A phosphene is the experience of seeing light when none has actually entered your eyes; it’s where the phrase “seeing stars” comes from, and common causes include rubbing your eyes or being hit in the head. It’s the perfect name for the indie shoegaze trio from Oakland, whose latest EP, Breaker, is the sonic equivalent of a light in the distance. Sometimes it’s a warm glow, like on “Hear Me Out,” or flickering, like on “Ride.”
On one of Phosphene‘s best tracks, “Rogue,” it’s like neon sign, steady and bright, with a surge before burning out completely. The lyrics will resonate with anyone who takes the subway, though they namedrop the Bay Area’s version of the MTA: “BART is rocking me to sleep/ It keeps reminding/ Me of the loves I can’t keep.” There’s a nice current that runs through the five songs, all wrapped up in a dreamy haze, worth checking out when you need to light up your life a little bit. Check out Breaker by Phosphene, below:
Premiering today on AudioFemme is Sam Greens’ new EP “Rugs.” In addition to composing his own experimental music, the Philadelphia artist has also worked as an engineer, and produced or mixed for variety of artists including Neef, Tunji Ige, GrandeMarshall, Rome Fortune and Spank Rock. His latest release, the EP “Rugs,” will be released May 13 via Rare MP3s and Grind Select.
My favorite kind of electronic music is the kind where you can’t immediately identify the human behind it. That’s why “Rugs” is so endearing; it sounds like a robot gained sentience but instead of overthrowing the human race, it decided to make some sick beats instead.
That doesn’t mean it doesn’t have a lot of personality. Each track creates a distinct mood, from the celebratory “Soft Rugs” to the tough “SJMZ” (which features guest artist Jonah Baseball). Another local electronic artist, Moon Bounce, contributes soulful vocals on “Annuals,” while “Riding Shotgun” features a catchy refrain with a jazzy background. There’s an underlying, but not overwhelming quirkiness to the five songs. Production is more focused on creating the perfect atmosphere and letting choice elements stand out instead of throwing a million meaningless details into each track, and the result is as interesting as it is chill.
Grind Select focuses on interactive listening experiences, and this EP is no exception. Just follow this link, and you can create a digital drawing that pulses and changes color with the beat of “Soft Rugs.”
Listen to our exclusive stream of Rugs below, and pre-order it here.
It doesn’t matter if you’ve never heard of Meilyr Jones, or his former band Race Horses. It doesn’t matter if you think Jones is English, when in fact, he’s a Welshman. It doesn’t even matter if you’re stumped on how exactly to pronounce “Meilyr”-because an authoritative voice tells you within the first 30 seconds of 2013’s opening track “How To Recognise A Work of Art.”
These things cease to matter, not because they are uninteresting, but because it is such a great record that it speaks for itself. It stands on its own two feet.
2013is many things-a contemporary foray into baroque and renaissance influences, a brilliant pop record, a sonic odyssey with innumerable peaks and valleys. But it is also a love letter to Rome, the breeding ground for many of songs on the album. After the disbandment of Race Horses and the end of a relationship, Jones romantically fled to the ancient city, catalyzed by reading art history texts and Byron’s Don Juan. “I got really taken over by the feeling of adventure and passion in Byron, and some of Shelley’s poetry and Keats as well. And they were all people who went to Rome.” Jones mentioned in a press release.
And so along with everything else, 2013 has yet another incarnation, as a scrapbook of Jones’s time in Rome, and everything he loves in general. “I wanted to make something that felt right to me and expressed my interests, which are classical music and rock ‘n’ roll music, and films, and nature and karaoke, and tacky stuff,” Jones says. “And I wanted to capture that feeling in Rome of high culture and low-brow stuff all mixed together.” For a record so difficult to nail down, it is comforting to know that such a stew of influences went into making it.
It might amaze you, as it did me, that five of the twelve tracks on 2013 were recorded live in all of one day with a 30 plus piece orchestra that Jones assembled himself. Jones told press that he “wanted to record it completely live. The idea was doing it like a Frank Sinatra session.” And that idea certainly comes across in the grand arrangements Jones has served up.
He’s a songwriter with big ideas, delivering lofty compositions of the finest kind. “How To Recognise A Work Of Art” confirms the pop chops Jones has been refining since his days in Race Horses, the sweeping orchestral arrangements bringing a whole new dimension to otherwise infectious hooks.
“Don Juan” slows the record down to a honeyed melancholy, which is the only place to go after a banger such as “How To Recognise A Work Of Art.” Inspired by the same poem that led him to Italy, “Don Juan” is a nod to the baroque with subtle harpsichord and recorder riffs. The opening notes remind me of the exoticism found in The Stranglers’ “Golden Brown,” a similar genre-bending track. While straying from gimmick, “Don Juan” does render a lush image of open-bloused sirs flung upon velvet divans, drinking not from cups, but goblets.
One of the most compelling aspects of Jones’s songs is that they behave more like Classical compositions or film scores than traditional pop music. They never end where they began, and traverse twisting paths the whole way through. “Passionate Friend” thumps along like the opening number in a sinister musical, the first words to which are nearly whispered by Jones: “Sometimes I am with the witches//on fire, fast and ruined//sometimes all around, with the honey in me, I quicken.”
“Refugees” is the emotional core of 2013, seemingly the most obvious breakup song. The leading single off the record, it is the first song I heard by Meilyr Jones, and it continues to resonate deeply with me. It is spare enough to exhibit his incredible talent; there are no bells, whistles, or harpsichords, just Jones at the piano with his striking choirboy voice.
