Alt-indie five-some, Handgrenades delivered their sophomore LP Tunnels earlier this month, a diversified, hook-laden kaleidoscope that explodes with disciplined revelry. There’s nothing particularly weighty about Tunnels, and no molds were forged nor broken but what is accomplished here are a series of consistent and caffeinated arrangements that propel the record into the new familiar. Each track wants to so badly to be so many things but is done so with equal parts focus and frenzy resulting in a record that ends up being an inspired version of itself.
“Daily Routine,” has a bloody but sunshiny mid-2000’s-vibe alt-anthem with jittery percussions and heartbroken choral bursts of desperation leading into “The Watcher,” with foggy distortion and jutting guitar licks feels trapped between genres without a destination. The albums valiant single “Suffocating,” though lyrically meek, is rescued by its Muse-esque vocals and purposefully and effectively spastic instrumental choreography giving the aural illusion of both gasping for air and receiving it making the track. “In Abesetia” dances with theatrics and “Wrapped in Plastic” parties with Brand New inspired vocals and guitar vs. percussion spacing and when preceding Tunnels eery final track “Daydream” (which is sort of reminiscent of Radiohead’s track “Daydreamers” from their latest but with ample restraint) reminds the listener that this record is a complete thought. All the territories they sought to explore were touched, and in doing so, Handgrenades concocted the perfect formula to fuse their wide and wild expressions with a polished fervor that seems more seasoned than not and more than sincere than flippant.
Find the light at the end with Handgrenades’ latest below:
If you were like me, you likely stayed in bed this morning a little too long wanting nothing more than to wake up but without ever having to open your eyes. The future we collectively rallied behind, hoped for, and deserved became a hungover breach in clarity. “Did this happen? How did this happen?” Where am I?”
This morning, however, was remarkably similar to many of my mornings. Cats pawing at my chest and the sound of children’s laughter, squeals, and declarations of play invited itself to wake me, through closed doors and windows. The Ellen Thompson preparatory academy located in the backyard of my apartment building holds recess sometime around 11am. The school is at least 95% African American and at least 5% of the children have hollered at me through the chain link fence “Are you Taylor Swift?” while I take my trash out. Playing along, I say yes but promise them to secrecy. This drives them wild and they frantically disperse in fits of excitement, laughter and the belief that maybe I am telling the truth. Today I stood with my face against the fence, trash in hand, watching the recently emptied tire swing sway like an uneasy and haunted pendulum. I watched it slow to a stop as the last of the tiny jackets disappeared behind the school doors. In the deafening silence, I hummed to myself a familiar song about dancing and the need for sweet, sweet music.
“Dancing in the Street” by Martha and The Vandellas was innocently inspired by Detroit residents who resorted to fire hydrant water to cool themselves from scorching the Summer heat. Released during the summer of 1964 in the thick of the Civil Rights crisis and in the midst of the Vietnam War, the upbeat chart-topper became an unexpected anthem of freedom for the disenfranchised and a nightmare feared by those who trembled in the shadows of social progress. Banned from radio stations for allegedly eliciting riot behavior and rebellious violence from the African-American community across the country and most notably in Detroit, the pop song about a party urgently ushered a call for change, unity and yes, even 52 years later, the power of sweet, sweet music.
This morning was remarkably similar to many of my mornings. Except today was different. I have more hope than I did yesterday. Not because of what has happened but because of what will happen. Recess will resume tomorrow and so will the future; the daily sea of toothless grins and bouncing pigtail braids promise this.
What better way to express an impassioned, tumultuous romantic entanglement than through a tropical, pop whirlwind that is as torn and collaborative in its conception as the aforementioned relationship? “El Segundo” is the latest sonic story from Assemble Sound resident producer and synth-pop artist Nydge who is as masterful as a collaborator as he is a solo entity. With an impeccable flair for sophisticated and positively infectious hooks and shoulder-shimmying beats, here Nydge finds an accessibility without conceding his innately distinct auditory architecture. “I try and be as intentional as I can with making music and with the Nydge project, specifically. I want to make pop music as interesting as possible while still being consumable,” explains producer/artist Nigel Van Hemmye. “Often times I find myself trashing musical sketches early on, sometimes less than an hour in. I now find my way to be more akin to mining for ideas. Sometimes I go deep into the cave of creativity to come out with nothing. My job, then, isn’t to make something amazing every day, it’s to be ready, patient, open and excited to strike gold; pickaxe in hand.”
Featuring multi-instrumentalist/vocalist Kim Vi whose contribution aided the tracks rolling momentum and solidified Nydge’s commitment to concise layers, “El Segundo” is refined yet grinds with a untamed attitude. “I’ve never been to El Segundo. I didn’t even know it existed until Kim Vi spouted it out for the first line of the first verse. Kim is a welcome asset to any writing session.” Nigel says. “Throughout the song I used his arsenal of abilities, ranging from guitar, bass, singing, clapping and chordal changes.” The result? A textural playscape that is tender and frustrating with an intoxicatingly pop-purist bounce that could just as easily be a dance-floor groove or a fiery backseat rendezvous.
