Friday, June 12, 2009

He starts off dismissing Proust for being "a little too long," and by the end of the song turns to Judge Judy for a verdict. In between these brows of varying height, Ira Kaplan makes like a sickly uncoordinated mope for whom slouching's too much work-- imagine if the words to "Summertime Blues" were written by a Brian Posehn kicking back more than the recommended daily allowance of Robitussin. But where the words to "Periodically Double or Triple" reek of a distinct lack of confidence, the actual tune more than makes up for that deficiency. The song's organ-based groove might recall any number of precedents-- our own Ryan Dombal hears Booker T.; I'm hearing a little Sun Ra and the Zombies, especially in the solo-- but that cozy little pocket Yo La Tengo occupies when they're in that groove is the sort of thing that can't be plagiarized. Add in some little touches that mean so much-- a tambourine here, some shooby-dooby back-up vocals there, and an out-of-nowhere elevator-music break-- and it's clear that Yo La Tengo, as ever, still own their little corner of the world.

MP3:> Yo La Tengo: "Periodically Double or Triple"

— David Raposa


Diabetics take heed-- this is some sugary stuff, right here. New Orleans duo Generationals are Ted Joyner and Grant Widmer, two guys seemingly obsessed with the twist 'n' shout of yore, jam-packing their tunes with blasts of late-1960s sunshine pop. "When They Fight, They Fight" comes from the band's debut, Con Law, which spins a series of songs that don't stray far from "Fight"'s time-capsulated goodness. It comes as kind of a pleasant surprise to hear a band from N.O. sound this bright and enraptured in life's simple joys. But man, does this thing flirt with overdoing it. You'd have to be pretty cold-hearted not to raise some sort of a smile for those fun little bossa nova nods, big horns, and amateurish girl-group harmonies. However, if you don't happen to be spending your Sunday flipping through teeny-bopper magazines and kicking your legs in the air with delight, or watching the credits roll on the latest Zooey Deschanel eye-roller, "Fight" can feel just a tad too blithe for its own good.

MP3:> Generationals: "When They Fight They Fight"

— Zach Kelly


Twenty-four-year-old Jason Chung, aka Nosaj Thing, isn't the first spelunker to bridge instrumental hip-hop, electronica, and a pinch of dub-- hell, he's not the thirtieth. So what's the story here? How his synths clink and bump off the walls like the Gemini Laser from "Mega Man 3"? How his hall-of-mirrors sound effects squeak and ding like a newborn Martian's busy box? How this is exactly what I'd expect Lindstrøm's Where You Go I Go Too to sound like if it went trolling for booty on a Saturday night? With almost no relation to the squelchy air-raid sirens of "Light #1", from the same album, Drift, here Chung offers a glitch-free paradise of dizzying columns of triggered arpeggios. He may risk more when a few albums removed from his debut, but for now let's bask in the anonymously beautiful. Cue up the trippy Windows Media Player visualization at your peril.

— Dan Weiss


Thursday, June 11, 2009

Ghostface Killah is arguably the most prolific post-Wu-Tang member, so when rumors started to swirl about his next album being an R&B-inspired release-- or at least as R&B as the emcee can be-- a common response was likely a knowing shoulder shrug. A far cry from his weight-pushing slang rap of Fishscale and The Big Doe Rehab, "Forever" is basically what you might expect from a Ghostface R&B release: his signature deep storytelling, girl-you-so-fine rhymes, and Ghostface getting his grown man on. The song's lineage can most closely be drawn to Jay-Z's "Girls, Girls, Girls", from the poorly sung chorus to the East Coast hardcore rhyme spitter paying homage to his various women. Even the production sounds like a Roc-A-Fella classic (read: Kanye West beat), having the strings of Twista's "Overnight Celebrity" and the classic sample-flow weaving of so many of Kanye's greatest works. And that's to say nothing of Ghostface's pinpoint flows; he seems more focused and sharp, possibly having exhausted all of his crack-rap metaphors and being exposed to an entirely new, wordplay-ready topic.

Stream:> Ghostface: "Forever"

— Chris Gaerig


There Will Be Fireworks is the latest entry into the already crowded field of climactic, emotional Scottish rockers-- see also: Frightened Rabbit, the Twilight Sad, We Were Promised Jetpacks, etc. And the Glaswegian quartet clearly picked their name hoping it would be the perfect introduction to their anticipatory, explosive music. And for the most part, it is. "Foreign Thoughts", for example, is a building, buzzing tune in which guitars and gutturally accented vocals keen with equal intensity. The ticking, tapping cymbals and insistently repetitive riffs that haunt the song's background illustrate the underlying unease of the track's protagonist, a girl who "barely sleeps, and when she does it's fitfully." Vocalist Nicholas McManus has a familiar brogue that calls to mind many of his musical countrymen, but he doesn't so much "sing" as spit his words rhythmically. And that percussive delivery (along with the way he coils run-on sentences tightly around his expressive, if not particularly dynamic, vocal melodies) makes him seem a bit like Craig Finn in a kilt, albeit without such clever, literary lyrics. "Foreign Thoughts" is a bit of a tease, though; its payoff-- the moment when its churning, itchy melody finally threatens to go over the edge-- is surprisingly unsatisfying given the theatrics of its build up. It's the product of a lot of volume and drama, as McManus shouts the final verses over a crescendoing hum of instruments, but the tune-- despite the band's best intentions, not to mention its moniker-- never quite  manages to detonate.

