There has been much praise for Kylesa's "Spiral Shadow." Pitchfork has thrown its formidable weight behind it (I have to admit, even though P4K doesn't cover enough metal for my tastes, when they do they seem to grasp it's awesomeness appropriately enough), and Brandon Stosuy (the music writer/critic I probably envy the most in this world) has repeatedly hinted that it may top his Best of 2010 list. Honestly, in a year that has found metal far outshining any other genre in terms of masterworks, I was more than a little skeptical that Kylesa's new album was going to be the one that had people tripping over themselves with praise.
Certainly the band's mixture of hardcore and sludge metal on last year's "Static Tensions" was a grand slab of metal nirvana that was generally loved by most, but it did not necessarily point toward the hybrid/crossover/breakthrough that is "Spiral Shadow." While I am still not ready to declare this the metal album of the year, I can certainly understand why some would. The Savanah, Georgia quintet maintain strains of their sludge/hardcore past with "Spiral," but inject large amounts of progressive elements and melody into the mix, creating something not quite metal, but far too heavy to be anything else. Imagine a more heavy crushing At The Drive In and you might have an idea of what "Spiral" sounds like.
The album kicks off with "Tired Climb," which begins with a bass progression that sounds a bit like King Crimson or Tool over tribal sounding percussion from the band's two drummers before exploding into crunching guitar riffs that are punctuated by slightly psychedelic guitar washes. It's all actually rather catchy, even though it is still heavy as hell and more complex than most of the band's contemporaries. Somehow Kylesa is able to incorporate all of these disparate characteristics into a unified and amazingly accessible whole. They are melodic without being pop, proggy without being wankish and heavy without being oppressive.
Lead vocalist and guitarist Philip Cope's incredibly crisp production differentiates the band's sound from fellow travellers Mastodon, Baroness, Black Tusk, Torche and High on Fire. Kylesa's riffs sound like quick and sudden shark attacks, rather than the bestial pummeling so often associated with sludge metal. Cope's production perfectly complements the songs here which run the gambit from knotty complexly structured pieces to pop punk. Such variance is to be expected for a band that sites Sabbath, Neurosis, Black Flag, Pink Floyd and the Pixies as a few of their influences. What isn't to be expected is that the band can turn in a song that is equally heavy as it is upbeat on "Don't Look Back," and then turn right around and deliver the pensive doom-ridden crush of "Distance Closing In," and make it all sound like it fits perfectly together. This isn't an album that you fast forward to your favorite song, it is an album that you listen to all the way through without omission even as the band explores radically different moods and approaches.
The one constant that runs throughout is the lyrical theme of motion. Nearly every song features lyrics that touch upon moving backwards, forwards, or side to side. Cope and lead guitarist/vocalist Laura Pleasents have both explained that the album is more introspective than before and came about after taking stock of the near decade the band has been making music, and the distance they have travelled since their formation in 2001. It may be that personal inventory sparked something in a band that was already on an ascending arc, or it may be that Kylesa had just grown confidant enough to break down whatever barriers remained in their music, either way the band sounds more creative and vital than ever and have crafted an album that deserves recognition and praise across the board, and not just from metal fans.
Wheeler, who has been quiet for the most part over the past few months when it comes to cutting down great music, chimed in with this gem: "Is this the "Keep 'Em Separated" guys?"
"Tired Climb"
"Don't Look Back" live
"Foresaken/Only One" live at a freakin' house party. Awesome clip.
When the country turned against Kanye West last year for interrupting Taylor Swift at the MTV Video Music Awards, it was kind of hard not to laugh. Here was Kanye, a singular talent whose four records to date had shown him to be nothing less than a visionary artist and vanguard, spoiling a ridiculous awards show meant to honor music videos on a music video channel that doesn't even play music videos. The whole charade, and subsequent outrage, was absurd on numerous levels. To begin with the only real crime was that Kanye legitimized MTV with his presence, not that he upended the current vanilla flavor of the month. Yet, in the days and months that followed Kanye was deemed by many to be more or less the worst human being alive. The amount of venom directed Kanye's way was kind of mind boggling. I mean Christ, John Lennon was an asshole from time to time, so were all of the Rolling Stones aside from maybe Charlie Watts, so why was Kanye the devil? I think partly it was because of a vacuous 24 hour media machine that would rather report meaningless celebrity antics and fan the flames of controversy than run substantive news, and partly, I would argue, because of race, but I don't want to get into that debate here. Mainly, though, I think it has something to do with the overly sanitized pop culture that pervades the country. It used to be that rock stars acted like rock stars, accountable only to themselves, not perfect princesses like, well Taylor Swift. Certainly some of it was Kanye's fault, he isn't exactly the most humble human being on earth, but he is more than self-aware of his flaws and is not afraid to blow them up widescreen on his records. In the end, it is talent and not his personality that carries the day. The fact is that Kanye West is one of the most gifted artists of our time, and despite his boorish behavior, if you forgo Kanye because he acted like an ass on a few occasions, then you do so at your own detriment, just as if you quit listening to the Beatles because John Lennon said they were bigger than Jesus. The one thing that I was 100% certain of was that despite all of the crap hurled at Kanye over the last year whatever he was going to do next was going to be victorious and great. I didn't quite realize how great that great was going to be though. "My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy" is 2010's masterpiece.
