February 16th, 2021 12:20am
The lyrics of “Angry Man” lay out an emotional dilemma in plain, direct language – knowing you have to move on from a relationship with a negative and angry person who doesn’t treat you well, but wishing you didn’t have to because you do love them and you’re not ready to put in the time and energy necessarily for someone else to truly know you well. Aerial East sings all of this as though she’s addressing her ex but it comes across like a letter never sent, things she has to say in the clearest words possible in order to process these complicated feelings. Her voice is sweet but raw as she sings these words to a melody so gorgeous that it hardly matters she doesn’t break away from it for a chorus or bridge. The song just builds on the theme with a simple beat that has the ambiance of classic Mazzy Star, some lovely understated lead guitar and piano flourishes, and backing vocals that seem to reinforce her as she finds the strength to commit to the decision to move on.
February 11th, 2021 3:25pm
Lia Ices’ voice is slightly blurred by reverb in this song, like the audio equivalent of when your finger accidentally smudges the ink as you write with a pen – you can make out the words, but you have to look through that smear for the bolder forms beneath it. I don’t mean to give the impression that this is some sort of shoegaze thing, it’s very much a piano-based singer-songwriter sort of song, but this effect renders Ices’ vocal performance in a way that places all emphasis on the feeling in her tone and phrasing than in her words. It’s a good production decision, one that gives the song a bit of extra ambiance without making it too “vibey” and puts a focus on the raw sentimentality of the music rather than nudge the listener towards a more literal interpretation based on words. If anything the lyrics verify the feeling of the song, which I think anyone can intuit is about a deeply felt love that’s nevertheless tangled up in the complications of life.
February 9th, 2021 10:13pm
Anchorsong’s previous records were abstractions rooted in specific places, compositions that were meant to evoke a location in the way that a perfumer designs a scent so you can extrapolate a whole experience from small sensual details. “Tunis Dream” suits the current moment – with world travel off the table, Masaaki Yoshida has turned to evoking that same sense of place from his imagination. As he puts it, this song not meant to represent Tunisia so much as a Tunisia in his mind, and while the difference between him going for “realism” or something more impressionistic is mostly on his side of the music, the track does have a more loose and dreamy quality to it.
“Foxglove” has some bass-rattling busy-beat moments but the most memorable parts feel more like an uneventful equilibrium state before and after the more exciting bits. These sections pull me in mainly with the keyboard chords, which have a dazed rhythm similar to that of Radiohead’s “Everything In Its Right Place.” It gives me a very relaxed head-empty feeling, enough so that the threatening vocal sample just sort of washes over me.
February 5th, 2021 1:47am
“It’s Our Love” is a very ‘60s/‘70s type of soul ballad, and while Thee Sacred Souls don’t shy away from that retro quality they also avoid the trap of trying to fake the aura of a vintage recording. The track doesn’t feel “modern” but it does sound remarkably crisp, presenting the guitar parts and organ drone with a lovely clarity while the drums have just enough “room sound” to give it a very live feel. Josh Lane’s vocals, sung in a high tenor like Smokey Robinson, don’t even show up until 40 seconds into the song but his presence lifts the whole piece up. Not just in the sense of improving the quality, but in that his airy voice and extremely infatuated tone makes the music feel as though it’s levitating.
February 4th, 2021 2:20am
“Anxiety Feels” addresses panic attacks and feeling ambivalent about taking medication for anxiety, but doesn’t sound anxious at all. It feels more like a medicated state – a gentle, slightly sterile groove and vocals that convey a rational mindset at a distance from more urgent emotions. The arrangement is crisp and clean and neatly detailed, but it’s not cold. There’s a hint of melancholy in the lead guitar and the half-sigh of the vocals, but it’s muted. Or maybe it’s more like dilution – the tone is like the lightest shades of watercolor on the furthest edge of a more saturated hue. The strongest feeling in the song comes through in a wistful refrain – “I find it hard sometimes” – but even that seems a bit hazy and detached, which makes me wonder if the song is more about imagining the medicated state than depicting a lived experience of it.
