Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

George Clanton “Make It Forever”

“Make It Forever” sounds like an intriguing midway point between My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless and Tears for Fears’ early ‘90s material. I’m not sure if this is something George Clanton was deliberately going for – Loveless seems like a deliberate reference point for his work, but he seems like he may be trying to channel a more general very early ‘90s aesthetic. I like the way the Tears for Fears-ness of this song foregrounds the sort of romanticism and grandeur that would only be implied in MBV’s music. This is a very earnest tune – he’s singing straightforwardly about missing someone and wanting to reunite, and just be together forever after that. Clanton isn’t hedging his bets or playing it cool, and the music echoes the innocence and intensity of his feelings. He’s imagining a perfect moment, and in the music, he’s trying to will it into reality.

Buy it from Amazon.

Anchorsong “Testimony”

Masaaki Yoshida’s compositions have a neat, orderly structure – if they were physical forms, it’d be a lot of balance and symmetry. Clean lines and smooth surfaces. Not overly rigid and airless, per se, but precise and deliberate. “Testimony” is built upon busy rhythms but still somehow feels quite still and serene. It sounds like calmly moving through a crowded space with a clear mind, taking in the world around you but at a slight intellectual and emotional remove. As the song moves towards its conclusion, the sound gets less and less dense, adding to the feeling of peacefulness and calm.

Buy it from Bandcamp.

Spiritualized “The Morning After”

I am not sure how much lyrical continuity Jason Pierce intends to have in his music, but it’s not much of a leap to think that the Jane in “The Morning After” is the same Jane he was addressing in “Hey Jane” on the previous Spiritualized album from 2012. Whereas “Hey Jane” was largely about the singer’s perception of her and her influence on him, “The Morning After” is more of a character study in the style of Lou Reed’s “____ Says” songs. Here we learn that Jane’s from a difficult but affluent family, that she’s unlucky in love, and she’s in terrible health. There’s a lot of affection in the way Pierce writes about Jane, but also a bit of distance – it’s a little like how you might talk about an ex you still have some feelings for, or a once-close friend you’ve fallen out of touch with.

“The Morning After” is a rocker, and while the arrangement has the usual sort of Spiritualized density of instrumentation, there’s a relative lightness to it that stands apart from Pierce’s usual work. A lot of that comes from a groovy lead guitar part that gives the track a stoned ‘60s vibe, but it’s also in the way the music seems to unravel around the time the horns start getting wild and skronky in the final couple minutes. You get a sense of a life falling apart, but it doesn’t sound bleak or heavy. It’s more like a celebration that gets out of hand.

Buy it from Amazon.

Miss World “Carb Yr Enthusiasm”

Natalie Chahal’s Miss World project is a mash up of Instagram aesthetics, ’90s references, and free-wheeling garage rock. Her lyrics and themes mostly satirize the more vapid aspects of social media and media aimed at women, but she’s doing it from a position of ambivalence – she clearly thinks a lot of this is very fun, but can’t help but smirk at the Kardashians and the way romance and betrayal can exist in the context of, say, Instagram stories. “Carb Yr Enthusiasm” is an aggressive surf rock tune about dieting and “beach bodies,” and it’s so heavy on irony that it almost comes around to not sounding ironic at all. Chahal’s voice is ideal for bitter punk sarcasm – there’s a nasty pinched quality to her delivery that’s a little bit Johnny Rotten and a lot “extremely mean popular girl in a teen drama.” She makes the song work in three ways: it’s a fun rock song, a funny joke, and a pointed critique. Not an easy balance to pull off!

Buy it from Amazon.

