As a general rule, you could well say that whenever the lead singer of a band starts picking fights with random people and things in interviews, it’s a sign of trouble. That doesn’t always mean an epic war of words between two or more parties. More often than not it’s a cry for attention, the idea of saying something inflammatory to get your name in the press because it might not be there otherwise. Billy Corgan has been pulling this trick for decades, and it’s kept the Smashing Pumpkins on people’s minds even during the last decade when they were churning out loads of crap. Which brings us to Yeasayer’s Chris Keating. Chatting with Rolling Stone about the band’s new album Fragrant World, he openly insulted R. Kelly and the current state of EDM (electronic dance music). And while he complimented Frank Ocean’s excellent work in the R&B genre, he capped it off by saying the genre should “gay it up a little,” referencing Ocean’s bisexuality. Of course he’s still better off than Surfer Blood frontman John Paul Pitts, who is dealing with a much more serious situation right now. But Keating’s comments are helpful because they give the band headlines while distracting from reviews of their new record. If your album is good, the attention will find you even if you don’t open your mouth. So yes, pulling a quote stunt like he did feels like an act of pre-release desperation. Hearing the first two Yeasayer albums All Hour Cymbals and Odd Blood, you might imagine that such a talented band with a great ability to avoid being confined to a particular label or genre would continue to flourish. Unfortunately their unique mixture of freak folk and psych-pop has been brushed off in favor of something decidedly more minimalist and dark. Arrangements are no longer packed with an array of colorful instruments, instead synths and electronic beats seem to be the two driving forces on their songs. Sometimes, as in the chorus of “Fingers Never Bleed,” it brings out a very ’80s R&B vibe that wouldn’t sound too out of place on a Janet Jackson record. Other times it can sound like Chromatics filtered through the lens of The xx, as on “Damaged Goods.” That might make it seem like there’s a reasonable amount of variety across the album, as with the previous two Yeasayer long players. Actually, Fragrant World is the most cohesive and sonically solid record the band has ever made.
It’s a shame then that these are also the most uninteresting and unremarkable songs they’ve ever created as well. Even if you have the patience to listen through the whole thing a half dozen times, it’s unlikely you’ll come across many tracks that distinguish themselves from the pack and actually stay with you. The album’s midsection of “Devil and the Deed,” “No Bones” and “Reagan’s Skeleton” do the best jobs of being reasonably catchy and memorable. As much as they do right, they also just sort of drop off without trying anything truly new or different. There aren’t any twists in spots where there should be, and it feels like something’s missing as a result. The shift away from fuller and more complex arrangements also brings the band’s lyrics into a greater spotlight than ever before. Anyone that’s paid close attention to their last two albums knows Yeasayer aren’t the most prolific songwriters. Their skillfully crafted songs have gone a long way towards covering that problem up. Now pushed to the surface, the words are just another way the band stumbles and falls. It might be a little more forgivable if they had kept some of the uplifting and inspiring themes of their last couple records. Unfortunately much of the new album is about death and darkness, so if the bass-heavy melodies don’t bring you down then the lyrics probably will. “My girl says that all the rain promises is to give life to the seeds/Live in the moment/Never count on longevity,” Keating sings on “Longevity.” While it’s probably not intended that way, you could imagine those lines being mirrored back at the band and their career so far. While it’s admirable that they’re not content to sit still and fully commit to a certain style or genre of music for very long, it could also spell trouble for them if they make one too many wrong moves. Fragrant World may be the start of that inevitable downfall, or it could be a small misstep in an otherwise strong career in music. For the sakes of everyone, let’s hope it’s the latter.
It’s been four years since Bloc Party released their last album Intimacy, and a couple things have happened since then. Frontman Kele Okereke took the more electronica leanings of Intimacy and explored them fully on his own with his 2010 solo album The Boxer. The response from critics and the general public was largely mixed, but in spite of that there were suggestions Bloc Party might not return or would return but with a different singer. Okereke recounted in an interview how he observed all the other guys in the band entering a rehearsal space without him, getting him worried they might be continuing on without him. That was quickly followed by a comment from guitarist Russell Lissack saying they wanted to make new music and decided to have a few jam sessions without the very busy Okereke to try and figure out where they wanted to go next. Hours after it was reported that the future of Bloc Party might be in jeopardy, a post appeared on the band’s website denying that any lineup changes were happening. Now nearly a year later, they’re back with everyone intact and a new full length, Four. If you think they’re going to pick right back up where they left off though, you don’t know Bloc Party.
By calling their album Four, Bloc Party are reminding us of a few things. First and foremost, there are four members of the band. Secondly, it’s been four years since their last album. And thirdly, this is their fourth album of original material. There’s probably a fourth point, just to keep the whole number theme going, but exactly what that is could be considered open for debate. More important than any number games though are the songs themselves. The electronica leanings of Intimacy? They’re almost completely gone. In some respects, so are the dance rock leanings of their first two records Silent Alarm and A Weekend in the City. They’ve been there and done that, more often than not with mixed results. Dance rock mostly died off years ago, and the electronica scene is dominated by dubstep, which isn’t such a good idea for a full band to try (see: new Muse). So for a band that’s made their name on those sounds, what’s the next step on the evolutionary chain? Take what you’ve got and use it to the fullest. Say hello to Bloc Party: alternative rock band.
Four opens with an element that a lot of bands try when they’re trying to sound raw and underproduced – they insert some “sounds of the studio.” In this particular case a comparison can be drawn to the beginning of Radiohead’s Hail to the Thief, where you’re greeted with the sound of a guitar being plugged into an amp. That was to signify their move away from the electronic-based textures of Kid A and Amnesiac and their return to more guitar-based rock. Bloc Party are making a similar move, which is why you hear some guitar scrapes amid a snippet of dialogue before the band launches into “So He Begins to Lie.” The effect is not nearly the same however, especially since Bloc Party are coming off a streak of increasingly mediocre records. While you’d expect their return to rock music to perhaps reinvigorate their creativity like it did early in their careers, they trip and fall right out of the gate. “So He Begins to Lie” has some angularly heavy guitars that wind up sounding like a mixture of 311 and early Muse. There’s nothing particularly inspiring about it, as it’s missing a brisker pace and a hook that genuinely grabs your attention. First tracks are designed to suck the listener in and make them want more, but this comes off sounding like a Silent Alarm b-side.
When Four truly begins is with “3×3,” a very meaty and metal-inspired track that races with fury matched by a heroic vocal performance from Okereke. The bridge, with a whispered “no means no” building to a cathartic scream of “Yes!” makes for one of the album’s early highlights. Okereke also does great work on “Kettling,” his voice cutting like a hot knife through the dirge of what feels like a cross between The Smashing Pumpkins and Stone Temple Pilots. But his singing aside, much of the record actually does seem like a collection of influences from the ’90s and early ’00s. The acoustic guitar first half of “Coliseum” is an almost blatant rip-off of one-hit wonders Days of the New, with the nightmareish punk-metal second half might best be classified as Arctic Monkeys with a Metallica twist. Soundgarden are channeled on the album closing “We Are Not Good People,” in what might be the most intense and loud songs Bloc Party have ever made. That doesn’t make it good however, because what Four really suffers from is an identity crisis.
Mixed between all the heavy stuff are softer songs and the lighter dance numbers that bear the familiar markings of the earliest and best Bloc Party material. Four‘s first single is “Octopus,” a track that seems designed in every way to convince you that the band you know and love is back. The jittery guitar riff that’s the basis of the song feels eerily reminiscent of Portishead’s “Machine Gun,” and while it’s ripe for remixing, it doesn’t quite have a high enough BPM rate to make it dance-worthy on its own. The chorus isn’t as instantly memorable as some of the band’s greatest hits either, likely leading to its inability to gain the massive sort of popularity the band wants and needs right now. By contrast, “Team A” does have the energy and instrumental groundwork to succeed, but it sorely lacks transitions and an actual chorus. Where the band fares best are in the moments when they don’t come off like they’re trying too hard. “Day Four” may fall somewhere in between The Temper Trap and Minus the Bear with its stylistic references, but it’s a genuinely beautiful and heartfelt moment that recalls a Bloc Party classic like “Blue Light” and nearly lives up to its high bar. Fans of “This Modern Love” can probably find plenty to love about “Truth,” which is one of the few moments where it seems like the band is being honest with us about who they are. If only the record’s other ballads “Real Talk” and “The Healing” were as creative and interesting.