MP3:> There Will Be Fireworks: "Foreign Thoughts"

— Rebecca Raber


"Heavy Cloud Hustle" by Blind Man's Colour-- does it get any more appropriate than that? I'm no synesthete, but the song brings pretty clear images to mind: relaxing on the beach, clouds grazing overhead, toes digging into the warm sand. But the pigment's missing, as if bleached, left out in the sun too long. I don't know where the warmth's escaped to, but those heavy clouds up there are awfully gray. Might even rain. This 19-year-old duo's got all the trappings of good tropicalia: sparkly glissandos over shimmery keyboards and all sorts of shaking and thumping percussion. But where's the melody? It's carried entirely by the vocals, which aren't quite up to the challenge. With a Flaming Lips-like spaceyness, they hover delicately but detached from the rest of the mix, like a disembodied narrator in a documentary. Sometimes it works-- the verses move in a Panda Bear shuffle that's just inviting enough to sway you like a palm tree. But then the chorus hits, everything slows down and stilted declarations like "I'll find these truths like a maniac" take center stage. They're hard and jarring, and without strong instrumentation to provide support, the song deteriorates into gloss and tropical pastiche. This repeats twice over the course of four minutes (though they could halve that by cutting down on aural white space), and then the last 45 seconds float away in a glassy psychedelic haze, swirling whites and grays and steely blues. A nice mood, but a bit more color would go a long way.

MP3:> Blind Man's Colour: "Heavy Cloud Hustle"

— Sean Redmond


Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Lil Wayne's forays into sports journalism are a lot like his forays into rock music: sure, get excited that OMG IT'S LIL WAYNE DOING IT!!!, but the truth is, he's really fucking bad at both. Fortunately, "Kobe Bryant" works from his position of strength-- as a fan, not as an X-and-O analyst. Even in these times, it's the sort of track we hardly get anymore, working for five entertaining minutes around a central athletic metaphor, and hot off the presses just in time for the Finals (he even offers condolences to LeBron James). Seriously, where was State Property when the Phillies needed them in October?

Still, I don't totally buy it: it's easy to admire Kobe's game as an aficionado, but his methodical, joyless pursuit of dominance stands in stark contrast with whatever it is Wayne does. Simply put, a more FreeDarko player deserves Wayne's plaudits, and you can't tell me that, up to and including a love of illegal substances, BET celebrities, legal troubles, and terrible tattoos, Wayne didn't have a million reasons to pull for the Nuggets instead. Decent track, some nice punchlines, and hell, it's great to hear Wayne rapping without Auto-Tune and sounding excited about it, but demerits for a) robbing us of the Chris Andersen mixtape we all deserve; and b) Wayne not going the whole nine to commemorate Kobe's stillborn rap career with a Tyra Banks hook.

— Ian Cohen


Huge? It's got that pair of English guys who did "Hustler" and "I Believe"-- whose old band did the song their loucher peers Justice turned into a transatlantic model for late-2000s house-as-rock hedonism. Huge? It's got that guy with the lusty shaman quaver from Yeasayer. Huge? It's got that Chemical Brothers. You know it's got that Barack Obama. It's got that "grape Kool-Aid-filled swimming pool," with bass-line pool furniture and pitch-tweaked choral Marco Polo, all under a lofty laserarium sky. Huge.

In short, new Simian Mobile Disco single "Audacity of Huge"-- from upcoming album Temporary Pleasure, the follow-up to 2007's small-scale smash Attack Decay Sustain Release-- is a limber, name-dropping, ear-catching body-mover, sleek and uncluttered and populist. Just to seal the deal, one of the most crossover-friendly electronic dance groups works with Chris Keating, singer for one of Brooklyn's more popular hippie art-rock groups. I can see "Audacity of Huge" being... well, pretty big. So why can't I get that into it?

— Marc Hogan


Filled with crazy hormones and just criminal moments of embarrassment, there's no more awkward phase of life than the pre-teen years. Even the formerly popular kids will tell you that. But as bad as you think you may have had it, believe me, the shy guy had it even worse. Irish indie-pop tunesmith Brian Kelly, who goes by the quirky handle So Cow, was one of those guys. Over a catchy surf-punk arrangement of whining guitars and crispy snare hits, Kelly packs a full school term's worth of dread and clumsiness into two minutes of crystalline pop in "Halcyon Days" (the tongue-in-cheek title tells you all you need to know), a song included in a recent self-titled singles collection. For those of us who saw our peers easing into pre-adulthood and wanted simply to play Sega Genesis in sweatpants, his lyrics are almost painfully prescient. "Had a cigarette, I got sick. Met a girl and escaped quick," he deadpans. Pinpointing the scary realization that childhood is officially over, Kelly wonders if he'll ever mature, singing, "Knew one day I'd have to grow up, but I doubt it's in my make-up." The fact that some of us in our twenties and thirties still wrestle with the same question makes it even more potent.


— Joe Colly


Tuesday, June 9, 2009

If you've heard their 2005 full-length, De Generate, you probably have a solid idea of what two-man dubstep crew Vex'd specialize in: aggressive bone-snap beats and bass blown out to rave-sized, edifice-tumbling proportions. (If you haven't heard it, just look at those titles: "Thunder", "Crusher Dub", "Fire", "Destruction".) The In System Travel EP, Jamie Vex'd's first major solo outing, does keep that massive pulse going strong-- but keeps it on the B-side, putting the title track front and center as an unexpected low-key detour. Woozy lounge jazz is slowed to a crawl and submersed in atmospherics that make it feel like a soundtrack for underwater sleepwalking, with smothered strings and warped-pitch wordless vocals bobbing like jellyfish. The bass is a foot-dragging presence that threatens to melt and congeal into the gelatinous hum that coats the rest of the track. And the beats, slow as the tempo is, get all their energy from their twitchiness, sparking like synapses and surfacing as needling shards of synthesizer or truncated trap drums. Sounds like hotboxing inside a bathysphere.

— Nate Patrin

Next Page >


Recently