Alt-ernate Reality: The Dream of Simplified Sincerity

We’ll pop in today in the midst of the Madness to talk about the latest album from alt-J, The Dream, which is emblematic of the mood and has been on repeat a lot lately. It’s their first in five years (their last being the disappointing Relaxer from 2017) and it’s a maddening affair. At turns brilliant and others an eye rolling exasperation, it’s as head scratching and illogical as the tournament thus far, yet has nevertheless been somewhat unshakable for me.

The frustrations come from the lyrics, which are a nonsensical mashup of topics across the album’s twelve tracks. The comparisons frontman Joe Newman evokes to Adam Sandler have never been stronger than on this album, as he sings about cola (“Bane”), hot dogs (“U&ME”), cryptocurrency (“Hard Drive Gold”), and stereotypes more played out than 8 Ball jackets* (coked up actors in the cleverly named “The Actor.”) In these moments I honestly feel like I’m listening to Sandler do a bit at the Weekend Update desk with his sh#$-eating grin and acoustic guitar rather than what otherwise pretends to be a serious album.

It’s unfortunate because this inanity is balanced by some absolutely beautiful melodies and the band’s customary layering in of details (this is an amazing headphone album, particularly if you’ve had a couple), as well as some truly heartbreaking lyrics. When Newman/Sandler isn’t doing a bit and is instead speaking simply from the heart, the songs devastate. Whether it’s telling someone he’s happier when they’re gone on the song of the same name, admitting he’s coming apart a bit in “Losing my Mind,” or trying to woo a first love (or love at first sight depending on the timing) in “Powders,” it hits differently because you can tell he’s not trying to be clever or funny, he’s just being sincere.

It’s because you’re reminded the band can still do this that the other gibberish is so infuriating. (Their first two albums remain faves – 2014’s This is All Yours landed at #3 on that year’s list, while their debut An Awesome Wave landed at #4 the year prior.) Primarily because it’s so unnecessary — it takes away from the album’s other strengths and ends up serving as nothing more than a distraction. (And while you can argue songwriters since time immemorial have written about things they didn’t experience firsthand as a creative exploration of their mind and the world around them, I refuse to believe someone could be equally passionate and creatively stimulated by tales of bitcoin and drug-addicted actors as by those of unrequited love and personal loss. Stop putting up pretenses and just be real…)

“Get Better” is this dynamic distilled to a single song, starting with a quiet moment between two loved ones in bed (listening to Elliott, at that — respect…) before shifting to a shoutout to frontline COVID workers (?), that loved one being hospitalized, recovering, and ultimately dying in a car crash on the day of their release (what in the actual f#$k?!), and then shifting back to a debilitating farewell. (The use of a played back message from the departed here is so simple and powerful (and universal — who hasn’t done that before?) it’s shocking. It’s one of two times they use this trick on the album (the other being in the aforementioned “Powders”) and it’s potent both times.) This whipsawing between sincerity and stupidity is so counterproductive you just wish you could shout at them, “Knock it off, for fu#$’s sake — stop trying to be clever or arty and just be honest!”

Fortunately the positives end up outweighing these negatives overall — those knife-twisting moments of sincerity, the fantastic melodies (other highlights include the sinister house beat on the back half of “Chicago,” the “Unfinished Sympathy” vibe on “Philadelphia,” and the languid bliss of “Walk a Mile”).  They’re potent and plentiful enough to overpower those annoyances — like swarms of chiggers destroying your ankles on an otherwise pristine day at the beach or stepping in a gargantuan pile of cow sh#$ while walking in verdant hills on a hike. You can’t ignore their presence or their negative impact, but hopefully by focusing on the good around them you can mute their power a bit. Give “Get Better” a spin to see for yourself:

* I legitimately saw someone walking around with an 8 Ball jacket on the other day — and not an old one, this looked like a newer, redesigned model. I sh#$ you not… “And I think to myselllllllfffff…..what a woooonderfuuuuul wooooorld…….”


We’ll close with one other album that’s been in heavy rotation lately — one whose sincerity and naked honesty verge on the uncomfortable at times, in stark juxtaposition with the above — departed singer/songwriter Jason Molina’s great Didn’t it Rain (released under the Songs: Ohia moniker), which recently turned 20. The writeup in Stereogum is a good read and does the trouble artist’s album justice, relaying how they accidentally discovered it. I had stumbled upon Molina a few years prior for the Lioness album (the title track and “Coxcomb Red” are still two faves) and remember the intensity he sang with just grabbing you without relief. I didn’t learn about his sad personal story until years later, which makes some of the struggles he sings of even more poignant in retrospect. The closing trio of “Blue” songs here have always been faves, none moreso than the last, the lovely “Blue Chicago Moon.” Give it a listen here while you read the above:

Until next time, amici…
–BS

Ye: The Heartbreaking Work of a Staggering Jeen-Yuhs

I’m slowly coming out of my annual end of year hibernation (mandated by state law in 37 of the 50 United States to give folks a chance to recover from my endless babbling during the traditional “best of” list) and had a chance to watch the new documentary on Kanye, jeen-yuhs. The three-part doc is streaming on Netflix and it focuses primarily on a yet to explode Kanye as captured by filmmaker/friend Coodie who was given basically unfettered access to film anything and everything going on at the time.

To situate you in the chronology of Ye, at this point Kanye had established himself as a coveted producer of beats (it picks up right after he’s done “H to the Izzo” for Jay-Z), but the film shows a restless, relentless Ye dissatisfied with the newfound success as he struggles to record his debut album as a rapper (NOT a rapper/producer, a label we see him bristle at when someone tries to pay him a compliment (“that’s like calling someone the ‘best kid rapper.'”)) This struggle encompasses the majority of the first two parts and shows a number of exhilarating moments in the process — seeing Mos Def literally jawdropped after trading verses with Kanye backstage (planting the seeds of what would become “Two Words.”)  Seeing Pharrell leave the room, mind blown after hearing “Through the Wire” for the first time (and then coming back to give some incredibly encouraging/heartfelt feedback.) Seeing his mom pause and grin, tongue in teeth, after she’s name checked in “Hey Mama” (having just rapped the song line for line with Kanye prior to that point.)

It smashes some serious nostalgia nerves as you remember not only how good his music used to be — how many “oh SH$%” moments his music used to generate on a regular basis, often several times in a single song let alone the entire album —  but also what it was like to hear these things for the first time.  Before he got enormous, before everything he did was (or tried to be) a Historic Event. It was just about the songs and being heard.  Saying something profound or memorable because he was being sincere, not because he was trying to.  (The latest Kanye kerfuffle over killing a Claymation Pete Davidson in his video being just the latest evidence of Kanye thinking he is the smartest and/or funniest person in the room at all times and what happens when one/both of those are no longer true.)

And it’s because we’re seeing this Kanye that the film resonates emotionally. You feel his frustration (and maybe a little judging scorn) when the too cool/indifferent New Yorkers around him cannot be troubled to listen to his music. (Chicago doesn’t have rap – New York has rap. Why don’t you go back to the cornfield, little boy?) The scenes of him literally going door to door at Roc a Fella records, coopting the inhabitant’s stereo to put on his demos and rap at them, are both wrenching and inspiring as they are completely unimpressed — time after time after time.  You feel the momentary embarrassment when Scarface calls him out for putting his retainers on the studio desk (he’s constantly taking them out to rap at people — usually unsolicited — which becomes something of a running joke early on) before the chest-thumping joy at leaving him almost speechless after listening to the first verse of “Family Business.” (Seeing him shaking his head, quietly muttering “Incredible…” is one of the high points of the film for me.)

And you feel a fraction of the pain he must have felt after losing his mother so suddenly.  His mom was one of the biggest surprises here, not having seen much of her previously — but to see the pair’s incredibly close relationship, to see her immense pride and how visibly happy it made him every time they were together, to see how her words and advice cut through in a way that not many others’ seemed to.  She seemed like a remarkable woman and it makes you wonder how much of the unraveling in recent years was due to her premature passing. (Her reaction to hearing Kanye bought an expensive piece of new jewelry instead of a house was hilarious — initial motherly disappointment over a wasteful/unnecessary purchase, until she sees it in person and then LOOOOOOVES it.) Almost every scene she’s in is warmed by her presence and it’s after her death that you start to see things coming apart.

This part of the Ye timeline is handled by the third piece of the documentary and it’s almost unwatchable by the end.  There’s the Taylor Swift incident, the nonsense with Trump, the presidential run, the dive into religious proselytizing, the insatiable egomania and increasingly incoherent diatribes. Compressed into the final 90 min you forget just how many eye-rolling, concerning episodes there have been over the years and how numbed to them we’ve become.  Two scenes stand out from this span — one a slightly joking encounter where Rhymefest calls Kanye out for referring to himself as a genius (“that’s for somebody else to call you — who are you to call yourself a genius?!” he asks when Kanye is offended someone didn’t call him one). Kanye sort of laughs the exchange off, but you can tell this is when the ego is starting to run more unchecked than previously in the film and it causes some concern. (Like seeing a truck picking up speed downhill and swerving towards a playground.)

The other is when Kanye’s giving one of his non-sensical rants to a room full of silent “listeners” (one of whom is Justin Bieber who stares straight ahead at the TV like a puppy will be shot if he gives any indication he’s listening/agreeing to what’s filling his ears) — Coodie turns off the camera, cutting Kanye off in mid-sentence. It’s a jarring moment — sort of like the final episode of the Sopranos where you’re like “wait did my TV just die?” — and it happens at least one more time before the final credits. It’s an incredibly powerful indication of how far off the rails things have become (do you know how bad it is for your own cameraman — a guy shooting a movie about you — to say “mmmmm we’ve got enough. Don’t need any more footage of you right now…”?!) but I found myself fighting the urge to do the same by the end. It’s just too overwhelming — you (like Coodie) can tell this person needs help and is seemingly unable (or unwilling) to do so, so there’s no joy or merit in watching them continue to spiral out.

It ends on that note, having caught us up to the tumultuous present, and it leaves you without any easy answers. There are zero indications things are getting better in Camp Kanye — musically, personally, etc — and so the frustration and empathy the film evokes are unlikely to diminish anytime soon. (One can only fathom what the next head shaking episode is going to be anymore…) And yet at least part of the film’s intended goal was achieved — to remind us of the Vision and Purpose (the first two episodes’ titles) that captivated us and made him a global phenomenon. If he has yet to experience the final chapter’s Awakening (not to Christianity as you suspect he’d argue, but to how his behavior harms both himself and those around him) you hope it finds him soon.


We’ll close with some light cleanup (so I can close some of the umpty gump tabs I’ve got open on my iPad) and some songs that’ve been piling up during hibernation.  First comes one of the songs that Courtney Barnett did for the Apple TV+ show Harriet the Spy, “Smile Real Nice.” It’s an upbeat return akin to her earlier material (plenty of guitar available here!) and is a good listen:

Another femme fave doing music for an Apple TV+ show is Waxahatchee, who contributed songs for its El Deafo, which is based on the best-selling kid’s book. It’s a bit of a poppier turn for Ms Katie (not like the country-tinged elegance from her last one) but it works well — check out “Tomorrow” here:

Up third is another contribution to the Hollywood machine, this time by the National who did songs for the recent Cyrano movie starring Peter Dinklage. It’s a simple, lush piano ballad a la the band’s Boxer era, which is something even superfan Oddge can’t quibble with. Check out “Somebody Desperate” here:

Speaking of piano, the lead single from Regina Spektor’s upcoming album Home, before and after (due out in June) is a lovely little track. Similar to the National it calls to mind earlier, simpler efforts (back when her big booming heart was firmly planted front and center). Hopefully there’s more like it on the album when it arrives — check out “Becoming All Alone” in the meantime:

Next comes the latest single from Christian Lee Hutson’s upcoming album Quitters, which was produced by friends Conor Oberst and Phoebe Bridgers (due out 1 April).  It’s a bright sounding song, simple drum machine percussion and Hutson’s warm, somewhat throaty voice, but it sports some poignant lyrics that really drive it home. (“If you tell a lie for long enough then it becomes the truth. I am gonna be OK someday — with or without you…”) Give “Rubberneckers” a listen here:

Up next is the latest from Radiohead side project The Smile (starring frontman Thom Yorke and guitarist Jonny Greenwood along with Sons of Kemet drummer Tom Skinner). The band famously performed as a surprise during last year’s Glastonbury streaming event, but hadn’t surfaced until recently with their first single “You Will Never Work in Television Again.” It’s still unclear if there will be a full album or not, but in the meantime we can at least enjoy these — check out “The Smoke” here:

And we’ll fittingly close the same way we started — with a tune from here at home and the latest from the Cool Kids.  These guys remain somewhat hit or miss for me (their debut The Bake Sale remains a fantastic old school throwback though), but they’re back with a TRIPLE album — two solo albums and one as a pair — and hopefully lead single “It’s Yours Pt. 2” is an indication of what else to expect. Besides name checking the Wu classic it finds Chuck and Mike back in a laidback flow with a solid beat to boot this time around. It works well — see what you think here:

That’s it for now — until next time, amici…
–BS

 

Over and Over Again: The Best Music of 2021

Sitting down to try and make sense of this past year as part of my annual exercise in reflection feels a bit like that old Indian adage about the blind men trying to describe the elephant. There each man has a hold of a different part of the animal and accurately describes that component, but things fall apart when they try to put those pieces together. Things devolve into arguments as each is sure their take on things is correct and the others are lying or mistaken. The moral of the story is to recognize that one’s piece of the puzzle — while accurately understood and described — may be but a limited slice of the overall reality and that multiple things can be true at once. (ie your description of the trunk may be just as valid as mine of the tusk, but neither of us have a clue what the f#$k it all means.) So while I feel confident about some of the things that happened this year — vaccines, promotions, resumptions, and relocations — I can’t quite put them together in a way that makes sense.

If last year’s themes were “solace and comfort, respite and refrain,” this year’s were interruption and incompletion, balanced by hope and healing. Part of the reason I think putting this proverbial elephant of a year together is so difficult is because those two pairs were in an ongoing battle with each other throughout the year, a disjointed disparity that ruined any sense of cohesion, progress, or peace being created. For every thing that arose to give us much needed hope about the days to come — the aforementioned vaccine (THREE of them! Available in abundance so that everyone in this country who’s not a conspiracy-addled buffoon could get them! For free!), the resumption of live shows and plays (and sports! With people in the stands!), the ability to meet with friends and family (indoors! Without masks! After flying to new locations even!) Every time one of these popped up, the former pair quickly crept in to darken the sunshine or block it altogether.

Thought those shots were enough? Just kidding — here come the variants! Enjoying those shows/games? Sorry — we’re gonna cancel those by the dozens again! (“This just in — more variants!”) Relishing reconnecting with colleagues and loved ones, staring at their maskless faces in person instead of over Facetime or Zoom? Tough taters — time to cover those hot air holes again and retreat to the safety of our video veils! (Back by popular demand — THE VARIANTS!) Every single time there was a reason to celebrate, to believe we’d turned the corner and were finally going to generate some much-needed momentum — to usher in that fabled second coming of the Roaring 20s with all its drunken debauchery and sex-soaked shenanigans — you’d wake up again on your couch, still in the same sweatpants you’ve been wearing for the past year and a half, slightly confused about whether you’d dreamt that sliver of sunshine or not.

It’s because of all this stop/start inconsistency, as well as the unrelenting toll of those variants (52M cases and over 835k deaths in this country — more than double what we had at this point last year), that the final piece was so urgently felt — the need to heal. It was Google’s search theme of the year for good reason (the ad for it is pretty moving if you haven’t seen it already) — after so many glimmers of hope and so many causes for concern, the primal, desperate need for relief was felt by almost everyone.

The disorientation became almost overwhelming after awhile and things started to devolve into arguments over those elephant parts — “Things are getting better!” “Things are getting worse!” “This is almost over!” “This is never going to end!” “We can make it!” “We’re kidding ourselves!” And so it’s no wonder that folks found themselves looking for how to cope and how to heal in the midst of all that. For some it meant diving deeper into their pandemic refuges while trying to resume some of their “before times” rituals. For me it meant a move back to my beloved city by the lake in an effort to remove a persistent point of annoyance/disdain and (foolishly? Futilely?) try to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.

There through it all, as always, was the music. Somewhat unsurprisingly for a year that in so many ways felt like a carbon copy of the previous one, this year’s list has the exact same number of entries as last year’s — 26. Of those, this year’s crop inverts the balance of old timers to newcomers with this year’s skewing much more heavily to familiar faces (maybe in part a reflection of that desperate need for reconnection after so much distancing). 16 of the 26 bands here have appeared on previous years’ annual lists, while only 10 are first-timers — although for the second year in a row, the top spot went to one of those debuts. (And man, is it a good one…) The list shakes out in tiers — the top one holding the first three albums, representing clear and away the best things I listened to this year, the next one with the subsequent three albums, which I also listened to a bunch, and the last holding the remaining 20, which were all good but a step below that middle tier.

It feels fitting for a year with such clear demarcations between its component parts. And while we still may not be where we want to be overall — still at home, still in those sweatpants, still waiting to get on with our lives and leave our fears (and maybe one day our masks) behind — it’s worth reminding ourselves of the progress we’ve made this past year and the reasons we have to hope. Of the things we managed to get done in spite of the setbacks and the things we can plan (however tentatively) to get done in the coming year. Of the people we used to be and who we hope (time/luck/variants permitting) to become once more. In the meantime we can look back to the music that helped us through — helped brighten the dark days and heighten the bright ones, helped dampen the disorientation and bring delight to the delay, and helped give us hope for what’s to come. It still might not make sense, but if we remember the pieces we hold are but part of the whole and that we need each others’ elements to make it all work, we might yet put this elephant of a year — and ourselves — back together.

