Saturday, February 13, 2010
Die Antwoord is too convoluted (i.e. the layers to be found in white South African rappers employing a redneck/lower-class aesthetic and re-interpreting a Japanese dance-pop hook) and amazing to bother interpreting and over-analyzing as much as they have been and will be, but I didn't ever think the most haunting song hook of my high school years would rear it's head again in the form of South African post-modernXconceptualXwiggerXcore.
Friday, February 12, 2010
There's a weird juxtaposition in regards to popular drugs, or at least the one's that everyone knows about, as opposed to less ubiquitous stuff like "cheese" and whatever synthetic farmland amphetamine rock is being invented through NyQuil alchemy as I type this. When it comes to opiates, we detest the substance but find the actual drug itself, its use, culture and ramifications fucking fascinating. When it comes to weed, we (especially myself) have absolutely no qualms with the actual substance (which is practically Vitamin Water to cocaine's Sunny Delight) but a quick overview of the wastelands of pot culture since the 70's or so leaves a very palpable feeling of embarrassment approaching disappointment and sometimes disgust.
Any kind of drug that you overuse is going to make you appear gross. Over the last few years I've run into one or two Colombians who clearly knew Mr. Sniffles personally and showed the almost corpse-like signs of wear in the heavy bags under their eyes, loose, sweaty, pallid skin and general jumpiness. Heads end up looking like they're wearing Edgar suits, MIB-style.
It boils mainly down this this: cocaine, marijuana and alcohol are recreational; with a few exceptions most people will use them when they feel like it. Meth and heroin, and to a lesser degree ecstasy, are fucking lifestyle-changing commitments. You can't really pick up meth for a weekend and then go retreat. Fergie's grill and scores of Chelsea rentboys suffering from crystal dick will attest to that. So in theory, the latter three will get thrown out the window in people's conception of what is okay, and they have. Coke, weed and alcohol are really the recreational mainstays and though there's a lot of people, myself included, who are off-put by cocaine due to its obnoxiousness, its race/class implications and the kind of people who normally use it, its still clearly popular enough to be considered scourges like, say, crack or heroin.
When I think of the detrimental effects of prolonged investment in being a complete pothead on someone's music and likability, the artists that immediately come to mind are Brutal Truth, Cephalic Carnage, Cannabis Corpse and, of course, Snoop.
Brutal Truth falling the fuck off both live and on record is something that I suggested when I first saw them at MDF in 2007 but still felt not educated about grind enough to really argue. It wasn't until seeing them numerous times afterward and hearing the more than a little boring and sometimes annoying Evolution Through Revolution that it became apparent that it wasn't just having their original guitarist replaced by the dude from Sulaco that's transformed them into a pretty craptacular and frequently embarrassing band; clearly this has been a long time coming.
I mean, have you ever actually read Brutal Truth lyrics?
"humanity rising life depriving
black humor falls in place
evolve in catalogue
prey of progress
retributin at hand
pitch your fall for the big show
grand illusion of fruition
through suspicions of our end
next in line
step to me and bass the buck
it's only human actions
force me to lash out and crush
every day i see
the cattle march by
clueless victims of society's
told to listen, forced to turn off,
conform to norm
or be tagged as wrong
wake-up sleeping nation
or be gone, gone"
A lot of metal and grind bands, faced with the difficulty of getting vocal phrasing to fit over increasingly weird and disjointed music kept the trick of employing a nonsensical and truncated approach that BxTx only made that much worse by informing it with a pothead's version of political grind lyrics.
Lyrics aside, seeing them live is an undertaking dull enough to almost be on par with watching Nile play live. In fact, it's pretty much only saved by Hoek's drumming style/faces. Even Kevin Sharp's ability to make four guys standing on stage like statues playing increasingly annoying and boring grind seem tolerable has waned, summed up by Christian and I rolling our eyes and remarking "This sad old hat again" when they opened for Municipal Waste. To say that At The Gates and Emperor had the right idea to quit, come back for a brief cash-in tour, and then bounce again is an understatement when you see bands like Brutal Truth and, to a smaller extent, the Pixies that come back and just sort of float about not doing much of anything good for a while.
Cephalic Carnage themselves haven't done anything good in nearly 5 years, but they've always been really quirky and weird and legitimately great. Up until the last few years when the combination of Xenosapien, a few reports on their road antics from Tom Warrior and the leap into self-parody with the production of their own vaporizer made the reaction to their name for me go from "FUCK YEAH CEPHALIC!" to "...ew".
Cool is a commodity that can be measured in how many other people go "...ew" when you bring up something's name. And Cephalic are currently thigh-deep in Killswitch/Pantera/nu-metal/Fred Durst territory. I'd say the first sign of decrepitude was how disappointing Xenosapien was, but as Metal Inquisition pointed out, it was probably the song "Kill For Weed".
The second thing which made me start to re-assess the band is a really unflattering, and realistically probably a bit biased, blog post from Averse Sefira that I ran into through Tom Warrior's blog. What caught my eye was that not only did they tour with Cephalic, but there was an interesting exchange between the two bands and their other tourmates Watain (aka Wu-Tang):Cephalic Carnage - 'Kill For Weed' (From the Anomalies album)I have to qualify this by saying: I love Cephalic Carnage. I think they're great, they're cool dudes and they all shred at their instruments. It pains me to write them up like this (much like Brujeria in the first post) but I have to mention this song cause it seriously made me laugh out loud. Truth be told, I think this song is awesome. I love the brazen, ridiculous concept of "killing for weed" cause that shit is just so plain extreme you have to - whether you like it or not - begrudgingly respect it cause they go there. The music is sweet, and the lyrics ain't too bad either UNTIL you get to the last few lines vocalist Lenzig bursts out and the song’s coolness is almost undone. In short, the song talks about how cops are fucked up, they'll tear your house apart looking for weed, the system is fucked up, weed should be legalized and how he kills to stop the cop mistreatment... sounds all good right? That is, until the last few lines where he says:"This is a song about a schizophrenic,I met on the street,Told me how he killed for weed"I thought my head spun around like in the exorcist in a true WTF moment? Did he just answer an interview question within the context of a song? Let me explain, those lyrics are actually IN the song ABOUT the song they are in and not just a liner note explanation. Talk about utter hilarity in some weird twist of circular logic. He might as well have said, "By the way, this song is based on a true story of my encounter with a mentally handicapped derelict, the names have been changed to protect..." except SUNG in the song as part of the song (in death metal vocals no less). Wait, maybe I should give them a pass for originality and good use of narrative dialog?
