RADIOHEAD - King of Limbs

Radiohead. What is there to say about Radiohead that hasn’t already been said? They are inarguably the most important band of the last twenty years. No one since the Beatles has so successfully injected experimentalism into the mainstream, and no one, including the Beatles, has had such a sustained unbroken run of excellent recordings. When you consider that their first great record “The Bends,” was released in 1995, and that every record they have released over the past fifteen years has been groundbreaking to some degree and more or less phenomenal, it is hard to find another example of a band in the history of popular music that has been as innovative and successful as Radiohead has. Let’s be honest, as great and important as the Beatles were, they only had a five-year run of truly great and important records. Radiohead has sustained their legacy for over fifteen years. Fifteen years of groundbreaking, brilliant albums.

So here we are in the midst of the release of the band’s eight album “King of Limbs,” I say midst because while the album is available digitally it won’t see a physical release until the end of March, but, of course, you already knew that. You also already know about the waves they created with the release of their last album “In Rainbows” by allowing people to name their own purchase price for a digital copy, proving that not only are the band innovators musically, but as marketers, and record distributors as well. I have no interest in weighing in one way or another on Radiohead’s approach to the manner in which they handle their releases these days, nor how it effects people’s expectations, and whether or not it devalues music and artists in general, as some have claimed. All I really care about is how the band has progressed musically from record to record, and where they are now in that progression.

And where they are now is a place of comfort. At this point in their career Radiohead really has nothing left to prove, they could simply make the same album over and over and no one would really mind, yet they continue to push the envelope and mine the musical landscape for inspiration in ways that would place most bands well outside of their comfort zone, but not Radiohead. These guys have been drawing inspiration from the most eclectic collection of musical sources for years now. Whether it be IDM, free jazz, doo wop, or krautrock, Radiohead are adept at blending outside influences seamlessly with their own distinct voice. They are more than comfortable assimilating whatever sounds are floating their boats at any given time and making it their own. They are also comfortable making an album that will have many scratching their heads and asking 'where is the single?' They have their audience, they sell-out their shows, and they are clearly not hungry for commercial success, but they remain musically restless to a degree. There is a sense following "In Rainbows" that they had reached a level of confidence and comfort to do whatever they please, and while they seem to be done making grand statements like "OK Computer" or pursuing radical shifts in style and approach like "Kid A," they are still exploring and recalibrating their sound every step of the way. "King of Limbs" is a further recalibration toward something leaner and more subtle than anything the band has produced before.

It's clear right off the bat that dub-step is the flavour de jour on "King of Limbs." Whether it is his collaboration with Flying Lotus or his dubstep heavy playlists, leadman Thom Yorke makes no secret about his love of the genre. This love translates to skittish beats and ghostly skeletal production throughout "King of Limbs." Given that we haven't heard from Burial in forever, a Radiohead dubstep project isn't too bad of a proposition, but of course this is Radiohead, so this is much more than a dubstep album, rather it is but one ingredient among many.

The record starts off with "In Bloom," which bares one of those skittish beats that almost sounds like rain against a tin roof. Various blips of IDM-influenced electronica round out the track as Yorke carves out a melody with his vocals. What is most significant about the track, is that it is incredibly subtle, featuring rather dense production that is toned way way down. There are strings, horns and all sorts of sonic swells that are easy to miss on the first listen, and that lesser bands would have drowned the song in. Yet, Radiohead are comfortable enough to cast them off into deep space, almost out of the listener's sight. It's kind of a ballsy move, and one that makes you realize that no other band this big would ever do it. Coldplay and U2 come to mind, and neither would produce a track like "In Bloom," it is too scaled down, too small for them. Yet, in it's current state it is also a lot more durable and fascinating than anything either of those bands would do with the same set of sonic materials at their disposal.