The one trump card that Bloc Party unleash on Four is “V.A.L.I.S.” It might not be a barn burner equivalent to say “Banquet” or “Helicopter,” but it’s an intelligently crafted, catchy song with a healthy bounce to it. That foundation is really the basis for what made Bloc Party such a well-respected band in the first place. The off-kilter guitar work of Russell Lissack and driving drum hits of Matt Tong are at the heart of what makes the band great, and not using either to the best of their abilities as on Intimacy causes the overall results to suffer. For this album, Lissack is relegated to loud and heavy riffs instead of punchy hand-picked creativity, while Tong exercises brute force trying mostly to keep up with everything going on around him. The record’s unsettled variety pack of styles doesn’t do them many favors either. In other words, Bloc Party sound lost. Perhaps they made the conscious decision to throw a bunch of things at a wall to see what would stick. While it is nice to hear them taking some real risks, it’d be even better if they would jump in with both feet instead of dipping a toe in the water. Hopefully their next one will do exactly that, even if it is unlike anything we’ve heard them try before.
Most of the world probably thinks that Passion Pit are a fun synth-pop band. Go to one of their shows, and you’ll dance, sing and jump around with a smile on your face. Hear one of their songs on the radio and there’s a good chance you’ll sing along mindlessly only to have a chorus stuck in your head for hours afterwards. But how much do you really know about Passion Pit? How closely have you listened to their songs and taken to heart what’s being said in the lyrics? We so often listen to music as an escape or a distraction from our own lives that we can forget somebody’s heart and soul might have been poured into a song or album. That’s particularly true of pop music, which is more often thought of as a disposable treat. It’s the equivalent of auditory candy, never actually substantial or healthy enough to constitute a musical meal. Not every pop song or pop record is as light and fancy free as it might appear on the surface however, and it’s only through seeing that depth that we can truly begin to understand music as an art form. As the frontman for Passion Pit, Michael Angelakos writes songs about his own life. The initial Passion Pit recordings that formed the Chunk of Change EP were written and pieced together in Angelakos’ bedroom by himself, in an attempt to win the affections of a girl. There’s both a sweetness and a sense of desperation coming out of it, and though it caught on like wildfire with music lovers via Myspace, the girl it was about didn’t feel the same way and things didn’t work out. With the loss of that girl came success, and all the pressures that came along with it. Over the course of a year, the band would secure a major label record deal and put out their debut album Manners to widespread critical acclaim. Singles like “Sleepyhead” and “Little Secrets” were radio hits as well, and the band toured in larger and larger venues.
Such popularity and praise are the dreams of many musicians, but Angelakos doesn’t quite feel that way. Fortune and fame can bring out the worst in some people, and the pressure it can put on the artists can only add to that. In the three years since Passion Pit released their last album, the band has not stopped working, which turned out to be to their detriment. Unknown to most except those very close to Angelakos, he’s been diagnosed as bipolar for a few years now. While he has taken plenty of medication to help manage the roller coaster highs and lows the disorder brings, he still has severe bouts of depression and has attempted or thought about committing suicide on several occasions. He’s spent the last few years in and out of mental health facilities, and much to the chagrin of his record label, spent months trying and failing to make progress on new music as he dealt with these issues. Most recently, the band has been forced to cancel many of their tour dates so Angelakos can work on some of his symptoms. He maintains the band will try and tour as much as possible for now, however it’s unlikely that will continue for a whole lot longer. There’s a distinct impermanence affixed to Passion Pit’s work now, and the hope is they make the most of it. From all this pain and strife and difficulty comes Gossamer, the band’s second album. If you failed to fully grasp or take seriously some of the darker moments on Manners, hopefully this new record pushes you to more closely examine and think critically about what these songs are about before blindly jumping around and memorizing the hook.
The first single and opening track on Gossamer is “Take A Walk,” a light and bouncy number about how Angelakos’ parents struggled financially when he was growing up. It’s a fun-sounding song about a not-so-fun topic, which is how most of the album goes. There’s something just a little off about that track though, and it has nothing to do with lyrics and everything to do with structure. The verses and chorus don’t mesh as well as they should, creating an imbalance that diminishes its overall effectiveness. It may bear the band’s signature sound but doesn’t ignite as intended. The following track “I’ll Be Alright” is a far better example of Passion Pit 2.0. Filled with skittering synths and a hyperactive melody, its hook may not have incredible staying power but it’s complex oddities can still give you a total sugar rush. Yet all that betrays what the song is actually about, which is about his battles with depression and how it’s affected his romantic relationships. “Well I’ve made so many messes/And this love has grown so restless/Your whole life’s been nothing but this/I won’t let you go loveless,” he sings in the chorus, trying to tell his girlfriend he’ll be fine without her. Of course when he talks about drinking and taking pills and manipulating people to selfishly get his way, you get the sense that might not actually be the case. He’s had a change of heart by the end of the song, instead of telling her to leave, he now says he won’t let her unless he knows he’ll be alright. That’s not a very nice thing to do to somebody – jerking them around like that – but that’s almost par for the course sometimes for people with emotional problems. Angelakos being able to acknowledge that is a great sign though, with the hope of learning from such lessons.
If Gossamer has one sure fire hit on it, “Carried Away” is it. The verses build perfectly to the gigantic jump around chorus that’s both airy and memorable. The topic du jour this time is a much more universal one too, playing up the disparity between rich and poor. At the end of the final verse, Angelakos leads what’s sure to be a live staple chant of “We all have problems,” suggesting that no matter if you’re rich or poor, mentally stable or instable, that nobody is in great shape all the time. The album’s first ballad, the R&B jam of “Constant Conversations,” finds his relationship in bad shape due to excessive alcoholism. “I’m just a mess with the name and the price/And now I’m drunker than before babe/Told me drinking doesn’t make me nice,” he bemoans knowingly. Those same issues surface again via “On My Way,” only this time they come off even more sad and desperate than before. While he proposes in the chorus that they get married to “consecrate this messy love,” he later makes the argument that, “We’re both so broken, long done hoping/Is that we’ll stumble upon our love again.” It comes across as a plea to spend your life with somebody because you’re both screwed up to the point where nobody else would want you. Lines like, “All these demons, I can beat them” and “Everyday’s another chance” shine glimmers of hope across the track, as do the various glockenspiels, bells and xylophones, which help make it sound like Sigur Ros turned pop. Yet one of the key things about this album is that despite the platitudes that strive to create positive vibes in bad situations, we’re never entirely sure that Angelakos truly believes in himself or what he’s saying.
The most positive and uplifting moment on Gossamer comes almost right at the end of the album with “It’s Not My Fault, I’m Happy.” It’s certainly not the poppiest moment on the record, but it’s one of those slower sort of anthem-ballads where people raise their lighters (or cell phones) to the sky and sing along like they truly believe in the lyrics. Instead of ending on that high note, the final track on the album is “Where We Belong,” which is about Angelakos’ suicide attempt a few years ago. With pulsating electronic beats and dramatic violins as the instrumental backing, his tone comes across as very reflective as he recounts the experience (“And then I’m lifted up/Out of the crimson tub/The bath begins to drain/And from the floor he prays away all my pain”). He has said in interviews that in his mind the archangel Gabriel was present with him at the time, hence the line, “Do you believe in me too, Gabriel?” The last line of the entire album is, “All I’ve ever wanted was to be happy and make you proud.” The “you” in that is likely his fiancee, but could also be anyone from his family, friends or it might even be directed right at the listener. Angelakos might never be able to be truly happy the way that he wants to be, but at the very least with Gossamer he’s created something that he can and should be proud of. Hopefully he keeps seeking proper treatment and is able to get the help he needs. Smart, challenging and emotionally stirring pop records like this don’t come along often, so the longer he’s around and able to make them, the luckier we are to hear them.