The slightly superior tone of the guy from Averse Sefira notwithstanding, which itself makes me hope that Cephalic played "Black Metal Sabbath" in full regalia every night of that tour, I only got a slightly rumpled image of the band after reading that post. Cephalic were one of the few bands with interesting lyrics, the ability to craft both interesting riffs and songs and a good sense of visual aesthetic, which itself often came across like mid-Westerners who watched too much X-Files in terms of it's kookiness and obsession with aliens. It would take more than two blog posts and a disappointing album, right?
After a savory meal in Chinatown, we discovered that the band had the room adjacent to ours so before long we were in their suite and catching up. Soon after there was a knock at the door and guitarist Set answered to find the lead singer of Cephalic Carnage and a roadie. They invited themselves in and began making overtures to us about partying and smoking pot with them. Mere minutes before they arrived we had all been discussing the incongruous choice of this act as the other headliner, and we also wondered why they were set to go on last. We also resolved that since we and Watain played back to back, we would deliver a unified front on stage and leave Cephalic with no way to compete. With that in mind, Watain politely declined the offer of drugs and invited the duo to leave but they did not seem to take a hint and seemed puzzled at the idea that people might actually be tired and want to go to bed. Guitarist P. of Watain, ever the diplomat, stood up and stated that he'd smoke with them even though he did not like their band. Instantly the mood changed and our festive new friends were suddenly not interested in a good time. "Well fuck you then," snapped the singer, "I don't like your band either!" They left the room and P. followed them in an attempt to explain that there was not a problem but that he was just being honest, etc. The Cephalic people weren't having it as most Americans are deeply threatened by directness, particularly the European variety. Set became agitated and also walked into the hall and for a moment I expected beatings to commence. More fuck-you-mans mingled with Set's sharp and snakelike tone but no violence occured. Set and P. returned to the room with many choice comments about "life metal" bands.
MetalSucks posted this around early October and at that point the band went from Fonzie to Potsie. There's a danger of becoming the Cheech 'n Chong grind band, which if you've seen Tommy Chong lately, is clearly a bad look.
Even moreso, there's the danger of becoming something like Cannabis Corpse. Having one or two weed-themed songs on your record is whatever, but forming an entire shitty novelty band off Cannibal Corpse x weed puns is kind of the best example of the conceptual fail of pot culture in music. Per their Myspace page:
Cannabis corpse was formed in the summer of 2006 as a way to express our love of smoking weed and listening to Cannibal corpse. We thought that combining the speed and intensity of death metal with outlandish stories involving marijuana monsters, weed cults ect. would be a fresh take on the genre.
Three years later and I'm still shocked that they had the gall to use the phrase "fresh take on the genre". Someone from Municipal Waste has the balls to actually say anything he does is a "fresh take". A band that lists the most obvious mainstream death metal bands in their influence section, perhaps both betraying how little they know about or actually genuinely like death metal. A band that seems completely unaware of the existence of Cephalic or even Six Feet Under who've been doing the "shitty pot-friendly death metal" thing for a while and actually sport a former member of Canonical Conch to their credit. Unsurprising of anything Waste related, the only people who enjoy Cannabis Corpse are the more unfunny ironic hipster crossover kids, decades-too-late neo-thrash kids and faux-crusties and the sort of forum dwellers that actually make arguments in favor of Metalocalypse.
Cannibis Corpse are the logical low-point in regards to pot-themed metal, but irrespective of genre, the black hole of likability is Snoop. Snoop's wikipedia page is an unintentionally hilarious inventory of the many detrimental decisions someone with too much disposable income and pot can make regarding their image. It's hard to pick a point to start at; Snoop's gang of straight-to-DVD horror movies, his kind of low-rent involvement in both hardcore and softcore porn, that song with The-Dream, or his KISS-like tendency to wantonly merchandise his image and name to anything even vaguely related to or rhyming with his name or dogs in general. In fact, dude is pretty much the pothead version of KISS, not only in prostrating himself to the capitalist gangbang (Where I assume he'll be playing the role of Marie Luv) but in his inability to do anything worth a shit musically to redeem himself. Outside of "Sexual Eruption", Snoop hasn't released anything that would convince anyone that he hasn't become a creepy, gaunt uncle figure preying on culturally confused suburban white kids while releasing just enough ghost-written trend-hopping weedplates to remind people that he was once kind of the next Slick Rick.
Is it cooning if you let an entitled blond heiress previously caught on tape calling "the help" "nigger" put on her best Harlem flapper stereotype impression without backslapping her? Yes. Yes it is.
However Slick Rick is rapping incredibly on Mos Def and Raekwon albums 25+ years into his career while Snoop has given up on even concealing his inability to personally author anything that isn't a play on the letters of his name.
Like everything, though, there are exceptions. One is Willie Nelson, who succeeds in being alternately likable, intense, and old enough that anything that might come across as weird and embarrassing can be blamed on his advanced age and not "the pot".
The other is the simple fact that weed (and alcohol seems to satisfy us all. Damn.) informed so much of 90's rap. But then again, there's a large difference between references and use in and out the studio and reducing yourself to a caricature that lives and dies with your pothead fan base like Cypress Hill did.
And that's a bad look.
Friday, January 15, 2010
For one, I'm actually taking this blog seriously (or as seriously as you can take a blog) as opposed to before where it was a place for me to sporadically and jerkily opine about stuff from what I presumed was a rarefied standpoint and work on non-academic writings. I'm still working on the paragraphing/run-on sentence issues I've developed somewhere between high school and college, but the actual quality of my writing has thankfully shifted from reactionary indignation to actually parsing out ideas and putting out posts that I'd actually be proud enough to have people read. Hence, I'm finally importing my feed into Facebook. Some of that motivation comes from the few comments I've gotten since people stopped checking me out via No Trivia and my traffic, or whatever kind of digital attention I can measure through comments, dropped. (My posts for most of the year were sporadic, and I hadn't contributed to The Biographical Dictionary of Rap or anything shout-out worthy in a minute, so that makes sense.)