"Morning Mr. Magpie" follows and recalls Yorke's solo material on "Eraser," which isn't a bad thing, but it does seem like it is missing some of the band's magic that makes Radiohead unique as a unit. That magic is back, though, on "Little By Little," another dense little number driven by menacing circular guitars that sound almost like they are being played in reverse. The track solidifies a noticeable shift from the more lively "In Rainbows," because at three songs in, "King of Limbs" is long on dank dark textures with nary a pop song, much less a love song, in sight. And if Yorke's verse "Obligation, complication, routines and schedules drug and kill you. Kill you," don't tip you off that we are in existential dread mode here, the spectral "Feral" will. Frankly though, this is what I listen to Radiohead for. I don't want a damn love song from Thom Yorke, I want the dread of our time bubbling and seething and crushing the soul. That dread is what Radiohead do best and their ability to place it in the context of accessible, but experimental, pop music is what makes them great. Thankfully "King of Limbs" is full of dread and existential disconnect.

The only wrong turn the band makes is the freak-folk infected "Give Up The Ghost." It's a pretty number, but maybe just a little too slight, and let's be honest, freak-folk died years ago. Also album closer "Separator" is the closest thing to filler the band has ever put on an album. I've heard the song many times now, but can't even remember what it sounds like even when it is playing.

In the end, this is another fine record in a long line of fine records from Radiohead. It isn't as important or massive as "The Bends," "OK Computer" or "Kid A," but it is a solid record that finds the band redefining themselves once again, and makes for a listen that rewards whether it is in the background or through the close inspection of headphones. This is Radiohead, after all, and there is no one else like them in the history of popular music. I can nitpick about a couple of weak tracks here and there, and so can you, but come on; it's Radiohead, and even their worst song is better than most bands' best songs.

"Lotus Flower"

Radiohead 'Lotus Flower' from Trim Editing on Vimeo.

TORO Y MOI - Underneath The Pine (Carpark)

Toro Y Moi made an impression last year with his debut album "Causers Of This." The record came out late in the chillwave race, but it bared all of the genre's hallmarks - mellow dance-oriented music with one foot in the 80s and one foot in modern indie rock, and more than a touch of "hypnagogic pop." Even though the record came in the wake of Neon Indian, Memory Tapes and Washed out, Toro Y Moi, a/k/a Chaz Bundick, added something more to the burgeoning genre. His was a more experimental voice than his predecessors, and while chillwave was certainly the platform from where he was jumping off, he wasn't afraid to land somewhere else entirely. IDM, dubstep and Italo disco were just as much a part of Chaz's vision as was 80's synth pop. The record was a grower, and even though it wasn't immediately as accessible as his peers' work, his willingness to work outside of the genre made "Causers" the record that holds up the best on repeated listens.

Almost a year to the date that "Causers" was released, and while his predecessors have all but dropped out of sight, assumedly working on their own follow ups, Toro Y Moi has released his second full length "Underneath The Pine." "Released," though, is such a small word to describe what the eventual impact of "Pine" will be, instead I should say 'Toro Y Moi has thrown down the gauntlet with "Underneath The Pine.'" Yes, it's that good.

First things first: Chaz has moved well beyond chillwave on "Pine." In fact, he has virtually reconstructed his sound from the ground up and in the process produced the genre's first organic sounding record. Actually, In honor of Chaz's leap forward, I'm going to retire the use of "chillwave" to describe his music from here on out. Not only is that c-word missing from the record, but so is synthpop (except on occasion), IDM and dubstep. Instead "Pine" finds Chaz channeling the atmospheric groove of Air and their forefathers Morricone, Gainsburg, Jean Michel Jarre and Tangerine Dream, as well as the hallucinatory haze of Broadcast and "Valerie And Her Week Of Wonders." It all makes for a sometimes dark, sometimes delirious, sometimes dense, and sometimes dreamy trip, but one that is always incredibly engaging and often funky as hell.