February 3rd, 2021 2:20am
This is the sort of remix that puts me in the uncomfortable position of having to point out that I think it’s far better than the original version, to such a degree that I wish Fontaines D.C. would take what Soulwax has done with their song and use it as a model for anything they’d like to make going forward. But what this really comes down to is a question of which sort of “indie” band you preferred in the early to mid 00s – the regular Fontaines D.C. version is somewhere on a British punk spectrum between The Libertines and Art Brut, while Soulwax have been working in a DFA-adjacent punk-funk vein since back in those days. I strongly prefer the latter.
But aside from that aesthetic leaning, I just think Grian Chatten’s voice just sounds much better with a bit of negative space and a more swinging groove. It’s a bit like someone you’re used to seeing dress in rather shlubby clothes show up out of nowhere in an outfit with a more flattering fit. His lyrics boil down to a list of advice, and while in the original they can feel a bit hectoring in the Soulwax version they hit with more warmth and generosity.
February 1st, 2021 11:38pm
“Narrator” starts with a premise like “what if LCD Soundsystem were about 40% more unhinged?” and quite frankly that would be more than enough to satisfy me. A crisp tight-pocket groove, a herky-jerky post-punk feel, and a weird shouting nerd? It rarely fails. But as it goes along – and at a little over 8 minutes it really does go along – the song reveals itself to something more in unexpected digressions. There’s a moody arpeggiated guitar sequence with vaguely unsettling spoken vocals by Martha Skye Murphy that feels like the song going sideways into a lateral progression, and then later a part with spiking staccato noise that’s more like passing through a sudden storm. The last chunk of the song cruises out, zooming on beyond cartharsis into some more nebulous sort of resolution.
January 28th, 2021 11:07pm
Peter and David Brewis have been releasing records as Field Music for over 15 years, and in that time a few things about their music has been constant: it’s all erudite and thoughtful, it’s all wonderfully melodic in a very “raised on Paul McCartney” way, and the music is performed and recorded with a clinical precision. Their best songs make the most of their raw skill and stoic formalism, and their more forgettable work strains against the limitations of their apparent repression and uptight musical inclinations.
“Orion on the Street” is definitely in the former category. It’s a song about death and mourning the loss of someone close, and it’s very much written from the “acceptance” stage of grief. The sorts of messy emotions that would characterize the other stages wouldn’t be the best fit for the Brewis aesthetic, but the brothers are exceptionally well suited to capture the graceful clarity of processing loss and seeing some beauty in someone moving on, even if you’re a bit agnostic on what actually comes next. A sparkly piano part and a very George Harrison-y lead guitar part are the most musically beautiful parts of the song, but the most lovely sentiment comes when they reckon with the notion of the afterlife: “Belief in further lives / separate, but true / if I thought you were anywhere / I would be there too.”
January 28th, 2021 12:35am
“Caroline” is sung from the perspective of someone observing a dramatic public breakup, the kind of thing that will grab your attention even if you’d prefer to mind your own business. The details of the story aren’t tremendously interesting, the subject of the song is more the empathy and curiosity of the observer, and the way we rush to fill in details when given a scene like this out of context. Arlo Parks sings the song with a restrained and gentle tone over a lattice of arpeggiated guitar and crisp drum hits that recall the ambivalent tone of Radiohead’s “Weird Fishes,” expressing a diluted proxy anguish that suggests she’s interpreting what she sees as she does because she’s projecting her own experiences on it.
January 27th, 2021 8:05pm
If you go back through Matthew E. White’s body of work you can certainly find parts that are influenced by soul, funk, and jazz, most obviously on a collaborative record with Flo Morrissey that included covers of classics by Roy Ayers Ubiquity and Frank Ocean. But nothing I’ve ever encountered that was made by White suggested he was capable of what he does on Broken Mirror: A Selfie Reflection, his forthcoming record with Lonnie Holley. Through five extended tracks White and his band tap into the jazz funk fusion of early ‘70s Miles Davis, particularly the vibe conjured in the sessions that yielded Get Up With It, A Tribute to Jack Johnson, and On the Corner.