Listen to the latest from Nydge (ft. Kim Vi) below:
The incomparable maven of Detroit pop, Bevlove released her EP Talk That Shit last week which pop, locks and drops feral beats with a disciplined hip-hop assertiveness that undoubtedly rewires the game.
The 5-track EP is unexpectedly varied but remarkably consistent. It’s as if each song is a chapter describing the same night out documenting the fun, the madness and the humanizing need to not go home alone all filtered through Bevlove’s prismatic scepter of diva-dom. Yes, Lady Love reigns supreme on Talk That Shit but unlike other commanding, radio-ready pop endeavors, there is nothing isolating or exclusive about this particular journey into Detroit’s after-hours and Bev’s sexified psyche. It’s a call to bad bitches and vulnerable vixens to not just get lit, but to shine through the club fog and to rise above the unreturned text messages from that dude.
Opening with “Do What I Say,” a BDSM, girl-gang anthem that self-satisfies without apology leads into “Freaks” which modernizes Whodini’s 1984 classic and acts as a word of warning to future gentrifiers and suburban visitors. Then comes Bev’s brand of satiated delicacy with “Save Me” which doesn’t stray sonically but explores her range of tenderness and soaring vocals that are reminiscent of vintage Rihanna. Bev’s emotional duality is a vibrant essence especially when she goes from achingly wanting someone to stay and save her and flips the script on “Leave With Me” which details a one night stand and mixed signals, where (once again) she takes control; the EP’s constant and Bevlove’s secret weapon. Collectively, Talk That Shit is an immovable powerhouse that is relevant yet stays two steps ahead. However, the closing track “Champagne Bubbles” is unbelievably self-realized and there’s no doubt that Beyonce herself would envy the song start to finish. From the placement of vocal flight and the cathartic, heart-opening sonic build, “Bubbles” is a complete thought and is evidence of Bevlove’s inevitable ascent to the next-next level.
It’s time to retire our summer soundtracks and dust off our pumpkin spiced selection of tunes that illicit all of the external change in season imagery and gives love to the internal shifts, too. Whether you’re tuning a new leaf or simply shedding an old one, here are a few Detroit tracks that celebrate sweater weather and the witching hour.
Midwestern maven of Rocky Mountain sadness, Anna Ash delivered this brooding performance back in 2013. A little Cat Power, a touch Lucinda Williams and some wispy instrumentals and “Haunt” is pleasantly unsettling but all around totally beautiful.
The White Stripes: “Dead Leaves on the Dirty Ground”
It feels equal parts wrong and right to include The White Stripes. Sure, everyone knows this song but does everyone remember it? Quite literally about the autumnal dance vs. a lover leaving (leafing? sorry.) is a subdued-rock heartbreak anthem but leaves enough space to not take itself so seriously.
Every time I get to compile a playlist I find some way to squeeze in one of my favorite, now defunct, indie bands from yesteryear (okay, so only like eight years ago but STILL). Sonically, “Black Hole” feels more Fall than Summer, and more transitional than stationary. A swirling existential crisis that grounds itself in its attempt to “escape inevitability” makes it a reflective prelude to winter.
Storyteller folkies Frontier Ruckus are beautifully seasoned in exploiting singer/songwriter Matthew Milia’s broken poetry. Sufjan Stevens-esque, this soul-trip, magic hour road trip track encompasses the urgency to fulfill needs before winter, like a squirrel hiding seeds and nuts or like a bear making sure his Casper gets delivered in time for hibernation and chill. It’s sad, yes, but because its Frontier Ruckus it is filtered through hopeful resolve.
Jessica Hernandez & The Deltas: “Dead Brains”
This saccharine zombie-fied acoustic version of “Dead Brains” flirts with the hard to swallow but easy to celebrate moving onward and upward. It’s sorrowful but is without regrets. This version especially yanks on some Fall-time feels with its DIY sincerity and it’s unapologetic trekking forward, Jess and Co. make dead brains sound appealing.
It’s been a while since we’ve checked in with our favorite cosmic trip-hop duo Gosh Pith, who have spent the past few months touring sporadically while teasing tracks from their forthcoming record. Most recently, Josh Freed and Josh Smith dropped “True Blue,” a love song at its core inspired by getting pulled over by a state trooper after a gig. What Gosh Pith is getting a stronger grip on these days is the power of duality. Clashing bass serves as both an opportunity for an impassioned bump and grind and also viscerally alludes to wavesrelentlessly beating the shoreline. The lyrics are relatable in their indecisiveness; running to and from, pulling away and in. Relating the fear of the law with romantic entanglements, it’s easy to picture yourself escaping the swirl of red and blue lights on foot, dipping through highway brush and hopping fence lines with the same endangered fire you might escape to/from the arms of the one who’s got you feeling all types of crazy.