Not all of "Pine" is drenched in the mist and memory of Europe though, following the near hauntological "Intro/Chi Chi," Chaz quickly hits the dance floor with "New Beat," in the style of classic disco. Yet, the track is dreamier than any disco song that I know, and when it hits a trippy little bridge of disembodied vocals and ghostly twinkling keys, you get the sense that the spooky fog of "Intro/Chi Chi" is a sign of things to come, rather than a throwaway prelude. And it is. Much of the rest of the album is a dense mixture of bass, low key electronics and subtle, but oddly powerful, percussion, and it all kind of rocks. It's like a more European version of "Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix" rounded out at the edges by "The Virgin Suicides." And while I am comparing this album to other benchmarks more than I usually compare artists' original work, it is only because for once I am at a loss to describe the beauty, wonder and energy of this record. It does sound like those other artists and their works, but it also sounds like something utterly unique and special, and more than a little contradictory. For instance, "Divina" is a stately number comprised of mixed keys, bass and drums that sounds like it could soundtrack the best sex ever, or a tragic end. "Before I'm Done" is an acoustic driven piece of melancholy that still manages to find a groove in the midst of its sadness. Then there is "Got Blinded." It starts out sounding like it might be another dance track in the vein of "New Beat," but no, it's going somewhere much more immediate and emotional. It's pop, but it's thoughtful, syncopated, dreamy pop that burns with an urgency. "Got Blinded" marks the record's mid-point, and it only gets better from there. "How I Know" follows and manages to elicit a near headbang, not for the presence of any distorted guitars or loudness, but for its intensity. That intensity characterizes the record more and more as it progresses, leaving that c-word far behind. Not only musically, but emotionally as well, "Pine" is based on a passion that is anything but chill.

Things get darker on tracks like "Light Black," a menacing number that rocks and rolls with the finest tripped-out rhythms I have heard in a long time. "Still Sound" is the record's only second-half bright spot, and by bright spot I don't mean good, because every one of these songs are insanely good, but bright in terms of tone and mood. It's an upbeat head nodder that not surprisingly happens to be the album's first single, but as good as it is, it can't hold a candle to what comes next. "Good Hold" begins with discordant keys that sound like a funeral at a funhouse, and while at first Chaz's vocals sound like they might provide some solace to the song's sorrow, they end up only compounding the haunting nature of the piece. The record comes to a close with "Elise," "Pine's" best track. It's a tightly coiled number broken up by a slightly dubby and jazzy middle section that contrasts with the burn of the chorus when it comes back in, making for a powerful conclusion that is almost violent in nature. This is sophisticated pop music of the highest level.

It is hard to imagine a better album of the sort dropping this year, or next for that matter. With confidence I will say that "Underneath The Pine" is already one of 2011's best records, even at this early date. Toro Y Moi has taken a left turn away from his origins, and in doing so has crafted an exhilarating and thoughtful work. More than most records I can see this being revisited decades from now. Like I said, "Underneath The Pine" really is that good. Highest recommendation possible.

"Still Sound"

Toro Y Moi "Still Sound" {Official Video} from stevedanielsfilms on Vimeo.

"New Beat"

Toro Y Moi - "New Beat" (Official Video) from Urban Outfitters on Vimeo.

"Elise"

EARTH - Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light 1 (Southern Lord)

As springtime approaches and the land begins to thaw, exposing the decay and rot buried underneath months of ice and snow that comes to the surface contemporaneously with traditional harbingers of hope like budding flowers and robins' eggs, there is no more perfect time of the year to listen to Earth. Although the band was named as an homage to Black Sabbath, who were originally themselves called Earth, their name could not be more appropriate. Initially sounding like the music of tectonic plates, the band's latter day approach has been that of the earth itself slowly inhaling and exhaling as cycles of life and death pass over it. The band is often referred to as a doom band, nay, THE doom band, but that isn't entirely fair. Yes there is a sense of inevitable futility that runs throughout their music, and yes this is the music of rot and decay, but there are also moments of budding flowers and robins' eggs - there is hope and rebirth found throughout their subtle and slow as molasses guitar motifs.

"Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light 1" is Earth's sixth full-length studio album, and third in the style of their groundbreaking "Hex; Or Printing In The Infernal Method," which found the band eschewing sustained crushing guitar riffs, which marked their earlier works, for a more spacious approach to doom that was indebted to blues and country more than heavy metal. Lead by the iconic Dylan Carlson, Earth has spawned a slew of imitators and artists deeply influenced by their music during both phases of their career. Sunn 0))) came together as an Earth cover band, and would eventually build upon the foundation that Carlson laid in the early 90s to make for some of the most creative, intense and heaviest music ever. Bohren And Der Club Of Gore married Earth's doom to jazz to craft the most unsettling dinner music since David Lynch engaged the talents of Angelo Badalamenti. More recently, the experimental duo Barn Owl mirrored Sunn 0)))'s appropration of Earth's style to craft something original as well, except unlike Sunn 0))), Barn Owl mined the sound that Carlson fomented on "Hex." These are just the first few bands that come to mind when I ponder Earth's massive influence, and there are many more. The fact is that Earth has influenced and continues to influence some of the best and brightest stars on the experimental/drone/ambient/metal scene.