According to the dictionary, a purity ring is a “type of promise ring that pledges abstinence.” In more plainspoken terms, by wearing a purity ring you promise to not have sex until you get married. As many who wear purity rings will claim, the wait is worth it. How fitting then for a band calling themselves Purity Ring to make us wait a long time before releasing their first full length album. First appearing in early 2011, they began releasing single after single, like a trail of breadcrumbs to keep us interested and engaged. It helped that they were really good songs, too. Describing their sound can be a little difficult, but it’s fair to say they’re like a more pop-driven version of The Knife or Crystal Castles, pairing skittering hip hop-esque electronic beats with often masked female vocals. The duo of Corin Roddick and Megan James are responsible for the project. Roddick handles the instrumental side, and James does vocals and lyrics. Their first single “Ungirthed” did just about everything right, fusing together little electro plinks with surges of bass, and James’ vocals playfully floating above it all. It was fun and surprisingly addictive, which was a trend that continued with additional singles like “Belispeak” and “Fineshrine.” A grand total of five out of eleven songs off their new album Shrines were released leading up to it, and there wasn’t a weak track among them. Now with the whole thing available for your consumption, the great news is that their previous success wasn’t a fluke. Even the non-singles carry hints of being potential future singles, and this record is so jam packed with them it can be a challenge to pick out the highlights. On any given day you might fall in love with “Crawlersout,” only to have “Lofticries” dig its claws into you the next time around. That’s a good sort of problem to have, though for fans that have been keeping up with the band since 2011, some of those earliest tracks will always be considered noteworthy moments. Newcomers to the Purity Ring bandwagon may initially find inspiration in certain songs, though the entire record might start sounding like an amorphous blob after awhile. Such a reaction is completely natural given that the template tools used to make this album don’t really change from track to track. Even the lyrics are thematically similar, filled with vibrant body imagery. “Sea water is flowing from the middle of my thighs,” James sings at the start of “Crawlersout.” The very next song is “Fineshrine,” where she encourages somebody to “cut open my sternum and poke my little ribs around you.” From the ringing ears and clicking teeth of “Ungirthed” to the sweating lips and starving hips of “Saltkin,” and even to the album cover featuring disembodied hands and lungs, Purity Ring are very easy to figure out, even if their distinct sound and lyrics can be challenging. It’s the angle they approach each melody and hook that makes the difference, rewarding close listening. If Shrines has a failure, it comes via the mid-album oddity of “Grandloves.” Isaac Emmanuel of Young Magic shares vocal duties with James in what feels like an ill-advised duet where he tries on his best computer-glitchy Beck impersonation. The song’s not bad by any means, but really more pedestrian and uninspired than everything that surrounds it. Otherwise it’s a very impressive debut from a band that continues to change and evolve with time. It might take them a few years to finally generate a follow-up LP, but if history is any indication, we’ll be hearing a new song or two or five before then. If it’s anywhere near as good as what we’ve been given on Shrines, it truly will have been worth the wait.
If you’re going to pick a band name as emotionally evocative as Eternal Summers, you’d best have the material to back it up. People get excited about summer, because it means time off from school or work, warm weather, and lazy days by the pool or lake with family and friends. It’s a special season to say the least, and one we often wish would go on forever. The road hasn’t always been paved with sunshine and blissful happiness for Eternal Summers though. They’ve spent the last few years in relative obscurity, part of a somewhat secret music community in their hometown of Roanoke, VA called Magic Twig. It’s a loose collective of musicians that work with one another without much regard for official band membership. They have their own recording studio and embrace the DIY/lo-fi aesthetic. Guitarist/singer Nicole Yun and drummer Daniel Cundiff met that way, and with their minimal pop powers combined they became established enough to earn a record deal. After a couple of EPs, 2010 saw the release of their first full length Silver. While it certainly achieved some degree of measurable success, reviews weren’t exactly glowing with affection for the duo. Then further tragedy struck: while on tour, their gear was stolen. Yun’s special Parker Nitefly guitar was among the losses, and she didn’t have the money to pay for a new one. Other guitars didn’t quite have the sonic range to pull off some of their songs, so to compensate for the low end they brought in bassist Jonathan Woods. Becoming a three-piece has fleshed out Eternal Summers’ sound more than ever, as has their decision to outsource the mixing of their new album Correct Behavior to New York, where The Raveonettes’ Sune Rose Wagner and producer Alonzo Vargas took care of it. They may have been concerned about letting other people have some degree of control over their sound, but the end product really shines positively on the growth of the band and provides the leg up needed to get the attention they deserve. Helpful as these changes might be, in the end they don’t amount to much if the songs themselves aren’t good. Thankfully Eternal Summers don’t have that problem, as this album features stronger lyrics, more confident vocals and more candy-coated hooks than anything they’ve ever done before. First single “Millions” kicks things off in a very bright and bouncy fashion, really hammering home the fuller sound and putting Yun’s vocals at the front of the mix. “I’ve got to shake this shell and break it into millions,” she sings, and while it’s supposed to represent a new found freedom in your life, in many ways it also feels like the band is starting fresh and embracing the same ideals. That same intense energy and playfulness continues to carry on through super addictive songs like “Wonder,” “You Kill” and “I Love You.” All together those first four songs make for one of the best starts of any record so far this year. Cundiff’s drumming is propulsive in exactly the ways it needs to be, especially on more punk rock numbers like “You Kill” and “Girls in the City.” Yun also gets in some intelligent guitar solos on “Wonder” and “Heaven and Hell,” likely the result of not having to worry about being the only guitar in the band anymore. There are a few moments where Correct Behavior slows down, which help balance out the record nicely and give you a chance to catch your breath. “It’s Easy” and “Good As You” are dreamy and beautiful in all the ways they need to be, holding your attention when they very well could have killed the mojo established by the quicker, more upbeat tracks. Perhaps the biggest standout on the entire album comes right in the middle with “Girls in the City.” It’s the only track where Cundiff handles the vocals, and the post-punk melody blended with his very cut-and-dry baritone makes it comparable with something you’d hear from Joy Division or Crystal Stilts. Eternal Summers showed hints of such influences on their previous releases, however it’s never come across as clearly as it does here. The only real problem is that it doesn’t mesh as well with the breezier pop stuff that’s all over the rest of the record. Finding a better way to incorporate new and different styles is one of the things they can work on for their next long player. In the meantime, Correct Behavior goes a very long way towards making Eternal Summers the sort of band you want soundtracking those times of fun in the sun.
Frank Ocean’s sexuality shouldn’t matter. Why his revelation that he’s bisexual has made so many waves (pun intended) is because people working in the hip hop and R&B genres are often considered intolerant of anyone who’s not 100% straight. There’s a fair amount of anti-gay rhetoric and hurtful slang used in tracks without even blinking an eye or somebody speaking out against it, and so for Ocean to come out in that sort of environment takes an incredible amount of courage. He’s weathered the storm quite well so far, though the realities of his situation might be a bit different than what we’re seeing through the eyes of the media. Now let’s just hope he doesn’t get stereotyped because of it, or made an unofficial spokesperson for all things bisexual or homosexual in the music community. The ultimate hope is that if you make great art that people will see past any labels and appreciate it solely for what it is. The great news for Ocean is that his newest album Channel Orange does exactly that, transcending topical, musical and many other boundaries to help make it one of the most fascinating and exciting full lengths of 2012 so far.
Whether you’ve been paying close attention to the R&B and urban styles of music the last few years or not, chances are you’ve become aware that the increased popularity of AutoTune has been both a help and a hindrance to music in general. At its best, AutoTune is another creative tool that can be used to take vocals or accent tracks in ways many never thought possible until now. At its worst, it’s an annoyance, detracts from the humanity in a song, and allows singers to cheat by taking their vocals to places they couldn’t otherwise go on their own. Ocean doesn’t use AutoTune on Channel Orange, nor is it apparent that he needs to. His vocals are smooth as silk, and his range is far more vast than you might expect. Listening to opening track “Thinkin Bout You,” Ocean holds a pretty even keel together until the chorus hits. Reacting to being wounded by a love interest, he flips into a soaring falsetto that makes for an impressive emotional outpouring of his pain. Sad though it may be, it’s also one of several very catchy songs on this record.
The lightly bouncing and effortless “Sweet Life” celebrates the excess associated with being rich, ultimately settling on the very addictive creed of, “Why see the world/when you’ve got the beach?” But that sort of reaction isn’t meant to be taken at face value, instead it’s more about the search for meaning beyond what money and the song’s title describe. Similarly, “Super Rich Kids” uses a plodding piano chord that sounds like it was ripped from Elton John’s “Benny and the Jets” to both mock a life of massive weath and relate to the consistently greedy emptiness it causes. “A million one, a million two/a hundred more will never do,” he sings like a man trapped in a prison of money from which there is no escape. As a 24-year-old still in the earliest stages of his career, Ocean isn’t nearly at the point yet where he could be considered a financial heavyweight. These songs aren’t so much personal stories or feelings he’s describing, but rather character morality tales that are always human and surprisingly relatable. “Crack Rock” turns a drug addict into somebody we can sympathize with, while “Lost” is about the personal relationship between a drug dealer and a drug mule, how they may love each other but can’t stop using one another either. Love and religion intertwine on “Monks,” where the passion a crowd has for a musician parallels that of a deity, the Dalai Lama and Buddhism being the example used. Thematically similar but all the more devastating is “Bad Religion,” where he likens unrequited love to a cult because of its exclusivity, obsession and inability to give anything back to you. The line in the chorus, “I can never make him love me,” is thought by many to be related to the letter he wrote about his attraction to a man that didn’t feel the same way. Whether or not that’s actually the case, the frustration and sadness in his voice is very, very affecting.
