Years are queers, m'dears, but this here's just my gears grindin' too slow, i fear: some leftovers, mostly published in oh-great oh-eight, of albs that came out in that year at least somewhere in the world, though a couple are older or newer if you wanna go by "actual" release date. anyway garsh i'm slow but here you go, midway thru oh-fine oh-nine... these were/are for realz some of my very favorite "2008 albums."
some'n nordic guitar pop (yawn...), some'n ethno-tekno and even (snrfl?!) hip-hop, but kick it off with a couple o that good ol weirdolectronica... they may not be scandinaviites, but at least they've got some frosty surnames:
Kelley Polar: I Need You To Hold On While The Sky Is Falling review
Kelley Polar's second album builds on the already rarefied majesty of his debut and expands outward in all directions: more plush neo-classical elegance, more crackling precision-disco euphoria, more dashing, gooey sentimentality, more meandering harmonic intricacy and dizzying structural invention, more pop and more fizz. I Need You to Hold on While the Sky Is Falling is an exercise in controlled excess, a lavishly calibrated and articulately decadent statement from an utterly singular artist. In compositional terms, the Juilliard-trained Kelley strikes a skillful balance between dense, dazzling chordal complexity and melodic accessibility. With some assistance from longtime consort and nu-disco guru Morgan Geist (credited with mixing and additional production), he coaxes an almost uncanny crispness and visceral presence from his limited instrumental palette of strings, synthesizers, digital beats, and vocals (sampled, spliced, and layered or simply, soulfully sung), creating a sense of sonic purity and cohesion-out-of-chaos that dovetails perfectly with his lyrical themes.
This cohesiveness of conceptual content is the album's most unique and endearing quality, but also its biggest potential sticking point: I Need You to Hold On traffics in a sort of epic hodgepodge mysticism, using references to Greco-Roman mythology, new agey spiritual philosophy, and pop astrophysics to evoke a grandiose vision of universal interconnectivity. It's the kind of thing that can be nearly to impossible to stomach if presented with more than a whiff of self-seriousness, but can also feel like distasteful mockery if treated too lightly. But Kelley Polar is both smart and sensitive enough to pull it off: his delivery is straight-faced and earnest throughout, but while he clearly intends these sentiments quite sincerely, there's also a slightly ambiguous undercurrent of levity that comes through in both his nimble, nuanced musicality and occasional moments of parodic excess. Surely, the over the top, vocodered, and time-delayed guided meditation that opens "A Feeling of the All-Thing" carries a winking sense of its own ridiculousness, yet it's too bold and striking a gesture to be dismissed as mere novelty, especially given the magnificently rapturous disco fantasia that emerges out of that esoteric invocation. Metaphysical concerns aside, it's hard to argue with the exceptional beauty and powerful strangeness this music conjures up: the searing, intimate romanticism of the diaphanous "Dream in Three Parts (On Themes by Enesco)," the ruminative, infinitely self-refracting curiosity of "Zeno of Elea," the kicky kinetic energy of "Sea of Sine Waves," and, especially, the immaculate single "Entropy Reigns (In the Celestial City)," a duetted ode to hedonistic indulgence with ambrosial electro-pop hooks to match. As ambitious, idiosyncratic, and satisfying as his music is in its own right, it's Kelley's virtuosity with the interplay between sounds and ideas, on a larger scale, that makes him a true visionary.
Max Tundra: bio and Parallax Error Beheads You review
Max Tundra's painstakingly constructed, impossibly intricate 2008 follow-up to his 2002 opus Mastered by Guy at the Exchange, Parallax Error Beheads You is the sound of those six intervening years whizzing by in just over 40 minutes. A giddy rush of convoluted melodies, hyper-precise sonic detail, and dazzling Day-Glo unpredictability, combining the meticulous luster of a big-budget pop production and the infectious idiosyncrasy of a chintzy vintage home recording (sequenced, like all of Tundra's work, on an antiquated Commodore Amiga computer), it's initially overwhelming and not a little bit disorienting, occasionally creating the sensation that one's head is about to explode. Given time, though, this emerges as easily the most infectious, engaging, and approachable of Tundra's albums so far, generally shoehorning his manic creativity into reasonable approximations of conventional pop song structures, framed around abundant, quirky hooks and appealingly restrained pop-soul vocals. As though to reassure hesitant listeners, the album opens on a particularly gentle note, with a simple, cheery harpsichord ushering in the breezy lilt of "Gum Chimes," before it unleashes two of Tundra's most buoyant pop confections to date: the herky-jerky "Will Get Fooled Again," whose fractured arcade-game bleeps and rock guitars (!) underscore typically absurd lyrics concerning a series of unorthodox Internet dating adventures ("I found a girl on Google image search/She was in the background of a picture of a church"), and the even more exuberant "Which Song," which almost sounds like it could be a massive radio hit, in spite of its gleefully unhinged musical accompaniment. Things get even stranger later on -- with "Orphaned"'s barrage of madcap micro-sampling (like Akufen on Adderall); the jittery lo-fi candy-thrash of "Nord Lead Three"; and the largely instrumental closer, "Until We Die," stretching out somewhat indulgently into a fragmented synth-prog epic -- but the vibe always remains persistently, even perversely, tuneful. Mannered English eccentricity never sounded so deliriously thrilling.
Buraka Som Sistema: Black Diamond review
Black Diamond, the exhilarating debut full-length from Lisbon's Buraka Som Sistema, will mark many listeners' first exposure to Kuduro, an Angolan style of dance music that's attracted international attention only recently despite roots dating back to the mid-'90s. The bandmembers are more than happy to serve as musical ambassadors: after an insistent warm-up track paying homage to the genre's two capital cities ("Luanda-Lisboa"), they enlist go-to global beat superstar M.I.A., along with the pioneering DJ Znobia and a few guest MCs, for "Sound of Kuduro," an unruly but unambiguous statement of purpose whose inanely effective nursery-rhyme refrain spells out, for the benefit of bewildered Anglophones, exactly what is going on here. To judge from the evidence of this album, the sound of Kuduro overlaps liberally with almost every other globalized, urban-based 21st century sound blending elements of hip-hop and techno with regional ethnic infusions, from ragga and soca to kwaito to funk carioca and even grime. (Brazilian bailé funk is an especially pertinent reference point, given the shared language and a comparable aggressively playful vocal approach; world-traveling ghetto-funk hype man Diplo's interest in the group is another relevant clue.) To get specific, though, it's not as if BSS are purists. As originators of Kuduro's heavily electronic "progressive" strain, their cross-pollinated hybrid grooves are as restlessly varied as they are relentlessly energetic, rife with unpredictable sonic shifts and dense with all manner of aural debris (sirens, bird calls, tribal percussion, industrial splutters and squelches, vocal cut-ups) flitting through their adrenalized, hard-assed beat concoctions. Hence listeners get tracks like "IC19," which swells from a skeletal dubstep throb to full-on glowstick-ready rave keyboards to a propulsive, percussive equatorial jump-up that even slips at one point into Baltimore club-styled electro breakbeats. Or "General," which is built around a scintillating Afro-pop guitar line but somehow wends its way into gleaming filter-house territory. And the less brazenly exploratory tracks are by no means less thrilling: the bouncy "Kalemba (Wegue Wegue)," featuring Angolan MC Pongolove, and the carioca-styled "Aqui Para Vocês," with Rio's Deize Tigrona, are two of the more rousing dance cuts in recent memory. Indeed, the same could be said for the entire album. One hell of an all-embracing, boundary-defying, ghetto-blasting dance party.
