Author Archive

Dry Cleaning “Strong Feelings”

Florence Shaw’s voice is cold and deadpan as she recites her words, which are not sung or rapped, but certainly performed with more musicality than “spoken” would suggest. She fits perfectly into her band’s grooves, which sound like music to play while driving down a highway in some kind of post-apocalyptic horror film. The tension in the sound comes and goes, but there’s always a feeling of blank-eyed forward momentum.

Just calling this song “Strong Feelings” is a little funny – yes, she’s writing about a powerful attraction to someone, but that’s all buried beneath momentary distractions, self-deprecating asides, and the outside world becoming so awful that it ruins the mood entirely. The best example here is the way the direct and unguarded phrase “kiss me” is quickly blurted out after her droll reading of the line “I’ve been thinking about eating that hot dog for hours.” Shaw is good at conveying the mundane details of furtively hiding her feelings, but leaving her reasons to your imagination. Why is she repressing this, what is she afraid of? Probably the usual stuff, but presented in this way something that ordinarily is just about low self-esteem can come off as sort of darkly glamorous.

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Yaya Bey “September 13th”

“September 13th” has a very casual and informal sound that makes it seem as though Yaya Bey just happened to walk into a room while someone was playing a little keyboard riff and started to sing, and someone else was like “oh, we’re doing a song now?” and improvised some percussion. There’s some conspicuous overdubs but they don’t break the loose feel of the song, which has a lost-in-thought quality as Bey works through her feelings after being dumped. She’s not wrecked by the situation, but she’s certainly feeling stuck and lost – the crucial bit here is the repeated thought “when I get out of this hole that you dug for me…” The choice of “when” over “if” in that sentence says a lot about her and the feeling of this song.

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Miho Hatori “Formula X”

“Formula X” sounds like a sleek late ‘90s R&B song caught in a paper jam, a copy of an idea warped and bent up and crushed by faulty mechanisms to the point that it becomes something entirely different in the process. This suits the lyrical premise nicely, as Miho Hatori questions the impulse to repeat expected patterns of behavior and consumption in order to yield a happy life. The implication is that invidualism, self-knowledge, imagination, and creativity is much more satisfying and authentic – the ability to approach the question of love and “answer in your own way.” The song sidesteps didacticism entirely, with Hatori singing her lines with a touch of doubt and insecuritiy, and the suggestion that she can be as much of a programmed robot as anyone else, even if she ends up becoming a more surreal version of one.

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Liz Phair “Hey Lou”

“Hey Lou” is a song about Lou Reed sung from the perspective of his wife Laurie Anderson, who mostly just seems exasperated by his sloppy and mean spirited behavior, and exhausted by having to look after him and deal with the social messes he makes. This all checks out with everything I’ve ever read about Reed – as well as my own brief professional experience with the man – so I think the actual bold move for Liz Phair in this song is singing from Anderson’s POV, as there are some assumptions about her which she might not think to be fair and she is still alive to hear this. But even if it’s an unfair portrayal of their real life relationship, the song isn’t necessarily about them so much as the idea of them, and they’re really just standing in as archetypes of a particular toxic relationship dynamic. This song makes me suspect we’re actually about to get the Liz Phair record I’ve been wanting for ages – the one that approaches the relationships of people in middle age or older with the same sharp critical eye that the younger Phair brought to dissecting the relationships of people in their 20s on Exile In Guyville and Whip-Smart. Fingers crossed.

