Tag: #nathanielrateliff

Posted on

Super Saturday — Double Shot Discoveries

Since I’m apparently so excited about the Super Bowl that I’m up for the second day in a row at 4AM (who knew!), figured I’d put my restless energies to more productive use and come hang out with my legions of adoring fans. As long timers you likely know one of my favorite annual traditions around this time, aside from thinking back on the year that was and assembling my essential soundtrack, is rifling through other people’s year end lists to see what I might have missed. There’s always a treasure or two that surfaces and this year is no different. So in honor of the impending sportsball showcase and the year these originated in (so nice they named it twice), here’s some highlights from the annual hunt.

First comes the debut album from Bartees Strange, a producer/performer who apparently lives with us here in the District and has similarly wide-ranging musical tastes as yours truly. Over its 11 tracks his album manages to pack in everything from R&B and experimental electronic to full throated indie anthems and hip hop. It’s an interesting mix, and while those elements could crowd each other out or clash, Strange makes them work for the most part, essentially giving us the equivalent of a one man mixtape.

He loads things up at the front, walloping us with the one-two of winners “Mustang” and “Boomer” before settling into slightly more subdued tracks like “In a Cab,” “Stone Meadows,” and “Flagey God.” Strange’s voice and production definitely bring to mind early TV on the Radio and you can even hear elements of fellow early aughts indie darlings the National with some of the guitar. (This is likely not a coincidence — Strange’s first EP, Say Goodbye to Pretty Boy, was a five track cover of that band’s songs.) Will definitely be curious to see where he goes next — check out two of my aforementioned favorites, “Boomer” and “Flagey God,” here:


Next comes another eclectic set of sounds on the double album drop from the mysterious Sault, which aside from impressive variety gives one of the most arresting, uncomfortable listens of the year. Released within three months of each other, these three dozen songs pack in everything from disco and R&B to drumlines, afropop, and soul.  And while the influences may shift, the focus is firm —  this is an unapologetic, brutally honest reflection of the Black experience in America today.

It sort of takes you by surprise — at first blush it’s easy to get lost in the rhythms and melodies, which are really good, but once you start paying attention to the lyrics it’s impossible to ignore. And you shouldn’t — they’re worth paying attention to.  Songs of positivity, police brutality, pain, and perseverance. It’s an incredibly dense, affecting mix, and despite the discomfort I kept finding myself going back for more.

There’s a ton to latch onto — “Strong,” “I Just Want to Dance,” “Free,” “Hard Life,” “Uncomfortable,” and “Wildfires” lull you to sleep before burying the knife, while “Street Fighter,” “Stop Dem,” “Don’t Shoot Guns Down,” “Monsters,” and “Bow” are more straightforward assaults. It’s pretty impressive for a UK-based outfit to so effectively encapsulate the reality on the ground here (at least, as much as my privileged white bread eyes can see) . Check out two of many faves, the aforementioned “Bow” and the beautiful “Little Boy” here:

We’ll close with my favorite of the finds, the sophomore album from French five piece En Attendant Ana, which after the hopscotching styles and the stares at suffering and systemic racism is a refreshing reprieve, as singular and steady as it is short and sweet. Sounding a lot like Canadian quintet Alvvays, these Parisians offer an effervescent blast of sunshine across the album’s brisk 35 minutes. (Similar to their equally winning 2018 debut, it turns out.)

Virtually every track shimmers with their bright, jangly guitars. Opener “Down the Hill,” “Somewhere and Somehow,” and “In/Out” all sizzle, as do latter tracks “Flesh or Blood” and “Enter my Body (Lilith).” Frontwoman Margaux Bouchaudon’s lilting voice holds them all together, gliding gauzily atop the melodies like milkweed in the breeze. The band slows down only briefly across the album’s ten tracks, as on midpoint “From my Bruise to an Island” and the penultimate “When it Burns,” which is a momentary pause before the exclamation point finale, “The Light that Slept Inside.” That one, plus “Do You Understand” are solid summations of the band’s charms and two of my current favorites — check em out here:


In the midst of my looking back I stumbled on another discovery worth mentioning, as the various music sites were gushing about the latest album from the British band Shame, which came out a week or so ago. In part because of the level of adulation (just picture what I receive on a day to day basis and multiply that by a hundred — who wouldn’t be intrigued!?), and also just because I liked the album title and cover I gave it a spin and I’m really glad I did.

Sounding a lot like similarly minded UK bands Silverbacks, Squid, and Fontaines DC, these guys infuse their snarky sensibility with some ferocious licks and unshakeable grooves. Frontman Charlie Steen has an almost Isaac Brockian quality to his delivery, rocketing from deadpan to frenzied shout in seconds, stretching words out like warm pieces of taffy. (What he’s shouting about is similarly entertaining, enthusiastically belting out inanities like “I can’t see no squares, all I see is circles” and “Change the sheets on my BED — I wanna smell fresh LINEN!” with gleeful abandon.)

It’s a solid outing — the first six tracks alone make it worth your time, building from the smoldering opener “Alphabet” to the epic “Snow Day,” which shifts tones and tempos multiple times over its furious five minute duration. It’s a flawless run, buttressed by back half winners like “Great Dog” and “6/1.” Really glad I succumbed to the siren song on this one — another solid entry to the arsenal (note: their debut’s not bad either).  Check out current faves “March Day” and “Water in the Well” here:

We’ll close with a couple quick hits from some old friends — first the latest from Nathaniel Rateliff, who offered a song to the new Justin Timberlake movie Palmer. Looks like a pretty decent watch, so will be interested to see where this shows up in the proceedings. Rateliff gave a really nice acoustic performance from what appears to be his attic/sun room (man, I wanna know what albums he’s got lined up there!), which matches the coziness of the room. Give it a listen here:

Next comes the latest from Dr Bob and the boys, who have changed guises again and come to us now as Cub Scout Bowling Pins. Can’t really tell the difference from their main stuff (maybe because there’s a keyboard on one of the songs?), but it doesn’t really matter.  They released a five song EP this week, which — like all things GBV — is hit or miss, but there’s a couple good tracks on there. The best of the bunch is this one, the bright and shining “Heaven Beats Iowa:”

 

Last up is the latest from scuzzy punk faves Death From Above, who announced they’re releasing their fourth album soon. The first single’s a grower — familiar sounding riff that gets lodged in your brain and an infectious dance beat from Seb that gradually overcame my initial resistance. Singing about love and fatherhood certainly diminishes the customary fire and danger a bit, but we’ll see what the rest of the album is hiding. In the meantime, this is a pretty effective ear worm — check out “One + One” here:

That’s it for now, my friends — we’ll see what TomTom and Company have in store for us tomorrow night. Here’s hoping it’s a heck of a game.  Until next time — stay safe, sane, and separate…

–BS

Posted on

Welcome Home: The Best Music of 2020

When I think back on this year — this strange, uneasy year — several things spring to mind. There was the fear of the unseen and the stomach-churning disbelief that came from watching numbers rocket higher and higher as the months wore on. (“One million new cases in FOUR DAYS?! How is that even possible?!”) There was the constant low grade anxiety packed into previously thoughtless activities and the neverending risk-gain analysis required as a result. (“Should I go buy groceries or have them delivered to the house? Can I workout in my basement rather than go to the gym? Do I REALLY need to hangout with Socks and Fudge or should we just drink beer over Zoom?”)

There was the head-wrecking plasticity of time — the work week blurred into the weekend, days merged into months without distinction, and were it not for the rising and setting of the sun I’m not confident I could distinguish between day and night with any accuracy. (Was this year really only 12-months long? I feel like I missed a global edict and we extended the calendar for some antiquated reason based on farming schedules like daylight savings. And are we sure there are only seven days in a week right now? I’d attempt to prove it but I’ve lost the ability to count higher than the number of hands currently on my keyboard…) And yet it also feels like this year has flown by — like I just started the new job, like the world is still trying to figure out what to do with this virus and how to respond — somehow managing to be both the most interminable and ephemeral year on record.

And there was the staggering variety and volume of loss — of jobs, of lives, of simple life experiences. There’s now over 5M people unemployed, with over 700,000 applying each week. There’s over 300,000 dead from the virus, with nearly 20,000 dying each week. (That’s the equivalent of nine 747s crashing every single day.) There’s missed holidays with the family, lost nights out with friends, and the inability to even go for a run without a mask on. There’s the closure of beloved bars and restaurants and the shuttering of shops near and far. (RIP Granville’s, Chupa, Rock & Roll Hotel, U-Hall, and so many more.) And there’s the slew of missed shows to think back on — front row seats for an acoustic Nathaniel, floor tickets for a Rage reunion with RTJ as openers, getting to see Carseat play their fantastic new album or watch Idles start a fire with theirs.

All of this has added up to a tremendously trying year and as a result the overwhelming instinct this year has been to find solace and comfort, refuge and respite. With rare exception, almost everything that captivated my ears this year seemed oriented towards the creation and protection of those things. That’s not due to a dearth of things to be angry about — we just recapped a dozen things that should spark a response and spike your blood pressure (oh yeah — there was an election too!) — but with one notable exception the overwhelming majority of the music that kept calling to me centered on maintaining a much mellower mood.

That applied to the personal and professional spheres, as well, not just the music that filled them. So looking back on this “year” what I’ll remember most (assuming the pandemic doesn’t fully turn my brain into pudding) are things like listening to Prine on the patio (or 60s era Willie) while I hammer away at the laptop with a snoring pooch in my lap. Going on long adventure hikes with Mad Dog and the Rizz to enjoy some fresh air and break the solidifying shutdown routines. Starting each day with the Tweedys to laze in their living room and bask in their banter (and songs). Ending the day once a week with Morbzahatchee (and early on with Death Cab Ben) for more singing and smiles. And the numerous times I turned to these albums below to soundtrack those moments (and countless others in between).

Say what you will about this year — exhausting reminder of the old adage “it can always get worse,” unequivocal champion of the shittiness Olympics (take THAT, 2016!) — there was a lot of good music that came out, serving as much-needed life preservers for us to cling to in these tumultuous seas. Compared to last year’s list there are 8 more entries overall (18 to 26, respectively) and surprisingly the majority of them are first time appearances. Where these lists traditionally tend to balance out between old favorites and new, this one skews far more heavily towards the latter with a whopping 17 noobs to 9 measly dinosaurs, respectively. (Not counting folks going solo from bands who’ve appeared here before.)

In a year where almost everything was upended and discovery was a constant companion — of personal resolve and resistance (mentally, physically, and financially), of new habits and routines (puzzling, gaming, and working from home), of the depths of our collective compassion or indifference (towards those hit hardest by the pandemic, towards systemic racism and injustice, or towards the ever-inclusive cagefight that is modern politics), and (possibly most importantly) of a vaccine, one that will hopefully combat COVID and get us back to a new version of normal soon — this seems fitting and an alternate anthem for the year. In the wake of all that it seems only natural these things would spill over to the music we spent our days with, particularly when those other themes — solace and comfort, refuge and respite — probably had never been as primarily important to us before.

So take a look and listen to the bounty of great tunes below — may they give you as much back as they did me this year. Here’s to hoping 2021 gets us closer together and closer to normal than 2020 did. Stay safe, sane, and separated in the interim, my friends… — BS

15. Tre Burt — Caught it From the Rye / Gerry Cinnamon — The Bonny: this slot’s for a couple of harmonica-wielding first timers, one a soothing folkster from Sacramento, the other a full throated belter from the highlands. Starting with the former, I discovered Burt this summer and have enjoyed his brisk 30 minute debut a lot in the intervening months. His voice bears the wear and tear of your old man’s winter coat, scuffed up but still warm and comfortable, and his melodies stick with you once the songs have faded. Highlights include the title track (“Caught it From the Rye”), “What Good,” and two reprises from his debut EP, “Franklin’s Tunnel” and the gutpunching “Only Sorrow Remains.”