Kanye sums it up best on "Power" when he says "lost in translation with the whole fucking nation, they say I was the abomination of Obama's nation, well that's a pretty bad way to start a conversation. At the end of the day goddammit I'm killing this shit, I know damn well you all feeling this shit." And he is right, he is absolutely killing this shit, and you would have to be an asshole yourself to not be feeling this shit. But least anyone think Kanye is simply shrugging off all of the controversies he leaves in his wake consider that immediately following this verse he indulges in a suicide fantasy. It's certainly no coincidence that West samples King Crimson's "21st Century Schizo Man" throughout the track.
This dichotomy is far from lost on West, instead he turns "My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy" into a tour de force of contradictions, high life, low life, egos, ids, devils and angels, and it's all over a cinematic soundscape that contains some of the best production and beats found on any hip hop album. Ever. Opener "Dark Fantasy" is a micro example of the record as a whole. The track begins with falsetto vocals backed by a chorus over slight ascending strings and effects to make for an energetic, but ethereal start before descending to street level with a West/RZA collaboration that combines the neo-classical grandiosity of the former with the ominous grime of the latter. Lyrically the track starts off with West broke and nameless in Chicago and ends with him kissing an heiress and waking up in Paris. This mixture of street life with refined culture, as well as the profound with the profane, and mythology with reality are all driving forces musically and lyrically throughout "Fantasy," and it's a mixture that only someone like West, himself a paragon of contradiction, could make so entertaining and powerful in equal measure. If Federico Fillini's "La Dolce Vita" were a hip-hop album it would be this.
One theme that West takes head-on here that doesn't seem to be getting as much press as his own personal narrative is that of race. "Gorgeous" through "So Appalled" looks at race from within and without, sometimes blatantly and sometimes in a more subtle fashion. "Gorgeous" is West's most direct commentary on race in both a universalized and personalized manner. "End of century anthems based off inner city tantrums based off the way we was branded, face it Jerome get more time than Brandon, and at the airport they check all through my bag and tell me that it random," West raps before he says "as long as I'm in a polo smiling they think they got me, but they would try to crack me if they ever see a black me," and that is just a taste of the lyrical firebombs he lets loose over the hazy soul/blues guitar based piece. West is right on the money with commentary that is both social and personal. America went so far past "post-racial" after Obama was elected that we somehow ended up back in an era of extreme racism that seeps out of our pores. He is more than correct that nothing has really changed for millions of young black men across America no matter who is in the White House.
It is those young black men who weren't able to crawl out of the inner city as athletes or rappers whose plight he explores from the first person perspective on "All Of The Lights," possibly the album's grandest note. No amount of effuse praise can come close to capturing the ecstatic experience of "Lights." It energizes, it brings tears, it causes goosebumps and chills, and it will make you just damn happy to be alive to hear this song. The track is based on a brass fanfare of french horns, trombones and trumpets. The beat is constructed out of a marching band tom rhythm giving the track an urgent feel that Kanye builds upon with a lyrical flow that tells the story of a man's attempt to reconstruct his life after a stint in the penitentiary only to be meet with restraining orders and unemployment. The titular "lights" change throughout the song from fast cars and shooting stars to sirens and spotlights, before the protagonist asks for all of the lights to be turned up extra bright so that everyone can witness his final fall in an act of desperation. It's such an insanely powerful and perfectly constructed song and, again, the kind of song that only Kanye West could craft and execute.
"Monster" plays with race in a more subtle manner, and in some ways it is secondary to the clash of hip-hop bravado and pathos that is at the heart of the track. Yet the song does play with stereotypes, particularly those that subconsciously may have been at the heart of the campaign to crucify West after the VMA debacle. After a wild introductory scream and growl, West lays down a beat that sounds like a gorilla bounding through a jungle, before declaring that everyone knows he's "a motherfucking monster." The track takes the image of scary black man and toys with it in the context of irony-laden bravado that strikes at the heart not of white America, but hip-hop culture itself. The track features some equally insane/brilliant verses from Jay-Z, Rick Ross and Nicki Minaj, before Bon Iver's Justin Vernon brings it all back to earth with the confessional "I crossed the line, I'll let God decide, I wouldn't last these shows, so I am headed home." Vernon's verse is the sound of guilt and exhaustion after so much untethered id, and undercuts entirely whatever boasting hasn't already been undercut with irony. That guilt and exhaustion are what feed the dark and brilliant "So Appalled." The track features West, Jay-Z, Swizz Beatz, Pusha T, Prynce Cy and RZA running through a laundry lists of rap star excesses and privileges, but rather than boasts, each sounds like a burden at best and a sin at worst, particularly in the context of record high unemployment among other African-Americans. "Niggas is going through real shit, man they out of work that's why another goddamned dance track has got to hurt," West raps over a nightmarish urban hellscapse that sounds more like a Wu-Tang production than a West one (oddly enough even though RZA appears on the track, this one was solely produced by West). The track solidifies the battle inherent in West's mind and life. He is certainly not one to turn away from the indulgences that his success affords him, at the same time there is a conscience at work inside of him that forces him to acknowledge the vulgarity of those luxuries.
