#thenational – Eyes Like the Summer

September 30, 2023

A Series of Stumbles — Six Stars, Slightly Dimmed, Yet Still Shining

Normally I try to live up to the sunnier side of my nickname and focus on the positives here in lieu of the sarcastic side and its shadows, but as I’ve spent the better part of the last three weeks watching my Cubs self-destruct (losing 13 of the last 19 to almost certainly torpedo their post-season chances), the Bears continuing a year-long tradition NO one in town thinks is wise (losing thirteen in a row with a possible fourteenth in line tomorrow, as they’re somehow underdogs AT HOME to a team that just got lit up for 70 points), and work remaining an almost perpetual infuriation (bringing flashbacks to the 12-14 hour daily dances with the DPM when I worked for Uncle Sam) I’m struggling to fulfill that goal a bit. As such I thought I’d take a moment to dip into the darkness, engaging a string of recent albums from artists I normally love that’ve been a bit disappointing to highlight the bright spots and try and drag things back into the light. After all, there are still two games left for the Cubbies — and fourteen for the Bears! — so you never know what’s going to happen. Who knows, maybe even work can turn things around after nearly four years of momentum and certain people’s perpetual prickishness/stupidity. NOTHING’s impossible, after all — or I’m not Bobby Sunshine!

We’ll start simply — with bands whose stuff I’ve enjoyed over the years, but who don’t have as much material under their belts as the others — before diving into the deeper cuts (both in terms of catalogs and subsequent wounds). First up comes the latest from Boy and Bear, the Aussie band whose first two albums (2011’s Moonfire and 2013’s Harlequin Dream) won me over before their next two committed the dreaded Sunshine Sin and amped up the synthesizers. (Thankfully not on every song, just enough to buck me off the bandwagon.) The new one continues that trend some, sprinkling that slick 80s feel in more than I care for, but there are a few tracks that still caught my ear — the opening “Strange World” and the bouncy “Silver Moon.” Both sport some catchy little riffs and frontman Dave Hosking’s voice remains as warm and inviting as ever (the former even surpasses the knock of a little synth!) Check out the duo here:

Next comes a duo of dancers — or what used to be acts that inspired said activity — and a pair of pairs, both of which beam in from Britain. The first is the relative newcomer Jungle, back with their fourth album, Volcano. (Their last, 2021’s Loving in Stereo, landed at #16 on my year-end list.) Despite the fiery name, the thought that most comes to mind for this one is “remarkably unremarkable” — the songs, while pleasant enough, sound so similar to one another that they all sort of run into one another after awhile. This unfortunately is something that has plagued the band before — their sophomore album For Ever was also an uneven disappointment after their exciting debut — but I’d thought they’d recaptured the magic after their last outing. Unfortunately not (maybe this is just an on/off band who alternates albums every other time), but there were fittingly two tracks that stuck out to me — the buoyant “Candle Flame” and the bright “PROBLEMZ,” which sounds like a Caribbean disco. They both stand out amongst the otherwise underwhelming remainder — give em both a spin here:

Next comes the latest from the legendary Chemical Brothers, back with the tenth album of their illustrious career. And while the boys can almost always be counted on to boost the mood and raise the temperature of whatever room they’re playing in, this one feels much more muted in its impact. Almost every Chems album plays like a mixtape or DJ set in miniature — slowly building you to a series of climaxes before ultimately setting you on your way with a nice, soft landing. (Their last landed at #12 on my 2019 list.) This one feels more like an extended session from the tail end of one of those sets, though, largely keeping things subdued and serene, like a nice long cooldown after a leisurely jog. There’s hardly any vocals and scarcely a single celebrity (Beck, who adds some croons to his tune towards the album’s end, being the sole anomaly) and while what’s here is the typically well-made music you’d expect from someone doing this for nearly thirty years, it lacks the punch of their more memorable material. That said there were a trio of tracks I thought were reminiscent of their old glory and possible harbingers of the album kicking into a higher gear — “No Reason” with its tribal drum breakdown at the end, “The Weight” with its “Block Rocking Beats” style bass, and “Feels Like I Am Dreaming” with its jittery “Under the Influence” style squelches — but they never really erupted into a characteristic explosion, more serving as momentary exclamation points before settling back into the soothing post-run stretch. Still worth giving them a listen, though — cue em up here:

Batting fourth are New York’s Woods, back with their eleventh album Perennial, their first since 2020’s Strange to Explain, which landed at #13 on that year’s list. This one finds them mining similar territory — toggling between pastoral homestead and spaced out dreamscape, as I wrote then — but this time the balance isn’t as sharp and the album suffers as a result. Here they veer more towards the latter with a series of instrumentals and songs that essentially are, sporting the barest of vocals before dropping back into the groove. As a result they (and the album) never quite take off, squandering the momentum generated by the more “traditional” songs, which are quite good. “Between the Past” has that blissed out hypercolor vibe the band’s best songs often evoke, while “Sip of Happiness” and “Weep” have a slightly darker sense of propulsion that’s equally irresistible. They definitely sparkle against their otherwise nondescript surroundings and leave you wishing there was more like them — see what you think here:

Fittingly up fifth is Austin’s Shakey Graves, who recently released his fifth album overall and his first in five years, Movie of the Week. (His last was 2018’s equally disappointing Can’t Wake Up.) As I recently wrote on the ‘Gram I was 50/50 on the tracks he’d released thus far — the excellent “Ready or Not” and the gonzo drum freakout of “Playing Along” being two distinct faves — and sadly that ratio has largely stayed the same upon listening to the full album. Graves is still spending more of his time with his more modern sounding music — which could, in fact, lend itself nicely to the soundtrack of various movies or TV shows, as the title seemingly implies: it’s pleasant, it’s innocuous, and it’s almost tailor-made to be the secondary focus of whatever scene it’s supporting.

There’s none of the emotional fire and potency that propelled so much of his earlier material — when it was just him onstage with his acoustic and suitcase kick drum. Strangely the more musicians Graves has surrounded himself with (he now tours with a five piece supporting him), the more diluted and disconnected his music has become. This is a tremendous disappointment, as he was one of my favorite discoveries of the past decade, sounding like some unearthed treasure from a time capsule or tomb. (He made my anniversary list for the best albums of the past 15 and has made the year-end list several times, most recently in 2017.) There’s still glimmers of that past, but they’re sadly becoming more of a rarity, so we’re left to savor those scant glimpses when we get them. In addition to the previous two songs posted on the ‘Gram, I also enjoyed “Evergreen” and “Century City,” which are actually much more in line with his recent material (at least the latter), but catchy nonetheless. See what you think here:

Last comes the latest from the National — a band that used to be one of my absolute faves, but one that has lost a lot of its luster in recent years. Five, ten years ago hearing that I’d get not one, but TWO albums from this band in a six month period would have been enough to send me into the stratosphere — Boxer remains one of my top shelf, close to the heart listens and Alligator isn’t far behind, and the guys have made my annual lists several times since then. (They last did so in 2017 with Sleep Well Beast, which landed at #9.)

Unfortunately they seem to have lost their way recently — the first signs of danger were when they did the typical veteran rock band thing and invited a bunch of guest musicians in to spark some new ideas on their previous album (the flurry of female vocalists from 2019’s disappointing I Am Easy to Find). The fact they did so again for this year’s outings only furthered the concern, broadening it to both genders this time with the likes of Bon Iver, Sufjan Stevens, Taylor Swift, and Phoebe Bridgers showing up. And despite some solid efforts by those artists, what’s left is less than you’d expect from all that firepower — songs feel somewhat diminished and diffuse in their impact and almost as easily forgotten.

I struggled with the first album a lot this year — more than almost any other so far — in part because guitarists Aaron and Bryce Dessner contribute some of their best work in years. The riffs on songs like “Eucalyptus,” “Tropic Morning News,” and “Grease in your Hair” all soar and immediately draw you in. Unfortunately frontman Matt Berninger’s lyrics and his croaky delivery all too often counteract those elements and grate. Berninger has been known to be somewhat cryptic before, however here his choices are esoteric to the point of being exclusionary. Mentions of tangerine perfume, Japanese novelty bongs, talking to sharks in a Kentucky aquarium, and water balloon eyes seem deliberately inscrutable and sap the songs of their relatability by being too specific. Before it didn’t matter where the nearest city middle was (the one where they hang the lights), you just knew you wanted to go there (maybe looking for astronauts or the geese of Beverly Road on the way.) Now Berninger — potentially in an attempt to shake the writer’s block he said he’s had for several years — seems to have overcorrected, bearing down on details to the point that he’s left with an audience of one. Gone is the slightly fuzzy universality of his most affecting, emotional stuff, where you might not understand everything he referenced but could easily find something comparable from your experience or share the feelings he exuded in his delivery. Now the pictures he paints feel superficial in spite of the precision and unnecessarily narrow, draining them of a much broader appeal and impact.