Enjoy, my friends — I hope to see you out there this year… –BS


Milky Chance - Trip Tape Lyrics and Tracklist | Genius16. Milky Chance — Trip Tape; Jungle — Loving in Stereo: this one’s for the dancers and a duo of duos that makes you want to let down your hair a little. Despite the hopeful expectations this year would mark the start of the Roaring 20’s second coming, it didn’t shake out that way (yet) but hese two didn’t let that get in the way, giving us the opportunity to have a few of those carefree moments at the house (or in the car) instead. Both are supplied by Europeans on a bit of a comeback — Germany’s Milky Chance are back with their first album since 2019, but truthfully I’d lost interest after their infectious 2013 debut Sadnecessary. This one makes it easy to get back in the water, though, serving up inspired covers of some well-known songs while also offering original material in between. (It’s billed as a mixtape and not an official album, but whatever you call it it’s pretty good.)

The covers are really interesting selections — Bad Bunny’s “La Noche de Anoche,” The Weeknd’s “Save Your Tears,” Dua Lipa’s “Levitate.” Even perennial karaoke stalwart “Tainted Love” by Soft Cell shows up. In every case but the latter I think I prefer the reenvisioned version — and even that one was close. (Honestly for a song I’ve heard eleventy billion times it’s laudable how original their rendition for that one sounds, allowing you to hear something new in the source material.) Originals “Cold Summer Breeze,” “Love Again,” and “Lights Out_Demo” stand solidly alongside, holding their own with the more well-known tunes. These guys are really good at creating that laid back bouncing groove that was in short supply this year.

Loving In Stereo | JungleEngland’s Jungle know a thing or two about that as well, offering tracks that toggle between getting you to create a disco in the den or soundtracking some spring cleaning. That duality can be somewhat self-defeating as on their previous album, 2018’s uneven For Ever. Their songs always sound good — bright and sunny, with just enough studio polish to make them gleam — but their surface-level substance invites their being relegated to the background if the balance is off, innocuous to the point of being ignored. That’s what happened on this one’s uneven predecessor, but the pair manage to avoid that fate here, giving just enough beyond their feel good vibe to keep them in the forefront of your mind.

The album starts out strong, running through four upbeat winners in a row — lead single “Keep Moving” (which is irresistible), nu disco winners “All of the Time” and “Lifting You,” and the irrepressibly sunny “Romeo” (which manages to succeed in spite of some eye rolling lyrics). The back half takes us out of the disco and reminds me more of Sault’s recent albums at times — sonically, at least. Where Sault explicitly and unflinchingly tackles issues of race and oppression in their songs (with stunning power at times), Jungle more often opts to avoid those things lyrically as it would harsh the mellow, typically touching on them elliptically if they do so at all. It works well when they do so, though — tracks like “What D’You Know About Me?” and “Goodbye My Love” have more weight than most of their surroundings (a potential invitation to try more of this in the future), while “Fire” and “No Rules” give glancing blows to the topics (maybe?) instead of employing the direct approach of the former pair. The duo quickly return to safer terrain with tracks like “Truth,” “Talk About It,” and “Can’t Stop the Stars” to close the album out, almost like they scared themselves with the touchier material. Which I suppose is ok — with as divisive as things have become in recent years, you can’t expect everyone to be as fearless as acts like Sault. Sometimes escapist soundtracks are just what we need…

Courtney Barnett: Things Take Time, Take Time Album Review | Pitchfork15. Courtney Bartnett — Things Take Time, Take Time; John Andrews & the Yawns — Cookbook: these two represent a slight letdown compared to excellent earlier material, but both grow on you and get you to embrace their quieter, more monotone palette over time. (Ironically, Barnett’s album cover is exactly that, nine different shades of blue.) Interestingly it’s the third album for both — Barnett’s first since 2018’s Tell Me How You Really Feel (which landed at #14 on that year’s list) and Andrews’ first since 2017’s Bad Posture — so maybe that, plus the exhausting times we’re living in, inspired/required a change from what came before.

For Barnett it finds her stretching her already lackadaisical sound even further, pulling the mood (and some of the words) like warm taffy. Her normally riotously wild guitar is largely absent here, making a brief appearance at the end of “Turning Green,” but otherwise tamed on tracks like “Before You Gotta Go,” “Take It Day By Day,” and “Write a List of Things to Look Forward to” (all winners, the latter even Obama-approved) or supplanted outright by synth/piano as on “Sunfair Sundown” and “Oh the Night” (both lovely, languid tunes). This absence and the resulting mood of melancholy are what take a moment to adjust to, as Barnett’s fiery guitar and flippant attitude are two of her hallmarks, but once you make the shift and open your ears to what’s here it’s an enjoyable listen.

John Andrews & The Yawns – Cookbook LP – WoodsistSame holds true for Andrews — his previous albums had evoked the dreamy, psychedelic sounds of the late 60s British Invasion (think Yardbirds, Kinks, etc), while this one finds him embracing early 70s AM radio (think Laurel Canyon, California sunshine). Similar to Barnett it takes your ears/brain a minute to adjust their expectations, but once you do this is a damned pretty album, one that makes you want to lay on the floor (preferably in a wedge of that aforementioned sun) and just bliss out for its duration.

The opening “New California Blue” could serve as a concise summation of what’s to come with each of its three words — New. California. Blue. — and it’s a lovely, lazy track. The following trio of “River of Doubt,” “Ain’t That Right?,” and “Try” carry that vibe along gloriously into one of the album’s two instrumentals before shifting slightly to the perfect little folk tune “Early Hours of the Morning,” the album’s centerpiece and gem. The final two songs “Easy Going” and “Keep on Dreaming” battle to see which can put you into a beautiful dream before the album rides out on the movie credits overlay “Thankyou.” It’s a bit different than what I’d expected, but damn if it isn’t a lovely surprise.

Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats - The Future | Album Review14. Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats — The Future; Parquet Courts — Sympathy for Life: this slot’s for the hybrids and a pair of albums from favorites that sound more like their alter egos than the ones being billed. Nathaniel is back with the Night Sweats for the first time since 2018’s Tearing at the Seams (which landed in the top spot on that year’s list), but instead of sounding like a return to the classic soul sound of their first two albums, this one sounds more like a solo outing with a few flourishes (with a few notable exceptions). Which is by no means a bad thing — I’m a big fan of his more intimate solo stuff, as evidenced by his wonderful And It’s Still Alright landing at number #5 on last year’s list. It’s just when you bill it as a Night Sweats album, you expect something a little different — a big, booming sound full of blaring horns and sweaty urgency whipping you into a fervor.

What we find here for the most part are solo songs with a few embellishments, giving us something in between the two states — not quite the confessional solo stuff, and not quite the jubilant soul party either. In the end it doesn’t really matter — Rateliff is a good enough songwriter that you fall for the songs and his melodies even though they feel somewhat stuck in that sonic limbo. Things get off to a good start with the powerful wallop of “The Future” and “Survivor” (which find Nathaniel singing the absolute SH#$ out of the song) before it transitions to a string of songs from the other side of the fence — the stately “Face Down in the Moment” and its successor “Something Ain’t Right,” the lovely “Baby I Got Your Number,” and the Graceland-era Simon-sounding “Oh, I.” They’re all solid songs on their own — just more akin to his solo work — but they’re interspersed with more traditional Sweats-style material, such as the lush “What If I,” the excellent “I’m On Your Side,” and the powerhouse finale “Love Don’t.” (The latter two of which again find Rateliff absolutely BOOMING out the vocals — it’s incredible.) Whichever side of the psyche is singing, this is another winning set of songs from Rateliff and crew.

Parquet Courts → Sympathy for LifeFor the Courts — back for the first time since 2018’s Wide Awaaaaake!, which landed at #3 on that year’s list — this album definitely feels much more like a Parkay Quarts outing than something from the flagship enterprise. The Quarts are the more schizophrenic, experimental half of the band’s personality, even less concerned with “songs” and the expectations of their fans than the Courts are (which is saying something for a band as known for their flippant sarcasm as these guys). If the Courts are Dr Jekyll, the Quarts are the unhinged Mr Hyde, bouncing between catchy “normal” tunes and oddball (at times unlistenable) tangents multiple times over the course of their albums.

I’ve always viewed the Quarts outings a bit like the band’s geyser, coming in between every album or two as they do, regular as clockwork — it was the band getting in a room to make a bunch of noise and blow off some steam before returning to the rigor of their regular job and the restrictions of being Parquet Courts. They’ve blurred the lines between the two before — as on 2015’s noisy instrumentals EP Monastic Living, which was released as the Courts but decidedly a Quartian affair — but never on a full length album as they do here. And unfortunately as on the EP the name alone can’t change the end result — a mild disappointment overall tempered by some dazzling highlights.

The regular Courts songs represent the latter, with Obama-approved “Walking at a Downtown Pace,” “Black Widow Spider,” “Just Shadows,” and the delirious “Homo Sapien” shining bright. The Quarts songs find the band channeling Talking Heads, which they pull off rather well — “Marathon of Anger,” “Plant Life,” and the title track all sound like alternate universe Fear of Music tracks — but the spacy meandering diminishes the potency of the aforementioned tracks after a while. They go out on a high note, though, with the absolutely stellar “Pulcinella,” whose slowly simmering groove builds to a hypnotic conclusion and is an immediate favorite. A good not great return overall, but with some outstanding moments in between.

It's Not Them. It Couldn't Be Them. It Is Them! | Guided By Voices13. Guided by Voices — Earth Man Blues, It’s Not Them. It Couldn’t Be Them. It Is Them; Ty Segall — Harmonizer: this slot’s for the restlessly prolific and two outfits who could almost fill a music store all on their own (and seem intent upon trying). For frequently appearing fave GBV, they took it easy on us this year and “only” released a pair of albums, their 33rd and 34th — the early year Earth Man Blues and its back half brother It’s Not Them. It Couldn’t Be Them. It IS Them. (a nice winking nod to the common reaction to seeing the news they’re releasing new music again.) (Note — the “only” refers solely to the GBV moniker — they spent the middle of the year masquerading as Cub Scout Bowling Pins and releasing that debut album, so the overall volume was actually the same as last year — and three times most band’s output.)

Earth Man was meant to be something of a concept album — a musical about life in elementary school (the John H Morrison noted on the cover being the school frontman Bob Pollard attended as a kid) — but if you ignore that stated aim and just focus on the songs (which is relatively easy to do as I never really picked up on that narrative arc, despite numerous listens during the year) it’s right in line with other recent outings — mostly good with a handful of excellent tracks to balance out the oddities (which end up growing on you in the end anyway). Tracks like “Made Man,” “The Batman Sees the Ball,” “Dirty Kid School,” and “Test Pilot” all sport solid riffs that should make them welcome additions to the notoriously epic live shows, while the same holds for songs like “High in the Rain,” “Dance of Gurus,” “Black and White Eyes in a Prism,” and “My (Limited) Engagement” from It IS Them. I say it nearly every year, but it boggles the mind both how easy they make creating this many good songs seem, as well as how they remember how to play them without an extensive cheat sheet live. These guys are just relentless…

Harmonizer | Ty SegallHarmonizer finds Segall continuing to stray from his vintage era garage rock material to mine his more esoteric impulses, offering a psychedelic synth trip that somehow works pretty well (despite my long-standing disdain for said instrument). It’s a rather eclectic mix, in line with 2018’s Freedom’s Goblin with its rapid hopscotching around. Tracks like the front half of “Pictures” and all of “Play” showcase bright, soaring riffs bound to soundtrack a car commercial or sports broadcast soon, while the hypnotic meltdown at the end of the title track (which previously calls to mind U2’s “Numb” with the heavily distorted guitar) could do the same.

Besides the adrenaline rush riffs of his classic era, Segall’s other signature is just how HEAVY he can sound (explored more directly in one of his many side projects, Fuzz) and songs like “Waxman,” “Whisper,” and the thundering “Erased” highlight that irresistibly. (The latter could/should accompany a Braveheart-style charge into battle while “Whisper” is one of my favorite overall songs this year.) I may still miss the sweaty songs erupting from the garage (my persistent favorite), but this is a pretty winning change of scenery, too.

The Black Keys: Delta Kream Album Review | Pitchfork12. The Black Keys — Delta Kream; Black Pistol Fire — Look Alive: this slot’s motto is “if it ain’t broke” and a pair of albums that find long-time faves (both bluesy twosomes) laying in the cut. Not necessarily phoning it in (because that implies a lack of craft or sincerity), but more embracing the moment of where they’re at in their careers and reveling in it vs pushing their sound into any new terrain. (Merry Christmas to all — no synths!)

The Keys lean hardest on the armrest, giving us an album of their favorite blues covers from artists such as Junior Kimbrough, John Lee Hooker, and RL Burnside. It’s their tenth album — their first since 2019’s cheesily named (yet solid musically) Let’s Rock!, which landed at #6 on that year’s list) — and whether it’s merely to celebrate that milestone or a reflection of having been a band for nearly twenty years and knowing you no longer need to do what’s hot/cool to survive, the band clearly is in their comfort zone here. They’ve done something similar before — on 2006’s Chulahoma, which again found them covering Kimbrough tunes (he got the whole EP that time vs only half the songs here) — but this time they’ve broadened their sound, bringing in session musicians (guitarist Kenny Brown and bassist Eric Deaton, who both recorded with Burnside and Kimbrough) to fill things out. It works well, adding additional heft (and street cred) to the songs, recorded without rehearsal in a single sprint of a day.

That lack of preamble or preparation gives the entire album a loose, convivial warmth — like a bottle of brown passed amongst friends — and it served as a great soundtrack to driving through the Arizona desert this year, the songs slowly unwinding like the landscape. Tracks like lead single “Crawling Kingsnake,” “Louise,” and “Stay All Night” radiate an easy groove, while “Poor Boy Long Way From Home,” “Coal Black Mattie,” and “Sad Days, Lonely Nights” are vintage dive footstompers. They even reprise “Do the Romp” from their debut (yet another Kimbrough cover), a fitting homage to both where they’ve come from as artists and where their hearts lie as fans.

Black Pistol Fire - Look Alive - Amazon.com MusicFor their part BPF sticks closest not to the sound of their debut — which similar to the Keys was a much rawer, more fiery rendition of the blues — but to that of their past few albums. Both bands spent the first chunk of their career in that primal, unadorned mode (for the Keys it lasted 4 albums, BPF 3), but eventually both bands branched out a bit, exploring slightly new sonic terrain and adding additional elements to their signature sound. For the Keys it was psychedelia and soul (as on Brothers and the exceptional Attack & Release), whereas for BPF it was a more cinematic feel, which gave the songs a bit more polish and a LOT more heft. They’ve spent the back half of their career in this mode, and it works well for them.

It’s the pair’s sixth album overall (their first since 2017’s Deadbeat Graffiti, which landed at #5 on that year’s list) and similar to their last two has a number of tunes that just FEEL huge, sweeping songs destined to be the backdrop to a number of things on the small and silver screens. The opening title track is a textbook example, tailor-made to punch through walls, bad moods, and passive resistance with equal force and ease. Latter tracks like “Wildfire” and “Hope in Hell” (two favorites) establish a slinkier vibe before building things to a frenzied eruption, while “Level” does so even more forcefully, flattening you like a runaway truck. (Honestly — TRY not to get caught up by the machine gun snares at the end…) The pair hearkens back to their roots on tracks like “Pick Your Poison,” “Holdin Up,” and “Black Halo,” straightforward stompers that give those who prefer the early days something to savor as well. A perennial fave to see live, I’d love to see this album open up on stage — works pretty darn well even on our stereos, though…

Shame: Drunk Tank Pink Album Review | Pitchfork11. Shame — Drunk Tank Pink; The Sueves — Tears of Joy: this pair’s for the punks, one straight ahead smokers the other slightly more restrained post-punk dynamos. Both deliver in their own way, though, and form the perfect complement for when you want it loud, brash, and built to thrash. For Shame it’s the follow up to their 2018 debut, Songs of Praise, which found them doing much the same as here — serving up tightly coiled tracks that often explode in a flurry of fireworks, thanks to Charlie Forbes’ furious drumming, Sean Coyle-Smith and Eddie Green’s dueling guitars, and frontman Charlie Steen’s over the top antics. (Glued together, as in all bands, by the ever-overlooked bassist — Josh Finerty here.)

The London lads have sharpened their attack in the time away and pack an even bigger punch this time around — from the powerful push-pull shifts on tracks like “Born in Luton,” “Water in the Well,” and “Harsh Degrees,” which stagger and sprint like an often winded meth head, to all out blitzes like “March Day” and “Great Dog,” the album delivers numerous moments that leave you breathless. None moreso than the epic hammer blow “Snow Day,” which continues to amaze after many months of listening.

Tears of Joy | The SuevesThe Sueves are much more of a mystery. There’s not much about them out on the intertubes, other than they’re from Chicago, this is their third album, and their guitarist used to be Max Clarke from Cut Worms. (Which is actually how I found them — he posted something about the album’s release on the ‘gram and said he used to be in the band, so naturally checked em out. Suffice it to say I was QUITE surprised to hear songs that were as loud and unrestrained as his current ones are quiet and contained, the difference between getting pelted by eggs and admiring a Faberge one in a museum.) Sonic/mental dissonance aside, the album is pretty great, tearing through 12 songs in just over 30 minutes.

They bring to mind bands like Thee Oh Sees and Bass Drum of Death (two boisterous faves), or even shades of Ty Segall in his garage rock phase. Tracks like “Funeral Hugs,” “Alexxxa,” and “He Puts Down” are so hot they almost raise blisters, while ones like “Mop Bucket” and “Deflect the World” almost saunter out of the speakers, daring you to say something and chance getting pummeled. “Deal” is the standout amongst stars for me, delivering one of the most satisfying muted “chicka chickas” since maybe Radiohead’s “Creep.” I couldn’t tell you what frontman Joe Schorgl is shouting about half the time, but I can guarantee I don’t care. Meant to be enjoyed in a packed, sweaty bar, these guys bring the heat. Turn it up…

The Bones of J.R. Jones Announce New EP A Celebration, Out March 19th | Grateful Web10. The Bones of JR Jones — A Celebration; Andy Shauf — Wilds: this slot’s for the ones who technically shouldn’t be here. Not because they’re inferior quality-wise (they most definitely are not), but because they’re technically not albums. In a year where nothing’s seemed to go according to plan or adhere to any rules (and since no one reads this thing anyway) I figure why not — they were definitely two of the best things I listened to this year, so they’re in!