Lyrical content and stories aside, Channel Orange also has plenty to offer in terms of composition. This is not your standard R&B slow jam style record. Ocean is offering up so much more than contemporary leaders of the genre like R. Kelly and Usher are trying these days. The risks he’s taking have more in common with Kanye West’s last album, the near perfect My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, than almost anything else around. If that record set a new bar for hip hop, Ocean’s seeks to set a new bar for R&B. He’s taking many of the greats such as Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye and Prince, and applying some of their best qualities in mind to tracks that are extremely modern in body. The organ and spoken word opening of “Bad Religion” is eerily reminiscent of Prince’s “Let’s Go Crazy,” but moves in a polar opposite direction with the entrance of mournful piano chords and dramatic orchestration. Southern style rhythm guitar and church organ blend quite effortlessly with drum machine beats on closing track “Forrest Gump,” and together they give the song a tenderness that betrays a line like, “I wanna see your pom-poms from the stands.” If you really want to understand what this record is all about and see how Ocean has turned R&B on its head, look no further than “Pyramids.” The sprawling, nearly 10 minute track moves from ambient electronica to dancefloor synth-pop to a soulful slow jam to a psychedelic guitar solo without ever sounding out of place or clumsy. Altogether it’s unlike anything else in music today, and it’s that much more brilliant because of it.
If Channel Orange has one problem, it’s sticking with the time honored tradition of adding interludes between a few songs to expand its overall length and track listing. Some of them, like “Fertilizer” and “White,” serve more like brief sketches of songs and glimpses of potential wasted. The bookend tracks titled “Start” and “End” feel even more pointless, the former using the sound of a Playstation powering on while the latter has the sound of somebody getting out of their car and walking into their house. Only “Not Just Money,” featuring a woman talking about how there’s more to life than dollars and cents as she struggles to feed her family, actually feels appropriately used. It’s sandwiched in between “Sweet Life” and “Super Rich Kids,” emphasizing the moral lessons they’re looking to teach. Outside of those shrug-worthy and mostly pointless moments, everything else about this album is ironclad and near perfect. While it lacks the same theatricality and reinvention, Channel Orange can be favorably compared to David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust record. Following on the heels of his controversial 1972 interview in which he confessed to being gay (which later turned out to be…not so much), Bowie was on the verge of calling it quits. Coupled with the legendary Ziggy Stardust however, Bowie’s profile rose significantly and he became the powerful force in music that many look up to today. Ocean is only getting his career started, but with the revelations about his sexuality and the excellence of this new album, you can almost see the same sort of career trajectory emerging. Time will tell for sure if that holds true, but for the moment this looks like the true birth of the next music superstar.
One of the most fascinating things about Dirty Projectors is how they continually evolve with each new record. It’s been almost 10 years since the band released The Glad Fact, which at the time really wasn’t much more than frontman Dave Longstreth and Yume Bitsu’s Adam Forkner playing oddball songs people had trouble describing. Things got even more fun in 2005 with The Getty Address, a concept “opera” that was about the destruction of the environment, 16th century explorer Hernan Cortes, and featured a main character named Don Henley. There was dense orchestration mixed with some more modern R&B beats that certainly gave it a unique feel and sound. When people started to earnestly pay attention to this eccentric and sometimes brilliant band was in 2007 with the release of Rise Above. The record was an attempt by Longstreth to re-interpret the classic Black Flag album Damaged track-by-track, in spite of not having listened to it in over 15 years. His focus also shifted away from epic, orchestral arrangements and more towards dense polyrhythms and visceral vocal harmonies. Band membership was somewhat streamlined too, and after working with a wide variety of people including members of Vampire Weekend, Dirty Projectors became a more comfortable five piece with people Longstreth actually seemed to care about. The real challenge was getting people to care too. Such wild musical ambitions often made for difficult results, and the critical love the band received didn’t exactly earn them a huge increase in fans. They are the sort of band best described as “not for everybody.” On their last album Bitte Orca however, they went a long way to help rectify that stigma by moving in a more accessible art-pop direction. Key elements such as West African-inspired guitar lines and offbeat percussion remained, but never had the band produced something that was so light, airy and altogether fun to listen to. After years of wandering through a desert of his own wildly strange vision, Longstreth had finally found the balance needed to take the band to the next level of success.
That was three years ago, and since then restlessness has once again gotten the better of Dirty Projectors. Never content to do the same thing twice, or even keep the same lineup for too long, there have been a few changes made in preparation for the release of the band’s new album Swing Lo Magellan. Keyboardist and singer Angel Deradoorian has taken a hiatus to focus on other projects, and drummer Brian McOmber left the band, with Mike Johnson taking his place. A close listen to the new single “Gun Has No Trigger” also yields some clues as to what’s in store on the new record. The arrangement is best described as minimal, with an unwavering beat and light flourishes of bass guitar being the only instruments used beyond Longstreth’s lead vocal and the harmonies of Amber Coffman and Haley Dekle. The poppy, R&B-like flavor of “Stillness Is the Move” off Bitte Orca is nowhere to be found. In fact, not one song on Swing Lo Magellan even comes close to that level of funky, resonating catchiness. That’s not the point though, because this is a fresh batch of songs written with different intentions in mind. Whereas the last album was very self-conscious by carefully reappropriating certain sounds in creative ways, Longstreth has called the new material deeper and more personal, but also more playful with an emphasis on writing great individual songs rather than leaning on an overarching theme. Instead of retreating from the more pop sensible and accessible song structures, the band drives even further towards them. The way they do it varies from song to song, as do the styles somewhat, but when you’re anchored by distinctive guitar playing along with equally distinctive percussion and vocal styles, those constants do great work keeping everything pretty uniform even when they’re anything but.
Swing Lo Magellan begins with Longstreth clearing his throat. It turns out to be the first of many raw “sounds of the studio” that appear on the album. “Unto Caesar” contains the most obvious use of the technique, with Coffman and Dekle asking, “When should we bust in the harmonies?” right in the middle of a verse, and later commenting on the lyrics with, “Uhh, that doesn’t make any sense, what you just said.” Such off the cuff moments actually lend the record quite a bit of levity and sharply reduce the impression that Longstreth is a bit anal retentive when it comes to song arrangement. Is almost everything else pieced together in an almost ironclad fashion? For the most part, but that’s another point Longstreth is trying to make: music should inspire you and relate to you rather than simply existing in a vacuum of your own complacency. Songs like “Offspring Are Blank,” “About to Die,” “Just from Chevron” and “Impregnable Question” tackle the big topics of birth, death, environmental disaster and love, because if you write about trivial things you’ll get trivial responses to your music. The whole thing is very nicely summed up at the end of the record with “Irresponsible Tune,” where Longstreth adopts a ’50s style croon and a lone acoustic guitar to make his case. “Without songs we’re lost/and life is pointless, harsh and long,” he espouses with the same sort of tender conviction that’s so effective across the rest of the album. Even if he sang it as though he didn’t believe it, that doesn’t make the words themselves any less correct.
What makes Swing Lo Magellan such a compelling listen is that you’re never able to put it into a box or describe it to someone easily. If you’ve heard a Dirty Projectors record before then you’ve probably got a reasonable grasp on what they sound like, even if words fail you. Opening track “Offspring Are Blank,” for example, is extremely organic in its initial approach, the melody created via humming voices and the rhythms sustained by handclaps. Three kids on a school playground can recreate it, no instruments needed. Until the chorus, that is, when the sky cracks open and the electric guitars and drums come to life next to Longstreth’s soaring vocal. The dynamic shift from quiet to loud and back again calls attention to the verse-chorus-verse nature of the song while also sucking you in with a dynamite hook. On a different side of the spectrum, “Just From Chevron” has no chorus or hook, and plays out as a story where Coffman and Dekle narrate the beginning and end while Longstreth belts out a meaty lead role through the middle portion. It’s a unique way to put together a song, but the lyrics about a dying oil employee’s final words are what sell and justify its existence. If you’ve ever wanted to hear Dirty Projectors get a little psychedelic, “Maybe That Was It” is a guitar-heavy dirge that’s one of the most normal things the band has ever done. There’s nothing inherently weird about it outside of some light effects applied to Longstreth’s vocals, yet such a straightforward approach almost leaves the song sounding like the odd man out. When you’ve got a record full of handclaps, alien-like harmonies and various electronic bric-a-brac, avoiding such things can give you the impression there’s something wrong.