As for Mr Cinnamon, I found the native Glaswegian late this spring and have spent many months returning to his sophomore outing, which walks the line between traditional folk songs and raucous barroom anthems, both sold convincingly with his untamed energy and accent. In a year where so much left you feeling downcast or disoriented, Cinnamon’s songs actually manage to rouse you into a bit of a fervor. It’s one of the many shames this year to have missed seeing him perform these at a festival, singing them out loud along with hundreds in the open air and sunshine. Doing so solo at the house works just as well — try gems like the title track (which sounds like something my ancestors in the old world might have sung), “Dark Days,” “Sun Queen,” and the killer “Canter.”

14. Catholic Action — Celebrated by Strangers / Silverbacks — Fad / Idles — Ultra Mono: we’ll keep the trend of the previous slot going, both in terms of first-time entrants for the year-end list and hailing from the UK. (We’ve got three quarters covered — you gotta want it, Wales…) We’ll start where we ended with another batch of Scotsmen (Glaswegians to boot) and the sophomore album from Catholic Action. As I wrote this summer, these guys are the spiritual children of Franz Ferdinand, all cheeky attitude and infectious groove, and that spell hasn’t diminished in the intervening six months. Similar to their debut, it’s just a fun bunch of songs — from opener “Grange Hell (South London in D)” to later tracks like “Yr Old Dad,” “People Don’t Protest Enough,” and the deliriously irresistible “One of Us,” these guys are guaranteed to make you move. (Which as my watch continually reminds me is apparently important.)

Speaking of moving, we’ll shift to the emerald isle for another buoyant affair, this time the full-length debut from Irish five piece Silverbacks. I’ve written about these guys several times before, thanks to a handful of really strong singles released up til now. (Only a couple of which show up here.) Bolstering those familiar faces come some interesting divergences — a trio of instrumentals (one of which actually isn’t throwaway, the lovely “Madra Uisce”) and a pair of more new wave tracks sung by Emma Hanlon (vs traditional vocalists Killian and Daniel O’Kelly). They show the band’s range nicely, but their undeniable strength is still the songs bearing their traditional triple guitar attack and their jittery, catchy riffs — tracks like the aforementioned singles “Dunkirk” and “Pink Tide,” along with “Drink it Down,” “Muted Gold,” and the freight train “Just in the Band.”

Hitting with the proverbial power of said locomotive comes the final member of this slot, British punk band Idles. Here for the first time with their third album, Ultra Mono, this was one of the rare releases to address the endless outrages swirling around us this year, from racial injustice to gentrification, gropey guys, and more. You can argue with the lyrical effectiveness of the attacks, which alternate between nonsensical word collages and simple sloganeering (and whether this is deliberately done tongue in cheek as suggested in songs like “Mr Motivator” and “The Lover” or inadvertently remains at best unclear if not wholly beside the point). What you cannot deny, though, is the power and catchiness of the songs, which have always been the band’s strong suit. Part Jesus Lizard war machine, part vintage British punks, it’s on balance a solid set of songs — with tracks like “Reigns,” “Danke,” the blistering duo “War” and “Kill Them With Kindness,” and lead single “Grounds,” which sported my hands-down favorite line of the year (“I say what I mean, do what I love, and fucking SEND it…”) it felt good to get a little fiery.

13. Mt Joy — Rearrange Us / Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever — Sideways to New Italy / Woods — Strange to Explain: this slot’s for bands who routinely conjure the shine of our sunny friend in the sky (and the namesake of everyone’s favorite blogger), brightening otherwise dreary days with their music. First up is the sophomore album from Philly band Mt. Joy (named after a proverbial place I think ALL of us hoped we could find this year), returning for the first time since their self-titled 2018 debut. That album was pure, unadulterated sunshine — positive sentiments wrapped in a hippie hemp blanket, their melodies and cheer strong enough to win over even the most calcified, jaded hearts. (Not speaking about anyone in particular here…) This one allows a few storm clouds to darken the horizon (lyrics occasionally touch on things like depression and adultery this time around) without sacrificing the underlying optimism. Songs like “My Vibe,” “Death,” “Strangers,” and the beautiful “Witness” all glow, warming the windshield as you glide on down the highway.

Another band built for the open road is Australia’s RBCF who are also back with their sophomore album, their first since their 2018 debut, Hope Downs. Thankfully the Blackouts haven’t changed the formula that landed them at #13 on that year’s list — sturdy triple guitar attack, swirling riffs and jangly chords, all built to make you move. (When it works this well, why change it?) Songs like the opening “The Second of the First,” “Falling Thunder,” “Cameo,” and lead single “Cars in Space” are like shots of adrenaline straight to your beleaguered heart, while tracks like “Not Tonight” and “The Cool Change” balance things out with some of the referenced chill. (The former of the two sporting my new favorite term for ice cube.) Another solid outing from this scrappy batch of newcomers.

Lastly comes the similarly evocative Woods (back for the first time since the overly cheeseball 2017 Love is Love), though the locale they call to mind is often tougher to pin down. At times pastoral homestead, others a spaced out dreamscape, this one bridges the gap between the ethereal aspects of the latter and the lush warmth of the former. Calling to mind the slinky, almost African rhythms of their 2016 album City Sun Eater in the River of Light (which landed at #5 on 2016’s list) it’s a solid return to form by these favorites. Songs like the title track, “Next to You and the Sea,” “Where do You go When You Dream,” the propulsive jam “Fell so Hard,” and the lovely lullaby “Just to Fall Asleep” are all highlights.

12. X — Alphabetland / Magnetic Fields — Quickies: this slot’s for those showcasing the benefits of brevity, albeit using two VERY different palettes. The former takes the sounds of revved up rockabilly and singsong harmonies that made the LA punks famous and brandishes them again to terrific effect. Back for the first time in 17 years and the first in 35 with the original lineup, the band fires off 10 rapid winners in a brisk 27 minute sprint to the finish. (The spoken word piece at the end is forgettable.) The interplay between frontman John Doe and frontwoman Exene Cervenka’s voices has always been a signature, and their breathless delivery of numerous lines get stuck in your head again here. Guitarist Billy Zoom’s riffs remain pristine, rattled off with the effortless flair of someone who’s been at it for close to 40 years, and DJ Bonebrake’s drums haven’t lost any of their pop. Songs like “Water & Wine,” “Strange Life,” “Goodbye Year, Goodbye,” or the pair of old tunes finally properly recorded (“Delta 88 Nightmare” and “Cyrano De Berger’s Back”) all smoke. This one’s every bit as good as the band’s early classics.

The Mags return for the first time in three years with yet another concept album, this one requiring all songs be under three minutes long. (Previous themes required all songs have fuzzed up guitars or start with the letter I, to name just two recent ones.) Beyond that frontman Stephin Merritt was free to roam and he covers a ton of ground over the course of the album’s 28 songs. Visiting castles (twice), spinning yarns about Shakers, bikers, Jesus, and Beelzebub, celebrating historic tits (not what you think) and outstanding coffee, or simpler things like his favorite watering hole or his musical neighbors. Merritt’s limitless imagination and wicked sense of humor are both on display, presenting some of the best material since the band’s unparalleled classic, 69 Love Songs. The highlights are almost too numerous to recount — “The Day the Politicians Died,” “When She Plays the Toy Piano,” “(I Want to Join a) Biker Gang,” “Let’s Get Drunk Again (And Get Divorced), “I Wish I Were a Prostitute Again,” “The Best Cup of Coffee in Tennessee,” “My Stupid Boyfriend” (which is laugh out loud funny). They all shine, full of Merritt’s characteristic heart, humor, or wonderful melodies — a great return to form.

11. Doves — The Universal Want / Bright Eyes — Down in the Weeds, Where the World Once Was: this slot’s for a pair of improbable reunions from bands I’ve really enjoyed over the years, but who’d been in hibernation for a good chunk of time, seemingly gone for good. Thankfully they’ve returned, both with lavish, kitchen-sink style albums that add layers to their signature sounds. Doves add the least flourishes between the two, but have been away the longest so get to go first.

Back for the first time in 11 years, this trio of Britons ALWAYS sound stately on their albums, so saying they’ve added the least flourishes is a bit like saying the latest Aston Martin is underwhelming because it doesn’t fly or have a pool in the back. These guys just OOZE opulence, their albums always feeling like the back of that aforementioned car (“Hey, there’s a pool!”) and despite being away for over a decade return without missing a beat.

The band’s ability to immediately create a mood — dark, slightly disorienting, but DAMN if it doesn’t sound good — is undiminished, thanks in large part to frontman Jimi Goodwin’s signature swooning delivery. (Honestly, he could be singing about something as basic as his breakfast and it would sound luxurious. “I ate a baNAAAAAAAAAAHnaaaaaaaaah and some POOOOOOOOOOORRiddddddddddge!”) Songs like “Broken Eyes,” “For Tomorrow,” “Prisoners,” “Cycle of Hurt,” and lead single “Carousels” are just huge, soaring songs — as majestic and glittering as their older material. I’ve never understood why these guys were always bigger in the UK than here — just rich, rewarding stuff.

Gone for a mere 9 years, Bright Eyes are another band that slipped away into the night and were seemingly forgotten. Frontman Conor Oberst remained busy, releasing several solo albums and pairing with other artists like Phoebe Bridgers for side project Better Oblivion Community Center, but the rest of the band (Mike Mogis and Nate Wolcott) were much more quiet. So it was a surprise when there was news they’d signed to a new label (“why does a dormant band need a label?”), which was quickly followed by talk of reunion shows and ultimately an album. And it’s a good one — an ambitious, reach for the stars type outing where everything is taken up a level.

Oberst recruited some ringers to record with — Chili Peppers bassist Flea and Queens thunder god Jon Theodore on drums, pairings almost as unexpected as the reunion itself, but like every other embellishment here they’re not overpowering or out of place. And there were a lot of the latter — bagpipes, orchestras, a full choir — but somehow they only add to the richness of the songs. Tracks like “Dance and Sing,” “Calais to Dover,” “Comet Song,” and the trio of singles — “Mariana Trench,” “Persona Non Grata,” and “Forced Convalescence” all shine as a result. Similar to their slotmates, we might not have needed these albums, but damn if I’m not glad they arrived anyway.

10. Built to Spill — Built to Spill Plays the Songs of Daniel Johnston / My Morning Jacket — The Waterfall II: this slot’s for some long running bands opting to run in place for a minute rather than charge forward with some new material, utilizing two of the four universal indicators for “we’re taking a bit of a break right now.” (Not represented — greatest hits or live albums, or the fabled ultimate phone-in signal, the live album of OTHER people’s greatest hits.) Thankfully they’re both entirely pleasant outings, so no real complaints here.

First up are my beloved band of Idahoans who opted for a cover album this time around. For a band known for sticking inspired selections in their sets or even doing entire cover shows from time to time this isn’t a huge stretch, but instead of compiling studio versions of their best picks (I’ve seen em do everything from the Smiths and REM to CCR, the Kinks, and Elton John over the years) they opted to do an entire album from just one artist. And not any artist, but cult indie fave Daniel Johnston — known in part for his weird, at times childlike qualities (and lyrics).

Aside from sharing a similarly shaky, nasal voice, it’s not an obvious fit — sure, frontman Doug Martsch often sings of dreams and the occasional brontosaurus, but he’s primarily known for his incredible guitar heroics, with parts flying wildly through the stratosphere before snapping back into place with mind-wrecking force. So stripping back to a three piece, silencing the solos and largely sticking to a strum while singing about dogs and fish seems a strange choice. Somehow it works, though, and the sweetness sometimes buried in Johnston’s lyrics are allowed to shine. Songs like “Tell me Now,” “Honey I Sure Miss You,” and “Heart, Mind, and Soul” are pleasant throwbacks to the sock hop era, while the tandem of “Life in Vain” and “Mountain Top” surpass the originals.