Interpol “If You Really Love Nothing”

Interpol is the kind of band that always sorta sounds the same if you’re not paying much attention, but are nevertheless always making new formal decisions within the context of their clearly defined aesthetic. In the case of “If You Really Love Nothing,” it’s the introduction of a shuffle beat. The swing of the rhythm makes the more familiar elements of their sound feel a bit more fresh, it’s like rearranging the furniture of their sound a bit to give the music a more comfortable sense of feng shui. The usual claustrophobic tone is gone, but the weird bug-eyed tension remains. Paul Banks’ vocal sounds as tightly wound and neurotic as ever, and he seems to be addressing someone – a woman? an audience? the United States? – with a perplexed sort of disgust. He sounds like someone who has just given up hope for recovering a relationship with someone, and is now attempting to justify himself. What a bitter vibe for an unusually light and groovy song for them.

Buy it from Amazon.

Mitski “Why Didn’t You Stop Me?”

Mitski’s voice is a stumbling block for me. Her compositions, especially on her new record Be the Cowboy, are bold and expressive, and her lyrics are sharp and emotional. Her voice, however, is pleasant but oddly lacking in affect. She undersells every line in a way that makes it hard for me to tell whether she’s being deadpan or emotionally reserved. I’m inclined to believe “Why Didn’t You Stop Me?” is more the former, and we’re meant to take find her indecisive and low-key selfish lyrics to be darkly humorous, probably at her own expense. Her composition, particularly the dramatic keyboard hook and lead guitar parts, carry the feeling of the song and indicate emotional stakes far greater than her vocal would imply. It’s certainly interesting to me to contrast that bombast with a vocal approach that presents a rather distant and cerebral take on raw feelings, but the result is a song I admire far more than I connect with it.

Buy it from Amazon.

Ariana Grande “Sweetener”

Pop albums take time to make, while pop star relationships tend to burn bright and fast. As a result, it’s easy to approach Ariana Grande’s new album Sweetener as a collection of songs about her intense romance with the comedian Pete Davidson. (There is, of course, a song on the record called “Pete Davidson.”) But many of these songs have been in the works for some time, and “Sweetener” in particular apparently dates back to 2016 when Grande was still involved with Mac Miller. (A lyrical tip-off is the entire verse about enjoying getting head from this lover, and Miller is a guy who proudly rapped “I just eat pussy, other people need food” in his album-length tribute to Grande, The Divine Feminine.)

Fun fact, right? Cool trivia. But I think this context is valuable in understanding where Grande is coming from as a person and as an artist. This is a woman who had her heart set on singing songs that conveyed a joyful, lustful love, regardless of what relationship she was in. She’s chasing a feeling, and trying to capture it in sound, and she absolutely nails it when she works with Pharrell Williams. Williams, one of the great geniuses of modern pop R&B, has an instinctive understanding of what chords and melodies flatter Grande’s voice and persona that most of her other collaborators have lacked. His chord structures float and sparkle around her voice, which is at once bold and sweetly delicate, like Mariah Carey in her youth. The songs sound light and dreamy, like she’s just levitating in a haze of infatuation.

This is the state of mind she wants to be in, like, all the time. Blissful, horny, and removed from stress and the horrors of the world. And whomst among us does not want this? Look at this gif of Ariana Grande and Pete Davidson from earlier this week. Who doesn’t want to feel like Ariana in this moment? Who doesn’t want to have someone look at them the way she looks at Davidson? This is an ideal state!

The idea driving all of this – her life, her songs – is that this is a choice. You have to want it, to chase it, to bring it into your life and cherish it. This is a woman who recently endured a horrific trauma, and made a decision to throw herself into love. She made a record about love rather than the hate and murder and cruelty she witnessed firsthand. She’s singing about her experience, but offering the best advice she can give to anyone else struggling: Find love, embrace love, hold on to it. You need that sweetener.

Buy it from Amazon.

Jake Shears “Big Bushy Mustache”

First off, I am just so glad to have this guy back. I miss the Scissor Sisters very much, but some solo Jake Shears will do for now – especially since it all just sounds like Scissor Sisters anyway. There’s some magic missing without Baby Daddy and Ana Matronic, but Shears’ songwriting is still distinctive sharp.

