February 6th, 2018 4:12am
The British girl group Girls Aloud were essentially a front for the songwriting and production team Xenomania, who created nearly all of the groups tracks. Xenomania, led by the producer Brian Higgins, specialize in super-charged pop that’s precisely engineered to deliver as many strong hooks as possible at a relentless pace. Their songs are pure sensation, calculated by expert writers to be melodically dazzling, structurally dynamic, and extraordinarily energetic. There’s a ruthlessness to Xenomania’s approach that carries over to the lyrics, which tend to be either misanthropic caricatures of the lives of rich assholes or what amounts to a sort of “chick-lit” lorem impsum. Girls Aloud had some ballads, but even in those, the emotional content of lyrics seem entirely besides the point. You get the sense that Higgins would wonder why someone would bother to write something emotional or sentimental when you could have a more musically interesting turn of phrase that didn’t mean much but stood out a bit more, like, I dunno, “we’re gift-wrapped kitty cats” or “there’s black jacks running down my back and I say STOP!”
“Biology” is one of Girls Aloud and Xenomania’s finest songs, and it’s a great example of their aesthetic. The song starts off with a stomping blues riff played about three times faster than you’d expect, but then shifts on a dime into a more straight forward up-tempo pop track that just gets faster and more emphatic as it goes along. It’s never quite dance music – there’s rarely elements of house or disco in Xenomania tracks, it’s always more like an extremely glossy and hyperactive sort of rock music. That’s part of why the blues intro and interlude here fit so well, and why the emphasis is played on the loudness of the chorus rather than the sway of a groove.
February 5th, 2018 2:25am
The word “cliffhanger” is never sung in this song, but it’s an appropriate title for a song that’s so ambivalent and unresolved. Britta Persson is singing from the perspective of someone in a relationship that’s seemingly stuck in a pleasant rut and is wondering if there’s a direction and purpose to it, or if they’re just passively following the path of least resistance. It’s hard to say which option she’d prefer, particularly as she seems to distrust her own emotions. She asks herself if she’s “feeling a feeling because it’s a feeling,” and is dismissive of some woman she read about in free magazine, saying she “doesn’t want to be a teenager forever.” But her feelings do get quite strong – she’s rather emphatic when she sings that she’s ready to move on. But after that, the song reverts to the vague emotional space it starts out in.
This is such a vivid portrayal of a state of indecision, and the anguish that comes from fearing that you could be settling for less than what would make you truly happy. And then, the added anxiety of not even knowing what would make you happy in the first place. And of course, a third layer of feeling guilty for wanting more when things are basically fine and you don’t want to hurt your partner. Maybe “cliffhanger” isn’t quite the right word for this. It’s more of a stalemate.
Note: I wrote about three songs from Britta Persson’s Kill Hollywood Me when it came out 10 years ago. The first post was about “At 7,” the second was about the title track, and the third was my first shot at writing about “Cliffhanger.” I strongly recommend the album, but especially these three magnificent songs.
February 4th, 2018 11:56pm
As of the beginning of this month, Fluxblog has existed for 16 years. I am going to celebrate this occasion by revisiting a lot of old favorites from over the years that have slipped into obscurity. In some cases I’ll be writing about songs featured here many years ago with a new perspective, and in others, I’ll be writing about songs that I love that I never got around to covering on the site. It’s remarkable how much great music from the past decade is almost completely forgotten today, or doesn’t even exist on streaming platforms. I want to do what I can to put these artists and songs back into the world. History gets erased when no one bothers to write about it.
February 2nd, 2018 2:16am
“I’m constantly swiping and tapping, it’s never relaxing,” Andrew VanWyngarden sings midway through “She Works Out Too Much.” It would be easy for this to come out sounding shrill and judgmental, but he sounds legitimately bored and exhausted. This song is particular to Instagram, but I think it speaks to something a lot of people have been experiencing with different social platforms in the past two years or so: Is any of this still fun? And what are we getting out of this, besides new ways to feel anxious, insecure, or unsafe?