Most of the other motivation comes from blog love. I got added to Metal Inquisition's blogroll, which was awesome because I absolutely love them (as well as Stuff You Will Hate), and I received some great supportive comments from Combat Jack (CHEA!), Frank Leon Roberts and Ron Mexico, who are all on my blog roll for their respective greatness and contributions to my prolonging my (super-) senior project. Especially Ron, who kept it 100 and gave me some good advice back in December.
I've actually got a lot of posts in the backlog to get done, so hopefully the summertime doldrums/metaphysical ennui that takes hold of me every year on this thing doesn't happen again.
tl;dr version: I write wells n shit; holla.
So regarding loose ends, I left comedy albums and mixtapes out of my best albums list so as to not clutter up the main list and to heap the proper amount of praise and attention onto some of the better examples of each. Although I could've bumped Brutal Truth for any one of the 78 Gucci tapes put out this year, because fuck that band.
I'm eschewing my patented "write a ridiculous amount of mini-essays for every listed work" thing for ranked blurbs because I'm exhausted and lazy.
Best Comedy Albums of 2009
1. Maria Bamford- Unwanted Thoughts Syndrome
Maria wins out for finally making an album that approximates how flawless and laser-like her Comedians of Comedy set was when I went to see them with Christian two and a half years ago. Most people hear the voices and shallowly stop there, but that's like faulting a scorpion for it's tail. Maria Bamford is a comedy scorpion, and underneath there's a soft underbelly that has transformed late 90's single working woman humor into honest and dark comedy that tackles mental illness and the soul-crushing and ridiculous minutiae of life in a hyper-aware way that doesn't suggest bland observational comedy about cereal isles of hot pockets, but, you know, something actually funny.
2. Patton Oswalt- My Weakness is Strong
Feeling Kinda Patton is still my favorite but that's because of the fact that it's 15 years of jokes condensed into one album. After Oswalt unloaded that he had to start new with material that takes a few more listens to parse out some of the bleakest and most linguistically interesting comedy being made by the over-30 set. But it's worth it. I listened to Werewolves and Lollipops recently and, like 90's rap, I've caught a bunch of hilarious bits that were deeper and more affecting than I had noticed initially. Despite occasionally making me worry that he may be becoming broad and edgeless in his success and maturity, I'll prolly catch new this with this jawn as well.
Also: "Uncle Touchy's Naked Puzzle Basement"
3. John Mulaney- The Top Part
My feelings about John Mulaney are summarized in this poorly written show review, but I should add that you can clearly tell from this album that he's either going to become completely unfunny or become the funniest comedian in NY by the time he hits 30. 30 is the magic number for comedians, as everyone except Oswalt, Murphy and Chapelle hits their peaks late, well after they started doing stand-up.
On a similar note, Aziz Ansari is not funny.
4. Eugene Mirman- God is a Twelve-Year-Old-Boy With Asperger's
I always found Eugene cute but not at all funny. His act really only seemed to work if you weren't already into alt-comedy and ridiculous, sort of absurd stuff. And, like the Pitchfork review got right on the mark, he's a lot funnier outside his albums anyway. This record is the strongest thing he's record though, and his set at Purchase for Fall Fest was fortunately a lot funnier and less constantly winking than I was expecting.
5. Paul F Thompkins- Freak Wharf
Haven't listened to it, can't find a download link that isn't a shit bitrate, but it's Paul F. Tompkins, goddamit! It's bound to be good.
Best Mixtapes of 2009
1. Joell Ortiz- Covers the Classics
I got familiar with this when I decided to walk from my house to West 4th over the summer, which allowed me the time and need for distraction to digest '09's rap releases. I've been checking for Joell for about three years, and his solo albums and group record with Slaughterhouse never really struck me as that interesting or good but that doesn't mean he can't rap his ass off. This had an unbeatable combination of Joell's raps, short song lengths, and a sampling of the most classic instrumentals in the history of rap.
2. Drake- So Far Gone
Begrudgingly. Like Drake'll tell you himself ad nauseum, it managed to accomplish more than most actual albums this year, including popularizing Canadian rap in a way k-os wasn't really able to. Plus, if you take it as an R&B record as opposed to a pure rap mixtape, it's pretty consistent.
3. Nicki Minaj- Beam Me Up Scotty
I don't need to proselytize any further about Nicki, 'cept to say that heads who don't like this need to loosen their kufis.
4. Lil' Wayne- No Ceilings
Sort of got yawns because of his over-exposure and newer rappers getting shine, but it's a lot more of a return to form, or at the very least a higher terrible:good simile ratio that he's been coasting on since 2008.
5. Gucci Mane- The Cold War Series, The Movie 3: The Burrprint
These sound better to me every day following The State vs. Radric Davis, but I still contend that a lot of the beats on the Gucci mixtapes are more washed out and boring than anything reaching stuff like "Dope Boys" or some of the better songs on each mixtape. This makes sense since Gucci approaches all of these like albums of original songs instead of beat-jacking the hot 100 and surprising throwback cuts like Wayne and the Clipse have done.
6. J. Cole- The Warm Up
On a cursory listen, J.Cole can clearly rap really well, but that's not worth a shit at this point. Almost everyone can rap well. The thing about J.Cole is that he's essentially a N.Y. rapper from the South and shares Blu's tendencies to be consistent to a fault, almost being too normal of a rapper to where it becomes bland. Listening to this mixtape, as someone with a boner for 90's rap, is comforting, but not at all that interesting or challenging. Or maybe I'm just tired of "triple entendre" punchlines.
Finally, thanks to everyone on my blog roll for existing, thanks to anyone who ever thought something I posted was interesting or enraging enough to comment on.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
The caveat for these sort of things is always that you overlook things until other people's lists come out or a few albums get completely left off completely. In regards to the former, iTunes (whose album browse feature controls my life) published their electronica "Best of 2009" retrospective and I spent an hour getting belatedly put on to King Midas Sound, Mungolian Jetset, Martyrn and 2562. I still haven't listened to them, although King Midas Sounds seems the best of the four so far, so they're not ranked. The latter being the Fever Ray, Antony and the Johnsons, Cobalt, and Animal Collective records. I just never got motivated to listen to the Fever Ray and Antony and the Johnsons records the whole way through, since Fever Ray didn't interest me as much as The Knife did and I like the idea of complex and impeccably arranged adult pop/singer-songwriter stuff by in practice I prefer Antony Hegarty in the context of Hercules and Love Affair.
