Dawn Richard - Infrared [EP]

A steamy electro-r&b short-play that's all-too-apropos for summer and quick-fix-bliss -- 4 simmering tracks in just over 14 minutes, each an unobtrusive banger with a killer hook and bewitching atmosphere; thick with the smaze of spliffs and indecisive pining with a dash-o-defiance for good measure. Ender refreshes with plashes and purification, i.e. a bid for baptizement and "water coming down like ooo ooo". 7/10

Sepalcure - Folding Time

Starts sleek and sprightly with its lush sway between techno-backed straight-up r&b and chopped-voice-collage garage thump, undoubtedly grooves in both, but never quite gets past seeming somewhat safe and subdued. As pretty and tricky and bouncy as these beats get, they don't really bear that mesmeric mind-grasp or whip out an aberration for kicks; and when vox get less prevalent they don't make for the most riveting of reinforcers, neither. Soothes more than it stirs, if you will -- albeit a considerably peppy and graceful soothe. 6.5/10