The Bug: London Zoo review
Kevin Martin's previous album as the Bug, 2003's Pressure, was a vital, visceral blast of digital dancehall and exploratory dub; 2008's London Zoo is darker, grittier, tougher, and all the more exhilarating for it. The basic template is similar: rough-hewn electronic productions that are rooted in dancehall and hip-hop but don't feel remotely conventional, laced with hard-hitting toasts and vocals from a bevy of sharp-tongued guests. But Zoo ratchets up the intensity in both sound and substance, creating a striking symbiosis of sense and sonics wherein the dread and righteous rage expressed by the vocalists are equally evident in Martin's furious, foreboding beats and basslines. In both regards, London Zoo is an extremely potent, relevant record for its time, capturing an energetic spark that feels tied to the creative renewal of dubstep (a genre that Martin may have helped to germinate, and which in any case scarcely existed at the time of the last Bug album) as well as the tormented spirit of a city ground down and galvanized by recent socio-political developments, both local and global. Look no further than the opening lyrical salvo -- "So many things that get me "angry"" -- from veteran British reggae MC Tippa Irie, who rails about everything from suicide bombers to global warming to Hurricane Katrina over a kinetic ragga thump. As insistent as it is, "Angry" feels practically mild (and certainly peppy) in comparison to much of what follows: the ferocity of Warrior Queen (the doggedly propulsive "Insane," the hypnotic, bass-blasted "Poison Dart"), the apocalyptic, steely-eyed R&B of Ricky Ranking (ominously funky "Murder We" and solemnly soulful closer "Judgement") and, especially, the grim, severe tracks which feature Flowdan of the grime collective Roll Deep -- the dread sermonizing of "Jah War," the industrial menace of "Warning," and the utterly bone-chilling "Skeng." Such is the album's strength -- the power and inventiveness of Martin's productions, the astuteness and aptness of his guest selections -- that any one of these tracks could be singled out as a highlight. (And the remainder aren't far behind; the washed-out calm of "You & Me" and lone instrumental "Freak Freak" do offer a respite of sorts, as they're merely spooky rather than gut-wrenchingly tense.) Taken as a whole, London Zoo is simply a masterful statement, and one that cries out to be heard: as intense as it is, it's hardly inaccessible -- hooks abound in the vocal contributions and Martin's grooves, while sometimes discordant and oppressive, are never less than riveting.
Tittsworth: Twelve Steps review
Like many a great party album, Twelve Steps is a gleeful hodge-podge; rooted in the inherently hybrid-friendly Baltimore club music for which Tittsworth is generally known, but flirting heavily with hip-hop, R&B, and straight-up pop, as well as slightly more abstract synthesizer electro. Notably, it may be the first actual artist album to be released by a Baltimore-associated producer in the style's 20-year history (albeit by an interloper -- the D.C.-based, half-white half-Asian Tittsworth is a self-described outsider and hardly a genre purist), arriving at a moment when the sound has been steadily bubbling into wider consciousness for several years. Fittingly, flagrantly, the guest-studded Twelve Steps is tailored for maximal crossover appeal -- not that that's much of a stretch for a genre based around readily danceable breakbeats and frivolous novelty hooks. The challenge in adapting it to the album format is keeping that focus on fun and immediacy while crafting a sufficient variety of songs that are at least interesting enough to merit repeated listens. Tittsworth succeeds on most counts, relying on his considerable production skills to keep things buoyant even when the songs themselves come up short. Which a handful definitely do: the gimmicks wear thin on the predictable "Drunk as Fuck" (featuring Bay area hyphy stars the Federation) and "Bumpin," (featuring the sound of a drunk partier bumping into the turntables), while the vaguely R&B-tinged "Almond Joy" and formulaic shout-out track "B-Rockin" commit the mortal sin of being boring. Thankfully, the pacing is peppy enough and the highlights high enough to overshadow these dull patches: dumb-dumb lead single "WTF," with raps by Kid Sister and Pase Rock, is insipid but enjoyably spunky; "Broke Ass Nigga" compensates for its obviously questionable taste with irresistible stuttered electro breaks and some of the most absurd nutty one-liners since the Pharcyde's "Ya Mama"; best of all, though, is the surprisingly gorgeous "Here He Comes," a pure pop love jam which cops a hook from Hall & Oates and sports the silky vocals of Nina Sky (of "Move Ya Body" fame), along with Miami rapper Pitbull. Though the record was obviously a party to make as much as it is to listen to, some of the most intriguing and satisfying moments come when the guests clear out and Tittsworth is left to work his electronic magic alone, as on the majestically moody opener "Haiku" and the floaty, meandering "4.21." All told, there's a little something for everyone, plenty of fun and games, and it doesn't overstay its welcome -- even if nothing here is truly stunning, it still makes for a great party.
Sway: bio, This Is My Demo and The Signature LP reviews
The ever-ambitious Sway DaSafo, who worked his way up from the underground to become one of the most visible rappers in the U.K., while remaining smugly unsigned, now has his sights set on the world. At least, that's the impression one gets from his sophomore full-length, The Signature LP, so named partly in reference to his recently inked international record deal with worldwide superstar (and fellow West African) Akon's Kon Live label (he's still technically independent in the U.K.), a move that may or may not succeed in spreading his fame beyond Britain's borders. "Let's take music all around the world/I can't do this by myself," he sings on the globetrotting, vaguely tropical-flavored "Special Place," but Sway's far too enterprising to be satisfied with utopian daydreams, so he's concocted a handful of flagrant crossover bids, with a parade of known and unknown guest artists, to put those words into action. These include the inevitable humdrum Akon collab "Silver and Gold" (moral of the story: strippers will steal your money); the smooth R&B/pop of "Saturday Night Hustle," an '80s throwback featuring British neo-soul crooner Lemar (best bit: Sway raps his clothing sizes, in case you want to give him any clothes); and the treacly "End of the Road" with Sting's daughter Coco Sumner. There's nothing horribly wrong with any of this, but none of it particularly plays to Sway's strengths either -- and he's always been likable and engaging enough on his own to make watered-down, overtly attention-grabbing tracks like these feel doubly unnecessary.
While his rapid-fire flow remains as impressive as ever, and his charisma is largely undimmed, Signature displays too little of the irreverent, happy-go-lucky spirit that made early singles like "Little Derek" so delightful. With a couple of exceptions -- including the bouncy highlight "Say It Twice" (which he does, clever-cleverly, with every line, at least for the first verse and hook) and the jokey "Jason Waste," an intermittently amusing character number relating the zany misadventures of a jobless loser -- this is a surprisingly serious-minded album, at least for the impish Sway. But then, he's always been more than just a jokester; he's as much a swaggering, boastful battle-rapper (a persona that crops up here on "Stereo" and the enjoyably epic, overblown opener, "Fit for a King") as he is a big softie -- indeed, it may be his sentimental side that makes the greatest strides here, most notably in the emotional middle section that includes "Pray 4 Kaya," a legitimately poignant homage to a departed friend, and the affecting anti-violence plea "Walk Away." Ultimately, despite its pop moves and world-conquering aspirations, The Signature LP may still be too idiosyncratic, too British, and too gloriously scattershot to succeed on the mass scale Sway seems to envision. It's hard to imagine, for instance, the U.K. single "F UR X," a jittery, grime-ish txt-message battle of the sexes, playing to an American audience. But that doesn't stop it from being a readily enjoyable listen -- its eclecticism practically ensures that you'll find something to like here -- and Sway's fans, once they get used to some of his more excessive departures, will realize that he truly hasn't changed all that much.
Lil Mama: VYP: Voice of the Young People review
Lil Mama (née Niatia Kirkland) broke out in a big way in spring 2007 with "Lip Gloss," a Top Ten novelty single built around an astoundingly simple but effective beat and some legitimately impressive rapping about an unabashedly frivolous subject. Despite that track's earworm resilience and Kirkland's guest turns on high-profile remixes for several of the year's biggest singles (Avril Lavigne's "Girlfriend" and Rihanna's "Umbrella"), it took almost a year for her debut album to appear, by which time her rising star had lost a good deal of momentum. That's a shame because VYP: Voice of the Young People presents Lil Mama as one of the most promising female rappers in years; a likable and amply talented performer with a refreshingly open-ended, still-developing approach that lets her flit convincingly from goofy, hook-heavy pop to heavier, more introspective material, although all the stylistic and thematic hopscotch results in a somewhat unwieldy album and a persona that's complex but a little naggingly undefined. The album's also over-long, even if it has little truly weak material, but -- aptly suited to the iTunes age -- it's helpfully compartmentalized, with brief explanatory skits serving to separate the opening set of upbeat, crossover-ready tunes from segments focused on socially conscious story-telling ("Gotta Go Deeper") and relationship issues ("Emotional Rollercoaster"), before a final pair of club jams cap it all off.