There's a reason the only Rufus Wainwright song on my iTunes is his cover of "Hallelujah".
The Cobalt record I didn't even know about because I've almost completely abandoned /regressed from metal for hardcore. Shit, I'm willingly listening to Integrity (2003 Integrity, not that boring 90's shit) and mulling over seeing Disembodied play with the Acacia Strain for Christ's sake. So aside from the real obvious releases (deathcore bands still trying to prolong their garish graffiti-merch and energy drink fueled place in the sexting underage zombie that is "scene", beardXcore and beardXsludge, sad old hats like Megadeth and Mastodon) I was caught unawares at the surprising array of non-Lamb of God/God Forbid/Gojira/whatever shitty Dethklok-approved retard rock is being pushed by MetalSucks that ended up on a bunch of the more reputable (i.e. shitty, but forgivably and understandably shitty) best of lists. Looking at SMN or MetalSucks or Decibel or Brooklyn Vegan, my instinct is to both check out the stuff I hadn't heard and also shit all over it. This is evident in Cobalt being the only metal album that blew up this year that I actually bothered to download.
The Animal Collective this is just me being a dickhead, which is I guess is my default position. I really used to like this band. And this isn't one of those "NOT TR00! YALLZ SOLDS OUTZ!" missives, or irrational revulsion towards Vampire Weekend (i.e. my own personal race/class issues) it's just the same way we all feel about Beyonce; "Sure she's still good but she's everywhere and I can't give a shit anymore." This happened with me and Radiohead somewhere around the Thom Yorke solo record. In Rainbows is good, but I waited a year to listen to it because I was fed up with both the cult of personality around the band and the equally as annoying reactionary contrarian stance who promoted a revisionist "they were always crap" talking point. "Who Could Win a Rabbit" won me over 6 years ago, and Strawberry Jam is one of my favorite albums, but if it wasn't for the Grizzly Bear record coming out as a buffer for all the critical deepthroating going on I would have Kennedy'd Panda Bear myself to save my sanity. So I still haven't gotten past the first track of the album and how they aren't wont to "care about material things" and whatever. I'm still more content to experience the record via HIPSTER RUNOFF than I am to sit down and be objective, so that shit will not be on this list, either.
(I should add, though, that as of writing this I noticed I repeated DJ Paul on my list, so his slot in the top 30 will prolly be taken by one of the albums I just mentioned.)
And now, more pissing into an ocean of piss.
The following albums are fucking great...to varying levels. The only real way to rank something this subjective is to do it my the number of songs I didn't delete from the record. The previous two years' lists were done this way, but I deviated this year when it came to Jay since The Blueprint 3, like the CuDi album, was a record of theoretically good tracks hampered by shitty execution. So that had to be taken into consideration when you get albums with comparatively well-executed songs themselves bogged down by filler. So the judgments were the most arbitrary and subjective that I've ever made in my 17 or 18 years of making inane lists, explaining why I could only like half of an Amerie album but put it a shitload of notches above Jay or even Meshell.
So as opposed to my two previous lists, where the top 10's order was absolutely meaningless save for my number once choice, most of the top 30's order is completely malleable depending on mood and the passage of time.
And with that preface, I present the Aristocrats:
The complete opposite of the image/content red flag that I got from the Clipse record. I'm not sure exactly what X-Man Amerie is supposed to be on the cover but it seems fair to guess that she's either Shadowcat, Dazzler or Jubilee.
Amerie's actual music has always been really well-produced, but she's had Kelis-esque issues in getting records actually released in the U.S., even with two past hit singles as clout. It seems weird that someone who succeeds in being both "model pretty" and "acceptably black" while satisfying the whole OMGAZNSRHOT category for the sexually immature would have ongoing issues in maintaining a pop career, but like the Q-Tip record, there might be some actual logic behind this; Amerie's voice. Amerie's voice is thing and occasionally shrill and straining, and frequently, like on the first four songs she sounds like she's trying to hard. This is a shame because the same sort of 60's soul breaks that informed "1 Thing" are on the first 1/3 of a record where Amerie doesn't consistently come off like someone in her twenties who has been doing this for a while, but like someone still trying to figure out an approach like say, "grunge" chanteuse Cassie Steele. Sometimes, like on the Sly and the Family Stone-ish "Higher", she sounds like Dangerous-era Michael Jackson, trying to force anger rather than actually portraying or conveying it through all the gritted teeth and mic spittle.
Despite this, the awkward verse-to-chorus transition in "Why R U" and a pretty underwhelming first track in "Tell Me Love Me", the rest of the record is really fucking good. Rather than keep going with the funk-rock thing that she spends the first four tracks focusing on, she returns to her natural talent, fluttering like a bird over car-ready hip-hop/R&B tracks that follow the Mary J. Blige formula that there is no rap or R&B song that cannot be sampled and improved upon/fucked with. "Why R U" itself caught my ear when it came on one of the only two video channels worth a shit in my twenties, BETSoul/Centric (the other being VH1 Classic), and came on strong with light flourishes over the kind of early 90's boom-bap that KRS would not only loved but prolly has already rapped on. "Pretty Brown" is a gorgeous Trey Songz duet that really improves upon it's sample source of a jheri curl/House Party-era Mint Condition track that itself starts off cool but ends up lagging. Shit, the hooks are there, as is the requisite Fabolous (who means well but as a rapper can eat three dicks) feature ("More Than Love"), the slow-grind/broken condom jam ("Red Eye"), and the forlorn break-up anthem ("The Flowers"). If at this point, with what to me sounds like four solid singles, Amerie can't catch a break on radio then the problem just might not be the music itself, but her.
I was simultaneously expecting this record to be great and crap. I got into Absu after the entire band fell apart and Prosciptor had a leg injury, so to hear that the band was being resurrected without the band's main songwriters, Shaftiel and Equitant, wasn't contributing to any sort of high expectations. In fact the 8 year delay between Tara and Absu had built up their reputation in everyone's mind to the point that the eventual resurrection of the band and their Myspace and the deluge of press that came with their tour and album plans kind of ruined the excitement about the band. In fact, this album was the most acclaimed metal record of the year at first only to be then promptly forgotten by the time all the beardo correspondents were putting together their end of year lists.