2013 is an album in two acts, bisected on either side of “Rain In Rome,” an instrumental that melds organ with pattering raindrops and violent applause. It is a joyous palette cleanser, as the remainder of the album will volley from straight up rock with “Strange Emotional” to classical dramas such as “Return To Life” and “Olivia,” the latter of which features an operatic choir. There is a lot going on here, but I wouldn’t change it a bit.
I could all too easily write a synopsis of every track on this record, which is something I am rarely compelled to do…but 2013 is that wonderful. There isn’t a mediocre song on it. If you like Kate Bush, Van Morrison, The Zombies, if you like classical, eccentric, baroque, chamber, psychedelic, garage, or just slickly written pop, I recommend, beg, entreat you: give Meilyr Jones a chance. You will never be bored again.
Winterpills just released their latest full-length, Love Songs, which is aptly named because it’s a collection of songs that you’ll be absolutely in love with. The whole album is everything we’ve come to expect and appreciate from Winterpills, meaning that it’s perfect for relaxing to as well as for hosting private singing/dance parties.
The album starts out with the slow yet entrancing “Incunabala” where you’ll find yourself completely captivated by the plucky guitar chords. From there, we’re met with the substantially more upbeat “Celia Johnson.” The track sees singers Flora Reed and Philip Price matching one another’s vocals perfectly while accompanied with some slick keys and cheerful guitar riffs.
By the album’s midpoint, you reach “The Swimmers and the Drowned,” which works well to shake up the piece’s vibe. It’s the type of track where you’re the heavy bassline grabs your attention immediately. You’ll find yourself listening intently to the lyrics as soon as Price and Reed chime in together so you can figure out the story they’re trying to tell. “Bringing Down the Body Count” sees Reed leading the vocals on this slow and somber track, full of heavy guitar chords and tinkling keys. From there, it only makes sense to close out Love Songs with “Diary, Reconstructed” and “It Will All Come Back to You.” The two ballad-esque tracks feature Price’s raw and vulnerable vocals alongside tender keys, brass, and guitar.
Winterpills as a whole is full of passion and has certainly figured out the recipe for working perfectly with one another. “Love Songs” is just a testament to these facts.
Key Tracks: “Celia Johnson,” “Freeze Your Light,” “A New England Deluge,” “Bringing Down the Body County”
Listen to “We’ll Bring You Down” off their album Central Chambers below:
There’s something inherently chill and laid-back about HÆLOS, which becomes immediately obvious upon clicking play on their latest full-length, Full Circle. It starts off with an ominous intro track that leads you into an enchanting whirlwind in the form of the song “Pray,” transporting you through realms that seemingly span the course of years. James Sandom and Jessica Lord’s voices swirl together in ethereal tones, complementing one another in all the right ways while floating along on perfectly matched synths from track to track.
The titular track meets you almost in the middle of the album, and unsurprisingly, it feels like the epitome of the album’s intention: otherworldly yet transformative. From there you reach “Oracle” at the album’s mid-point, which feels like a big turning point in the piece. It’s refreshing and rejuvenating, holding a promise of enticing music to come that practically carries you through the rest of the album. Full Circle closes out with “Cloud Nine” and “Pale,” two tracks that are packed full of emotion and leave you with the hope for more from HÆLOS.
Full Circle flows seamlessly, and by the end, you truly feel as if you’ve come full circle in a musical sense. It’s an aural blessing, one which you won’t be able to get enough of. The album will be out tomorrow, March 18 through Matador Records.
Museyroom is named after a reference from Finnegans Wake, James Joyce’s last book that is widely regarded as having an experimental style meant to “recreate the experience of sleep and dreams.” According to the Brooklyn trio, it describes “a sort of alternate dimension the group would create with its musical output, sonically mirroring an unexplored, variable universe.”
Like the plot of the book, the band’s upcoming album, Pearly Whites, is elusive but captivating. Their sound seems to exist in two worlds at once, due to the seamless mix of ancient and modern elements. Mournful organ, Victorian-esque keys and harp-like guitar plucking will give way to electronic drums or synth. Long, drawn out harmonies give the feeling that the band is holding on to the past as the floorboards tilt and they’re thrown into the present, while the oohs and aaahs on “Ranger” sound like a haunting by friendly ghosts. They tag themselves with the phrase “future nostalgia,” and rightfully so.
Jack Donovan’s voice has this pleasant, conversational quality to it, making even the gloomiest lyrics sound like they’re not so bad, from his lament about a “miserable routine” on “Ballad” or an experience of being “down on your knees, trying to breathe/ On wet tiles in the bath” on “Sleeper.”Pearly Whites has some ominous undertones, but they’re buried under a haze of soft guitars and gentle melodies; the album is pretty and calm on the surface, but for those who want more, there’s plenty to find if they dive to the bottom.
Pearly Whites will be available on March 25 via Grind Select. Check out their video for “Ballad” below.
Glancing at the tracklist for Money’s sophomore LP Suicide Songs, one might suspect singer/songwriter Jamie Lee has a tenuous relationship with subtlety. Titular track aside, the record touts audacious titles such as “Cocaine Christmas and an Alcoholic’s New Year” and opening anthem “I am the Lord.” The album art is no less provocative, featuring a par-naked Lee balancing a knife on his forehead. Though these names and images may seem flippant on paper, the gorgeous density of Money’s music elevates them contextually; there isn’t a scrap of irony to be had here.
The Mancunian band made a grand entrance with their debut record The Shadow of Heaven(Bella Union) in 2013, a dazzling hymnal pop opus that is nothing if not beautiful and original. The album dealt with dense themes, manifesting in songs such as “So Long (God is Dead)” and “The Cruelty of Godliness.”
In keeping with the last record, Lee is approaching concepts laden with baggage and trying to look at them from a different vantage point, perhaps imbuing them with new meaning along the way.