The opening section is easily the breeziest, featuring the lighthearted but infectiously cocky swagger that earned Lil Mama her fame, though its pop-happy attitude is occasionally complicated by confusing grasps at an ambiguously defined credibility. Perhaps to shore up the hip-hop realness she asserts on the intro, the album version of "Lip Gloss" is bizarrely interrupted partway through by the bare-bones, out of tempo "No Music" freestyle, while the belatedly preemptive hater-baiting "One Hit Wonder" awkwardly (if accurately) asserts her status as "one of the fewest female MCs of the century." On the other hand, she beefs up the youth-repping claim of the album title with the very silly "Wheels on the Bus"-quoting "G-Slide (Tour Bus)" and a recording of some cute tykes requesting "Shawty Get Loose," the infectious lite-R&B/dance banger which saved her from one-hit-wonder status by going Top Ten in early 2008 (thanks in part to the presence of guaranteed chart-greasers T-Pain and Chris Brown.) Later album standouts include "L.I.F.E.," an inspirational anthem of hope in the face of ghetto-life adversity, the emotional "College," about a four-year-old visiting her father in prison, and, on a different tip entirely, the jaunty duet "Truly in Love." Over the course of the proceedings a bevy of 2000s production heavyweights (among them Luke Gottwald, Cool & Dre, the Runners, and Scott Storch) contribute dependable if rarely revelatory beats that ensure Lil Mama's lips aren't the only thing that's popping. Although she deftly and admirably captures much of the struggle and contradiction that accompanies young adulthood, Lil Mama is a little too old, at 18, to bill herself as "the voice of young people" for too much longer -- but it hardly matters, as she's clearly well on her way to developing a strikingly original and versatile voice of her own.
Ida Maria: Fortress Round My Heart review
"Oh My God" was one of 2008's most explosive and ear-catching singles, a burst of punky guitar pop propelled by an electric vocal performance from 23-year-old Norwegian breakout star Ida Maria Sivertsen. "Oh, you think I'm in control," she taunts, her voice teasing out the tension between commanding authority and unhinged chaos -- she sounds at once powerful and vulnerable, ready to collapse or destroy at any moment. If the rest of Fortress Round My Heart can't hope to match the searing intensity of its calling card, much of it is nearly as engaging, both musically and emotionally. Sivertsen turns out to be as generous with hooks as she is vocally captivating, and although her loud-mouthed, liquored-up confessionals can sometimes grow grating, they're more often than not genuinely affecting. Wisely, she keeps things pretty peppy, with plenty of giddy rave-ups (the best being "Louie," "Queen of the World," and the cheeky "I Like You So Much Better When You're Naked") and only a few (less memorable) moments of downtempo tenderness (the ballad "Keep Me Warm," addressed to her coffee and cigarettes). Throughout, she offers an endearing mixture of pop sweetness and punky toughness, writing with honesty and humor on a prototypically rock & roll slate of subjects: lust, loneliness, desperation, booze, and God. That last, obliquely invoked in the opener, crops up again in the curious allegory-song "Stella," which imagines Him falling for an aging hooker and offering her the world (literally) for her affections. In the album's so-so, overly sober finale, "See Me Through," she addresses the deity directly, asking "When's the time for me?" Listeners will have to wait and see on that score, whether she grows up and calms down or if age only sharpens her rage, but for all her all-too-human flaws, with a set of songs this strong, it's safe to say her time has already arrived.
Per Gessle: Party Crasher review
The English-speaking world has more or less forgotten about Per Gessle since Roxette's dissolution in the mid-'90s. But the Swedish songsmith -- a major star in his native country -- never stopped churning out hummable, hooky pop, both solo and with the eventually re-formed Roxette. Party Crasher is his third English-language solo album and seventh overall, and it's about as solid as they come. The sheeny, synth-kissed production feels dated (circa the original Roxette era) in a way that could almost be hip...well, almost. (If the title's supposed to suggest that Gessle's crashing the late '00s' perpetual retro-'80s borrowed-nostalgia party, it's mostly a failure on that count.) But well-crafted melodies never go out of style, or at least they always come back around, and there is certainly no shortage here. The fizzy electro-pop single "Silly Really" sets the tone, musically and conceptually (it's a perfect frivolous Gessle song title, blithely devoid of any discernible meaning) and it's a blast. The supremely Cars-esque "Gut Feeling" and the goofy, surf-tinged "Thai with a Twist" (complete with sax solo, crowd noise, and vocoder breakdown, and no, the title doesn't make any more sense in context) may be even better. But the best stuff on here is the actually the mellower material: lush slow jams like "Hey, I Died and Went to Heaven" and "Perfect Excuse" (two of several tracks that benefit greatly from the vocal contributions of Helena Josefsson) and especially the breezy, buoyant, Caribbean-flavored "Breathe Life into Me" and "I Didn't Mean to Turn You On." All told, an impressive showing and a splendidly enjoyable album.
Alphabeat: Alphabeat review
Before taking the U.K. charts and the pop-loving blogosphere by storm when it was rejiggered and reissued in 2008, with a clarifying "This is" appended to the title, Alphabeat's debut, originally eponymous and released only in their native Denmark, was one of the most sterling and undersung power pop records of 2007. The differences between the two editions of the album seem, at first blush, fairly cosmetic. Although three perfectly lovely songs ("Ocean Blue," "Into the Jungle," and "The Hours") were swapped out altogether, most of the six which were re-recorded (the indelible "Fascination" was left untouched) bear relatively superficial changes: some additional keyboards here, a tacked-on string section there, and a generally beefed-up, plusher sound. But the cumulative effect is definitely evident, and it's not necessarily for the best. It's hardly enough of a transformation to render the album unrecognizable -- after all, the Danish version had plenty of '80s-inspired excess to begin with, and its undeniable pop thrills are, for the most part, undiminished. But some of the delirious scrappiness of the more guitar-oriented original version does get lost beneath the layers of synth pop gloss. The spunky "Boyfriend" turns full-on Euro-dance, while the charming choral oddity "Rubber Boots/Mackintosh," which distinctly recalls the New Pornographers at their most beautifully idiosyncratic, is reborn as a far more pedestrian synthesizer slow jam, simply titled "Rubber Boots." Though these qualms shouldn't deter the curious from checking out the more widely available This Is Alphabeat -- which is, indeed, nearly as glorious -- avowed fans will definitely want to seek out this version, for the three jettisoned tracks if nothing else.
Fredrik: Na Na Ni review
The core of Fredrik is the duo of Fredrik Hultin and Ola Lindefelt, a pair of Malmö-based musicians who also happened to form the band the LK. The music they create on Na Na Ni, however, is quite a different animal from that group's buzzy electronic pop, applying the same ear for sonic detail and an unerring penchant for melody to a more folk-inflected and more resolutely understated set of compositions. The results are nothing short of enchanting, using a consistent, gently evocative sound palette -- Hultin's acoustic guitars, voice, and accordion, and Lindefelt's bells, drums, cello, and delicately wheezy electronics -- to balance deceptively complex, layered arrangements with a charming, lo-fi intimacy. March-like singalong "Black Fur" opens the album on an especially cheery note, which is taken up more modestly on the calmer but amply catchy "Alina's Place" (whose poetically cryptic lyrics make it somewhat less reassuring) -- no less winsome, though, are the more abstract instrumental pieces which make up half of the track list. The title of one, "Angora Sleepwalking," succinctly captures the softness and sweet, dreamlike strangeness of the prevailing mood; another, "Morr," intentionally or not provides a clue to Hultin's musical aesthetic, suggesting their similarities to the less overtly electronic end of that German label's output, and the work of Múm in particular. One might also draw comparisons to the gentle, textural experiments of Silje Nes, or, to name some non-Scandinavians, the fractured folk of Animal Collective, Tunng's woodsy whimsy, and even Sufjan Stevens' antiquarian-minded indie pop. Fans of any of these artists would do well to investigate Hultin's fine debut; they will discover not just a handful of hummable songs, but a curious and comforting sound world that's at once familiar and unique unto itself. Also worth noting is the Kora Records' elegant package design, which makes Na Na Ni a joy of a thing to hold, and the appropriately intriguing booklet etchings by Warren Hilt.