The lyrics are relatable in their indecisiveness; running to and from, pulling away and in. Relating the fear of the law with romantic entanglements, it’s easy to picture yourself escaping the swirl of red and blue lights on foot, dipping through highway brush and hopping fence lines with the same endangered fire you might escape to/from the arms of the one who’s got you feeling all types of crazy. There is a, dare I say, Bieber-esque moment with the harmony surrounding the chorus that is pleasantly poppy and roots the track to the duo’s hidden, soft-spoken accessibility. If “True Blue” is any indication of what we can expect from their next album, it’s apparent that Gosh Pith is still pulling us into their beautiful world where the waters run deep and being trapped means another chance to break free.
It would be easy to assume that an EP titled No Future would be a completely defeatist collection of woes, worries, and shortcomings but in the case of producer, soul-pop performer James Linck, “No Future” does not mean surrender but acts as an invitation for us to explore where we’ve been, where we’re going and why we may never get there…and why that’s totally okay.
There’s something tongue and cheek about Linck’s embodiment of growing up, making art and not having any answers to the big questions. But the playful manner in which these themes are explored do not lack sincerity or warmth. The danceable rhythms to which these themes are paired only hammers in the juxtaposing struggle even deeper. Effectively curious and confused, No Future is a party for an occasion that most people wouldn’t celebrate like getting a divorce or not landing that job you wanted. Humility is needed here and is dished out through cleverly arranged hip-hop swagger, synths that clap and vocals that go from whispers to heavily (and almost comical) autotuned. And it’s hard to not smile when you hear the opening to “Black to Black” where Linck takes us back 15+ years by using dial-up interent sounds.
The closing track “When Cars Fly/One More Snooze” is an autotune saturated list of apocalyptic, futuristic scenarios and imagery in which Linck’s love is declared, including the gnawing line: “I’ll still love you when the tide drowns the shore.” Midway through the track pauses to introduce some radio commercial interruption as if signals have been crossed leading into “One More Snooze,” a soaring embrace of finality and uncertainty that pulsates with a video game-esque panic driven synth breakdown ending with a calm Linck speaking the word “Okay.” A swan song of sorts, yes, but “When Cars Fly/One More Snooze” does not dance with the downtrodden or hopelessness but instead waltzes with acceptance and the existential misfiring of an entire generation, something that No Future encompasses with an un-ironic unseen shrug emoji.
Jazz guitarist, producer, and ambient electronica explorer Dan Gruszka released his enchanting and contemplative solo EP 1121 earlier this month under his creative moniker Daniel Monk. The single “Kite View” quivers with fragility but not weakness. For a debut release, Monk finds a seasoned balance of self-control and self-assurance that is unexpectedly meditative and mature.
“Kite View” features up and coming female artist ISLA whose angel breath cadence swirls within the delicate framework of Monks sensitive production and arrangement. Sans vocals, the track would still sing in a voice tinged with melancholic flight. The addition of ISLA takes “Kite View” into a patient pre-dystopian lullaby. A hint of acoustic guitar rolls in as ISLA’s voice escapes the atmosphere, leaving us abruptly to wade through the stillness left behind by the sensuous synths. In this case, minimalism isn’t boring or safe rather a lesson in space, spacing and the art of dipping your foot into waters before jumping.
[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”]Photo by Andrew Amine & design by Ellen Rutt
“Dream house” voyager Ardalan Sedghi is Humons, a kinetically electrified project whose atomic beats swell in “Underneath” the debut single from the Spectra EP due out this fall. Although Sedghi isn’t entirely new blood on the scene, “Underneath” delivers a freshness that rises with a palpable and cosmic humidity and is best experienced with hips magnetically fused to someone else’s: a symbiotic gravity grind.
Although Humons is technically one huMAN it can’t be ignored that the seamless production is a vital component as to why “Underneath” works as a living, breathing, pulsating soundscape and not just a party jam at a hazy house party in Southwest. Produced and mixed by mastermind Jon Zott at the Assemble Sound studios, the track lends itself to explore various abstractions. Consider an animated sci-fi journey riding the tail of a comet or a microscopic view of anatomical fascinations like blood cells bumping against artery walls, fighting illness or a time-lapse of vultures picking apart a freshly deceased roadside meal. Mixing staccato guitar with clashing synths and clapping wave-to-shore-like drum machine beats gives Sedghi’s breathy, minimalist vocals space to float. What this track masterfully accomplishes is its “choose your own adventure” vibe. It can be sad and brooding if that’s what you need or it can be your sexually ravenous anthem. Either way, “Underneath” ushers us from Summer to Fall and into territory undisclosed.
Detroit has always been the dark horse holy ground for musical exploration and long-term contribution to music at large. Assemble Sound, a collective of collaborative artists as well as a full-fledged recording studio nestled in a historic church in Detroit’s Corktown district, is redefining the music community and blowing the glass ceiling off of possibilities for local artists.