“Above all else, I’m just trying to project and portray a poetic truth,” Lee said in a press release. “Suicide is about anonymity, to the point where you don’t exist, which I definitely feel in my songwriting and as a person. But rather than writing myself out of anonymity, I want to remain there, in this record at least. It’s recognizing a kind of sacrificial nature, in making artistic choices. By rummaging around in your feelings and trying to make sense of life, to the detriment of your health, there might be some poetic value to what you have created.”
In a strange way, despite the intensity of Suicide Songs, it does seem Lee has achieved a sort of anonymity, if only due to the force of the album’s instrumental arrangements. His vocals are less pristine on this new material…there is a drunk and snarling slouch to them, and they easily surrender to the orchestral maelstrom of each track. He sounds raw, worn and drowned by desperation, but with good reason. In a press release, Lee confirms that he “wanted the album to sound like it was ‘coming from death’ which is where these songs emerged.”
It seemed that The Shadow Of Heaven would be a difficult act to follow up, but this new record is nowhere near slumping. Instead, it’s leaping upwards towards vast sonic peaks employing horns, strings, choirs, sorrow, and pandemonium. It is, in a word, a BIG album. Sprawling and open, it practically generates its own tidal system.
“I am the Lord” kicks off with lulling strings that resolve to twanging guitar. It builds with atmospheric hand drums, and ghostly harmonies reminiscent of Cocteau Twins. Lee diminishes the implication of the song’s title when he sings “I don’t want to be god, I just don’t want to be human.” It’s the kind of otherworldly, yet oddly relatable statement that has become Money’s lyrical trademark.
Part lullaby, part funeral ballad, “You Look Like a Sad Painting on Both Sides of the Sky” is a strangely sweet song. It is one of the more sonically sparse offerings on the record, sticking to hushed acoustic guitar and piano, with understated drums and cello. But its pretty simplicity doesn’t ebb its melancholy. In fact, the contrast seems to heighten our sense of woe as Lee belts out lines such as: “there will be music all around, when they put me in the ground.”
The entire album is rife with this sort of tension, whether it lies in the discrepancy between lyrical content and the key of the song, or Lee’s ability as a composer to make you feel uplifted and miserable at the same time. This isn’t a record for people who like background music. The closer you listen, the more nuances you can enjoy. It’s a piece of work that unfurls more with every play.
In “Night Came” Lee establishes himself as a modern maestro of crescendo. The track commences in sprawling, muted riffs only to rise steadily into a skyward collision. But the album’s most powerful track is without a doubt “All My Life,” a banging six and a half minutes of heartrending majors and plummeting minor chords. This is Lee at his biggest, holding nothing back. Not reverb, not gospel harmonies, not lead guitar, and certainly not a full drum kit. But once again, the emotive scale of the song is undercut by bleak lyrics. In the chorus Lee confesses “all my life I’ve been searching for something, so I always ended up with nothing,” a truth that leaves him neither here nor there.
Part of what makes this record so great is that it was composed as nothing less than an album; as a continuous narrative in which each song sonically relates to the next, like chapters in a book. While so many contemporary LPs seem thrown together as a compilation of disparate tracks, Suicide Songs maintains a dense thread throughout its 42 minutes. And this thread is as much formal as it is textual. Lee delivers a consistent dose of heady subject matter, yes, but he’s also managed to arrange this album to bear the aural equivalent of dramatic structure; grabbing our attention with “I am the Lord,” building to the crashing climax of “All My Life,” and settling with “Cocaine Christmas and an Alcoholic’s New Year” (the latter having Lee at his most Tom Waits).
At the end of the day, Lee does seem to prefer the overt to the subtle, as he plainly explains that “the record is morbid and bleak, and never resolves itself. The only real kind of triumphant realization is being able to express the morbidity of the situation I found myself in.” It’s the kind of statement you’d expect from someone like Lee, a self-effacing British musician, but I’d say that Suicide Songs is triumphant all on its own. Period.
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There’s something unidentifiably exciting about Stef Chura. It would be an easy out to say her warbled, playful vocal contortions are the key to her aforementioned excitability, which are undoubtedly fearless and perfectly flawed. Last month, I referred to her vocal playground as one crafted by Karen O meets Johnathon Richman, but with the recent release of “Slow Motion” off of her up and coming album Messes, I can see how I quickly generalized her aesthetic. Chura creates space and fills it with confessionary uncertainty. What Chura is doing is entirely all her own.
“Slow Motion” encapsulates personal frustration and manages to make a lo-fi cry for clarity anthemic for anyone who has ever wanted to control the speed of their own reality. The lyrics “you bottle/me in your pocket and explode/give me something/and I don’t know what it’s for/and right when it starts/ to feel like home/it’s time to go” paints an universal exploration of impermanence in feeling comfortable with ourselves as individuals, as well as our comfortability as a piece of our respective social quilt. With Ryan Clancy on drums and producer Fred Thomas on bass, Chura’s vocals are practically framed by the jumpy, hazy rhythms allowing her to use her beautifully tortured voice to maim and repair parts of the song at her leisure.
The video, which is a desaturated Microsoft Paint snack party in Detroit’s UFO Factory bathroom (inarguably the most popular bar bathroom for selfies) poses Chura as an unenthused guest of honor surrounded by balloons, toilet snacks, and a listless oversized stuffed bear. Shot by internationally acclaimed digital artist and Detroit implant Molly Soda, “Slow Motion” is a vivid collaboration between wanting to feel part of a whole and wanting to fall apart, whisked together with whimsy and an old screensaver from the 90’s. The party gets tripped out and psychedelically rambunctious as the guests go crazy with silly string and happy face balloons that seem melancholic in context. The video is a play on party culture and for Detroiters, gives a voice to an iconic space while touching base with those deep-rooted sad girl vibes, that need someone like Chura to portray with sincerity and unapologetic malaise.