The latter half of the album focuses on sex and relationships, and finds West bringing his self-aware mixture of profound and profane to each. "Devil In A New Dress" and "Hell of A Life" combines sex and religion, and the disconnect between them. In each West comes to the defense of fallen women. "Hell of A Life" is a full-throated defense of porn stars, that contains the cut to the chase classic line "how can you say they live their life wrong, when you never fuck with the lights on." It also features West singing the chorus to the melody of Black Sabbath's "Iron Man," so yeah, the song pretty much has it all.
The gorgeous "Runaway" and the sorrowful "Blame Game" deal with the love side of the equation in moving and gritty measure. The much heralded "Runaway" features West at his most humble and regretful as a man who is his own worst enemy, the kind of guy who "could have...a good girl, and still be addicted to the hoodrats." It's hard not the read Kanye's "toast" to the douchebags, assholes, scumbags and jerkoffs as his own personal assessment, especially when he raps that he "never was much of a romantic, I could never take the intimacy, and I know it did damage 'cuz the look in your eyes is killin' me." To add to his painful admissions, the track is built around beautiful simple repeating piano notes and strings that make the song even more moving. West returns to the string and piano combination on "Blame Game," but the tone here is darker and more tragic. Lyrically the song is a complete inversion of "Runaway" with West directing all blame for a failed relationship outward toward his ex. It's a violent and ugly track that is also as emotionally naked as "Runaway." Taken together they expose both sides of the same coin in the most painfully honest manner possible.
West brings the entire production to a close with the mind boggling "Lost In the World." Mind boggling because chances are that when you first heard Bon Iver's "Woods" you probably didn't exactly think it would be the basis for a hip-hop banger (other than the whole auto-tune thing), but apparently West did and here he turns "Woods" into an exhilarating finale for his masterpiece. All of the themes that have run throughout the record come together in a last stand sort of moment, with West finding either salvation or damnation (either way he appears to be getting laid in the afterlife...you just have to hear it to believe it), before giving way to excerpts from the legendary Gil Scott-Heron's revolutionary poem "Comment 1." In doing so Kanye brings the album back to the plight of everyone, not just himself. Kanye the kisser of heiresses may have issues, but Kanye the human being knows that those are nothing compared to the rest of us who just want "a good home and a wife and children and some food to feed them every night," and whose survival in modern day America is as perilous now as it has ever been.
This ability to straddle the absurd with the deadly serious is what makes Kanye and "My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy" genius. It is that genius that permeates the lyrics and music throughout "Fantasy" and one that is simply so far and above anyone else right now that it is almost inexplicable. This is easily the album of the year, perfectly reflective of all the good and bad that is Kanye West, who just happens to be one of the greatest artists of our time.
So as you might have heard we are throwing down some sweet deals on Black Friday with a mini Record Store Day featuring special singles and eps by the likes of everyone from Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen to Cee Lo Green and MGMT. Thrown into that mix, although not necessarily an exclusive to Black Friday, is The National's expanded edition of their album "High Violet," which you may have heard of if you had a pulse this year. If, for whatever reason, you have recently recovered from a touch of the deathness you can read about "High Violet" here. Anyway, this edition features an entirely new second disc consisting of b-sides and alternate or live versions of album tracks. Awesome, right? Or maybe not.
The problem is that most people who would want some more National likely already have "High Violet" and are probably sort of resentful for being prodded to buy it again. If you aren't one of these people then congratulations! you face no such quandary, and you need to pick this up immediately. If you are one of these people, though, why would you buy the same album twice, especially when so much fresh goodness abounds even this late in the year? Well, let me make a clear and convincing case for redundancy. First of all, the second disc isn't just a couple of crappy tracks, instead it is eight songs, four of which do not appear on the album in any form. Those that are on the album are presented here as live or alternate tracks. If you have ever seen The National live before then you know that any song they perform live is going to contain more energy and power than what they can muster in the studio. For instance, "Anybody's Ghost" was one of my least favorite songs on "High Violet," because it just sounded limp. Here the band adds some extra umph which pumps life into the track, saving it from a fate of becoming one of the band's most boring songs. Then there is the alternate version of "Terrible Love." Usually alternate versions sound like stripped down messy demos, such is not the case here. This is a fully realized alternate take of one of the band's best tracks. It differs somewhat significantly for the first half of the song, focusing more on percussion and less on guitar. I won't say it is better than the original, but it is just as powerful, and actually a little more urgent.
