It being the country’s big day today — a country of which at least half is in an ever-escalating sense of panic and unease over the agonizingly bad performance the other night in the presidential debate and what it means for us moving forward — it felt right to pop in and set off some fireworks with a few recommendations for some recent releases. And since today is all about celebrating our decision all those years ago to not live under a monarchy (which makes the court’s decision this week to establish imperial protections all the more galling) and do so with familiar faces, we’ve got four of them who’ve shown up repeatedly here over the years.
We’ll start with the oldest of the bunch and the ninth album from New Orleans’ Alynda Segarra, better known as Hurray for the Riff Raff. Released back in February, The Past is Still Alive has been on relatively steady rotation since that point, serving as a solid return after 2022’s somewhat disjointed and disappointing Life on Earth. (Segarra’s previous one, 2017’s The Navigator landed at #8 on my year-end list.) This one was recorded in the wake of Segarra’s father’s passing and as such seems to have found her probing her past to process the grief, returning to the introspective, spare folk style and confessional lyrics that characterized her excellent early albums. Rather than try to deal with it all on her own Segarra invited some noteworthy musicians to help her out, such as Hand Habit’s Meg Duffy and Bright Eyes’ Conor Oberst (the latter of whose stately duet with Segarra on “The World is Dangerous” is one of the album’s many highlights.)
There’s images of being poor and eating from the garbage on “Hourglass” (or shoplifting to eat as on “Snakeplant (The Past is Still Alive).”) There’s descriptions of her struggles in early adulthood, characterizing herself as “a war correspondent, a wandering loser” on “Dangerous” and “becoming the kind of girl that they warned me about” on “Hawkmoon.” (While singing from the “bomb shelter of her feather bed” as on “Colossus of Roads.”) There’s also the resilience that’s characterized Segarra’s best work — declarations that “nothing will stop me now” (“Snakeplant”), “I won’t stop dreaming” (“Dangerous”), and “this year tried to kill us, baby, well good luck trying, you can’t catch me.” (“Buffalo”) It all leads to a very personal album, one that feels as heartfelt and sincere as you’d expect for someone dealing with the departure of someone so close. The album closes with audio clips of her father’s encouraging voice messages, which is a poignant punctuation mark to a really good album. Check out one of my faves (the aforementioned “Buffalo”) here:
We’ll stay with our chronological approach to things and visit the latest release from New York’s Vampire Weekend next, Only God Was Above Us. It’s their first in four years and their fifth overall (the HAIM-heavy Father of the Bride landed at #8 on my 2019 list in spite of that dreaded collaboration) and similar to Segarra seems to have found the band in a more introspective mood than usual. Where the last album — described by frontman Ezra Koenig as a solo project (one that still used the band’s moniker despite neither drummer Chris Tomson nor bassist Chris Baio appearing on it) — found him confronting elements of marriage and becoming a father, this one finds him far less sunny and optimistic, rattling off lyrics that can best be described as bleak if not outright defeated.
The album opens with the line “‘F#$k the world,’ you said it quiet” on the deceptively giddy “Ice Cream Piano,” so you know you’re in store for something a little different this time around. Koenig sings of fatigue, futility, and a growing “f#$k it” attitude in light of what’s facing him — “I know you’re tired of trying…too old for dying young, too young to live alone, sifting through the centuries for moments of your own” on “Capricorn;” “I was tired, but waking up, I was dying to try my luck…you could lose some teeth that way” on “Prep School Gangsters;” “cynical, you can’t deny it…you don’t want to win this war cuz you don’t want the peace” on the aforementioned “Ice Cream.” Koenig and the band disguise these depressions under a blanket of sunny-sounding instruments and amping them up on speed — there’s delirious piano on “Ice Cream” and “Connect,” there’s frenzied violin and guitar on “Prep School” and “Gen-X Cops.” There’s even echoes of the past, whether it’s of the band itself (the drums from their classic “Mansard Roof” being recycled in “Connect”) or their pop predecessors (the riff from 90s one hit wonders Primitive Radio Gods on “Mary Boone”). It all swirls together to create a rather compelling listen, despite the darkness of the lyrics.