On "Angels" the band sounds like the masters of the medium that they are. After a single listen it is clear that they are at the top of their game and still at the top of a heap of imitators. There are many bands that sound like Earth, but in the end there is only one Earth, and they remain the best at this sort of thing. The band has a knack for making doom soulful and alive, even when it lulls you into a trance, a feat not easily accomplished, and one that I cannot begin to dissect or explain here. Earth's music simply breaths in the most primal and natural way possible, and in that breath is life and death and everything in between. The epic scope and contrasts inherent within have never been more apparent as they are on "Angels," at the same time the band balances light and dark here better than any album previously. If "Hex" still had it's foot in the darkness of straight doom, and the band's follow up "The Bees Made Honey In The Lion's Skull" tilted more toward a lighter blues and gospel approach, "Angels" is a perfect combination of the two; a perfect blending of doom and hope.

A noticeable difference in "Angels'" sound is the addition of cello as a prominent instrument. Cellist Lori Goldston adds a depth and density to the music that was not present before, and it is for the better. The masterful "Father Midnight" finds Carlson returning to motifs he first explored during "Hex," but with Goldston acting as a foil, there is a dynamic to and fro between his guitar and her cello that is absolutely mesmerizing. Carlson also taps into other genres beyond doom, country and blues throughout. "Descent To The Zenith" owes as much to psychedelia as it does to anything else. It's a track whose genius you realize once you pull apart and distinguish all of the different elements that make up it's seamless whole (psych, doom, blues, soul, ambient, folk, post-rock). Again, it's Earth, and no one does this sort of thing better than Earth.

"Hell's Winter" is the most muscular track on the album, but it is also one of the brightest and most victorious sounding pieces. It sounds like victory over death, one that has caused me to ponder the seemingly simple meaning of the song's title more than any healthy person should. The album ends with the titular track, which is the most experimental on the record. The twenty minute piece begins with a dark hazy guitar drift reminiscent of Loren MazzaCane Connors. As with Connors' work, the results are hypnotic. One can easily imagine one's self drifting afloat into the horizon on the last piece of ice left before the spring's sun melts it away entirely while listening to the track. As the piece progresses, bass and cello join Carlson until eventually it expands to include drums while still maintaining it's languid pace. The piece morphs ever so slowly throughout, touching on psych and ambient and changing in tone from light to dark like a cloudy day where the sun fights to break through, on occasion winning. The track ends with a dark shimmering almost drone-like epilogue that points to something else entirely.

It's been announced that there will be an "Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light 2" later this year, and given the inconclusive ending of "Angels 1" it is only fitting that this album merely brings us to the half way point of Earth's latest trek through the epic soundscape that they have created and perfected, and that so many other's have imitated.

"Old Black" live


"Hell's Winter"

HOLY SHIT: Thoughts On Arcade Fire Winning Album Of The Year

“Holy Shit” - that was the tweet from Pitchfork immediately following the announcement that Arcade Fire’s “The Suburbs” had won Album of the Year, the Grammys’ top award, last night. Lead singer Win Butler’s response was similar, asking perplexedly, almost under his breath, “what the hell?” But there the band stood, right at center stage accepting the biggest award of the night looking slightly shell shocked as the rest of us attempted to catch our breath as well. After a brief thank you speech, the band rebounded and took to the stage once again to perform the now prescient “Ready To Start.” As Win sang the lyrics “If the business men drink my blood, like the kids in art school said they would, then I guess I’ll just begin again,” the “holy shit” of what had just happened really began to sink in.