Berkeley-born and Brooklyn-based trio POP ETC are back with Souvenir, a follow up to 2012’s eponymous release.
In the last three years, the band has traversed in an even poppier direction, almost a little cheesy. But in a time when “pop” is considered an obscenity, a genre to be left for the tweens, POP ETC makes something shimmer on Souvenir.
The first single, “What Am I Becoming?” stands out as one of my favorite tracks, right next to the relentlessly catchy “Vice,” where lead singer Chris Chu sings, “You’ve got that vice that I like/No matter how hard I fight/It takes a hold of me right now.”
“Your Heart is a Weapon” and “Running in Circles” most clearly relay the 80’s synth-pop feel dominating the album. Slowing it down, “I Wanted to Change the World But the World Changed Me” (apart from being a mouthful of a title) is set in motion by a catchy guitar hook immediately reminiscent of “No Scrubs” by TLC.
The album is sprinkled with bits of R&B influence throughout, and it’s fair to assume these guys have spent some time listening to the likes of both Duran Duran and Mariah, and everything in between.
Perhaps that explains where the “et cetera” comes from.
There’s a clearly deliberate cohesion on Souvenir that was lacking on the overdone POP ETC. Simplifying the production and easing up on the auto-tune makes for a delightful listen, and a pretty good dance party playlist for fans of other contemporary indie pop artists like Ra Ra Riot or Washed Out.
The boys are currently on tour with Oh Wonder, and will be playing Music Hall of Williamsburg this Friday and Bowery Ballroom on Saturday.
Self deprecation abounds on Stove’s Is Stupider. It opens with “Stupider,” followed by “Stupid,” and later on, “Stupidest” and “Dumboy.” The record art labels Side A as “Side Stupid,” and Side B as “Side Beer.”
But for Steve Hartlett, who wrote all the songs and played all of the instruments on Is Stupider, stupid doesn’t necessarily mean a lack of knowledge, but maybe isolation, and a lack of identity; Hartlett created Stove after the dissolution of his former group, Ovlov. Stove is a combination of the words Steve and Ovlov. The struggle to find himself is a theme that runs throughout the album. It starts with the 20 second opener “Stupid,” which explains “Don’tknow who I am/ So I act like who I’m with.” He then addresses himself (or possibly a cat with the same name) on “Wet Food,” asking “Steve, where’d you go?” And “Dusty Tree” made the perfect Thanksgiving soundtrack, as it explores alienation from one’s own family: “Don’t you feel a bit insane planting your family tree? All the way the water never finds the seeds to grow.”
Stove is lyrically introspective. Musically, the project is rough around the edges in the best way possible, with elements of grunge and post-punk. The music mopes a bit on songs like “Wet Food” and “Lowt-Ide Fins,” but bursts with energy on “Aged Hype” and “Dusty Tree.” Hartlett’s voice is earnest, if a little sad at times, and has a Guided By Voices-like ability to completely own moods and feelings for a few minutes at a time. Check out “Wet Food” below and you’ll see, he’s the smartest kind of stupid there is.
Sometimes when I listen to a band, I make a judgement: Are they Beatles or Stones fans? The Ruen Brothers answer that question in their bio, stating that, like I suspected, they prefer the Rolling Stones. Generally, a band that likes the Beatles is a little more delicate, concerned with love and peace. A band influenced by the Rolling Stones is usually more brash, aggressive, and more likely to be at least indirectly influenced by the American blues musicians that the Rolling Stones idolized.
That seems to be the case with the Ruen Brothers, who are Henry and Rupert Stansall from the UK. Their first two songs, the bluesy “Aces” and “Walk Like a Man,” earned them the attention ofBBC Radio 1 host Zane Lowe and led to the brothers landing a record deal with Rick Rubin’s American Recordings and Republic Records. Rubin then produced their four-song EP Point Dume, enlisting Chad Smith (Red Hot Chili Peppers), Matt Sweeney (Chavez), and Ian McLagen (Faces) to contribute drums, guitar and keyboards.
Though their sound strays farther away from the blues and into pop on Point Dume, you can still hear their influences – which also include Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison, Morrissey and Jarvis Cocker – in each song. Henry has a deep, powerful voice that comes from a place of true sincerity, though a little muffled and rough, as if he’s singing between drags on a cigarette. “Motor City”is a vintage shuffle that breaks into a pop chorus while exploring familiar topics like not being able to catch a flight home and name-dropping highways. “Vendetta” has a bongo heavy intro reminiscent of the British blues group The Yardbirds, and builds into a dramatic tale about the end of a love affair.
For such a short release, Point Dume is surprisingly solid. The EP’s best moments appear on the opener “Summer Sun,” a love song for summer with chilling background vocals. Henry’s acoustic guitar and his brother’s lead create a solid rhythmic background for the dreamy lyrics. True to the song, which is about waiting for the warmth of summer to return, there is little action in its video: Henry, Rupert, and an unknown woman are stuck inside their separate homes by bad weather, as glimpses of the outside world are shown on TV screens. Check it out below:
What does the new release by Palm, Trading Basics, sound like? A machine: many parts weaving in and out, around and over each other, starting and stopping suddenly. Sometimes it’s smooth, and sometimes it sounds like the gears need some grease. On the dizzying track “Crank,” the vocals are like steam, rising before evaporating in the atmosphere. On a song like “Ankles,” where the words “I don’t need you anymore” are repeatedly choked out, they’re more like heavy exhaust. And like any well-built machine, Palm has an endless, relentless energy. It’s fascinating to watch (well, listen) but don’t get too close – some of its parts are sharp.
