September 21st, 2020 4:28pm
“Pray” is the type of song that’s built like a ride, like you’re moving around a rollercoaster, gradually gaining momentum and being brought up to a peak so you can have the experience of suddenly dropping down. In this song, it’s all about building up tension until you finally hit the 3:15 mark and a screeching solo kicks in. It doesn’t fully register as music – it’s more this extremely loud and cathartic sound that rips through the composition. It’s strange how this shrill, shrieking metallic sound can alleviate the tension while sounding like something that should actually make you feel more tense. I think it’s that it gives you this satisfaction of destruction, like this place you’ve just escaped is now being burned to the ground.
September 18th, 2020 2:34pm
“Time Machine” is a pensive song with the atmosphere of the first genuinely cold day of autumn, when your body reacquaints itself with air so chilly it sort of stings with a light breeze. Jana Horn sings about the end of a close relationship – it’s not obvious whether it’s romantic or platonic – with a slightly detached tone, as though she’s already moved through the stages of grief and has arrived at acceptance and resignation. In the verses she deals with the aftermath of the other person’s decision to end things and the impossibility of changing their mind, but the choruses entertain the fantasy of creating a time machine and… maybe undoing something? There’s no specific idea suggested, just the open-ended magical thinking of the possibility of building a thing that’s never existed.
September 17th, 2020 1:14pm
Ibrahem Hasan and Matthew Rivera bring a crate-digging, collage-making hip-hop DJ mindset to their recordings as Bless the Mad, even if the music on the record is all live instrumentation. “Show Me the Way” is driven mainly by Rivera’s drums and keyboard parts but is carried by Edson Sean, whose soulful gospel wailing and warm bass are the most expressive parts of the composition. The arrangement of this song feels tidal, as though the music and vocal parts are waves cresting and crashing. There’s a turmoil to it but also a very peaceful feeling, as though Sean’s pleas to God are answered by the music’s own flow towards moments of equilibrium.
September 15th, 2020 4:37pm
I’ve come to expect some degree of anxiety in the lyrics of young songwriters, so it is a pleasant surprise that the cool, calm, ’60s psychedelia of this song is not subverted by lyrics expressing some form of angst. Or maybe it does, in a more roundabout sense: Jenny O’s lyrics here is basically advice urging the listener to make the most of small pleasures in life, and I’m sure to some extent she’s addressing herself. But in either case, it’s very relaxed in tone and it’s messaging, and not at all pushy in getting across the subtext that these little pleasures are what add up to a good life or what can keep us from losing sight of what is valuable in the world when it’s much easier to see all that is terrible in it. And all of that is factored into the sound too, as the whole thing is built on gently melancholic chords and progresses towards a guitar solo that expels lingering tensions that build up through the song.
September 14th, 2020 1:19am
I certainly never expected Stephen Malkmus to ever record a song with a vibe very similar to that of Grant Lee Buffalo’s 1994 masterpiece Mighty Joe Moon, but here we are – one of the few unexpected things in 2020 to actually be delightful. “Brainwashed” is a folksy number with a distinctly woodsy feel, like he ought to be playing it while sitting on a log near a stream, or maybe out in front of a cabin with the scent of a wood-burning stove in the distance. Malkmus’ vocal falls somewhere between relaxed and exhausted as he pleads to be rid of his mind and his memories, and all the responsibilities that go along with it. He sketches out some odd Malkmusian details about what the guy in this song has been up to – some kind of scam involving propane in Maine? – but that’s just color. The main thing here is the way the “brainwash me” refrain sounds so enticing now, and the way Malkmus busts out an electric guitar solo at the end that’s a little like what he pulled out for his Silver Jews song “Blue Arrangements” over 20 years ago and a bit like a more dazed version of Neil Young.
Also, in case you missed it a few months ago, I wrote a full review of Malkmus’ Traditional Techniques for NPR and you can read it right here.
September 10th, 2020 6:55pm
The original mix of “Princess” is very good but the arrangement feels a bit hesitant, starting off as more of an R&B number before sliding into dance music territory. This mix by Yuksek eliminates the slow build and genre ambiguity by making it a house pop song from the start and I think the song feels much more natural in this form, it sounds like it’s the shape it was always meant to be. I suspect the cleverness of the original mix comes from shying away from what a crowd pleasing ’90s-style dance number it is – it’s certainly a little more generic this way, but it’s also far more effective in conveying both a mood and a physical response. And ultimately this sort of music is built on its utility. With both versions being options I’m not sure why anyone wouldn’t choose the more joyful one that really moves.