I personally ran into this wall with Twitter, and have stopped reading and participating in that platform altogether. At first it was because I was tired of constantly checking a timeline that was increasingly packed with paranoia, dread, anguish, and in the worst moments, outright hysteria. But once I stopped reading the stuff, I stopped writing tweets as well. I didn’t anticipate how freeing that would be. Twitter is a platform that rewards anger and negativity, so even my fairly benign presence took on a snippy, aggrieved tone. The platform subtly encouraged my worst impulses, but I’ve found that once I stopped having an outlet and audience for bitchy little thoughts, I stopped having so many bitchy little thoughts. I’m better for it, and so is anyone else. No one needs this from me. No one needs this from the vast majority of people.
But I digress. “She Works Out Too Much” is a very light-hearted song, but it’s coming from a sad and dissatisfied place. The central lyrical conceit is the way it contrasts different meanings of the phrase “work out” – in literal terms, a reference to a girl’s endless workout selfies, and in idiomatic terms, “work out” as in a relationship succeeding or not. VanWyngarden’s lines in the chorus are toothless complaints – “she works out too much” – but that’s answered with a cool, relaxed, and weirdly uncanny female voice calmly intoning “the only reason we didn’t work out is that we didn’t work out enough.” There’s a disconnect here, they’re speaking past each other. It’s a great way of illustrating the point that these two people are not compatible, have totally different ways of engaging with the world, and value different things. I appreciate that this song is not angry or accusing. VanWyngarden sounds disappointed. He just wanted it to all work out.
February 1st, 2018 3:04am
“Doubt” has a very restrained and controlled sound, which supports its lyrical sentiment about trying to stop yourself from giving in to your worst romantic impulses for your own good. “I’m done with doubt, I’m done with your game,” Wilson sings at the top of the song, and the slow, steady bass groove underlines her resolve. But given the lush, sexy sound of the track, it’s pretty clear that she knows from the get-go that she can resist the gravitational pull of this person she’s addressing. The key line here is in the chorus – “I’m selfish and dumb for your love.” A fool for love, sure, but selfish…well, that’s intriguing. Selfish to want it? Selfish to need it? Selfish to have these inconvenient feelings in the first place?
January 31st, 2018 2:49am
Camila Cabello is charismatic and has a good voice, but I think the major reason she’s been so successful in the past few months is that her songs pivot away from rigid production and nondescript ambiance of so much mid-10s pop music and embrace things like… chords. The piano chords in “Havana” are crucial to the song’s appeal, and they’re not something that just blends into the mix, or signify cheap sentimentality. You’re meant to hang on the sound of them, to feel the groove and the reverb and the slight imperfection of someone playing a piano in a room. It feels alive in a subtle way that makes it seem vibrant in comparison for doing something that in the grand scheme of recorded music is more normal than not. And she does this without selling “authenticity.” It just is, and it makes the more modern elements like the very Rihanna-ish chorus pop a bit more than if it was presented with the same airless production as everything else. “Inside Out,” an album track I have to assume will be issued as a single sometime this year since it has a very “song of the summer” feel to it, does the same trick by contrasting acoustic piano and steel drums with a glossy approach to the vocal production. All signs point to Cabello being just ahead of a stylistic curve, and frankly, I’m relieved.
January 30th, 2018 1:04am
This is not a cover of the famous Lynyrd Skynyrd song, nor is it a piece of music that sounds anything at all like Southern rock. The lyrics of the song address being stuck somewhere – “I used to love this town” – so I figure the song is set in Alabama, and the title is ironic. One way or another, it’s some kind of joke.
This “Sweet Home Alabama” has a hazy, drowsy sound that reminds me a lot of Yo La Tengo when Georgia Hubley is on vocals. The song is built out of looped samples, but as much as the song moves in circles, it’s not entirely static. Subtle vocal harmonies and shifts in keyboard tone give the song shape without breaking its spell or upstaging a low-key lead vocal part that adds a dash of dark humor to its clear-headed introspection.