In the spirit of collaboration, Assemble forged an idea that would allow artists to experiment with each other’s sound as well as find a home for whatever mashup is born from that session. The Sunday Song Series (which stipulates that the song must be a collaboration and go through the peer review process and, of course, must be recorded at Assemble Sound). It’s an “all-hands-on-deck” situation at Assemble, but not because there aren’t enough hands to start with. Rather, an extension on Assemble’s philosophy which is deeply rooted in exploration of creative freedom while still focusing on the formalities of how to succeed in the industry. At the end of summer, Assemble will release a 12-track album of all the Sunday Song Series and as summer comes to a close, we are gifted song 11 from the series which is a collaboration between Nydge (producer and soundsmith Nigel Van Hemmye) and Joshua (one half of trip-hop duo Gosh Pith) titled “Lemme Know.”
A trippy love ballad that begs for another chance and bounces around like teenagers flirting at the mall, “Lemme Know” is a playful plea and a totally danceable account of an impending heartbreak. The shimmying synths and periodic chimes give a montage feel; from first kiss, to meeting the fam, to growing disinterest to a bold “take-me-back” 80s John Cusack worthy gesture. The song is quick but satiated; Joshua’s verses are sleepily distressed until the chorus builds to a hopeful plan to “keep this love alive” where his vocals climax. The production is radio ready and could easily squeeze a female vocalist to duet the cat and mouse fluctuation of who loves who and how hard. But the track is effective with Joshua’s singular bright side desperation as Nigel’s fashion show runway mixtape vibe clashes to form pop purity at its funnest.
Listen to the collaboration below and click here if you want to know what’s happening at Assemble.
A summer fantasy written in the thick of a Michigan winter, Detroit’s favorite folky foursome Frontier Ruckus delivers a new track “27 Dollars” from their forthcoming LP, just in time to instill premature longing for a summer that still has a few hours on the clock.
Singer-songwriter Matthew Millia is no stranger to volunteering his vulnerabilities by means of his pleasantly troubled troubadour dance with intimacy to the rich, extensive Americana fabric of the Frontier Ruckus catalogue. Joined by David Jones, Zachary Nichols and Anna Burch, Milia and company have tapped into a beloved era of mid-2000’s indie with a modern emotional intelligence that is fit for timelessness. A little Belle & Sebastian, a tad Okkervil River with a dash of seasonal repression and hopeful ennui, “27 Dollars” is an upbeat anthem for restless hearts and empty pockets; a true midwestern cocktail. The track bounces with banjo twang and swaying synths, eliciting a backseat tour through pot hole, pock marked streets with a cracked phone screen that you check incessantly despite finger tip splinters.
Although The Old Adage and their synth heavy, diy-pop sound is far from old news, we’re just now getting around to showing brother and sister duo Mimi and Nino Chavez’s some TLC. Formed back in 2012, The Old Adage has been trudging along as an independent duo (enduring a name change, a band line-up change and change back) releasing their sophomore album Cycles last year.
Confusing and cheeky, the track “RED” is a bit theatrically challenged and misses some attention to detail (I really wish someone would have ironed the table cloth) but in a way that is chalk full of charm and allure. Opening with what feels like a nod to Alice and Wonderland, the color red is brought to the forefront and we are introduced to Mimi, who takes on the role of distressed woodland witch, and Nino, who seems to have lost his car in a parking garage.
The labyrinthian cat and mouse chase between the two matches the urgency emoted by the songs tempo but throws too much at us to really grasp what’s going on. There are blips of stunning imagery and thoughtful lighting (i.e. Mimi in a studio setting backlit by a smokey red light and Nino’s overhead shot running through the stairwell) but most of the time it seems like an unintentional homage to Tommy Wisseau’s famed disaster movie The Room.
It may be a matter of difference in taste and aesthetic, but I can say that what The Old Adage has done is far from disingenuous. If anything, the kitsch factor (whether intentional or not) is the video’s very saving grace (which is just as confusing of a point as the video is a video). The song is danceable yet brooding enough to warrant a high-energy mysterious video counterpart.
My only wish is that they would have found a way to refine their vision and ditch the tangled story-line to pack a harder punch and to drag the darkness into the spotlight a bit more effectively.
Get caught in the rat race/brother sister chase below:
Emcee, poet, educator, and Detroit visionary, Chace “Mic Write” Morris is unstoppable. Mic Write’s reputation as a renaissance man pales in comparison to the weight of his message and unconstrained fervor. As a slam poetry champion, Kresge literary arts recipient and a main player in the progressive hip-hop collaboration Cold Man Young, Write has tapped into the collective social conscious, delivering striking commentary on race, community, and injustice with an impervious directness by means of jaw-dropping scholarly rhyme schemes paired with beats suitable for both grinding or marching, respectively.
Even when shining a light on systematic oppression and gentrification, Write never waivers in making it a point to remind of us of joy, hope, and gratitude. “It’s been a hell of a year/but if you hear this then you still hear us,” Write proclaims in his latest track, “blak/joi,” a song balanced with care, but not with caution. “Blak/joi” is as much of a story as it is a rap and just as much of a call to arms as it is a love-lorn sonnet to the past and future. One of the most impactful aspects of Write’s performance is that it doesn’t feel like a performance. It isn’t a callused memorization of lyrics or idle notations on cadence or emphasis, rather an in-the-moment, impassioned retelling of a dream/nightmare turned reality where words are both spilling and fighting their way through clenched teeth.