September 9th, 2020 8:57pm
Bumper’s first EP sounds like it’s specifically based on late ’80s sophisti-pop along the lines of Swing Out Sister and that music’s aesthetic cousin Japanese city pop, but the music is written and performed without any trace of irony. At other points in time this sort of thing could be expected to be played with a wink even by true believers, but Michelle Zauner and Ryan Galloway do this with a degree of sincerity that makes a song like “Red Brick” feel authentic and pure. Everything in the song sounds bright and joyful, and even as Zauner confronts dark feelings in the lyrics it’s not a subversive move – her point of view is entirely optimistic that difficult times can be overcome in a very “the only way out is through” way.
September 8th, 2020 12:48pm
When it comes to remixes I always prefer the ones that modify the arrangements of a song to those that barely resemble the source material. Jonti’s “NTE” remix is in the former category – he retains the essential vocal hook and groove of Buscabella’s track and replaces the more drowsy feel of the original with a brighter, more “tropical” atmosphere. The song retains its identity but gains a new utility as something better geared to a dancefloor than a chill-out room. Either version of the song has a very stoned vibe but I particularly like the way the bass line fits into Jonti’s mix like this warm center bringing up the temperature of everything that comes close to it.
September 3rd, 2020 1:10pm
“Loose Ends” is a jazz vocal ballad but its textures are digitally warped to the point of disorienting abstraction. Sharada Shashidhar’s vocal is clear and precise, conveying patience and thoughtfulness in the midst of a track that feels more uncertain and chaotic. Jamael Dean’s music seems to move with and against her flow at different points, almost as if the sound is a storm moving around her stable, meditative presence. There are moments where it feels as though she’s moving against a powerful tide, but as she gets through it the chords settle into a more placid groove in harmony with her. It’s hard to imagine this is not a deliberate metaphor.
September 3rd, 2020 12:16am
Natalie Slade’s voice is soulful but very controlled and understated – she emotes just enough to indicate her power and range, but keeps her focus on storytelling in her verses and conveying a soul-searching introspection in the choruses. Pretty much everything else in the arrangement of “Humidity” displays a similar balance of warmth and restraint. The bass is funky but unobtrusive; the drums have a nice feel but keep to a clean, tight pocket. My favorite thing here is the keyboards by Simon Mavin, whose chords seem like softly glowing lights just behind the groove. His parts get a bit higher in the mix near the end of the song, or maybe it’s more that other parts clear out to give those lovely chords some more space to be heard.
September 2nd, 2020 12:51pm
Club Future Nostalgia has the feel of a club DJ set broadcast over the radio on a Saturday night – all the joy of the music is there, but the physical sensations of being in a room full of people with flashing lights is left to the imagination. Dua Lipa and The Blessed Madonna made this full album remix album as a tribute to those sort of broadcasts and classic DJ mix CDs, but also a simulation of an experience intended for all the people around the world who can’t just go to a club night during a pandemic.
It’s also a way of putting Lipa’s disco aesthetics in its proper context. The songs on Future Nostalgia are all finely crafted dance pop bangers, but in some ways the disco-ness of the music is hemmed in by the pop-ness. The remixes on this record allow the grooves to loosen up, mutate, or merge with other tunes. “Break My Heart,” so tightly composed on the album, is far more fluid here – first as a mash-up with Jamiroquai’s “Cosmic Girl,” and at the end as a longer, airier funk track reworked by Moodymann. He places all emphasis on the bass line – which interpolates INXS’s “Need You Tonight” – and clears out most of the negative space. The song retains its hooks but its vibe is completely changed, pushing it away from the angsty throb of the original towards a more relaxed and elegant aesthetic.
August 31st, 2020 2:11am
“Ice Cream” has a very mid-’00s feel to it – most specifically it reminds me of Beyoncé’s melodies in her 2005 hit “Check On It” and the particular bounce of Swizz Beatz productions from the period. But it’s also just the general vibe of that era, that hyper-glossy hedonistic rap-adjacent bubblegum as deliberate counter-programming to a more pervasive bleakness in the culture. I can see how this could grate on people with a full-time commitment to doom but I think songs like this, which deliver joy and escapism with impeccable craft, are a necessary part of the arts ecosystem. I would be dazzled by this song if just on a melodic level under any conditions, but it coming at this time emphasizes all its sass and sparkle.