And yet I keep coming back, unable to fully shake it — just like the aforementioned teams at the top. Maybe this bodes well for them — if I can come around on these albums, finding positives amidst a pool of problems, maybe they can too for? Probably not (at least not for the Cubbies — time’s just too short at this point), but it’s worth a shot. Maybe once the dust has settled we’ll find a few more highlights to hold onto for next season. (Or the next listen.) Either way, check out a few of my favorites from the two albums — “Once Upon a Poolside,” “New Order T-shirt,” and “Deep End (Paul’s in Pieces).” Give all three a listen here:

That’s all for now, my friends…
–BS

March 13, 2022March 13, 2022

Ye: The Heartbreaking Work of a Staggering Jeen-Yuhs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May 4, 2019May 4, 2019

Everything In Its Right Place: The Invasion of the Islanders (Plus the National)

Now that most of you have had time to recover from the War of Winter’s Bone or whatever the clash of dragons was called last weekend, wanted to pop in to give you some tunes before you have to go back to the realm on Sunday. Most of you probably missed it, between the Avengers opening and going full Yeezy to watch the aforementioned Throne, but the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Ceremony was televised last weekend, which for music nerds like me is an annual anticipation along the lines of Christmas (though with less socks and Poopourri). Unlike other “big nights in music” like the Grammies or the Super Bowl, though, this one doesn’t suck. I might be in the minority here, but I’ll take performances from bands that’ve been delivering for decades over the latest K-pop “sensation” or montage of 30-second snippets sung by a shirtless dude with a tattoo of his home state on his belly in case he gets lost on tour. Add in the speeches about (and by) the band, as well as the video retrospectives spanning their careers, and it’s always a great watch. Whether you know (or like) the inductees, it’s the perfect place to learn a little about them, hear why you might want to pay attention (the speeches are often given by previous inductees or other music legends), and then watch them perform three of four of their biggest hits.

I always come away with a new appreciation for someone I might’ve followed on the margins (if at all) or a deeper love for bands I follow avidly, so it’s always an enjoyable time. This year’s crop included acts like Roxy Music, Stevie Nicks, and Def Leppard in the former camp, along with The Cure and Radiohead in the latter. NIN frontman Trent Reznor’s speech inducting The Cure was good and Robert Smith was endearing as always in his response, and the band was sharp as ever in their subsequent performance. (It remains a bucket list moment getting to see them live years ago, walking up at sunset amidst a sea of people in my beloved city by the lake while the notes of “Pictures of You” rained down on us like dust from a comet. I could have laid down and never gotten back up.)

Radiohead being Radiohead, though, was a different scenario. Each of the members has made comments in the past of indifference verging on dismissive towards the Hall and their possible (and then actual) induction, so it was unclear who (if anyone) would show up and what level of shit-talking (if any) they might undertake. Thankfully it wasn’t that bad — they weren’t no-shows (guitarist Ed O’Brien and drummer Phil Selway were there) and there was no shit-talking to be found (O’Brien and Selway seemed genuinely pleased to be getting inducted and were consummate Brits with their charming politeness). Unfortunately since it was only the two of them that meant there was no performance, so we were left with the video montage spanning their career to satiate us.

That wasn’t enough for me, though, so thankfully for the nine of you out there I’m here to fill the void if you find yourself in similar straits. Now that we’ve launched Sunshine Radio to popular acclaim (#73 on the Lithuanian Top 100 station list!), I decided to start bringing back one of the things I used to do on the old site, my periodic “One You Should Know” posts profiling bands that — as the title implies — you should know. Those were always better (in my opinion) than just popping a band into YouTube and listening to things on shuffle because these songs were hand picked by yours truly as the best they had to offer. (And if there’s one thing I think we can all agree on it’s that I have infallible taste — it’s why I associate with you clowns!) So we’ll revive that series here, combining my impeccable selections with the technology you kids know and love. (Similar to what we did last time for Wilco.)

In the coming months I’ll continue to dust off old OYSK posts and create substations for you on the Spotify so you can listen in ease (the old Sunshine was such a jerk — he made you look the songs up yourself!), but we’ll begin with one I created for the inductees. It spans each of their nine albums, as well as many of their EPs and singles, so should give you a good sense of why so many people love this band (including yours truly), even if they seem intent on driving you away some (most) times. At sixty-plus songs and nearly five hours in length, it should give you more than enough to chew on, charting their growth from more straightforward rockers to experimental cacti — and help you unearth at least one thing to enjoy. So fire it up and give it a spin:

While you listen I figured since we set the interwebs on fire when we did this the last time, my “friend” named “Gabriel” and I would jump in again for another spirited debate of “WHO’S ON TOP!” (cue applause) Last time we were debating the rankings of Wilco albums, so thought we’d go back to the well this time to examine the aforementioned inductees, Radiohead. Similar to last time we’re mostly in line with our choices, preferring earlier stuff to more recent material, quibbling over minor differences for what’s at the top, while agreeing (mostly) about what undeniably belongs on the bottom. (NOBODY likes Pablo..) Also similar to last time, though, when I showed him my list he reacted like I took a dump on his porch and flipped out. (Side note: I DID take a dump on his porch — Summerteeth forever!)