“Oh can you feel it?/ocean couldn’t drown it/chains couldn’t slave it/bullets couldn’t kill it/cops couldn’t beat it/death couldn’t tame it/government couldn’t steal it,” Write professes in what is one of the most hard hitting rhymes on the track, again, dancing the line between hope lost and hope found. The most unassumingly heartbreaking line, though, is the disjointed chorus. The song trails off to Write admitting “Sometimes I trip on how happy we could be/sometimes I trip on how happy we could be” as if he reached for the clouds knowing he would only bring down dust.
Feel the power with Mic Write’s latest, “blak/joi” below:
Forged from the weightiness of post-war blues and the primally riotous audacity of 60’s garage punk, Detroit‘s scuzz rockers the Gories return to their hometown his Friday. Mick Collins, Danny Kroha and Peggy O’Neill formed the Gories (sans bass) back in 1986 and released three records between 1989 and their tumultuous break-up in ’92. During their undisclosed reign as underground groove-punk royalty, their influence was more wide reaching than their dismal record sales or crusty notoriety. Like true punks, the Gories’ reputation was marred with scowls and “wtf is this shit” variety, mostly due to their raunchy, primitive approach to rock. It’s an attitude that would later have Detroit’s prodigal son and father of Third Man Records, Jack White, exclaiming that the Gories “made people with Les Pauls and Marshall amps look like idiots.”
After a 17 year hiatus (during which punk died, was reincarnated into radio-friendly sewage, died again and is only now beginning to wear its old skin) the Gories reunited in 2009 for a European tour and again in 2010 to hustle their grime across North America. Since then they have played a handful of shows, though sparingly, but enough to remind us that true punk never really dies and what the Gories have given us is more than half-assed nostalgia on life support; it’s a tantrum.
Oozing with sexual deviance, masked by the hip-shaking, beer-bottle smashing juxtaposition of aggravated shimmy and shake, “Nitroglycerine,” from the band’s sophomore record, I Know You Fine, But How You Doin’ manages to box the un-boxable sticky, sweaty, no-fucks-given tale of Detroit’s premier garage punk pioneers. A perplexing mix of John Lee Hooker and the Cramps, the Gories hoot and howl while channeling some Velvet Underground-level chaos as the guitars suffer battling seizures, and the drums find home in a constituent heartbeat-beat reminding us that the band’s homeostasis, although compromised, is far from expired. The lyrics “She’s volatile/she’s my baby” are delivered with some 1950’s innocence or doo-wop cadence but is quickly dismantled by a rapid-fire sex-beat that keeps us guessing even 26 years later.
Get weird with the Gories 1990 video for “Nitroglycerine” below and catch the Gories with Pretty Ghouls, Mexican Knives and Trash DJ’s at El Club Friday August 5th, 2016 | Tickets $20
The return of Adam Pressley (Prussia, Jamaican Queens) and Sam Swinson’s beloved project, Ohtis, is really good news. Formed and broken-up in Illinois while currently reunited and divided between LA and Detroit, Ohtis premiered the first track “Runnin'” off of their forthcoming album Bobo, Dad, and Holy Ghost.
“Runnin'” feels like something out of 2008. A story-driven, soft spoken Fleet Foxes-esque tale or a sad desert realization with dampened slide guitar wading in and out circa Wilco’s self-titled record. Ohtis brings us a track that feels like a hand floating out of the window of a silent car ride, the wind pushing back against a palm telling it what direction to go, the only conversation being the sound of air escaping between parted fingers.
The track opens with: “The expression you were wearing of emotional pain / Like anybody struggling to keep themselves sane,” that set the tone of Ohtis’ painterly Americana breed of misery. It’s a song about surrender, drunk driving through the plains and crossed fingers for a lovers return. The chorus drifts away from uncertainty and sways towards an invitation into a new past with the line: “We together will be better than me.”
With“Runnin’,” Ohtis has delivered an atypical strain of heartbreak that hones in on what’s to be gained, not what has been lost. The experience feels as it was seen through two sets of eyes, although only one voice remembers everything the eyes had seen. It isn’t until a female voice sneaks into the final reprise of the chorus that you feel that resolve is near and the next adventure even closer.
Ohtis plays a set in Ferndale this Saturday, July 16 at 6:30 p.m. as part of Pig & Whiskey Festival.
Leave it to my favorite electro-pop duo to release a dance track contemplating the turmoil of running the rat race that challenges the suffocation of creative freedom by means of societal survival. Valley Hush debuted “Iced Cream” earlier this week, a mesmeric track that encapsulates Alex Kaye and Lianna Vanicelli’s fluid aesthetic of dancing the line between struggle and release with an undeniable melancholic pop magnetism. Although there is no mention of the beloved confectionery treat, the songs message is the equivalent to the sticky sweetness of a melted cone between your fingers; a life that is satisfying but not without the perpetual stickiness to make you wish you had a napkin, or rather, make you wish you didn’t care about the mess. Following the same sensational trajectory of their last single “Iris”, “Iced Cream” picks up with the similar jutting, well-traveled mash-up of worldly tones and beats but this time delves deeper into self-induced sadness.