For their part of the equation, MMJ decided to mine their archives and put out an album of previously recorded material rather than hit us with some new songs. It’s not a traditional outtakes set, filled with one off demos or rarities scattered from throughout their career, but rather an entire album they decided not to put out until now. Originally recorded as part of the 2015 Waterfall sessions, the band initially debated releasing the material all at once, but for whatever reason balked. Thankfully they finally decided to share the other half of those sessions and the fully restored duo work nicely when played back to back.

This one’s got some quintessential blissed out moments (frontman Jim James can still surreptitiously kneecap you with the beauty of his voice or the sweetness of his sentiment) — tracks like the opening “Spinning my Wheels,” “Feel You,” and “Welcome Home” are all soft-spoken gems, while “Climbing the Ladder,” “Wasted,” and the funky “Magic Bullet” show the band flexing their jammy muscles. Had really looked forward to seeing them play this stuff live — there’s something perfectly symbiotic between these guys and summer festivals. Thanks yet again, 2020…

9. Jeff Tweedy — Love is the King / Matt Berninger — Serpentine Prison: this slot’s for a couple old favorites stepping out on their own, temporarily leaving the comforts of their beloved bands (Wilco and the National, respectively) to uphold one of the pandemic’s primary edicts, that of isolation. For Tweedy this is nothing new — he’s been sporadically taking breaks from the band to do solo tours for years, and truthfully I enjoy those shows even more than the full family affairs. (No offense to the guys — there’s just something about the intimacy of Jeff and an acoustic guitar that is incomparable. Watch Sunken Treasure if you need convincing…)

He’s also released two official solo albums the past two years alone (2018’s Warm and 2019’s Warmer, which landed at #15 and #9 on my year-end lists, respectively), so it’s only natural he’d use all the free time he received from not touring this year to record some more material. (Oh he also wrote another book AND did a nightly hourly livestream at the start. I think he probably also built a couple cabins and dredged some nearby waterways in between just to kill time.) Though he changed up the title this time (it could easily have been Warmest), the material is in line with those previous two outings, as worn-in and comfortable as the robes and pajamas he so frequently appears in on those livestreams. Songs like “Opaline” and “A Robin or a Wren” are country-fried goodness, while tracks like “Bad Day Lately,” “Save it For Me,” and the beautiful ode to his wife “Even I Can See” (yet again making all the rest of us look bad in comparison) are hushed gems.

For Berninger this is the first time he’s given it a go on his own — there have been one-off tracks here and there and the El Vy side project, but this is the first time he’s hanging a shingle entirely of his own. Initially intended to be a covers album, he went into the studio with producer Booker T (sadly sans MGs) and instead ended up recording an entire album of originals. (Allegedly the covers that started the fruitful sessions still exist and will be released later.) The interplay between the two is noticeable on a number of tracks, albeit subtle — there’s no Booker T of old whipping folks into a funky frenzy (although picturing Berninger trying to do so is comical to envision, like your kind uncle rattling off some Death Certificate-era Cube in an attempt to look hard), just understated keys gliding lightly through the background to buttress the songs.

Lyrically Berninger stays with what he does best — songs about relationships and instrospective flagellation — all sung with his cabernet-soaked baritone. Tracks like the opening “My Eyes are T-Shirts” (great line), “Loved so Little,” “Take me Out of Town,” and “Collar of Your Shirt” are all subdued beauties, well-matched by the trio of solid singles, “Distant Axis,” “One More Second,” and the title track. A really strong outing top to bottom — hopefully he brings some of this focus back to the band and gets them back to basics after their disappointing last album.

8. Waxahatchee — Saint Cloud / Kevin Morby — Sundowner: this slot’s for two independent faves who somehow prove even more enjoyable together. Ladies coming first (both in courtesy and release order), we’ll start with the latest from Ms Katie who’s back for the first time since 2017’s Out in the Storm. Having previously dealt with the pain and insecurities surrounding love and loss, giving us three excellent albums bursting with vulnerability and quiet honesty, that album was all fiery guitars and full throated resilience, letting everyone in earshot know she had finally found her footing and was no longer going to be dominated by those ghosts — which while great from a personal perspective was not what drew me to her music. Thankfully she seems to have come out of that phase of overt trumpeting and settled into one of more comfortable confidence, giving us an album that exudes warmth and beauty. Songs like the title track, “Fire,” “The Eye,” and “War” all shine, while the twin singles of “Lilacs” and “Can’t Do Much” rank among the finest things she’s written.

For Morby’s part he continues his prolific pace of release, having just put out the full length Oh My God last year. (It landed at #7 on that year’s list.) Similar to Ms Katie’s previous, that album marked the first time I didn’t unabashedly love the material — there were some divergences in tone and technique that gave me pause, but while hers proved too powerful and uniform to win me over, Morby surrounded his with enough characteristic winners to have that album make the cut. Thankfully there’s no concessions or worries necessary this time around — it’s just an album of some beautiful songs. Recorded before his previous one, Morby decided to sit on the songs until the time was right — which turned out to be the world slowing down and his moving back to Kansas with Ms Katie in tow. Similar to her latest, that comfort and warmth permeates almost everything it touches here — songs like the title track, “Valley,” “Campfire,” and “Provisions” positively radiate with them, while “Don’t Underestimate Midwest American Sun” is an absolute gem and one of the best things he has written.

I spent a ton of time with these two over the course of the year and really enjoyed ending the night with them once a week at the beginning of the lockdown listening to their livestream (and then subsequently watching them individually play each of their albums in full). Their banter was pleasant, their songs always excellent, and getting to spend an hour or two basking in their clear love for each other was a necessary remedy to the outside world steadily tearing itself apart. It’s only fitting that sentiment spilled into their songs, yielding some of their strongest, sweetest material to date. And while it’s easy to love the music, what makes these two special is they just seem like good people — extremely talented, yes, yet humble, humorous, and personable — the kind of folks you’d like to spend hours virtually hanging with in their livestreamed living room. I STILL have an alert that pops on my phone every Thursday to check and see if they’re resuming their so-called rodeo. Sadly they’ve yet to return, but in the meantime we’ve thankfully got these albums to keep us warm.

7. Guided by Voices — Surrender Your Poppy Field / Mirrored Aztec / Styles We Paid For: in a year where there was so much upheaval, so many confusing experiences and terrible firsts, it was nice to have at least one reliable thing to count on, something as steadfast and unrelenting as the virus’ case count and death toll — only positive! That comes to us from our old friend Dr Bob, who may not be able do anything to cure us of the disease, but CAN do a lot to improve our pandemic playtime. That’s because — yet again — the beloved band of Ohioans are back with another album — THREE of them. Which would sound impressive or improbable if they didn’t do the exact same thing LAST year! THAT trio of albums landed at #5 on the year-end list and while they’re down a couple spots this year that doesn’t mean the quality has diminished at all — it’s mostly due to the exceptionally strong stuff sitting at the top, which invariably is going to crowd solid outings like this down a touch.

By their own insane measure, this year’s hat trick is slightly down in overall numbers — while each year sports three albums, there are a fraction as many songs this year — 48 to 78 (which admittedly is a stupid amount of material in comparison to every OTHER band, but this is what happens with the bars these guys set for themselves). The final piece of the triptych just arrived a few days ago, too, so it’s too soon to really tell how it compares to last year’s triple. (Early listens are positive, though, albeit similar to the final album last year, it’s probably the weakest of the three.)

That means the majority of the year was spent with the first two albums, and those definitely held up to repeated listens. There’s just a TON of good songs — it’s honestly mind-boggling how Dr Bob and the boys keep coming up with this much stuff month to month, let alone year to year. (And I will NEVER understand how the fu#$ they remember all the words/chords to play this stuff live for 2-3 hours at a time. I can’t remember why I walk into rooms these days…) Tracks like “Year of the Hard Hitter,” “Arthur Has Business Elsewhere,” “Physician,” “Man Called Blunder,” “Bunco Men,” “To Keep an Area,” “Please Don’t be Honest,” “Haircut Sphinx,” “Thank You Jane,” and the unofficial pandemic anthem, “I Think I Had it. I Think I Have it Again” are all classic GBV. Even songs that initially underwhelm get under your skin as snippets of Dr Bob’s lyrics get stuck in your head — things like “Cul-de-Sac Kids,” “Stone Cold Moron,” or “Whoa Nelly” will now just pop into my head and I’ll find myself singing them to whoever might be around (usually just the Rizz). “[S/he’s a] STOOOOOOOOOOOONE COOOOOOOoooooold MOOOOOOoooorooooooon! Get out of my WAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Just a ton of enjoyment as always here…

6. Cut Worms — Nobody Lives Here Anymore / Andy Shauf — Neon Skyline: this slot’s for a couple first-timers that I discovered thanks to Spotify’s spot-on suggestion algorithm, which was on a tear earlier this year. Thanks to the lockdown keeping us stuck in place, the need to get away was a growing concern as time (but not much else) oozed onward. Some turned to travel shows on Netflix, some wandered down memory lane looking at old photos, while I found myself time traveling to earlier eras musically to stave off the stasis. One of the more frequent vectors for that was Cut Worms, a discovery from the first month of the pandemic. And while just discovering their debut album would have been a sufficient enough win in any year, let alone this one, learning that they had a new one coming out — and a double album to boot! — was almost as good as it could get. (Like hearing there were three effective vaccines good almost…)

Frontman Max Clarke doesn’t change the recipe here — it’s still spot-on early Everlys sound, all shining melodies and warm guitar, leaving you in a luxuriant swoon in the wake of his ethereal voice. It’s just PRETTY. Almost debilitatingly so, like seeing someone so hot they short-circuit your brain and make you forget how to speak. There are over a dozen they-don’t-make-em-like-that-no-more style songs here, meticulously crafted and delicate as a Faberge egg. Some of the melodies are almost painful they’re so lovely — songs like “Last Words to a Refugee,” “All the Roads,” “Walk With Me,” and lead single “Veteran’s Day” are all backbreakers in that sense, the melodies matched by the sharpness of Clarke’s lines, which pierce the skin despite the delicacy of his delivery. (“Need another lifetiiiiiiiiiiiiime, baaaaby…to get to all the things that need sayin’…”) This is as vintage as it gets and every bit the treasure as that dusty bottle of decades-old wine you unearthed in the cellar — drink it in and enjoy the glow…

For his part Shauf takes you a decade or so later to a Paul Simon of the 70s sound on his fifth album, a brisk 35-minute gem that nails Simon’s narrative songwriting and sing-speak style of delivery. Covering the exploits of a single night out, this is the second album in a row that Shauf dedicates substantively to a specific theme (his last outing revolved around a night at a party, 2016’s aptly named The Party.) And while the thought of 11 songs about a night at the bar (the titular Neon Skyline) might seem suffocating or bland, Shauf finds plenty to keep you interested.

As he hails from Saskatchewan there’s no debaucherous tales to titillate or offend, just unrequited love, banter among old friends, and jokes about bad accents and missing jackets. It’s an eminently Canadian affair — polite, pleasant, and charming in its earnestness. Shauf’s voice works as effectively as Simon’s at drawing you in and his signature clarinet warms up a number of the songs here, as improbable as that might sound. (Honestly, it’s almost a revelation the first time you hear it — alien, haunting, yet somehow still warm and inviting.) It’s not a novelty, though — similar to someone like Andrew Bird with the violin it’s used judiciously yet effectively, becoming an integral part of the overall sound. The trio of “Where Are You Judy,” “Clove Cigarette,” and “Thirteen Hours” are excellent examples, as are the buoyant “Try Again” and “Fire Truck” towards the end. Leaves you wanting more every time you listen…

5. Nathaniel Rateliff — And It’s Still Alright: released before the world shutdown, this was the first album I knew would be showing up at year’s end and was the front runner for a long time. Coming out waaaaay back in February, this marks a return to pre-Night Sweats Nathaniel — softer and more introspective, working on his wounds with his acoustic guitar in hand — but with a few more flourishes this time around. The substance is still the same — the tried-and-true stalwarts of love and loss — but what’s new is what surrounds them: sweeping orchestral sections, forlorn horns, and the occasional choir. It all adds up to a grander affair than before, while still representing the most naked, heartfelt album of the year.