This song is Blackpink’s most blatant attempt at an American crossover hit to date, and I think it’s handled very well as an introduction to the group even with Selena Gomez taking center stage in the hook and the video. Rosé, who sings the highest part of the chorus, and Lisa, who does all the rapping, are the ones who really announce themselves as stars in this song and its music video. Like CL from 2NE1 before her, Lisa is a very convincing and aggressive rapper – to some extent they both come across as people who have fully internalized the cadences of mainstream female rappers like Cardi B and Nicki Minaj the way an actor would master an accent with a dialect coach, but the performances have a real spirit to them rather than just seeming studied and rote. Lisa is certainly compelling enough to get away with lyrical references to Michael Jackson and Free Willy, or opening her solo verse with the phrase “chillin’ like a villain.”
August 27th, 2020 11:12pm
Kate Bollinger’s songs have mostly been iterations on a basic concept – the music is a relaxed groove but the lyrics are neurotic and introspective – but to her credit, they all feel distinct in melody and texture. “Grey Skies,” from her new EP, is at the drowsiest and jazziest end of her spectrum. Her vocal melody and cadence in this one reminds me of Erykah Badu at her most mellow, which further exaggerates the gap between her chill vibe and the “who am I, what am I doing, does any of this make sense?” tone of her lyrics. But it’s not necessarily a contradiction: Bollinger excels at giving voice to a very low-key nagging sort of turmoil, the sort that can be buried under just enough self-effacement and repression to not read as anxious on the surface.
August 27th, 2020 2:11am
I’ve read that one of the reasons songs get stuck in your head is because something about them – the structure, the lyrics – breaks a pattern your brain recognizes from other music, so it’s left unresolved in your mind. This makes sense for how “Babylon” stays with me, it being this song that’s both totally familiar in its Shep Pettibone early ’90s house moves but totally alien in the way Lady Gaga sings a set of phrases that sound fabulous but don’t really add up to anything logical. “Babylon” is a song of inspired idiocy; absolutely glorious in its dumb genius.
Gaga has always been a creature of kitsch, but this song pushes her aesthetic to an extreme – a song ostensibly about gossip that’s somehow serving it “ancient city style” with a “pretty 16th century smile.” It’s like some bizarre cross-breeding of Madonna’s “Vogue” and Steve Martin’s “King Tut,” but with a vague nod towards the general concept of social justice. I am certain that if you talked to Lady Gaga about this song she could give you some sort of outline of the ideas that were on her mind as she wrote this, as it’s clear enough she was inspired by a few different things. But the magic here is in the goofy nonsense of it all, and in the how this is jumbled up in a fun retro dance song. It’s not easy to deliberately create something campy, but that’s exactly what she’s done with this song. She’s been immersed in camp so long, this is just what happens for her naturally.
August 25th, 2020 2:51am
Margaret Glaspy has a warm and expressive voice, a high level of songwriting craft, and writes thoughtful lyrics about the intricacies of mature adult relationships. These are all incredible strengths from my perspective, but I don’t think they do much to win over younger listeners more fixated on her peers who are more about shy vocals, formless melancholy, and adolescent neuroses. But that makes sense. It’s adult music, and while I think anyone could click into Glaspy’s very melodic and accessible songs, it probably is something you need to be in the right frame of mind to fully appreciate.
Framing Glaspy’s records in this way feels a bit like I’m actually doing her a disservice, since in music “adult” is mostly a euphemism for boring. In adult music, emotions aren’t so extreme – they’re nuanced and complicated. And complexity and ambiguity have a way of coming across as low stakes, even if the reality is often that they’re much more fraught.
“Heartbreak” is a ballad rooted in R&B about a relationship that’s becoming too difficult to bear, but might not yet be broken beyond repair. Glaspy’s character frames the situation in a way that makes her passive to her partner’s whims – heartbreak is being induced, and the best defense she has in mind is to try to ignore it. The song resembles Lauryn Hill’s “Ex-Factor” in style and themes, and this makes a lot of sense as that song has been a staple of Glaspy’s live performances for years and she’s certainly fully internalized it by now. Her voice conveys both frustration and yearning, all the angst focused on how unresolved and open-ended the situation feels.
In lieu of some decision or emotional catharsis, the song ends with her trying to get her head around how she gone in this deep: The attraction runs deep, she compromises too often and too easily, and despite swearing to be honest they’ve both holding back some truths. The song ends on that thought and stops cold, as if she’s suddenly snapped out of the spell.