For Jones (aka singer/songwriter Jonathan Linaberry) it’s the first thing we’ve heard since 2018’s Ones to Keep Close and in order to record it he decided to leave his place in New York and venture into the Arizona desert for inspiration. He definitely found something worth holding onto as the open air seems to have made him lean into the quieter, folksier side of his sound (all but one of the tracks – the TV on the Radio reminiscent “Bad Moves” – would be perfect to hear while sitting around the campfire). It’s a wise move as they’re some of his most affecting songs yet, their potency far belying the softness of their sound. The title track, “Keep it Low,” and “Like an Old Lover” are kneebuckling beauties, songs that make you just want to lay on the floor and let them blanket you in their warmth, while the opening “Stay Wild” has a lush, pastoral feel that’s perfect for a drive to nowhere with the windows down. “Howl” was, and remains, my favorite amongst the flawless bunch, as haunting as the titular sound riding the wind to your campsite.

Wilds | Andy ShaufShauf’s falls closer to album length at least in terms of songs — there’s nine of ’em here, each a characteristic entry in his cinematic style, painting vivid pictures about the cast of characters he conjures — but it lasts only 26 minutes, so like all good EPs definitely leaves you wanting more. Shauf just released his last album a year ago (the excellent Neon Skyline, which landed at #6 on my year-end list) so it was a surprise to see him back with this many songs so soon. He has described them as a collection of demos, ones originally intended to explore the Skyline’s barflies a year or so later, but rather than keep working on that concept he scrapped it and opted to release the sketches now. (Which while slightly disappointing from an academic perspective — his thematic albums are so entertaining and rich, it would have been interesting to see what the crew was up to — doesn’t diminish our ability to enjoy them now.)

Calling them demos or sketches is a bit misleading as they are in no way half-finished or unpolished, they’re simply more thematically diverse slices of Shauf’s universe, full of his gifted storytelling and lovely melodies. We revisit Judy the vexing ex several times (in the album’s bookend title tracks and “Television Blue”), we learn more about the car crash from Skyline (this time focusing on the victim in the stately march of “Jaywalker”), and we get some unconnected songs — songs that don’t directly address any of Skyline’s main characters, yet are equally lovely and beguiling. (“Spanish on the Beach,” “Green Glass,” and “Believe Me”) It’s another winning mix from one of my favorite finds the past few years, whether album or EP.

Depreciated | John R Miller9. John R Miller — Depreciated; Tre Burt — You, Yeah, You: this one’s for the singer/songwriters and a pair of really good ones, both happy discoveries in my pandemic-fueled musical meanderings the past few years. It’s Miller’s first album since 2018’s The Trouble You Follow, which I stumbled on earlier in the year thanks to a suggestion from the Spots and quickly wore out. Thankfully I found it right as he was beginning to release singles from the upcoming album and each built on the quality of the previous — the straight down the barrel “Lookin’ Over my Shoulder,” the swaying “Coming Down,” the smoldering “Shenandoah Shakedown,” and the pristine “Faustina.” Miller’s country-fried voice and winning melodies get you singing along quick to his tales of perseverance and woe.

It’s not all sadness and despair — “Old Dance Floor” is a good old fashioned hoedown while tracks like “Borrowed Time,” “Half Ton Van,” and “Motor’s Fried” use smirking shots of humor to lighten the proceedings. The latter and “Back and Forth” are actually two tracks from Miller’s debut, rerecorded here with additional flourishes and a solid duet to take them to the next level. It’s the album’s melancholic moments that really hit home, though, as on the closing “Fire Dancer” — the slightly forlorn quality in Miller’s voice heightens the sincerity and lets you know that while he may be pushing through (or cracking jokes) he’s feeling it.

You, Yeah, You | Tre BurtBurt’s album works much the same way — lovely melodies buttressing lyrics that dance between deflective humor and gutpunched emotion. It’s a fast follow up to last year’s debut, Caught it from the Rye (which landed at #15 on my year end list), but shows no sign of sloppiness or haste, instead adding a little polish to the recipe established there. Burt’s warm, ragged voice and unembellished acoustic remain perfect complements the solid storytelling in his lyrics, which is somewhat to be expected as he’s on the late great John Prine’s label, Oh Boy — straight shooting and sincerity are simply part of the package.

He does Prine proud again, though, juxtaposing judicious humor as on “Bout Now,” “Me Oh My,” and “Funny Story” with stabs of sadness as on “Sammi’s Song,” “Solo,” and “Tell Mary.” His duets on tracks like “Ransom Blues” and “Dixie Red” also call to mind Prine’s pairings with female vocalists like Iris DeMent, Lucinda Williams, and Emmylou Harris and it works every bit as effectively, burnishing the bedraggled with a little bit of beauty. (Kelsey Waldon and Amelia Meath are the ones who show up here, elevating several of the album’s tracks.) No sophomore slumping here — just 12 solid songs to warm your ears with.

Jimbo Mathus / Andrew Bird: These 13 Album Review | Pitchfork8. Jimbo Mathus & Andrew Bird — These 13; Yes Ma’am — Runaway: this slot’s for the transportive time machines and a pair of albums that take you far from your current location — either back a century or to a slightly more modern day footing, but definitely somewhere down south. For Mathus and Bird it’s a reunion of sorts, having played together back in the 90s as part of the equally antique sounding Squirrel Nut Zippers. (I actually met both of them after one of the Zippers shows and each was quite polite to this sweaty, awkward kid…) This time they leave out the brass and the bombastic zeal, giving us a baker’s dozen songs on an album that is just painfully pretty top to bottom.

It’s a mix of folk songs, hymns, and spirituals, all written during the pandemic, but sounding like unearthed treasures from some long lost time capsule. It’s in part due to Bird’s fiddle, which always sounds like a relic from another era, but also the imagery used in the songs’ lyrics — horses, devils, and talk of burying one deep all show up. It all hearkens back to a simpler time, one where you might hear these songs coming out of an old radio while you sat in your wooden chair (as shown on the album cover) or sing them call and response style at the town jamboree. It’s an intoxicating trick — “Sweet Oblivion,” “Dig up the Hatchet,” and “Jack o’ Diamonds” are are more uptempo knee slappers while “Red Velvet Rope,” “Stonewall (1863),” and “Bell Witch” showcase the pair’s outstanding harmonization, which raises the hair on your arms at times. The album’s quieter moments are its most potent, though, hushed little knife thrusts that slip the blade straight into your heart — “Encircle My Love,” “Beat Still my Heart,” and “Three White Horses and a Golden Chain” are devastating beauties and three of my absolute favorites. This was one of the first albums that came out this year — almost exactly a year ago at this point — and I’ve kept listening to it the entire time with no downturn in enjoyment.

Runaway by Yes Ma'am on Amazon Music UnlimitedFor their part Yes Ma’am keep things slightly more modern (although not much — just enough to get us to a time where trains and river riding were king), but otherwise very much in line with their slotmates. Where Bird and Mathus wove a more subdued, seductive spell, sloooooooowly pulling you down with their softer sound and harmonies, Yes Ma’am’s hits you square in the chest, getting your pulse racing almost instantly like a shot of adrenaline. They scarcely let you rest for the subsequent 11 songs, offering only momentary reprieves at the beginning of the tracks before uncorking another shindig in each one’s back half. (The noteworthy exception being the closing title track, “Runaway,” which is as lovely as it is uniformly calm.)

It’s the band’s fourth album (I think — Bandcamp has two, while the Spots has three, with one overlap), but whatever the number the quality and consistency can’t be denied. I first saw these guys when down in New Orleans — something I forgot until I stumbled on them again this year, recognized a couple of the tracks, and then saw a photo of them performing on the street in the exact same spot I saw them before. Frontman Matt Costanza’s exuberance radiates through his voice and the rest of the band mirrors his zeal with their infectious playing. From uptempo winners like the opening “Tell Me” to “Leaving Blues,” “Brush Your Teeth,” and “Banjo Blues,” the band is quite adept at whipping you into a frenzy. Meanwhile slightly more stately songs like “Hellhound” and “Blue For You” (along with the killer closer) show they’re not a one trick (or tempo) pony. Really glad to have rediscovered these guys…

Houndmouth - Good For You - Amazon.com Music7.  Houndmouth — Good For You; The Wallflowers — Exit Wounds: this slot’s for a return to form and a pair of bands I’d let go from the ranks in recent years. For Houndmouth it had been a disappointing departure, one sparked by the abyssmal change of their third album, 2018’s Golden Age, an over-polished upending of their rustic, rootsy sound full of — you guessed it — SYNTHS. (Cue gasps and thunderclaps.) After loving their warm, inviting first two albums so much, this was akin to your significant other shaving their head, getting nipple rings, and saying they’re now nihilists without warning. Thankfully, whatever urges, advice, or mania were driving those decisions have since been disregarded on this lovely return to their old sound.

Similar to their first two albums, it’s busting with big hearted, full throated winners — tracks like “Miracle Mile,” “McKenzie,” “Jackson,” and “Las Vegas” are all uptempo, bright beams of light, but it’s the slower songs that are particularly resonant here. The opening title track, the smoldering “Make it to Midnight,” and the equally stately “Goodbye” and “Ohio” are quiet little devastators, as potent as they are pretty. None moreso than “Cool Jam,” the crippling heart of the album that cut way too close to the bone for me this year, but is an absolute gem of a song. Really glad to see these guys back in the fold…

Exit Wounds | The WallflowersThe back half of the slot marks the year’s biggest surprise musically. Like half the globe I loved the band’s second album (the world dominating Bringing Down the Horse) and mostly liked their follow up, but lost the thread somewhere around album four and thought that our time together was through. Nothing malicious, no ill will, just a mutual breakup for a pairing that had run its course. The band kept recording, dropping albums every couple of years while frontman Jakob Dylan shuffled lineups and simultaneously recorded solo stuff. Meanwhile I kept doing whatever you call this. (“Living?”) So it was completely unexpected to have our paths cross again all these years later.

It’s been nine years since the band’s last album (their longest gap to date) and almost 20 since I listened to anything they’d put out, but I saw it pop up in the new release list and thought I’d give it a spin. (Actually I saw its terrible cover and thought a) “this looks like something that should be on an Oakenfold mix tape” and b) “the Wallflowers are still around?!?”) I’m really glad I did because it’s got some really good songs. Dylan’s voice remains as scuffed up and seductive as ever, pulling you in close to listen to his laments on songs like “Maybe Your Heart’s Not in it,” “Darlin’ Hold On,” “I’ll Let You Down (But I Will Not Give You Up),” and “The Daylight Between of Us,” like a bartender in some half empty bar. Tracks like “The Dive Bar in my Heart,” “Roots and Wings,” and “I Hear the Ocean (When I Want to Hear Trains)” are more uplifting affairs, while “Move the River” is the powerhouse in the middle with a massive chorus that’ll have you booming along in defiance.

Enjoy the View | We Were Promised Jetpacks | Big Scary Monsters6. We Were Promised Jetpacks — Enjoy the View: back for the first time since 2018’s The More I Sleep the Less I Dream (which feels like it just came out, but somehow is already three years old  –thanks a lot, COVID…), one of my favorite bands of merry Scotsmen are back to deliver another dreamy disc full of tunes. That one found the band leaning hard into the woozy, surreal vibe suggested by the titular state — swelling, sweeping guitars that conjured an almost ethereal feel — and this one (their fifth, the previous landing at #4 on that year’s list) finds them mining similar territory.

The band had always dabbled with this type of song before (“Sore Thumb” off their sophomore In the Pit of the Stomach and “Disconnecting” from the follow-up Unraveling are two of my favorites), but Dream found them maintaining that vibe for almost the entire album. Same applies here — from the gossamer opening track “Not Me Anymore” to later offerings “What I Know Now,” “If It Happens,” and the hypnotic gem of a closer, “Just Don’t Think About It,” this is a band that knows how to nail the epic swell.

Jetpacks’ other hallmark is fiery, furious guitar, led primarily by guitarist Michael Palmer and frontman Adam Thompson, whose ferocious roar gives a number of songs almost overwhelming power. (Particularly live, as some of the songs nearly bowl you over with their force.) Thankfully both are still here and healthy as ever, their slightly less frequent appearances only adding to their potency. The pair punctuate the glimmering aura with some signature style tunes — “All That Glittered,” “Don’t Hold Your Breath For Too Long,” and “I Wish You Well” showcase them at their best, while all-out sprints like “Nothing Ever Changes” show bassist Sean Smith and drummer Darren Lackie pouring gasoline on the fire. These guys have shown how to expand their sound while continuing to play to their strengths better than most. Another solid offering from a pocket fave…

When You See Yourself - Wikipedia5. Kings of Leon — When You See Yourself: this is another band that’s expanded their sound over the years (maybe a little less smoothly and sincerely at times than the previous band), but despite some growing pains have hit their stride and still turn out quality songs. At this point Kings have long since left behind my favorite incarnation of the band — the irresistibly fiery and raw version from their first two albums, Youth and Young Manhood and its follow-up Aha Shake Heartbreak — and since then they’ve spent the subsequent 16 years and six albums covering most of the flames with blankets of studio polish and sanding down all their rough edges. The end result hasn’t worked for everyone, but it has spawned a number of universal anthems and I think on balance has been far better than their growing chorus of detractors imply.

Similar to the last band, Kings’ previous album found them leaning into the more ethereal (some might say synthetic) elements that they’d played with on earlier outings and they’ve doubled down on them in this. The last one, WALLS, struck critics (and a fair number of fans) as somewhat forced at the time (I still enjoyed it — it landed at #13 on 2016’s list), but the similar sound here feels a lot more comfortable and organic this time around. From the pulsating “100,000 People” to gauzier songs like “A Wave,” “Time in Disguise,” and “Fairytale,” the shimmer and sheen feel more warranted than before, the band more confident in what they’re trying to achieve. (Bassist Jared Followill sounds particularly inspired, offering some of his best lines on the album, an unsung highlight for sure.) “Supermarket” and “Claire & Eddie” are laidback little ditties, while the bright, bouncing title track, the furious “Echoing,” and lead singles “The Bandit” and “Stormy Weather” show the band can still bring the heat when they want to. Lyrically frontman Caleb Followill earns a few eyerolls as he sings about subjects that can seem a little forced (climate change, for one), but they’re minor infractions forgiven thanks to the strength of the music and melody surrounding them. This was another early year entry that I listened to a bunch in the coming months — a really solid batch of songs.

My Morning Jacket: My Morning Jacket Album Review | Pitchfork4. My Morning Jacket — My Morning Jacket: the final band in this tier of frequently appearing faves is also the oldest and based on that status as elder statesmen it’s ironic that they’re the ones who released a self-titled album this year. That move is normally reserved for debuts — or at least early career proclamations (“We. Have. ARRIVED! Take heed and notice, all ye who pass…”) — so for a band with 22 years and eight studio albums already under their belts, it’s a bit of a surprise to have their ninth serve as that statement. It makes more sense when you learn what state the band was in leading up to this, though.

Turns out the fears and suspicions of a band in turmoil sparked by last year’s release of The Waterfall II (which landed at #10 on last year’s list) — an album of outtakes as a companion to the 2015 original after five years of no new material — were warranted. The band was on the verge of breaking up and had no intentions of recording another album, but playing a pair of pandemic shows at Red Rocks made them reconsider the former, while the studio jam sessions they decided to have shortly afterward made them reconsider the latter. And thus the decision to name the album showcasing that recaptured joy and rekindled sense of purpose after the band makes total sense — and you hear both elements clearly throughout its 11 song, hour long duration.

It works almost like an MMJ show in miniature — the opening “Regularly Scheduled Programming” serves as a fitting start to both the album and their live shows, addressing the near two-years-and-counting interruption to our normal lives and attempting to get back to the titular topic. (This was the first song I heard at the first show I went to this year after the longest stretch without live music I’ve had since I started going to shows 25+ years ago. The communal sense of relief, release, and exhilaration was undeniable and something I will remember for a long, long time…) Immediate follow-up “Love Love Love,” “Lucky to be Alive,” and “Penny For Your Thoughts” represent the bright, energetic songs that get everyone in the crowd singing along, while “Out of Range, Pt 2” and “I Never Could Get Enough” represent the “Jim jams” that get everyone to shut up, showcasing frontman Jim James’ otherworldly voice as it rockets towards the heavens from a sea of silent, awed onlookers.

The album also captures some of the epic, spine-tingling moments you get at the band’s live shows (these guys are on the short list of bands I see every time they come to town — particularly if they’re in the open air — and they NEVER disappoint). Tracks like “In Color,” “Complex,” and “Never in the Real World” pull off that rare feat, replicating some of the mind-melting fireworks sparked when the band cuts loose and leaves you speechless. The lyrics can be a little simple and sloganeering at times (Pitchfork savaged the album for that), but similar to IDLES’ album last year (which they ALSO destroyed) when things are as out of control as they have been the past few years, sometimes boiled down and basic is best (or at least, all you can manage). And in that case a “back to basics” album with music as good as this is exactly what we needed.

CRAWLER | IDLES3. IDLES — Crawler: in a year characterized predominantly by music that seemed aimed to soothe or heal (rightfully so — because…damn…) this was one of the few that fired from the opposite end of the spectrum, tapping into the collective frustration and anger to deliver a Molotov cocktail of an album. The brash Brits are back quick on the heels of last year’s Ultra Mono (which landed at #14 on that list) and it finds them continuing the trend of the last few slots of bands experimenting with adding elements to their sound before expanding that trend on the subsequent album. For IDLES that meant adding a few spacier, slower songs on Mono to counterbalance all the frothy uptempo punk tunes, as well as some electronic effects and distortions to add even more edges to their already spiky sound and it worked well. What they’ve delivered here, though, represents such an extraordinary leveling up it’s stunning, particularly in such a short amount of time.