Dealing with the loss of both his marriage and his best friend, there’s a number of songs that sound upbeat despite the emotional damage — the sauntering “What a Drag,” the soaring title track and “Mavis,” the resilient “Expecting to Lose” with its ebullient doodood-d-DOOOOOOd-d-dooos in the chorus. They all serve as effective counterpoints to the more devastating quiet songs, the ones whose music matches the mood as Rateliff addresses the agonies head-on. Tracks like “Tonight #2,” “You Need Me,” “Kissing Our Friends,” and the resolute “Time Stands” each bear a lovely melody alongside some pointed, painful lyrics.

Nothing tops the album closer, though, in power, prettiness, or pain. Written as an ode to his aforementioned friend, the departed singer/producer Richard Swift, it’s an absolute sledgehammer of a song, one that reduced Rateliff to tears in one incredible performance I saw this year. (Don McLean crying at the end of “Vincent” marks the only other time I’ve seen a singer brought to tears by one of their own songs.) It’s as clear an indicator as you can get that his healing is still a work in progress and you empathize and applaud him for his openness and honesty, as well as his ability to make something so lovely as tribute in spite of it.

4. Muzz — Muzz: this was one of the year’s most unexpected surprises, a return of components from some of my favorite bands, specifically Interpol’s frontman Paul Banks and the Walkmen’s former drummer Matt Barrick, here with indie hopscotcher Josh Kaufman. Together the trio delivered one of the year’s best debuts, an endlessly engaging album that exemplifies easygoing. If the previous album was emblematic of the year’s emotional anguish, this one was all about staying calm, cool, and collected — the absolute epitome of “chill.”

Scarcely raising his voice above a 3, Banks spends the majority of the album murmuring in your ear, lulling you into a foggy state of bliss somewhere between waking and dream. Tracks like “Chubby Checker,” “Summer Love,” and “Patchouli” or the excellent bookends “Bad Feeling” and “Trinidad” all radiate, their lovely melodies inducing a red wine warmth and glow. These serve to emphasize the rare eruptions like lightning tearing through an otherwise darkened landscape — the galloping “Knuckleduster,” the majestic “Red Western Sky,” or the simmering “How Many Days,” which boils over at the end in a fiery guitar freakout. Each reminds you of the guys’ previous bands without disrupting the album’s overall vibe, rather filling out its richness and reward.

The band also recently released a covers EP, which upholds the tenor of their full length outing, sporting a solid version of Mazzy Star’s classic “Fade Into You” and an outstanding one of Arthur Russell’s “Nobody Wants a Lonely Heart” that surpasses the original. They’ve definitely landed on a winning combination here — let’s hope these guys stick together and keep recording. This is excellent stuff…

3. Car Seat Headrest — Making a Door Less Open: if the last two entries represented opposing sides of the emotional spectrum, one tumultuous, the other tranquil, this one slides squarely in the middle and maps its effervescent peaks. Arriving just as the lockdown was settling its jaws into the globe, frontman Will Toledo and company are back with their first batch of new songs since 2016’s excellent Teens of Denial and what should have been the album of the summer. In any normal year going to hear this live would have been one of the hotter tickets in town, captivating concert-goers with its infectious melodies and soaring spirit, a self-assured danceparty waiting to happen. Instead, like everything else we were left to enjoy it from the confines of our homes, attempting to approximate that communal release from our couch.

For the second album in a row, Toledo leans more towards the electronic elements that filled his 2018 remake of his earlier Twin Fantasy album vs the lo-fi indie guitar of Denial. And while that departure made Fantasy harder to swallow on initial listens, it’s a lot easier to accept this time around now that we know what to expect. Toledo fills a number of songs here with droning keys and samples — from opening “Weightlifters” to “Hymn (Remix),” “Deadlines (Thoughtful),” and the closing “Famous,” the songs seethe with jittery energy like your appendages after four or five espressos.

Others are more straight-forward — the vibrant singles “Can’t Cool Me Down” and “Martin,” the affirmational “There Must be More than Blood” and the anthemic “Life Worth Missing.” All shine, but no Car Seat album would be complete without at least one massive earworm, a song whose buildup and climax are so satisfying they border on exhilarating. Denial had “Drunk Drivers/Killer Whales,” Fantasy had “Bodys,” and this one has “Deadlines (Hostile),” a song I must’ve listened to about a hundred times this year and yet never failed to have me shouting along at the end. Another solid outing from Will the Wunderkind…

2. Run the Jewels — RTJ4: aside from the unending pandemic and the lack of live music, the real reason the previous album didn’t rule the summer was because just after its release, video of George Floyd’s murder in Minneapolis came out and the country exploded in protest — at a man’s excruciating extinguishing under authority’s knee (8 minutes and 46 seconds of absolute agony to watch), at years of systemic racism and injustice that enable things like that to happen, and at the overall deluge of difficulties that hit people this year, sparking a sense of righteous indignation and outrage that spilled into the streets around the world. Arriving a mere one week later, THIS album — with its focused fury and awakened anger gave folks the music they were looking for and the soundtrack to the summer.

As I mentioned way back at the top, this album was the noteworthy exception to the rule this year — while there was a seemingly inexhaustable list of things to be angry about, almost no one except these guys manifested it musically and tackled those topics head-on. Mike and El proved they were up to the task for everyone, though, dropping all the dick jokes and jocular asides scattered across their previous outings for an unflinching, unapologetic assault on everything from racism and slavery to resistance and religion here. It’s an absolute steamroller of an album, again arriving at the perfect moment and representing the best the pair have offered to date. (Their 2017 album also had impeccable timing, released in the aftermath of the 2016 election and capturing some of the national bleakness and despair that resulted — that one landed at #2 on 2017’s list, while their 2014 album landed at #4.)

This one sports a murderer’s row of hard-hitting highlights — from the opening one-two of “Yankee and the Brave” and “Ooh La La” to “Holy Calamafuck,” “Ju$t,” and “The Ground Below,” Mike and El are unsparing, endlessly pummeling you with their verses and their thundering beats. There’s no skimping on the side dishes, either, with some top shelf talent helping them out — from DJ Premier and Pharrell to Zach de la Rocha, Josh Homme, and Mavis Staples, among others. It all adds up to an unrelenting tour de force, one built around the hammer blow centerpiece that is “Walking in the Snow,” which addresses the aforementioned Floyd murder with undeniable power. Another outstanding outing from one of modern rap’s few bright spots…

1. Pottery — Welcome to Bobby’s Motel: having come through the previous four stages of tumult, tranquility, exhilaration, and indignation, we arrive at the end and the thing that will ultimately get us across the finish line — pure, unadulterated adrenaline. This is the album I listened to more than anything else this year by a country mile. (As evidenced by almost each of its 11 songs being in my 2020 Wrapped playlist on Spotify.) Whenever any of those previous stages threatened to tip out of balance and overwhelm, this album was there to give you the energy to keep going — to push thru the pain or manage the anger, to snap out of the fog or keep driving towards that daydream future — the one where you can dance amongst friends, drink amongst strangers, and deliriously drift back and forth between the two.

I found these guys by fluke, seeing the name of their upcoming album on Stereogum and thinking it was a funny way to introduce people to my house, thanks to the moniker of my alter ego. (That and the comedically cheesey cover art, with all its finger gun and mustachioed glory.) Once I heard that first song, though, the gloriously gonzo freak fest that is “Texas Drums Pt I & II,” I was in. Part early day Talking Heads, part weirdo preacher whose choir keeps imploring you to “play those fuckin’ drums for me,” it commanded your attention and got you moving. The rest of the album operates the exact same way, switching styles and speeds like they’re a band possessed.

From the rapid fire drum roll on the opening title track, you’re off on a breathless, joyous sprint for the next 40 minutes. The songs are chameleonic, shifting grooves and melodies two to three times a piece, giving things a fever dream sense of intensity and color. Your temperature fluctuates as frequently as the tempo, oscillating between hot heaters, cooooooooool waaaaaaaaater, and “ooh that’s nice” spaces in between. It’s one of the many regrets this year not getting to see these guys perform this album live — in my head it would be the most frantic, festive variety show you could conjure. Tracks like “Hot Heater,” “Down in the Dumps,” the aforementioned “Drums” and “NY Inn” would all sizzle, while songs like “Reflection” and the swooning gem “Hot Like Jungle” would give you a second to catch your breath and bliss out. Hands down the most reliable good time of the year, this one’s meant to be consumed in its entirety — over and over again…

Posted on

Slow Unsteady — Headrests and Morning Jackets

It’s been a relatively quiet couple of weeks in quarantine — the death and unemployment rates continue to climb with worrisome speed and abandon, yet some states are starting to open back up (which feels a bit like ripping off the rubber while you’re still pumping away to me), while the indistinguishable blur of days continues oozing past. (The difference between work day and weekend, at this point, being an extra can of beer and a slightly sassier pair of sweatpants.)  It feels like the stay-at-home orders are finally beginning to take their toll on folks, scrambling their brains and making them a little stir crazy (which perhaps is partly fueling the urge to reopen).  This can cause you to do silly things, like wearing glasses to a mask factory, or putting your underwear on backwards and not noticing it until nearly dinnertime.

It seems like some people’s response now is to just lay there on the couch because even the act of deciding what to watch or order for lunch feels like too much work. That fatigue has translated into the music community, too, as the previous flurry of live streams happening day to day has dropped considerably, with several shifting to the re-airing of old performances in lieu of live ones. Tweedy thankfully remains a nightly stalwart (a true warrior against the Invisible Enemy!), but otherwise it’s been slim pickin’s the past few weeks — Morbzahatchee went on temporary hiatus (sniff), Shaky Knees did a compressed virtual festival showing highlights from previous years as solace for our not being able to be there in person last weekend (sniff), and that’s about it.

Yesterday was actually the first day I had anything non-Tweedy-related to watch in a week and it happened to be good one, an acoustic set from Nathaniel Rateliff from 2019. It was part of Pickathon’s Concert a Day series, which is doing something similar to Shaky, only larger and longer — 60 performances in 60 days, pulling from the festival’s archives to showcase some of the best sets in recent years.  They’ve had sets from Andrew Bird, the Lone Bellow, and others the past few weeks, with folks like Built to Spill, Shakey Graves, and more still to come (they’re a little cagey with the schedule, only releasing a week at a time on their Facebook page, but I got alerts for those already so am hopeful).  It’s been fun to check out the shows while they’re available (you only have three days to watch em, so you gotta stay on point!), which brings us back to Nathaniel’s set.

Recorded just last year, it was predominantly filled with songs from his recently released album (the lovely And It’s Still Alright), which was nice to hear as his show is one of many I was supposed to attend before getting scuttled by the pandemic.  What made the set stand out, though, was Rateliff’s emotional performance, getting choked up with tears towards the end as he talked and sang about his friend Richard Swift, who had helped him record half the album at that point and was the subject of several of its songs. (Swift passed away unexpectedly in 2018.) It was really moving to see someone so openly and honestly struggling with that loss a year later, and it adds a depth and poignancy to the songs (which were already quite pretty). None moreso than the set/album closer, “Rush On,” a song sung directly at Swift (playing on his last name’s implied speed in the title). It’s worth a listen/watch, so catch his performance while you’ve still got time, or check out the album version here if you’re slow and miss it:

Due to the dearth of other options and the letdown of the live streams, I’ve spent the majority of my days obsessively alternating between old My Morning Jacket albums and the new Car Seat Headrest album this week, Making a Door Less Open.  The former got stuck in my head thanks to the virtual Shaky festival, which only played a few songs from favorites like Queens, the National, Manchester Orchestra, and others (including Car Seat), but played the entire headlining set from MMJ on day one.