August 20th, 2020 2:15pm
The central rhythm of “Comic Sans” is a gentle plodding groove that becomes a bit more emphatic as basic percussion and guitar parts come in but never quite picks up. The lyrics follow through on this feeling of a pleasant rut as Kaya Wilkins sings about moving around in a daze after getting dumped. The song comes from the perspective of not really having a solid handle on the situation – was this actually a bad relationship? Is this actually good for her? Should she feel aggrieved? A situation has resolved itself but left her in a very unresolved state, and even as the music moves laterally through slightly different moods and a chorus that relieves some angst at least on a melodic level, there’s no sense of direction. When the song tapers off and abruptly stops, it feels emotionally true even if it’s a bit unsatisfying in terms of ending a song.
August 20th, 2020 1:27am
Daniela Bojorges-Giraldo sings with a soulful rasp and a very mature level of nuance and control, but that’s just part of what makes “These Days” so captivating. The most fascinating thing for me is Bojorges-Giraldo’s performance on bass and drums, which keeps a nice pocket groove with a loose feel along the lines of Mitch Mitchell’s drumming for Jimi Hendrix. It’s an R&B song stripped down to raw essentials without feeling “minimalist,” and she gives space in the arrangement so that common elements like backing vocals and horn parts hit with maximum impact. Everything sounds very in-the-moment, nothing feels overthought. She just sounds like a musician with great instincts who fully trusts those instincts.
August 19th, 2020 1:41pm
In retrospect Jasamine White-Gluz’s discography as No Joy is like this reverse “anxiety of influence” arc in which she resists emulating the things she grew up loving to the point that it was limiting her creativity, and she fully becomes herself when she gives herself permission to embrace the largely uncool late 90s/early 00s music that shaped her taste. Motherhood, her new record as No Joy, boldly integrates elements of nü-metal, the commercial end of trip-hop, and quasi-futuristic pre-millennial production trends you’d recognize from albums like No Doubt’s Return of Saturn, The Smashing Pumpkins’ Adore, and Madonna’s Ray of Light into her established romantic shoegaze aesthetic. She sounds truly free on this record, like someone who is unafraid to let you see who they are. This starts in formal terms but carries through to the emotional content of it – even when lyrics are hazy and the sound gets abstract, there’s an open-hearted vulnerability on display that’s poignant and relatable.
“Four” strings together all the stylistic extremes of Motherhood into one remarkably coherent piece of music. It’s basically a suite – an atmospheric shoegaze section flowing into a groovy trip-hop section flowing into a thrashing nü-metal finale – and a lot of the reason it works so well is that at least from White-Gluz’s perspective this is a fully intuitive progression. The trip-hop section is the main draw here. It’s very confident in its funk despite this previously never being an element of the No Joy sound, and I love the way the juxtaposition of White-Gluz’s voice singing “just keep calling me baby,” a pitched-down masculine voice, and a baby giggle that’s clearly in homage to the famous baby sample in Aaliyah “Are You That Somebody” suggest a lot of ideas about female sexuality and motherhood without explicating anything. It’s more of a Rorschach blot, or the song deliberately posing a leading question.
August 13th, 2020 1:32pm
“Stoned Again” moves along on the slow drag of a grungy bass riff that serves as the numb, deadened center of a song that’s otherwise expressing extreme depression, paranoia, and grief. The arrangement sketches out multiple levels of awareness – the guitar and sax parts fill in a melancholy atmosphere that’s like a dimming perception of the bleakness of the outside world, while Archy Marshall’s vocals cover conscious thoughts and feelings. He splits his vocal into two overlapping parts – the first a semi-rapped stream of conscious ramble contrasting memories of innocence with a pathetic and desperate present, and the second mostly wordless screams of anguish. The effect is similar to superimposing in film, and it’s up to the listener to decide whether it’s meant to evoke a collapsed timeline of emotions or the feelings just under the surface of the coherent thoughts. Marshall’s voice is unrestrained in both performances but particularly impressive in the foregrounded part where his words seem to tumble out of his mouth and verses end with him shifting his phrasing into a bark of disgust.
August 11th, 2020 3:23pm
“Slap Heap Deity 1” comes in upbeat and bright, bopping along as it comes to a big chorus in which Mia Lust cheerfully sings about the inevitability of failure. “We try our best, we are unsuccessful,” she chirps, “our hearts get filled with regrets and cholesterol, then we all just die yeah yeah yeah yeah!” I think normally this sort of peppy negativity would be considered a subversion of the form, but I think in this case it’s more about finding joy by rearranging expectations. The energy and drama of the song is not ironic, this isn’t about some sardonic wink to the audience. Lust and her band sound like they’ve found freedom in letting go of a lot of nonsense, and of throwing themselves into these chords and these melodies in the moment. And is insisting that we’re not special actually the same thing as nihilism?
