(Sandy) Alex G - Rocket
Could do with less mumbling and countrified moderation, but as a homegrown indie gallimaufry it's got compact charm. A few irrefutable pop breakthroughs, more than a few undeveloped dreamlike doodles, spruce acoustics and piano aplenty, genuine back-porch warmth+longing temporarily disrupted by a dip into dank-basement darkness that casually commences with "Witch" and creepily gallops on "Horse" before industrially culminating via "Brick". Touch of goofball throughout culminates via jazzy outro. Presence of a pup all too welcome. 7/10
Felicia Atkinson - Hand in Hand
:(((TEH MEH-EST OF TEH MEH))):
Brutally boring, indecently ignorable, anemic and inconsequential muttering (if you're lucky), astonishingly barren blip sphere (at all times). 2015's 'A Readymade Ceremony' was arty alright; but it made noise and like, did stuff, and like, moved ya. This one just narcotizes you to tears, periodically nudging you awake so you can scoff-n-sigh just one more time. Peak is when it's finally over. ~*~meh~*~
DJ Jayhood - KING
*******HIGHEST RECS*******
Having just been weaned-n-sold on footwork in the last couple years via the forward-thinking and freakish figurations from the likes of Jlin and DJ TiGa, Jayhood comparably comes off conservative and quotidian. Not that's it's not loud, outrageous, loopy as hell, a powerfully blunt 100 mph party package -- tis. It's just he's got lotsa dance floor instructions and a creepily trained teen girl group; and tho fond of bullets and bein' boomin' and buttcheeks, it can feel a bit on the clean side. But the ability to sell it all and cohesive care taken is that of an OG, the stamina childlike, the brevity courteously curtailed, the Jersey hails numerous. Choice Putdown: "I'm like a red nose pit, you a mix breed". When you regret not asking that special someone to dance astride a squeaky mattress: "Way way geico"(??), "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck..". 8.5/10
Fazerdaze - Morningside
Pulls off pleasant summery pop in a simplistic yet finespun fashion, delicate dream-states and and bedroom grunge and the dance-worthy fulfilled, conspicuously single-ready "Lucky Girl" early on but assuredly advances from there. But as a one-gal full band it's just so comprehensively cautious; elementary and calculable constructions lazing into the lackluster. Think bleached Bleached. 5.5/10
Lil Yachty - Teenage Emotions
I think it's safe to say no one buys this guy when he forces a freestyle or feigns a tough-guy tude; even his ever-loving momma. But if you get through the gaggle of gag-worthy lines-o-lechery and Migos showing him up without breaking a sweat and undeniably drawn-out duration, Yachty and his bevy of beat-men can wield quite the peculiar pop power: surprisingly pliable production, cheesy crooning, youthful yelping, an affable positivity commixing with love+longing and pitiful priorities. Contrast Of Teenage Emotions: "Sent me pictures of her coochie / She said they nicknamed her Juicy / Cuz she keeps a wet pussy", "Since a young one you've always been clever / Let's grow old, rock in chairs and play checkers". But for what it's worth, my fave just goes "Harley harley harley harley harley". 6/10
Mr. Mitch - Devout
///BRAV-FUCKING-O\\\
Blippy or blissful it may be, it's difficult not to feel kinda let down by the plenitude of scant-n-slow floating-cloud production on this thing. Especially after the gently urgent "Priority" at track two, in which grimester P Money spits sincerely endearing fire about all the feelz of newfound fatherhood -- scared with no plan to blessed and content, getting called 'Dad' now the vibe provider instead of the ol drink+smoke. Though that fire winds up being a tease, those same feelz make for a charming motif that runs throughout; what with its toylike twinkles and aura of hushed adoration and baby gurgles and romantic reminiscences. A somewhat curious structuring of instrumentals and voxed stuff, too, though I'd say they're equally guilty of inducing somnolence. 6.5/10
Perc - Bitter Music
Caustic techno sprawl that drains+disorients more than it rivets. Lotsa meandering and sporadism for better or worse -- sections full-a tough well-toned thumpage to those that just hauntingly hover and sit there, the draggy derangement of sputtering subtleties and grim glitchy grindin', the loopy go-around of a bored painter who's realized the futility of appeasing an audience's suggestions as possible empathetic ethos. Physical vocal performances include Gazelle Twin's stony monosyllabicity and Aja Ireland's sulphurous "Spit". Pharmakon should take note re the latter. 5/10
Colin Stetson - All This I Do For Glory
Colin's compositions can be hypnotic or maddening or both -- between a bizarrely handled bass sax and clunky percussion and some spectral wordless 'ooo'ing, sparse rigidity-n-repetition is a take it or leave it motif. Bound to primarily draw in the tone-centric zealots and avant-jazz admirers; but brief and manageable enough to not leave normies in the dust. Plus his particular techniques are stylistically pretty apportioned: works ya in slow and seductively, hones in on hectic+dirty, stuns with softly soaring sublimity and buildups. A 13-minute closer contains all of the above. 7/10
SZA - Ctrl
*******HIGHEST RECS*******
Voice that's collectedly erratic and loosely luscious, tightknit production team bringing consistently seemly-n-soulful dream-funk subtlety. Gets sluggish going into the second half, but SZA's selfhood is what sells it on the whole: the cheater/cheatee/cheated on, sensitive about having nobody as she is having no booty, stuck between loyal love and cursory dick+licky, a defiant and emotive 20something who yearns to be parentally presentable but'll happily bust up your headboard. Out of/very much in ctrl. 7.5/10
Tyler, the Creator - Flower Boy
For Tyler followers, this is surely most striking as a rewarding sophistication-fest. And not just by rejecting the rape jokes or softie singing or comin' out the shed as the gay guy he so assiduously-n-irrelevantly insisted he wasn't -- nuance, structures, and production are on a noticeably new plane. Go back to 09's 'Bastard': flow-wise and conceptually it's dogged as hell, but almost laughable how puerile and histrionic it sounds. His raps don't relay that same up-and-coming exertion as they used to and an array of guests take on alotta duty here, but this turned leaf provides a personality portrait that's more vivid and amenable than ever before. It makes his alienation+apprehension more sympathetic, the bangers broader and more bangin', the plentiful little deets worth digging for. Not bad for a scumfuck. 7/10