Then there are the non-album tracks, which are the real draw here. The bouncy "Wake Up Your Saints" cribs a couple of lines from "Anybody's Ghost" and "Lemonworld" as jumping off points for the band's most upbeat track since "Apartment Story." The band returns to brooding with "You Were A Kindness." It's a slow burner, and one that would have fit perfectly on the album. "Sin Eaters" finds the band indulging their bombastic side, which they do so well. Like "Terrible Love" and "Fake Empire," the track starts out slow and plodding before working itself into a climax. It lacks the power of those tracks, but it's a keeper nonetheless. The only throwaway here is "Walk Off" a simple and rather uneventful piano and strings piece.
Now if that isn't enough to whet your appetite, what if I told you the whole thing was only $7.99? Yes, for the price of a cup of coffee and a pastry you can own this puppy. If the whole buying the same album twice still sticks in your craw, consider that you would be paying $7.99 or more (likely $10.99) for the single disc of extra tracks if it was released as a stand alone ep, so this is really a no brainer. Get down here on Black Friday, pick up some cool swag and don't forget to add "High Violet" to your basket. It's worth the 799 pennies you will spend on it.
"We're not joking, just joking, we are joking, just joking, we're not joking," raps Das Racist on the front loaded track "hahahaha jk?" from their sprawling mind-boggling mixtape/album "Sit Down, Man." The track is a self-referential defense of Das Racist's approach to hip hop, who first made a splash in 2008 with the humorous, but urgent sounding "Combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell." That track polarized listeners, with some dismissing it as joke rap, while others found in it an existential commentary on American consumerism. Das Racist is clearly aware of this split in reception on "Sit Down," and plays both tips to the max. A quick listen to the album's lead track "All Tan Everything" finds the duo (with a little help from Jay-Z) blending high and low humor with commentary seamlessly, kicking the track off with the observation that "the white man can't even go outside, he'll get a disease...because of the sunlight," before running through a stream of consciousness meditation on race that name-checks Mia Farrow, Peggy Noonan, Patty Duke, Ann Coulter and the Blue Man Group before descending into juvenile riffing off of the word "booty." All of this is dropped over beats and electronic blips that sound a robot slowly slipping into delirium in a mid-1960s Sci-Fi shlock flick. Then there is "Puerto Rican Cousins" that includes some of the funniest play on words ever laid down to tape broken up by a chorus that subverts Sly & The Family Stone's "We Are Family" in order to make a subtle commentary on "they all look the same" racism that is more grin-inducing than preachy or heavy-handed. In short, race consciousness has never sounded this fun.
The genius of Das Racist is that they are able to drop mindbombs coded as stupid-smart humor like napalm over the course of 20 tracks and leave listeners in awe of their word play, and amused at their ability to crack a smile throughout. Social and political commentary is never this entertaining, and Das Racist realize this. In an interview with the Village Voice member Himanshu Suri said "all I wanted to do was make some jokes—mostly about race, though not necessarily consciously, over dance music that would serve to undermine it so Talib Kweli fans wouldn’t like it." To that end Das Racist have succeeded wildly. "Sit Down, Man" is more "Paul's Boutique" than it is Black Star.
Das Racist formed out of the friendship of Suri and Victor Vazquez, who meet while attending Wesleyan University in Connecticut. Suri also attended the prestigious Stuyvesant High School of New York along with third member/hype man Ashok Kondabolu. For good measure Suri is also an alumni of the School of Oriental and African Studies, so to say that Das Racist has an intellectual pedigree like no other hip hop act is a bit of an understatement. Such fancy learning could spell a recipe for obscure disaster. There is often a seriousness behind hyperliterate rap that handicaps its acceptance outside of the most cerebral. Hip hop is certainly no stranger to artists that make a handful of listeners think, but who fail to move bodies and thus never crossover to a wider audience. I love the hell out of Sole's "Selling Live Water," but whenever I have played it for others I am often met with the same reaction: 'what a fuckin' downer.' Yet Das Racist seems to be one step ahead of perception, making sure that their rhymes can be enjoyed across the board, including by those that may not get all of their references. They have perfected the art of being, to use their own description, "the smartest dumb guys in the room."
And least anyone think these guys are some sort of smartypants interlopers to the hip-hop game, Das Racists name-checks, critiques and gives props to a wide array of MCs and personas, well beyond this dilettante's knowledge. They clearly take hip hop seriously and show a vast and deep appreciation of the genre and its history, even while throwing it into the mix of sacred cows to skewer and use as fodder in their word play. To underline that point, "Sit Down, Man" has a plethora of producers bringing in styles ranging from party people in the house beats to dark and claustrophobic urban hellscapes (courtesy of El-P, of course). In each case the band is able to adapt and go with whatever flow has been crafted for them.