23 May 2009
AMG review round-up, volume XI: 2008's greatest hits
18 May 2009
pop science
Went to a show last night at Borrowed Time, a now-defunct (last night was its last night) art/performance/community space in a temporarily vacant house. It was nice to see Charles Latham, an anti-folk fellow (I feel like I'm allowed to throw that tag around casually at the moment, since I just wrote a review of Jeffrey Lewis' [fantastic] new album without mentioning it once) whom I've seen before at the Mitten. And of course it's always a treat to hear Emily, whom my colleague A.D. just described, preposterously, as "sensationally bitchy." It'd been too long. Her cough was doing fun things for her singing voice. (A little sad too, tho, and I can't help subvocalizing along with some wistful harmonies...)
But I especially enjoyed getting to hear Deirdre and Conor, a new-to-me Philly duo who played guitar/cello/vocals duets, assisted by a cool old Korg analog drum machine (this one), with earnest and sappy lyrics about domestic love, often using silly science and math metaphors (and also a fight song for accountants.) Aw. You know I have a thing for couple bands. They made me think of The Long Lost, not so much for their music (though Deirdre's faint, flat singing is reminiscent of Laura Darling's) but their general aesthetic, which is not just gentle and sincere but so markedly, overwhelmingly White it's kind of amazing. You don't often hear music that feels so utterly un-inflected by (notionally) "Black" pop styles and yet is clearly very genuine in its own right. Diggin' it. Here's what they look like, presumably taken on their wedding day:
Apparently, this guy, Loren Wilson, was primarily interested in using this data collection/analysis in order to inform his attempt to write songs that would specifically appeal to critics, somewhat along the lines of Komar and Melamid's fascinating and bizarre Most Wanted and Most Unwanted songs (which are definitely worth a listen if you haven't heard them.) The resulting songs, somewhat predictably, feature many elements (textures, sounds, structural approaches, etc.) thrown together in somewhat overloaded tracks, the upshot of trying to use many of the "positive" qualities all at once (which Wilson justifies because "complex" and "unexpected" are listed high among the favorable attributes.)
It's easy to be skeptical of the legitimacy (scientific, that is, not aesthetic) of this kind of "systematic" approach – given the same lists of words, would many other musicians come up with something that really sounded like this? And – the obvious problem – does the way things sound really have anything to do with how "good" they are? (The answer ought to be no, presumably, but then he's not trying to make music that's "good," just music that will appeal to a certain set of people...albeit people whose criteria for good music should theoretically be especially broad and open. or maybe not.) In any event, the music he came up with does sound strikingly like certain critical-fave zeitgeists of 2003-04. (Also, they're pretty good, though the things that make them good are not really the same as the things that stem from the results of the data – instead, those qualities tend to make them predictable, on the one hand, and disjointed on the other, not that those things aren't also "interesting.")
Which, again, would make it really interesting to hear how it would be different if this project repeated now – if anything, the musical landscape as-approved-by-critics is even more scattered and heterogenous these days (even though a glance at P4K's Best New Music page does still reveal a somewhat surprising amount of more-or-less straightforward Indie Rock); I wonder if songs self-consciously based on current critical preferences would come off even more hopelessly jumbled.
19 April 2009
EMPost
"Rock 'n Pop Swirl" – well, that's as good a way to describe it as any. [n.b. that this flavor, on offer at a Seattle Baskin-Robbins, features green grape and purple green apple sherbet.] Here's what I wrote for my rather ill-fated Citypaper blogs about EMP. (Electrifying Conclusion TK.]
EMP: the Project. the Music. the Experience.Each April, scores of music critics, journalists, academics of various stripes, and assorted nerdy sorts descend upon the Frank Gehry-wrought undulating chrome of the Experience Music Project in downtown Seattle for the EMP Pop Conference, a vaguely academic-styled weekend of papers, panels, and presentations about all things pop. That's "pop" in the broadest sense, mind, which might mean anything from techno, T-Pain, and reggaetón (the subject of a panel this year) to honky-tonk country, big band swing, and pre-war minstrelsy. For this year's 8th annual event, the theme is "Dance Music Sex Romance: Pop and the Body Politic." (That's a Prince ref, in case ya missed it.) I'm thrilled to be here; should be a fun weekend!
Nona Hendryx: Then and Now (top to bottom)The conference kicked off this evening with an intriguing keynote conversation with veteran musician Nona Hendryx, conducted by Daphne Brooks of Princeton and Sonnet Retman of the University of Washington. Hendryx makes an entirely fascinating figure, especially in this context, not so much because she's a legend, per se, but simply because she's lived such an incredible amount and variety of popular music's history: from the girl group era of the early '60s, as part of Philly's own Patti LaBelle and the Bluebelles (an experience she described as "a large pajama party"), to swinging London in the heyday of Carnaby Street, to New York in the groovily liberated disco '70s (by which time the group had morphed into glam-funk fantasists Labelle) and the arty, AIDS-plagued eighties (when she collaborated with Talking Heads, Peter Gabriel, and Prince, among others, and launched her own Afro-futurist, avant-rock solo career.) And that's not even mentioning the "audio tutu" she's been experimenting with recently (an attempt, as she explains it, to become more of a cyborg.)
Add all that to the fact that she's black, female, and queer, and you could easily devote the whole weekend of intellectual discourse to dissecting just her life and work.
A generous hour and half proved hardly enough time to delve into that wealth of experience. The interviewers, fumbling with the powerpoint and fawning, at considerable length, over the current Labelle reunion, only managed to bring the discussion up through the mid-seventies before cutting to Q&A mode. Brooks' questions, while insightful and well-informed, sometimes tended toward overly academic cult-crit pontification – that's only customary for this conference, of course, but it didn't always seem fair to the mildly bewildered Hendryx, who offered up a few responses along the lines of "well, we just made music because that was what you did in those days." Still, she had plenty of perspective to offer, on the changing cultural and social currents of her times, and the education she picked up through collaborations and encounters with innumerable legendary musicians and producers.
It was a joy just to watch her relive some of those memories, even when (doubtless unlike any of the presenters who will follow her this weekend) she couldn't quite summon up the words to describe them.
a (one-man) committee, working on the evolution of controlToday was the first full day of the EMP Pop conference, an annual gathering of rock critics, journalists, academics, and other musos. Last night's Nona Hendryx keynote (covered in great detail here), in addition to raising some resonant themes and offering some unique historical insight, made a very appropriate keynote in the way it hinted at the conference's fundamental strangeness. The subtly incongruous tone of the discussion, and the slight but tangible disconnect in mode between questions and answers, pointed up the tensions between conference-goers' often highly analytical manner of inquiry and the generally unacademic, and arguably anti-intellectual, nature of the subject material at hand: pop music and rock 'n' roll.
Similarly, many of today's presentations seemed, in various ways, intentional and otherwise, to embody some of the very themes they explored. Most obviously, and brilliantly, Douglas Wolk's presentation on the bizarrely disembodied activity of DJing, entitled "My Other Body is a Temple," enacted its thesis with striking literalness. Wolk never spoke, but instead "DJed" his paper in a bizarrely disembodied way, by playing recordings of other people's voices reading his words, over accompanying musical selections, as well as pressing play on a couple of highly entertaining archival video clips.
