Tag: #waxahatchee

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Eight is Enough: A Series of Surprises from Some Bracket Busters

In the midst of running everyone down memory lane last time I didn’t get to share any current obsessions (mainly as I knew less than a tenth of you would even get to the end) so in honor of making it to the Elite Eight this weekend, thought I’d pop in with a comparable number of modern loves captivating my ear holes. First up comes a track from Mitski’s most recent album, her seventh, last year’s The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We. It made a bunch of folks’ year end lists and while the album hasn’t knocked me over, the opening track certainly did. It’s this lovely, subdued little thing until it explodes with this technicolor choir that rattles the heavens at the end, which is really unexpected and gave me chills the first few times I heard it. (I had a similar reaction to the title track off Waxahatchee’s new one, which she saves for her closer — but more on her in moment.) It’s an excellent way to start the album, though it sets an almost impossible bar for everything that follows, one they largely fail to clear (in my eyes, at least). I really enjoy this one, though. Give it a spin here:

We’ll move to the aforementioned Ms Katie now and her latest album, Tiger’s Blood, which came out this week. It’s her sixth overall — her first since 2020’s excellent Saint Cloud, which landed at #8 on my year end list — and it stays in the same sonic vein as that one. Same producer (Brad Cook), same incisive, introspective lyrics, same warm, country-flecked vibe. And while that one was something of a surprise (Ms Katie’s always had a sharp eye and sharper tongue, writing from an extremely vulnerable, yet honest, place, but the overt country flourishes were a bit atypical compared to earlier outings), this time she settles deeper into that comfortable world like a well-worn pair of slippers after a hot bath. She’s joined by a few friends — Spencer Tweedy’s her drummer now, for one — but it’s singer/guitarist MJ Lenderman who’s the real revelation here. He was brought in to sing this one, the lead single, and apparently the impact was so obvious he stayed for an additional three. His unusual phrasings as he harmonizes with Ms Katie don’t make sense on paper, but in practice work perfectly, and his four songs form the backbone of the album and are among its best songs. None moreso than that first one, which has been stuck in my head for weeks now. (Although that aforementioned title track, which also gave the ‘Gum author chills, is coming close.) Check out another gem of a love song from Ms Katie, “Right Back To It,” here:

We’ll leave the country and its vibe behind for a moment (don’t worry, we’ll be back for both shortly) and jump across the pond for the latest from the enigmatic UK singer/songwriter TomMcRae. He’s back with his ninth overall and his first in seven years (2017’s Ah, the World! Oh, the World!) and while that one found him dabbling a bit more with world music influences (the Graceland style vibe that showed up on several songs), this one has him almost fully immersing himself in it as he goes all Aznavour. That’s because for some reason he decided to record a mostly French album — both in language and co-conspirators (at least 11 French musicians guest with him here), which is a far more unexpected turn than Ms Katie embracing country.  (She was never shy about her southern roots, but I never picked up any Gallic glimmers to McRae’s work…)  I honestly thought I’d skipped to the wrong album at first — but then you hear McRae’s unmistakable voice and know you’re in the right place, whether he’s speaking your language or not. It takes some getting used to — mainly because I don’t speak French (one of my many, many failings), so the songs’ meanings are opaque — but musically it’s well made and enjoyable. McRae does throw us dim-witted pagan Anglophones a few bones with some English-based tunes, one of which is another characteristically lovely love bomb that will leave you weak in the knees. Talented as he is with his embrace of other styles and languages, this is what I first fell in love with him for, the dark, beautiful, and mournful, and this is another great example — just plaintive piano, heartbreaking/broken lyrics, and another glittering duet. Give “Lover’s Souvenir” a spin here:

We’ll stay in the UK and shift slightly north to the land of my ancestral Scots for yet another surprise, this time the return of a member of one of my overall faves after nearly six years away. Said member is Billy Kennedy, former guitarist for the much beloved Frightened Rabbit, which broke up after the heartbreaking suicide of frontman Scott Hutchison in 2018. (I’ve written about his passing several times over the years and can’t believe it’s only been six years…) In the aftermath of that horrible event Kennedy, like several of his bandmates, took a long time away to heal and figure out what he wanted to do with his life. Kennedy decided he wanted to get trained as a well-being practitioner (aside from losing Scott, he’d also struggled with mental health issues of his own), but recently decided to reenter the music world. He started writing and recording some songs, the first of which came out a month or two ago, and it’s a lovely little tune sung to another, scarcely more than Kennedy, his acoustic, and his aching, accented heart. (“I can’t retract the words I said to you. I think about them most…days go by so slow when you’re not there…”) There’s word he’s working on a full album, but even if he just graces us with this one it’s great to see one of the lads back in the limelight. Check out his return here:

We’ll bounce back to the States and another pair of twinned tunes, this time for a duo of southern(ish) songs that’ve been spinning on repeat lately. The first is from the Queen Bee who released her massively hyped/awaited Cowboy Carter album yesterday and while it’s really not a country album (there are definitely country elements, but it strikes me more as an artist playing with the pieces rather than creating a true “by the numbers” rendition of their own, similar to Kanye playing with soul samples or house beats back in the day — you’d never describe those albums as true “soul” or “house” albums as they, like this, are their own things…) it’s still got some pretty catchy tunes. “Sweet Honey Buckiin,” which chops up the Patsy Cline classic “I Fall to Pieces” before galloping down a number of different roads, is an exciting ride (“look at that horse, look at that horse, look at that HORSE...”), but my current fave is the lead single (and much more traditional) “Texas Hold ‘Em.” It’s got the finger-picked intro (which is reminiscent of Madonna’s similar ride to the rodeo 20-odd years ago, “Don’t Tell Me”), the primal thumping footstomp beat, and the irresistible earworm refrain with its “CHOOS!” and demand to meet her on the dancefloor in the most Queen Bee way possible. It’s super catchy and one of the rare true “country” tracks among the 27 — I’ll take it, though, just like she says. (To the floor, in my least b#$ch fashion…) Enjoy it here:

The back half to this buddy film is a more traditional country artist, Tyler Childers, and a song that’s already been covered by a ton of artists and hailed as a modern classic. I came to it courtesy of Josiah and the Bonnevilles who included their version of it on their aptly named Country Covers album that came out last year. I’d liked it on the album, but it wasn’t til I saw frontman Josiah Leming play it in concert this week, just him and his acoustic, that it really grabbed me by the ears. So much so that when I got home I couldn’t get the chorus out of my head (“well it’s just two hours to get there babe, I can make it back in ’bout an hour or so…”) and kept thinking about how half the crowd was singing along like they’d been doing so for years.  As a result I decided to track down the original and found that while Childers wrote the song, he’s never actually formally recorded it himself — and apparently never will (at least in the studio). For whatever reason he’s decided to let others do the singing for him — aside from the occasional live version he does, one of which is this incredible version he did a few years back. I’m not sure who he’s harmonizing with or what the circumstances are for the show, but by the time he gets to the closing refrain I’m almost laid out on the floor every time.  (“Every back road had a memory and every memory held your name…”) Beautiful, heartbreaking stuff — give it a listen here:

We’ll close with a less emotionally devastating duo and a pair of tracks from some long-time faves. The first comes from Black Rebel Motorcycle Club and their recently released Black Tape EP, which sports a quartet of tunes recorded at the same time as their last album, 2018’s Wrong Creatures. It actually came out at the same time as that album, buried as a cassette in that one’s box set, but only made it to the majority of us once it hit the streaming services a month or so ago. Similar to that album it’s a bit hit or miss, but the ones that work do so nicely, as with the opening “Bad Rabbit,” which is vintage BRMC. It loads up on the fuzz blasted guitars and thundering beat, but really shifts into overdrive as the song changes tempo time after time, slowing to a sinister crawl before blasting off again like that titular hare and taking you along for the ride. It’s a really good track, well suited for cranking up with the windows down. Check it out here:

Last but not least comes the long awaited return of the Orwells who dropped their latest album, Friendly Fire, on Christmas, which made the day that much better for fans like yours truly. It’s the band’s fifth and it finds them still in the same lounge act vibe they first debuted on their fourth album, 2019’s self-titled (and released) outing, but adds in a bunch of new flourishes that sound crazy on paper (acoustic guitar? PIANO?!?) yet still somehow work. Now this is another band I’ve written about a lot over the years — most recently surrounding the allegations that broke them up and caused them to self-release these last two albums, as their label (and seemingly everyone) dropped them. The band has been quiet the past few years, but they’re on the road again now, having done a west coast and now east coast tour — as well as a brief trip through the midwest, though notably NOT playing in the one place you’d most expect them to — here — as it’s both where they’re from and the largest place IN the midwest — so part of me wonders whether they’re blacklisted here and unable to play. I almost rented a car to go see them in Milwaukee, but backed out at the last minute (the price and having tickets to a separate show that night sealing the deal), though I went back and forth about it until the very last minute. (I REALLY want to see them play this new stuff live to see how it fits with their older, more raucous fare.) I’m hoping they’re just tuning up for a grand reunion back home soon, but time will tell.  In the meantime I’ll keep enjoying the new album — different though it is from their earlier stuff — and tracks like this one, which are catchy in their own right.  Give it a listen here:

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

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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

 

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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…

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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

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Shinburns and Streams: Life During the Pandemic

One of the unexpected upsides of the world shutting down has been the absolute avalanche of artists doing live-streamed shows and posting new material online.  Aside from Death Cab’s Ben Gibbard, who recently wrapped his series of daily shows that we highlighted two weeks ago, it seems like everyone’s getting into the game as folks realize these stay-at-home orders are unlikely to end anytime soon. (And that folks are going to lose their goddamned minds without music or something positive to look forward to each day as this stretches on.) Just this week alone I caught performances from Jeff Tweedy (who’s doing super low-fi nightly “shows,” just hanging out with his family), two solid sets by Rick from Pile, a solo show by Dave Matthews, a mini-set from John Fogerty, and another hour from Gibbard (he’s since transitioned to weekly shows).

It’s not a perfect system — there were almost as many misses as technical glitches prevented me from catching shows by Hamilton Leithauser, Waxahatchee, and Kevin Morby, while several other shows popped up with such little notice they were over by the time I got the alert — but I feel like things will sort themselves out over time as folks figure out how to harness the technology. (At least posting the shows to YouTube so people can see them after the fact in case streams dropped or timezones prevented them from watching in the first place.) I’ve gotten into the rhythm of checking Songkick’s list of live streams each morning to see what’s on tap and then popping in to Bandsintown to see what they might’ve caught that Songkick missed. And then there’s all the stuff folks are posting on Instagram that’s the equivalent of throwing glitter out the window on a blustery day. (Honestly — fuck the ‘gram.)

Here are a couple highlights to get you started — first, there’s this performance from Wilco just before the globe closed down, shot in one of the prettier parts of our beloved city by the lake, the Chicago Athletic Association (home to Cindy’s lovely rooftop bar, one of many spots on my recommendation list). Great building, great band, great city (correction — the GREATEST city #GPOE!) — give it a listen here:

Then there was this performance by Tweedy and his sons from their bathtub for Kimmel, doing a lovely little version of “Evergreen” from last year’s solo album Warmer. Three things this video and Tweedy’s nightly shows remind you of — 1) his son Sammy looks just like him (it’s uncanny), 2) Tweedy’s complete lack of bombast or ego — as well as his subtle, sharp sense of humor — are really refreshing (he’s constantly in pajama pants and/or a robe, looking more like a disheveled asylum patient rather than a rock star), and 3) he really seems like someone you’d want to hang around with. (Or at least I do — him, Nick Offerman, Dave Grohl, and Josh Homme — two sets of respective friends.  I could be the bridge between the two tandems — let’s make this happen, guys.) Enjoy this taste of what the nightly shows bring:

As I mentioned above, Waxahatchee has been doing several live streams lately, most of which have sadly not been posted online yet.  Thankfully this snippet from one of her recent sets on SiriusXM (which is streaming free now thanks to the apocalypse) made its way to YouTube.  She’s covering the recent Caroline Polachek song “So Hot You’re Hurting my Feelings” (which is an absolutely amazing title, BTW) and makes the song shine in a way the original never did for me.  Give it a listen here:

Before we go there were a couple new releases to note, too — recent Australian fave Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever continue their hot streak, dropping the second single from their upcoming album, Sideways to New Italy (due out June 5). This one’s more of the same (not in a bad way) — triple guitar attack, solid melodies, and a brightness that’s much in demand these days. Looking forward to the new album — enjoy “She’s There” in the meantime:

Next comes a little ditty from hit or miss faves the Magnetic Fields whose songwriter and snarky soul Stephin Merritt subscribes to the Bob Pollard school of songwriting, releasing more than most can keep up with (and more than most would advise, arguing for the quality over quantity side of the ledger). Similar to Dr Bob, Merritt loves thematic, concept albums — the band’s last project was 50 Song Memoir with one song for/from each year of Merritt’s life, while they’ve previously done an album full of songs starting with the word “I” (the aptly named i) and the beloved 69 Love Songs, whose concept is in the title. And while the quality of these albums, as well as Merritt’s myriad side projects, varies as much as Pollard’s, both have written some absolute gems in the midst of the “meh” — more than most bands could dream of in their entire careers, in fact. (GBV, as my eight faithful readers know, are a constant, beloved presence here, and the Mags are a similarly loved quantity for their beautiful, heartwarming songs — I got married to one of em, after all.)

The latest concept is short songs — the new album will have 28 songs, each less than three minutes long.  (Quickies is due out May 15.) We’ll see how it goes — the first single didn’t do it for me, but something about the sweetly sincere coda of “will we ever dance again?” resonated.  Check out “Kraftwerk in a Blackout” here:

We’ll close with one more song whose content feels in line with our current state — former REM frontman Michael Stipe released an unfinished demo this week of work he’s doing with National guitarist Aaron Dessner.  It’s a pretty song, as you’d expect for something with Dessner’s fingerprints, and the lyrics really hit home in light of recent days. The title tells the tale — “No Time for Love Like Now.”  Amen.  Give it a listen here:

Until next time — stay home, stay safe, amici… — BS

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Double Shot Saturday II — Worms, Wax, and a Death Cab of Corona

In the midst of the world continuing its orderly shutdown (my hometown Ill-staters joined the ranks yesterday) I celebrated a minor accomplishment this week — not only my first week as a regular civilian in nearly 14 years, but my first week as a fully connected, Hangouts holding, Sheets slinging member of the modern WFH population (that’s “work from home” for all you crusty old lobsters) — so thought it was worth popping in to share a little goodness.  As I wrestled with the strange feeling of being fully connected to the world and my devices throughout the day (instead of lurking in a dark, signals-free stovepipe for 10-12 hours a day), as well as how to professionally and productively participate in virtual meetings while a fur-covered cinderblock snored and farted on my lap (or otherwise hogged the camera), I found a couple good items to soundtrack the events that I thought were worth sharing.

First comes courtesy of Spotify’s weekly discovery playlist, which has been on a tear lately (so hats off to whatever beautiful nerds/minds created that algorithm) — last week it was Andy Shauf and his gang of punks, this week it’s fellow Chicagoan Max Clarke and his (yet again) terribly named band, Cut Worms. (Honestly — Spotify’s been on fire finding these bands for me, I just wish they could add a rename feature to their algorithm to fix ridiculousness like this.) The name is an homage to a line from a William Blake poem (“The cut worm forgives the plow…”), which I’m sure scores points down at the open mic night, but in terms of attracting the 99% of the population that doesn’t camp out in the basements of used book stores it’s about as inviting as a bowl of his titular entities.

Thankfully, you listen to music first and learn about it later — which in this case meant I was treated to Clarke’s time warp sound and lovely melodies first, hooked before I could get to the minor annoyance of his unmarketable moniker.  The sound is a throwback to the 50s/60s sound of the Everly Brothers, one so spot-on I initially thought I’d slipped into an oldies playlist. All bright harmonies and warm guitar, Clarke conjures an uncanny complement to those earlier times on his 2017 EP Alien Sunset and his full-length debut the following year, Hollow Ground. Both are really solid outings, blissful little rides down memory lane and the perfect palliative to these unsettling times. Check out lead single “Cash for Gold” for a blast of sock-hop sunshine and then head to “Life Going Down Sideways,” which sports an absolute knee-buckler of a melody — beautiful stuff.