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Lana Del Rey “Dark But Just A Game”

Jack Antonoff does some interesting production tricks on “Dark But Just A Game,” mostly in extreme contrasts betweens textures and tones that in some cases work like a musical equivalent of rack focus in cinema and in others feel more like quick cut shifts in perspective. This feels appropriate to the subject matter – Lana Del Rey is singing about the tragic glamour of Hollywood once again, but this time wondering if her own experience of fame can avoid the obvious well-known narratives of decadence and doom. Antonoff plays on the “maybe, maybe not” feeling of the lyrics by moving between what sounds almost like a parodic version of Del Rey’s classic noir-gone-trip-hop aesthetic and a brighter, quasi-Beatles feel, and not always in a straight A-to-B-section progression. I particularly like the way he constrasts a cleanly mic’d shaking tambourine with a digital bass drum that’s EQ’d so low it sounds like it’s pasted in from a completely different song. It sounds like the present accidentally bleeding into the fantasy of the past, like a boom mic or some modern trash showing up in the frame of a glamorized period piece.

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Asta Hiroki featuring Dontmesswithjuan “Slumber”

Dontmesswithjuan sings a phrase near the end of “Slumber” that works as a description of the song itself: “magnificent scene at really small scale.” Asta Hiroki’s track evokes a microscopic smallness, the sort of ultra zoomed-in detail that effectively removes all recognizable context. The music feels extremely slow and hazy but the beat is actually fairly busy, snapping and clicking along beneath the thick atmosphere of the keyboards and Dontmesswithjuan’s breathy vocals, which are mixed loud enough that it seems as though they’re whispering directly into your ears. The lyrics are poetic and seem profound, but still wash over you with the music, as though you’re not really meant to fully comprehend what you’re being told.

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Lionel Boy “Flower Girl”

“Flower Girl” feels very relaxed but not exactly untroubled, though the tensions and concerns aren’t being deliberately buried in a pleasant haze. It’s more like a state of equilibrium, and the lyrics invite someone – the “flower girl” – into this mindset, as though this is a vibe that can potentially be shared. It’s a warm and generous both musically and lyrically, as though Lionel Boy is just doing their best to bring people – not just the flower girl, but like, especially the flower girl – into this peaceful easy feeling. The guitar and keyboards set a lovely ambiance but the most effective part of the song is most definitely the bass, which thumps gently as if to subtly encourage you to match your heart rate to this tempo.

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Chai featuring Ric Wilson “Maybe Chocolate Chips”

The keyboards in “Maybe Chocolate Chips” are played with an exaggerated portamento effect that makes it sound very warped and woozy but also quite bright, as if you’re listening to scrambled rainbow lasers. This combined with the soft, gentle voices of the women of Chai, make the song seem cute but also a little awkward and very introverted in tone. This makes sense for the lyrics – they’re singing about the bass player learning to appreciate her moles, so there’s some residue of embarrassment along with opening up and being vulnerable. Ric Wilson shows up for a mid-song rap verse that’s as sweet as everything else. He’s basically there to offer support and reinforce the self-love, just a really wholesome dude who shows up out of nowhere to be very kind.

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Jane Weaver “Revolution of Super Visions”

“The Revolution of Super Visions” hinges on a question repeated in a funky refrain: “Do you look at yourself and find nothing?” The music calls back to the psychedelic of Sly and the Family Stone and Funkadelic, and Jane Weaver’s phrasing owes something to the way Sly Stone and George Clinton could position song lyrics as a sort of conversation with the listener in which their worst impulses are challenged and their best qualities are affirmed. Weaver pokes at the listener’s insecurities while trying to build them up, to be the sort of confident, self-loving, fully actualized person they could be if they could deprogram what they’ve picked up from culture. She’s not being didactic – more is conveyed by suggestion than explication in the words – but her positive intention is very clear. It’s nice to hear a song that is earnestly rooting for you to become a better and happier person rather than asking you to be or expecting you to have already figured this out.

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Rosé “On the Ground”

It’s been interesting to me how while Taylor Swift has been a major star for well over a decade now it’s only been in the past couple years that her influence as a songwriter has become very apparent in other musicians. This makes some sense, as the songwriters coming up now are those who grew up with as a formative artist. I mostly hear Swift’s influence in particular melodies and cadences paired with an introspective wordiness – for example, listen to the bridge into the chorus on this Rosé song, which could fit neatly into any of Swift’s pre-Folklore records. As to be expected from K-pop, “On the Ground” isn’t all just one thing but more of a well-seasoned stew of pop elements from different periods, with a particular emphasis on reinterpreting sounds from the 2000s. Sure, there’s Taylor Swift in the mix here, but I also hear a lot of…Natasha Bedingfield?