Even as Koenig lists a litany of disappointing realities on the closing “Hope” — “the phoenix burned but did not rise, now half the body’s paralyzed, there’s no one left to criticize…the sentencing was overturned, the killer freed, the court adjourned, a hope betrayed, a lesson learned…” — he balances that with the encouraging entreaty, “I hope you let it go.” It’s a surprisingly honest and embraceable set of songs (something that has always plagued a band as overtly esoteric and elitist as one that names songs after punctuation marks, boarding school holiday locales, and the aforementioned architectural features), one that isn’t afraid to openly confront some familiar and sincere emotions. It’s a winning shift, one I hope they keep up in the years to come rather than revert to their distancing defense mechanisms of old. Check out one of my faves, the aforementioned “Mary Boone,” here:
Up next we’ve got the return of Nashville’s Kings of Leon, back with their ninth album, Can We Please Have Fun. It’s a fitting title for a band who’s long been accused by their critics of having sapped all the joy and enthusiasm out of what they do (as on their exceptional first two albums Youth and Young Manhood and Aha Shake Heartbreak), leaving us instead with an increasing number of instances where the band seems to be living up their own backsides and admiring their flatulence. And while there’s some merit to these critiques (those first two albums remain my far and away favorites from their catalog) I’ve mostly enjoyed their evolution over the years, admittedly rocky as it’s been at times. Their last one, 2021’s When You See Yourself, landed at #5 on that year’s list and its moodier, more ethereal vibe was a nice extension (and perfection) of sounds they experimented with on its glossy predecessor WALLS. (Easily the weakest of their outings, in retrospect, though one I still enjoy several tracks from — it landed at #13 on 2016’s list, their lowest showing to date.)
This one by contrast finds them really trying to capture the feeling from the album’s title and bring a little heat back to the proceedings. For the second outing in a row bassist Jared Followill holds the key, having largely been a secret weapon up until this point. Whether it’s with simple riffs dancing in the background as on “Nowhere to Run” or the swimmy “Split Screen,” or more prominent, earwormy runs as on “Actual Daydream,” his riffs are the ones that get stuck in your head and humming them later. The rest of the band do a solid job keeping up with his pace, adding Walkmen-style guitars to “Hesitation Gen,” a surf rock feel to the aforementioned “Daydream,” or some Aha era energy to the fiery “Nothing to Do.”
Frontman Caleb Followill’s lyrics again cause eyerolls at times, whether it’s talking about eating dinner from a can as on the opening “Ballerina Radio,” getting pumped reading muscle mags on the can or posing the nonsensical juxtaposition of a mustang and kitty on lead single “Mustang” (which we can now add to the annals of odd animal showdowns alongside eagles vs sharks (a closet fave) and tunas vs lions.) Similar to the last time, though, these ultimately are minor aberrations, carried along by the strength of the music and melodies surrounding them. (Even though the thought of any of these guys eating canned ravioli — with their supermodel wives, private planes, and big houses — is more preposterous than those fictional animal battles.) Current fave is the bouncy “Don’t Stop the Bleeding,” which has another solid little bass line and some strong vocals from Caleb. Give it a listen here:
Last but not least comes the most recent release of the four, the sixth album from Kentucky’s Cage the Elephant. It’s their first in almost as many years (their last, Social Cues, landed at #14 on my list in 2019) and it’s been an eventful span for the band. In that time they won a Grammy for the aforementioned album (their second), frontman Matt Shultz’s (and guitarist brother Brad’s) father passed away, and Matt was arrested for possession of a pair of loaded firearms at a Manhattan hotel, narrowly avoiding jail time by pleading guilty and agreeing to check into a months-long rehab program (he reportedly appeared drunk at the time of the arrest). As part of his this process Shultz and his doctors apparently determined he’d been having an adverse reaction to a prescription medication the last three years, which caused “an utter mental health crisis” and outright “psychosis” in the singer, potentially leading to impaired decision-making such as that which led to his arrest. (Shultz now credits that arrest with saving his life.)
Unsurprisingly these events are evident throughout their latest, giving us a dozen songs whose lyrics are littered with allusions to the confusion and chaos Shultz appears to have felt. Sonically it continues the synthetic, 80s-inflected vibe of their last one — bright melodies, glossy production, and shiny little hooks — but the lyrics belie a darker side, one riddled with disorientation and regret. For the former there’s the opening “HiFi (True Light)”, which has Shultz going “up, down, turn around,” while the subsequent “Rainbow” has him floating like the titular entity “up when I get down, right round.” Lead single “Neon Pill” has him “knocked down (not out).” (This track is probably the most explicit regarding his pharmacological problems, finding him “double crossed” by said substance.) “Float Into the Sky” finds him “laying down….at the bottom of the pile…floating into the sky.”