The most marveling element of “Iced Cream” is the marriage between lyrics and Vanicelli’s vocals. Opening with the line “I’m a human being/not a machine/I will eventually tire/of this silly maze” we are lead through a poetic display of personal disappointments and misappropriated life goals: how it feels vs. how it should feel. Vanicelli insinuates traditional accomplishments (“a college degree/a job with a salary”) act as life altering barriers between exploring the truer parts of self and feeling successful; an internal melting and re-freezing, only to melt again. These vulnerable truths through airy and choppy vocals feel like a privately shared secret discovery, though not confessional or dangerous. Valley Hush invites us to share a spoon and indulge in their existential crisis sundae that wakes our inner demons with a sensual tenderness that is usually reserved for licking our fingers clean, as not to leave a trail of sweet cream behind.
Once hailed “The Best Band That Doesn’t Have an Album” pysch-rockers Mountains and Rainbows can finally re-categorize themselves. After bouncing around for almost a decade with nothing but a cassette tape and some scattered demos, Mountains and Rainbows caught the ears of Thee Oh Sees frontman John Dwyer after sharing a bill with the head rattling 70s art punk revivalist foursome last year. Dwyer signed them to Castle Face Records and released their double debut LP Particles last month. Particles is more than an album, though. It’s a transient, transcendent head trip that sweats and absorbs in equal measure. There is a boldness to the album as an adventure through time and memory, trailing across stateliness and atmospheric boundaries, that convinces you to overturn yourself as if you were some government implemented barrier between happiness and obligation. Particles is salty and dry, thirst inducing and never quenching. It is that very thirst that makes Mountains and Rainbows’ long awaited exploration of chaos so surprisingly satisfying. It’s a high without the hangover.
It’s hard to consider the album as individual tracks. The songs blend together, not monotonously or statically, but with a meticulously reckless smashing. Each song strikes one another forcing tinier and finer divides like an astral phenomena we read about but never actually see. Sludgy, strung out Velvet Underground-esque track “Fancies” breaks the album up and clocks in at just over ten minutes. It’s anxious and uneasy and feels more like a band warmup where the instruments sound like vocals and the vocals are a series of warbled announcements. This is a complete departure from the bouncy beach party track “How You Spend Your Time,” which is tightly composed and fulfills the albums strained pop tendency. Mountains and Rainbows play with distance and warped dissonance, which invites a cosmic spacial awareness that lends itself to feeling like fabric ripped at the seams. Drums seem to interrupt, the guitars are manic and distressed and the bass is spastically metallic. These elements crowd the vocals in such a way that it often feels like attempts to suffocate, but also is aurally victorious at regaining breath. Considering it is their first “proper” release, Particles is a fully formed thought that is not for the faint of heart, rather for those whose heart beat persistently askew.
Beverly Johnson is Bevlove, Detroit‘s premier pop goddess. She writes. She sings. She’s changing the game. Produced by SYBLYNG and Assemble Sound and directed by Detroit visual wonder-kids The Right Brothers, “Do What I Say” dropped last night at midnight. Relevant both conceptually and sonically, the track proves that Bevlove is more than a breakthrough, she’s a wrecking ball.
“DWIS” acts as a seductive instructional and a warning for future lovers, victims and anyone who dare take on Bevlove on the streets or in the sheets. “DWIS” could easily be the sequel to Rihanna’s “Bitch Better Have my Money” and the video could be the more sinister, less PG sister to rival girl-gang in Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood.” The video features some of Detroit’s favorite bad girls following behind leading lady Love with torches and man eating scowls, ready to attack. Flashing to smokey dance scenes and the ultimate pink confetti girl party. Where “DWIS” bares its visual duality is when we see Bevlove in bed with white feathers floating around her lingerie clad angel self, making us believe she is to be trusted. But we know better. Bevlove uses her vocals as a Trojan horse, delivering the lyrics “Such a fucking lady/tonight I’m going to take control.” Her voice breaks into another stratosphere, departing from her hardened hip-hop cadence to reveal ethereal tones and a richness that Beyoncé herself would envy. The song is perfectly crafted with everything that makes a song raunchy yet radio ready and impossible to shake from your head. The catchy hook, the bass beat and choppy hip-hop delivery is current enough to blend in and original enough to set its own precedent for badass-ery. The video celebrates women and flips the script on sex, desire and not taking shit. Bevlove is a great reminder of why you should get you a girl that can do both.
[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”]Photo by Chantal Elise as part of the “In the Band: Michigan Music Behind a Feminist Lens.” For more of her work, head to www.chantalelise.com.