Rosé is best known as a member of Blackpink and this is her first push as a solo artist. The song is sung entirely in English and is as accessible as pop singles can get, so clearly Rosé and the Blackpink machine are aiming very high here with this ballad/bop hybrid. The lyrics, which are basically about realizing you need to be grounded and not lose touch with your roots as you experience success, hit a good balance of pathos and sentimentality. Squint a little and it’s almost one of those “wait, fame is awful!” songs alt-rockers always did in the ‘90s after having a hit.

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Crumb “Trophy”

Crumb is a band that arrived with such a fully-formed and distinctive aesthetic that it raises the question of whether they’re the sort of group who will largely remain the same for the long haul while changing in relatively minor ways – Clinic, The Fall – or the type that will mutate a few times over while retaining their identity, like Stereolab or Sonic Youth. “Trophy,” their first new single since releasing their excellent debut Jinx in 2019, is a lateral move for them, which is to say that it sounds like it could’ve been on Jinx. The drums are a little crisper and the bass is a bit warmer and womb-like, but it’s the same melodic sensibilities and stoned, vaguely dissociated vibe. Two key bits in this one: that quick swirl of sound at the end of the pause a minute into the song, and the subsequent bridge sequence in which Lila Ramani sings a few lines that give context to the zoned out passivity of the lyrics in the verses and refrains: “the test, it came back / said you’re prone to chew yourself right to the bone / I guess you don’t like to be alone.”

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Wire “Three Girl Rhumba”

“Three Chord Rhumba” is built like a logic proof, a simple and efficient argument that stops after just a minute because the point has been made. Most of the early punks were attracted to blunt stripped down arrangements for its roots in earlier iterations of rock or for its utility in expressing anger and aggression but Wire focused in on the possibilities rock minimalism had to offer in servicing formal ideas and making it so cerebral lyrics could be presented with a musical punctuation that could make them physically engaging.

The first verse of “Three Girl Rhumba” is a structured like a game that seems designed to keep you distracted, like a musical version of Three-Card Monte. You think of numbers, open boxes, open and shut your eyes, think of more numbers. You end up with no numbers, and it doesn’t matter at all. But it’s not a nihilistic song – you end up doing the impossible to avoid the inevitable, and that seems pretty cool. Even better, the logic of the song moves towards a conclusion in which all efforts to project meaning on an experience is rejected in favor of just dancing.

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Elastica “Connection”

OK, here’s a different card game. This time it’s all about luck and timing, and you win by making it appear to others like you actually have control over circumstances that are entirely random. Justine Frischmann demonstrates how it works by looking and sounding like the coolest human imaginable – androgynous, mysterious, effortlessly graceful, and casually flirty in a way that seems to presume that everyone’s interested and thus it’s all very low stakes. She almost seems bored by a positive outcome: “somehow the vital connection is made,” sung with a droll sarcasm that suggests it’s impossible to avoid her inevitable victory.

“Connection” famously lifts its riff from “Three Girl Rhumba” but it’s less a copy and more like a sequel – the Aliens to Wire’s Alien, in which core ideas that were once expressed with a brute minimalism are now presented with a sleek poppy maximalism. Elastica accessorize the spikey central riff with new wave synthesizers, alt-rock crunch, and a very ‘90s sort of gloss that sounds the way shiny vinyl clothing looks. Style for miles and miles, so much style that it’s wasted…

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Pavement “Westy Can’t Drum”

Stephen Malkmus is playing a game too; it’s called Telephone. He deliberately lifts the riff from a song that everyone knows to be a “rip off” – the essence of popular music if we’re being real, but being a clever songwriter he only just uses it as a starting point before heading off in his own direction. So maybe the game he’s playing is actually Exquisite Corpse? He complicates the riff a bit while keeping its energy – always a smart way to avoid legal issues – and by the middle he’s off on more of a Stereolab-gone-feral tangent.