We’ll close with the latest from a couple old friends, first from Death Cab frontman Ben Gibbard who’s been spending the shutdown in his native Seattle doing a series of daily concerts from his apartment.  It’s just him, an acoustic guitar, and occasional piano, singing a mix of Death Cab, solo songs, and covers for 45-60 minutes, which is every bit as pleasant as it sounds. (Aside from the frequent coughing fits, which seem to be a result of his possible exposure to coronavirus — thankfully he seems OK, though.) You can livestream them each day at 7PM EST or just catch em on YouTube, which is where I’ve been grabbing em. Check out the latest here:

Lastly we’ve got the latest from Katie Crutchfield, better known as Waxahatchee, whose new album Saint Cloud comes out next week, her first since 2017’s Out in the Storm. That one was characterized by a wall of electric guitar and Crutchfield’s new powerful spirit (equal parts independence and anger after years of heartbreak and quiet timidity). Early indications are this might be a more toned down version of that one, staying electric while harnessing some of the prettiness and melody of her earlier work.  The first few singles have been really good (I thought “Lilacs” was particularly nice) and the latest does nothing to break that trend. “Can’t Do Much” is an unabashed love song, one that sports a bit of a country vibe (similar to “Lilacs”) and bounces along on an unbridled pulse of energy (with a wicked little riff to boot).  It’s a great little listen — give it a spin here:

That’s it for now — stay safe out there, friends… — BS

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A Birthday Party with Bobby and the XXs

It’s been a rough go lately for a range of reasons, so I figured since it’s time to celebrate our birthday — both of our country and our website — that I’d change things up a little to see if we could get on a better roll.  To do so I decided to do something drastic — move the site from its home for nearly a decade and overhaul the format, which is sort of the cyber equivalent of chopping off one’s hair and getting a tattoo after a big breakup.  You’ll still see me posting my scribblings on various topics as time/interest permits, but we’ll also throw in some content from other places that I find interesting (or think you will). And as was the original intent of this site, it’s supposed to be a place where multiple voices are heard — so if you’re game to step up and want to be a regular author, you know where to find me — just let me know.

So we’ll see how it goes — wifey (reader 1 of 7) has been on me for a while to take things up a notch here, in part to make it easier to link to social media and whatnot, so you’ll see handy jumps to all your favorites below, as well as some other bells and whistles going forward as I see what this puppy can do. You can still link to the old site here while I transition things over, reminiscing about all the good music (and times!) we’ve shared. So please bear with me as I tweak things here or there, and please blast away on the Twittergrams if you like what you see — maybe 2017 will be the year we break to double digits on readers.  Now onto the important stuff…

For the inaugural post for the new digs, I wanted to throw out some recommendations for female artists I’ve been listening to of late, since they’ve been taking it on the chin this week thanks to the tweets and comments of some in hallowed halls.  So I’m going to hurl three over the plate in an effort to strike out that type of nonsense — I think you’ll agree the only “crazy” or “dumb as a rock” thing about these ladies is to say that type of shit about them in the first place.

First up is the latest from Hurray for the Riff Raff, the band of folkies from New Orleans with their sixth album overall and first in three years, The Navigator.  It’s a bit of a departure from their previous work as they ditch the campfire for a concept album loosely charting the life of lead singer Alynda Lee Segarra.  As such it starts in the big city (ostensibly the New York of Segarra’s youth) and the opening tracks talk of the sadness, loss, and bustle of those early years. She sings, “I’ve been a lonely girl, but I’m ready for the world” on “Hungry Ghost,” “lost my good daddy, best friend I ever had” on the beautiful and uplifting “Life to Save,” and “I was raised by the streets, do you know what that really means” on the title track.

It’s on that latter track that the album finds Segarra starting to embrace her Latin roots more, from the audio of the Spanish appliance hawker at the beginning to the hand drums and flamenco-style guitar that follow.  It sets the album down a different path, one arguably of Segarra’s later years where her heritage is a stronger part of her identity.  You can hear it in several songs after that — sonically you can hear it in “Rican Beach” and “Finale” (whose break just over two minutes in reminds you why Latin music is so primally satisfying at times — TRY not to move…), while you can hear it lyrically in songs like “Fourteen Floors” and the slightly belabored “Pa’lante.” (“My father said it took a million years, well he said that it felt like a million years…just to get here,” from the former tune.)