While certainly some songs work better than others, and there are a couple of forgettable tracks here, it is hard to find too much fault, since a few soft spots are bound to pop up on an album this massive and long. What is more compelling is that the vast majority of songs here do work and provide a complete picture of Das Racist and their insane crazy wordplay skills. This isn't so much an album of potential as it is an album that announces the arrival of a new and important voice in hip hop. I am sure that 2011 will see the band's first proper release, and that it may be a little spruced up from the sort of ragtag charm of "Sit Down, Man," but this album is going to be the group's benchmark, and one that fans return to years later just as they do "It Takes A Nation of Millions To Hold Us Back," and "License to Ill" now, and considering shades of both of those albums can be found here without embarrassment to either classic this is a pretty damn good start.
So, I'm going to try something new here; every Monday (or in this case Tuesday) I'm going to post something related to indie music and culture that isn't a record review. Instead of doing the whole "Throwback Mondays," which I'm just not feeling to be honest, I'd like to be open to post whatever strikes me that particular week, whether it be a "Throwback" column, a spotlight on some new video, song, group, whatever, or a commentary on music, culture and trends. I had prepared a rather lengthy essay concerning the use of the term "hipster" for my inaugural article, but after spending my creative juices Blogger did me a solid and decided not to save but a portion of my work. I was hoping to reconstruct that essay for this week, but then yours truly got nasty sick and I can't write for shit when I am sick, so instead I'm going to wuss out with this little spotlight on a few "witch house" artists that won't require a lot of writing that wouldn't be that good anyway.
So, "witch house." I have already gone on record condemning the use of this term as a pigeonhole for a genre, but over the past couple of weeks I have had more than a couple of people ask me what the hell "witch house" is, so rather than quibble about the use of that term and whether or not it's a real genre, I going to simply acquiesce to the use of this term for this column if only to demonstrate what people are talking about when they are talking about "witch house," as well as the fact that I am under the weather and not up for the fight. I will say that for my two cents "witch house" seems to be a blanket term used to describe artists who, in varying degree, combine Burial-like dubstep with darkwave electronics and can, at times, sound like the Crystal Castles. Again, not sure this is a genre other than a mutation of darkwave itself, but whatever. I will say that I have been digging hard on these bands a lot lately, but I dig hard on Burial and Crystal Castles and darkwave, so that isn't a surprise. Basically if you dig on any of those musical permutations, you will likely dig hard on these bands, who may or may not be exemplars of a new musical sub-genre with a really stupid name.
First up, the infamous Salem. They are currently at the head of the "witch house" pack, but for my money they are not nearly as dark as the name implies, and their addition of obnoxious chopped and screwed rap into the mix does nothing for me. Regardless they are the band of the moment, so check 'em out. This is an earlier single from the band, and the video is slightly NSFW in a serial killer murders and strips his victim sort of way.
oOoOO is probably the next most well known. The one man San Fran act whose proper name is Christopher Dexter Greenspan has enjoyed a couple of well received eps, so anticipation for a full length is bound to be high. At times his sound is a bit more indebted to dubstep and minimalist techno than any of the other artists and tends to focus as much on rhythms and beats as atmospherics.
oOoOO - "No Summer 4U"
Balam Acab is also a one-man project, this time of Alec Koone a student in upstate New York. His Myspace page rightly proclaims "There is no witch in this house." Koone makes beautiful and dreamy electronic music that sounds like chillwave slowed down to a crawl and played in the dead of the night. His "See Birds" ep is a must have and one that absolutely defies categorization, making it that much unfortunate that he gets put into the "witch house" box.
And finally White Ring. White Ring are my personal favorite of the bunch. The duo may be the only band that lives up to what I envision "witch house" would sound like if it weren't the creation of a music critic. The band is much heavier and darker than their peers, and not nearly as narcoleptic. There is a pulsating electro-punk heart at the center of White Ring's music that makes their sound more immediate than others. With only a single and an ep under their belt, the world needs a White Ring full length stat.
There is something to be said for a guy whose debut album contains liner notes sincerely expressing his love and appreciation for family and friends in an age where most acts are content with little more than a faded Polaroid picture gracing the inner sleeve of their cds and albums, if even that. It's an honest gesture entirely lacking in irony or emotional distance, and it's within that context that one should approach How To Dress Well, the one man project of Tom Krell.
A once over of Krell's musicaltastes, which vacillates between the likes of The Cocteau Twins and Alicia Keys, while incorporating techno and hip-hop in between, gives you a pretty good idea on paper of what How To Dress Well sounds like. The fact that Krell is able to seamlessly combine gauzy ambient with rhythm & blues in equal measure so successfully is more than a minor feat that has to be heard, because only after listening to "Love Remains," will you realize how downright astonishing it all really is.