Let’s face it, no real music fan has taken the Grammy Awards seriously for years, maybe not ever. My girlfriend and I watched it last night solely for shits and giggles. We watched it for sport, like the kind of sport that involves children ripping wings off of flies, a sport made easier by the advent of social media. We particularly enjoyed reading D Listed’s Michael K as he mocked nearly every performer and moment of the garish event. Occasionally we would add our own barbs of disdain on Facebook and Twitter. I focused on the walking STD that is John Mayer, the absurdity that is Gwyneth Paltrow, and Katy Perry’s doe eyes, among her other spectacular assets. I also started the night off calling the Grammys a “cultural holocaust,” which elicited nothing but general agreement and disdain for the event on my Facebook wall. Nothing good was supposed to happen last night. It was supposed to be a joke, a slap in the face to all music fans around the world as top honors were handed out to the processed cheese of the music industry. Real artists either went home empty handed, or, more than likely, were not even nominated. The one genuine highlight was that Arcade Fire was going to perform a song. Yeah, they were nominated for the top award of the night, but no one expected them to win. It was a shock enough that they were even recognized with a nomination. It’s not like the Grammys have a finger on the pulse of anything beyond the most vacuous of musical phenomena. They are historically tone-deaf, or rather just deaf. Which is a shame, because, like it or not, it is the top music award in the nation, and as such it should actually be concerned with what is the best, not what is the most popular.

It goes without saying that what is most popular 99.9% of the time is typically the most soulless garbage imaginable. To take a typical example from last night, let’s pick on Marshall Mathers, who apparently had the best selling album of 2010 (yeah, let that fact sink in for a minute). Yet, not even Eminem’s ridiculous anger (real or feigned, it was ridiculous) could mask that his big “comeback” song was nothing more than manufactured white-boy angst put together on an industry approved assembly line, complete with high-profile guest spots and glossy production that was a million miles away from whatever authenticity he once had back on the streets of Detroit. It was a shell of authenticity, it was exactly what the Grammys usually gobble up and reward.

That didn’t happen last night though. What happened was that the Grammys actually awarded authenticity, and not the fabrication of it. Say what you will about Arcade Fire, but they are anything but insincere. This was hardly lost on the audience when for a second the air was sucked out of the room as everyone realized that who should have won actually won, which was about the most shocking thing that could ever happen at the Grammys. Or, maybe the shock was because a bunch of pampered industry insiders were completely mind-fucked that one of their own wasn’t up there accepting the award. Either way, the right thing happened. Kanye West, who was in top form last night on Twitter, said it best when he tweeted "#Arcade fire!!!!!!!!!! There is hope!!! I feel like we all won when something like this happens! FUCKING AWESOME!" He was right, we did all win, or at least those of us who have poured our hearts and souls into independent music and culture.

Indie rock has been plugging along in earnest going on four decades now. Over the years an entire indie/DIY culture has grown out of it, a culture that I have oriented myself toward for at least 25 years. Never once has our culture, and the tribe that has amassed within it, sought mainstream approval or acceptance. Being indie necessitated standing outside of the mainstream. Certainly some independent artists have gone mainstream to seek that approval; we have a name for that, it's called “selling out.” It happens, no big deal, and certainly some previously independent artists who have gone mainstream have garnered awards as a result of "selling out." What happened last night though was not an example of an indie band selling out to get mainstream acceptance, quite to the contrary; it was the mainstream awarding an indie band for staying indie. Not just any indie band either, but THE indie band.

If there has been a single flagship band for indie rock over the past decade, it has been Arcade Fire. Their initial notice came by word of mouth on blogs and message boards. Their albums were first stocked on the shelves of independent music sellers, not Best Buy or Target, and it was Pitchfork, not Rolling Stone, that helped make them the success that they are. Their debut album “Funeral” defined a generation. Their follow up “Neon Bible” was a lone voice of insight and sanity in the midst of one of America’s darkest decades. “The Suburbs” was a bitter reflection on aging, individually and collectively, told from a specific vantage point, i.e. a narrator steeped in independent culture. Oh yeah, it also dealt with other cheery subjects like the encroachment of technology into our lives which threatens to destroy our very humanity, the stuff that Grammy voters love to think about. In many ways the fact that Arcade Fire won last night, on their own terms, was a victory not just for them, but for the independent ethos and culture as a whole.