Instead of attacking societal issues as on the previous three albums (rape, racism, politics, toxic masculinity) frontman Joe Talbot (aka “Good Joe,” to differentiate him from the dummy I work with of the same name) turns his gaze inward here, centering the album largely around his personal history. He sets the stage ominously with the opening “MTT 420 RR,” which poses the question (both to himself and to us), “are you ready for the storm?” In his case this is a reference to the storm of hardships and pain spawned by a car crash he suffered while high several years ago, which he touches on in several songs. (In “420,” as well as on the aptly named “Car Crash,” one of the album’s many standout tracks.) The cycle of substance abuse that caused said crash also comes up several times, as on the Howitzer blast “The Wheel,” which references both his and his mother’s struggles and is one of the band’s best songs (bassist Adam Devonshire’s notes strike a primordial nerve deep in the brain that is irresistibly powerful); the aptly named “Meds,” which gleefully implores the listener to “medicate, meditate, medicate;” and the eerie “Progress,” which finds Talbot precariously teetering between not wanting to get high (for fear of letting folks down) and not wanting to come down (for fear of feeling worse). The refrain  is of damage (as crooned on the uncharacteristic lead single “The Beachland Ballroom”), which fits both for the album and the year itself.

The album closes with the duo of “King Snake” and “The End,” the former a withering self-assault that finds Talbot starting with the line “I’m the duke of nothing” before getting progressively more unsparing in his self-flagellations, while the latter finally finds him letting up a bit and giving himself a break, ending the album with the full-throated, optimistic roar of “in spite of it all, life is beautiful.” Both the additional focus lyrically (which removes some of the sloganeering that Pitchfork and others have unfairly eviscerated the band for) and the heightened heft musically (drummer Jon Beavis deserves a nod for adding some jungle-style rhythms to his customary pattern of beating the absolute sh#$ out of the kit) make this an absolute juggernaut of an album — easily their best to date.

The Million Masks of God | manchester orchestra2. Manchester Orchestra — The Million Masks of God: carrying on the theme of the last few slots, this album again finds the owning band deepening the explorations dabbled with on the previous outing to positive effect. For Manchester the exploration was on 2017’s excellent A Black Mile to the Surface (which landed at #8 on that year’s list) and was probably the most fully formed of the aforementioned bands’ efforts. That album was pretty comparable in terms of sound and feel to this one — what’s deepened this time around is the lyrics around a more focused theme. Fear not, we still touch on many of frontman Andy Hull’s favorites — death, uncertainty, loss, love — but this time they’re centered around a single event, in this case the death of guitarist Rob McDowell’s father. So while each of these topics showed up on Black Mile (and almost all other Manchester recordings to date), there they were sparked by a range of different stimuli vs here by this one sad event.

Hull remains as introspective and unsparing as always in his handling of the material, letting neither himself nor the focus of his attention off the hook, oscillating between simmering anger, uneasy self-doubt, and pleas for love and understanding. So whether he’s “arguing with the dead” as on lead single “Bed Head,” the angel of death on the song of the same name, or a significant other/himself on almost everything else, it covers a lot of terrain emotionally. As a result, this one smashed a number of nerves that were similarly frayed on this end this year (albeit more enjoyably and beautifully) — the frustration and disdain for having to repeat oneself (“over and ooooooveeeeer…”) on “Bed Head” and “Dinosaur,” the fear and fog of letting go as on “Obstacle” and “Way Back,” the sadness and isolation caused by a lack of reciprocity (“baby do you want me/love me/are you with me?” “No, no, no…”) as on “Telepath,” one of two songs this year that would nearly break me every time I heard it.

Hull knows whether it’s the pain and disillusionment brought on by the end of a relationship through death or one done in by distance, damage, or divorce, the sentiments are largely the same, and while these feelings were brought on by a single event for him, he treats them generally enough in the lyrics that we can all find a piece to identify with and share. It’s a testament to his skills as a songwriter, made all the more resonant by his ethereal voice, which along with Jim James’ might be one of my overall faves. I turned to this one a lot over the course of the year — maybe not as much as I normally would due to the rawness of the emotions and how close they hit to home — but it’s another really solid album from these guys. Hoping to hear how they treat it live at some point soon…

Long Lost (album) - Wikipedia1. Lord Huron — Long Lost: each year the decision for what the top album will be is a no brainer, something that clicks in the brain at some point as obvious and that certainty solidifies with every subsequent listen. For me, it was this one — this absolute beauty of an album from Lord Huron — which was something of a surprise. I’ve always enjoyed their music, finding its mix of elegant etherealism and warm Americana soothing, but they’ve always been relegated more to the background for me vs something I focus on actively while listening. That couldn’t be farther from the case with this one, their fourth, which felt like the songs were stolen from my head instead of some fictional old time revue (the structural conceit of the album). This one hits you time and again, straight in the heart, and it’s pretty to the point of being painful at times.

The lyrics deal (per usual) with love and loss as the narrator grapples with the passage of time, the decisions he’s made, and whether what’s left in the wake is salvageable or spent, but their clarity and power land like never before. Frontman Ben Schneider takes a page from Tom Petty’s playbook and rattles off a rash of outstanding opening lines — “If you ever want to see my face again I want to know…if forever gets lonely take my hand” from “Mine Forever;” “I’ve been lost before and I’m lost again, I guess” from “Love Me Like You Used To;” “I get by, but I’m tired of myself and I doubt that I ever will find someone else” from “Drops in the Lake;” “All messed up with nowhere to go, I stare at myself in the mirror alone” from lead single “Not Dead Yet;” or “So much to say, but my words mean nothing, a life spent talking when my epitaph would do. Wasting my days with my mind on the future and my past like a chain that won’t ever let me go” from closing “What Do It Mean.” These lines (and many that follow in those songs) are so poignant, so evocative, it’s tough to pick a favorite.

Two in particular stand out, though — one serving as a personal theme song that encapsulates my tumultuous time in DC (which thankfully finally reached its end), the other a painful glimpse of my potential future. The former is the majestic, melancholic “Twenty Long Years,” which sports so many lines that could be bumper stickers for my time on the hill — coincidentally the exact same duration as the titular span — it’s uncanny (and a bit unnerving). The latter is the absolutely devastating “I Lied,” which showcases a breathtaking duet with Alison Ponthier as she and Schneider sing to each other about a relationship gone awry. It’s an amazing song — the other half of the aforementioned duo that nearly reduced me to tears each time I heard it — and a high point on an album that’s full of them. This one’s their masterpiece…

Fright Night — A Soundtrack to the Screams

In honor of today’s holiday, I thought what better way to celebrate than swooping in with a much delayed post (what better way to scare the bejeebus out of someone than seeing my face at your door/posts in your stream, right? “Oh god no — IT’S HIM AGAIN!!!) And to keep it festive we’ll run another round of everyone’s favorite game — SUNSHINE SPEED DATING! (Halloween edition) So without further ado, get your patented one-liners and heartbreaking nostalgia ready, cuz it’s time to roll!

DING! “Why hello there — look at all of you! You look like the sweetest group of grandmas and grandpas I’ve ever seen, with your pressed guayaberas and lovely dresses.  You must be out celebrating the 25th anniversary of the amazing Buena Vista Social Club album!  That album was SO good — I remember when I traveled there around that time, those songs were everywhere.  Coming out of bars, the hotels, even random performers on the street would play some of the songs.  Not that I’m complaining — those songs were and still are amazing and it’s nice to hear you all humming them still. Your voices harmonized together so beautifully.  It’s really an honor to meet you all.

I have to admit, though, I’m a little surprised to see you all at a speed dating event. What’s that? Yes, I know 80% of those over 65 are still sexually active. And yes, I know I wouldn’t be here if folks like you didn’t “get your grind on” when your “plums were howling” back in the day.  You don’t need to be so graphic, senor.  I’m just saying, you gotta be careful — STDs are rampant in your age group. Like, out of control — historically high rates of chlamydia, gonorrhea, and syphilis! That sh#$ can drive you insane — it killed Al Capone, ya know. Napoleon too! Oh don’t get offended, I’m only trying to protect you. Just cuz you’re 90 doesn’t mean you shouldn’t wrap it up, that’s all I’m saying!  Oh cmon, don’t be like that…  Well, I still love the album and really enjoyed the extra disc full of unreleased songs. “La Pluma’s” one of my faves! Have a good day — stay safe!”


DING! “Oh hey! Kevin Morby and Hamilton Leithauser!  So cool to meet you guys — you are two of my favorites!  Did you guys come dressed as each other? That’s pretty funny — is that something you guys are doing as part of the joint tour you’re on now? Cuz that’d be pretty funny.  Ham, you’d come out in a long, wavy wig and sing Kevin’s songs and he’d come out in a suit and tie and sing yours. And then in the third act y’all could switch back and just trade songs as yourselves and close things out with a bang. It could be pretty epic — really live up to that “Fall Mixer” title, ya know?

Speaking of — have you guys come up with a cool combo name now that you’re touring together? Like Bennifer or Morbzahatchee, like when Kevin was doing the weekly virtual shows/rodeos with Ms Katie? You could go indie band and be Leitby, or more ad slogany like 2021 — In Need of Mor Leit. Or play up the academic angle and call yourselves Morhaus University. OOH! Maybe go truly extreme and call it the Hammorb of the Gods. That’d be pretty sick. What’s that? No, you’re right — I guess  Fall Mixer’s good, too…   Just kind of… plain. Anyway — don’t get offended.  I’m excited to see the show in a few weeks. Really like the new song — the intro reminds me of “Blackout” a little.  In a good way!”


DING! “Hey! Eddie Vedder! SO cool to meet you — I LOVE your costume. Tom Petty from the Alice in Wonderland video! That’s so cool. I love Tom Petty. And that was such a fun/weird video. Yeah, can’t believe he’s been gone so long — four frigging years?! I don’t know how that’s even possible. What’s that?  Oh yeah — I’m really looking forward to watching that new documentary on the making of Wildflowers. That was such a good album…

You know it’s funny you came dressed as him because the first thing that popped into my head when I listened to your new song from the upcoming album was that it totally reminded me of a Petty track. Just out on the open road, big hooks and melody — I really liked it.  Eager to see what else you’ve got in store for us.  Hey remember that time you climbed into the rafters at those early shows and were hanging there above the stage?  You, like, totally could have died, man.  Do you ever think about that? And now that dude who’s banging Megan Fox copied you and did it at a show recently. Does it annoy you that people like him are stealing your moves and not somebody cooler? Oh it does. And you didn’t know that’d happened? Oh. Ohhhhhhh now I feel bad. Oh man, um, don’t….don’t feel bad, I’m sure it was a sincere homage and not a desperate cry for attention. You still rule? Really! Ed Ved! Don’t despair!”


DING!  “WHOA! Speaking of dudes who rule — the Coug and the Boss! You guys are legends! What’s that? Sorry, Mr Mellencamp, I know no one calls you the Cougar anymore. That’s just what I grew up knowing you as, didn’t mean to offend you. And I’m sorry Mr Springsteen, I know I should show more respect to you, too. Yes, I know you hang out with the former President, sir.  No, I don’t think HE calls you the Boss (although to be honest, I’m pretty sure he could if he wanted to, right? Cuz he’s, like, THE Boss? And if THE Boss wants to call the OTHER Boss The Boss, theennnnnnnnn…. ya kinda just gotta go with it, right? Yes, I know I’m not the President. Yes, not even close, sir. And nobody cares that we’re from the same city — got it. Sorry to offend….)

AAAAANYway — off to a really good start here… I gotta say, it’s so funny you two came dressed as each other, too — did you see Leithauser and Morby did the same thing?  Great minds, I guess. You should think about keeping your hair that way, Mr Springsteen — that upswoop looks really fun. Gives you a more lighthearted feel.  Not that anyone would think you’re a bit prickly. Nooo….. Hey, I dig the song you two did together — really gives off a classic Mellencamp vibe.  What’s that? No I don’t think it overshadows you, Mr Boss, your part holds its own. It’s just the music sounds more Mellencampy to me — not in a bad way, Mr Cougar! What now? No I don’t think the President overshadows you either — he just has a lot to say and kind of talks slower so it SEEMS like he might be taking more time. And you know, like you said, he IS the former President and all, right? So it’s kind of an honor to be cut off by him, right? Leader of the free world!  Oh cmon, don’t be like that — you’re still the Boss, right? Bruuuuuuuuuuuce.  BRUUUUUUUUUCE! Cheer up!”

DING! “Oh wow, Mr Yorke, I didn’t expect to see you here! You flew all the way over here just for the event? That’s pretty impressive.  They don’t have things like this back in the UK? Oh you just love costumed celebrations? I guess that makes sense. Only — what are you dressed as?  You just look like a random mix of words on a poster. Kind of like someone swirled those magnetic poetry things around on the fridge into an unintelligible mess. Oh it’s a protest board. Got it. So all the things you despise.  Makes sense.  Ah yes, I see now — capitalism, technology, government… Definitely picked those up from you over the years.

I gotta say, there’s a LOT of words on here, Mr Yorke — almost too many to make sense of them. What’s that? Yes, I know there’s a lot to be upset about these days. Yes, the past five years HAVE been exceedingly difficult. Almost overwhelming at times — completely agree.  Hey I was glad to hear the band was releasing a bunch of unreleased tracks for the anniversaries of Kid A and Amnesiac next month! That’s got to be pretty exciting right? “If You Say the Word” was really good — really excited to see what else is on there.  What’s that? Yes, I know it doesn’t make up for all the things we’ve got to fix in the world and at best offers “scant few seconds of solace,” you’re right. I gotta say, though — some of these things on your board seem sort of trivial. Like wearing black socks with gym shoes?  Or white bean chili? None of those things seem worth losing sleep over. And cargo shorts — are they really that offensive? I mean seriously.  Oh alright — there’s no need to shout, Mr Yorke. I can see you feel strongly on this issue. “Unholy abomination” seems a LITTLE excessive, but let’s agree to disagree here. I still love your guys’ music (even if the last album was a disappointment — that’s right, I said it! Stick THAT in your single set of pockets and sulk!) Byeeeeeeeeee!”

DING! “Oh wow, Aaron Dessner and Justin Vernon!  Cool to see you guys here! Did you….BOTH….come dressed as Bruce Hornsby?  Wow. That’s, uh….a weird choice, but yeah, I guess it makes sense.  Yes, I know he’s a huge influence and you love his music. Can TOTALLY tell.  (Particularly you, Mr Vernon… Yes, I did see you had him come onstage to play a song or two with you on your last tour.  That….rocked?)

Um anyways… so I saw you two recently released the second album under your Big Red Machine moniker. Some nice stuff on there.  Now that you mention it, I actually think you might have more guest stars than tones on the album! What’s that? I mean — Sharon Van Etten, Fleet Foxes, Michael Stipe, Ben Howard, Taylor Swift… All give nice contributions, it just sounds a little….monotone after a bit.  Kind of like….no — I won’t say it… No, don’t tear up Mr Vernon, I just don’t like him as much as you two do. He’s fine in small doses — I just wouldn’t have used him as the template for like half of my recent material. But that’s just me — what do I know?! It’s fine — you two have fun out there. I bet you’ll get a ton of candy. Nothing gets the people pumped like midtempo piano crooners….

DING DING DING!


We’ll close with a couple live tunes, since I’m slowly filling the biggest hole I’ve had for that stuff since I started going to shows ~25 years ago. The first one comes from hometown hero Jeff Tweedy, who recently did a solid Neil Young cover with his sons and a few other musicians at the beloved hole in the wall the Hideout back home. It’s this super weird/cool bar that’s basically in a house in this industrial part of town — totally out of sorts with its surroundings (“one of these things is nooooot like the other!”), but also totally cool. You can sense the warm, welcoming vibe in the clip — check out Tweedy doing “Old Country Waltz” here:

Lastly wanted to highlight a show that My Morning Jacket did the other night as part of its ongoing tour. I’ve been obsessively listening to the album since it came out a week or two ago, and each day or two a new song gets lodged in my head like an unrelenting earworm. They played a couple of the tracks when I got to see them recently (pretty much the best return to live music I could have expected after all this time away), but this set has several more I didn’t get to hear that night (including current faves “In Color,” “Complex,” and “Never in the Real World.”) They also deliver some scorching versions of old favorites, such as “Mahgeetah,” “Evil Urges,” and “Lay Low.” They even did a ripping version of “Dancefloors,” which they haven’t played regularly since like 2015! You can watch the entire ~2.5 hour set here — it’s definitely worth your time.

That’s it for now — hope everyone enjoys their circus peanuts and Almond Joys! Until next time, amici!

–BS

Anniversary Blend — A Sonic Six-Pack

In honor of wifey’s big day (and it being a rainy couple of days down here in Carolina) I thought it was time to check in with some tunes, in this case focusing on some solid albums that’ve celebrated anniversaries recently. Four of them were released in 2001 — within 6-8 weeks of each other no less — but their sounds are as different and distinct as their disparate geographies and subsequent trajectories. Of those, one is a more melancholic extension of the band’s typical sound, as understated and unassuming as their Idaho origins. One is an over-the-top extension of their previous efforts, perfecting the bombastic fusion of rock and camp that only seems to originate from its home island. One is a mix of electronic and punk cool unexpected for its Omaha origins. And the other is a return to the garage, the so-called saviors of rock that created a worldwide scene, one that cast ripples well beyond the streets of their emblematic NY home.

This quartet is bookended by a pair of California albums — one from five years prior, the latter five years later — each representative of different elements of that terrain — the former the skateboarding/surf punks that bask in the sunshine, the latter the sullen stoners that slink through the shade. All six are worth another look, as two-thirds of them represent the bands’ best efforts to date — some riding them to stardom (however briefly for a few), others never quite reaping the success they arguably deserve. So as Mad Dog looks forward to a new decade, we’ll look back at some of the albums that got her to this point.

We’ll start with the oldest, the one from the skaters in the sun, and Sublime’s self-titled third album, which turns 25 this year. Released a couple months after the death of frontman Bradley Nowell, it would turn out to be the band’s biggest (but not their best, in my opinion) album, spawning a number of whopper singles that dominated MTV for months.

For those too young to remember, this was back when MTV was huge and (sorta) played videos, so having videos on regular rotation meant a whole lot more than it does today. (If they even still play videos — is that a thing?) I remember constantly seeing “Santeria,” “Wrong Way,” and the monster “What I Got” on the TV as I got ready for (and then went to) college that year, the songs inextricably infusing themselves into the airstream. Despite that ubiquity, this was not the Sublime album on endless repeat for me that summer — that honor goes to their debut album (still my favorite), which we used to listen to ENDLESSLY in Skater Scott’s dorm room, surrounded by black lights and Absolut bottles filled with different colored highlighters.