Consider album opener "You Hold The Water," which begins with a sample from Todd Hayne's "Safe" manipulated to sound darker and more demonic than it actually is before giving way to a seamless lo-fi mixture of ambient, r&B, folk and Burial-like dubstep. That's impressive enough, but when Krell throws in a refrain from "Idumæa," the 250-year-old Methodist hymn revived recently as the centerpiece of Current 93's "Black Ships Ate The Sky," it's evident that Krell is working on a very different and much deeper level than many of his peers. Or, take a track like "Lover's Start," with slow R&B instrumentation that sounds like it is coming up through the earth via a transistor radio, and layered falsetto vocals whose origin sound a bit more celestial, Krell is able to create a soundscape that is familiar as well as ethereal and distant. What results from the clashing of these two seemingly opposite spheres of influence is a narcotic groove that makes for one of the most gorgeous listening experiences of the year. Imagine Sigur Rós cutting a lo-fi soul record and you'll begin to approximate the hip-swaying atmospherics present here.
It doesn't hurt that Krell's voice is a dead ringer for Bon Iver's Justin Vernon. A lot has been made of that comparison, and I can find no fault in it here. Some tracks, like "You Won't Need Me Where I Am Goin'" do sound a lot like Bon Iver. I mean that as a massive complement, because unlike so many Bon Iver wannabes, who just pick up an acoustic guitar and attempt to channel Vernon's backwoods ambiance, Krell actually carries within him the same heartfelt emotionality and soul (and talent) that Vernon does, and which makes Vernon more than just a dude with a beard and a guitar and some pretty songs. Of course, Krell can't help that his voice just happens to sound so much like Vernon's, and I have the feeling that if you were to ask him about it, while he would probably take it as a complement, I think his intention is more along the lines of D'Angelo than Vernon, as tracks like the slow grooving "My Body" and "Ready For The World" indicate. Regardless, it is that blurring of those boundaries into something wholly unique, heartfelt and beautiful that make "Love Remains" one of 2010's greatest treasures.
Cloud Nothings' "Turning On" is exactly the reason why I am a music obsessive. It's that moment of unexpected discovery that every music geek seeks, and the reason we spend endless hours hunting and gathering new sounds. It's the kind of record that comes out of nowhere and hits you immediately in the sweet spot. It may not be a perfect record, or it may not be one that will objectively change the world, but it's the kind of record that gets its hooks into you from the get go and won't leave your stereo for days on end, because it's a slice of the perfect sound forever that we relentlessly seek.
"Turning On" collects Cloud Nothings' eps and singles from the past year or so, which is a boon, considering Cloud Nothings has yet to release a full-length recording. And who are Cloud Nothings? Well, Cloud Nothings is a single 19 year old from Cleveland, of all places, named Dylan Baldi who channels early 90s lo-fi indie rock to perfect effect. Coming off like an even noisier Archers of Loaf circa "Icky Mettle," Baldi's bedroom project is as emotional as it is catchy. And the real beauty of the whole undertaking is that it seemingly comes out of nowhere. It's one of those albums that hasn't gotten so much hype that it makes the rewards contained therein expected, hence the reason this feels like such a treasure to stumble across.
The record shoots out of the gate with "Can't Stay Awake," a single that combines so much of what is great about lo-fi indie rock; bang and bash percussion support fuzzy guitars that sound both sloppy and precise at the same time, while Baldi barks out quasi-punk vocals with a catchy refrain, all of which climaxes with an emotionally blistering guitar denouement before returning to that catchy refrain for one last hurrah. The whole thing last under two minutes, but that is all the time it will take for Cloud Nothings to get its hooks in you. What follows is a steady stream of lo-fi punk/pop bliss. It's hummable, tappable, lose your shit and air-guitar greatness.
Influences move in and out of the picture on "Turning On," but nothing sticks around long enough to taint Baldi's own unique talent. Hüsker Dü and the Byrds hover around the edges of "Old Street," but only slightly. The ghost of Seam and early Superchunk, as well as the aforementioned Archers make a brief appearance on "You Are Opening," while Real Estate and the Pixies color "Turning On." Yet, while certainly these and many other touchstones will make at least the feel of this album somewhat familiar, Baldi's incredible singular songwriting is his talent alone, and it is a talent that elevates Cloud Nothings into a project beholden only to itself. Least anyone doubt that talent consider that everyone I just named were bands of three or more members, whereas Baldi is a singular kid whose vision and talent is on par with those groups. 'Nuff said, really.
Of course eventually Baldi will drive a stake through the heart of purists like myself and clean up his sound, much like Nathan Williams did earlier this year on "King of the Beach." Already in interviews he has expressed his desire to move away from "Turning On's" lo-fi haze. Certainly he has the skills to craft something rather wonderful in a full studio setting with all sorts of shiny new equipment, but there is a pristine charm present in the murky production of these pop gems that will likely be lost. My advice, grab this now and revel in Cloud Nothings while you can before Baldi buffs out all the beautiful, wonderful rough edges that makes "Turning On" the singular pleasure that it is.
P.S. I wouldn't feel right finishing this review without mentioning the song "Hey Cool Kid," which one of the best I've heard all year. Full of snarling sarcasm the track is an instant classic.