This is not to say that mainstream American, or even the mainstream music industry, have suddenly accepted indie culture. Nor is it to say that somehow this marks a seismic shift in the music industry or society at large. Certainly the win left many in mainstream America scratching their heads wondering “who the fuck is Arcade Fire?" In the end it may amount to little on a mass cultural scale, but last night and today it feels pretty damn wonderful to see the home team win. It’s great to know that indie stalwart Merge Records is celebrating this victory. It’s also great to know that the members of Arcade Fire, who have been true to their vision from the beginning, and have never compromised the integrity of that vision, came out on top among some of the biggest names in show business. Last night was a victory for personal authenticity and independent culture, which is the last thing I thought I would ever write in the wake of the Grammy Awards. Congratulations Arcade Fire, and congratulations to the independent spirit and culture that made “The Suburbs” possible.

JAMES BLAKE - S/T (ATLAS/A&M)

I have a good friend, who is a bit younger than me - eight years to be exact - who I agree with musically up to a point. That point usually diverges for him once things get too heavy, too dark or too loud, and sometimes for me when things get just a little too chill. I have often pondered how any male grows up in the Midwest, as my friend did, and lacks a basic appreciation for things that rawk. Didn't everyone in the Midwest go to their high school shop class only to find “Ozzy” carved onto their desks? or take a trip on a school bus that was filled with the wailing of Eddie Van Halen’s guitar? How was it that my friend knows every b-list R&B singer from the 80s and 90s, but wouldn't be able to name one Iron Maiden song if his life depended on it? It is through this discordance in our relationship that I have come to realize that there is an epic music-based generation gap between myself, representing Generation X, and my friend, who represents Generation Y.

Generation X grew up in the backseat of our mothers' station wagons listening to 70s classic rock (in my family, we literally had an 8 track called "70's Rock") and came of age only to rebel against that same classic rock via Johnny Rotten and Sid Vicious. British Punk gave way to Midwestern guitar angst ala Hüsker Dü and the Replacements who were eventually followed by the thrash of Metallica and Megadeth. There was no quarter given to any of the syrupy synth driven R&B that began to populate the musical landscape in the latter half of the 80s, when so many of Generation Y were putting in their time as hostages in the backseats of their mothers' cars listening to Paula Abdul and the Whitney Houston. Generation X were old enough to say "this is shit," and turn it off. We were no longer the captive audiences that our younger brethren were as they were forced to swallow the musings of MC Scat Kat. As Gen Y entered middle school, their points of references grew to include Bell Biv Devoe and Boy II Men, while Gen X were losing our shit over Sonic Youth, Pavement and the Pixies, as well as wasting our time on grunge. When Gen Y did arrive at their moment of rebellion, it was not punk and metal based, but anchored in rap and hip-hop. This is not to say that Gen X didn’t and doesn’t have any appreciation for urban music, but it is not nearly as innate as it is in the musical consciousness of Gen Y. Nor is it to say that there are no members of Gen Y who wouldn’t rather listen to The Clash than Dr. Dre, and certainly there are members of each that would happily listen to both. The point is that during the developmental years of Gen Y, urban musical elements became more prominent as LL Cool J replaced Whitesnake at high school dances around the country.

As a result, a whole new crop of indie musicians have arisen who are indebted to R&B and hip hop more so than they are Thurston Moore and Joe Strummer. You can hear it in the “chillwave” of Washed Out, Toro Y Moi, Memory Tapes and Neon Indian, you can also hear it in Bon Iver’s particularly potent blend of ambient, folk and R&B. Last year, How To Dress Well’s Tom Krell saw Justin Vernon’s R&B inflected falsetto and raised him in moodiness and ghostly ambiance, centering his dense pieces around basically nothing more than his voice and a sonic haze. Now, just when you think that things couldn’t get more skeletal, along comes James Blake who doubles down on the power of R&B vocals reimagined as both atmospherics and primary instrumentation.

Blake hails from London, and while he probably didn’t listen to Bill Biv Devoe’s “Poison” at any school functions, the tail end of trip-hop and the advent of dub-step in England have apparently not been lost on him. He released three eps last year heavily indebted to dance and dub-step, with each recording growing increasingly experimental in nature. His final, and best, ep “Klavierwerke” was the audio equivalent of vapor. Its minimalistic compositions of vocals and electronics were barely even there, but it was nevertheless a gorgeous thing to behold. It was kind of like listening to fragments of a gospel choir transmitting from the other side. It was as haunting and as it was comforting.