Meanwhile back half tracks like “Metaverse” and “Out Loud” start to dive into the alluded to sense of regret. The former has Shultz “all checked out” while the latter has him admitting “man I really messed up now, too afraid to say it out loud — who am I tryin’ to be?” (“on a cocaine buzz and caffeine high,” no less…) There’s references to “golden handcuffs” and a “ball and chain” on the song of the same name; acknowledgments of his “human condition” on “Shy Eyes;” “trying to put the pieces together” and “wanting the world to disappear” (while his partner lies on the bathroom floor unable to breathe) in the Strokes-y “Silent Picture;” nakedly confessing “I don’t want to play those games — will we ever be the same?” on “Same;” and describing “walking the plank just like [his] mother” on the closing “Over Your Shoulder.” It’s a surprisingly honest and mature take on things for a band normally known for its hedonistic, “heaven can wait” attitude. Current fave is the stutter stepping “Good Time,” which hearkens back to that bacchanalian band of yore (and its imperatives to “get lit”) — give it a spin here:
We’ll close with a quartet of lists to keep you busy over the long weekend. As with most lists they either intentionally or accidentally spark some strong reactions — whether by their inclusions, omissions, and/or rankings — and these have some doozies in them, so hopefully they’ll help fuel some hearty debates amongst you and yours. We’ll start slowly with the one that will probably rile the least amount of folks — if only because not enough people know/care about the band (which is a travesty as they’re one of my absolute faves, one dating way back to my childhood as described in my recent walk down memory lane). Said band is British indie icons The Smiths and the ‘Gum recently did a list of their top ten songs, which has some obvious selections but also some glaring omissions — where’s “What Difference Does it Make?” Or “Hand in Glove?” “Shakespeare’s Sister?” “Bigmouth Strikes Again?” I’d even take “William, It Was Really Nothing” over something like “Still Ill.” I know it’s tough to pick only ten songs for a band with this many great ones, but still…
We’ll move to another band-specific one next and the AV Club’s ranking of the best Zeppelin songs of all time. They went with forty for whatever reason, so while we have a little more room to maneuver they still left out some absolute killers — things like “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You.” “I Can’t Quit You Baby.” “How Many More Times.” “The Lemon Song.” “Moby Dick.” “D’yer Maker.” “The Wanton Song.” “In my Time of Dying.” I know you can’t include everything, but damnit man these songs rule. Any of them could replace something like “For Your Life” (a decent tune, don’t get me wrong, but definitely not the FIFTEENTH BEST THING THEY EVER RECORDED?!?!) and not cause any concern. I bristle a bit at the top ten, too (TWO from In Through the Out Door?!?), but overall think they mostly got it right. See which of your faves are missing and sound off…
We’ll shift now to a pair of multi-act attempts — the first trying to rank the best albums of all time (even I’m not dumb enough to try that one), while the second seeks to only quantify a single decade — and begin our descent into madness. We’ll start with the former and Apple’s list of the 100 best albums, which came out recently Unsurprisingly it’s got a slick interface and design, but those bells and whistles can’t cover up the craziness that lies within. You can always find things to quibble with in the lower half of these types of lists (Robyn? Burial? Travis Scott?), but once you get into the upper portion you’re supposed to be dialed in and dealing nothing but haymakers. And while they do a decent job making sure the masters are represented, things start to go off the rails as they get near the top. Frank Ocean and Kendrick Lamar in the top 10 of ALL TIME?! Lauryn Hill’s admittedly excellent solo album as #1?! Even having Amy Winehouse and Beyonce in there was a stretch — in the top 100, sure, but top 10?! There’s loads of insanity here, but nowhere near as much as on the next one, Pitchfork’s attempt to rank the best 100 albums of the 90s.
Overall I think they did a pretty good job — some of my all-time faves are in here (Elliott, Tribe, BTS, GBV, Modest, Portishead, the Lizard, etc), but the rankings on a lot of these are wild (The Chronic in the high 70s? Oval, Boredoms, and Godspeed You! Black Emperor in the 40s? Yo La Tengo in the 20s?!?) The omissions, though, are where things become indefensible. That there’s no Rage, Nails, or Tupac (to name just three) is bad, but that NEITHER Oasis nor Pearl Jam make the list is f#$king buffoonery — they were two of the biggest bands of the decade and the opposite side of infamous rivalries with several bands you DID include. If you include Blur, then you have to include Oasis. If you include Nirvana (twice) then you have to include PJ. Hell, you included Pulp and referenced the Blur/Pulp/Oasis competition in your writeup — you KNOW the music warrants inclusion. This one was utterly asinine the further along we went, but see if you think I’m overreacting. If nothing else I guarantee it’ll stir up some conversations…
That’s it for now — enjoy the long weekend and we’ll see each other soon. Until next time, amici…
–BS