Trading Basics comes out today, and while it’s not exactly an easy listen, it’s worth it to be exposed to Palm’s amazingly abstract and arty form of rock. Take “Second Ward,” which starts off as a more straight-ahead rock song but suddenly introduces a creeping bass line, a dissonant, busy guitar line and low moans. The track abruptly breaks into a delicate section before switching gears again with snarling guitars and brash vocals reminiscent of Sonic Youth. You can never quite get comfortable with the track, which feels several songs in one. Then there’s the short and sudden “Drawn Straws,” which teases a hint of a bluesy guitar riff, played in a way that sounds like the strings are melting off of the instrument.
Palm’s musical ideas are bold, and seem endless – On Trading Basics, they’ve traded up to a sound that’s way cooler than your average rock band. The album is being released via Inflated Records and Exploding In Sound, and Palm will be playing an album release show tonight at Palisades along with Palberta and The Cradle.
Wolf Eyes reemerges with their Third Man Records debut (the label created by Detroit’s own prodigal son, Jack White) with I Am A Problem: Mind In Pieces. After an aggressive and perplexing takeover of Third Man’s Instagram account last week (they lost over a thousand followers as a result, which warranted a regretful apology from the label), Wolf Eyes is doing what they do best: making noise that is as jarringly tragic as it is sonically eruptive. Considered the “kings of U.S noise” and pioneers of trip-metal, Nate Young, John Olson, and Jim Baljo have not departed from their signature nuance of dismal, distempered dystopia on I Am A Problem as explored previously on their exhaustive, extensive catalogue. But don’t assume that Wolf Eyes are wading in stagnant waters. In fact, this time around they’ve managed to turn their chaos into discernible, tortured transcendence. Although celestially despondent, I Am A Problem never runs away from itself; each track cascades into a cosmic rawness that warps, wraps, and entangles you. From start to finish (and back again) it’s difficult to put a finger on what makes this album seem like it’s on the precipice of undiscovered territory, yet remaining familiar simultaneously. Perhaps it’s the vocally palpable despair paired with the bombastic layering of intergalactic pulsations reminiscent of both heartbeat and heartbreak. Wolf Eyes finds a way to make abstraction relatable and intoxication desirable.
A genre can sometimes be a useless, misleading way of explaining what an artist sounds like and allowing listeners to decide ahead of time whether they like them. It’s definitely not the best description to call Beach Slang’s The Things We Do To Find People Who Feel Like Us, a straight ahead punk album, though it could be placed under the broad umbrella of the genre. It’s got the energy and general vibe; singer James Alex has a sandpaper-rough voice and a way of singing that makes you think he’s straining as hard as he can against his vocal cords. Though he hardly even gets to the level of a shout, his lyrics convey a generous amount of sincerity. It’s punk rock that never rocks too hard, pop-punk that’s comfortable and familiar without drowning you in nostalgia. It’s dreamy punk, just as good of a soundtrack for contemplating and cloud watching as it is for thrashing around your living room.
It’s also meta-punk, as Alex focuses his the songs he writes and music he plays on the process itself. On “Noisy Heaven,” he finds salvation in being “Way out of tune, turned up to 11” as he admits “ The songs that I make, I barely rehearse them/ They’re hardly mistakes, they’re meant to be honest.” On “Ride The Wild Haze,” he wants to “Make the loudest sounds until we feel something.” “I break guitars and waste my voice,” he emotes on “I Break Guitars,” but he still finds safety and comfort in rock & roll, blurring his pain into sounds on “Dirty Lights.”
And although Alex states an obvious fact by including the track “Too Late To Die Young,” there’s a youthfulness to the album, hammered in by the fact that he also refers to himself as a kid, or sings about being young just as often as he shares his adoration of music. Being a punk implies its own youthfulness – teenage and twenty-something angst, being misunderstood, being an outsider. Did Beach Slang grow up? Yeah. But fortunately, they never grew away from those feelings.
I’m in denial and am disruptively nostalgic at 3am on a Tuesday. While I struggle to retire my sundresses to the back of the closet, this seasonal transition has me hungry for that time a few months ago when I had tan lines and bite marks and could keep my windows open without complaint. My time machine of choice is Jamaican Queens‘ 2013 release, Wormfood. I’ve always considered Jamaican Queens as the “cool” band from Detroit (and what makes them cooler is the fact that I think they would hate that I said that). Ryan Spencer, Adam Pressley, and Ryan Clancy are Jamaican Queens: the band you wish you were in.
Wormfood captures, though paradoxically, a recklessly hazy lethargy that is exclusive to summer. There is an element of irresponsibility lyrically and in the squeezed and strained arrangements, like taking someone else’s prescription pills or having indiscreet public sex that makes the listener squirm with reflection. Honest and almost self deprecating, Wormfood is pleasantly shameless in its ability to wrestle with love, intimacy, and confessionary party fouls. Reminiscent of MGMT or sometimes Animal Collective, Jamaican Queens take the popular, palatable fuzzy, synth pop/rock aesthetic and knocks it over in slow motion, leaving a sweetly apologetic yet selfish collection of messy songs/feelings in its wake. In the opening track “Water,” Spencer admits: “I don’t want to spend time with her friends/I don’t wanna do things for her/I don’t wanna go down on her/I don’t wanna tell you it’s the end/ain’t love a trap/aren’t you a mess/you wear it well.”