If Siouxsie Sioux and the cast of Hedwig and the Angry Inch shared a seedy punk venue greenroom where they exchanged Bowie impressions and candy necklace bites, you might have a slight grasp on what Dear Darkness sounds like. Self-described as somewhere between “kitsch and oblivion,” Detroit drama queens Stacey MacLeod and Samantha Linn released their latest pleasantly demented and perfectly untamed EP Get it Here earlier this week. This perplexing polyamorous marriage of grit, grime, glitter and gorgeously unique explorations of voice (both internal and external) revel in a self-made turbulence much like a wave pool in a motel bathtub.
Don’t mistaken aforementioned “kitsch” as a dismissal of sincerity. Although riotously playful, Get it Here provokes a teeth grinding, guttural exorcism that just happens to be covered in frosting and sprinkles. Lyrically, the EP kicks and screams but not without cracks where a beautifully strange vulnerability pushes through. The swollen, voice breaking delivery of the lyrics: “Why don’t you notice me? I’m right here” from the track “You Ain’t Tried it With Me” encompasses the tug-of-war vibe of the entire collection. The drums are scathing, the guitar restless. and the warbled and tortured ferocity of MacLeod and Linn’s harmonizing fuse to redefine punk, pop and human fragility in one fell swoop. Yes, the EP is shockingly consistent but that observation seems to belittle the entirety of what Dear Darkness is attempting to do here. More than consistency, what they’ve managed to do in five songs and under 18 minutes is, above all else, really fucking special.
Indulge in Dear Darkness’s rare breed of strange on “Get it Here” below:
In the 80s, Detroit took on Chicago House and European electronica and quickly became pioneers in the creation of techno and the myriad of sub genres that followed. As an adverse counterpart to popular music, techno challenged radio ready hits and the contradictory exclusivity of punk while maintaining a sonic political retaliation against inner-city struggle. In doing so the city created a sphere in which bass lines and drum beats invited the world to move both inward and outward.
This past weekend marked what most of Detroit consider to be more holy than Christmas. The Movement Festival honors the birthplace of techno and electronic music by throwing the most playfully outrageous three-day party where freaks can be freaks and non-freaks can unearth their spiritual resonance. Whether you’re finding yourself, losing yourself or just curious enough to feel something new, there is no better opportunity than Movement. Yes, like any festival you can anticipate $4 bottles of water and over policing and under-supplying of toilet paper, but what Movement offers the techno community is a true celebration of one of the most unexpectedly poetic musical revolutions in the history of the city and quite honestly, the world. A culture was born. People found home. And while our pillowcases may feel abandoned as we collectively remove glitter out of our tear ducts, we are still coming down from the trip. Below are some of my favorite sedated, ambient tracks for the end of the after-after party (or just as suitably for the beginning).
Stacey “Hotwaxx” Hale “The PeeKs” (2016)
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Jon Zott “Make Plans” ft. Yellokake (2015)
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Most notably one of the busiest most desirable producers in Detroit, Jon Zott has a remarkable ear for bass line heartbeats. “Make Plans” flirts with pop vocals and muffled beat subtlety that feels sexy and sad.
Carl Craig “At Les” (1997)
Carl Craig is one of the most influential producers and DJ’s in Detroit’s rich techno history. His catalog swells and deflates with a subversive consciousness that gives the aural illusion of time travel; sounds bouncing back and forth off of one another like a psychedelic paradox. “At Les” is a prime example of this restraint vs. release vibe while still remaining stoned and ambient.
4. Cybotron “Techno City” (1984)
Formed in 1980 by Juan Atkins and Richard “3070” Davis, Cybotron paved the way for the echoing, intergalactic seduction that has been a cornerstone of Techno for years. “Techno City” feels grimy and sludgy yet invites you into their underground with a sexual pulse.
5. Kevin Saunderson “E-Dancer” (1996)
One cannot mention techno without recognizing one of the most detrimental founding fathers of the genre, Kevin Saunderson. Having reshaped electronic music with his insatiable knack for channeling both the past and future through trance-like grooves and dizzying tremors, Saunderson’s “E-Dancer” is a great example of his distorted snake funk.
6. BLKSHRK “Arm Floatties (Night Swim)” (2015)
Eddie Logix and Blair French teamed up to form BLKSHRK, an underwater groove that pulses and pumps with a delicacy suited for a tangled dance of sea amoeba and space-age mer-folk.
7. Stone Owl “Chemtrails” (2013)
An elusive twosome, Stone Owl is a local techno cult favorite. Although dance-able, Stone Owl latched onto an underlying sinister playfulness that pokes and prods the darkness out of the light. “CHEMTRAILS” is calming with bursts of anxious energy that sizzles like electricity in water, creating a chasm that shakes you from your hiding place.
Dreamy, nostalgia-heavy four piece, Double Winter returns with the sugary and elusively heartbreaking track “XO, Skeleton” off their upcoming EP Watching Eye. The track sounds pleasantly unfinished, the production slightly tinny, the vocals wistful and monotone. “XO, Skeleton” doesn’t overthink and in doing so delivers a sweetly melancholic, hair-twirling, window-watching serenade. The hook “see you when you come back home” is, in context, is universally applicable. The ambiguity of the subject’s lovers distance and the duration of their stay could be as simple as hours, days or months and it could just as easily be in reference to the hypothetical never/someday. It isn’t until a little more than halfway through when the track strays from its straight line and swerves into a thrashing outburst that illustrates the inner chaos of having to wait for someone. The shift from patience to urgency is what makes “XO, Skeleton” a surprising pre-summer petit four.