The inimitable Greil Marcus, a luminary not just as a music writer but as a writer period, shared a ruminative and highly poetic description of two seemingly unrelated artworks: Nan Goldin's "The Ballad of Sexual Dependency," a slide-show of several hundred images juxtaposed with a carefully selected soundtrack of songs, and Lonnie Mack's little-known 1963 soul ballad "Why" (whose emotional resonance he described in aching detail and in real-time, as the song played, to incredibly potent effect), thereby creating his own sublimely artful juxtaposition.
On a more troublesome note, a promising-looking panel addressing issues of gender and sexuality in electronic dance music culture, among other things, threatened to exemplify some of the very problems it was raising, in a highly uncomfortable manner, as the three male DJs/electronic musicians at the table seemed to visually and vocally overwhelm the lone female, Swedish DJ and sociologist Anna Gavanas. For better or worse, I missed the beginning of the panel, which apparently included Gavanas speaking while a track that prominently and repeatedly sampled the word "penis" played in the background, after an unfortunate quote from Danger Mouse about beatmatching being "for cunts." (Er, ahem.) But I did catch part of a largely unrelated segment wherein the mad-scientist-looking Mark Gunderson, a.k.a. TradeMark G of the Evolution Control Committee (creator of the delirious "Rocked by Rape"), gave a demonstration of his experimental live DJing interface, the "thimbletron," which involves a infrared LEDs attached to each of his fingers, a pair of Wii Motes, and a visible-to-the-crowd rear-projection screen. (see above)
Other presenters took the more traditionaly approach of just reading papers, illustrating them with audio clips where appropriate, which, to be sure, can still make for pretty provocative material. For instance, Robert Fink's witty and intriguing, if somewhat conjectural thesis on the "masochistic lover" persona in Marvin Gaye's early 1960s work, which drew on Freudian psychoanalysis, lyrical close readings, and musicological analysis (e.g. handclaps that sound like whips) – but resisted focusing on Gaye's famously fraught biography.
But the day's most exciting panel was also one of its least predictable, which deviated considerably from the standard text-based argument format in ways that fit right in with the physicality central to the conference theme. The "Rap Memes" panel opened with a tantalizing if frustratingly underdeveloped exploration of sexual entitlement in dirty south hip-hop from Tamara Palmer in the form of an 11-minute audio track mashing up bits of the myriad recent pop hits containing the phrase "It ain't trickin' if ya got it" with commentary from anonymous YouTube users. From there we shifted to John Caramanica and Sean Fennessy's tag-team joyride through the highlights of the (as they argued) preternaturally brilliant career-to-date of Soulja Boy Tell'Em, mostly via a series of YouTube videos, all of which can be found on this Tumblr. Finally, writer/performance artist Holly Bass presented "Pay Purview," a piece incorporating sources from Sir Mix-a-Lot to Tina Turner to a documentary on the Hottentot Venus, which involved Bass gyrating in a gold lamé outfit with a comically massive "booty ball" posterior – check out this video clip, cuz words can't really do it justice (caution – starts with annoying test tone):
To close out the day, Ann Powers conducted a breathless interview with hit-making songwriter extraordinaire Diane Warren. Contra her notoriety as the doyenne of schlocky, extravagantly over-emotional power-ballads (her catalog includes "Un-Break My Heart," "I Don't Want to Miss A Thing," and numerous numbers by Michael Bolton and Celine Dion, as well as Milli Vanilli and Ace of Base), Warren turned out to be delightfully unsentimental, sarcastic, and potty-mouthed, with an endless string of stories.
Quite a whirlwind of the pop world in one day... tomorrow I do it all over again, and see if I can keep my brain from completely overloading.
20 March 2009
no more pushing words around: a.c. newman speaks his mind
the bits of get guilty, a.c. newman's new one, which make any kind of sense, which aren't too many, generally have something to do with the malleability and imprecision of language: stop twisting your words into shapes/shapes you can only make out when you squint. your careful walls of conversation stacked in towers so high... no more pushing words around. make of that what you will. or, just as effective: yo ho. bah bah bah bah. la la la la/la la la la/la la la la la la la la.
so much for self-reflexivity. otherwise, it's all more or less a wash. thanks to michael pelusi's citypaper preview for pointing out carl's predecessors in perplexity: robyn hitchcock, lil wayne, duh dylan. but did any of them ever offer such utterly, gleefully empty syntax – words strung together without a trace of semantic coherence; rhyme without reason – as this:
i took the red-eye back to glory
but the more i got the facts straight
turns out that the story's getting shorter...
can't take them out with baby artillery
lady it's secretarial
that spam-worthy nonsense is from possibly his best song, certainly the highlight of his johnny brenda's gig the other night, "secretarial", which he described as "a song about god knows what, from my 2004 album the slow wonder." aptly put, though it's a little weird to hear musicians using quasi-rock-critic-speak like that.
anyway, he had plenty of smart talk to offer on tuesday; words with meanings, and even inflections. he took the stage with a bizarrely sardonic quip about the size of the venue (he called it "big," which i guess was supposed to be both sarcastic and a dig), and went on to sound off about the disorienting, "unreal" nature of the space, about the dubiousness of st. patrick's accomplishments, about people mistaking him for irish because of his red hair, and about the canadian obsession with hideous celtic music (he joked that mashing-up dan bejar's tunes with an unnamed celtic funk star would be a good way to rake it in.)
b.h.'s critical mass review of the show captured many of the highlights of the highly entertaining banter. i just wanted to respond to a couple of things: newman's theory about irish redheads being the result of scandinavian rape'n'pillage doesn't quite pan out with red hair being a recessive trait (right?) and george thorogood out-drawing the new pornos in ithaca does suggest they'd at least be more loaded in HOURS.
also, carl correcting his (i think?) erroneous allusion to "loaded in a thorogood sense" to "loaded in a los lobos sense" made him the second new pornographer to shout out the wolves this year, after neko case enthusing in her liner notes about having steve berlin play on the album. not to mention the news about david hidalgo playing accordion on the forthcoming bob dylan album.
hokay. as for the music... well, it was a fun show. i definitely still like wonder a good deal more than guilty, but seeing it live did help a few of the new songs edge along towards potential favorite territory, in particular the rockers: "the palace at 4a.m." (my current go-to track on the album) and "collected works" (of exes? exits? excess?) i find "ten or twelve" to be a clunky album-opener, albeit a pretty good song, and it wasn't much better as a live opener – it gives the band a chance to get big right away, which is nice, but it's still so slow and gloopy. actually, "miracle drug" felt just as weird in the #2 slot – something about the opening drum groove seemed off, which is really what drives the energy of the whole song. (and it has a lot.)
"heartbreak rides" and "all my days..." come off quite well, with some of the vocal gorgeousness of the wonder highlights "the cloud prayer" and (of course) "drink to me, babe, then," whereas the title track, which he introduced as a waltz, still felt a bit clunky. and "submarines of stockholm," with its driving "la la la"s and baffling chorus hook ("one in a series of") was the one that got stuck in my head as i biked home.
as you can see, my camera loses out to jenny's iphone as far as clarity goes. but at least the openers, the broken west, had better lighting for their set – i was annoyed at how the blue lights clashed with the coloring of the redheaded heart-throbs on stage (the swooningly stubbly carl and his fetching, slightly feisty fiddler – excuse me, violinist – who shared an amusingly awkward moment when he asked if she was a real redhead.)
it was great to check out the broken west, a californian combo signed to merge (up until now their most noteworthy attribute in my mind), who felt like a quintessential indie-rock/pop band. almost a throwback these days – i could definitely see myself having been pretty excited about them c. 2001 or so. as it is i probably won't find the time (no longer my genre...), but they're definitely a solid band. the word that kept coming to mind was "workmanlike", which sounds like faint praise, but i mean it as a positive – it was an entirely enjoyable, and pleasantly familiar set. their songs were good too, though for recognition factor alone the highlight of the set was probably their cover of tegan and sara's micro-hit "back in your head," which they played straight and poppy (piano hits and all) but with a tiny bit of country shuffle to color it a bit.