There is something achingly personal about Wormfood. It’s that conversation you don’t want to have (but have had). It’s driving drunk, wishing you were straight. There is a hidden sadness that speaks to the strange social pool that Detroit kids find themselves flailing in (and maybe it has nothing to do with geography). It’s like pretending you’re drowning to get attention, even though you can stand comfortably flat footed on the lake floor, head above water. Wormfood represents a bleeding dichotomy between wanting to change and knowing you can’t (or knowing you can but will wait a few years until you get your shit together). Wormfood is a party, start to finish. But not like a ‘90s teen movie house party, rather a party where that girl you sort of know sort of almost died, and where you give yourself a pep talk in a toothpaste splattered bathroom mirror convincing yourself out loud that you’re okay, as demonstrated by the chorus of the closing track “Caitlyn.” “I’m sorry about the earth around you caving in/I’m sorry about the earth around you caving in/I’m sorry.” This sincere phrasing comes after the line “I’ve begun to think of love as an impossibility/do you agree?” A perfectly apt pairing of sympathy and complacency, which is what makes this particular collection strangely suited for feeling pieced together carelessly with chewing gum and being unabashedly intoxicated on summer, or in my case, autumnal dreams of the latter.
Few bands can claim that they’re race-car driver approved; Dale Earnhardt Jr Jr was one of them. They got Dale Earnhardt Jr’s attention because, obviously, they used his name. He wrote to Daniel Zott and Joshua Epstein in 2011, promising no legal action against the duo and describing himself as a fan. But now, they’ve moved on, and rebranded themselves as JR JR.
Which brings us to their first release under the new name: The self-titled JR JR, a euphoric, smoothly produced pop album. And while my cynical hipster heart hates the idea that anything so anthemic and catchy can be good, it balances its commercial appeal with enough introspective moments that I’m not ashamed it’s been stuck in my head all day.
Take “In The Middle,” for example. It’s an infectious dance track, but with gloomy under tones. “There’s a million ways to die,” they proclaim early in the song. Instead of singing about burning up the dance floor, they’re “standing in the fire,” their indecision rendering them “stuck to the floor.” Usually, name-based tracks are sappy love (or breakup) songs, but not JR JR‘s “Caroline,” which takes place in a hospital. And though you can imagine a stadium of fans pumping their fists and singing along to the chorus of “No one’s going to live my life for me” and “I don’t want to be you,” the verses reveal a more complicated situation as they ask, “How can I tell if it’s drugs or my feelings now?” and hint at a drastic change of identity.
Unfortunately, there’s no word yet from Dale Earnhardt Jr on his opinion of the duo’s new name and album; we probably won’t know until it’s released on September 25 via Warner Bros. Records. In the meantime, check out JR JR’s creepy-cool music video for one of the album’s key tracks, “Gone,” where dancers’ legs detach from their owners and run wild.
Blank Realm possesses their own unique energy no matter what genre a song of theirs lands in. And on their new album, Illegals In Heaven, the Brisbane siblings go through a few right away: There’s the opener “No Views,” which captures the scrappy, organized chaos of punk, followed by the shinier, dancier “River of Longing.” Then comes the hazy slide guitar of “Cruel Night,” which borrows from Beggars Banquet-era Rolling Stones. “Gold” is a quieter, gentler track that still maintains an edge: “If you slow me down, I’ll break your heart.”
So, it’s not so obvious what makes Blank Realm’s sound unique to them, but it can be found somewhere in theheaviness of their guitars and rhythms, and a tight sound that must come either from constant rehearsal- their label’s website boasts that they’ve played over 200 live performances with bands like Kurt Vile, Wild Flag, and Zola Jesus – or maybe the fact that three out of four of the members are siblings and are naturally in tune with each other. Their songwriting isn’t derivative or sentimental but aggressively nostalgic. You can hear their influences, but they don’t glibly copy them on Illegals In Heaven. They take what they know and like, and apply it in a very straightforward, in-your-face way. Because, like they sing on “Flowers In Mind:” “When every move you’re gonna make has been made/When every trick you’re gonna play has been played,” what else can a band do?”
Key Tracks: “No Views,” “Cruel Night,” and “Gold.”
Named as one of Rolling Stone Magazine’s “Artists to Watch” this month just a week after his wildly anticipated sophomore album Transgressor (Quite Scientific Records)dropped to an outpour of local and national praise, Flint, Michigan native Tunde Olaniran is making seismic waves with no end in sight.
Much like Olaniran himself, Transgressor is ambitious. The album treads on territory once explored by pop/hip hop/rock greats, but through his own vocal ferocity and audaciously layered beats. Olaniran manages to pave a path all his own (and in doing so, has reset the bar for breakout artists and seasoned vets, alike.) Transgressor achieves a rare feat: each track stands confidently on it’s own. Although the album is bound by a consistent textural experimentation, this allows each track to resonate with a unique reference point. Freddie Mercury vocals here. Early Missy Elliott vibes there. With Antony and the Johnsons meets Yeezus with a kiss of Squarepusher scattered throughout.
Trangressor is theatrical and strange, but never boring. The track “KYBM” incorporates pulsating tribal drum rhythms and chanting, yet there are moments that feel like a Baz Luhrmann film as heard on “Don’t Cry,” and others transport you to church like the standout breakup track, “Let Me Go.” These influences make Transgressor hard to categorize but help keep the album consistently curious. “Experimental pop/hip hop is the simplest way to categorize my sound,” Olaniran explained to me on the set of his music video for “KYBM” this past February. “I’m always trying new sounds, new ways to use my voice. But I like how it’s a little crude at the same time. With Transgressor I try to limit myself because I don’t want it to sound super polished.”
My favorite example of this methodology is the album’s alternative-broke-baller anthem “Diamonds” featuring iRAWniQ and Passalacqua. With lines like “I’m a fiend for a discount/ while I dream of a penthouse” and “Ima keep it real/nothing in my pocket but a $5 bill/guess I’ll go to Taco Bell and get a combo meal” (even including a line referencing the mass water shutoff controversy in Detroit) Olaniran makes even the downtrodden and relevant, funny. “At my core, I’m a ridiculous person.” He explained. “I don’t want to denigrate other artists or music but it can seem a little heavy handed when you’re trying to get a message across. I don’t want there to be a barrier. I want you to have music you can enjoy.”