I’ve always liked these guys in small doses, losing interest when they get overly jammy or hippie dippy, but seeing their set reminded me that when they keep those things in check they’re quite good. (And they are a pretty perfect festival band — I’ve seen em live a couple times and they just seem to pair seamlessly with sunshine and open air.) One that stood out was old favorite “Circuital,” the title track from their 2011 album, which has James’ signature voice soaring out over the crowd as the boys whip them into a lather. It’s a great listen, one I revisited many times this week (along with the rest of the album):

As for the new Car Seat, we’d already heard singles “Can’t Cool Me Down,” “Martin,” and “Hollywood” here before, and they seemed to indicate frontman Will Toledo was moving in a new, more electronic direction (which as the eight of you likely suspect has had me somewhat apprehensive, knowing my love of bands that start including synthesizers later in their careers).  He’d hinted at this before, most notably on 2018’s Twin Fantasy, which re-imagined old songs of his, giving them a dancier vibe than the more traditional indie rock sound on his excellent Teens of Denial and Teens of Style albums.

I’d bristled at that a bit at the time, but after spending an inordinate number of hours with this album this week have apparently come to embrace the new sound (holy hell — he’s growing, folks!) There’s something about the energy here that’s infectious — Toledo always has had the ability to make you want to shout along to certain songs at the top of your lungs (“Killer Whales” and “Bodys” being but two excellent examples) — but that effect is enhanced by the driving groove of some of these tracks.  It’s tough not to move along (maybe tapping both big toes to the beat?!) and none of the tracks is more irresistible (so far) than this one, “Deadlines (Hostile).”  It has all of the above — bouncing bass line, rocking guitar riffs, and several Holy Toledo moments where you’ll be shouting along deliriously (“I know I won’t AAAAAAAAAAALWAAAAAAAAYS needyoulikethis…”) I’ve listened to this easily twenty-five times this week and it still whips me into a frenzy — crank it up and see how it works on you:

We’ll close with a couple one offs, first from Radiohead frontman Thom Yorke who debuted a new song on Fallon last week, “Plasticine Figures.” It’s just Thom and a piano, which is about as perfect a pairing as you can ask for. Check it out here:

Lastly comes the return of the Bowerbirds, who have been missing for eight years (their 2012 album The Clearing was the last we’d heard from them). They’re back unexpectedly with two new songs this week, the best of which is this one, “Endless Chase.” It’s the same recipe as before, warm, folksy vibe riding along on frontman Phil Moore’s voice — it’s a welcome return. Hopefully there’s a full album in store soon.  In the meantime, enjoy this one:

Hang in, hang back… –BS

Posted on

Songs for the Dead — The Drawing of Three

On this week’s edition of Home School Hibernation we find our fabled author doing much the same as before — passing the days logging hard-earned miles on the hunkered down highway with his snoring, farting sidekick asleep on his lap, taking the occasional break to work from his now award-winning toaster oven standing desk instead of the porch or couch, while streaming one of the many daily concerts put out there by similarly shutdown artists.  There’s been solid one-off mini-sets from Hamilton Leithauser and Waxahatchee this week, along with more recurring highlights like the nightly Tweedy Show (which is basically just the Wilco frontman hanging out in his living room while he and his sons crack jokes and sing songs — a space that’s every bit as calm and enjoyable to lounge in as that sounds) or the weekly Thursday night stream from Waxahatchee and Kevin Morby (which finds the couple doing duets, solo tunes, and a bunch of covers).  It’s been a welcome reprieve from what’s otherwise been a really bad news week — aside from the usual corona-related news, which saw us somehow DOUBLE the global death toll in THREE DAYS (?!?!?) while also adding 600,000 confirmed cases in the same time span (stats that are as alarming as how little fanfare they generated in the news), we also lost three music legends — Kenny Rogers, Bill Withers, and John Prine.

Each of these men had a slew of iconic songs — songs almost everyone knows, whether you love them or not — Rogers had “Lady,” “We Got Tonight,” “Islands in the Stream,” and the titanic “The Gambler,” among others.  Withers had “Just the Two of Us,” “Ain’t No Sunshine,” “Lovely Day,” and “Lean on Me,” just to get started. Prine is the lesser known of the three — at least to the general public — but he’s got both a Lifetime Achievement Award from the Grammys and membership in the Songwriters Hall of Fame for tunes like “Illegal Smile,” “Far From Me,” “Spanish Pipedream,” and “Sam Stone.” Perhaps that underdog, everyman status is why so many artists recorded tributes for Prine this week, instead of for Rogers and Withers — he belonged to them, whereas the latter two belonged to everyone.

Rolling Stone had a really good obituary/retrospective on him that’s worth a read — he used to be a mailman in the town my old man was born in, which is wild — but pop on these tributes while you do.  There were three that were quite good, two coming from our aforementioned recurring delights.  The first of those is Kevin Morby singing Prine’s classic “Angel From Montgomery” on last week’s stream (they reprised it as a duet this week after he passed), while the second is Tweedy singing “Please Don’t Bury Me” on his nightly show.  The third is probably the most poignant — Dave Matthews singing “Speed of the Sound of Loneliness” on Colbert, which he gives a mournful, melancholic tone missing from the original.  It’s quite lovely and all three give folks a reason to pay more attention to Prine — his solid storytelling and straightforward, sometimes funny lyrics almost glide by unnoticed with his simple, nonchalant delivery.  May he, Rogers, and Withers all rest in peace.

Three other isolation-related items before leaving our living rooms — first, another highlight from last week’s Thursday night stream was Waxahatchee covering Emmylou Harris’ “Where Will I Be.”  Crutchfield is an Alabama native and she tends to like doing country covers in her shows/streams, so this one’s right in her wheelhouse.  She does it justice, with just a beautiful rendition of the song — give it a listen here (and tune in to them Thursdays — it’s pretty endearing to see such talented individuals interacting just as a couple hanging out, bantering while singing a bunch of great songs, so check em here at 9PM EST):

Next comes a somewhat surprising acoustic offering from PUP frontman Stefan Babcock and the new song “Waiting for Something to Happen.” He and his band of Canadian punks aren’t known for quieter fare (his amped up wail is one of their signatures), so this is an interesting departure.  It’s even got a French horn, for chrissakes?!  It’s a good tune, though — will be curious to see if he shows more of this side in the coming months.  Give it a listen here:

Lastly we’ll close with another plug for the monster quarantunes playlist I wrote about a couple posts ago. Since that time I’ve added another 40 hours’ worth of songs, going waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay further down the rabbit hole than I initially expected, but once you get started it’s kind of a fun little game. (Besides, what the hell else do I have to do with my time?) It’s now over 100 hours and counting, so PLENTY of stuff in there for you to listen to.  I’ve had it on all week while I work and only occasionally get a repeat, so think you should be fine for a good long while.  It’s pretty fun, if I do say so myself — give it a shot if you haven’t already here.

We’ll delve out into the big, bad world now for a few new songs, carefully trying to avoid The Invisible Enemy… (cue scary music and reverb, but DON’T necessarily put on a mask when you go — I mean you can if you want to, but I’m not going to. Sincerely, POTUS.) First comes a song from Kills frontwoman Alison Mosshart who for the first time is having a go as a solo artist.  It’s a slow burning song about recovering from a breakup — not too different sonically from her work with the Kills and Dead Weather — but works just as nicely as a little pandemic anthem. Listen to “Rise” here:

Next comes a little musical version of a home and home series (aw, remember when we had sports? Sniff…) between unexpected opponents — in this case indie band Rogue Wave and underground rap fave Aesop Rock.  A few months ago the latter put out a song with the name of the former — it wasn’t about the band, just a coincidental use of the phrase — but it caught the band’s attention and they decided to respond in kind, releasing a song in Aesop’s name this week.  It similarly is not about the rapper (best I can tell it’s sorta about the fables?), but it’s got a nice little guitar riff and melody.  Give “Aesop Rock” a ride here:

For his part Aesop was busy this week, too, releasing a soundtrack for a video game he did for a friend.  It’s mostly instrumentals, but a couple songs have him dropping verses, the best of which is this one, “Drums on the Wheel.”  Also not sure what this one’s about (something about a pilot in space talking to Major Cigar?), but who the hell cares — it’s a video game. It’s got a good beat and Aesop’s signature flow, that’s all I need.  See what you think here:

We’ll close with a little warmth, from the voice of Nathaniel and the heart of the Hunts, two frequent visitors to the list. For the former Rateliff released a pair of outtakes from his bigger band, the Night Sweats, this week, an instrumental along with this one, whose title earned it immediate entry to the aforementioned playlist.  It’s a statelier affair than the band’s more high energy offerings, which is nice in this climate — I can’t afford to get too excited, that might invite The Invisible Enemy in (no one’s quite sure how he attacks…) — so pour yourself a tall glass of somethin’ tasty and enjoy this one:

Last comes the latest from the brothers and sisters in the Hunts, back with yet another unabashedly earnest song about love. These kids write such pretty, heartfelt songs with such knee-buckling harmonies, it’s really quite remarkable.  They feel like such anomalies — both in the pre-pandemic music scene and the wider world — because of their lyrics, their optimism, and their pure prettiness.  I’m constantly amazed they haven’t had that beaten out of them yet, but every song like this reminds me I’m very thankful they haven’t.  Just close your eyes, pop this on, and picture what life would be like if it was this blissful and serene:

Stay safe out there… –BS

Posted on

Groundhog Day and the Interminable Winter — The Best of 2018

If you feel like you’ve been here before, you’re right. This year was a stutter, a jerky repetition of words and events, offering the briefest feeling of progress before being ripped right back to the beginning. It was Sisyphus with his hill or that old joke about Pete and Repeat sitting on a log and we just could not keep Pete out of the water. (Who’s left? Repeat!) So it’s only appropriate the year ends exactly the way it began — I take a much needed trip back to my beloved city by the lake, am reminded how much I love it and need to get back for good, but then have to return to Sucksville, USA where scandal is plaguing the White House, key figures are fleeing the chaos, and the government is shut down. Who said variety is the spice of life — I want more white bread and water!

If last year was about surviving the follow on waves to 2016’s avalanche of shittiness, this year was just about hunkering down and waiting for the thaw. You did what you could for a while — change jobs, change routines, try to minimize the damage and avoid another cave-in. Watch some shows, build some fires, read some books and just unplug. After a certain point, though, insanity became expecting anything different, no matter how many times/ways you tried to avoid the final outcome. That snow was just not stopping, so you could choose to exhaust yourself in a futile attempt to dig out, or just wait for it to stop and hope you still had enough feeling in your limbs to stand up when it did.

It felt like lots of folks made the same decision to just George Michael and lay there — there weren’t many big name releases during the year, just a flurry of debuts and mid-level offerings, and that sort of exacerbated that feeling of fatigue. No marquee returns or thrilling discoveries to fill you with excitement and knock you out of your funk, just a creeping numbness from more of the same, both in music and the real world. Stupid tweet or insane policy decision? Meh. Mediocre concert or middling album? Blah. I’m too tired to get worked up — I’m just going to pull the covers over my head and go back to sleep.