Similar things could be said about the title track. Longstreth’s relaxed vocal is paired with a lightly strummed acoustic guitar and a very standard, unflinching snare rhythm. As he waxes poetic over those 2.5 minutes of folk, there’s something almost Dylanesque about it. That brings up a great point: Dave Longstreth and Bob Dylan have quite a lot in common. Both are very odd and mysterious creatures, about whom we know everything and nothing at the same time. The attitudes and opinions we’re supposed to glean from the songs themselves are nearly useless, because either the lyrics are too strange to make any sense out of, or the times we do understand will be contradicted in the next song or record. Interviews are awkward, and often classified as train wrecks. Yet in description, people tend to use the words “ahead of his time.” At the end of it all, the one thing we can remain sure of is that be it Longstreth with Dirty Projectors or Dylan and his band, we will always keep expecting the unexpected. It may not always work out or be the easiest to digest, but at least they’re still trying to reach that next level of greatness. That’s more than can be said about a vast majority of artists making music today.
Plenty has been said about Billy Corgan. Too much, probably. The man has been and continues to be a polarizing figure in rock music, and when he’s not being judged for antics on stage or on records, he’s running his mouth and provoking critics or other bands. He also has the phrase “difficult to work with” tacked onto his resume, something he’s not apologetic about so long as his personal vision gets fulfilled. It’s why the original Smashing Pumpkins fell apart, and every project he’s done since then has failed to gain as much traction. Even when he reclaimed the Pumpkins moniker several years ago and unleashed the relatively forgettable Zeitgeist in 2007, the new people he was working with all eventually abandoned ship. That includes drummer Jimmy Chamberlain, the only original Smashing Pumpkins member left besides Corgan. You could almost audibly hear eyes rolling when the search for Chamberlain’s replacement became an online contest that ended with fresh-faced 19-year-old Mike Byrne earning a place alongside bassist Nicole Fiorentino and guitarist Jeff Schroeder as Corgan’s “hired hands.” These people are faceless entities compared to James Iha, D’Arcy Wretzky and Chamberlain. It’d be wrong to say they’re not good musicians though, and the last couple years of touring with this lineup has gone remarkably well for the Pumpkins Version 2.0.
Never one to sideline his ambitions, in 2009 Corgan announced the Smashing Pumpkins were embarking on a project he dubbed Teargarden By Kaleidyscope. The plan was to release the 44 tracks comprising this gigantic album in multiple pieces parsed out over time, all of it available for free download. The first two volumes, four tracks apiece, were released in 2010. A third volume was started, but has yet to be completed. Apparently the whole concept is undergoing a little bit of a makeover, as releasing music on a song-by-song basis wasn’t quite as successful as the band hoped it would be. Part of that makeover is the new album Oceania, marking a return to the full length format while still feeding into the conceptual Teargarden… whole. Maybe it’s the personnel shifts, maybe it’s the fact that they took the time to road test most of these new songs, or maybe it’s something else entirely, but these 13 songs are surprising because of the way they bring new life and a level of intelligence back to the Smashing Pumpkins name. For the first time in a long time, Corgan and friends have stumbled upon rock’s sweet spot.
Perhaps the biggest reason why Oceania is such a successful Smashing Pumpkins record is because of lowered expectations. On Zeitgeist, Corgan was creating the first Pumpkins record since 2000’s Machina II: The Friends and Enemies of Modern Music. His attempts to restart his career via Zwan and a solo record both fell flat, and reclaiming his old band name was a somewhat desperate attempt to remain relevant and prove his talents to a now jaded group of fans. It didn’t help matters that Zeitgeist was an overblown affair of psychedelic proportions as songs went longer and featured more solos than ever. Call it a case of trying too hard. After that point it became easy to write off the band as an act built for a certain time and place, both of which had long since passed by. Plenty of the die-hards stuck with them, and all the touring the last few years certainly didn’t leave many or any tickets left to sell at the door. Yet such devotion seems to have paid off, as time has allowed wounds to heal, people to forget and Corgan to get his memory back. The drive, wisdom and talent it took to craft amazing records like Gish, Siamese Dream and Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness have largely been reinstated, and the entire band plays like they’re out to prove their worth and worthiness. Only Byrne doesn’t fully succeed, simply because Chamberlain was such a powerhouse of percussion he’s irreplaceable.
Things start off strong with the acid rock riffage of “Quasar,” which bears an almost eerie resemblance to the guitar work on “Cherub Rock.” The religious affirmations he makes in the lyrics, “God right on!/Krishna right on!,” are very “Siva”-like in nature too. Such calls back to classic Pumpkins material are enough to at least inspire a little hope that maybe the band has found their mojo again. “Panopticon” holds that idea steadfast, surging ahead with confidence and intricacy before soaring into a massive chorus. “There’s a sun that shines in me,” Corgan sings at the end of the song, and for once you can almost hear him smile as he sings it. The acoustic guitars and sawing violins of “The Celestials” bring in some nice balladry reminiscent of “Disarm,” but as with almost every Corgan record, there’s a questionable lyric or two. “I’m gonna love you 101 percent,” is not one of his better moments.
What really makes Oceania tick are the transitions it goes through while you listen. It’s impeccably structured with some tracks bleeding into one another, and logical sonic progressions that never seem too far out of left field. The movement from the lighter pop-rock of “My Love Is Winter” into the synth-heavy pop of “One Diamond, One Heart” feels almost organic – their connective tissue bound by the same lyrical topic and a keyboard. Where such sonic glue is most prevalent is within the three tracks at the center of the record. The steady and beautiful “Pinwheels” flits around in its intro with some twinkling synths and cello, devolves into introspective acoustic folk then incorporates some gorgeous female backing harmonies. It feels like an appropriate slice of bread before the sandwich meat reaches your tastebuds in the form of the nine minute epic title track. Instead of simply descending into swirling psychedelic rock that was largely explored on Zeitgeist, the song instead sustains itself by continuously shifting sounds every couple minutes to keep the listener engaged. The final two minutes or so do get a little gratuitous with the guitar solos, but by that point they’re pretty much earned. The final piece of this mid-album trilogy is “Pale Horse,” a sad, pleading piano ballad that plays like a mellow version of “Thru the Eyes of Ruby.” It’s not Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness that best ties into these three songs though, it’s Adore. They might not have the electro-pop vibe of that record, but they do have the darkness and self-loathing in both lyrics and melody.
The crunchy heavy metal guitars on “The Chimera” suddenly whip Corgan and the rest of the Pumpkins out of their funk like somebody waking up from a nightmare or a bad drug trip. It’s an invigorating kick in the teeth worthy of future single status, as Corgan comes to the realization that, “All you need is you, lover/so please need me too.” Ignoring the romantic implications of the song and those lines, you could well interpret this as his desire to have the love and support of a larger and more avid fan base once again. While he’s maintained in interviews that such things aren’t important to him and all he wants to do is maintain his artistic integrity, the reach backwards and near copying of material from classic Smashing Pumpkins records on Oceania appears to suggest otherwise. Either that, or he’s just out of fresh ideas. Whatever the cause or reason may really be, there’s still something inherently exciting about having such a great ’90s band rediscover what made them great and prove there’s still plenty of life left in them. Then again when you’ve got a lineup of all new members, it’s not so much a rediscovery as it is just a discovery. If they can keep this going, we could well be looking at a new era of Smashing Pumpkins excellence. Let’s just hope Corgan remembers the many lessons he learned the first time around.
Let’s just get a couple need-to-know bits of information taken care of right away. DIIV is the band formed by Beach Fossils touring guitarist Zachary Cole Smith. They used to be called Dive, but decided a few months ago to change it because a Belgian band has been using the moniker for more than a decade. Now when you write DIIV, you’ll know exactly what band is being talked about. After signing to Captured Tracks last fall, they released a few 7″ singles to quite a bit of buzz. Their full length debut Oshin is hot off the presses, pulling together most of those singles along with a bunch of new material. As to DIIV’s sound, it fits well under the label of dream pop, but plays with the conventions of that genre just a bit to make you question whether it’s properly applied here. Many of the songs on the album are instrumental, or at least instrumental adjacent. The ones that do have lyrics are often buried, processed or echoed to the point where you can’t make out what’s being said anyways. The times you can are typically when the song title is repeated over and over again. You’re not intended to gain understanding or purpose from the words; it’s the melodies and the way they’re presented that affect your enjoyment of this record. In that sense the listening experience is like that of a post-rock album, only with each journey packed into three minutes instead of eight. Surrender yourself to the waves of guitar washing over you and get transported to another time and place. There’s plenty of beauty to be found in these tracks, but it’s often the muscular kind of Explosions in the Sky rather than the more subtle crest and fall of Sigur Ros. It’s best on display via “Doused,” which brings forth an intensity and tension the rest of the album lacks. Placed at almost the very end of the record though, it’s off-the-map thrill ride vibe feels like a reward rather than a way to show up everything that came before it. Oshin actually thrives because of the way the whole thing is arranged. Individual highlights like “Human,” “How Long Have You Known?” and “Sometime” are parsed out generously from start to finish, and though the moments in between can sometimes sound like unimportant interludes, everything is essential if you listen to the record in its entirety in order. While the shimmering guitars are probably the most stand-out thing about the album, DIIV’s secret weapon is the rhythm section. It gives the record heft and propels things forward rather than simply allowing it to float in the ether. That’s an essential component giving the band more gravitas and separating them from similar-sounding peers. Oshin might not be the home run the band was hoping to hit in their first time at bat, but it’s a very strong triple that shows serious promise for the future. You couldn’t ask for much more.