“Big Bushy Mustache” is a funky fantasy about masculinity that’s based in a desire to emulate a certain kind of ’70s straight man. It’s a nostalgic song about a type of guy you don’t really see anymore – strong and bold and flashy, right on the edge of campy but not quite. If you see this dude today he’s probably queer, and emulating the vibe as Shears is in this song (and his current look.) This is probably all tied up in very contentious “masc” politics in the gay community, but from my own boring straight man perspective, this resonates as an ideal of manliness that’s rugged and confident but relatively light on toxic masculinity. And the world surely needs more good examples of being unambiguously masculine without rejecting style and sexiness and fun, or being an angry creep about everything.

Buy it from Amazon.

Bad Bad Hats “Makes Me Nervous”

“Makes Me Nervous” is an airy, atmospheric pop song that conveys a very subtle anxiety in the way the guitar chords sound so crisp, taut, and rigid. It’s the uptight feeling hidden beneath the smiling facade, and the grasp on to familiarity in the face of the unknown. Kerry Alexander’s voice is ideal for this sort of low-key tension – she always sounds reasonable and calm, but her phrasing always reveals an easily wounded and sensitive soul. Her lyrics for this song match the tone perfectly, with her character getting paranoid about her relationship and freaking out a bit when she can’t get in touch with her partner. There doesn’t seem to be anything actually going wrong, but she’s so invested and obsessed that every little thing seems like it could be a harbinger of doom. And it all comes down to the Sisyphean frustration of everyone who’s ever been insecure in love: “I still want to be whatever you need.” If only!

Buy it from Bandcamp.

Doja Cat “Mooo!”

I suppose “Mooo!” qualifies as a novelty song, but I ask you: Where exactly is the line separating a “comedy song” from a regular song that happens to be funny? I’m inclined to say “Mooo!” is in the latter category – its silliness is more surreal than jokey, and there is a jazzy delicacy to the arrangement that is lovely and highly listenable in and of itself. Doja Cat is a delight on the mic, gleefully extending her cow metaphor to nearly a breaking point, and delivering an interpolation of Kelis’ “Milkshake” near the end of the song that’s joyful and inspired. The song is definitely funny, but when it comes down to it, “bitch imma cow, bitch imma cow” isn’t much weirder or off-kilter than a lot of other things going on in hip-hop lately. It’s just whimsical and cute in a way that’s a bit unexpected.

Buy it from Amazon.

Tirzah “Do You Know”

Mica Levi’s arrangement for “Do You Know” makes Tirzah sound as if she’s pacing circles in a damp basement in her mind, trapped indefinitely in a loop of thoughts about a relationship that has crumbled. Levi’s production centers her voice in the mix so fully and clearly that it sounds almost too intimate, so it feels less like hearing a song, and more like accidental telepathy. Or, at least, it’s like overhearing half a phone conversation you really should not be eavesdropping on but you can’t bring yourself to tune out. Tirzah’s lyrics are specific enough to give you a clear sense of the troubles between her and this other person, but just vague enough that you’re still piecing together the bits that are left unsaid.

Buy it from Amazon.

Robyn “Missing U”

Robyn knows what we want. She knows that we want her to make the kind of songs you dance to when you’re upset. She knows we want her to take our loneliness and heartache and turn it into romantic, cinematic, and cathartic moments that are sometimes more satisfying than actually feeling good. She knows no one else can do this for us like she can. And so here’s “Missing U,” a song that gives us what we want and what we need. Robyn is not very prolific, but she is generous.

Robyn knows her way around a hook, but the reason her songs work comes down to the sound of her voice. She always sounds like a strong person cracking under the pressure of enormous feelings, like she’s trying to hold it together just a bit longer. She always sounds like her pride is slipping away, like someone ready to totally debase herself to get the feeling out. She never loses control in the song, but it always sounds like if you keep playing it over and over, she might.

Buy it from Amazon.

Astronauts, etc “Symbol Land”

“Living in a symbol land.” That phrase, central to this song, really gets under my skin. Symbols in and of themselves are fine – utilitarian, a crucial part of how we process language, images, and life. But the way we lean on symbols for shorthand can be disastrous. A lot of the problems in the world come from an over reliance on symbolism: A laziness in interpreting other people that justifies casual cruelty, the intellectual bankruptcy of only seeing action and ideas for their symbolic value, the accumulation of empty signifiers in capitalism.