The well-earned critical reception of Blake’s eps has given way to an almost deafening buzz surrounding the release of his self-titled debut album, one that looks to sustain him throughout 2011. The buzz is somewhat odd though, not because Blake’s work isn’t worth it, but because this is still highly experimental stuff, even if it does bare the imprint of a traditional pop or R&B from time to time.

The album opens with “Untrue” which is basically a hodgepodge of modulated vocals, auto-tune, woozy minimalistic beats and simplistic keyboards. Its drunken staggering rhythm is mesmerizing in a way, but hardly what you would expect to catch fire as the “next big thing.” The fact is that much of Blake’s album plays out in this manner. There are experiments in a coppela (“Lindesfarne I”), gospel (“Measurements”), and Antony-styled operatics (“Give Me My Month” and “Why Don’t You Call Me”) all entirely centered around the capture and modulation of Blake’s voice, with what little instrumentation there is only existing to color or heighten the mood. Certainly other artists have attempted to craft entire records around vocals before. Bjork’s “Medúlla” immediately comes to mind, as does the work of Nico Muhly. The difference here comes down to the influence and injection of R&B elements. No matter how experimental things get there is always a resemblance, a flashing recognition, of the deep rich sound of soul music and all that derives from it. And, for the most part the results are successful throughout Blake's debut. At the same time, some of the tracks here work better than others.

Blake's work is most compelling when he ups the presence of the album's sparse instrumentation. The record's standout track, "The Wilhelm Scream," begins not with modulated vocals, but a subtle beat and electronic effects before Blake's voice takes center stage. The track juxtaposes traditional songcraft with experimentation perfectly, never losing balance between the two. As the song progresses, drones and percussive effects battle Blake's voice for the limelight making for a dramatic dynamic that is missing from much of the record's second half, where Blake's vocals play out in front of a slight backdrops of IDM and piano. This isn't to say that those later tracks aren't compelling, they are, they just are not nearly as memorable as "The Wilhelm Scream" or the track the follows, "I Never Learnt To Share," another piece that benefits greatly from the increased presence of instrumentation. On "Share" Blake repeats the line "my brother and my sister don't speak to me, but I don't blame them" like some sort of mantra undergoing varying degrees of modulation. It is the track's solid but somewhat restless beat, and squelching keyboards that makes the song truly transcendent though. The piece builds into a noisy climax of vocals and squiggling synth that is one of the album's truly stand out moments. In many ways this record is similar to Bon Iver's "For Emma, Forever Ago" in that even the slightest particular increase in instrumental dramatic tension has a profound and contrasting effect against what is overall a more subtle and nuanced whole.

Blake's debut is an accomplished piece of work, but there is room for growth and improvement. Given that Blake is such a young artist with a seeming understanding of many different styles of music, I can only imagine that what lies ahead for him will only be greater and grander. Regardless, this record marks an incredibly auspicious beginning, and one that announces the arrival of an important new voice in the musical landscape. With the release of his debut, Blake stands alongside Vernon and Krell in fashioning a whole new arena of urban-based ambient music, where voice is the main instrument, and everything else are just surrounding shadows.

"The Wilhelm Scream"


"Limit To Your Love"

MOGWAI - Hardcore Will Never Die, But You Will (Sub Pop)

I have already written extensively about my appreciation and love for Mogwai, and how I refuse to be a part of any post-rock backlash that judges their music as derivative of what they themselves created, and how I think their last two records were insanely underrated works of epic beauty and power. I've already spilled those words onto the page, or rather typed them out on my keyboard, and if you are interested in reading my full-throated defense of Mogwai, or me poking my finger in their detractors' eyes, you can read that here. So let's just say that I go into any new Mogwai album believing that they are one of the few indie-rock warhorses left that really matter, and have relatively high expectations of them even some fourteen years into their career. It is with those expectations that I approach the band's seventh studio album, the awesomely titled "Hardcore Will Never Die, But You Will."