Relative to Davis’ records it’s stripped down and simplified a lot – there’s fewer musicians in the room, no horns at all – but it’s a strikingly similar energy, one that’s hard to come by. White doesn’t perform on the tracks but rather conducts a group of musicians (mostly on synthesizers or percussion, but also on guitars and piano) through the collisions, tensions, and cathartic noise. Lonnie Holley role on vocals is part star presence and part bystander, and the line between him responding to the music and the music responding to his words can be hard to discern. “This Here Jungle of Moderness/Composition 14” brings out a very stressful sort of funk, where even the grooviest bits evoke a fight-or-flight response. Holley’s voice seems to confront the abstracted danger head on, and the more he sings the less startling the sounds get without necessarily ever subsiding.
January 26th, 2021 11:40pm
When I first heard about Sound Ancestors I was under the impression that it was a Madlib/Four Tet record, in the sense that Madlib has made collaboritive records in the past with MF Doom, J Dilla, Freddie Gibbs, and Talib Kweli. But no, this is a different sort of collaboration. It’s a body of work created by Madlib, but curated and crafted into an album by Four Tet. This is tremendously interesting to me, mainly because it strikes me as a very humble thing for someone as accomplished as Madlib to do, and a tremendous show of faith and trust in Four Tet. I figure the process here was probably similar to how an editor works with a writer on a big project, and pretty much everyone can benefit from a good editor.
“Road of the Lonely Ones” is essentially a rework of The Ethics’ deep cut “Lost In A Lonely World.” Madlib presents the song in full with all its major elements intact but he layers in percussion and additional textures, bringing a solid groove and more dramatic dynamics to the composition without sacrificing any of the delicate beauty of the original recording. The original seems flat and monochromatic in comparison, like something waiting to eventually be finished. Madlib’s arrangement frames the song’s best qualities for maximum effect, particularly the refrain in which the lead singer sings questions like “Did I ever treat you bad?” and “Where did I go wrong?” over gently plucked guitar chords. The beat drops out to put a spotlight on this moment, accentuating its vulnerability and raw beauty.
January 22nd, 2021 2:51pm
“Fall In To Me” has an intriguing dynamic in which Liz Elensky’s vocal and Ben Hadwen’s tenor sax sound like they’re both attempting to break out of the tense rhythm laid down by Emanative. They move around the stiff groove in different ways. Elensky’s approach is more soulful and zen, like a passive resistance to the oppressive force. Hadwen’s sax is more loose and emotive, at first sneaking around the beat before more obviously reacting against it. I like the way the drama plays out, like the rhythm is trying to capture something about the human spirit that simply cannot be held for long.
January 22nd, 2021 1:43am
The Far East’s music is a remarkable fascismile of 1970s and early 1980s Jamaican music, to the point that if you can filter out textural and tonal nuances that mark it as contemporary recordings, you could be convinced it’s the real deal. This band appears to be entirely comprised of white Americans, and I suppose you can make that a case for being problematic, but I think that is more of an issue if they sucked at this and their approximation was purely a cringey surface-level thing. A song like “NYC Dream” comes from love and admiration, and more importantly, a collective skill set capable of producing such a warm and generous melody and playing the rhythm with just the right feel. It helps that “NYC Dream” is grounded in the band’s own setting too, so it’s just as connected to Blondie’s version of rocksteady as the authentic Jamaican source material as Maddie Ruthless sings a romantic love song that’s simultaneously for her partner and the city around them.
January 20th, 2021 2:01pm
“Never Forget” has the sample-happy aesthetics and playful bounce of Prince Paul and The Avalanches in their prime – very warm and groovy, but also delightfully kitschy. But even with the light-hearted tone there’s some dark currents in the mix, particularly in the repeated “I never…” vocal clip that I think may be Nina Simone though I’m not certain of it. There’s a lot of regret and sorrow in the delivery of those three syllables, and it works as a counterpart to the silliness of a lot of the other samples and compliments the downward curve of the bass part.