The number of times the RA came by to tell us to turn that album down closely mirrored the number of days in the week, but this album got its fair share of the blame back then, too. Its mix of the band’s punk/reggae fusion was rounded out by the first-time addition of hip hop elements, which ended up working really well. (There was always name-checking prior to this point, but this time the band incorporated scratching and sampling in a way they hadn’t done before, which was unique at the time.)

Besides the big singles, the album had several deep cuts that were equally infectious — songs like the LA riots retrospective “April 29, 1992 (Miami)” and the more downtrodden “Pawn Shop,”  the more traditional dub-styled “Caress me Down” and “Garden Grove,” and the closer “Doin Time” (one of the aforementioned experiments with hip hop), which is still one of my favorites.

After having covered Toots and the Maytals on their debut, dropping a partial Gershwin cover at the end of the album was an interesting statement for this latter track, one we sadly never got to see where it was headed. The unexpected lyrical inspiration, the pairing with hip hop samples and scratching — it was such a curious (but winning) mixture, it’s a shame they didn’t get to explore that sound further on subsequent albums. I’ll still get that chorus stuck in my head from time to time (and I’ve actually heard it twice this week on our trip to Carolina) so know others still hear the echoes too.  See what you think — give it a listen here:

We’ll stay in chronological order, fast forwarding to the first of the new millennium quartet and an album that channeled some of the new century’s uncertainties and paired them with bitter, sometimes seething lyrics, elevating each to the stratosphere with enormous levels of glammy bombast. I’m referring to the second album from British band Muse, Origin of Symmetry, an album that turns 20 this month and one that cemented the band’s direction for the next ten years (for better and often worse).

Stylistically it’s not a tremendous departure from their debut album, Showbiz — that one found frontman Matt Bellamy exploring his inner Thom Yorke, playing plaintive ballads on the piano, nursing his wounded heart in a melodic, lovely falsetto, while balancing that with some slick guitar-based songs that sound like early examples of the aforementioned’s Radiohead. This album — recorded two years after that debut — found Bellamy still apparently hurting, that pain having festered in the intervening years and now being weaponized with some absolutely massive riffs and melodies, as if each song’s hooks and shredding was an attempt to bludgeon back the loss and the ultimate source of suffering.

It’s tough to tell if he succeeded if that was the case, but just by listening as an outsider he had to have come pretty damn close because this album is packed with huge songs, haymakers that swing with barely contained abandon in an attempt to knock your head off. Bellamy reportedly re-immersed himself in Rachmaninoff’s music prior to this recording, and whether true or not you can hear some of that composer’s unbridled power in the songs’ structures and shifts.

Tracks like “New Born,” “Bliss,” “Plug in Baby,” and “Darkshines” are all juggernauts, unloading monumental riffs one after the other. Same for “Space Dementia…” “Hyper Music…” “Citizen Erased…” It’s actually probably easier to highlight the ones that DIDN’T try to flatten you into paste (“Screenager” and the aptly (ironically?) named “Megalomania” being the sole two.) In subsequent albums Bellamy’ would go too far down the trippy, nonsensical lyrical and over-the-top theatrical path (their third album Absolution would mostly hold it together, but beyond that it’s been a rapid descent into overblown pomposity), but they’ve never been as potent as they were here.

I remember finding this in my frequent Napster hunts at the time, having really enjoyed the first album (being a similarly lovelorn sad sack who loved Radiohead) and being blown back by the sheer volume and power on display here. At first I thought I must’ve found some early demos or something because the songs were SO loud — they rattled my sh#$ty little computer speakers and came out sounding all distorted. I pictured the little color bars on the equalizer in the studio staying pegged in the red, the speakers starting to smoke from the punishment while the engineers scrambled to contain the impending blaze. Once I started to listen to the lyrics, though, I realized it was deliberate — the raw power of the riffage was meant to compound the anger and betrayal Bellamy sang about, obliterating everything in its path.

Add to that the sheer theatricality of it all, poured over the entire dish like a hearty helping of country gravy. As I mentioned before, there’s something unique about the over-the-top showmanship that comes from UK acts — Elton John, Queen, T Rex, Roxy Music, etc — it’s so unabashed and unapologetic you can’t help but succumb to it. In less skilled hands it can come across as oppressive and distracting (like said gravy), but this time Bellamy keeps it calibrated. And so what on paper probably shouldn’t work somehow does, undeniably enhanced by the audacious theatrics.

Listen to a track like “Micro Cuts,” for example — there’s no rational reason that song should work, with Bellamy’s falsetto going fully operatic, nine miles over his already Olympic-level high bar by the end — and yet damn if you don’t find yourself responding once the riffs kick in. It may not make logical sense, but it sure works.

This album remains a top to bottom banger for those days when you just don’t care about the judging eyes and ears of outsiders — you want it loud and slightly silly, in all its heavy handed wonder. Give the Chili Peppers-sounding “Hyper Music” a listen here:

Next up in the early aughts quartet is the fifth album from Idaho guitar god Doug Martsch and the beloved Built to Spill, Ancient Melodies of the Future. As down to earth and unassuming as the previous album was bombastic and interstellar, this album was an extension of the band’s perfected sound to this point – seemingly effortless guitar wizardry, endearing lyrics, and winning melodies, performed by guys who seem more like mechanics or roadies than racecar drivers or the actual stars of the show.

This complete lack of pretension is one of the hallmarks of the band, its music as unadorned and stripped to its essential elements as its home state’s ubiquitous potato. (It never ceases to amaze me watching these guys setting up/tearing down their own gear at shows — the pinnacle being at one festival show where they got done a few minutes early, so sat down cross-legged on stage and pulled their laptops/phones out of their backpacks to kill some time. ON STAGE. Just catching up on correspondence and surfing the news… Once their set time came they popped up, stuck their tech back in their bags and started to play. “Hi! We’re Built to Spill and we’re going to play some songs for you.”)

As noted in the article, this album found the band coming off two near-perfect albums in a row — 1997’s major label debut Perfect From Now On and 1999’s Keep it Like a Secret — and they’d been garnering well-deserved reviews since that point. They’d also been touring rather relentlessly, so by the time 2001’s Ancient Melodies came around there was an element of fatigue audible in the music that hadn’t been there before.

One of the earliest memories I have of the album was driving around with my buddy and his then new girlfriend (now wife). It was too early in the morning (on a Saturday no less), we were hungover and desperately in need of coffee and food, and I’d put this on for the drive, having been released a few weeks prior. Before we got very far she made us turn it off because she said it sounded like she felt — “why are they playing so SLOW?” — and it wasn’t until she said that that I was able to hear what she was feeling.

The first four songs on the album take the band’s normally laid back vibe and push it even further, streeeeeeeeeetching the tempo like cooling lava flows. (“The Host” being a particularly slow-moving example.) They’re still great songs once you adjust (“Strange” maintains the band’s unblemished record of fantastic opening tracks), but packed one after the other it can make you feel a bit like you’re stuck in the mud.

In hindsight it makes you wonder if this was just the overall weariness creeping into the recording sessions a little and some unguarded moments of fatigue that the band decided to leave in rather than re-record. Martsch mentioned a sense of being on autopilot in interviews at the time and after this album’s release they went on a bit of a hiatus — he recorded and toured for his solo album and the band didn’t come back for another five years (their longest gap at the time) — a lifetime for a band used to releasing an album every two years to that point.

I remember being too tired to fight it at the time, but I knew if she’d been able to wait a little bit longer she would have been treated to one of the best back halves of an album the band has. They shake off the sluggishness by the fifth song (the aptly named “Trimmed and Burning”), which marks the start of an uptempo trio of winners with “Happiness” and the blazing “Don’t Try.” They then shift into one of the sweetest trilogies in the band’s catalog — the blissed out love songs “You Are,” “Fly Around my Pretty Little Miss,” and “The Weather,” which sport either some of Martsch’s most sincere lines (“I know you’re making accidents and stars for everyone — you’re amazing, half of them won’t know until you’re gone” from “Miss” and “as long as it’s talking with you, talk of the weather will do” from the latter) or some of his most knee-buckling melodies (the trilogy’s opener).

Ancient Melodies marks the end of a pretty epic trilogy of albums — their return five years later marked a fiery return to their more rocking side — but for now this slightly sleepy, slightly erratic album would have to tide fans over. It’s got some of my favorites (despite the fussing about its slower start) and has held up well in the intervening 20 years. Check out that blissed out gem from the closing trilogy, “You Are” here:

Up next in the parade of 20 year old albums is the one that changed everything — at least for the next generation of bands. It was The Big Bang of indie, the one that set off an entire scene and a feeding frenzy by labels frantic to find the Next Big Thing. I’m talking of course about the Strokes’ debut album, the instant classic Is This It. There’s been oodles of writeups about this band over the years and this album in particular, so I won’t try to outdo them as I don’t have new insights or interviews to add to that reporting. I’ll merely recommend one of my favorites (Lizzy Goodman’s outstanding Meet Me in the Bathroom) and speak of my personal recollections of its impact, as I still remember how thrilling a find it first was.

I was away at school, as mentioned above, and part of my nightly ritual was hunting music I couldn’t get or listen to at the pretty decent record shops on campus. Rare concerts and bootlegs, B-sides from singles not released in this country, and albums big in other countries that I’d never heard of here. This latter category was how I found the Strokes, as I would read the breathless reviews in the British press and then try to find anything I could listen to from this band that would make grown adults this rabid and deranged.

After a while I managed to find both the Modern Age EP and an advance copy of this album and I remember them bowling me over — they hit in a way I remember thinking was anomalous at the time, a sensation that has only grown more rare in the years since. The first thing I remember was how raw it sounded — not warped and distorted like albums from the Stooges, for example (or Muse above), but still decidedly unpolished compared to most of the stuff you’d hear at the time.

From frontman Julian Casablancas’ mumbled lyrics to their shaggy, ramshackle appearance, it was clear this band just did not give a F#$K. About you, or frankly anyone for that matter. And yet the melodies were so good, the hooks so strong, the playing so sharp, it belied that ZFG attitude.

Even on those rough early outings, these guys were TIGHT. I remember the twinned guitar parts swirling around each other with mind-melting precision, avoiding disastrous collisions with inexplicable repetition. Every song was like a sortie from those early world wars where an endless array of things were flying around the sky — strafing solos, barrages of riffs, little lyrical parts popping off nearby that would tear through the fuselage (ie your skull) and yet somehow not end in a ball of flame and debris.

They did it over and over. Every track on the album was like this, this amazing dance of dogfighting precision and ragged sheen. It was irresistible — and still is. Listening to it 20 years later it’s still an amazing album — in spite of the avalanche of hype it unleashed and the global wave of knockoffs it created. (And the fact the band would never be as good again — although they came closer than ever on that sophomore slump-busting Room on Fire.) 

I remember seeing them play the album live at an old fur factory that had been converted into this massive multi-floor club, one normally geared towards DJ sets and electronic acts, but that night was hosting these upstart New Yorkers set to dominate the world. The band had to play where the DJ booth normally was, so I remember them hovering high above the audience, a good 10-15’ over the tallest guy’s head in the crowd, and it being a packed, humid mass. (Although I’m sure age has heightened that distance, it was definitely one of the weirdest setups I’ve ever seen at a show.)  Despite the venue they still destroyed, ripping through their set at a sprinter’s pace and leaving as fast as they’d arrived, like some giant pigeons that momentarily landed in the rafters before flying off again in a blur of feathers.

I’ve still got the original CD-R I burned of those tracks somewhere, too — all these years and moves later, it still feels like a found treasure I’m reluctant to part with. It included the omitted “NYC Cops,” which has yet to appear on a US version, but is an integral part to the overall album and was a rawer (and I’d argue more urgent) listen than the re-recorded US version of the album that came out a little bit later. Regardless of which one you listen to, though, this is one of the rare instances where the thing actually lives up to the hype — even after two decades of listening.

You really can’t go wrong no matter which song you pick, but for me “Soma” was always one of the brain-melters — endlessly infectious with those immaculate guitar parts dancing with each other. Give it a listen here:

The closer of the quartet comes from a band that benefited from the chaos resulting from the previous band’s arrival and its otherworldly pull. As described in Lizzy Goodman’s book (and potentially remembered by those who are OAF like me) New York became the center of the universe in 2001 — in part because of the horrors of 9/11 and the outpouring of support that came with it, but also to a lesser extent because of the aforementioned band and their arrival on (/creation of) the scene.

The rush to find the next version of that band was an all out arms race for the labels — the Southern Strokes, The Euro Strokes. The Australian Strokes. The Kazakh Ministry of Pretty Sound Strokes. That frenzy to find The Next Big Thing spilled over to bands that didn’t sound like the Strokes, too, as labels tried to identify the next wave to ride if/when the current one was exhausted. Enter bands like The Faint, a band from Omaha (somewhere in middle America) whose previous two albums had been below the radar affairs, but their third got caught up in the breathless hype machine that was working non-stop at the time, offering endless interpolations of the Strokes’ album title. (“Is this it? Is this it? THIS is it…”)

Despite the previous two outings and the modest number of units they’d sold, this album — the excellent Danse Macabre was heralded as an event. And for this one album, the band lived up to that acclaim. They grabbed that rocket and rode it as high as it would take them, before gradually coming back to earth. And who cares if they could never recapture the magic again? This album remains as good now as it was back then (and as unique — even now there’s no one that quite sounds like this, capturing their fusion of electro energy and aggressive, danceable riffs.) It is 30 minutes of power — Depeche Mode with an axe to grind or a NIN that just wants to dance amidst the darkness. It’s awesome, even now.

I remember finding out about these guys through a girl my roommate was in love with at the time. She was beautiful — face-meltingly so, and she knew it — and she was cool, too, plugged into the myriad scenes and bands, so we always hit it off. She would toy with my roommate, giving him the slightest signals of interest (or allowing benign ones to be misinterpreted) before crushing his hopes again and so I spent a ton of time hearing from (and mediating for) both sides that year. Aside from the endless conversations about unrequited (/non-existent) love were chats about music, and this was one of her favorite albums at the time.

She was obsessed with it — much like my roommate with her — and her enthusiasm was what got me to check it out. I’d never seen anyone this attractive get this excited about anything that wasn’t materialistic nonsense (or themselves) so had to find out what was up. (Truth be told I also had a bit of a thing for her by this point, so probably thought if I ended up digging them maybe she’d focus some of that exuberance on me.) Long story short, I did love the album, she did not love me (or my roommate), and more Fleetwood Mac-style drama than is worth remembering ensued. At the end of the day I didn’t care — she’d turned me on to this album, which I still love 20 years later.

The main change from the previous album to this (aside from the frenzied support of the press now being on them) was the addition of a metal guitarist and that seemed to be the piece needed to have everything snap into place. The songs hit hard like a metal song should, only laced with synths and drum machines this time around. Tracks like “Glass Danse,” “Let the Poison Spill from Your Throat,” and “Your Retro Career Melted” are great, as is the opening “Agenda Suicide.”  It’s a blistering nine song, 35 minute outing that’s over before you realize you’re out of breath.

“Posed to Death” has always been one of my faves — check it out here:

We’ll end where we started — the sun-soaked shores of California — only five years further on from our last set of acts. In terms of history we’re five years beyond The Big Bang now — the Strokes have released both their excellent sophomore album and their underwhelming third, and would go on hiatus shortly thereafter, not releasing another album for five years. (“Rock is dead!”) The boom/bust cycle of Next Big Things they spawned had largely ground to a halt and music writ large had turned its eyes away from guitar-based bands. (“ROCK IS DEAD!”) In lieu of leatherbound axe wielders, the cultural focus had shifted to the bling and beats of the Neptunes and Timbaland and hip-swiveling songs from overseas artists like Shakira and Nelly Furtado.

As a result, most folks didn’t care about a little debut from a bunch of Smashing Pumpkins inspired kids from Los Angeles — the outstanding Carnavas from Silversun Pickups, which turns 15 this month — but I sure did. I first fell for it because of the influences — growing up in Chicago, Billy Corgan went to the high school in the town next to mine and their music was EVERYWHERE after they got going. I didn’t realize for years that it wasn’t like that for everyone, that most folks didn’t get to them until Siamese or Mellon Collie blew up — but by this time the Pumpkins had been broken up for nearly six years, having traded their fiery guitar parts for the electro-infused elements of Adore before they did.

So as someone who loved the boom of garage/guitar-based bands that The Big Bang spawned, I was thirsting for some riffs at this point, having walked several years in the desert without a ton to drink. Enter the Silversuns and their excellent debut, which not only satiated on the Pumpkins front, but the rock one writ large too. The influences were clear and unapologetic — tons of thick riffs, big, thudding drums, plenty of fist-pumping anthems, even frontman Brian Aubert’s high-pitched voice mirrored Billy’s — but they executed them flawlessly.

As with the others noted above, it’s held up to years of listens and still rocks — tracks like “Lazy Eye” and “Future Foe Scenarios” are bangers, while “Rusted Wheel” and “Melatonin” show the band’s more psychedelic side. Aside from the years of enjoyment it’s given, one of the most lasting memories I have of this album came a couple years further down the road, on New Year’s Eve back home in Chicago. We were doing a more subdued dinner party version at my buddy’s house and as we waited for it to get closer to midnight he asked whether we wanted to play Rock Band.

I’d never played, but had heard about it and the concept sounded entertaining. I started on the guitar and it was fun, racking up points for matching riffs like Sonic gobbling up gold coins, but it was a little too unrealistic to get into. (Even my rudimentary (read: terrible) guitar skills found the fake fingering of chords too incomplete to geek out.) It wasn’t until my turn on the drums that I fell in love. My buddy had the whole plastic kit — with the cymbals and the double pedal for the kick and hi hat — and I distinctly remember something primal in my brain snapping into place as we did a couple songs. We started with a few of the easier ones — Eye of the Tiger, Go Your Own Way, etc — but it wasn’t until we did the Silversuns that my brain broke.