January 29th, 2018 2:23am
In all of my time writing about music, one of my highest compliments that I have for a song is that it has a sense of urgency. I loooooove urgency. I love when musicians sound like they are very present in the moment, and when recordings convey a genuine spark of inspiration and emotional (and physical) commitment. I hear that in this song by Grace Vonderkuhn. It’s there in the way her riffs pile on with this enthusiastic and playful “OK, ya like that, how about this?” feeling. It’s there in the way her band bash out the rhythm with a raw energy that makes the song sound like it’s being played faster than usual even if this is the only version of the song I’ve ever heard. This is the sound of a band that’s putting it all on the line, and that just amplifies the anxious sentiment of the song – the nervous energy is there, but so is the triumphant spirit of overcoming it.
January 25th, 2018 4:03am
Evidence’s production on this track is extremely smooth and low-key funky, to the point that it sounds like it could plausibly be a lost Dr. Dre loop from the early ’90s. Domo Genesis’ verse slips comfortably into the groove – relaxed in tone, if a bit neurotic and paranoid in sentiment. I’m particularly fond of Phonte’s performance here, and the way he enunciates with a sober clarity that lends resonance to his pointedly political lines and a touch of “no, I’m really not kidding” menace to his boasts. It’s a strong, well-crafted verse from a perennially underrated rap lifer.
January 24th, 2018 2:24am
The key moment in “Cute Thing” comes arrives right near the start of it, as Will Toledo extends an offer to “come visit Kansas for a week of debauchery, songs, and high fives and… weird sex.” He mumbles that last part and deliberately buries it in the mix so that it trails off. It’s awkward and honest and earnest and embarrassing, and sets up a song that’s all about fumbling around trying to figure out how to be confident and sexy in a way that doesn’t make you feel like a fool or a fraud. The song is like a “Louie Louie” style garage rock anthem stuffed full of digressions and rambling interludes, which is sort of hilariously self-defeating but also an ideal way of conveying this gawky, nerdy teenage state of mind. How nerdy, you may be wondering? Well, nerdy enough to go on a tangent about trying to work the name of his crush into They Might Be Giants’ “Ana Ng” and name-checking John Linnell with great reverence before ending the song on a supremely angsty section in which he vows to sleep naked next to this guy. What a glorious mess of a song!
January 23rd, 2018 1:39am
Sean Desiree has a rather exquisite and elegant sense of melody, particularly on “You Call Me Cold.” The lyrics touch on anxiety and struggle, but the gentle curves of the tune and Desiree’s vocal delivery conveys a contrasting strength and serenity. Some of this comes down to some very confident decisions in the arrangement – it’s harmonically rich but totally uncluttered, so there’s space in the track to take in the crispness of each snare hit and plucked guitar note. Desiree’s voice is central to the song, but is presented in a slightly softer focus, which adds to the atmosphere of the production.
January 22nd, 2018 2:22am
The new Shins record is exactly the same as the last Shins record, at least in terms of the songs on it. James Mercer approached The Worm’s Heart as a formal challenge, to take the material he wrote for Heartworms and rearrange them to the point that they feel like substantially different songs while retaining their melodies and structure. I appreciate this concept, especially since a lot of artists now tend to think of their songs as being entirely tied to arrangement and production decisions. (I’ve seen far too many acts go through tedious lengths to replicate or replay studio sounds and programming in concert rather than just play a revised arrangement that makes sense on stage.)