Malkmus possesses a slacker elegance similar to that of Frischmann and a playful mind comparable to Newman, but he doesn’t come off anywhere near as severe as either. “Westy” is very silly in a way that feels distinctly American to me in much the same way that Frischmann’s version of sexiness and Newman’s sort of intensity feels specifically English. Malkmus stacks evocative phrases like he’s fully in the zone with a magnetic poetry kit, each verse ending in a punchline – “all embrace and segue to the burning masses,” “brings to mind the portraits on the coinages and Lincoln’s beard…but why’s he got a horse’s body??” The impossibilities that are inevitable here are all fanciful and strange.

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For Those I Love “Birthday/The Pain”

“Birthday/The Pain” is built on the ironic contrast of its chill and joyful Balearic beat production and the grim details of its semi-rapped vocals, performed in a gruff Irish accent. It’s not a new idea – this stuff is extremely “RIYL: The Streets” – but it still comes off as fresh as both the production and vocal are gripping and inspired. David Balfe’s lyrics are vivid and brutal, and very Irish in its romanticism and sentimentality. Even when his voice sounds blunt and dead-eyed, there’s no ignoring the big bleeding heart at the center of this track.

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St. Vincent “Pay Your Way In Pain”

“Pay Your Way In Pain” is a pastiche of elements traceable to Sly and the Family Stone, Funkadelic, Earth Wind & Fire, and Stevie Wonder, but Annie Clark wisely sidesteps retro vibes by filtering all of it through her established aesthetics and bisecting the track with a harsh synth groove at odds with the warmth associated with most of her reference points here. It might be a little disappointing if you were expecting a full reinvention, or reassuring if you were hoping she wouldn’t abandon her signature sounds. Mostly what I hear is the confidence of an auteur musician who bends her inspirations to suit her own fully-formed identity, and someone who honors genre-transforming figures by emulating their specific aesthetic choices as well as their own will to recreate traditional sounds in their image.

Clark’s vocal on “Pay Your Way In Pain” is outstanding – I hear a lot of Prince’s cadences in the verses, particularly the way he could twist self-pity into a sort of flirtation by inviting you to join in on his debasement. The most thrilling moment here is when she cuts loose with a big, theatrical high vibrato midway through the song, a classic showstopper move that pushes all the instruments out of her way before they all come crashing back in on another chorus. Given the choice, given the heart, given the tool, given the word, given the cheers, Annie Clark has decided to turn us all inside-out.

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Genesis Owusu “Gold Chains”

It’s funny how songs in which young artists sing or rap about dealing with mental illness has become so ubiquitous that what once seemed bold and vulnerable now very often seems mundane and cliché. The bar for this to be interesting is higher now, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Genesis Owusu’s lyrics in “Gold Chains,” both sung in a silky tenor and rapped in a rich lower register, mainly speak to his frustration and strain in trying to maintain a steady and centered state of mind. There’s some good details in his writing but it’s all very literal, which makes sense if you’re just trying to unload or directly communicate to the listener. I see the utility of that but I personally find it a lot easier to connect with abstraction, so for me the most resonant part of this song is the odd skronky bits of lead guitar that cut through the arrangement. It’s a deliberately awkward sound that’s like someone trying to play something as melodic and passionate as something Prince would’ve shredded out effortlessly but almost immediately failing. It’s knowing you have something you need to get out of you, but not actually knowing how to get that cathartic release, or at least not the way you’d want it to be. That metaphor hits me a lot harder than anything Owusu says that I might directly relate to – the latter is something you nod to, the former is more of a gut feeling.