The song was “Well Thought out Twinkles” and it was when I decided “I’m gonna teach myself how to play drums.” Its heavy use of the kick drum, its tricky (but oh so satisfying) fills, its furious conclusion — I already loved the song, having listened to it for years at that point, but now I loved it on a whole other level. My calf hurt from trying to keep up with the kick, I was out of breath from trying to keep up, and the connection in my brain hadn’t quite figured out how to get both hands working in sync with my feet (that would take many months of practice to forge), but I was determined to master it.

The rest of my party, however, was not. My buddy, Sig O, and others had had enough and slowly drifted away from the game. I, however, spent the next hour or two (and probably most of a third) nerding out in the corner playing drums by myself like some lunatic Muppet. I missed the ball drop, giving a distracted side kiss to my Sig O (“what? Oh yeah yeah Happy New Years to you too! Lemme…..get back to……just gotta……..oh man that fill, how the heck did they do that….”) while I kept flailing along to the songs.  Eventually we left (I think my buddy turned the lights off and said “OK — GTFO”) but a new obsession had been born.

I played the game ENDLESSLY for the coming months, so much so that I had to continually repair the plastic kit because I was hitting it so hard/playing it so often. I tore through the skins on all the drum heads, broke all of the cymbals (both the plates themselves and the stands they attached to the kit with), even the basic frame had to be propped up with cinderblocks because it kept collapsing onto my knees when I played. By the end there was enough duct tape, bolted on plastic, and other “enhancements” that it looked like an amateur art project. (Or reject from some Mad Max remake.) (FYI — CD-Rs that had been broken in half are the perfect size/shape to fix cracked cymbals! Just in case you’re wondering how to fix your own…)

Eventually I did master that song (and geezus it felt good — still remember that, too), along with several others of theirs. (Minus one part of “Panic Switch” that I could never quite get, which was when I finally realized “Holy sh#$ — their drummer is a lefty! No wonder I can’t get my hands to go that way — his kit’s setup backwards!” A point I confirmed by watching a live performance before fully letting my obsessive completionist brain off the hook.) Eventually I had to buy a real kit, too, because I’d so thoroughly destroyed the plastic one (even my repairs needed repairs by the end), but it never was the same again. (Not being able to play with the game really sucked the wind out of my sails, as a drummer playing by himself is almost as sad a sight as a doused kitten or those Sarah McLachlan commercials on TV.)

It didn’t matter by that point, though, my love for drumming — and this album — had been cemented as solidly as that makeshift base.  Still remain, in fact — no duct tape or plastic reinforcements necessary. Give another fave — the blissful “Three Seed” — a listen here:


We’ll close with a couple quick hits that’ve been stuck in the backlog — first the lead single from the recent EP by Kevin Devine, No One’s Waiting up for me Tonight.  I keep meaning to dive into this one, so hopefully this will be the necessary nudge.  It’s a really pretty tune — check out “Lakes on the Moon” here:

Next comes one of the many treats from the recent George Harrison box set for the 50th anniversary of his already sprawling solo debut All Things Must Pass. It was one of a handful of tracks that didn’t make the final album, remaining in demo form for all these years.  When you hear it you’ll wonder why, as it sports an instantly winning melody.  As good a reason as any to check out that classic debut — recorded while the embers of the Beatles empire were still smoldering. Check out “Cosmic Empire” here:

We’ll close with a dancer, the latest from Germany’s Boys Noize, whose upcoming album +/- comes out in September. His stuff is always sort of hit or miss for me (particularly live), but when it clicks it hits oh so nicely.  As on this track, “Nude” — check it out here:

That’s it for now — I posted a little recap of our trip to Asheville in the “I’ve Been Everywhere” section for you to peruse and maybe inspire your own trip, too (as if this wasn’t enough rambling to tide you over for the next 6-8 months). Until next time, amici…

–BS

Got (Woodstock) ’99 Problems — Postcards from the Edge

Finally recovered from the America-inspired bender I went on for the 4th, celebrating my freedoms and global superiority to the max — just in time to do it again for the Olympics! Before I go back down the rabbit hole, though, had a few items worth sharing to serve as an alternative to the anthem for the forthcoming fortnight. First, had a chance to watch the new HBO documentary on Woodstock 99 last night, the aptly named Woodstock 99: Peace, Love, and Rage, and like the festival it portrays, it’s a bit of a mixed bag.

Things it gets right — there were a lot of bros. A LOT of bros. I believe a study conducted afterward by the prestigious Boston School of Zoology & Migratory Travel determined that 87% of the world’s bro population was present at the festival that weekend, making it the third largest gathering of a single species last century. And they were mostly white. And gropey. And they really enjoyed the more aggressive, harder bands that headlined each night. (The Offspring and Korn the first, Limp Bizkit, Rage, and Metallica the second.)

As someone who was there I can verify these things are all true — also, my GOD was it hot. And dirty. As I was watching I started to get flashbacks and my skin started crawling as I have never been so consistently hot, filthy, and uncomfortable as I was that weekend.  The 100 degree temperatures, the miles and miles of concrete you walked on between stages and sets, the lack of shade or ability to cool down at night. You were camping out in tents or your car, remember — if you could recall where the hell yours was, that is — as the surroundings continued to radiate the day’s heat and you tried to sleep while covered in sweat and grime from the day’s activities.

Add in the soupy morass of piss and shit you had to wade thru as you tried to refill your water and/or rinse some of the grime off you meant you had a lot of people who basically baked for three days straight, stewing in their own juices (if not throwing in loads of mind-altering booze and chemicals on top of that to really perfect the recipe). I remember the promoters turning hoses on the crowd to try and cool them down during the day, but when you’ve got hundreds of thousands of people that only goes so far (and lasts so long).

By the time the weekend was done I had definitely gotten heat stroke — the sun was so incessant (and my attempts to hide from it so ineffective) that my head had swelled about an inch in size. (I discovered this fact when I got back to my buddy’s house and sneezed after that first amazing shower, at which point I felt my entire scalp slide forward like it was riding on a slip and slide — which essentially it was, as my head had started stockpiling whatever moisture it could find up top in an attempt to protect my brain. The picture I took upon realizing this shows my forehead jutting out like Frankenstein, which I found simultaneously hilarious and horrifying.)

So all of that was true and made for a pretty uncomfortable concert-going experience. It was hot, it was dirty, and there were a ton of white bros roaming around. (Also true, there were a TON of topless women — I had forgotten about the tents doing the skin art, but that led to an endless array of women walking around with paint shirts on. I honestly saw more breasts that weekend than I think I have in the subsequent 20 years combined.)

What the documentary gets wrong is when it tries to portray the festival as this overtly aggro/aggressive/racist/misogynistic thing that was doomed to devolve the way it did. Yes, there were a lot of hard rock acts on the bill — but there were also ones like Counting Crows, Dave Matthews, Brian Setzer, Bruce Hornsby, Elvis Costello, and Rusted Root, which are about as far to the opposite side of the spectrum as you can get. Yes, the lineup was skewed more towards more white male-led rockers — but there were also bands like The Roots, Ice Cube, Wyclef, and George Clinton, in addition to the iconic performance by DMX and the three females (Alanis, Jewel, and Sheryl Crow) noted in the documentary. (And as at all festivals they were butting right up against each other — the two acts that preceded the Chili Peppers on that closing night were Creed and Jewel, which has to be among the more bananas transitions in styles and fan bases you’re ever going to see.)

Yes, there was a an uncomfortable amount of groping of women crowdsurfers (and turns out full-on assaults, which was not apparent to us at the time) and a whoooole lotta white people shown saying the N-word in response to DMX’s exhortations — but portraying it as some liberating release of pent-up racism and rapiness isn’t fair or accurate.  All of which makes it sound like I’m defending the festival or saying what happened was acceptable (or enjoyable) — I would no sooner go to this again than I would condone the actions of the idiots who torched the place, looted things, and/or assaulted the female concertgoers. I just don’t think you can say those things were destined to happen and/or caused by some broader societal tolerance of misogyny and racism. (For every asshole/idiot who acted unacceptably there were an equal number if not hundreds more who did not, which diminishes the argument for predestination and inevitability.)

Avoidable? Potentially. Something to be held accountable for? Absolutely. (Although 20 years on this is something the promoters still seemed largely unable to do — in their telling this was a Fred Durst (and maybe MTV) problem vs anything they could have done better.)

So while I wouldn’t do it again, I don’t regret going either.  I remember some fantastic performances — DMX’s in particular stands out (a point validated by rewatching his set after his sudden passing recently). I remember the vast carpet of humanity undulating like a wave during Limp Bizkit’s set — the first time I’d ever seen that happen. (And still probably the largest — it went on FOREVER, just like waves in the actual ocean, which you can get glimpses of in the documentary.) I remember that Saturday bloc of Bizkit, Rage, and Metallica being a pretty epic close to a pretty decent day. (I had forgotten about the plywood surfers until I watched this, but there were LOADS of em out during that stretch, which is another memory.) I remember driving out while the Chili Peppers were playing, as the bonfires started to multiply and things really started to disintegrate. And I remember being hot, dirty, and wanting to shower really, really bad. That, and Frankenstein forehead and nearly boiling my brain.

All in all a fun trip down memory lane! (Eye roll) Worth a watch, though, if only to appreciate how far we’ve come at our festivals since then. (The occasional Fyre Fests notwithstanding…)


We’ll close with a couple new tracks that caught my ear the past couple weeks — first up comes the latest from Woods, whose deluxe release of last year’s Strange to Explain (which landed at #13 on last year’s best of list) came out Friday. It sports five new tracks including this one, “Nickels and Dimes” — give it a listen here:

Next comes the latest from the poppier side of some Norwegian death metalers, Beachheads, who released the single “Jupiter” recently. It’s a bright, catchy little tune — no word on if it’s part of an upcoming release or not, but am glad to have it either way.  See what you think here:

Up third is the rolling celebration for the Indiana label Secretly Canadian’s 25 anniversary, which has spawned some solid singles where their acts offer deep cuts and/or special covers to help raise funds to combat homelessness in their hometown of Bloomington. It’s a good cause that’s yielded some good tunes, including Jim James’ recent cover of Steve Miller, “Seasons.” This early one from Jason Molina’s first Songs:Ohia album is the one that’s gotten stuck in my head, though — a solid tune from someone gone too soon. Check out “Gauley Bridge” here:

Someone else looking back is Pile frontman Rick Maguire who decided to spend part of his pandemic revisiting old songs and demos of the band, recreating and re-envisioning them for a solo album, the upcoming Songs Known Together, Alone. One of those tracks was the first thing he recorded for the band, the demo “Build a Fire,” which he delivers this time as a lovely piano ballad. Really interested in how the rest of the album turns out — in the meantime give this one a ride:

We’ll close with one last band deciding to dive into the archives, Wye Oak, whose album Civilian turned 10 this year. As part of that re-release the band went back to a couple outtakes and demos from those sessions and unearthed this one, the excellent “Electricity.” It would have sounded perfect alongside existing album tracks, harnessing the power and urgency of the band in this era — still my favorite of their many incarnations.  See what you think here:

That’s it for now — until next time, amici…
–BS

Celebration Day — Stripes, Shins, and Radio(head)

On the country’s big day I thought it was only appropriate to highlight a couple albums also celebrating anniversaries, in this case a trio of them turning 20 this month. They’re from an interesting mix of acts — two of the three are still around, releasing music as a unit on a somewhat reliable basis (as reliable as 4-5 year gaps between albums can be). The other called it quits years ago, much to the chagrin of their faithful fans (myself included).

Two of the albums mark the beginning of the releasing band’s rise to stardom, rocketships they would ride into the relative stratosphere (at least for indie-loving music nerds), and both would follow this release with what turned out to be their best album. The other maintained its global recognition while continuing to explore their odder, more isolating impulses, with this album essentially serving as the start of their strange new chapter.  Each are worth remembering, though, and giving a listen on this long holiday weekend — especially if, like me, it’s been a while since you last did so.

We’ll start with the two star makers, the first of which comes from the White Stripes, and their third album, White Blood Cells. This was not the band’s masterpiece — that would arrive two years later in the form of the aptly named behemoth, Elephant, the perfect blend of the band’s blues/garage sound, their quirkiness, and mind-melting levels of power. (Although I can make a pretty good case for this album’s predecessor, too, which may have lacked Elephant’s swagger, but had arguably higher doses of the first two elements.) This was the album that made them famous, though, as its run of singles were plastered everywhere on MTV and the radio.

In part this was thanks to some incredibly creative videos (Michel Gondry’s Lego-laden treatment for “Fell in Love With a Girl” being but one great example) and a case of great timing — this was right as the early-aughts rock renaissance was raging, with bands like The Strokes, The Hives, and so many others stoking feeding frenzies at the labels, as recently recounted in Lizzy Goodman’s excellent Meet Me In the Bathroom.  It would never have mattered, though, if there weren’t some really great songs to latch onto, too, which this album has plenty of.

Truth be told, I remember being a little disappointed with this album — I’d fallen hard for De Stijl, which I’d stumbled onto at some point in my Napster-fueled explorations and still consider a close second for their best album — but there’s a lot to love here, as lovingly recounted in this piece by Stereogum. “Expecting” and “I Smell a Rat” were always deeper faves, but the oddball aside “Little Room” still grabs me by the ears and slaps me around today. Give it another listen here:

The other star-making turn comes from an even more unexpected corner, a batch of New Mexicans playing pretty pop songs sung by a falsetto-flashing frontman. This, of course, refers to the Shins’ debut Oh, Inverted World, and their singer/songwriter James Mercer.  I discovered these guys the same way I think a lot of folks did, when Natalie Portman told Zach Braff “you gotta hear this one song, it’ll change your life” in the movie Garden State. The song was “New Slang” and while it may not have changed my life with the magnitude of other big life events, I did immediately fall for this band and scour the internet for more on who they were.

This was still early days interweb — no Shazam or Google to instantly answer the question — but in relatively short order I was able to find this gem of an album and begin indulging my obsession.  At this point it turned out they’d already released a second album, too — the slightly superior Chutes Too Narrow and the gleeful, glowing songs from both quickly became favorites. That movie undeniably took the band’s popularity to far higher levels, boosting them from relative unknowns to mid-tier festival faves for several years after, but each subsequent release saw that initial shine dim a little more.

For me, they never quite recaptured the joy and brilliance of these first two albums (although there’s still some really good stuff on 2007’s Wincing the Night Away), but that’s OK — two damned near perfect albums is something most bands would love to have even half of, particularly when they’re as good as these.  The opening track has always been one of my faves (and its title a personal mantra), so check out “Caring is Creepy” again here:

Last but not least comes Radiohead’s Amnesiac, the fast follow-on to the more famous forebear, Kid A, and in conjunction with that one, the official start of the odder, more electronic (more esoteric, more eclectic…) version of the band that continues to run to this day. Recorded at the same time as that seismic sister album and released less than a year later, this wasn’t just an odd collection of outcasts from those sessions, this was another cohesive (and slightly less combative) album from the band, one that continued to challenge its listeners without as overt an isolationist bent this time around.

These songs were nowhere near as jarring — maybe that’s by design, or maybe it’s because the fans’ foundations had already been shaken and readjusted by Kid A. Whatever the reason, this album has always been more embraceable for me and is the half of the pairing I more frequently return to. Don’t get me wrong, there’s still a lot of good stuff on the other one and I do enjoy it — I actually had it slightly higher in my Radiohead rundown a few years ago, surprisingly — but this one has some of my absolute favorites on it. “Packt like Sardines,” “Knives Out,” and “Dollars & Cents” are all killers, and the closing duo of “Like Spinning Plates” and “Life in a Glasshouse” became sleeper faves over the years. “You and Whose Army?” remains a top ten fave for me, though — an undeniable highlight on an often overlooked album.  Give it (and the album itself) another listen here:

 

Insta Replay

It’s been a while since we captured some of the discoveries from the sister site, so thought it was worth a rundown to round out everyone’s weekend playlists. Here’s some highlights from over on the ‘Gram!

Gaspard Auge — I had previously highlighted the lead single from Gaspard’s solo debut, which found him continuing to mine the disco vibe, similar to his full time band, Justice (as their mentors, the now defunct Daft Punk, had been before their demise). Listening to the entire album you catch glimpses of that band, little riffs or sequences that sound familiar and momentarily excite, but those quickly disappear like an attractive stranger seen briefly across a crowded dancefloor. It’s almost like he took those early Justice albums and ran them through the disco filter, similar to photos on the ‘Gram. What he’s made is well-crafted and achieves its goal of ephemeral, gossamer delight, but I still miss the glorious thunder of his band’s early work, fusing electro with metal. Good background/atmosphere music, though. I like the new “Belladone,” as well.

The White Buffalo — I’d recently discovered the debut from gruff-throated Californian the White Buffalo, aka singer/songwriter Jake Smith, which is a good mix of uptempo country rockers and more staid acoustic folk. Smith’s lyrics roam from apparent personal/childhood memories to more fictional fare of folks from the titular locale (shootouts and dice games and the like). The aforementioned rockers burst forth on the back his quavering voice, which calls to mind a chicken-fried Frank Turner, shaking with sweat and emotion. Songs like “The Pilot, “The Bowery,” and “Hold the Line” are all good examples, while tracks like “Sleepy Little Town” and “Wish it Was True” showcase his softer side. Both work well – current fave is “How the West Was Won,” one of the former category, which you can picture Smith using to whip the crowd into a lather onstage. It’s a fun track and there’s plenty of comparable quality on the album.

Coachwhips — I was powering through a meltdown a while back and the sole album from early ’00s San Fran noise rockers Coachwhips provided the perfect soundtrack, 2003’s brilliantly named Bangers vs Fuckers. Packing in 11 songs in a blistering 18 minutes, it doesn’t give you much time to think (or breathe for that matter). Do I like this? Which ones are the bangers and which ones the fuckers? Can I tell what the hell frontman John Dwyer (also of Thee Oh Sees and their myriad variants) is saying? Do I care? The immediate answer (for me at least) is no. Fast, hooky, and loud, it comes in with an urgency that’s tough to ignore. The result is an album that’s sweaty, frantic, and a little uncoordinated – just what you want sometimes. This one’s a fun, messy bash.