I find that my favorites on The Worm’s Heart are also my favorites on Heartworms, and the alternate arrangements haven’t made me enjoy songs I wasn’t super into the first time around. The songs are the songs are the songs. The interesting difference between these two records is that the arrangements on Heartworms are far more consistent with what anyone would expect of The Shins, but the Worm’s Heart versions push in less familiar directions while still essentially sounding like a Shins record. I’m particularly fond of the way the new arrangements for “Painting A Hole” and “Name for You” nod in the direction of synth-heavy goth music, and swaps the band’s default twee psychedelia for a cold, melancholy moodiness. “Painting A Hole” is particularly interesting, as it cycles from bleak folk to channeling The Cure to ending on a spacey instrumental section that wouldn’t be out of place on a Pink Floyd record.
January 18th, 2018 2:06am
The percussion in “Pews” is rather busy and driving, and yet the song overall conveys an odd feeling of status. It’s a bit like jogging in place on a treadmill, or having your life go stagnant while everyone around you is frantic and chaotic. Nadia Hulett sings her parts with the tone of someone who is trying to be clear-headed and serene, but is just starting to betray a repressed impatience and restlessness. The lyrics focus on miscommunication and liminal moments, the bits of life without any focus or definition. It suits the music rather well.
January 17th, 2018 2:36am
Lucy Dacus’ music is direct and personal in a way that can feel vaguely startling and sorta voyeuristic, like you’re reading texts or emails intended for someone who is definitely not you. The lyrics of “Addiction” in particular are so vivid and specific that your mind rushes to fill in the backstory – who’s this person she was intimate with, and what exactly made them drift apart, and what brought them back together in that car? Does she really want to get back together, or is she just torturing herself in the middle of the night? I think this is resonant at any age, but it all sounds so young to me. It’s the angst of not having a lot of personal precedent, and knowing how things go in other people’s lives and in stories but not really knowing how the narratives will form in your own life. You hold out for the patterns of other people’s lives, or rush to conclusions about how things are for you. You can hear her drift towards the latter extreme as this song goes along, with lines that sound like the beginning of self-fulfilling prophecies.
January 15th, 2018 10:13pm
“Part of the Math” is built around a blaring tone that evokes the aesthetics of a loud, overdriven electric guitar without necessarily sounding like it. Panda Bear has done this trick a few times before, and it’s always interesting to me – familiar and alien all at once; a simultaneous embrace and rejection of traditional rock sounds. The rest of the arrangement falls in the same odd zone, with a steady electronic beat and a straight forward and catchy vocal melody both feeling just slightly off-kilter.
This is a great example of what Animal Collective have always done best: Taking bits of pop and rock music that we take for granted and going “hmmm, is there maybe another way of achieving this effect that’d be more interesting?” YouTube is full of cover versions of AnCo songs that all translate the band’s music back into something more normal, and while that can make a good argument in favor of their songwriting, it also highlights the ways they’re always finding a more distinctive and colorful way of articulating themselves.
It’s worth noting that the lyrics of this song take a rather morbid turn about halfway through, just after Panda chastises someone – I assume himself – for “making it all about your shit.” There isn’t a clear narrative here, but it’s interesting to me that his words because more negative and cryptic just after he denies his own feelings or perspective.
January 14th, 2018 11:58pm
“Your Dog” essentially inverts the sound and sentiment of The Stooges’ “I Wanna Be Your Dog” – moody and pensive rather than aggressive, and bitterly defiant rather than eagerly submissive. Iggy was singing about getting dominated, but he was essentially being a bossy bottom, and in control of a fantasy situation. Sophie Allison is singing about a much more mundane scenario – being in a miserable relationship with a controlling guy who treats you like a prop to occupy his time. The lyrics are direct and unambiguous, the sort of lines you rehearse over and over in your head before actually speaking up for yourself. But even if the verses are bold declarations of independence, the chorus suggests getting out of this won’t be easy – “Forehead kisses break my knees in, leave me crawling back to you.”