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Sycco “My Ways”

At face value “My Ways” is a bop with hooks that seem to easily fall into each other in sequence like a row of dominos. The arrangement breezy and bright, conveying a general vibe of carefree weightlessness. Sycco’s lyrics tell a different story – mundane actions, constant neuroses and paranoia, a pervasive sense that she’s at war with her own mind and imprisoned by her habits. She tries to calm herself down, she tries to imagine a happy situation, but the mental undertow brings her back to despair. “Want a break from my brain,” she sings in the bridge, “insane, so much I’m feeling!” The irony of the song is that it feels like the “no thoughts, head empty” state she craves, but then again, maybe the song was designed to bring her – and us – into that blissful oblivion.

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Your Old Droog & Tha God Fahim featuring Pharaoh Monch “Slam Dunk Contest”

Your Old Droog has a voice perfect for sort of very NYC-centric rap he specializes in, a surly rasp so worn and weathered that people used to think he was Nas using a pseudonym. With a voice like this, it’s almost like rapping is a calling he couldn’t refuse – like, I’m sure sounding this cool would be a benefit in any walk of life, but it’d still be wasted on most other professions. “Slam Dunk Contest” is a showcase for Droog in shit-talk mode, and his collaborators – rap partner Tha God Fahim, producer Nottz, and guest star Pharoah Monch – shine in their own right, but mostly either put a flattering frame on his flow or complement it with similar energy and intensity. Monch, a legend at this point, really clicks in this context – the Nottz arrangement brings out the villain in him, and he plays the role with a surreal panache.

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Ariana Grande “Main Thing”

“Main Thing” is Ariana Grande doing an extremely Ariana Grande song. It’s Grande in what has become her most natural mode, or maybe more like Grande on autopilot if you don’t want to be generous. The track is vibey but unobtrusive, basically a tonal palette and rhythmic click that gives her some form to work with and plenty of space for her to sing in a way that’s somehow both showy and understated at the same time. Almost all of my favorite Grande songs have her veer into a very specific melodic pattern – a fluttery scale fluorish that typically lands at the end of verses or choruses. If you don’t get what I mean, in this song it’s the way the melody gently speeds up for a sort of curlicue at the end of the first verse: “Been a minute since I tasted something so sweet.” I can’t get enough of that trick, as far as I’m concerned it never fails no matter how many times she does some iteration of it. It flatters her voice, it’s melodically lovely, and it’s perfect in expressing the sort of lusty-infatuation-with-a-tiny-dash-of-nervousness feeling that she does better than most anyone else.

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Cassandra Jenkins “New Bikini”

“New Bikini” is a song in which each refrain has someone suggesting that someone else go into the ocean as a remedy for their problems – “the water, it cures everything.” Cassandra Jenkins sings this with sensitivy but also some degree of ambiguity, as it’s never quite clear how much she’s buying into the advice. She doesn’t come off as skeptical, though. She mostly just sounds like someone open to finding peace in any way she can find it. The music, with its light jazz feel and atmospheric brass, evokes a meditative beach setting. Melancholy, yet very serene. You can almost feel the water in the distance, maybe not something that can provide a true cure to sorrow or illness, but at least something that can offer a connection to nature and a soothing feeling of weightlessness.

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Virginia Wing “Moon Turn Tides”

Merida Richards’ voice is aloof, deadpan, and very English – the sort of speak-sing that’s traditionally always worked so well with artsy post-punk and electronic music. In “Moon Turn Tides” she affects the arch imperiousness of the extraordinarily posh, starting off the song by cautioning the rabble in the audience to not touch anything – “it’s all very, very expensive.” From there on she’s singing about how you don’t belong, that you don’t know what you’re doing, and most hopeful things you hold on to are just a lie. The music emphasizes the feeling of alienation by giving you the indication that it’s a groovy pop song, but the off-kilter rhythms and cold, shrill textures keep it from ever sounding too comfortable or inviting. There’s a lot of pleasure to be found in the song, but it does require some small amount of masochism, and a willingness to play submissive to its cruel, domineering aesthetics.

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