“You could follow a rose wherever it grows/You could fall in love in Times Square,” Dan Bejar, aka Destroyer sings on the track “Times Square.” His latest album, Poison Season, constantly references itself, both musically and lyrically, but matter where one track takes you, another always leads you back to perhaps the most well-known area of New York City, Times Square; The record has three songs that include it in their title. Most New Yorkers may associate the area with crowded trains and annoying tourists more than love, but Bejar somehow makes it seem romantic and sentimental.
Called “Rock’s Exiled King” by The Fader, this is the tenth studio album by Bejar, who also plays in The New Pornographers, but strays far from the indie rock genre in his solo project. Though Poison Season may seem like a harsh name for an album, it’s not reflected in the music. Songs are filled with sweeping (but never too sappy) strings and loose jazz saxophone. The whole album has a late-night/early dawn feel to it, recalling the 4AM epiphanies you get when you’re still clinging to your last bit of consciousness. This is especially true on the track “Dream Lover,” where he borrows the line “Here comes the sun.” But this isn’t the hopeful, cheery sun from the Beatles’ song- this sun is an interruption, signaling the end the night with a does of reality: “Oh shit, here comes the sun/Lovers on the run,” Bejar laments after an evening where “Haunted starlight gets in your eyes.” Euphoric, chaotic saxophone and a driving beat make it one of the album’s best tracks.
On “Bangkok,” the saxophones are joined by piano, giving the song the feeling of an after-hours jazz lounge. And on “Hell,” the bouncy beat begs you to snap along even as Bejar insists “It’s hell down here, it’s hell”(He also slips in a somewhat political line with “Every murderer voted out of office is sold down the river,” though he follows it up with something purely romantic).
Bejar’s voice has a whispery, spoken-word feel to it, and even during quieter moments, it’s easy to want to give his words your full attention. There are some serious moments on the album, but Bejar’s sense of humor manages to shine through. He uses the line “Bring out your dead,” which could possibly (I’d like to think this, anyway) be a nod to the Monty Python comedy The Holy Grail. And while the music video for “Girl In A Sling” is a beautiful, simple film where Bejar develops old photo negatives in what appears to be a childhood house, the video for “Times Square” is a light-hearted stop motion animation. Mossy creatures get high off of pipes and joints, a tree stump hunts for mushrooms, and a cartoon brain crawls along the forest floor.
This is definitely not the Times Square that exists at West 42nd Street and 7th Avenue, but it’s the Times Square that should.
Poison Season is out on August 28 via Merge Records. Check out the track “Dream Lover” below.
Angel Deradoorian is a former member of the Dirty Projectors. As one of the band’s vocalists, she contributed to many of their trademark harmonies and long, sustained cries that used the singers’ voices more like an instrument than just a way to deliver words. Some of that sound creeps into her solo album The Expanding Flower Planet, but for the most part, Deradoorian chooses a bold, new direction.
The album, which will be released on August 21 via Anticon, appeals to my San Francisco roots: it’s filled with vibes that convey peace, love, and more than a hint of psychedelic drugs. Deradoorian’s voice ranges from serious and mystical to singsongy, like a butterfly that lands on your hand only to flit away suddenly, flying this way and that through the air. On tracks like “The Invisible Man,” the Middle Eastern inflections in her singing are perfectly mixed with echoes of her voice, low sustained tones, and rock drums. On other songs, however, the percussion seemed overwhelming yet too simple, even childish under the range and layers of her voice.
The Expanding Flower Planet is trance-inducing, but with it’s many, many percussive parts, vocal lines, and a constant stream of lyrics, it’s too busy for passive listening. The best song comes first with “Beautiful Woman,” which recalls Deradoorian’s work with the Dirty Projectors but repackages the sound in shiny, polished pop. Other noteworthy tracks include “Darklord,” which features a trilling surf guitar, the monk-like chanting of “Ouenya,” and the high-energy track “The Eye.” “Komodo,” a song about running from the deadly lizard with a fatal bite, was also enjoyable for its playfulness.
The Expanding Flower Planet is a fun trip through someone else’s mind, someone who may be in another universe entirely. It’s a great listen if you need to completely change your frame of mind. And, on some distant flower planet, aliens are probably dancing to it somewhere.
Palehound is Ellen Kempner, a former Sarah Lawrence student. Former meaning she dropped out, presumably because even if the school did have a 90s-inspired indie rock class, there wouldn’t have been much left for her to learn; the 21-year-old played everything but the drums on her new album, Dry Food.
Dry Food is the Massachusetts-based artist’s second release after her 2013 EP, Bent Nail. It gets off to an aggressive start with “Molly,” a track that shows off Kempner’s instrumental skills with two guitar lines: one is wiry and playful, and the other brash, a machine-gun explosion of aggression. This duality continues throughout the album: you’ll hear gentle strumming and fingerpicking, twisting guitar licks, heavy distortion, feedback and nose dives down the fretboard – sometimes all in the same song.
The contrast in her music also applies to her singing. Her lyrics get personal, and are deeply aware, but there’s not so much vulnerability in her voice as a deadpan, matter-of-factness that masks most of the emotion. This works well with her songs – though Kempner isn’t afraid to get loud with her guitar; this isn’t dramatic or overly emotive music. Perhaps this is why she’s developed such a serious knack for imagery when it comes to describing feelings. So, the unwanted makeout session on “Easy” becomes “I’m pushing back your tongue/ With my clenched-teeth home security system,” and the tip-toeing of snobby “healthier folk” is revealed through Kempner asking, “Why don’t they hold me? They just cradle me like a homesick child.”