“Symbol Land,” as a song, isn’t quite as political as my interpretation of that line would suggest. It’s more of a broken love song, with Anthony Ferraro singing about attempting to parse the meaning of a collapsing relationship. His melody is gorgeous, and the sound of the chords and harmony has a stately and angelic quality, like John Lennon’s “Imagine” by way of Brian Wilson. Ferraro’s words are left deliberately ambiguous, almost as though he’s attempting to disrupt the symbols that weighed down this relationship in expectations beyond simple, pure love.

Buy it from Bandcamp.

Lithics “Still Forms”

I hate to share a song and say that it sounds just like something else – it feels lazy and disrespectful to me – but… I have to do that here. This band sounds so much like Erase Errata that it’s uncanny. I first encountered Lithics when they opened for Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks recently, and I was stunned by how specifically they sounded like Erase Errata. Not post-punk in general, or other similar bands like Delta 5 or The Raincoats. Erase Errata, right on down to the tone of Aubrey Hornor’s voice.

But this is not a complaint. I miss Erase Errata, and Lithics are very good at making this type of jagged, disaffected music. “Still Forms” has a weird sort of swing to it, and its main guitar riffs have a peculiar sharp trebly clang that is like the musical equivalent of a bitter taste on the tongue. Hornor’s lyrics are evocative too, particular with her cold, blunt delivery. A line like “TV remote lying in a field of golden wheat” comes off as a menacing implication.

Buy it from Bandcamp.

Taylor Swift “Delicate”

It’s so interesting to hear Taylor Swift doubt herself so much. “Delicate” is a love song, but from the perspective of someone who is desperately afraid that this amazing connection she’s made is about to be poisoned by her past, or ruined by allowing herself to be vulnerable too soon. And all she wants is to honest, and to just tell this guy what she’s feeling. She’s censoring herself, editing out as much as she can to maintain an illusion, but she’s not sure if it’s working.

She really makes you feel her angst here – the urgency of her desire crashing into the anxious need for self-preservation. You can hear the classic Taylor crush vibes in the song, but it’s muffled and muted by the icy arrangement. The song is all tormented restraint, so when the bridge comes and allows a brief moment of pure honesty – “sometimes when I look into your eyes I pretend you’re mine, all the damn time” – it’s incredibly cathartic. But then the song snaps back into the chorus – “is it cool that I said all that, is it chill that you’re in my head?” – and she sounds so totally defeated by her need to protect herself.

Buy it from Amazon.

Janet Jackson “Love Would Never Do (Without You)”

Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis’ songs are typically highly dynamic, with mostly percussive elements shifting around to give the melody maximum emotional impact. In the case of their work on Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation 1814, it’s like drawing several underlines beneath the hooks. There’s a softness in Janet’s voice, but the music explodes with great force. As expressive as her voice is, she’s always understating the feeling relative to the intensity of the keyboards and drum hits.

“Love Will Never Do (Without You)” is even more dynamic than usual because it was initially written as a duet with a man – they wanted Prince, then thought maybe they could get Ralph Tresvant, but nothing really worked out. So Jackson sings the first verse in a much lower register than usual, which greatly exaggerates her range within the track. This works to the advantage of the song, which starts out rather joyful but keeps escalating into dizzying ecstasy as it moves along.

The lyrics follow the sound of it, with the lowest vocal part at the start approaching the love between Janet and her partner in analytical terms but by the time she’s up in the giddy stratospheres, she’s nearly at a loss for words. (“No other love around has quite the same…ooh ooh!”) But as extraordinarily joyous as this song gets, the words are grounded and reasonable. The love in “Love Would Never Do” is not unrealistic – there’s work to be done, there’s conflicts and temptations, there’s a need to prove the doubters wrong. The loveliest and most romantic line in the song is so simple and direct: “I feel better when I have you near me.” If this song is doing anything, it’s just trying to capture that specific everyday happiness.