Fiona Apple is best classified as an eccentric. She’s been that way ever since her first album Tidal came out in 1996 and the video for “Criminal” was damaged, dark, skeletal, and above all memorable. That record and song catapulted her to a level of fame that isn’t handled well by everyone, let alone 19-year-olds with a history of mental and physical trauma. So you get awards show speeches claiming that the “world is bullshit” and tours get cancelled because of “personal family problems.” Even though she returned in 1999 with her sophomore album When the Pawn… which only further solidified her already large fan base, incidents like her meltdown at a show in NYC persisted to the point where she pretty much vanished entirely from the public eye. She said in interviews years later that she thought about retiring from music, and probably would have had things gone a little differently.
What wound up happening was that Apple recorded a number of songs with her friend Jon Brion in 2002-3, and the tracks were submitted to her label shortly thereafter. It’s still unclear if Sony refused to release the Extraordinary Machine album because it wasn’t commercially viable, or because Apple herself asked them not to because she was unhappy with how the songs turned out. Nevertheless tracks leaked onto the internet anyways in 2004 and 2005, and fans finding out the album had already been completed, launched a “Free Fiona” campaign to give it a proper release. Apple says she was moved by the fan support, and Mike Elizondo was brought in to officially complete the record, rebuilding many of the old tracks from scratch and producing a couple new ones as well. Despite lacking a true single, Extraordinary Machine still did reasonably well for her, selling almost half a million copies. Tours with Coldplay and Damien Rice kept her busy through much of 2006, and after a string of dates with Nickel Creek in 2007 she once again retreated into the darkness, nobody knowing exactly when or if we’d see or hear from her again.
One of Apple’s favorite things to do in L.A. is dropping in and playing a set at Largo, which she’s done a number of times. Jon Brion has a weekly residency there, and she’ll show up and mess around with him. She was performing there last November and after a fan asked if she’d play something new, she said she couldn’t remember how to play anything off her new album because it’s been done for a year. Recalling the mess leading up to Extraordinary Machine, things moved a bit quicker this time. No demos were leaked and no tracks were re-cut. Epic Records head L.A. Reid promised in January that the album would be out soon, and five months later here we are. The Idler Wheel Is Wiser Than the Driver of the Screw and Whipping Cords Will Serve You More Than Ropes Will Ever Do is not the longest title Apple has ever affixed to one of her records, but it’s still more of a mouthful to say compared to anything else released recently. This fourth long player has her teaming up with percussionist and producer Charley Drayton to make a raw and uncompromising collection of songs the likes of which she’s never quite done before. It’s not a huge directional shift that’s set to redefine her trademark sound, but a few small adjustments have been made to emphasize her particular strengths that much more.
Apple could well have gotten away with making The Idler Wheel… an entirely a capella record, and judging by the way most of the songs progress, that’s probably how it started anyways. Her voice comes first, percussion second, and piano or other instrumental flourishes third. Such an emphasis on singing means she can wrench every single painful or joyous moment out of a lyric and push it straight into your own heart. On opening track “Every Single Night,” her voice quivers and lowers to almost a whisper when singing the lines, “I just wanna feel everything.” There’s an almost childlike innocence about it, one that’s carefully balanced against her riled up anger in the chorus, as she practically shouts, “Every single night’s a fight with my brain.” Much of the record does find her battling with her personal demons. “Don’t let me/ruin me/I may need a chaperone,” she ominously sings on “Daredevil”. Those feelings only spiral down further as the song progresses, and eventually she throws a temper tantrum, demanding, “Look at! Look at! Look at! Look at me!” with such throatiness you can envision tears of anguish streaming down her face. Yet in spite of the emotions that bleed through her voice, on “Left Alone” she claims to be more in control of those things than ever. “I don’t cry when I’m sad anymore,” she confesses with a calm and even-toned demeanor that nearly betrays the scat-jazz melody built around it. Mentally drained from searching for a reason for her solitude, Apple ultimately concludes she’s sabotaging herself. “How can I ask anyone to love me/when all I do is beg to be left alone,” she cries out.
When she’s not eviscerating herself over her own perceived flaws, Apple largely sticks to the familiar topic of good relationships gone bad. Of course when you tear up your voice yelling lines like, “I ran out of white doves’ feathers to soak up the hot piss that comes from your mouth every time you address me,” as she does on “Regret,” there’s nothing familiar or normal about it. Things don’t get much better on “Valentine,” where the sprightly chorus has the lines, “I root for you/I love you,” but the verses detail a love that has gone stale. “While you were watching someone else/I stared at you and cut myself,” she bemoans somberly. Not everything on The Idler Wheel… is sad, angry or disturbing though. The piano melody of “Jonathan” brings with it feelings of dread, but the lyrics are tender and sweet. Apple wrote the song about her ex-boyfriend Jonathan Ames and has nothing but nice things to say about him. “Werewolf” is in essence a break-up song, but it puts a positive spin on things by taking an equal blame perspective and a bright outlook for the future, where “We could still support each other/all we gotta do is avoid each other.” The sound of children playing that comes in near the end of the track emphasizes the somewhat playful vibe but also adds a tinge of sadness as an expression of lost youth, innocence and a time when love was the easiest and most organic thing in the world. Similar qualities are taken on by “Anything We Want,” which is uncharacteristically optimistic at the start of a relationship that really could go anywhere. Closing track “Hot Knife” builds off that vibe in an even more celebratory way. As Apple gushes over a great relationship, harmonies build atop one another in an off-kilter fashion, each singing a different part of the song until it’s a bird’s nest of voices and you can barely make out a word. The drums fade, and the last 30 seconds are just those vocals alone, each one competing for your attention and representing the many sides of Fiona Apple.
Vocals and lyrics aside, one of the biggest keys to the success of The Idler Wheel… is Drayton’s percussion work. He gets extremely inventive with how the rhythms are put together on the album, quite literally pulling from the kitchen sink for inspiration. When some artists say they experimented with percussion outside of traditional drums by hitting objects they found around the house, you can’t always tell that’s the case. Given the sparse arrangements on this album though, every bit comes through with forceful purpose. Light double taps on a bass drum mimic a heartbeat on “Valentine.” The rhythmic push and pull on “Jonathan” could very well be that of an office copy machine spitting out page after page just slightly offset from the driving piano melody. Shoes scraping against pavement create the march-like pace on the sprightly “Periphery,” and “Anything We Want” features pots and pans and a host of other hollow metal objects being tapped with a stick. The album credits also mention that a pillow was hit for percussionary purposes as well, however it’s not exactly clear when and where that happens (not that it matters). All of it contributes to the record’s unique charms, of which there are many. Apple has never made an album quite like this before, and it represents a seismic shift in the way we perceive her both professionally and personally. She’s still the same unbalanced and somewhat damaged girl we met over 15 years ago, but now more than ever she’s in control of her demons. A new sense of freedom comes along with that, and she takes full advantage of it. Those looking for the next “Criminal” or “Fast As You Can” will be left sorely disappointed. But if you pay close attention to the lyrics and allow yourself to fully engage with these songs, you’ll find a wealth of power, beauty, anger and tragedy poured out with the intent of reaching even the most hardened of hearts. It might not be the easiest thing to listen to, but nothing this brilliant ever is.
One of the greatest challenges about the dance music genre is how easily things can become stale. If dance artists aren’t consistently evolving from record to record, they’re prone to stagnation and may fizzle out. Don’t ever let the beat drop or let your audience get bored. James Murphy as LCD Soundsystem played his cards almost exactly right, crafting three of the best dance records so far this decade, each one building off the previous one, before calling it quits at the top of his game. Not every attempt at reinvention works out though, as best evidenced by Justice’s most recent effort Audio, Video, Disco, which boldly sought to bring bits of 70’s prog-rock into their club-heavy, pop single sound. Nice thought, but the end result was far weaker than it could have been.