Possibly her best line comes from the title track: “You made beauty a monster to me/So I’m kissing all the ugly things I see.” Another key track is “Cinnamon,” a song that scatters guitar parts wildly over a smooth, shuffling beat. Kempner’s voice is cloaked in a heavy layer of reverb. By the end of the song she’s practically drowning in it, perhaps a result of a few too many rounds of “mixing water with gin and chasing it with cinnamon.”
If you take Dry Food as it is, it’s a short, but solid album. If you consider that it’s Kempner’s first actual album, and she’s still in her (very) early 20’s, the 28 minutes of casual heartbreak become even more impressive.
Dry Food will be available via Exploding In Sound on August 14th. In the meantime, check out “Healthier Folk” below.
For some musicians, it’d be a bold enough move to wear their heart on their sleeve with lyrics like “Feeling so confused, don’t know what to do/ Afraid she doesn’t love you anymore” or admitting they’ll“Never believe in a heart like hers again.” On his latest album, Another One, Mac DeMarco goes one step further by giving listeners his home address and inviting them to share a cup of coffee in the track “My House By The Water.”
Though certainly bold and unique, it’s not a completely risky move for the Canadian singer/songwriter. There’s little-to-no controversy in his music; DeMarco won’t have to worry about any irate listeners showing up, demanding explanations or apologies because his music has corrupted today’s youth (he lives in the Far Rockaways of Brooklyn, quite a commute even for most New Yorkers). DeMarco’s music is the chillest of the chill: slide guitar lines lazily trail his vocals, whammy bars are invoked gently, and drums keep a crisp, tight beat. His half-asleep voice invokes an incredibly laid back, slightly-stoned version of Jeff Tweedy. It’s so relaxed, some songs bleed into each other, but this gives the album a consistent, thematic quality. And at only 23 minutes long, mixing up the energy with more upbeat songs like “I’ve Been Waiting For Her” is enough variation.
It’s rare that an album can be so engrossing, yet casual and conversational. Another One feels almost like a high-production jam going on in Mac’s backyard.One might be going on right now, in fact- it wouldn’t be too hard to find out, considering we have his address. Road trip, anyone?
Apparently, there is a right way to listen to some records, and I got it wrong when playing LVL UP‘s new EP, Three Songs. According to the lo-fi group’s Bandcamp page, listeners should “[fusion_builder_container hundred_percent=”yes” overflow=”visible”][fusion_builder_row][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”][dim] the lights, burning all candles found within the dwelling. With eyes open toward the ceiling, the listener feels dull heat from the candles in front of them. Eyes closed now, the listener begins to regulate their breathing and in time presses play on their device.” Since I’ve never been one for rituals, and out of fear of burning down my apartment, I just plugged my laptop into speakers and turned them up past the roar of the AC. The result? Still good.
Three Songs is just that, and they follow the general format of their earlier work but break some new ground. “The Closing Door” is a melancholy track with heavy distortion and a slow, steady beat similar to songs on their last release, Hoodwink’d, but fades into and out of a slightly psychedelic jam during the bridge. “Blur” is a bright pop song reminiscent of tracks like “I Feel Ok,” but brings a new energy, particularly in the rhythm section, and a crisper, cleaner sound. “Proven Water Rites” is a mysterious end to the EP, containing most of the release’s angst: “Remember me, when I’m free I’ll be easy /Nothing underneath/ Breathing fire, breathing steam.”
Candles or no, Three Songs is a great listen from a band that has always had talent, but continues to evolve and polish their sound.
“They say people never change, but that’s bullshit/ They do.”
That’s a line from Currents, the latest album by Tame Impala. If you’ve been following their music for the past seven years, you’ll notice immediately that the album is quite a change for the Australian psychedelic rock band led by Kevin Parker. Tame Impala’s debut album,Innerspeaker, was filled with the bluesy guitar riffs of “Half Full Glass Of Wine” and quirky pysch-pop of “Solitude Is Bliss.” The 2012 release Lonerism, which included the heavy, time-shifting rock track “Elephant,”mostly continued this sound.
But on Currents, little is the same as before. The guitars have been replaced with synths, except for a few lines on “Disciples” and some delay-heavy melodies in “Love/Paranoia.” I cringed when an euphoric, Avicii-like synth melody started halfway through the opening track, but then it turned into a broken-record loop of noise, which melted into a psychedelic jam and finally a funky hook before fading out. That song is titled “Let It Happen,” as if Parker had a feeling this new direction would cause some resistance in listeners (or even have them double-checking their screens to make sure that yes, that is a Tame Impala album they’re streaming.) But go with it – though it sounds strange at first, the album is as good as it is different. I miss the old Tame Impala’s guitar riffs, but Parker proves that his songwriting talents extend beyond rock to soulful ballads and electronic music. “Elephant” showed us that he has an amazing feeling for rhythm and beats, which makes him a natural when it comes to dance music. You can get anyone to move to something with a good beat, but Parker’s substantial, introspective lyrics will also hold the attention of listeners.
Key tracks are the long lost Tears For Fears single “Moment,” the shimmery pop of “Reality In Motion” and the soul-filled single “Cause I’m A Man.”
There may not be much overlap between Tame Impala’s old fans and the ones he gains from Currents – or, like in my case, someone could like both Innerspeaker and Currents, but for completely different reasons. Before, Kevin Parker wanted us to know he likes being alone. Now, he wants to make you dance. At least he hasn’t gone country.
Currents will be released July 17th via Interscope. You can check out the new song “Let It Happen” below stream the album via NPR here.