January 12th, 2018 2:45am
Merrill Garbus’ catalog follows a trajectory of her access to equipment and collaborators, with each record more polished and professional than the last. And, also, maybe a little less compelling? Her debut was essentially built out of lo-fi digital recordings pieced together in Audacity – perhaps the most ambitious piece of art anyone’s ever used that program to make – and is startling in its textural contrasts and intimate feeling. The follow up, w h o k i l l, added fluid, slinky bass and horns, and while it was recorded more traditionally, it still felt wild and untamed. One of the exciting things to me about these records is that Garbus’s performances and arrangements were raw and unorthodox, but definitely not naive. When I wrote about the second album at Pitchfork, I described her vocal as being like a feral Mariah Carey. I stand by that! Her best work is always in this thrilling space between unhinged feeling and total control.
Fast forward to her fourth album, I Can Feel You Creep Into My Private Life, and things are a bit different. The band has stabilized enough so that she’s no longer the only permanent member, and she no longer seems to be limited by instrumental choices or the need to arrange songs so they can be easily performed live by two or three people on stage. You can sense her thrill about this in a lot of the music. “Heart Attack” in particular piles on textural elements rather playfully, but she’s careful not to clutter the beat. I love her vocal on this track – it’s like she’s living out a fantasy of being a house diva, even if the music never fully enters that realm.
That hesitation to fully embrace genre conventions is part of what makes this kind of a strange album to process. It all sounds so transitional, and it’s hard for me to listen to it without feeling like I’m listening to her work. Every moment sounds like a decision, and nothing feels instinctive. Obviously a lot of records, good and bad, are the product of endless editing and overthinking. It’s just that Garbus is someone who has always thrived on impulse and intuition. It’s noticeable when it’s missing.
January 10th, 2018 3:44am
The main guitar part in “Enter Laughing” moves in circular pattern at a relaxed pace, but the mood is more pensive than chill. Despite the clear patterns, there’s never a feeling of resolution, so the music seems to drift along. It’s a bit like convincing yourself that you’re wandering aimlessly while actually pacing in circles. The lyrics follow the form, with Verity Susman singing about wanting to break out of patterns and feeling for not committing to someone or be able to be emotionally available to them. Susman’s voice has an ambiguous quality – she conveys regret and tenderness in some moments, but also an odd neutrality and distance. It’s hard to place this song on an emotional timeline. Is she in the moment, and the opportunity to follow through on this relationship still there? Or is she looking back on something that’s too far back in time to recover? It’s such a wonderfully ambiguous piece of music.
January 9th, 2018 1:45am
The saxophone is central to this song, driving the main melodic hook and contrasting starkly with a bass part that I’m guessing is being played on a synthesizer on a “robot belching” setting. The sax part is strong, but it’s made even better by an extremely dry recording that seems nearly devoid of reverb and is very loud in the mix. It has an uncanny effect – accurate, but unnatural and vaguely alien. It’s perfectly suited to the tone and aesthetic Ty Segall is going for here – heavy and soulful, but slightly off. There’s a grandiosity to it that is relatively new to his body of work, but it’s undercut by the clever and perverse choices in the arrangement and recording.
January 8th, 2018 2:09am
Zizi Raimondi is a bit tricky to figure out. The music on her Bandcamp is all over the place – sleepy indie rock, synth kitsch, extreme lo-fi weirdness, Casio replicas of classical music, and faithful, beautifully sung renditions of jazz standards. And all of this, from the most primitive work to the most accomplished performances and compositions, has been released between late August and last week. This could be years of work being put on the internet in a random order, or maybe it’s the chaotic and eccentric workflow of a very busy and restless talent. I have no clue. But it’s fascinating, and “Folly Dolly,” the A-side of her most recent single, is one of the best and most interesting rock ballads I’ve heard in a while.
“Folly Dolly” is a very Lou Reed sort of song with a gentle groove and lyrics that sketch out a romantic entanglement that hasn’t quite started to tangle just yet. The narrative of the song is ambiguous, with the lyrics shifting between first, second, and third person perspective. Who is this woman she is describing? Who is this person she’s addressing? Raimondi’s breathy, yearning vocal and the shift to first person in the end suggests a frustrated, unrequited love triangle.
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