It wasn’t all bad — the new job (or rather the people surrounding me in it) was a daily delight, in spite of the same raft of headaches and infuriating immobility, while the new companion (the furry snugglebug currently asleep on my lap) was an overwhelming, unrelenting joy. (I don’t think there’s a better demonstration of pure love and happiness than someone getting a raging erection at the mere sight of you every day when you come home. I’ve honestly never felt more loved.) Getting to see the beloved Lizard give a flawless performance in my favorite room in town for the first time in ten years was pretty great, too. For the most part, though, it was a race to the weekend when you could hole up and hide out in your house for 48 hours — sanctuary through separation, happiness through hermitry. Anything to avoid the cycle of the last few years and spare yourself some damage.

There were glimmers of hope things might be changing. The onslaught of men doing terrible things to women thankfully seemed to slow this year — but not before it claimed one of my absolute favorite bands (and last year’s top album), The Orwells. The tidal wave of celebrities dying also ebbed — but still swallowed two personal favorites whose loss affected me for months — Scott Hutchison and Anthony Bourdain. (Even now, half a year later, it’s still difficult to listen to that music or watch those shows.) Still the snow kept falling, though, no matter how slow or sparse at times. So you sit, and wait, allowing it to silently build up around you, knowing that it has to stop soon.

This year’s crop of crooners is the smallest in years — compared to last year’s 25 and the previous year’s 27, this year has a paltry 15. There’s three Scottish bands, three Aussies, two Chicagoans, and a skinny kid from Arkansas, with an almost even split between returning favorites and debuts (old faves get the slight edge with eight acts that have shown up on previous year end lists). That scarcity feels appropriate in light of the year, as everyone waits to see the ground again so something new can grow. Despite the diminished number, though, there’s still some really solid stuff here — some moments of punky brashness to soundtrack the resistance, but for the most part the list is filled with what the year was short of — prettiness and warmth. In order to do something — ANYthing — to break the pattern of the past few years, we’re also going to change things up and go low to high this year, hopefully mirroring our future trajectory and building towards our return to the top. I hope you enjoy the ride.

And like I said last year, remember — winter only lasts so long, and the weather is warming…

————————————

jeff20tweedy_warm15. Jeff Tweedy — WARM: the most recent release on the list, it’s the latest offering from fave fellow Chicagoan Tweedy on what’s being billed as his first solo album. (I guess even though he wrote all the songs on 2014’s Sukierae that doesn’t count since his son played drums?) Regardless of categorization, it’s another solid outing from what’s turned into one of the most reliable and tireless American songwriters. (Who along with his normal companions, the ever-excellent Wilco, is also one of its best bands.) As a long-time fan — and as Tweedy outlines in his companion biography, Let’s Go (So We Can Get Back), which I hope to soon read (ahem — listening, Santa?) — this is something as a surprise, thanks to a history of fractiousness within his bands, public struggles with drugs, and a frustrating habit of warping songs until they’re almost willfully dissonant sometimes. And yet in spite of all that, he “leaves behind a trail of songs, from the darkest gloom to the brightest sun,” as he puts it on the opening “Bombs Above” — and the vast majority of them are really, really good.

The same holds here — songs like “Don’t Forget,” “Let’s Go Rain,” and “I Know What It’s Like” are instant winners, while slower, softer tracks like “Having Been Is No Way To Be” and the hypnotic “How Will I Find You?” also stick it in the net. Tweedy’s lyrics remain sharp, occasionally flashing a quiet menace that catches you off guard beneath the warm voice and pretty melodies — pushing back on folks encouraging him to revisit his substance abusing days in “Having Been” or an unnamed antagonist in “Some Birds,” sweetly crooning “I’d love to take you down — and leave you there.” Overall, though, the tone is in the title, and this album is the red brick Tweedy sings about — warm when the sun has died.

MI000442080314. Courtney Barnett — Tell Me How You Really Feel: the sophomore album from outback songstress Barnett is a trip back to the time when combat boots and flannel were king and cargo pants weren’t simply items you were allowed to wear once a year (who says youth is wasted on the young? #neverforget) Barnett perfectly captures that era’s angsty rage, sounding right in tune with previous strong female soloists of the era like Alanis Morrisette, PJ Harvey, and Tracy Bonham. What sets Barnett apart — aside from her thick, burned out accent, which makes numerous lines that much more enjoyable to sing/listen to (such as on “Nameless, Faceless” where she languidly stretches “I wanna waaaaaaaahk thru the paaaaahk afta daaaaaaaaaaaak” as if her mouth was full of taffy) — is the sarcasm and self-effacement she folds into her confessional lyrics.

On tracks like “I’m Not Your Mother, I’m Not Your Bitch” or “Crippling Self Doubt and a General Lack of Self-Confidence” you don’t have to go farther than the titles to get a sense of how she spikes her bitterness with a little levity. And in doing so she makes what could be off-putting or difficult to fully embrace (not that spending time with an angry woman isn’t enjoyable, like riding bareback on a porcupine) go down that much smoother. Tracks like “City Looks Pretty” and “Charity” are bright balls of energy, while “Need a Little Time” and “Walkin’ on Eggshells” slow things down to add a little soul. What shines through throughout is Barnett’s warmth, both in voice and personality, which keeps you coming back for more — that and that amazing accent (d-did I studdaaaaaaaaaa, maybe a liddle bit…)

HopeDownsArt-1529346058-640x64013. Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever — Hope Downs: the debut album from five more Aussies, these boys come in with a brisk ten song, thirty-odd minute winner owing equal debts to the Smiths and Television, showcasing the jangly shimmer of the former with the hypnotic, swirling guitar parts of the latter, while adding a touch of their homeland’s characteristic swagger to round things out. It’s technically their debut, though follows quickly on the heels of two really solid EPs of almost the same duration — 2016’s Talk Tight and 2017’s The French Press — and finds the band continuing to sharpen their attack.

I discovered them this year in Hotlanta at Shaky Knees and they put on a good performance — the triple guitar/vocal attack of Fran Keaney, Tom Russo, and Joe White worked really well with the three often meandering in different directions before snapping back together. Take tracks like the opening trio of “An Air Conditioned Man,” “Talking Straight,” and “Mainland,” which crackle with energy as examples. Songs like “Sister’s Jeans” and “Cappuccino City” show a slower, more languid vibe to round out the jittery sizzle. All in all a solid “debut” (or continuation of their previous EP run) — look to these guys for more in the coming years.

61J3O91OozL._SS50012. Welles — Red Trees and White Trashes: the debut album from a scrawny beanpole with a mop of wild hair from Ozark, Arkansas, this was the most unabashedly hedonistic pleasure of the year. Part sixties psychedelia, part southern blues and Seattle grunge, Welles (formerly Jeh Sea Wells) embraces the ethos of ZFG and the classic trappings of sex, drugs, and rock and roll so fully it could be comical — there are literally songs about sex (“Do You Know How to Fuck”), drugs (“Codeine”), and rock and roll (“Rock and Roll”) here — but the hooks are strong and the delivery sarcastic and self-aware enough to pull it off.

It’s a good thing he did, too — aside from those three winners, there’s tracks like the opening “How Sweet it is to Love,” “Seasons,” and lead single “Life Like Mine,” which besides being a great song has the year’s most flippant/funny question embedded as the chorus. (“How fucked up have you got to be to live a life like mine?”) As I wrote before, Welles is a sneaky good guitar player, showcasing his chops on tracks like “Hold me Like I’m Leaving” and the smoldering “Seventeen,” and his raspy roar goes well with both the lyrical content and mood of the music throughout. All in all another nice homage to the early nineties and definitely someone worth watching in coming years.

a.211. Kanye and Company — The Five Weeks, Five EP Mixtape: this one’s representative of a lot of this year. Kanye was running around saying/doing a lot, some of it great, some of it ridiculous; unfulfilled hype and unrelenting bluster were flowing in abundance, both from him and those around him; and amidst all the bombast and buffoonery there were still some moments to savor (though not as many as there used to be, and now with the question of cost thanks to what comes with them). As the eight of you already know, Kanye and friends holed up in Wyoming for five weeks last summer to go on a recording spree and what came out of it was five EPs-not-albums that had moments of greatness, but mostly felt undercooked and rushed. It accompanied another slow-moving trainwreck in public by the ringleader in chief (some portions of which occurred next to the clown commander in chief), which further heightened the backlash to the music and highlighted its flaws. And yet after the dust finally settled and we could focus on the music, we still had some pretty good tunes for our troubles.

From “Yikes” and “Ghost Town” on Ye to “4th Dimension” and the title track on Kids See Ghosts or “If You Know You Know” off Daytona, these were winners of old that had you reaching for the volume when they came on. The problem is most of what remained, like most of what’s out in the rap world writ large (or the real world, for that matter), is an underwhelming, hit or miss mess. Gone are the gods of the golden age who not only had something to say (more than their material possessions/obsessions, that is), but could also fill an entire album with those thoughts and an equal number of banging beats. Today’s “superstars” are a porridge of pale comparisons to those titans — either marrying a missive to a moldy beat or molding a monster hook to a missing message (or if they do manage to get both right, only do so once/twice vs throughout an entire album).

You might say it’s unfair to compare the Migos and A$AP Mobs of the world to forebears like Outkast and Wu-tang (or even modern Kanye and Nas to yesteryear Kanye and Nas), but that’s the cold, unavoidable reality. You watch things like Hip Hop Evolution on Netflix and remember what was possible — the number of outstanding albums from Pac, PE, Tribe, and Cube, or the untouchable debuts from Snoop, Biggie, and Dre. Try arguing that most of today’s acts fall anywhere near that level of quality or consistency, even for a single album. You can’t — and so we’re left with memories of what was, both in the genre and these guys’ previous material. That and a pretty good mixtape, in this case. Things done changed, indeed.

young20fathers20_20cocoa20sugar_20album20cover10. Young Fathers — Cocoa Sugar: back for their third or fifth outing depending on how you count, the Scottish trio of mad scientists continue their eclectic run, stitching together a wild array of sounds for the year’s most unique, exciting listen. Part hip hop, part R&B, part electro, part transmission from outer space, this one shifts styles with the rapidity of spinning the radio dial back and forth. Rather than sound scattered and chaotic, though, it feels more like a butterfly languidly flitting about the garden, sampling a thought here and a genre there. At turns lovely and loud, soulful and slamming, it also reinforces the power of the album format, rewarding the listener for digesting its twelve songs as a unit vs a series of random singles. (It also has a beautifully iconic cover, further pushing back on the disjointed, anonymous streaming life these days.)

Tracks like “Fee Fi,” “Wow,” “Wire,” and “Toy” crackle with jittery energy, while songs like “Lord” and “Picking You” are pure prettiness, shining with soulful vocals. Others fall somewhere in the middle, dancing between moods as that radio dial spins. “Tremolo” opens with an ethereal church organ before snapping almost immediately to a bleep bloop electro beat, with vocalists Alloysius Massaquoi, Kayus Bankole, and Graham Hastings sing-rapping overhead until the organ returns with a flourish a minute later, brightening the song like an old cathedral as the sun emerges from behind a cloud. Lead single “In My View” walks a similar line, slowly introducing pieces one by one before building them to a cohesive climax three quarters of the way through. It’s a powerful effect and an often thrilling listen as a result — another solid winner from these iconoclastic highlanders.

51J2B2z2yZbL._SY355_9. Mastersystem — Dance Music: Outside the near daily indignities or infuriations by those elected to represent us, one of the hallmarks of this year was an ongoing, dull drone akin to a ringing in your ears after an explosion. (That and a commensurate sense of anger and disorientation at what just transpired.) Day after day, you found yourself questioning one of three things — “what the fuck just happened?” “Am I going insane?” And “Why does no one else seem to care?” (If not all three simultaneously.) Most times it was the result of the idiotic things those people said or did in the news so you’d turn to music or other artistic endeavors for an antidote or escape, but sometimes you’d find yourself confronting those same questions there despite your best efforts.