Fat White Family — was listening to the London-based band’s third album, Serf’s Up!, lately, a ramshackle mix of moody noise, slow burn atmosphere, and grooves you could almost dance to. It’s a little like Arab Strap, Scissor Sisters, and Massive Attack got together for an album and decided to leave out the lyrics about sex and death and tone down the unhinged energy (while throwing in Ross from Friends on keyboard to round out the sound). It’s definitely an interesting listen as a result, covering a lot of ground over the course of its 10 tracks. On the whole it works pretty well, though. Songs like “Fringe Runner” and “Tastes Good with the Money” are midtempo movers, while “Kim’s Sunsets” and “Bobby’s Boyfriend” are slower burners that draw you into their fog. My favorite is the opener, though, which captures all the elements of those aforementioned bands and turns the energy up full blast. It’s an infectious track and sure to get you moving.

Arab Strap — speaking of, the latest album from the aforementioned Scottish duo is an equally interesting listen. True to form the songs are miniature movies — narratives that spool out in frontman Aidan Moffat’s deadpan brogue while Malcolm Middleton’s music provides the soundtrack. The lyrics are the band’s signature mix of sex, death, and dark, dry humor. The music is at turns eerie film score and 80s pop song. But it somehow works – it’s almost hypnotic. The best of the bunch for me so far is the opening track, the one that has all these elements and was the first one that grabbed me at the album’s release. There’s nothing else that sounds like it out there.

Julien Baker — had listened to her recent album a bunch when it came out, but kept neglecting to say anything about it for no real reason. I had initially been impressed with the epic, swelling vibe she captured for the lead single, “Hardline,” and discovered she manages the trick several more times on the album on tracks like “Faith Healer,” “Bloodshot,” and “Repeat.” The quieter songs work well too (“Song in E” is a hushed little devastator), but the swelling, surging ones are what keeps me coming back. I know I’m not the intended audience for this stuff, but I like it nonetheless.

John Andrews & the Yawns — the latest album from Andrews, Cookbook, trades in the late 60s psychedelic vibe of their first two albums and shifts forward to the following decade, almost verging on yacht rock territory at times with its soft edges and warm, steady pace. Nothing’s going to startle or endanger you here and that’s OK — Andrews retains his knack for digging up pretty melodies and scattering them throughout the proceedings. “River of Doubt” and “Try” are but two of many examples, and even the more easy listening AM radio tunes win you over once you settle into the new mood. (Their titles aptly reflect the vibe – “Easy Going, “New California Blue…”) Current fave is the hushed gem “Early Hours of the Morning,” which also perfectly reflects the vibe within – you can picture Andrews playing it on his couch before sunrise, softly strumming his acoustic while the rest of the house sleeps. Is a lovely track on a solidly pleasant album.

Night Shop — another recent discovery getting solid airplay is the 2018 debut of Night Shop (aka Justin Sullivan). Sullivan cut his teeth drumming for a bunch of bands, including Babies where he worked with fave Kevin Morby before jumping on the road as part of his touring band when he went solo. It appears that time had a positive influence on his songwriting as this album repeatedly calls to mind his former frontman. Sullivan’s more uptempo tracks get the blood flowing (“The One I Love,” “Road to Carolina,” “I Was Alone”) before settling into a blissful groove on slower tracks that make you lean back and drink it all in (the title track, “If You Remember,” “On the Island”). It all adds up to a really good listen/debut.

Arlo McKinley — I recently discovered the debut by Arlo McKinley while spinning through clips on Oh Boy’s website. McKinley was the last artist signed to Prine’s label and similar to that departed giant he walks the line between country and folk, making sure the stories and melodies of the latter balance out some of the good ole boy twang and imagery that could drive some folks away. McKinley has a nice, warm voice, which he twins on most of the tracks giving them a rich sound and feel, and while the stories may be country standards – heartache, loss, and addiction – they’re solid and sincere. Really enjoy his 2014 debut!

John R. Miller — I’ve been working the 2018 debut of West Virginia singer/songwriter John R. Miller hard lately in anticipation of his upcoming new album. (Depreciated, due out July 16.) Miller packs a LOT of goodness into the album’s brisk 30 minutes, shifting smoothly from standard roadhouse shitkickers to more serene, contemplative songs several times. What sets the album apart for me is Miller’s ability to strike that balance in the lyrics too, offering both vivid imagery and honesty across the album’s 10 tracks. They paint a rich picture, one made more resonant by Miller’s warm, somewhat forlorn voice. The first few singles from the new album have been good, so excited to hear the rest in a couple weeks!

The Bones of JR Jones — also been listening to the latest EP from the Bones of J.R. Jones (aka singer/songwriter Jonathan Linaberry) a ton lately. In the run-up to recording Linaberry decided to leave his place in New York and venture into the Arizona desert for inspiration and the open air seems to have made him want to lean more into the quieter, folksier side of his sound. (All but one of the tracks – the TV on the Radio reminiscent “Bad Moves” – would be perfect to hear while sitting around the campfire.) It’s a strong decision as they’re some of his most affecting songs yet. The title track, “Keep it Low, and “Like an Old Lover” are all lay on the ground and just LISTEN level pretty while the opening “Stay Wild” has a lush, pastoral feel that’s perfect for a drive to nowhere with the windows down. Nothing tops “Howl” for me right now, though – beautiful melody, haunting vibe, and when the steel guitar comes in at the end it almost breaks you. Beautiful, beautiful stuff.


Boo Hag — I’ve been listening to South Carolina duo Boo Hag a lot lately, whose self-described sound is “voodoo inspired rock ‘n’ roll… [with] an emphasis on the sinister,” which gets it pretty well. There’s bits of Bass Drum of Death, White Stripes, and Black Pistol Fire in there, as well as Squirrel Nut Zippers, which strikes me just fine since I love all those bands. Their albums are brisk, chameleonic affairs and the songs switch tempo and vibe frequently, giving things an urgent, irresistible edge. Frontman Saul Seibert sounds positively unhinged on some songs, shredding his guitar while drummer Scotty Tempo bangs away beside him. The image that keeps coming to mind as I listen is of these two busking in some subway station, making a tremendous noise while more and more people stop and stare, unsure of exactly what they’re seeing/hearing (is this guy an escaped mental patient? Am I in danger?) but unable to leave the glorious racket behind. Might have to make a trek down to see them if they don’t come through soon…

Glorietta — three years ago a group of six friends from Austin, led by Matthew Logan Vasquez of Delta Spirit, retired to a house in Santa Fe and holed up for the weekend, recording anything that came out while the tequila and camaraderie flowed. What they captured perfectly reflects the vibe in which it was created – a warm, loose collection of songs that alternately bears the imprint of its creator’s distinct style. There’s country (“Hard Way,” “Easy Come Easy Go”), straightforward rockers (“Mindy,” “Heatstroke”), and several hushed ballads (“Friends,” “Sinking Ship,” Lincoln Creek”), which end up hitting the hardest, despite their slower pace and softer sound. (The harmonies on “Someday” being just one of many excellent examples that’ll stop you in your tracks.) It sounds like it was a blast to record – the rough edges and high variety make you feel like you’re in the room listening to six different sensibilities take turns at the record player — and the vibe was so good Nathaniel Rateliff even showed up, as on the funkier “I Know,” another standout. It’s a fun listen – here’s hoping they try the trick again and give us 12 more songs soon!

And we’ll close with five one-offs to round things out — a nod to the passing of Gift of Gab (of Blackalicious fame) and one of my faves:

Another posthumous nod, this time to DOOM (along with Your Old Droog):

Another slice of happiness from two of Atlanta’s finest, Big Boi and Killer Mike:

A fun surprise from an equally unexpected collaboration, that of Damian Lazarus, Diplo, and Jungle:

And the latest single from the beloved Jetpacks:


That’s it for now — hope everyone enjoys the long weekend and holiday (now with real human beings again!)

–BS

Gram’-a Rodeo — Songs From the Other Side of the Divide

Been a slow couple of weeks — in the music world, at least. Not a ton of releases or videos, though there have been a surge of tour dates and festival announcements, which is an INCREDIBLY welcome sight, as this marks the longest I’ve gone without going to a show since I started doing so way back in high school. (Which for those of you who know me I’m sure assume must be 10, maybe 15 years ago max due to my baby-faced good looks and playful demeanor, but is actually barking on 30 at this point.) As a result I’ve been spending most of my time plumbing the depths of my deranged musical memory over on the ‘Gram and thought it was time to do a little housekeeping, explaining the difference between the two locales. (Because I’m sure the 8 of you have been extremely confused, and for that I apologize.)

In essence, the intended divide between the two revolves around three things — length, frequency, and focus. The ‘Gram, with its character-limits and more perishable nature, is meant to be more quick-hit glimpses of the unhinged fever dream that is my brain. Thanks to this (and a dare from Fuddge) the goal is to post something there everyday — won’t always be much, but it’ll at least give you something to listen to on the reg. (Because I know you’re all starved for access to music and rely on my backwater blog/account for inspiration.

And while it will occasionally highlight some new bands that I’ve found through the app, either through follows or comments (#BoBs), it will primarily capture more random items than here — noteworthy birthdays to inspire the day’s listening, choice songs heard or remembered throughout the day (#fuddgepops, #freshbeets, etc), dusty offerings from old bands and memories that deserve another look (#songsfromtheshadows). In short, it will be shorter, faster, and odder than what you expect to find here — new offerings from old favorites, videos of note, and rambling diatribes about this, that, and the other thing (bands you should know, rankings of their albums (or the year’s), documentaries or concert DVDs to watch, what’s wrong with the world today, etc) on a more infrequent basis. (It’s just SO exhausting to power up the laptop…)

The ‘Gram is structured to be more eclectic and esoteric, this site more deep and deliberative. That said, there’s plenty of overlap between the two — both are built around discovery, whether of the old (‘the Gram) or the new (the blog) — so the goal is to ideally have folks spend time with both. In order to incentivize that a little more, I’ve created an ongoing playlist for the ‘Gram to mirror the one we have here (Sunshine Radio, always at your disposal on the Spots or in the upper right of this page.) Similar to the methodology employed here, it will capture every song that’s written about or posted on the account. If/when we reference bands here that were first mentioned on the ‘Gram, they’ll be added to Sunshine Radio — otherwise the two will remain distinct.

Doing so really emphasizes the aforementioned differences, while still giving you plenty of good stuff to listen to.  (And those songs that show up on both serve as nice bridges between the two worlds when they come on.)  I’ve been listening to both the past few weeks and the oddball curves that come up on the ‘Gram playlist are pretty entertaining — a good balance to the more steadfast tone of this site.  See for yourself, though — there’s close to 20 hours and counting on the ‘Gram list now (a mere fraction of the nearly 80 hours on Sunshine Radio, but closing fast!) so should keep you busy for a while. So without any further ado, enjoy your Insta Gratification!


As mentioned back at the top (bet you wish there was a character limit here, too, eh?) there haven’t been a ton of new releases to grab onto lately, but managed to find a few worth noting so wanted to do so on our way out the door.  First, Noel Gallagher released a greatest hits album for his High Flying Birds yesterday, and in addition to the slew of previously heard faves added two new recordings. They’re both pretty good, but my favorite is this one, “We’re on Our Way Now” — give it a listen here:

Next comes the latest from fave Jose Gonzalez, whose new album Local Valley will come out this September. It’s his first in nearly six years (2015’s so-so Vestiges & Claws), but we’ve already heard a couple singles from it. (Including “El Invento, which we wrote about back in February.) This one sounds much more like a return to his earliest albums — simple, yet urgent guitar and his delicate voice floating alongside. I’m hoping there’s more like this than the somewhat meandering, poetic stuff on his last album. Hopefully this one’s title is a harbinger that’s so — check out “Head On” here:


Up third comes the latest from Woods whose last album, Strange to Explain, landed at #13 on last year’s best of list. Apparently others agreed, as the band is releasing an expanded, deluxe edition of the album next month. It will sport several new tracks (and at least one alternate version of an existing track) so will definitely be worth a listen. In the meantime enjoy the first of those new songs, “Waiting Around for a New Me,” which is a perfect sonic complement to the tracks already on the album. Give it a listen here:


We’ll close with a surprise find from our friends up north and a performance at that country’s Grammys, the Juno Awards. Showcasing national superheros The Tragically Hip, who were being honored with a humanitarian award for their work on behalf of Canada’s indigenous populations, it also has the beloved Leslie Feist singing lead on one of their songs.  It’s a pretty cool performance, with Feist’s voice fitting in nicely up front. (Frontman Gord Downie died of brain cancer in 2017.) Check it out here:


That’s it for now — until next time, amici…
–BS

All the Debris — Songs of Owls and Rabbits

Had a strange moment of connection this past weekend.  In the days running up to it I’d been intermittently listening to old Frightened Rabbit records (it had been a couple cold, rainy days, which is perfect Rabbit weather) and been thinking “you know, I should do one of the old “One You Should Know” posts about these guys — they’re underappreciated favorites,” but it wasn’t until Sunday that anything abnormal occurred.

I woke up that morning with one of their songs in my head — again, nothing odd here (the line from “Poke” was rolling around — “it’s got lots to do with magnets and the pull of the moon”) — but over the course of the day I kept thinking about the band.  Old shows I’d been to, the odd pride I felt when they played the big room on the tour for their last album, having spent years enjoying them in the smaller, more intimate venues. Mostly it was a sense of melancholy, though, and thoughts about what could have been.

Those feelings on their own aren’t exceptionally odd, often coming part and parcel whenever a song or album of theirs comes on shuffle.  The number of times they popped up over the course of the day was what was odd. It wasn’t until late Sunday night that I decided to do a search and that’s when I realized it was the unfortunate anniversary of lead singer Scott Hutchison’s death.  Which I know makes no logical sense — I (sadly) never met the man, nor anyone else in the band, so there’s no rational reason I would think about him on that day. (Unless it’s a Scottish thing and we’re all subconsciously connected by our Viking heritage, which might actually be true as evidenced by my obsession with that place when I was living overseas, going there repeatedly — the only place I did that — only to later find out that’s where my family was from…)

Except in some small, perfect way maybe it does make sense.  Hutchison often sang about the inexplicable aspects of love and life — the inability to explain one’s feelings for another or to walk away from them, to change one’s behavior and break certain cycles, to stop believing in something and accept defeat. This indefatigable romanticism and resilience (and the at times breathtakingly honest way he spoke of them) were hallmarks of his lyrics, so maybe it isn’t so strange. Maybe it makes total sense for a stranger halfway around the world to think about and lament the passing of another on that exact, unfortunate anniversary. That this hasn’t happened for anyone I’ve actually known and lost might be irrelevant.  Maybe it’s as simple and undeniable as he said — it’s got lots to do with magnets and the pull of the moon.

That unseen reality could help explain the passionate esteem so many fans (and artists) hold for this band.  To know about them almost guarantees a reverence that borders on religious. Folks tend to not just like this band — they LOVE them, and do so in a fervent, unrestrained way that Hutchison might sing about in one of his songs.  It’s the reckless, visceral feeling of your first love or of finding some sunken treasure and wanting to share the splendor with everyone around you. It doesn’t happen often and isn’t felt lightly, but it’s infectious.

It’s what made going to see the band live this incredible, cathartic experience. One minute you’re singing full-throatedly about anxiety or loss, the next about optimism and joy or laughing at Hutchison’s jokes between songs. By the time they were done they’d filled the room with so many colors and emotions it was like having gone to therapy and a wedding while Jackson Pollack painted everyone souvenirs. You’d stagger out of the club warmer, lighter, and giddier than when you arrived, whether you’d been drinking or not.

In short, it was magical. That a tiny band from Scotland could affect you so strongly, so deeply, and so regularly didn’t make logical sense, but it didn’t have to — you felt it just the same.  A large part of that was due to Hutchison’s lyrics and the uncomfortable, scathing honesty within them. The vulnerability he showed drew you in immediately, either to sympathize or to relate.

I always think about where to tell people to start with a band, what song or album to listen to if they’re going to give them a try and see everything they have to offer. There’s a dozen different places you could start with these guys, but I think the trio in the middle of their beloved Midnight Organ Fight is the place to go.  They’re three of the band’s most revered songs and I think they chose to sequence them right in a row for a reason.

In those three songs you progress from resilient optimism to anguished desperation and withering bitterness (with some humor scattered in to alternately sharpen and blunt the blows). These are classic landmarks for anyone who’s had a relationship sour and fray, but also key facets of Hutchison’s personality (I suspect) and thus a perfect triptych for what the band represents. (Hard-headed optimism, intense emotion, and cutting humor and bitterness being key traits of another beloved Scotsman I know…)

In what’s become a posthumous anthem of Hutchison’s legacy, “Heads Roll Off” represents that resilience and the need to make something of our time here on earth. “While I’m alive, I’ll make tiny changes to earth,” he sings in a song dealing with mortality and religion. After his death his family turned these words into the mission statement for a foundation focused on mental health for young folks and people regularly post pictures of stickers with the phrase/Scott’s face on Instagram, doing their small part to beautify places around the world. It’s a lovely tribute for someone who struggled so openly and honestly with this issue — and yet still seemed so determined to get past it and move on.

“My Backwards Walk” moves to a failing (failed?) relationship and another of those scenarios where you can’t seem to make progress, no matter what you try. The lyrics are among my absolute favorites, both funny and devastating, as Hutchison tries to make sense of what’s happening and which way to go. Should I stay or should I go? Are we together or are we through? Do I still care or don’t I? The duality of the situation makes it immediately recognizable and also irresistible. “I’m working on erasing you, I just don’t have the proper tools.” “I’m working hard on walking out…my clothes won’t let me close the door.” By the time he gets to the climax at the end you feel like you’ve lived the anguish yourself and are just as unsure what to do about it as he is. (“You’re the sh#$ and I’m knee-deep in it.”) Is it catharsis or sarcasm? Hopeful or hostile?