A lot of people outside the press met this album with mixed feelings. All the speed of Tara had been dialed down and replaced with textures, even though the drumming was just as ridiculous as before. Where Absu was a really fast thrash/speed metal band before with black metal imagery and vocals, they actually sounded more overtly like a capital "B" black metal band now, although more like the sort of rock-based kind you get with anything associated with Aura Noir or Darkthrone in 2009 (i.e. fun).
Actually, a good way to think of the album is Sigh minus the cheese and typical Japanese weirdness. Or maybe I'm just saying that because of the introduction of synths and string parts onto the record.
At first I was just as decidedly mixed about the record. It sounds amazing production-wise and there's a ton of cool ideas and flourishes throughout the album, sounding very much like a band that, if they weren't at least having fun writing and recording everything, they were certainly inspired. In fact, 3:36 into "13 Globes", there's a really busy bridge with measured a wah being used as a dynamic filter, what sounds like a large church bell, a choir synth patch, and what may or may not be (I haven't learned the album yet) jazz chords. Or at least sus chords. Not to mention the renaissance fair-sounding segue in "...Of The Dead Who Never Rest In Their Tombs Are The Attendance Of Familiar Spirits Including: A.) Diversified Signs Inscribed B.) Our Earth Of Black C.) Voor". This is now a band that will run samples that sound like a touch-tone phone ringing in the middle of a verse and time what sounds like digitally processed "haha"s to coincide with snare fills. It seems kooky and prog out-of-context, but in black metal, especially the least Norwegian sounding kinds, it sounds perfectly in place, especially during the 8-year metamorphosis from a cult band with anemic album production to a band that has the label backing to almost sound as glassy as the Bat for Lashes record. The band that most typified a whirling dervish now had full piano solos, not to mention songs mid-paced enough to actually play piano solos.
The new Absu disappointed me at MDF, where they were out of their element outdoors in the May sun looking very much like Texans who very much took themselves extremely seriously. Absu were always ridiculous in the best, most appropriate and entertaining of ways, but the shades and the shrieking of extended liner notes to their own songs put me off to catching their first NY appearance in years the following summer at B.B. King's Diabetes Write-Off/Gospel Brunch and Metalarium. (Although had it been less than $20 and I hadn't been unable to find work, I would've definitely gone). I probably should've gone, because B.B. King's would've been a better setting, if not seeing them with better sound and atmosphere (and the loyal attention of smelly Mexicans and faux-heshers alike.)
The album itself runs a little long at 54 minutes, and "Magic(k) Square Cipher" never goes anywhere, but Absu is not only good enough to allay fears about the band falling off, but to be pretty much the best metal album of the year.
(The following is going to have a discernible dip-off in writing quality)
Good rock records are fucking rare. And not this amorphous butt-rock AOR Hinder bullshit or Canadian butt-rock AOR Nickleback bullshit or pathetic post-grunge fatXcore Seether/Evans Blue bullshit or flaccid and droopy prolapsed/coke-numbed colon botched implant post-glam Ed Hardy white trash VH1 labret/monroe piercing stripper rock bullshit either. And definitely not The Killers. I mean actual rock music. And not when the uninformed shrug off any discussion of metal subgenres by saying "It's all just rock music maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan." either.
I mean the sort of stuff that actually has some recognizable connection to bre-Bush rock music, after it got so white and noisy that it lost it's "n' roll". To me, this sort of stuff existed in pockets after tough-guy hardcore became the normative sound of punk rather than the standard. It has always thrived in Sweden, through Swedish hardcore and the Hellacopters and Hives. They got it pretty right, as foreign takes on dead American genres do. In the U.S., you got the catchier "alternative rock" bands, the noisier "alternative rock" bands, some industrial, the less metal sludge bands, and whatever was left of the pre-86 hardcore bands. Not that everything after that falls outside my definition of rock music, it's just the stuff that wasn't impotent, drab, riffless, colorless unfun JNCO mope-chug out and out sucked. Rock, like the "punk" in "pop-punk" is clearly just to denote the instrumentation and approach, but has no bearing on describing the sound (i.e. like calling Grizzly Bear a rock band). DFA1979, Eagles of Death Metal and QOTSA were some of a few bands I could call "rock" acts without a caveat or a long treatise like the one I just wrote.
I feel weird even writing this because rock a a perpetual Porygon of fail is such a given that it feels silly to be in 2009/2010 even discussing what "rock music means to me", casting aside a bunch of bands and then cosigning the shit out of Pissed Jeans.
I've never listened to Flipper. Never got around to it. Even after multiple viewings of "American Hardcore" years after I read the book in high school. And I hate post-Dez Cadena Black Flag. Black Flag was cursed with great singers who were shitty frontmen and, in Rollins, a great frontman who was a shitty (live) singer, so as much as I like Damaged, everything they pretentious shat out post-Unicorn records save for "Slip It In" just seemed dumb and boring. There was an unsettling air of douche to everything that they produced from '84-'86, mainly emanating from Rollins himself who until middle age seemed like a total jerkoff (Strange how he didn't harass the well-deserving Gene Simmons on his IFC show but skewered the fuck out of a clueless and smart-mouthed midwestern kid on a cable access show in the 80's for having the nerve to ask him questions). Pissed Jeans often get compared to Flipper and post-Damaged Flag, and I guess that's about as apt as the Jesus Lizard comparisons.
The record itself is better than I was expecting it to be, and only "Human Upskirt" fails to do anything worthwhile since writing fast song's is not what this band does well. They do two things: lurch and retch. They lurch on tracks like "Goodbye (Hair)" and "Request for Masseuse", the former which sounds a lot like Bleach-era Nirvana, a comparison that gets lost in all the other appraisals of the band. The retching is all of the herky-jerky, shorter, almost Melvins-y songs that dominate the record and get broken up by overly specific rumination on banal things that would be obnoxious if they weren't so good. Although they're still obnoxious, but only if you don't enjoy this sort of thing.
Does this count? I mean, everyone who heard it this year heard it for the first time ever, so it's technically a new release despite being 34 or so years old. Anyway, this record should've never been unreleased for how long it was. It's not that the actual music is some previously unheard or ingenious thing, it's that it's an awesome NY-style 70's punk record put out pre-Bad Brains that finally gives both the Black Rock Coalition/Afropunk heads and their vocal detractors (like Daryl from the Bad Brains himself) something new to wax ethnocentric about besides Living Colour and etc. Plus, most importantly, it's just a really really good album, a well-written mid-point between 70's rock and 70's punk the same way Blank Generation is.