14 March 2009
AMG review round-up, volume X: smalltown vacation edition, or, balearic ballywho
i spent a good portion of last year continuing to track down various strains of so-called "cosmic disco" (some of which is documented in this installment), along with the related electronic sub-genre of balearic, a hazy but buzzy style which is on the mellower, less actually-danceable end of the same continuum. these records don't necessarily all fit into those categories, but they're mostly somewhere in that vicinity. the first five are on the rather stylish norwegian label smalltown supersound (also home to dominique leone and diskjokke whom i covered here), though the first several of those are slightly older releases that are more IDM/abstract than disco/psychy. the first four are norwegian artists, the next three san franciscan and incestuous, studio are swedish, and the last two are comps on the very like-minded permanent vacation label, which is based in germany.
Toy: bio and Toy review
Rarely has a band been so well named as Bergen, Norway's delightful Toy, but take note, children: the sparkling playthings heard on the group's eponymous debut offering are no mere gaudy baubles, but rather are intricately handcrafted future-retro gizmos and whiz-bang gadgets of the finest quality. Though they share a similar wistful sweetness and winsome naïveté with gentler electronic regressionists like Plone and ISAN, Toy pack a good deal more wallop into their tunes, stuffing these 44 minutes with a dizzying range of musical ideas, merry melodies, and goofy sounds. Things start out on a particularly giddy note with "Grass Beatbox"'s whirlwind of Looney Tunes-ish xylophones and "Don't Be"'s screwball vocoder fantasia, though it's not all a madcap sugar rush; the "kid in a candy store" approach occasionally settles down for midtempo fare which is considerably mellower than your average rambunctious toddler. Throughout, the duo's arrangements balance multi-layered complexity with electro-orchestral lushness, but they never feel overly electronic -- although it certainly sounds like plenty of vintage synthesizers are involved, it's tempting to imagine their recording studio as a sort of Santa's workshop, filled with curious trinkets and cobbled-together scraps culled from rummage sales and grandparents' attics. It's not too hard to think of parallels and precursors, electronic and otherwise, for this kind of kitschy but sophisticated novelty music (Luke Vibert's work as Wagon Christ and parts of the High Llamas' Cold and Bouncy come to mind, though there are certainly more vintage referents as well, from Raymond Scott on down), but Toy have an extensive bag of tricks and a sense of delicious fun all their own, and their retro-inspired 21st century vision of Toyland is well worth exploring. Recommended for ages one to 101.
Kim Hiorthøy: bio and My Last Day review
Like many of his electronically inclined Smalltown Supersound mates, longtime label associate Kim Hiorthøy approaches his work with a decidedly offbeat sensibility and a fair amount of humor. My Last Day is Hiorthøy's first proper full-length since his 2001 debut Hei, and its prevalent quirkiness is immediately apparent in the nutty songtitles ("I Thought We Could Eat Friends") and head-scratching cover art (which is not by Hiorthøy, though he is a noted graphic artist and designer.) It's evident in the music as well, but the general effect isn't so much overtly goofy as it is curious and off-kilter in a naïve, almost accidental-seeming way. This is an album of abstract listening electronica (for want of a better term), but it's presented with none of the sense of purity, in sound and form, that the genre often entails: neither immaculate inhuman precision nor lush organic warmth, but a rough-cut bushwhack between the two; deliberately messy and faltering. With few exceptions, these pieces are primarily built around simple melodies picked out on somewhat out of tune pianos and other tarnished-sounding instruments, which are surrounded with all sorts of sonic detritus (scraps of ambient noise, found-sound percussion, stray notes from other sources, distant vocal fragments), frequently yoked to choppy, hip-hop-inflected beats, and cut and pasted into casual but careful assemblages which feel purposefully unfinished, but not incomplete. It's as though Hiorthøy is attempting -- at times successfully -- to find a relatable form of musicality which is resistant to compositional conventions (though he does occasionally fall back on stock beats and pieces), driven not by willful absurdity but blithe happenstance.
Bjørn Torske: Feil Knapp review
In the six years between his 2001 album Trøbbel and this 2007 follow-up, the Norwegian electronica scene that Bjørn Torske helped to pioneer has gone international, thanks mostly to a number of his friends and collaborators, among them Röyksopp, Lindstrøm, Prins Thomas, and Erlend Øye. Given that context, the album has the makings of a major comeback statement, but the reality of it is a good deal more down to earth; Feil Knapp is nothing more or less than ten tracks of thoroughly personable, unassuming electronica encompassing a considerable array of styles -- house, ambient, psychedelic disco, dub reggae, instrumental pop -- while maintaining a distinctly lighthearted, amiable sensibility. In less subtly charismatic hands, this degree of eclecticism could come off as glibly chameleonic, but Torske approaches each track as an opportunity for unconstrained, good-humored exploration -- and often, gentle subversive juxtaposition -- rather than rote genre exercise. Hence, the stately serenity of opener "Hemmelig Orkester," with its warm ambient tones and wash of constantly billowing synths, is slyly undermined (though not disrupted) by a meek, unceremonious harmonica; the breezy disco-funk of "Hatten Passer" finds room for bongos, spry clavinet and vibraphone noodling, and a sprightly, faintly preposterous whistled refrain, as well as a few minor explosions (nobody harmed, evidently). Torske's greatest gift here is his lightness of touch; neither his irreverence nor his reverence comes off as forced, and neither seems to exist for its own sake. Though it initially comes off as a novelty, even the album's most overtly humorous moment -- when "Spelunker" sets video game splutters and a snaky, Eastern-tinged eight-bit melody against a slow-cooking dub reggae groove -- ends up feeling surprisingly, unsurprisingly, natural.
Lindstrøm: It's A Feedelity Affair and Where You Go I Go To reviewsIn this post-millennial age of anxiety about the continued relevance of the album format, Hans-Peter Lindstrøm has handily established himself as the king of neo-future-retro-disco without ever bothering to release a "proper" album of his own material. Technically speaking, Where You Go I Go Too marks the Norwegian's first full-length foray, although his zealous, literal-minded approach to the format hardly makes for a more conventional "album" than the 2006 singles comp that was his solo CD debut, It's a Feedelity Affair. Where You Go has but three tracks -- roughly 30, 10 and 15 minutes long, respectively -- which play as the movements of a single, epic, hour-long work rather than as individual pieces. While each has its own distinct set of constituent material (motivic polyrhythmic patterns, melodic riffs, arpeggiator settings), they tend to be developed in similar ways, none of which should be new to Lindstrøm's followers: constantly growing and kaleidoscoping layers of instrumental texture, lovingly teased and tweaked electronic filters and effects, unexpected and dazzling harmonic shifts, and occasionally spacy synth swooshes that come along to tear everything down, only so it can be built back up again. This is unquestionably music about exploring and relishing the process of change and mutation itself, rather than advancing any specific, tangible musical content. Even the 29-minute title piece contains only as many discernible musical ideas as your average five- to seven-minute techno track, but its luxurious length lets those ideas stretch out gloriously and (for both artist and listener) indulgently, allowing a slow, fluid evolution that gestures towards a cosmic infinity.
