Floorplan - Victorious
*******HIGHEST RECS*******
///BRAV-FUCKING-O\\\
Titanic+tenacious techno jams that entrance with ease and go hard as fuck every time, deep-rooted and stringent while maintaining that dense dance-party mindset and still dishing out the nuances. Almost all of 'em venture past the 6-minute mark, but with grooves this fluent and textures this enveloping and arrangements this accurate-n-astir it's rare for one to get tedious. The varying cast-o-voices helps fo sho -- "spin it" sounding like "square-dance", the chaotic combo of a convo and a scuffle up against the invincible orderliness that is The Beat, "mmm hmm" sounding like "mmm hmm", the chutzpa of this planet's reckoned creation and sermon-esque religious fervor somehow upheld by the surrounding grandeur. The disco-drift near the end almost seems inevitable but comes off as a jarring peculiarity -- doesn't stop it from continuing to "push on, push on, push on" however. 7.5/10
Kodak Black - Lil B.I.G. Pac
A languorous letdown -- maybe I was just anticipating a moment that lived up to his cake-taking guest-work on French Montana's "Lockjaw", or the fact that it's now realized that yes, he legit sounds barely conscious on the regz, and no, its allure ain't lasting. More of the latter I'd say, as his soporific+sloppy slurring almost always exasperates and the words don't really help much neither, attributes amplified by lotsa double-tracked flows (like, why?). But the beats generally catch the ear, he plays the dazed-n-down-n-out role decisively, second-to-last "Letter" is an innovative perk-up about a penning to a prisoner that's heartwarming, sincere, and far too short. Other worth-its are the guest assists/takeovers: Boosie showing a leanin' youngin how it's done and PNB Rock with a ginormous miracle hook; even if said hook seems suspiciously celebratory for the lamentation of mates stuck in slammers and cemeteries. 5.5/10
M.E.S.H. - Damaged Merc [EP]
A kinda eh-why-not lil' spurt of grimy electro, combining the clubby and the erratic with a disheveled+scurrying mix of repeat-o vocal blurts, rapidly rotating percussive 'what the's, cryptic car-start ambiance, etc. Doesn't have the span or flow that made last year's Piteous Gate LP sufficiently engaging, the crammin' going on here too-oft irritates or leaves me shrugging. 5/10
Nails - You Will Never Be One of Us
So preposterously pummeling and heavy and pissed that it don't matter much when it begins to blur some five minutes/four tracks in -- even for a genre where that's the norm, the accelerated aural assault they administer awes and appalls every time, making good on the get-the-fuck-outta-the-room inclination their prohibitive album title+prefatory mutterings hint towards. In fact, the production is instrumentally powerful to the point where the vox seem satisfied back-sat and comparably kinda stagnant, and the tunes drift toward middle-of-the-road after that aforementioned blur. But "they come crawling back" for the finale indeed; an 8+minute monster that sees 'em gettin' their sludge on while segueing into demon-ridden squall-pits and lasers-on-foil breakdowns. 7/10
RLYR - Delayer
Admittedly, the first two tracks had me thrilled: an opener which boasts par-for-the-course steady post-rock patterns sure, but is loud, bright, and inspirative all the way with an electrifying crunchiness and nada dawdling; and a followup that's simply soaring+shrieky shoegaze squall. But then they reconduct themselves with a rather uneventful 8-minute chug-fest that portends a comely climax but never really delivers and a bit-by-bit descension into a pretty-gone-pleasant-gone-sluggish 23-minute protraction. All their boisterous buzzin' is highly appreciated however, and the guitar tones? To die for, true. 6.5/10
Travis Scott - Birds in the Trap Sing McKnight