Why write a full-length review of a two track 12" single? Well, when you are Destroyer's Dan Bejar who has made a career out of increasingly living up to expectations by confounding expectations, every release is worth more than a simple listen and a mere mention. Beginning his career as a quasi-complex electric/acoustic folk singer Bejar's style and vocals were often compared to early David Bowie. Over time Bejar created his own unique indie chamber-rock that sounded a bit like Bowie fronting Pavement if they were French, and I mean that in the absolute best way, how could I not? While he was busy cultivating Destroyer, he was also acting as the New Pornographers' most essential and interesting member (sorry Neko and A.C.), while creating some truly compelling and inspiring experimental pop music alongside Wolf Parade's Spencer Krug and Frog Eye's Carey Mercer in Swan Lake. The man was steadily becoming one of the most creative voices in indie rock. Last year Bejar cemented his status as such with the "Bay Of Pigs" 12", which, like "Archer On The Beach" also only featured two tracks of experimental music that was increasingly detaching itself from any semblance of a traditionally structured song. "Bay Of Pigs" found Bejar exploring ambient dance music to great effect, so when it was announced that "Archer" would again repeat the two long track formula AND feature electronic experimental artists Tim Hecker and Loscil, I was more than a little excited about the possibilities.
"Archer" is yet another challenging yet satisfying step forward for Bejar. It is chillier than "Bay Of Pigs." If that ep sounded like the sun setting into the ocean off the coast of Miami, "Archer" sounds like a cold wind cutting across the Yorkshire coast in winter. The ep's title track features Hecker playing a subdued piano progression, while even subtler electronic effects crackle and pulse in the background. The track actually sounds a bit more like something Fennesz would compose rather than Hecker, but it works well to complement Bejar's hyper-literate and bizarre lyrics. The track is a proper song with repeated refrains and lyrical patterns (something about an Ice Queen and and Ash King, and an Archer on a Beach...and also the raver, this time on his death bed), but deeply atmospheric and ambient in nature so that it sounds more like one of Hecker's dynamic drone based pieces more than it does anything resembling the New Pornographers. The track calls to mind a couple of touchstones: Fennesz and David Sylvian's collaboration on "Transit" as well as Current 93. Although it is a lot less occult than David Tibet's long running project, it is no less obscure and obtuse and lyrically.
That obtuseness is even greater on "Grief Point," a self-referential meditation on May Day, the current state of music and Bejar's own relation to both, although if anyone can tell me what the meaning is beyond casting a rather dour mood please let me know. Musically, Loscil delivers with a beautifully pulsating and meditative dark drone that features brighter overtones which float in and out of the track, before giving way to bubbling electronics that drive Bejar's poetic ramblings forward. My personal favorite section is during Bejar's narrative when he says "I think the world does not like me grim, it likes me melancholic, but not miserable. English on the Mediterranean, which is - oddly enough - some of the worst people there is." He then promises to eventually explain this record, which may or may not be "picnic baskets filled with blood." It goes without saying that there is a lot to chew on in "Grief Point," which makes what is essentially a spoken word performance over ambient music one of the most compelling and bizarre listens this year. Bizarre, not only because of Bejar's recitation, but because like a good pop song, you actually want to listen to this repeatedly. By all rational standards you shouldn't desire to hear this kind of thing over and over again, but Loscil's riveting electronics and Bejar's rich diatribe is entirely interesting and not the least bit pretentious.
Bejar is set to release "Kaputt," Destroyer's next full length early next year. Given the scope and daring of "Bay Of Pigs" and "Archer" I can only imagine that it is going to be a record unlike any other. With "Archer" Bejar has staked his claim as one of the truly serious and creative musicians working today. There are very few pop/rock artists who can navigate the experimental waters this deftly and produce a work so enjoyable both casually and as a deep listening experience. Bejar is one of those precious few. Hopefully "Bay of Pigs" and "Archer" is only a prelude for what is to come.
Some albums drip doom. I'm not necessarily talking doom-metal either, I'm talking those records with a sense of foreboding that impart a feeling of dread and impending demise. Sunn 0)))'s "White 2" comes to mind, as does William Fowler Collins "Perdition Hill Radio." Both records take you to a wasteland at the end of the world, where the last man standing won't be for long. They are the kind of records that tell a powerful story of death and rebirth and probably more death, painting pictures of desolation in your mind's eye with hardly a word. Barn Owl's third album "Ancestral Star" is one of those records.