It happened as you flipped through the channels, catching commercial after commercial about the final episodes of Anthony Bourdain’s Parts Unknown, for example, and it happened as you flipped through songs on your drive to and from work, catching song after song from the last few Frightened Rabbit albums and former frontman Scott Hutchison’s final project, this debut album. The barrage of bad news from current events was challenging enough, requiring the nightly fortitude of a recovering addict at an all you can eat bourbon and blow party, but unexpected reminders of these two’s untimely deaths were even more taxing. What the fuck just happened, indeed?

Those feelings take on additional weight on this album — in part a reflection of the wider world and a response to its exasperating events, Hutchison and his brother (along with brother duo number two-o, the Lockey brothers) drop an album that is at turns loud, brash, beleaguered, and bludgeoning. Over its brisk nine song, 35 minute duration, the Lockeys create a swirl of guitars over Grant Hutchison’s pulverizing drums, channeling the disorientation and frustration so often caused by the outer world, while brother Scott delivers some of his bitterest, bleakest lyrics yet. And that latter part is what made this album so hard to listen to for a long time — not only hearing Hutchison’s voice and remembering the awfulness of what happened, but also because his lyrics in light of that event take on a whole different meaning and twist the knife even more.

You could listen to lines like “There’s no good explanation for the road that I have taken — I used to want to fly, but now I don’t…I can’t wait to end the day, most the time; if the curtain dropped tomorrow, I wouldn’t mind” from the opening “Proper Home” and hear someone who’s content with where they’re at and could die tomorrow with no regrets. Unfortunately, you could also hear that as someone who’s all but beaten, begging for the blackness of the end. It comes up again and again — “In the race to lose I’m winning…It’s so hard man, just keeping time…if I make it to next year” on “Waste of Daylight.” “An appalling teacher, lessons learned, lost in a deep abyss. The voice gets weaker and weaker still, were we really born for this?” in “Notes on a Life Not Quite Lived.” And then the captivating, crushing closer, “Bird is Bored of Flying” — “There’s such a place as too far, there’s such a thing as too much…I’ve come as far as I can go…I’ve seen all that I care to see, become what I don’t want to be.”

Parsing these, and any countless cousins from Hutchison’s Rabbit albums, is a perilous, though unavoidable affair. Similar to when similarly troubled and beloved Elliott Smith took his own life, I found myself going back through the albums and catching lines that possibly foreshadowed the awful end. Also similar to Smith, though, who was reportedly doing better at the end than in previous years, most accounts in the wake of Hutchison’s passing talked of how happy and excited he was about this side project, eager to take to the road to show the fans what he’d been working on. The same goes for Bourdain — he had just been to Spain with his good friend Jose Andres and was in France with his best friend Eric Ripert at the end, none of whom noted anything out of the ordinary.

And that’s the danger of trying to make sense of the senseless — you can drive yourself crazy looking for cryptic cries for help in the songs/shows, just because you want the loss to be logical, the missing to have been caused by something that was missed. Unfortunately, I don’t think that was the case here — with Hutchison or with Bourdain. These were people who had lots of loving people around them who would have done anything to help if they could and who would know better than anyone if things were spiraling out of control — unfortunately their presence and their vigilance weren’t enough to beat back the feelings of pain and/or despair that these two felt. And so we’re left with their legacies — both of what they did while they were alive, and what their deaths meant to those who knew or appreciated them.

For me, it means we got one final album to enjoy Hutchison’s singular talents — another album mixing cynicism with optimism, defiance with defeat, and love with loss. We got more great lines (“It’s times like this we turn to hate as the fucks I gave evaporate” on “Teething,” for one) and several more great songs (“Notes” and “Old Team” are both winners, and the build of “Bored” is epic — by the time it gets to the end it’s a miracle Grant’s drums are still intact and you wish they had been able to have this as a setlist closer night after night it’s so good. I listened to this one obsessively the past few months.) It’s a lot more intense than regular Rabbit records, which again is probably due to the world it was made in — the big one showering down on you in the nightly news, and the small one beating down on you in the shower — but in both those aspects it’s a perfect distillation of those ingredients and a worthy capstone to a career. It still hurts to think of it in those regards — a capstone instead of a stepping stone — but like so much else that’s been happening, just or fair doesn’t seem to make much difference. So take it for what it is and enjoy it as you can — it’s a solid, sludgy little brute of an album and a fitting farewell for a flawed friend.

71ZiRPBeh2L._SY355_8. Gregory Alan Isakov — Evening Machines: after touring with his homestate Colorado Symphony Orchestra playing gussied up versions of his already pristine songs, Isakov took the last two years to write new material, his first since 2013’s outstanding The Weatherman. And what he returns with shows the benefit of that time on the road, fusing his characteristically lovely melodies with an added lushness that brings the songs further weight and beauty. You hear it from the outset with the opening “Berth” — aside from the strings that glide in midway through, there’s the symphonic swell with a minute to go that just wallops you and leaves you swooning.

The rest of the album mirrors that majesty and beauty. Songs like “San Luis,” “Southern Star,” and “Bullet Holes” are all stunners, and “Caves” is so stirring you might run through the wall in your zeal. Even softer, statelier songs like “Wings in Black” and “Chemicals” — or “Was I Just Another One,” which is so delicate it floats along like milkweed on the breeze — are winners. Isakov always sounds like he’s singing by moonlight — aside from the title’s reinforcement of that point, he asks the listener “won’t you sing me something for the dark, dark, dark” on the song of the latter phrase’s name — but this is not a cold or dreary album. It, like his voice, is warm and inviting, while also shot through with exhaustion. It’s the equivalent of a couch next to the fire after hours shoveling snow — you could stay there for hours, and in fact might never get up. Enjoy the glow.

1055067. The Boxer Rebellion — Ghost Alive: this one’s an aptly named phantom, one I missed when it was apparently released back in March only to appear like an apparition thanks to my little musical savior, Numu, which valiantly stepped into the gap with the demise of Record Bird. (Sidebar: Numu is a great little app — I highly recommend downloading it since the Bird flew the coop and iTunes is stupid and removed the “new by my artists” alerting feature.) Even the usually infallible AllMusic still doesn’t have it listed in the band’s discography, so I don’t feel bad for sleeping on it. Thankfully ole Numu helped me stumble onto it, though, because it’s another solid listen. The band’s sixth album and first since 2016’s Ocean by Ocean (number eight on that year’s list), this one finds the band returning to their roots and jettisoning the synthy sheen of their last outing (which this notorious hater of said instrument allowed under the “one and done” clause of his strict Antithesynth Laws).

It opens with lead single “What the Fuck,” which came out last September, almost precisely on the anniversary of the previous November’s events that had so many muttering that phrase over and over. (And still does on a near daily basis…) In spite of its applicability to current events it’s instead sung to an apparent lover and you can hear the venom dripping off the words despite lead singer Nathan Nicholson’s dulcet croon. The album moves to calmer waters after that — whether literally on tracks like “River” and “Rain” or metaphorically on soaring swooners like “Love Yourself,” “Here I Am,” and “Don’t Look Back.” It’s another lush, lovely affair from the London foursome — hopefully this ghost materializes for more soon.

Nation_of_Two_album6. Vance Joy — Nation of Two: the aptly surnamed Australian lovebird is back with his second album, his first since his solid debut four years ago, 2014’s Dream Your Life Away (number five on that year’s list), and despite that normally meaning a change in administration, there’s no such shift in what’s running his world. Love’s still the leader, and Joy celebrates it in almost each of this one’s thirteen tracks. Similar to his debut, Joy writes as someone still in the heated throes of a burgeoning romance, with that sense of urgency and desperation (and thus at times an embarrassing overbearing, but because of that underlying sincerity and sweetness you let it pass), and doesn’t do much to change the formula here. Which is not to say it’s a stale retread or attempt to recapture lightning in a bottle — people have been singing to/about their heart’s captors for hundreds of years, so he’s got PLENTY to work with before things get old.

Similar to some of the big hitters from his debut, songs like “Lay it on Me,” “Saturday Sun,” and “Take Your Time” are upbeat winners that work like wildfire on a crowd. I caught him again this summer and there’s something perfect about seeing thousands of people singing in full-throated unison on a sunny lawn — Joy’s one of the few acts that’s meant to be seen in full daylight and open air instead of the dark confines of a club. And while those songs live up to his last name, it’s the album’s slower stuff that really hits hard. Tracks like the opening “Call if You Need Me,” “I’m With You,” and “Crashing Into You” are all beautiful little gems. It’s a simple, yet winning recipe — warm Aussie accent and voice, sweet lyrics about love, winning melodies and hearty hooks that will have you singing along — and a ukelele. What’s not to like about that? Here’s hoping he’s got at least another four years in office.

Father20John20Misty20GodE28099s20Favorite20Customer5. Father John Misty — God’s Favorite Customer: This one marks a thankful return to form for former fave Misty who had lost me completely after the bloated, self-important bombast of his last album, Pure Comedy. That album found him endlessly sermonizing on a range of topics, half-heartedly sing-speaking long-winded lyrics that continually reminded you how smart/funny/amazing he thought he was — and if there was one thing the world needed more of this year, it was an oblivious bloviator telling everyone around him why he was the best/smartest around. Thankfully Misty jettisons the sanctimonious self-fellation for some straight-forward sincerity here, getting back to what worked so well on his first two albums. It only took a near-divorce and mental breakdown to get him there.

Thanks to that heartbreak — a separation from his wife, the Honeybear whose courtship and romance was so memorably, lovingly captured on his second album (number five on 2015’s list) — Misty stops prattling on about everyone else’s perceived inadequacies and focuses on his own. In doing so he gives us ten really solid songs — songs that showcase the sometimes dark, sometimes laugh out loud humor of his early efforts, mixed with the sincerity and self-effacement that was so sorely missing last time around. Which is not to say this is a light-hearted album — the opening song is titled “Hangout at the Gallows” and has a “chorus” line of “I’m treading water as I bleed to death” followed by a wail that sounds like he actually might be dying. After that frolic in the flowers come nine more beauties, songs about being holed up in a hotel dealing with the break from his wife, as well as reality, while possibly careening towards suicide. (“Mr Tillman,” “The Palace,” and the nakedly honest “Please Don’t Die,” among others.)

It’s not all doom and gloom — songs like “Date Night” have Misty singing with some swagger (despite lamenting within that his mojo’s gone), while “Disappointing Diamonds Are the Rarest of them All” has him juxtaposing a buoyant melody with hilariously oddball ways to describe his relationship. (“Like a pervert on a crowded bus, a glare of love bears down on us…like an oil tanker tipped at sea, this love’s contaminated me.”) The majority of the album finds him in a far more fragile state, though, probing his inadequacies in “Just Dumb Enough to Try” (“You can take what I know about love and drown it in a sink…you can take what I know about you and maybe fill a small balloon”) and even turning to the man upstairs in desperation on the title track (someone he notably doesn’t believe in, as he winkingly suggests with the “favorite customer” tag.) It’s unfortunate it took this upheaval to get such a lovely return to form, but you hope the process and pain got him to a better place (personally and professionally).

1058464. We Were Promised Jetpacks — The More I Sleep the Less I Dream: the fourth album from this excellent quartet, the boys from Scotland are back with their first album in four years (2014’s Unraveling, which I somehow missed on that year’s list — I apologize to each of you for the oversight, as it’s a great album). In line with the title, this one’s a dreamier affair than previous outings — instead of characteristically roaring guitars, they’re cloaked more in reverb this time, creating a gauzy haze for frontman Adam Thompson’s thundering howl to punch through like a siren through the fog. Opener “Impossible,” along with later tracks “Hanging In,” “Not Wanted,” and the title track (which adds an ominous edge to the dreaminess) highlight the new approach well.