Let me begin by noting that I've had an advance copy of this record for well over a month, and I'm still unpacking it even as I write, and after an untold number of listens, which is both something of an achievement and a detriment. It's an achievement that the band has packed so many different styles and nuances into the album that it rewards repeat listens, at the same time it lacks a bit of the immediate and visceral thrill of the band's most intense and best work. The record begins with the stately "White Noise," which sounds nothing like white noise and more like a post-rock promenade. It's an enjoyable uplifting track that layers piano and strings on top of the song's already dense core as it unfolds, and, like many of the tracks here, offers numerous flourishes to discover on repeated listens. The song reaches it's epic arc with a wailing guitar that points to louder and heavier things to come. "Mexican Grand Prix" follows and unfortunately introduces inconsistency early into the proceedings. The track is one of the few songs that features vocals in the Mogwai catalog, and for good reason. Other than the amazing vocal tracks on "Rock Action," more often than not the songs that are least memorable on a Mogwai album are the one's which feature vocals. Sure Mogwai can write a traditional rock song, but their strength has always been in crafting monumental instrumentals that smolder and burn. "Mexican Grand Prix" does kind of rock, it has a great rhythm and it starts to really pick up toward the end, but it just isn't that special compared to, say, "Rano Pano," which follows and blows the album right out into the cosmos.

"Rano Pano" is all that is great and grand about Mogwai, and maybe the single best song they have written since "Rock Action." It starts with a single crushing guitar laying down the track's basic refrain, before another blown out guitar joins in, and then another. Bass and drums follow, bashing out the rhythm before eventually higher-pitched electronics come in and float over the song's surface providing a chasmic contrast between the song's high-end and low-end. It's just a great massive fucking slice of Mogwai goodness. It's the kind of track that you would adopt as your personal soundtrack if you were ever to do something really heroic and epic, or, more realistically, that you listen to while reading a Dark Knight comic book for effect.

While nothing really matches the intensity and power of "Rano Pano" on the rest of the album, "Hardcore Will Never Die" is populated with plenty of excellent tracks. "Death Rays" is a particularly great song. It begins as a pleasant and subtle post-rock piece, but one that doesn't really do anything too spectacular. That all changes mid-way through the track when the band pauses for a ponderous organ bridge that leads to a much more explosive second half. It's one of the tracks that took me a while to really unpack and appreciate, but has since become a favorite.

Other tracks I am still deliberating over. "San Pedro" is a more traditional rock piece sans lyrics, but one that boils over with fury as the track progresses. Initially I couldn't get over how it sounds like a misstep into traditional rock territory, like a Smashing Pumpkin's outtake, but I still keep coming back to it for the violent and almost, but not quite, unhinged second half. "George Square Thatcher Death Party," on the other hand, has been deliberated over and decided on. It's another one of those throwaway vocal tracks that is never going to catch no matter how many times I listen to it and no matter how much it starts to pile on the rock at the end.

One of the album's most pleasant surprises is "How To Be A Werewolf." It is brighter than most Mogwai tracks, but just as potent as some of their darker works. Previously I had never been a big believer in Mogwai does sunshine, but this track changes my opinion considerably. Its krautrockish rhythm and progressively louder and shiner guitars makes it a perfect soundtrack for a spring country drive that is full of life and promise.

The album comes to a close finding the band returning to their ponderous darker sound with a couple of tracks that deserve extra attention. "Too Raging To Cheers" and "You're Lionel Richie" is the band doing what they do best - creating epic, heavy and atmospheric mountains of sound. Yeah these guys have done this kind of thing going on 14 years now, but it still manages to sound earth-shattering and immensely moving. In short, they are still making the sounds that stars make. It is timeless, powerful and primal. 14 years from now I will still want to hear "Lionel Richie" and "Rano Pano," and they will still resonate in my very core in a way that precious few records do. And that is the best recommendation I can give. "Hardcore" is not a perfect album, but for the few inconsistent tracks that are present, there are many more that will shake you, elate you and make you feel in ways that bands that are not Mogwai simply cannot.

"Rano Pano"

Mogwai - Rano Pano from Rock Action on Vimeo.

"How To Be A Werewolf" (edit) utterly beautiful video

Mogwai "How to Be a Werewolf" (in Thirty Century Man) from Sub Pop Records on Vimeo.