The final wing is much more unambiguous — “Keep Yourself Warm” is brutal honesty about the emptiness of pointless, meaningless sex.  “You won’t find love in a, won’t find love in a hole — it takes more than fu#$ing someone to keep yourself warm.” What makes it so interesting is you can’t tell whether that hammer is meant for the singer himself, squarely smacking him in the face as he stares in the mirror, or the previous song’s love who’s now left him behind. It’s a powerful sentiment either way, sung with Hutchison’s signature cleverness and directness.

These three songs harness everything I love about this band and miss so dearly about its singer — the honesty, the humor, the humility and hope. They’re packed full of them, as well as really good harmonies and hooks courtesy of the rest of the band. They released five studio albums in their too-short career, along with a handful of solid EPs, all of which are worth listens. (Hutchison also had a good solo album under the moniker Owl John and a side project with his brother Grant (and a few lads from the Editors) as Mastersystem.)

They’re a really special band, one that forges a connection far stronger than simple explanation (or most other acts) and that’s likely why I found myself thinking about them so much last weekend, logical or not. I was thinking about two of my favorite shows — one under the shady canopy of trees back home at Lollapalooza, standing ten feet from the band with 100 other people, wondering if they felt as lucky as I did (and if the other people walking by knew what they were missing). The other turned out to be the last time I saw them, on the anniversary tour for the aforementioned Organ Fight. The room was maybe a little more crowded than at that first show ten years prior, jovially packed into my favorite club in town, with folks exuberantly singing along to each of the album’s tracks.

It was a wonderful night, one that made the news a few months later so jarring. Scott seemed so happy that night, cracking jokes throughout the set and bantering with the crowd like I’d seen so many times before. He seemed truly humbled by the reception to the album and the band over the years, thanking us multiple times over the course of the night. To know that he was still struggling with the feelings that ultimately took him away is really sad and hard to reconcile with the person we saw onstage. I suppose that’s the cruel reality for folks grappling with suicide, though — you can feel fine one minute and awful the next, unable to tame the dark thoughts and urges no matter what you do.

That feeling of hopelessness was the last thing I was thinking of last week — how scary and sad and overwhelming it must have been to feel like leaving was the only option. The only way to get the peace that might’ve proven so elusive or to quiet the doubts and fears that might’ve plagued him. It’s such an unfortunate loss, one that leaves you with a number of unfulfilled wishes.  I wish his family and the rooms full of adoring fans around the world could have helped him conquer those feelings and kept him around. That those who might be feeling similar things are able to get the help they need before it’s too late. And that the guy seemingly moved by magnets halfway across the world could have thanked him for what he meant to him before he left.

That’s it for now — until next time, amici…
–BS


One You Should Know — Frightened Rabbit

(Since for some reason this one isn’t on the Spots — a back-breaking listen…)

Back in Time: Buds of Bobby, Old and New

The recent passing of DMX and a bunch of album anniversaries have had me roaming around with my rose-colored glasses on lately, meandering down memory lane to revisit the songs and my life at the time I first heard them. (Cuz what else am I going to do with my free time? I may have superpowers now that I’m vaccinated, but there still ain’t many options right now…) Since I know how much joy it brings you, figured I’d share some of both to fill up your weekend, really make this one for the history books.

In honor of Terry we’ll put it in reverse and go forwards to backwards, chronologically speaking, diving ever deeper into the annals of Sunshine lore with an increasingly excellent soundtrack to accompany us.  First up, then, is the recent 15-year anniversary of the Yeah Yeah Yeah’s second album, Show Your Bones. Released three years after their classic debut, Fever to Tell, the trio reportedly struggled mightily trying to decide what direction they wanted to go in for their follow-up, recording and scrapping several albums’ worth of material (and nearly breaking up) before settling on what became Bones.

Unfortunately for those of us who loved the raw, fiery sound of their debut and the preceding EP, it marked the last time you’d ever really see that band again (and even here, only in fleeting glimpses).  After this album, Nick Zinner’s flamethrowing guitar licks would be largely doused by buckets of safer, dancier fare. Drummer Brian Chase, whose wild, unhinged beats could previously send even the most resistant punks into a frenzied state (look no further than gems “Black Tongue,” “No No No,” and “Date With the Night” for easy examples) would recede further into the background, invoking all the danger of his accountant-like appearance on subsequent albums. And the bleeding heart of the band, frontwoman Karen O, whose untamed shrieks and psychotic energy represented one of the signatures of the band’s early sound became more and more subdued as they kept releasing material.

Not that this — or much of what followed, actually — was bad, mind you. Just that after you’ve seen what irresistible, life-altering feats bands like this are capable of, to see them do anything else is inherently going to be a let down. And so it is with Bones. You get your last tastes of that former band on tracks like “Way Out,” “Honeybear,” and “Mysteries” (which might be the best farewell to that old version of the band, with Zinner’s frenzied guitar throwing sparks next to O’s anguished wails and Chase’s galloping beat).  You also get acquainted with the band’s future on tracks like “Gold Lion,” “Phenomena,” “Cheated Hearts,” and “Turn Into,” which are at turns weirder and more straightforward than anything they’d done before.

It’s very much an album of a band in transition and for that reason never fully grabs you or brings you back. Those of us who love the early version of the band have our handful of tracks, those who prefer the later fare have their handful, but none of us are completely happy and none are going to come to this album to scratch their respective itches.  It’s textbook compromise (everybody loses!), but there’s still enough good stuff here to come back to now and again. For me it’ll always be for tracks like this one, the ripshit finale of the Yeahs v1.0, “Mysteries:”

Hopping back into the Delorean we’ll jump five years further into history to revisit the release of two fantastic debuts from artists on opposite sides of the sonic (and coolness) spectrum, yet two favorites of mine nonetheless — Pete Yorn and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. The former is heartfelt and melodic pop, the latter is dark, noisy rock. One summons the brightness and warmth of sunshine and love, the other the cold, black of shadows and death.  One gets cracked on for being soft and overly earnest, the other for being inauthentic and insincere. Statements like the last ones prove my hypothesis that most people are mouth-breathing idiots with terrible taste, but will let you make up your own mind.

Yorn’s debut 20 years ago, Musicforthemorningafter, came packed with all the things that make it easy for people to nitpick — handsome, long-haired singer/songwriter bursts on the scene with a bunch of songs about busted hearts, booming hooks, and a TON of hype. He plays all the instruments on the album, which simultaneously impresses and chagrins, and he gives intimate performances that only enhance the effect, leaving onlookers gooey and snipers more steadfast in their snippiness.  Only once you tune out the latter (if you ever listened to them to begin with) you realize just how good these songs are. And how many of them there are! This isn’t a scraped together affair with one or two songs surrounded by a bunch of half-baked demos — this is the quintessential classic debut, bursting with material that’s been polished to a scalpel’s precision over several years of hustling and gigs, just waiting for that elusive record deal and the potential shot at stardom.

No, this is a swing for the fences shot that absolutely murders the ball, clearing the wall by a country mile. It’s fifteen songs (fifteen!) that almost ends better than it began — and it begins with “Life on a Chain,” which is about as catchy a song as most artists hope for once in their career, let alone as the first track on a debut with 15 songs. (Yorn immediately follows that up with songs like “Strange Condition,” “Murray,” and “Closet,” which are every bit as good, just to rub salt in those other artists’ wounds.) In between booming heart anthems like those (and “For Nancy (‘Cos it Already Is),” another fave) are softer, more stripped back gems like “Just Another,” “On Your Side,” “June,” and “Sleep Better.”

It’s these latter tracks that really sunk their hooks into me all those years ago, speaking to the love-addled (and acne-riddled) fool I was. Two in particular left me routinely flat on the floor, the perfect soundtracks to my unrequited mess of a love life (and the many mix CDs made to that end) — “Lose You” and “A Girl Like You.” Even today those two immediately take me back to that time, laying in my dorm room trying to find “The Perfect Song” to break through the wall(s) of indifference plaguing me with the opposite sex. Unfortunately neither track worked, but that’s not Yorn’s fault — they’re still beautiful songs on a fantastic album. Check out “Girl” here:

The other half of this 20/20 split comes from the opposite side of the country (sunny California to Yorn’s fabled New Jersey), which is only fitting because of how dissimilar these two albums and artists are, representing opposite ends of almost all spectrums, as mentioned before. If the former hit you in the heart, this one hit you in the gut. If the former spoke to some of the ache and desperation one had in the romantic world, this one spoke to the hope and aspiration one had in the regular world — to be this mysterious, this dangerous, this flat out COOL.

And man, was this ever those things. The sound, reminiscent of faves like Jesus & Mary Chain and the Velvets before them. The look, all darkened silhouettes and black leather jackets.  (Surrounded by swirls of smoke and blistering backlight on stage, further enhancing the effect.) Even the album cover was cool, looking a bit like the poster for some old film noir you might see in the early morning hours on TV. It was absolutely irresistible and borderline hypnotic — from the ominous opening strums of “Love Burns” you’re pulled in, waiting patiently for the beat to drop while the tension and danger build, and when it does it’s like being caught in the beam of one of those giant halogen lamps. You’re frozen in place, everything around you thrown into crystal clear relief, and you know trying to escape it will only invite more problems, so you stand transfixed, slowly simmering in its gaze while the album’s roar surrounds you.

That’s what it felt like then and what it still feels like now — this album just sizzles. From that opening track to successors like “Red Eyes and Tears,” “White Palms,” “As Sure as the Sun,” and “Spread Your Love,” the visceral mix of roaring guitars, bitter, almost threatening lyrics, and wave after wave of feedback almost literally fry your brain. Even more straightforward songs like “Whatever Happened (To My Rock and Roll)” cook (music about music is always a somewhat dicey proposition, but they, like JAMC, manage to pull it off effortlessly), while cooler, more subdued tracks like “Awake,” “Too Real,” “Head up High,” and “Salvation” provide the perfect counterbalance to the punishing rays.

I still remember stumbling onto these guys and immediately falling under their spell — you couldn’t tell if it was some long lost band surfacing again or some magic reincarnation of those older acts, but I loved it immediately and still do 20 years (and hundreds of listens) later. This album (and this act) remain one of my faves, even if they’ve lost some of their initial heat in recent years/outings. You can’t go wrong picking a highlight from this album, but this has always been one of my faves, particularly live, as they slowly build the menace and dread before destroying you at the end. Check out “Rifles” here:

We’ll take a brief pause in our time travel to note the passing of DMX again, whose death was a really unfortunate surprise last week. We’ll do so now because this is where X first burst onto the scene, chronologically — coming out of virtually nowhere 23 years ago to drop not one, but two huge albums in the same year (he remains the only rapper to have his first four albums debut at #1). From that point on he was virtually unavoidable for the next five years.

Fans knew from listening to his lyrics that he’d had a hard life (abuse, drugs, and prison were apparently just the tip of the iceberg, as described in these excellent homages) and unfortunately those demons increasingly got the better of him over the past few years. X had seemed primed for a potential comeback (and apparently has an all-star studded album recorded that we’ll maybe get to hear), so it was sad to learn that wasn’t in the cards.

I still remember the first time I heard him — it was at that hot mess of a festival Woodstock ’99 and I was somewhere back in the crowd, working my way to the front when this guy in orangish overalls EXPLODED onto the stage, growling, shouting, and exhorting the crowd, literally barking at us and telling us he couldn’t hear us/he was not playing.  I may have heard his songs before, since they were everywhere at this point, but this was the first time I HEARD them, taking note of who this guy was in no uncertain terms as he annihilated the crowd. I was in from the opening salvo, which as I noted on the ‘gram I think I still have burns from 20 years later when he melted our faces off.  Give that intro another watch or listen to its album version here (it remains one of rap’s best opening shots on album/stage), and tip your cap to the passing of one of rap’s greats…


Last stop on our magical mystery tour is for should-be Hall of Famers (honestly, how are these guys behind Todd Rundgren and Chaka Khan right now?!?) Rage Against the Machine, whose second album Evil Empire came out 25 years ago this week.  This band, and these two albums, perfectly framed my high school experience and my exposure to them both at the front and the back end centered around a guy named Mike. When Mike first introduced me to the band it was our freshman year and I remember him handing me their debut CD and saying “these guys are great.” I remember looking at the guy on the cover, engulfed in flames, and thinking “ooh man, that seems aggressive” and then being almost literally blown back by the titular rage that erupted from the speakers when I actually put the disc on. It was too much for me, at the time — WAY too much.

At that time young Sunshine was still basically a child, blissfully listening to softer, safer things, like Moms’ Breakfast with the Beatles on Saturdays or Pops’ Soul Sundays with Reverend Al, Brother Ray, Sam, and Otis. Luckily, anger hadn’t really come into his life yet then. Fast forward four years later, though, and booooooooooooy was he ready. By the time Rage came back with Empire, I was an angry senior, seething at the loss of my mom, pissed at having to be in school and deal with all the nonsense surrounding college (something I didn’t really give a sh#$ about at the time, with all the jockeying for acceptance letters from prestigious places to try and impress those around you — people whose opinions I couldn’t have cared less about), so when Mike came into electronics class with their new album and started playing it on repeat, I was ready.

It was the prototypical island of misfit toys in there — burnouts and truants just looking to get an easy credit, supernerds taking refuge from the ridicule outside while building strobe lights and computers, a rebellious teacher being punished for his actions by having to deal with miscreants like us until he could finally retire. All of us packed in this room under the stairs in the basement next to the boiler room, as perfect a setting as you could pick for a posse such as ours.

And into this midst came Mike, who since the band’s debut had gone from straight-laced, clean cut kid to borderline burnout himself, rocking Zack-like mini-dreads while smoking pot and skipping class. I can’t say the transformation was caused by the band (though I’m pretty sure the hair was, in retrospect), but I can say his playing this album non-stop for almost an entire semester caused one in me. I still didn’t really understand WHAT they were so mad about (racism and injustice, sure, but talk of Mumia, Chomsky, and five-sided fistagons went straight over my head), but how that anger made them feel — from Zack’s seething howls to Tom’s frantic scratching, Tim’s lurking bass lines, and Brad’s thunderous drumming — made total sense. That cacophony was the perfect complement to my anger and would become a long-running soundtrack to similar seething over the years.

And what a tremendous racket it was. Even coming through tinny console speakers in the classroom, it was undeniable. This was when the video for “Bulls on Parade” was CONSTANTLY on MTV and I remember how unsettling it was at the time with its footage of random militants (“were these guys really trying to start a revolution/overthrow the government?!”), but even more indelible were the images of the crowd from the band’s live performance that were stitched in between. I’d never seen anything like it before — not only the violence and intensity of their response, but how it seemingly affected the entire crowd, bouncing and rippling like a cohesive wave across the entire stadium. That was the first glimpse I’d get of it and thankfully it would not be my last. (I’d see them several times over the years, including at the aforementioned festival with X, and they remain the most explosive, incendiary thing I’ve ever seen live.)

Over the course of that semester everyone in class got to know the album’s songs, whether they wanted to or not — Mike loved “Vietnow” and “Tire Me,” particularly its Jackie O line at the end, and would play them back to back over the outcries of even the most soft-spoken nerds after a while. I was drawn to the lurching “Snakecharmer” and “Down Rodeo,” which pulled at me like a riptide. And the closing “Year of the Boomerang,” with its stop/start dynamics, was one of everyone’s faves. 25 years later I still don’t understand everything they’re referencing — or necessarily agree with it when I do — but I continue to be amazed at how powerful a band this was. As I’ve noted here before, they’re the band I’ve thought about most during our tumultuous recent political history — first during the Bush reign and then even moreso during the previous administration, which dialed things up to infinity — and still consider it a bit of a shame they were only around so briefly.

This album marked the halfway point in terms of releases — they’d only put out one more of original material before the final covers album (which bucked the phone-in signal those albums can send, as they picked deep, unexpected cuts and made them sound like their own) — before breaking up and never recording together again (that we know). Tom, Tim, and Brad kept going under the Audioslave and then the Prophets of Rage monikers, while Zack all but completely disappeared, only appearing on one or two singles since. I was hoping maybe the reunion tour that got scuttled thanks to COVID might spark some of the old magic and a desire to record again, but we’ll have to wait until next year to see if that dream comes true. In the meantime we’ll have gems like this to keep us going — just like it has for the past 25. Check out “Snakecharmer” again and rock out with the rest of the basement dwellers:

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Insta’ Replay —

We’ll close with some more highlights from the ‘gram, so we can add them to the ongoing Sunshine Radio stream (always available on the Spots and in the upper right corner of the page here):

    • Check out the Joe Strummer compilation, Assembly, which pulls the best selections from his post-Clash solo work. It’s an interesting listen – the fire of his former band is nowhere to be found, but you definitely hear the reggae elements that helped create such an iconic sound when paired with their punk attitude and energy. Start with this one, “Tony Adams:”

    • In honor of the Yorn/BRMC combo above, check out Burning Jacob’s Ladder who (like the former) plays all the instruments on his EP and (like the latter) “nails the sound of that band’s first two albums, all fuzzed guitar and darkened mood.” Check out “Dystopian Blues” here”

  • In honor of X and rap’s rougher side, check out Gravediggaz’s debut, “where RZA of Wutang fame cut his teeth and first played with some of the elements that made that group so legendary. There’s the gritty subject matter, the martial arts elements, the wild man rapper routine that would later be perfected by ODB.” There’s even samples that will sound familiar — check out “Nowhere to Run, Nowhere to Hide:”

  • And while we’re at it, just cuz I’ve had this song in my head a bunch lately, check out Kendrick Lamar’s “DNA:”
  • Give a listen to Finnish find Swires whose “frontman Allu Kettunen’s voice reminds me a bit of Alice In Chains and some of his riffs call to mind Machina-era Pumpkins (both good things).” Check out “Wait and Yearn” from their debut EP here:
  • Also check out Dean and the Dagumn Space Villains, who aside from an excellently ridiculous/old-timey name, also make some really pretty music. Check out “Caveman,” a straightforward little love song that knocks you out despite barely being sung above a whisper most of the time. Lovely stuff!

  • And last but not least check out New Orleans’ Yes Ma’am, a throwback band (like dust bowl old) whose high energy songs are sure to get you smiling (if not dosey doing) in your living room. Check out “Squishin’ Bees” here:

    That’s it for now — until next time, amici… –BS