The album opens with "Sundown" a massive slow and crushing guitar piece reminiscent of Sunn 0))). Unlike that duo, this duo miniaturizes their assault, and after having set the tone quickly brings the song to a close in just over a couple of minutes. It's an effective move, because rather than linger on a single static shot like Sunn 0))), Barn Owl have a widescreen epic to unravel, and once "Visions of Dust" kicks in, we know we are already in scorched earth territory. It's that territory that our protagonists crawls across on the Earth-infused "Visions." I have compared Barn Owl to Earth before, but that isn't entirely fair, because whereas Earth have increasingly grown into some sort of country-blues doom band, Barn Owl incorporates those elements into something much more sinister. "Visions" will remind you of Earth, but the stakes for survival are much higher here. Even on the more minimalistic "Night's Shroud" that mimics Dylan Carlson's slow meditative guitar picking, there is a more immediate threat implied in the band's dark note progression.
The first couple of moments of the album's title track offers one of the record's only bright spots. A subtle but slightly shimmering drone which actually sounds like what you would think a star sounds like looking at it from earth begins the piece, and momentarily offers solace, but only momentarily. Eventually a darker more ominous guitar drone builds overtaking any sense of peace and beauty the song promised, before receding and leaving only echos of each previous drone. In listening to the final minutes of the track, one can imagine elements of light and dark fighting in the distance of space, but it's pretty clear who will win that battle on "Ancestral Star."
One of the album's strongest points is that while it contains a number of shorter tracks the record plays as a whole (unlike most albums of this sort which typically offer up three to five length meditations there are ten tracks here with only three of them approximating any real length). It's like a soundtrack where each piece leads into the next as the narrative develops. Because there is character development and many subplots, Barn Owl splits up their vision across the ten tracks here, rather than focus solely on a singular event in a long form doom-drone exercise like Sunn 0))) often does. As a result "Ancestral Star" is one of the richest and most epic records in some time, with many incidental moments to explore and ponder.
Of course, as with any album of this type, the story must come to a close, and the band sets the climax in motion on the powerful "Awakening." Blending acoustic guitar, violin and harmonium the band slowly but surely brings the record toward it's doom-ridden denouement that finds our protagonist preparing to make his last stand before falling into the abyss of death. "Incantation" seems to suspend that moment in time with a harmonium drone, subtle percussive effects and vocals that call to mind a monk's chant. When finally the moment arrives with "Light From The Mesa" it is blistering. Tremolo guitar plays over a continuous doom-drone, while notes are plucked adding yet another layer in the band's depth of field. Once all is said and done, the guitars drop back to a single powerful slowly picked motif, while drums make a rare appearance marking the march of death. The band breaks up that march with massive slabs of riffage and disembodied vocals before rolling the credits on what is ultimately Barn Owl's most satisfying and full realized record to date. "Ancestral Star" is a must have for fans of doom, experimental and dark ambient, and is easily one of the best records of the sort I have heard all year. It is powerful, epic and mesmerizing.
Ok, so I know Halloween has passed, but it's like Day of the Dead or something, and it might even still be Halloween in California because they have a different time zone. So in honor of the season of Samhain, I thought it only appropriate to highlight the first album that made me ever feel like I was in the presence of evil: Slayer's "Reign in Blood." Released a whopping 24 years ago, "Reign in Blood" was the most brutal 28 minutes and 56 seconds anyone had ever heard. In a field of thrash records containing songs that could stretch into the double digits, Slayer's short punk-influenced tracks stood out from the pack immediately. With lyrics focusing on the Holocaust, serial killers, vengeful demons and other nefarious topics the album was darker and felt much more dangerous than fellow thrashers Megadeth and Mettalica's work. If the lyrical content wasn't enough, the razor sharp guitar assaults of Kerry King and Jeff Hanneman, the precise pummeling of drummer Dave Lombardo, and equally melodic and demonic vocals of Tom Araya all ensured that "Reign" was the heaviest, scariest record ever.
Over the years "Reign" has only grown in stature, recently being named Decibel Magazine's number 1 "Hall of Fame" record. Most agree it is the greatest heavy metal album of all time, but I would go further and declare it one of the best albums of all time of any genre. Just listening to it today, I was still blown away after all of these years at the sudden stop on a dime dynamics and mind boggling shifts in tempo and rhythm. It's like if John Coltrane played metal - it's that good. This is "A Love Supreme" of heavy music, except that it is an ode to atheism (the Satanic allusions grew out of a rebellion against religion, rather than a belief in a dark lord) instead of belief. Even to the ears of a devotee of such dark luminaries as Sunn 0))), Godflesh and a litany of black metal artists, "Reign" still sounds as brilliant, brutal and evil today as it did 24 years ago, so for this Halloween/Day of the Dead let's have some devil horns up for Fucking Slayer!!!
There has been much praise for Kylesa's "Spiral Shadow." Pitchfork has thrown its formidable weight behind it (I have to admit, even though P4K doesn't cover enough metal for my tastes, when they do they seem to grasp it's awesomeness appropriately enough), and Brandon Stosuy (the music writer/critic I probably envy the most in this world) has repeatedly hinted that it may top his Best of 2010 list. Honestly, in a year that has found metal far outshining any other genre in terms of masterworks, I was more than a little skeptical that Kylesa's new album was going to be the one that had people tripping over themselves with praise. 