Arp: bio and In Light reviewIn Light's opener, "St. Tropez," the simplest and sparsest piece on an album notable for its simplicity and sparseness, consists entirely of a single two-note figure in a pure-sounding electric piano tone, repeated continuously while a second voice in the same timbre meanders sympathetically, soloistically around it. It firmly and economically establishes a sense of stillness and contemplative calm: not quite the warmth and contentment suggested by the piece's Mediterranean title or the album's grainy cover shot of a sunset (presumably, Arp being Californian) over the sea -- though certainly far from the opposite of those things -- but a gentle, hopeful quietude with the slight air of clinical detachment. A similar sense carries, somewhat less deterministically, throughout In Light, whose title accordingly seems to connote the figurative light of clarity and reason more than the tender, comforting light of the sun, but that doesn't mean that this is a sterile or foreboding listening experience. The gradually mutating analog textures that Alex Georgopolous has synthesized here often have an engagingly natural quality, as does his fluid, intuitive approach to composition, particularly on the indulgently expansive 16-minute "Odyssey," which was recorded in a single, unedited, improvised take. As inviting as these pieces often are -- five of them were initially conceived for an installation wherein listeners would lie in a cozy featherbed nook -- several of them do come off as subtly, unexpectedly unsettling, with vague traces of instability and unease -- barely perceptible discordant flute overtones gilding the lush piano ambience of "The Rising Sun"; woozy high-pitched warbles floating atop the lusciously buzzy "Fireflies on the Water"; and insistent, dizzyingly jaunty arpeggios underscoring the Baroque "Premonition of the Sculptor Steiner." Meanwhile, the striking "Potentialities," which appears first as a wholly synthesized piece with a steady percussive pulse, and then in a largely organic arrangement featuring a string trio and acoustic piano, has a tense, restlessly searching quality. None of this is overtly off-putting, to be sure, but it does create a slight, constant edge that belies and complicates the straightforward simplicity of Arp's minimalist premise, serving as a reminder that light can be cold and stark as well as warm and reassuring, and that neither is necessarily any less revealing, or less beautiful.
Hatchback: bio and Colors of the Sun reviewSome albums sound just the way you'd imagine them. It's only natural and fitting that a record called Colors of the Sun, by an artist (from San Francisco) named Hatchback, with song titles like "Carefree Highway," "Open Valley," and "Horizon," would be warm, wistful, vibrant, hazy, summery, autumnal, and evocative of free-spirited road trips and nostalgic bliss. What's impressive about this particular album is how simply and sweetly it satisfies all of these distinct yet impressionistic expectations suggested by its nomenclature -- so aptly conveyed as to seem almost inevitable, but not nearly so readily achieved -- resulting in a gorgeous, glowing journey that is at the same time sublimely relaxed and restful. The pieces that make up these pieces (oodles of analog synths, loping drum loops, fluid streams of electronic-sounding, organic-feeling melody, guitars and pianos and horns that might be sampled or synthesized or played) fit together so seamlessly, yet in such subtly shifting combinations, that one begins to wonder whether the effortlessness they project reflects an unusually intuitive, ingenuous creative approach, or if it masks a deliberate, painstaking, no less ingenious process of integration and formulation. To be sure, Hatchback is not without an extensive range of precursors and influences. Producer/composer Samuel Grawe has listed a wide array of inspirations for his work, both musical (1970s Krautrock -- particularly the namechecked Neu! -- and prog rock, vintage film soundtracks, Italo disco, Herbie Hancock, Stereolab...) and experiential (travel, friends, sunsets, windy roads, romance...) Which set of reference points is the more useful may depend on the listener, but the truth is that Colors of the Sun somehow manages to lives up to all of them. It will inevitably get lumped in with the Cosmic Disco movement (although little of it is remotely danceable) and the Balearic revival of the late 2000s, but this is a lovely and transporting listen regardless of times and trends, and one of the finest album statements that these loosely defined scenes have yet produced. Dig it.
Windsurf: bio and Coastlines reviewOne gets the sense that a lot of careful work went into making Coastlines the immaculately shimmering creation that it is, which is sort of a shame considering how difficult it is to concentrate on while it's actually playing. You could say that that's precisely the point, that this is music deliberately resistant to concrete awareness, its soft-focus surfaces designed to deflect attention away from itself and from anything else that might be going on. But there's a fuzzy line between getting lost in the music -- something these luxuriously extended grooves seem to invite -- and the music itself getting lost. Anyone who's enjoyed the solo work of Hatchback and Sorcerer (the two producers who make up Windsurf) will know what to expect here, and they are likely to be satisfied, as their collaborative material is very much cut from the same cloth: slow-moving, '70s-inspired semi-electronic tracks that blend Krautrock, disco, soft pop, and jazz fusion in a soothing, sun-dappled synthesis. A couple of tracks add understated, undistinguished vocals in a manner reminiscent of Studio (the Swedish fellow travelers whose music is among Coastlines' closest stylistic relatives), while a couple (synth-flecked "Pocket Check," goofy tropicale "The Big Island") boast beats bouncy enough to make dancefloor viability slightly more than a passing daydream. Otherwise, loungily lush widescreen epics are the order of the day, be they chugging ("Moonlight Sun"), tech-tonic ("Windsurf"), or amniotic (the shapeshifting, nearly beatless apotheosis "Crystal Neon.") To be sure, there is bliss to be had in these suspended moments, whether they come to you in a desk chair or a deck chair. But while artistic affect (as opposed to aesthetic qualities and craftsmanship, both of which are very finely defined in Windsurf's work) is especially difficult to assess in music that's so much about evoking emotional atmospheres, it's hard to shake the feeling that these California boys aren't glowing quite as warmly this time around.
Studio: Yearbook 1 and Yearbook 2 reviewsStudio's second Yearbook compilation is a collection of their remixes for other artists, rather than their own material, but their transformations are so thorough and their distinctive sonic fingerprints so prevalent that this is as good a place as any to get acquainted with the Swedish duo's lush, languorous style. Indeed, if not for the mötley assortment of vocals that occasionally intrude into the mix, ranging from Shout Out Louds' indie pop wispiness (on "Impossible," the most straightforward inclusion here) to Kylie Minogue's glam diva swelter (on "2 Hearts," an unlikely pairing that makes for a scintillating, revelatory high point), it wouldn't be hard to mistake Yearbook 2 as a more or less unified work by a single artist. As with Studio's original work, the agenda here is all about atmosphere. Whether the starting point is Love Is All's scruffy indie rock or Williams' faithful re-creation of Tangerine Dream's ethereal soundtrack work scarcely matters -- it all gets slathered with limpid laser-point guitar lines, washed out, reverberant synths, dubby disco grooves and, most prominently, immaculately crisp acoustic strums. Which is not to say that Studio are insensitive to their source material or that they simply work from a formula, they're just generally more interested in using it as a platform to their own ends. Certainly, they know what sounds they like and they stick with them, but their nuanced complexity and attention to detail, even on a hazy ten-plus-minute instrumental epic like their remake of A Mountain of One's "Brown Piano," is enough to rule out any notion of autopilot. Highest marks, however, go to perhaps the most minimalist offering here: a "version" (really a wholesale refashioning) of Rubies' soul-pop tune "Room Without a Key" which retains only the wordless background coos from the original as window dressing for an airy, hypnotic eight minutes suspended on a drifting, time signature-flouting bassline that feels utterly, impossibly fluid.
[Various Artists]: Permanent Vacation and Permanent Vacation 2 reviewsThe inaugural release from Munich's Permanent Vacation label is an eponymous mix CD, compiled by label heads Benjamin Fröhlich and Tom Bioly, which feels very much as the title suggests: unhurried, luxurious, infinitely lush and relaxing, and warmly indulgent. It essentially embodies the spirit of the eclectic, laid-back, post-disco style of DJing and music-making, termed "balearic" in honor of the Mediterranean vacation spots whence it germinated in the mid-'80s, which was resurgently popular in electronica circles around the mid- to late 2000s. The differences between the vintage cuts and the work of the revivalists, while occasionally evident, are often strikingly hard to discern, which makes this both a cohesive listening experience and a decent argument for the cross-generational continuity of semi-electronic, slow to midtempo European disco music. All told, there is a stunning amount of gorgeousness on display here. Highly recommended to anyone curious about balearic or experimental disco, or anyone in need of a good pleasure cruise.
Permanent Vacation 2: On the whole, this mix feels more pedestrian than its inspired predecessor, maintaining a similar lilting spirit (with perhaps a slightly sharper dancefloor focus), but without so many unexpectedly magical selections. Still, it's nice enough stuff, and an admirably direct summation of an undeniable late-'00s zeitgeist.