Hot Chip probably fall towards the middle of the pack when it comes to building a successful career in dance music. Their 2005 debut album Coming On Strong was filled with smarmy bedroom pop, the kind that needed work instrumentally but was quite funny lyrically. Building off that, 2006’s The Warning hit almost all the right notes and generated hits like “Boy From School” and “Over and Over.” That trend continued on 2008’s Made in the Dark, though it peppered in more mature themes and slower balladry to calm the waters a bit. Such an adjustment suggested they were growing up, but the end results were more mixed and off-balance, like a teen going through puberty. 2010’s One Life Stand was the band’s full-on attempt at maturity and adulthood. It was a skillfully moderated meditation on love and settling down and the pleasure one could derive from that, and many loved how well it balanced the band’s celebratory and fun side with something calmer and more mature. Others balked under the impression that a more domesticated and ballad-dominant version of Hot Chip wasn’t what they signed up for based on their earlier material. In the time since that last record, band members took time out to work on some side projects. About Group, The 2 Bears and New Build were the three results, and while each carved their own distinct paths musically, they all had one thing in common: an upbeat and playful demeanor.
Thankfully, that seems to be where the members of Hot Chip’s heads are on their new album In Our Heads. This past March, Joe Goddard said in an interview that they intended for the album to exude “positivity.” That means an increase in tempos and moods and a return to some of the dance-addled style their first couple records played up so well. This time though, the band isn’t retreating so much as they are refining. The lessons learned in One Life Stand are not lost, but incorporated into the album both lyrically and in how some of the songs are structured. The electro-funk of “How Do You Do?” might function as the best distillation of what the entire record is about, with a chorus that includes the line, “You make me want to live again.” “Dont Deny Your Heart” smartly lays out a case for why a partner should “say yes” to love, using an 80’s-style synth pop base to make it that much more memorable.
Perhaps the greatest moments on In Our Heads come from the longest songs. It’s not because they’re long that makes them good, it just so happens to work out that way. The seven minutes of “Flutes” makes for one of the darkest yet most exciting tracks on the album. It’s a swirling techno beast that morphs into this shining dance party pillar before you can fully grasp what’s going on. Hot Chip have never made a song quite like it before, and it speaks exceptionally well towards their continuing evolution as a band. The same can be said for “Let Me Be Him,” which brilliantly skirts the line between ballad and dance track by placing a soft rock melody atop skittering beats. The longer it glides, the more beautiful it becomes, eventually breaking down into bird chirps and spaced out electric guitars that will make you salivate with sheer passion. Joe Goddard and Alexis Taylor’s vocals swim in these fertile waters and set the right tone thanks to a line like, “My soul, my love is running away with me.” Played differently, the song could very well have fallen into the realm of excess or even poorly concocted parody. Its escape from such a fate only makes it stronger.
For those that prefer their Hot Chip funky and loud, as on a past single like “Ready for the Floor,” In Our Heads has “Night & Day” for your enjoyment. The groove is built around a wobbly bass line, and the chorus splits open with some laser-guided synths that send things into the stratosphere. Hot Chip’s trademark humor is well in place too, and if the video for the song doesn’t cause you to crack a smile, hopefully the deadpan faux rapping during the bridge will. “These Chains” also does excellent work by playing the darker cousin of “Boy From School,” quietly pulsating as Taylor and Goddard trade verses and harmonize with one another. It’s one of the record’s more subtle numbers, but pay close enough attention and you’ll find it sticking with you far longer than expected.
The greatest thing about In Our Heads is how ecstatic and joyful Hot Chip sound from start to finish. As One Life Stand could be a bit of a drag for those seeking the band that churns out dance hit after dance hit, that album remains a necessary step in their continued growth. Finally reaching maturity and adulthood doesn’t always mean putting away childish things though. In fact, maintaining a positive attitude and staying active can help keep you young. That seems to be the lesson the band is trying to teach us with this record. Even as they sing about love and holding onto the key relationships in your life, they’re still compelled to craft melodies that bring a euphoria of a different sort. Whether that pleasure lasts a minute or a lifetime, Hot Chip seem intent on spreading and sharing it with us. We should consider ourselves lucky.
One of the most fascinating things about Kristian Matsson is how he’s able to take very familiar folk sounds and turn them into something that seems fresh and exciting. His first two albums as The Tallest Man on Earth were built solely on his raspy vocal and either an acoustic guitar or a piano. The songs are also almost entirely home recorded outside of a traditional studio, giving them an additional ramshackle quality that speaks well to Bob Dylan’s earliest material. Matsson is from Sweden, but he uses and reveres classic American folk as his template. His last full length The Wild Hunt was very propulsive and catchy, with an emotional core that often made you feel like the man was playing as if his life depended on it. Just listening to him wail on “You’re Going Back” or “King of Spain” either sucked you in completely or left you out in the cold, as his abrasive yet heartfelt vocal isn’t exactly everyone’s cup of tea. On his third long player There’s No Leaving Now, the gears have slightly changed (or evolved, if you will) for The Tallest Man on Earth. The music still retains that slightly gritty, home recorded quality, however Matsson plays around with multi-tracking a little, creating fuller arrangements with more instruments. “Revelation Blues” is where the extra bits are most evident – a lightly brushed snare drum along with small flourishes of piano and woodwinds compliment the main melody strung together by a carefully picked guitar. Other than that, only the occasional slide guitar on top of an acoustic is an indicator there’s more instrumentation than usual. The alt-country quiet of “Bright Lanterns” is probably where that’s implemented best. Outside of the guitar-driven tracks, the title track differentiates itself simply by being a piano-centered ballad in the same vein of “Kids on the Run” from the last record. Matsson does an excellent job wrenching the sadness out of the song. Such powerful displays of emotion were some of The Wild Hunt‘s strongest points. There’s No Leaving Now loses some of that primarily due to more languid and relaxed melodies where the vocals don’t require so many acrobatics. The album’s two most energized songs “1904” and “Wind and Walls” are also two of its best, even though their lyrics don’t entirely make sense. It’s the way he sings lines like, “But the lesson is vague and the lightning shows a deer with her mind on the moor/and now something with the sun is just different/since they shook the earth in 1904,” that somehow makes them seem far more coherent than they appear when written down. Still, not everything on the record is so convincing or vibrant, as songs like “Leading Me Now” and “Little Brother” breeze past pleasantly but forgettably too. Matsson can and has done better work than this, and three albums in it might be time to start asking if his particular troubadour brand of folk is wearing a bit thin. It’s nice to hear him spreading his wings just a little and fleshing out some of the tracks a bit more, but it means very little in the end if the songs aren’t worthy of that expansion. Ironically, There’s No Leaving Now often comes off like Matsson has gone away on vacation, perhaps to the beach depicted on the album cover. Wonderful as it can be to take some time for yourself and forget about your troubles, it’s no way to live. Sooner or later the world will come find you. Let’s hope for the next album that The Tallest Man on Earth pulls his head out of the clouds and reconnects with the emotions and excitement that made his earlier records so vital and fascinating.
When talking about the self-titled debut album from POP ETC, it’s almost essential to forget what you know and think you know about The Morning Benders. The storyline plays out as follows: upon learning that their band name was being used as a homophobic slur in the UK, The Morning Benders made the executive decision to change their name to POP ETC. With the name change came a lineup tweak and a move from San Francisco to Brooklyn. It’s close to the musical equivalent of gender reassignment or witness protection, and such radical adjustments also provide the opportunity to reinvent yourself however you like. The old Morning Benders liked guitars and indie pop. They wrote a super catchy song like “Excuses” that found placement in a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups commercial and on “Best of” lists back in 2010. They corralled their musician friends from San Francisco like John Vanderslice and members of Girls into a small studio to play a song or two for fun.
By contrast, POP ETC like synths and commercial pop music. They use AutoTune liberally and even apply it to a cover of Bjork’s “Unravel”. They release mixtapes titled “New Influences Weekend Mix” and “1986 Weekend Mix” full of artists like Mariah Carey, Janet Jackson, Tears for Fears and Boys II Men. The moving parts might be the same, but this is an entirely new model and should be regarded as such. Those still in denial need only listen to the appropriately titled opening track “New Life” on POP ETC’s new album to best understand the group’s aim. Synths warble next to drum machines, and singer Chris Chu mourns the death of a relationship through R&B flavored sentiments and AutoTune. Somewhere, the 808s & Heartbreak version of Kanye West can relate. Top 40 and Urban radio stations should be licking their chops over the sparkling Drake-like bounce of “Back to Your Heart,” if only the lyrics weren’t so cringe-worthy. “She said, ‘Why do we bother?’/and I said, ‘I’m not your father,'” is just one moment in the song that might make you wince. First single “Keep It For Your Own” is perhaps the best four minutes of pure pop on the entire album, where light bits of acoustic guitar, bass and piano actually support the verses, the hook in the chorus is strong, and all the vocals/harmonies haven’t been modulated. It’s the only track on the record produced by Danger Mouse, and considering how well it works, they might want to have him do the entire thing next time.