My rationale for the top pick is similar to what made me pick the aforementioned album for Wilco — it was the last album of the band’s early period, before they shifted from a more unvarnished, open style of music to a more jagged, opaque one, and that direct, earnest approach still resonates with me all these years later. The album that followed my top pick stylistically mirrors the one that did for Wilco — the first album of the new era, one where the band fused in electronic sounds and dissonance and delivered an instant classic, taking the band off on a new direction that they’ve never topped however many albums later. (Everyone seizes on how different/great Kid A was — well, almost everyone: Melody Maker called it “tubby, ostentatious, self-congratulatory, look-ma-I-can-suck-my-own-cock whiny old rubbish” in my hands-down favorite quote from an album review EVER — but they’d previewed the break in Computer and perfected it there.)

For Wilco the title fight (and resultant ranking) was between Summerteeth and Yankee Hotel — for Radiohead it’s The Bends and OK Computer. Both amazing, both albums I’ve listened to hundreds of times since they came out, so picking between them is sort of like deciding which of your lungs is more valued — I kinda love both of them, but if you force me to choose…I’m going with My Iron Lung. (That’s my left one, if you’re curious.) See what you think as you listen to the mix — but here’s my list for how they stack up:

The Bends
OK Computer
In Rainbows
Kid A
Amnesiac
Hail to the Thief
King of Limbs
A Moon Shaped Pool
Pablo Honey

And here’s “Gabriel’s”:

OK Computer
In Rainbows
Kid A
The Bends
A Moon Shaped Pool
King of Limbs
Amnesiac
Pablo Honey
Hail to the Thief

Clearly he’s an idiot for putting Moon so high and Thief so low (what do you expect for a corn-eating mouthbreather from the Midwest?), but otherwise we’re pretty much in sync. As I hinted at above, at a certain point arguing over where to rank these albums very much is like arguing over which of your organs you like more — there’s no right answer and ideally you’d like to keep all of them in place, but it’s what the interweb is for — pointless arguments and fleeting senses of superiority. So take that, “Gabriel” — I win again!

We’ll close with a couple one offs that crossed the threshold the past few weeks to round things out. First comes the latest single from the Aussie Oddge, Courtney Barnett, back with another lovably languid little gem (replete with another laughably snarky title). She released it in honor of Record Day, so no word on whether she’s recording another full length yet (her last one landed at #14 here last year), but in the meantime we can still enjoy this one, “Everybody Here Hates You:”

Next is the back end of the single released a few weeks ago by fellow Aussies Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever and it’s another shimmering, sunlit float down the river. These guys continue to drop solid track after solid track, so hopefully they keep the streak going in the coming months. (Their debut landed one slot higher than Barnett’s here last year.) Check out “Read my Mind” while we wait:

Speaking of streaks, next comes the latest in a long line of winners from the beloved National, back with another dour, lovely march through the darkness on “Hairpin Turns.” It’s the third single from their upcoming I Am Easy to Find (both of the previous songs, “Light Years” and “You Had Your Soul With You,” have shown up here) and it doesn’t do anything to shake the expectation that should be another year-long favorite. We’ll find out for sure in a couple of weeks (it’s due out 17 May), but in the interim bliss out in the blackness here:

We’ll close with a brash little attack to get us off the floor and thrashing around a bit (we gotta get you nerds ready for battle again Sunday night SOMEhow!) and this punky little gem from A. Swayze and the Ghosts, our final batch of Aussies whose debut single I stumbled on a few weeks back. There’s not much out there on these guys — they’re four Tasmanian devils from the town of Hobart (which is here, if you’re curious like me) and this song is one of a whopping three they’ve released on the interwebs. They’re all pretty catchy, but this one’s the definite winner — we’ll have to keep our eyes out for what comes next. For now, though, crank this puppy up and get movin’:

Until next time, amici!