It’s a satisfying ride.  There’s enough of the simple pleasures of old to satisfy previous fans — those just looking for Segarra’s stellar voice to fill their ears with little more than an acoustic to adorn it (“Nothing’s Gonna Change that Girl” and “Halfway There” do so nicely) — while bringing in a range of new sounds and colors to broaden the sound and win over new listeners. A solid effort by Segarra and company — check out some of the highlights below (that’s right,  I created playlists people.  The future is HERE!):


Next up are a few tracks from Waxahatchee (otherwise known as Katie Crutchfield, who I’ve been listening to a lot lately in anticipation of her upcoming fourth album. (Due out in a couple of weeks.)  I’d stumbled on her last year when she covered my beloved Elliott (an ok, grungy version of his classic “Angeles”) and then again this year when she covered Everclear with another fave, Kevin Morby.  I dug her voice so started listening to her older stuff and liked what I found — her debut album American Weekend was written after a reportedly devastating breakup, and you can hear every bit of that in the music.  It’s a raw, spare record — just Crutchfield, her acoustic, and her audibly damaged heart — but has some lovely melodies as well.  Tracks like “Catfish,” “Grass Stain,” “Be Good,” and “Bathtub” are all standouts.

Her next album, Cerulean Salt, finds Crutchfield back on her feet again, trying to put the pieces together with a band this time and the fuller sound (in part fueled by a healthy dose of anger and bitterness) works well.  She’s plugged in and pissed off here and calls to mind PJ Harvey or jaggedlittlepill-era Alanis with the venomous force she occasionally wields.  Tracks like “Dixie Cups and Jars,” “Lips and Limbs,” and “Brother Bryan” stand out, as do deeper cuts like “Swan Dive” and “Peace and Quiet.”

By her third album, Ivy Tripp, Crutchfield seems to be in a better place, showing some swagger on straight-ahead rockers like “Under a Rock,” “Poison,” and “The Dirt,” while balancing them with softer, more melodic songs like “Grey Hair” and “Summer of Love.” She even throws in a dancy little number like “La Loose,” which wins you over with its Casio-style beat and catchy “hoo hoo hoos” sprinkled throughout.  It’s a winning progression since the debut, both in emotions covered and musical range, so it will be interesting to see what the new album holds.  Check out a couple highlights from the above albums here:


We’ll close with one of the queens, the ever-enchanting Feist who’s back with her fourth album overall and first in six years, Pleasures. Similar to her last album it’s an interesting mix of her trademark soft, romantic moments and dissonant breaks and flourishes.  Take “Any Party” or the album’s second single “Century.”  The former starts simple enough, just an acoustic guitar and Feist’s lovely coo telling an anonymous listener she’d leave any party for them, for no party beats their party of two — a sweet, slightly saccharine sentiment that’s nonetheless charming when it comes from her. The song quickly crashes into an electric squall and crashing cymbals, like she’s lashing out after having shown a flash of vulnerability, before settling back down into confessing her love.  It follows this push-pull pattern a few more times before ultimately breaking into an odd bit at the end where the listener leaves and drives off (ostensibly to return to the other half of their party of two?)

Similarly, “Century” ebbs and flows with less sentiment and more sonic dissonance than the former before another odd break at the end, this time a spoken word section by former Pulp frontman Jarvis Cocker before the song crashes to a close. They’re strange, but not off-putting aberrations that are rather reminiscent of those from occasional collaborator and Wilco frontman Jeff Tweedy, who is notorious for taking otherwise beautiful tracks and shattering them with jagged, jarring juxtapositions of noise. (“Misunderstood,” “Via Chicago,” and “Poor Places” being just three of many examples.)

And similar to Tweedy, Feist gets away with it because her voice (and lyrics) are so good — honest lyrics, winning melodies, and a knockout voice. We saw her recently in town and she played this album in its entirety before playing a second concert’s worth of older material and it holds up well live.  Tracks like “I Wish I Didn’t Miss You” and “The Wind” shine, as do “Baby Be Simple” and the aforementioned tracks.   In addition to an angelic voice, Feist is also a sneakily good guitar player, as demonstrated on the title track and “I’m Not Running Away” (and even moreso live).  All in all, it’s another winning package from the lovely Leslie — check out a few of the tracks here:

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