This band has never put out a good album until this record. No matter what kinds from Long Island and upstate and Alternative press try and tell you. The Devil and God are Raging Inside of Me had its moments but that was more of a lead-in for this, which actually does what that album was threatening to do but existed in too much of a referential space to other bands in the genre and some of the indie rock that came out in 2006. Deja Entendu is about as much of a classic as Worship and Tribute is, i.e. a record made up of two or three good songs that are probably chosen as singles and a shitload of uninteresting/bad filler that inevitably gets feverishly canonized by teenagers because teenagers, as the scene-as-fuck pink women's large Nightmare Before Christmas hoodie I gave to my ex-girlfriend 5 years ago attest, have shit taste.
"Ape Dos Mil" is my shit, though.
And the first Brand New album was the kind of really busy pop-punk (with the occasional campfire jam) bands write when they come in way after a genre has had it's last gasp.
This, on the other hand, was a complete surprise. Taking the influence from other bands in the AP scene/Modest Mouse that appeared before, everything on this record seems a lot more interesting and well-written. It's a grower, none of the songs particular jump out on first listen as the most individual thing you've ever heard, but over time the dedication to building 6 and 7 minute long songs with frayed-to-hell fuzz guitars and watery, palm muted verses pays off. Even though the opening track "Vices" is predictable as an intro if you've at all listened to any alternative-for-teens, emo or metalcore record in the aughts and don't find the whole creepy sample-to-loud freakout thing interesting and "Be Gone" obnoxiously misinterprets stuttering a vocal over a drop-tuned blues vamp as being in tune with the album's experimental bent and not dumb and distracting, the rest of the album delivers. The fact that "Bed"'s chorus isn't the sort of loud-quiet-loud thing you'd expect shows that at a point when their commercial appeal is at it's lowest and least relevant, bands from high school, like Brand New, Zao, Thursday and Poison the Well, end up delivering their best stuff. The best rock bands have patience, even if they're fast. That patience comes from a confidence that what you're doing is good enough that you don't need to rush ideas and abandon parts or do what more popular acts do. And this is a record that is no less intense for its tendency to simmer into a rage rather than lamely shout it at you.
I spent most of late November making and trudging to appointments in Bay Ridge to find out whether or not I have a stomach disease/disorder. Not that Camera Obscura make necessarily uplifting music, in fact you could easily slit your wrists to this shit, but I got into My Maudlin Career towards the tail end of a year of stress and disappointment, many my own fault. It has the same effect on me as the Percocet I took for a headache two months ago; it creates a bittersweet fluff cloud of numb, depressing joy that only Scots could produce. Walking a stress-fully obtained stool sample to an insurance approved lab in south Brooklyn on a colder-than-usual Friday afternoon is somehow less shitty when Tracyanne Campbell is cooing to you about suicide and achingly unrequited love over irrepressibly 70's pop arrangements. I can't sit through it the whole way through because around the 3/4 mark the songs get a bit samey and less rewarding, but the peaks themselves are narcotically high.
When I said Absu was the best metal album, I meant that. Baroness couldn't be more of a rock band if they tried. They also couldn't be more indebted to other acts. Leviathan-era Mastodon was always an obvious note; when I gave Rec Record a cursory iTunes browse two years ago, I was put off from it and the band because it really sounded, down to the guitar parts, like Mastodon-lite. But there's also lots of Alice in Chains in "Steel that Sleeps the Eye", a lot of Queens of the Stone Age in "Jake Leg" (around the :44 mark), and a ton of Torche in all of the vocal parts, which share the same harmony/dual tracking-style that pops up all over In Return and Meanderthal. The key thing about all four of these reference points is that these are all bands with metal influence but none of them is at all a capital "M" metal band. And the playing on this record is very much the playing of a really well-worn, talented rock band, not say, Crowbar or something non-beardo. There are no forays into "extreme metal", no ridiculous double-bass workouts, but a lot of dual-lead guitars, which is more of a hard rock staple than anything else, and one the band is really fucking good at employing. Like Thin Lizzy good.
You can tell when someone's been playing their instrument for a while, because they know how to tastefully employ every trick, every trill, every tremolo pick, every chicken-pick, into their music. When I saw Baroness open for Converge and the Red Chord in 2008 I commented that their music was boring and generic sludge rock but their were a hell of a live band and really blew me away with how well they played. I said all that they were missing were the songs to be a great heavy rock band (for beardos), and now they've actually got the songs. Although there are odd parts. One, the song titles are all terrible and whatever "art" Baizley (the sludge equivalent of Jake Bannon in terms of freelance visual art work) and the rest of the band think they're employing, their pretension misses the mark when they name shit things like "War, Wisdom and Rhyme".
Clearly you have beards. But tell me something else about yourself besides your slavish dedication to rote 00's sludge tropes like referencing booze, animals and war.
Two, "O'er Hell and Hide", which is the most 90's song I've heard this year, just for sticking in extraneous vocal samples, sound effects, and disco sections in an instrumental track. Not necessarily bad, but distracting in that it makes me pine for that awesome Malevolent Creation techno remix album that was put out against their will 10 years ago. Also, "Blackpowder Orchard" doesn't have the effect they think it has. In general, if Baroness put an instrumental or interlude on their record, it's bound to be jarring and ill-fitting.
I'm not even sure if I'd really put it this high. I hate DOOM over Jake One tracks, they don't really mesh as well as when he goes in over TV soundtracks, Dilla tracks or cheese, reverb-drenched (no Phil Collins) 80's R&B. Still, this is the only album that could make me actually sit through a Slug verse in 2009.
I struggled to like more than three tracks on Vaudeville Villain in 2008. I didn't like Madvillainy when it came out 4 years ago (though that's changed). And I remembered one of my favorite high school teachers, the one who put me onto the Violent Femmes and the Dead Milkmen, having MM...Food but not being that interested in it. But around the same time I downloaded Born Like This, I copped Operation Doomsday from the Chinese internet and got converted. And in that, I realized that, like Redman to Ludacris, DOOM's southern analog is Gucci Mane. They're both idiosyncratic rappers with unique and divisive styles, almost impenetrable enunciation and are most likely to be unappreciated for their lyrics because of it. And like The State vs Radric Davis, Born Like This, at a scant and kind of diverse 40 minutes, is a good entry point for anyone put off by past works.