Buy it from Amazon.

Phoenix “Lisztomania”

Not long after this song came out nearly a decade ago, some brilliant person made a video for it cutting together scenes from John Hughes movies from the 1980s. Maybe you remember it! The “Brat pack mashup” video is a joy to watch, partly for obviously nostalgic reasons, but mostly because it connected the essence of the song – and Phoenix’s overall aesthetic – to this kindred spirit from the past. The editor of the video recognized what was happening in “Lisztomania” from the start: The boppy rhythm that invites you to swivel your hips and lighten your shoulders, the vocal that expresses a pure-hearted desire with a small dash of neurosis.

Thomas Mars’ lyrics are on the cryptic side, but it’s clear what this is all about. It’s about needing the thrill of romance, and cherishing the rush of raw, undiluted emotion. It’s about fetishizing the obstacles in the way of love, because they make everything more exciting. It’s about epiphanies and desire and dancing. It’s about wanting to feel fully alive.

Hughes movies are so resonant because the emotions and desires of the characters are amplified by youthful hormones, but have incredible clarity because they don’t have much more to think about aside from social status. This is true of a lot of fiction about teenagers, but what makes this all so seductive is that Hughes knows this is all great FUN. The creation of identity, the pursuit of connection, the ecstatic angst of a crush, the burning need to rise above your circumstances to something more glamorous and beautiful and exciting. You watch these films, and listen to the sort of pop songs that evoke the same feeling, because you yearn to feel like these kids. It’s all very instructive and aspirational. There’s a power in wanting things very badly.

Phoenix’s music comes from an adult perspective, but makes a case that this sort of feeling is not a thing you grow out of: It comes, it comes, it comes, it comes, it comes and goes! Mars sounds like he’s talking himself out of his feelings at first – “so sentimental, not sentimental, no / romantic, not disgusting yet” – but the music makes him succumb to it. It starts with the hip swivel and the lightness in the shoulders, and it quickly moves to your heart.

Buy it from Amazon.

Smino featuring Mick Jenkins “New Coupe, Who Dis?”

“New Coupe, Who Dis?” seems to float gently in a cloud of sparse organ chords, with just enough bounce and swing to register as funky. The placid groove suits Mick Jenkins, whose verse slinks around the beat with a loose and playfully melodic flow similar to that of his Chicago peers Chance and Noname. Smino is a whole other thing, though – his voice is high and cartoonish in some moments, raspy and soulful in others. Once he moves into verses, his words seem to spiral around the beat like vines. There’s a lot going on in this song that sounds like just hanging around doing nothing on a pleasant night.

Buy it from Amazon.

Unknown Mortal Orchestra “The Internet of Love (That Way)”

“The Internet of Love” moves at a languorous, hungover pace. It’s a slow drag of music, with piano notes and guitar chords that trickle out gradually as if the song itself barely has the energy to get up. The feeling of it is just as stuck as the sound. There’s a not a lot of lyrics, but what you get sketches out a portrait of someone who is alone and yearning for someone they’ve lost somehow. They’re lonely and heartbroken and retreating into themselves, imagining a future together that is just not going to happen. What really gets to me about this song is the self-awareness – he knows how bad obsessing over this is for him, and how it only makes the chances of getting what he wants more impossible. But he can’t stop sinking deeper into the feeling.

Buy it from Amazon.

Video Age “Pop Therapy”

This song basically sounds like someone trying very hard to make their own version of Donald Fagen’s The Nightfly in their bedroom with no budget, no session musicians, and only a fraction of Fagen’s chops. But you know what? It works for me, and Video Age’s earnest desire to write a classy, swinging early ’80s sort of pop tune is very charming to me. “Pop Therapy” is certainly much more tender and sweet than anything Fagen would write, and the vocals and lyrics convey a neurotic desire for affection and understanding that’s a bit dweeby but still very relatable.

Buy it from Bandcamp.