January 19th, 2021 11:18pm
Child Actor’s track for “Rapunzel” has an eerie vibe but a relaxed feeling, like you’re getting hypnotized into some kind of zombie state but it turns out to be a relief to give up control. A lot of that effect comes from the central sample, which blurs a few sung notes into a siren call that’s simultaneously lovely and unnerving. Moor Mother and Billy Woods are both well-suited to the feel of this track but approach it differently – Woods putting his own spin on the more cerebral Wu-Tang styles of Inspectah Deck and Masta Killa, while Moor Mother leans into the low end of her register so her gravelly tone melts in with the bass a bit.
January 15th, 2021 2:00pm
“Mosie’s Mood” sounds as though the music is somehow backlit, like we’re just getting a dull haze of light off the back of its alt-rock groove and surfy lead guitar parts. The darkness of the music feels imposed on the form, like this really ought to have a bright and crisp sound but there’s something blocking out all light and joy. It’s a good tonal match for the lyrics, which seem to grapple with a lack of motivation and a surplus of anxiety in a time when possibilities are limited and mostly are bleak. There’s a sense in the music and the words that there’s an attempt to get out of a feeling of hopelessness, but there’s only so much that can be done.
January 13th, 2021 11:12pm
Apifera sound like they’re going for a mid-’70s Herbie Hancock aesthetic here, though the loose swing in his classic recordings is just beyond their collective reach. But the tightness of their playing isn’t necessarily a problem as it nudges them a little closer to electronic music, particularly the sort of approximations of jazz fusion artists like Luke Vibert and Squarepusher were playing with around 20 years ago. “Four Green Yellows” has a nice relaxed groove, but the best bits aren’t exactly chill – a high keyboard part with a staccato attack that makes it sound like it’s blinking in the shape of a square, the way the bass seems to suddenly start fluttering around the two minute mark.
January 13th, 2021 3:06am
Jazmine Sullivan plays a supporting role in the first third of this song, giving a lot of space for Ari Lennox to set the tone for this very lusty slow jam. It’s generous, but it’s also sorta like having a very good opening act – once Sullivan takes the lead on the second verse she raises the stakes with a performance that’s twice as filthy, more emotionally raw, and impressively nuanced in terms of phrasing. I love the way she delivers the line “cause baby it’s not that easy to please me, yeah I’m needy,” stressing the internal rhyme of the “y” sound with notes that flatter the high end of her range while also conveying a bit of eagerness and desperation. As the song reaches its climax the two singers support one another beautifully, with each showing off and emoting without getting in the other’s way. They don’t sound like they’re competing, they sound like they’re comparing notes.
January 12th, 2021 3:27am
Every aspect of “Track X” comes across as deliberate and refined, but not so much that it ever seems stiff or precious. It wouldn’t be too hard for this song to tip in those directions, particularly as it’s essentially a solemn spoken word piece set to an arrangement that includes strings and woodwinds. It’s careful where it counts – there’s no clutter to the track despite how many instruments are on it, and as much as the music is lovely and cinematic it never gets sappy or sentimental. Isaac Wood’s vocal performance resembles the style and tone of The National’s Matt Berninger, but he’s not quite as stoic and ponderous, not even when he’s ruminating on a complicated relationship with his father. The song feels like a minor miracle for the way this young band sets themselves up to make something that ought to be a bit unwieldly and overbearing but end up with something that’s rather light and elegant.
January 8th, 2021 1:50pm
I hear echoes of the Pavement song “Greenlander” in “Middle America” – not enough that they’re extremely similar on a structural level, but close enough in tone that they share a particular shade of melancholy and evoke a frigid and empty landscape. In lyrical terms they’re from very different ends of a lifespan. “Greenlander” confronts a very youthful sort of awkwardness and regret, with the line “everything I did was right, everything I said was wrong / now I’m waiting for the night to bring me dawn” standing out as one of the young Malkmus’ more straightforward and poignant moments. “Middle America” is more like a collection of wise thoughts and observations, but presented in a humble and low-key way. There’s some good advice in the song but the emotional power of it lies more in the bits where he seems far less certain of himself or anything else. There’s something in the way he sings the “in the winter time” hook that conveys a sweet vulnerability and vague doubt that actually makes him come across as a stronger and more reliable person.