I love this band. But I'm sick of them.
I don't love bands. I love albums. I have a belief system I molded around the time I graduated high school/entered college that bands will only disappoint you. Bands will get old, get shitty, replace their best/your favorite members, appear on Tyra, release terrible records, give too many interviews and reveal themselves to be stupid or have embarrassing political opinions, you name it. But albums don't get your hopes. If a band only puts out one good record (like The Streets), there's no loss. You appreciate that album, don't get caught up in ridiculous cults of personality or hype-driven superfandom, and move on to the next one, which you should as a rational fan of good music and not privileged dickheads with Telecaster's and gauged earlobes.
There are only five people who I am slavishly a fan of and have broken this rule time and time again for, based on the appendix of the previous rule, which is that once someone's made three or more good albums, I'll allow myself to be a fan of them and not just their records. They are TV on the Radio, Jonathan Richman, Ghostface Killah, KRS-ONE, and Converge. That's it. Everyone else can eat dicks.
Especially the Black Dahlia Murder, who destroyed my childhood when they released Nocturnal.
Now this is not a bad record. Actually it's great. Problem is, like a significant other or your own life, consistency is boring. This is the 5th great Converge album in a row, and at this point I'm bored with how good it is. This makes no sense at all, except for the fact that this is the only band that I've ever actually liked this many records from. 3 is a nice round number, it encompasses 6-7 years of musical/lineup changes, lyrical maturation, new approaches and etc. Every good artist can be summed up in 3 really good albums and then the rest of their oeuvre can be told to fuck off without anything of value being discarded. Chances are, you can download or ween the good songs on the 40 or so uninteresting Bob Dylan records from various collections. Jonathan Richman was like this. KRS-ONE and Ghostface, were not, even though KRS's 5 albums can be whittled down to the first two BDP records and Return of the Boom Bap, while Ghost, who is on 167 song on my iTunes, including 140 solo album songs, is at his best on Ironman, Supreme Clientele, and these days I'd say more Pretty Toney than Fishscale.
When Forever Comes Crashing has its missteps (mainly "Ten Cents", which doesn't seem like it was a good idea), but these last four records, save the filler on No Heroes are great. But as opposed to that record, which had to grow on me, I immediately liked Axe to Fall, it's just not that exciting to me. Some of the tracks feel too samey and too familiar despite the change in sound to reflect more of the denimXcore bands on Deathwish rather than anything that'd remind you of Rorschach. It's still good, and it's still a pretty visious hardcore record, but, like Ghostface lately, it feels like Converge-by-numbers, despite the two closing tracks which are pretty and mature in a way you wouldn't expect from the band.
I wasn't kidding during that mid-year list. Until the last Sean Price solo album comes out, this is the oldhead album of the year. I had to put 2000 on the backburner until I got 2009's albums over with it, but not surprisingly Puba's just as effortlessly good as he was on the brief snippets of that record I heard. Sonically, it hits that bass-y (literally, there are actual basslines, not a dull 808-by-way-of-SunnO))) buzz) 90's rap spot that is like catnip to me and is stylistically and content-wise really similar to De La's Stakes is High, minues the Dilla beats and Mos Def feature. At 11 tracks, Puba seemed to realize it's best to avoid overstuffing a record by a 40-something rapper and just try to avoid filler. It pays off on a record that manages to tackle familiar topics with a sense of humor and talent for wordplay that's rare in NY rap now.
It's weird to even bring up grime now, but it was one of the first outside-the-mainstream things I got into around 2002/2003. I never got too invested in it past Wiley and Dizzee and an unhealthy fascination with the interstitial music on "Da Ali G Show", but had I a good internet connection and time to tear myself away from the Official AFI Message Boards and Livejournal, I prolly would've. But the fact that that's in the past isn't just apparent to me and the record-buying public, but Dizzee as well, who started moving away from grime around 2007's Maths + English. And now, still somehow successful and still incredibly young (famous for 7 or 8 years but only 24 years old), he's decided to stay relevant by essentially putting out a dance record.
And somehow it's the best thing he's done since Boy In Da Corner.
I though "Bonkers" was stupid the first time I heard it (it is, but it grows on you) and it's unnerving to have Dizzee rap over Tiesto, Calvin Harris and Armand Van Helden, facilitators of fun times for drunk girls and eurotrash everywhere, beats. But considering that grime was the least organic, most hyper-modern and digital take on rap until ATL producers started making trance-rap it's not really that much of a stretch to hear Dizzee over less fractured and off-time drum patterns. Plus, there's not only a little bit of everything on here (electrohouse, Baltimore club breaks, British rap and bullshit, two-step/garage, 90's house, and even one grime throwback), but it's done better than it has any right to be. Without all the frenzy and advanced level beats, Dizzee raps are revealed to be as occasionally lacking and cliche as they've always been, but the samples, beats, and hooks all hit their mark, lacking any of the bland spots of Showtime or Lily Allen-related filler of Maths + English.
My family agrees on few things musically. We all love "Return of the Mack" by Mark Morrison. We all though Patra was a bit much (a lil' too slack), and all love Maxwell's Urban Hang Suite. It's weird, because it was all we would listen to with each other in my aunt's car from 1996-1999 and is one of the few album's from my childhood besides Thriller than I still enjoy. But everything after that album sort of got the gasface from me. I like embrya's first single, but other than that he fell out of anyone's mind for most of the decade, save for the video for "A Woman's Worth" that got nominated at the VMA's in 2000 or 2001 I think. Soon R&B was going to get even more rap-influenced and neo-soul would stop pushing units, so no one thought the dude would not only come back 8 years later after there was a public "who cares?" when word that his label was refusing to release his new music, but to come back so good and so successfully. His video somehow ended up on the 106 & Park countdown, "Pretty Wings" got radio play, and he caused every XX chromosomed human watching the BET awards to gush during his performance, a performance that, now in his 30's, had a pronounced 70's soulman quality that's nearly-absent from all the Chris Brown-ing that's the archetype still.