If you were craving some imitation Pavement-esque languid LoFi rock, look no further than Ypsilanti-based Minihorse, who released their drowsy EP More Time earlier this month. Comprised of lead vocalist and guitarist Ben Collins, Christian Anderson on bass and John Fossum on drums, Minihorse is noticeably affected, pleasantly dehydrated college indie; nothing swells or lends catharsis, but instead encourages driving aimlessly around the same few square miles with a broken tape deck that you had installed in your new 2016 hybrid. The single, “FYEA” is a callused late-summer-of-1994 track that radiates a trippy teenage petulance worthy of a hangover. It’s catchy, yes, but hard to remember. The closing track, “Under My Head” is the most complete thought on the EP, with Jon Brion vibes paired with a whispered deprecation that sneakily depresses you with the lyrics: “The things I could be/if I could get out of bed.” More Time, at the very least, is consistent. Not meant to serve as some grand feeling-prodder, Minihorse found their sweet spot even if it does feels like buying expensive jeans with manufactured stains and holes; fashionably wearable with questionable authenticity. Having said that, I like More Time. I get it. It feels lightly stoned, slightly tipsy, peppered with a hazy self-indulgence that makes you wonder where you’ve heard this before even if you’ve never heard it before.
Dreamy Detroit indie rock foursome FAWNN premiered their first single off of their anticipated forthcoming sophomore album Ultimate Oceans on Stereogum last week. An iridescent pop track reminiscent of Washed Out meets a sedated The New Pornographers,”Galaxies” is familiar and satisfying yet feels defeated. “Galaxies” is prom night for mid to late twenty-somethings who sway in misguided unison to the shared disenchantment of young love turned static: the death of the honeymoon phase. Listless imagery painting spacial comparisons between intimacy and celestial phenomena is nothing new, and FAWNN struggles to breathe sincerity into this very evocation. What “Galaxies” DOES provide, however, is the aural equivalent to the ambivalence of drinking overly spiked punch, texting your ex a sad version of “hey” and half-heartedly hoping you don’t end up going home alone. The bass line is lulling and instinctual and when paired with the droll delicacies of the vocal harmonies, “Galaxies” creates more distance than it fills. This is likely an intentional sensation as the stand out lyric “Now that we’re allowed to touch/it’s over/Galaxies inside” encapsulates simply the boredom and painful loss of fascination when a love/like has run its respective course. Maybe that’s what makes “Galaxies” a frustrating listen. Maybe it yanks on that dark inner mess that we have been meaning to clean up but just haven’t made time for. It’s a song about passionate indifference and although successful in its glittery tones and thoughtful production, it is almost too literal in its heartbroken lethargy to feel anything more than “meh.”
Space out with the first taste from FAWNN’s latest “Galaxies” below:
There is nothing coy about Flint-based Cheerleader’s first full-length album, Bitchcraft. It is a riotous collection of defiant anti-apologies, that if delivered in any way other than Cheerleader’s impenetrable assault, would reinforce the very holding back they’re fighting against. Bitchcraft is the ultimate “fuck you” manifesto aimed to destroy, disarm, and devour the state of counterrevolution. Fully equipped with an advanced artillery of punk purism and unflinching feminism, Bitchcraft doesn’t knock. It grants itself permission.
The power of Christina “Polly” McCollum (lead vocals, guitar), Ashley MacDermaid (bass), and Nisa Seal (drums) is not contingent on image, labels or accessibility, rather their undeniable cohesion in being able to tear down the construct and crippling societal misogyny without compromising sincerity. The album opens with a shrill “WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR, HUH? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?” which feels more like a dare than a question. The words bleed into the opening track “Beauty Queen” where McCollum delivers the first of many deafening blows with repeating the lines “I am more than my body.” Although the album clocks in just over 23 minutes, don’t mistaken its brevity for a shortcut. Quite the contrary. Cheerleader is free of filler or watery withdrawals, saying what needs to be said without finding polite euphemisms to spare feelings. Closing out the track “Friday Night Bites” during an Addams Family worthy bass line, McCollum exclaims: “No one cared about you then/no one cares about you now,” a testament to that one thing we have always wanted to say to that person we’ve always wanted to say it to. That’s the beauty of the anti-beauty of Cheerleader’s debut album. They have found a way to inspire without the squishy connotation.
To say this is an important record for women is like saying it’s wet when it rains. The overarching message of reprisal through rebellion and tenacity channeled by audacity is what, when conjoined with their tightly woven, Bikini Kill sludge, elevates Bitchcraft from an argument to an uprising.
Listen to Bitchcraft in its entirety here and check out the track “Beauty Queen” below:
It’s been a while since we’ve checked in with our favorite cosmic trip-hop duo 