Further confirmation that he's got a big ol' ear for auto-tune-slathered extraterrestrial affectations, boomy+groggy after-hours atmospheres, crazy catchy everythang -- but also that he's indeed a bit of a biter and in need of an assistant wordsmith, or at least a passable personality. Between guiding you like a pilot, getting his cactus stroked, "Sweet Sweet" blatantly ripping off "CoCo", "Beibs in the Trap" basically being Drake's "Madonna" except oh-so-blatantly about coco; it can be lame or laughable or both. But like predecessor Rodeo, production and irresistibility quash most of the vacuous qualities, not to mention the laundry list of guest-spots: Bryson Tiller takes the cake for most surprising/affectionate, hearing 3K+Kendrick get the Travis-treatment is particularly thrilling, and Kid Cudi mimicking a muppet takes the second cake for most awesome/awful. 7/10
Told Slant - Going By
*******HIGHEST RECS*******
Felix Walworth's delivery isn't just pitiful, it's painful -- so when backup co-collectivists summon 90s Modest Mouse via note-bends to help seize the vibe of mundane suburban blues or grant reassurance by grabbing face+pointing out that sadness is silly and ol' drummer-director Walworth is beautiful, it's a warmhearted and complementary comfort. Playin' it soft and slow and desolate for the majority is becoming too; not just cuz moments of magnificence burst through all the better but also the loadsa room it leaves for every trembling detail, both humdrum happenings and telling tidbits: feet in creeks, going to dinner then going to bed, waking up next to someone who's unhappy and dejectedly walking to the deli, "I don't know how to talk to you without a can in my hands / or without a can in your hands", "You got a new sweater but I didn't know till I saw it in a picture / My life stayed the same but you wouldn't know cuz I never take pictures." And for a direly discouraged drummer-director, a lotta labor. Self-Assuring Slogan: "You can battering ram this life." 8/10
Umberto - Alienation
*******HIGHEST RECS*******
///BRAV-FUCKING-O\\\
Fits all too suitably for the coming of fall -- sad, haunting, conjures up images of old rainy forests+video game dungeons when flutes are flourished and traveling towards a black hole when it goes techno, etc. It oft opts for lingering and repetition but is permanently stirring, attaining a kind of grandness when taken as a whole: pacific piano and omg earnestly epic melodies make for some seriously serene comedowns from the space-synth savagery and driving creepy-crawly beats, and the flow not only balances out tru-2-lyfe horror with utter placidity but retains such a compellingly remote aura throughout. Oh and the he-and-she spectral operatic bellowing as sole+only-sometimes vocal inhabitants? Enchanting whenever wherever, duh. 8/10
Weaves - Weaves
No, not some magical mixture of Weezer and Wavves -- rather, a kinda punky femme-fronted on-the-fringe exercise in squirrely squeaking and bitter bending, combining clamorous+cute+coarse into a cultured and catchy package. Certainly a bit heavy on the piercing pep, but zany and turbulent and loose enough to enamor; and when quieting things down they remain prosperous and quaint: "Coo Coo" is cute-cute as it sounds til sour chords are (un)accordingly struck, "I wanna live stress free" is the theme behind the closer, a calm-ish crawler after the ruckus-dust has settled. Elsewhere, "Candy" and "Shithole" appear back-to-back, which may or may not be a metaphor for their mien. 6.5/10
YG - Still Brazy
What YG may lack in a discrete identity and novel ideas he makes up for with clear-cut and compact tunes through-n-through, blending humor+dread in a candid depiction of Bompton-Blood lyfe -- a realm where Gimme gets popped for demanding handouts and our narrator ponders bout who popped him in the studio, a vibe that Drake seems utterly unseemly in, a disposition that somehow someway endorses the ugly-ass misogyny of "She Wish She Was." True persuasion however comes when 'fuck's start flying and shit gets real during the topical terminal triad: "Fuck Donald Trump" is the bluntest and maybe most imperative out of all the winning hooks this album drops, Sad Boy comes through with a defiant cockcrow declaration straight outta Mexico, and second bluntest "Police Get Away Wit Murder" is incensed enough to incite the riots its title calls for; or at the very least a bustling mosh pit. That last one also sees YG reading off the names and dates of innocent youngins killed by cops, discovering aloud that Kimani Gray's death falls on his birthday -- it's the most resentful he sounds on the entire record. 7/10