Alexis Le Tan & Jess/Various: Space Oddities review
As per the subtitle, "a compilation of rare European library grooves from 1975-1984," these nineteen cuts of vintage library music -- that is, stock music composed and recorded for production music houses to be anonymously licensed for film and television -- are united primarily by their focus on rhythm and groove. Given the era surveyed and the fact that this collection was issued on the stellar electronic disco revivalist label Permanent Vacation, it's no surprise that most of the selections are of the funky disco persuasion, quite a few of them boasting some form of electronic instrumentation. Space Oddities was prepared as an evident labor of love by French DJs Alexis Le-Tan and Jess; one can only imagine the copious stacks of generic, hackneyed, and otherwise unfunky soundtrack fodder they must have waded through in order to glean these gems, and all of them are properly licensed and credited, which may well have required just as much effort. This is a true treasure trove of striking, inspired, and compositionally masterful material, selected with a DJ-friendly eye on the dancefloor, but containing enough unexpected twists to make home listening just as stimulating. Much of this material bears an undeniable likeness to the hippest cosmic disco sounds swirling out of Oslo and elsewhere in 2008. It will likely sound hopelessly kitschy to some, but for anyone curious about that recently spotlighted strain of electronica's patchwork heritage, or anyone looking for a freaky, funky good time, Space Oddities barely sets a foot wrong. Sensational stuff.
10 March 2009
09ism
shall we get on with it then? poor beleaguered little mnemo [that's my laptop] is back in action, my drobotunes library has more or less caught up with my recent acquisitions, and we've got some spiffy new sidebar sections to deal with.
[if you're still interested: i finally posted an "official" 2008 wrap-up, with my top singles as represented by a mixtape and my top albums as represented by their covers.]
speaking of album covers, '09 has been a brilliant year for them so far. let's bask in these for a minute, shall we?:
a bunch of lovely ladies playing dress up, in and around increasingly intriguing and silly set pieces. lovesit! so i haven't actually heard any of these albums yet. i have been listening to a bunch of older neko (and mirah) though, which is getting me very excited. fox confessor in particular is so effing brilliant, and tigers have spoken, which i'd generally overlooked, is plenty righteous in its own right. can't wait to hear what miss case has come up with this time (well, actually, i am waiting, delaying gratification about a week for the sake of about $7.00, to a.k.a.'s loss, amazon's gain, and my chagrin, but whatevs...)
her sometime partner in crime, a.c. newman, made a rather disappointing impression with his follow-up to the golden slow wonder (a record he hasn't topped since, with or without the new pornos.) for one thing, the cover is just plain ugly (i'll spare you the jpg, though it does look a tiny bit better in print than on screen.) the music is better than that, but it's still sub-par; it feels futzy and baroque in a way that detracts from the songs, and nullifies the clarion directness that has made his past stuff so great. of course, carl being carl, a couple of his melodic dirty-darts can't help but lodge in your craw; my picks would probably be "like a hitman, like a dancer" (ah, that good old a.c. w.t.f.) and, typically, the closer, "all of my days and all of my days off." (lame wannabe-merritt title notwithstanding.) still fond of the guy though, hope to see him next week.
the mirah album is out today – i hadn't realized it was dropping so soon until i saw it beaming (on LP, no less) from the rack at a.k.a. (those sneaky release-date cheaters.) will for sure go pick it up when i have vinyl-carrying capability, cuz that cover demands it. cmon mirahcle!!!!
oh yes, i have been getting back into the big black circles. i bought some rekkids the other week for the first time in well over a year, and then i bought a couple more. it all started when i was djing for feet active! last month without the use of my computer, and decided to pick up a little bit of this and that to make up for it: ended up with lps by parsley sound, quiet village [great for the post-yoga portion], soul/disco singer deneice williams, and early genesis [not for the party], and 12"s by cornershop, hebden/reed [w/ audion remix], nona hendryx [nyce!], animal collective [ginkgo's jam] and maybe some others.
after the party i let myself get suckered in by a 12" sale at ubiquity.com and procured some faves by nomo and owusu & hannibal, plus a grab-bag of rare groove oldies, all half-off. so... we'll see where this leads. not entirely sure how it will square with my inclinations/obsessions toward uni-format-y, but it does strike me that, mp3s having largely eclipsed cds in terms of utilitarian practicality (and now for me personally as well as the music-consuming public as a whole), the edge that vinyl's undeniably lustrous object-aura gives it is that much harder to undercut, particularly with download codes enclosed.
back to our leading ladies: i actually have heard most of the lily allen, but haven't really digested it. in general, i'm not overwhelmed, but i do really like "who'd have known," and "the fear" remains one of my very favorite singles of the year so far (sure i'm counting it, tho i did hear it in '08.) at first blush it seems slighter, subtler, than the hits off her debut, but the melody may well prove to have longer legs, and the lyrics are devilishly perfect. love the video too. why not:
(it's pretty definitely my favorite thing she's done, with mark ronson's "oh my god" a close second – and that common song is pretty good too – i was never the biggest fan of her first album, or her persona generally, and seeing her live didn't help much... we'll see if she can win me over this time.)
i have heard and very much enjoyed the other new album that was co-written and produced my man greg kurstin; the bird and the bee's exceedingly wtf-titled ray guns are not just the future (i know, i get that the military is now making ray guns, which means they're...the present, but that doesn't make the title any more sensible.) it's great. i mean, not every song on it is stunning, but an impressive majority are both instantly enjoyable and seemingly quite durable. and, admittedly, it's a light and fluffy pop album, with no great aspirations other than to be sweet and pleasurable. but greg and inara george (i feel like they're both old friends of mine, which is, er, almost true), like the goofy secret agents they play in the cover art, seem to take that mission quite seriously, and they clearly had a blast carrying it out.
in my review of their show at the tin angel last week, i called the album "[maybe] the most satisfying thing either of them has ever been involved in," which is a semi-bold statement when you consider that geggy tah's sacred cow (1994) and merrick's self-titled debut (2001) are minor classics in my personal pantheon. other than those two albums, there's not too much contest, though into the oh and all rise are definitely worthy efforts. can't say as much for inara's sub-ys effort from last year... this is a great turnabout from that, though it won't necessarily be received as such.
show review what? oh yes: i have been writing reviews of concerts (and also other things) for the city paper blog, which accounts for a good chunk of my music writing to date this year. check 'em on out. (with pixxxas!!)
paper stock:
bear is driving, rafter, your freedom party @ danger danger gallery, 1/29
high places, soft circle, kyle h. mabson @ danger danger gallery, 2/5
tindersticks [& dawn landes] @ world cafe live, 3/4
the bird and the bee [& obi best] @ tin angel, 3/4
also, here's a record review, of album #2 by local boy peasant. innocent churl is almost profligate. (but not quite.)
by the way, i also saw two other shows at the world cafe recently. the indigo girls & shemekia copeland, at a hoopla free-at-noon jawn on friday, were fluffy doo-dah fun – contrary to appearances, i found the 'girls to be both more entertaining and more 'authentic' than shemekia; their new songs were surprisingly engaging, though a room-ful of "closer to fine" made for a special little thrill all its own. a while back, devon sproule & matt curreri's gig, a pre-valentine's affair with incurable sweetie carsie blanton, was mostly notable for a slew of well-picked covers [best: "19th nervous breakdown," which i had in my head for weeks afterwards], which is usually a good thing, though less so when the artist in question one of yr favorite songwriters, and she's letting her kinda-dopey brother-in-law do half the singing anyway. oh well. cmon back around dev! i'll write ya up right.
more show reviews, and previews, and who-dos, comin' round the bend. some woo-hoo overdue review round-ups up'n'around too. 'n maybe i'll figger some other jigs to do. spring's a cumin in, and we're spring back to action. l33t active!
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oh, p.s.: i couldn't very well talk about cover art in 1st-quarter '09 without mentioning this here flash animation, er i mean jpg. (was gonna post it but i figured i'd spare you the eyeache.) hard not to admit, too, that is "my girls" ever the song for the spring, or what. save it for a springy singy day, and it just comes busting out. he is so goofy coppin' a brian wilson drawl on "...seem like ah kerr abowwt..." ["...fowr m'gurls..."] got some more things to say about the music but maybs later.