So much of the rest of the album feels like a blatant attempt at mainstream pop it can be almost disturbing at times. “R.Y.B.” stands for rock your body, and not only did Justin Timberlake do a song about that very topic that was a whole lot better, but it’s easy to get the impression that ‘NSYNC would probably pass on it too. That and closing track “Yoyo” are both obnoxiously loud too, as if the synths have been turned up to 11 to distract you from how utterly mediocre they are. The faux R&B seductions of “Live It Up” and “I Wanna Be Your Man” have decent melodies and even some impressive harmonies in them, but stumble and fall from downright painful lyrics. “I ain’t never disrespect no woman/never called a girl a ho,” Chu AutoTunes on “Live It Up,” a song about sleeping with groupies while on tour. The chorus of “I Wanna Be Your Man” is the song title repeated over and over and over again ad nauseum, to the point where if you play this song for a girl you’re trying to woo she’ll likely say yes by the halfway point so the begging doesn’t have to go on any longer. You could say POP ETC are trying as hard as they can to develop a relationship with as many people as possible on this album, beating you over the head with a sonic lead pipe until you finally come around to the idea that they’re a good band.
They’d fare far better with a touch of moderation, as songs like “Halfway to Heaven” and “Everything Is Gone” display. Unfortunately such moments are too few and far between to make much of a difference. One thing that does make a difference is how and where you listen to the album. Like a blockbuster action film, sometimes you need a good popcorn record to mindlessly enjoy for awhile. If you’re out on a deck with a cold beverage and a good book or are at a party with your friends, a little POP ETC can be quite nice. Don’t be too surprised if the band starts to pick up some mainstream success from this album either. I mean it IS better than Ke$ha. That last sentence probably tells you all you need to know. In an ideal world, the transition from The Morning Benders to POP ETC would have gone a lot smoother. Chris Chu has proven he can write smart and addictive pop songs with guitars, and it stands to reason he could do the same without them. Let’s hope that next time the band returns they learn from this misstep and come up with some music that’s truly worthy of their new name.
Liars are undoubtedly a talented band. They’re also impressively weird, to the point where even some of their most hardcore fans have probably felt a little alienated at times. In effect, they are the onion of bands: multi-layered, not for everybody, and sometimes they’ll draw tears from your eyes. If you’re listening to “The Other Side of Mt. Heart Attack”, those tears might be the result of sheer beauty, whereas “Scarecrows On A Killer Slant” could easily bring forth tears of terror. So yeah, it’s not easy to pigeonhole Liars, and they seem to like it that way. Not knowing what to expect from them on each new album is an exciting proposition, even if it doesn’t always work out. For the most part they’ve been smart with career twists and turns, jumping from a concept record about witches (They Were Wrong, So We Drowned) to one that places a huge emphasis on percussion (Drum’s Not Dead) and then attempting to grind out something more straightforwad with heavy post-punk leanings (Sisterworld). On their new album WIXIW, the band once again explores new territory, this time peeling away most of the guitars and focusing on programmed beats and electronica elements. Many are calling it a “Kid A-like shift”, in reference to Radiohead’s steep change in sonic direction after the immense success of OK Computer. Liars frontman Angus Andrew even sounds a little like Thom Yorke on a couple tracks, perhaps most notably on “Ill Valley Prodigies” and “His and Mine Sensations”. Apt as those comparisons might be, the last thing you want to do is try and imitate a record that many believe was the finest thing released in the last dozen or so years. The band hasn’t said that was their intention, so maybe the similarities are wholly accidental. Really the whole “abandon instruments and go electronica” thing has become a plague among artists in recent years, with most citing the apparent limits that guitar and drum combinations have versus the wider realm of programmed sounds. That’s the main reason why Liars did it too, as they’ve said in recent interviews. Hell, that’s probably Radiohead’s excuse as well, only they did it before it was cool. Parts of WIXIW feel like a cop-out because of it though. It’s as if the band has lost confidence in their own ability to generate something original, so they’re creating new music based on sounds and influences they know are cool at the moment. That doesn’t mean the record is terrible or devoid of original ideas though. Opening track “The Exact Colour of Doubt” features calming waves of synths and handclap percussion that is downright beautiful. Single “No. 1 Against the Rush” glides, pulses and tinkers in a very Brian Eno-like fashion, even evolving the final minute of the song into a touch of instrumental madness. Those moments when Liars can condense some of their best elements from earlier records into the more electro-based structures are what work best. The rhythmically complex and bassline-driven madness of “Brats” is the band’s classic rave-up with a synth-etic twist, and “A Ring On Every Finger” puts a Depeche Mode spin on some of their favorite tribal rhythms. Most of these songs are interesting at least in concept, and the closer attention you lend them the more carefully composed they seem. That your perception of this record can change over time definitely makes it worth repeat examinations, even if those changes cause you to like it less. When you’re Liars, that comes with the territory. WIXIW may not be the shining moment for this band, and their own bout of self-doubt spawning its creation isn’t helping, but nobody else could have made this album. Sometimes that’s enough.
Japandroids are a band with an expiration date. The Vancouver duo crafted their last album Post-Nothing with the thought they’d be breaking up soon thereafter, having not found success in the relatively unsupportive music scene of their hometown. That record was in essence a mission statement from two guys that had nothing left to lose and wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. Well, it seems that glory found them, because their song “Young Hearts Spark Fire” did as its title described and ignited the passions of rock fans across the globe. The entire album actually did wonders for the band, and two years of touring with large crowds suddenly made returning to a much more normal, non-music life a far less appealing option. As much as they dislike recording, it remains an essential part of any artist’s shelf life to keep generating new material. So with the exact same collection of people, instruments and rules they had on their last album, Japandroids set out to see if lightning could strike twice. Celebration Rock is the result. While the artwork, 8 song track list and running time might well have been photocopied from Post-Nothing, the songs themselves represent a very important progression for the band. First and foremost, the very internal and personal nature of the songs has been excised to focus on bigger emotions and an outward projection. The tortured thoughts of two guys on the verge of imploding their band have been replaced by songs about other people, possibly you, that want to live and party and lust and take revenge – sometimes all at the same time. The music plays along with that vibe too; there’s a distinct hunger and energy present in Brian King’s guitar riffs and Dave Prowse’s drumming that’s designed for bigger and better things. Whereas before they were making music for themselves, now they’re making it for their fans. Opening track “The Nights of Wine and Roses” sets the tone perfectly for the rest of the record, saying we’re all drinking and smoking and spending time with friends while waiting for the big and important moments in our lives to finally arrive. The lesson learned in the end is that those big and important moments are the ones where you’re waiting. The supercharged kick in the teeth that starts the album holds up in all its headbanging, devil horns and mosh pit glory through “Fire’s Highway”, “Evil’s Sway” and an effervescent cover of Gun Club’s “For the Love of Ivy”. They truly epitomize what the album’s title is all about. At the halfway point however, a shift takes place that changes the dynamic of the record. Rather than racing for the finish line in blistering fashion, they temper the energy only slightly and go for more of an emotional and nostalgic approach. “Adrenaline Nightshift” evokes some of the best moments The Replacements ever had sonically while tapping into abstract imagery like “a blitzkrieg love and a Roman candle kiss” and espousing that “there’s no high like this.” A similar mentality is tackled in “Younger Us”, reflecting back on youthful indiscretions with a bunch of “remember when”‘s and “thinking that this feeling was never gonna end.” But those two tracks really wind up as stepping stones for “The House That Heaven Built”, a crossroads at which the band’s intense instrumentals and recent lyrical prowess collide at their peaks. As the song chugs along with sheer purpose, King sings like he’s just achieved a newfound clarity and confidence in his life and wants to pass such wisdom onto us. “If they try to slow you down/tell ’em all to go to hell,” he professes like a man that has broken through all of his boundaries and is utterly ecstatic at the possibilities that lie before him. If that doesn’t suck you in, the hook most assuredly will. Celebration Rock ends on a ballad, or at least something that turns the speed and noise down from 11 to maybe a 9.5. “Continuous Thunder” is about the electricity between two people and the question of whether they can salvage their tenuous relationship. It might not be the happiest song on the record, but it does strive to keep the same sense of boldness and conviction as everything else. As the guitars finally drift off gently into that good night, the album’s final seconds are the same as its first: the sound of fireworks. We use those pyrotechnics only in the most joyous and exclamatory circumstances, such as weddings or after a home run in baseball. On Celebration Rock, Japandroids knock one out of the park.