There’s still some rippers — tracks like “In Light,” “Make it Easier,” and the frenetic “Repeating Patterns” are all excellent examples of just how hard these guys can hit — but overall it’s a more muted, mature affair. It works really well, though — the softer shimmer lulls you into a fugue, allowing the louder parts to land all the harder, like being awakened by a punch to the jaw. I got a chance to see these guys again when they came through town recently, headlining for the first time in the big room, and they left us wanting much more, keeping their set at almost exactly an hour with no encore, and despite the disappointment for not hearing more it reiterated two things — one, these guys are outstanding live — their enormous tempo shifts hit like monster waves crashing on your head — and two, they have a ton of great songs, of which these fit in seamlessly. A really solid outing from a real fave, these guys are worth adding to your arsenal.

Parquet20Courts_Wide20Awake3. Parquet Courts — Wide Awaaaaake!: back for the first time since 2016’s Human Performance (number three on that year’s list), the tireless band of Tex Yorkers storm in with another baker’s dozen for their catalog, this time adding a groove to their punky repertoire that was previously unseen. If the next two albums on this list are the antidote to all the awfulness around us, this one represents the attitude it often invokes first — a hearty “GOFY!” and an urge to punch you in the jaw. Recorded with hipster porn producer Danger Mouse, it’s the band’s most eclectic outing yet, evidence of both their restlessness and their producer’s kitchen sink approach to recording. And it mostly works — “Violence” marries a 70’s cop drama riff with Frontman I Adam Savage’s shouted verses before transitioning to the simmering “Before the Water Gets Too High” and the shimmering “Mardi Gras Beads,” the latter of which finds Frontman II Austin Brown crooning of love and the titular trinket.

These new wave outings are bookended by classic Courts, the opening “Total Football,” which breaks into an invigorating sprint 23 seconds in, and the irresistible “Almost Had to Start a Fight/In and Out of Patience,” which breaks into one twice during the chorus, frantically sending you running around the room before easing you into the lovely “Freebird II.” (Which sports one of the most satisfying moments of the year, shouting “freeeeeeeeeee, I feel freeeeeeeeeee, like you proooooooomised I’d beeeeeeeee” at the soaring end.) The rest of the album bounces between these modes, the vintage and the voyage — “Normalization, “NYC Observation,” and “Extinction” fall in the former camp, while “Back to Earth” and “Death Will Bring Change” form the latter. The title track is the most Mouse-ian alien of them all, something that sounds nothing like its surroundings yet somehow works (and somehow found these miscreants playing on Ellen, which has to be a sign of the apocalypse). It’s a bold move for the band, placing their more experimental impulses typically explored as the band’s alter ego Parkay Quarts right alongside their more excellent, in-character offerings as the Courts, and while I personally want more of/solely the latter, they fuse enough of that essence into the former to make it more palatable and enjoyable than it often is on those side projects. Good on em for pushing the envelope.

51oRReFVchL._SS5002. The Hunts — Darlin’ Oh Darlin’: the sophomore effort from the seven singing siblings from small town Virginia (their debut landed at number nine in 2015), this album was a precious commodity over the course of the year. It is pure, unadulterated heart — painfully earnest, beautifully crafted, and so openly loving it’s almost too much to bear, like a puppy who’s whimpering because he just wants to sleep on your lap. As with that pooch, you find yourself feeling protective of that honesty and love, so rare have they become in this current state of affairs. And so I found myself feeling similarly protective of this album, unable to turn to it too often for fear of sullying its pristinity, like a field of freshly fallen snow — that and a fear of potentially damaging myself as if staring into an eclipse, being ill-equipped for such unadulterated warmth and emotion.

It’s a pretty remarkable thing — listening to it you constantly wonder how these seven kids a) can write about such issues with the gravity of someone decades their seniors and b) how they haven’t had this amazing loveliness beaten out of them a hundred times over by now. It’s a bit like finding a dinosaur wandering around your backyard — this shouldn’t exist in the modern world. Writing this on the day of the former president’s funeral, it’s the perfect accompaniment to that backdrop, something you could picture coming from the radio in his barracks during WWII. Not only the sentiments of love and companionship, but calling each other “darlin” and “dear” in the process. This is an album that makes you miss your grandparents, as well as the way they (and the former president) talked to each other and treated folks.

The title is comprised of the album’s bookends, the opening “Darlin'” and the closer ten songs later, “Oh Darlin’,” and aside from the similar name they’re sonic companions, featuring a slightly different use of the core melody. They’re both lovely, as is everything else here — “Along the Way” and “Heaven Knows” are should-be hits in the vein of the Lumineers, “Peace be Still,” “Far,” and “Love of Mine” are uplifting winners, while songs like “Travel,” “Standing Small,” and “Years” are more stately, subdued gems. I honestly can’t say enough about this thing — the harmonies are knee-buckling, the sentiments are lovely, and the melodies are instantly memorable. Simply put, I wish there was more of this in the world — we’d be a lot better off if there were.

DIGITAL_NRNS_5x5_600dpiRGB_8705e1cb-d9e4-47c2-b934-a5e160b08630_1024x10241. Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats — Tearing at the Seams: if the previous album was all heart, this one represents pure joy. From the first time I listened to it I knew it was going to be here come year’s end, and likely at the top, so deep and instant a connection did it forge. Back for the first time since their amazing debut (2015’s eponymous album, which landed at six on that year’s list), they walk you in slowly on the lead track “Shoe Boot,” innocently shuffling along with a little drum beat and bass groove as if nothing was amiss. By the time they count in the horns twenty seconds later and blow away your resistance (and possibly bad mood), you’re done. What follows is twelve songs of soul, swing, and sunshine that borders on the spiritual at times. It hearkens back to 60s-era Stax and Motown, at times Wilson Pickett or Booker T and the MGs, others a medley of Smokey, Sam, and Otis — all without sounding derivative or hackneyed.

As the album title implies, this one’s stuffed almost to overfilling with honest, earnest emotion, updating the sound of those ancestors without merely replicating it, all while making you forget the world around you — if only for 45 minutes. It’s a blissful spin while it lasts — “Boot,” “Be There,” “Intro,” and “Baby I Lost My Way (But I’m Going Home)” live up to the band’s name as sweaty party starters, while “A Little Honey,” “Say it Louder,” “Coolin’ Out,” and “Still Out There Running” shimmer like sun off the water. Rateliff has an amazing voice, shifting effortlessly from soothing croon to stirring wail, and songs like “Hey Mama,” “Babe I Know,” and the title track show the power in the progression, leaving you (and him) a breathless heap by the end. It’s a fantastic ride, one I took over and again this year. We caught them live a couple times this year and each time it was a celebration, people reveling in the music and the band reveling in the response. Here’s to more of the same in the coming years.

Posted on

Sunshine from the Swamp — All Ty-ed up With Regret(tes)

It’s been a week since everything got better and our civic leaders solved what’s been ailing us — for another two weeks! — and if you’re like me you’ve been walking around basking in the glow of that victory, striding just a little more confidently than normal and smiling irrepressibly at their vision and valiance.  Like a chubby kid who just walked up a flight of stairs instead of taking the escalator to the Cinnabon, it’s time to reward ourselves for testing our limits and digging so deep.   Extra icing, please — I earned it!  It’s either all that winning or the residual joy of a couple more new discoveries that got me through the week — who can say for sure?  In case it’s only the latter, though, I thought I’d pop in to share just in case the former lets us down again soon.  Not that it would. That metaphorical fat kid’s totally fine. We all are.  Let’s have seconds!

And seconds we shall have, for as I mentioned I’ve been enjoying a couple more finds from those year end lists that I didn’t have time to get to in the last post — despite my chiseled appearances I am merely human — one a newcomer and the other the most egregious example of “how the fu#$ did I MISS this before?!” of the bunch.  We’ll start with the former and the debut album from The Regrettes, Feel Your Feelings Fool!  Those two items tell you everything you need to know off the bat — the name, which hearkens back to the army of 60s era pop groups with “The” in their names, one for almost literally every letter of the alphabet (Coasters/Drifters/Falcons/Safaris/etc), and the title, whose imperative gives a sense of the punky, teenage snark the band marries to that sound, both in attitude and its lyrics. It’s a fun mix, and when those two sides are in equilibrium it’s pretty damn irresistible, as on tracks like “A Living Human Girl” and “Seashore,” the former of which should officially be the modern feminist anthem.  Funny, no bullsh#$, and GOFY if you don’t like it lyrics that perfectly counterbalance the bubblegum doo wop sound, it’s two and a half minutes of perfection.

Other tracks tip a little more towards the punkier side, with frontwoman Lydia Night’s throaty voice commanding your attention with a Vader-like death-grip similar to The Detroit Cobras’ Rachel Nagy. (A similarly rebellious, albeit more R&B leaning, high octane garage band.) Tracks like “I Don’t Like You,” “Hey Now,” “Juicebox Baby,” “Lucy Loo,” and “Ladylike/WHATTA BITCH” all are fast-paced little gems.  There are a couple tepid tracks interspersed in the middle, but there’s enough goodness from the aforementioned tracks and a couple others (“Hot,” “Til’ Tomorrow”) to forgive those minor downsides. (It is a debut album from a quartet of teenagers after all — that this much is so good is even more impressive.)  Give em a listen here:

The back half of the discovery sedan is filled with an unexpected bounty of treats provided by the insanely prolific Ty Segall, who caught my attention with his self-titled album on those year end lists, but before I could even fully digest that one and delve too deep into his back catalog he actually released another album yesterday — the monster nineteen song, 75 min double album Freedom’s Goblin, which I’m working through as we speak.  And while that may seem fast for normal humans, it’s actually not that odd when you look at his past output — Goblin represents his TWELFTH solo album in ten years, to go along with several side projects (two from Fuzz, among others) and EPs, including THREE albums in 2012 alone!  That’s approaching Bob Pollard levels of productivity and breadth (not to mention quality, from what I’ve gotten through so far).

Segall is a furiously good guitar player, who balances his garage rock fire with a Beatles-like embrace of melody and psychedelia, as well as more experimental fare.  Noisy, pretty, grungy, trippy — there’s a little something for everyone in his albums, sometimes all at once, as on gems like 2010’s Melted and 2014’s Manipulator, as well as so far on Goblin.  Prior to yesterday I’d been spending most of my time blazing through those two albums and last year’s offering, but we’ll have to expand those efforts a bit now that the latest album is here.  Pitchfork wrote a pretty great primer on Segall’s sound and how wide-ranging (and good) it is, so dive into that along with some selections from the aforementioned three albums I’ve made for you below.  There’s also a great acoustic performance from the new album that Segall did a couple weeks ago on The Opposition to get you started on that one.  Enjoy!

We’ll close with a couple new singles from bands whose debuts I adored, but whose later offerings left me a little cooler — first is the new one from The Vaccines, a UK four-piece whose first album What did you Expect from the Vaccines? was 35 minutes of pop rock perfection that landed at #5 on my 2011 best of list before losing me a bit on their follow up, 2012’s Coming of Age.  This one captures some of the unrestrained energy and brightness from the former, so hopefully the rest of the album follows suit and harnesses the subtle sweetness and sarcasm they had before as well. Check out “I Can’t Quit” here:

Last up is the lead single from Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats’ sophomore effort, whose stellar 2015 debut landed at #6 on that year’s list and represented some of the most ebullient, uplifting music of the year.  Since then I caught a couple underwhelming performances from the band that got me a little worried, at times sounding like they were fatigued and going through the motions, but hopefully that was just a byproduct of playing so many shows with only an album’s worth of material under their belt.  Thankfully they appear to have regained some of that initial joy on this one, “You Worry Me,” which slinks along on a catchy little groove before launching into the uplifting chorus.  Get ready to hear this one on commercials across the airwaves — hopefully the rest of the album is just as good!

Tweet
Share
Pin
0 Shares