— BS

July 15, 2018

Big Red Sunday — Voices, Beasties, and a Champion in Waiting

With this month’s fantastic World Cup coming to a close in a few short hours, thought I’d pop in to make this a true champion of a day for you and highlight a few finds. First up is the latest from the relentlessly productive Bob Pollard and Sunshine fave Guided by Voices. Despite already putting out an album this year (on top of two last year and one the year before), they’re already teasing more new material — from their two already completed albums (one of which is a double album) that they’ll be releasing over the next two years.

Pollard’s definitely a “throw it at the wall and see what sticks” kind of guy — he’s released more albums under the GBV moniker than there have been World Cup champions (32 to a measly 20, plus umpteen other side projects and solo albums) — and at this point every offering highlights the dangers of that approach (vs bands who dote over material and go five or six years between albums). It’s impossible to both keep up and connect with so much new material (Tim Heidecker’s comments last year are hilarious and spot on), but there’s always some really good tunes in there so you can’t ignore them altogether. As the caller in that clip says the live shows are always the best place to find out which two/three/four songs you need to add to the arsenal (the band really is best at calling itself on its bullshit), which I’ll be doing in a few months when they roll through town. In the meantime, the first single’s not bad — the second half after the string interlude captures the uplift of some of the old GBV choruses nicely. Check it out here:

Next we’ll do a duo of offerings from the National — a couple new tracks that they debuted at a recent show in Croatia and the side project for guitarist Aaron Dessner. The former two are nothing earth-shaking — just two more solid songs from a band that’s quietly been putting out excellent albums for over a decade. I was reminded of this when they recently put out the live version of their exceptional 2007 album Boxer, which I still remember discovering accidentally back home, walking into long lost favorite Earwax Cafe for lunch and hearing this sad baritone coming out of the speakers. I initially thought it was Stephen Merritt from the Mag Fields, as it was a scorching hot day and I’d positioned myself next to the industrial-sized fan to cool down and couldn’t hear very well. Thankfully I asked the waitress what album it was of theirs (this being well before the days of Shazam) and she kindly corrected me as to who it really was. I’ve been a fan ever since, so hopefully they keep the trend going on the next album — “Quiet Light” is my initial favorite of the two:

As for the side project, it’s a hipster’s wet dream — Dessner from the National and Justin Vernon from Bon Iver releasing a surprise album as Big Red Machine. All that’s missing is some free trade coffee, hand stitched clothing, and eccentric facial hair and you’ve achieved their nirvana. It’s apparently a project that’s ten years in the making, and they recently debuted songs for it at Vernon’s Eaux Claires festival in his native Wisconsin and posted four studio versions online. It’s an interesting mix of Vernon’s recent more bleep-bloopy style Bon Iver and Dessner’s understated guitar riffs, but works well from what they’ve offered so far. Dessner’s looped part on “Gratitude” is pretty and hypnotic while Vernon again channels Bruce Hornsby (though I’m pretty sure Hornsby and his fans would have a heart attack if he ever sang a line like Vernon’s). My early fave from the four is “Hymnostic,” though, as it strips down the electronics and just showcases Vernon’s incredible voice, all warmth and soul over its three minute duration. We’ll see what the rest of the album holds — in the meantime, give it a listen here:

We’ll close with the latest in Stereogum’s ongoing series, “Things To Remind Everyone Sunshine is OAF,” this entry focusing on the 20th anniversary of the Beastie Boys’ Hello Nasty album. The article does a good job walking through some of the difficulties people had with the album and the trajectory the band was on (and where they subsequently ended up). I’ve always been hit or miss with them myself, liking a lot of what they put out, but then scratching my head on some of the songs/albums — I suppose they’re similar to GBV in that aspect, but the Beasties were always underwhelming if not terrible live for me (as most rap is) whereas GBV are always epic delights in person. I never struggled with this album as much as the author, though — I remember listening to it exhaustively the summer it came out (along with the Chili Peppers’ Stadium Arcadium), popping it in for the first time in the juco parking lot after class and loving it from the opening notes of “Super Disco Breaking.” It wasn’t “classic” Beasties with oodles of samples, it was weirder with different beats and sounds — and while it had monster hits like “Body Movin” and “Intergalactic” (which absolutely dominated MTV that summer), it also had quirkier favorites like “Just a Test,” “The Negotiation Limerick File,” and “Unite.” Baby Bobby spent a lot of time listening to those in his beat up old Probe that summer, testing the limits of his stock speakers while driving around causing mischief. Those are the three I’ll leave you with, too — the album as a whole still stands up, but those three remain faves, ones I still remember every word to despite not listening to them much in 20 years. Give em a ride yourself and get a little amped up before the big final.

Until next time! –BS