Plus, the album, the first in an endearingly pretentious and difficult to Google trilogy, is really fucking good. Like most high-falutin' conceptual soul/R&B singers, he sometimes misses the mark, like some of the forced vocal grit in "Cold", but the harmonics throughout "Pretty Wings", the weird 2002-era rock guitar parts tastefully thrown into "Help Somebody" like it was a Res or Meshell Ndegeocello song, and the affecting simplicity of the guitar-and-voice arrangement in "Playing Possum" make the 8-song (including one album-ending instrumental that recalls the Baroness one except good) record stand above the two albums that preceded it. Not only is it a record that somehow sounds exactly how you'd imagine Maxwell sounding live, excessive cymbal splashes and drum fills and horn outros and all, but Maxwell has mastered the high art of soul singing: putting a cry in your voice in a way that doesn't make you sound like a bitch, something that most post-high school rap and bullshit kids can't even fathom.
When I was in high school and got a new computer to replace the one I destroyed with free internet porn and GameBoy ROMS around 11th grade our new computer had iTunes, which seemed a lot cooler than Winamp to me, and less tainted by all the scene/Irving Plaze/Hot Topic bullshit I still associate with Winamp. Around this time I only put a few songs on the iTunes, as I didn't have an iPod yet and didn't have a reason or the patience to put all 200 something albums on there. So I just put Nine Inch Nails, Ministry, and Peaches on it and listened to that when I wasn't listening to metalcore, Mastodon and Cannibal Corpse my senior year of high school. Trent Reznor's lyrics were always awful, but there were two songs from Pretty Hate Machine that I obsessed over: "Sin" and "That's What I Get". From the Ministry best of I had bought from Sounds in St. Marks, I kept playing "Thieves", "Stigmata", "Just One Fix" and the live version of "So What". The live version of "So What" was my favorite because I was an extremely raw nerved, moody kid. Never really depressed, just moody and really pretentious.
At the time, those 6 songs and the Berlyn cover from the Peaches album evoked this really poisonous, brooding notion of sex to me. I was coming out of a goth aesthetic into a scene one at the time but I still retained this image I got from SNL and movies I watched as a pre-teen of fake vampires biting each other and doing blood-play and blah blah blah. I always pictured desperate, intense people (who probably looked like Bauhaus) just miserably humping like dessicated rats, all platelets and AIDS scares and bad poetry. Things were always bleeding white back then for some reason, and Davey Havok seemed cool for a minute there. When I listened to this HEALTH record for the first time riding the shuttle bus from Jay street at 2 or 3 in the morning, I got that same vibe again. Even though it's Pitchfork-approved and from California, two things that normally turn me off of everything from bands to healthy living, I haven't heard something this goth in a while. Or at least the idea of goth I imagined, cultivated, and abandoned six years ago. But I mean that in the best way possible. When I think of goth I think of Bauhaus in "The Hunger". When I think of "The Hunger" I think of gaunt, sophisticated, cocaine-addled people. When I think of that I think of blood impurities and disease and needles. And when I think of that I think of HEALTH. Not everything is necessarily a song. Save for "Die Slow" and "Severin", the tracks kind of just force feelings of of the ambiguity.
Basically music for goths to hump like rats to.
When I said Absu was the best metal record of 2009, I meant that shit. Because this is only metal if you still can't differentiate your death from your black. There's not much I can say about an awesome band that wantonly samples Mobb Deep on interludes, was produced and engineered by Kurt Ballou and Scott Hull respectively, writes songs so good that people are pretending to care about powerviolence, and whose album cover collage includes Biz Markie and stigmatas.
Again, you get tired of consistency. Despite what I said in the intro for this post, I gave it a shot and I'm not going to pretend that it's not good or outright refuse to acknowledge it like the Panda Bear album, but despite the .3 points Pitchfork adds to ever successive Animal Collective jawn, this doesn't seem better than Strawberry Jam, just longer.
The musical equivalent of a leisure suit. The raps? Nimbler than they should be, even though he can't seem to focus enough to make sense half the time. The beats? Gorgeous. Like a bejeweled coffin at a New Orleans funeral. If you told me these were Barry White demos I'd believe you. I downloaded this on a lark and in an effort to objective, but I got completely sucked into it. It's not until track 9 that it hits anything close to a lull, and though the latter half of the album doesn't reach the dizzying Pacino-esque levels of the first, it's still good enough that even Ghostface had to jack for beats.
What does that say about the state of rap that someone who is clearly a clown and who self-ethers himself on every occasion and whose every move and word rings false and the epitome of Chris Rock in CB4 could not only be successful but effortlessly put out such a decent record?
Probably nothing, which is even less that what Rawse says of worth on this album besides "crab meats".
Hand Nas these instrumentals and see what happens.
Only different from the Maxwell album in it's era. This is very much a 2009-era R&B album while Maxwell's is a bit of a throwback. Both records are weird and quirky in their own ways, including the arrangements, instrument flourishes, and production choices. Leslie's album sounds too much like radio R&B and sometimes beats sounds a little cheap. His lyrics, like everything about him from his website to interviews, leave no detail to the imagination. The dedication to odd little nuances and matter-of-fact details is a lot like the Pissed Jeans album, except over 7th chords and what sounds a lot like a MIDI bass. Those details get you lyrics like "So I get the finest clothes I can find on retail/And I try to pay attention to every single detail/I just want to find a girl who looks good with no makeup/And when I find her I'll promise I'm never gonna break up", which is weird in it's transparency. Leslie doesn't bullshit if he's being a lout or being shallow, which is as refreshing as the fact that after a couple of listens tracks start popping out, besides the immediately awesome single "You're Not My Girl". "Is It Real Love" is pretty from a distance, and "Sunday Morning" is a disarmingly specific paean to hanging out with your girlfriend on a Sunday night. If Leslie wrote a song titled "Ketchup Panties", best believe the song would be about ketchup panties.
I didn't think I'd ever care about this band again but somehow they slyly release a dark, damaged and trippy headphone record that's more focused than anything they've released this decade and somehow restores some measure of cool they lost in between the Chemical Brothers collabs and fur-suited yiffing.
Plus along with the Pink Zeppelin/Led Floyd heaviness we got to see Wayne Coyne's asshole this year, which is something.
The only reason the album isn't higher is because it's definitely an album-oriented thing and I haven't experienced it the whole way through enough to gauge it versus listening to the other records on here the whole way through. This should probably be higher, but that's the beauty of the top 30's ranking being immaterial.
Even as I'm typing this I could bump this record down to like 20-something and not really mind. As I'm listening to it right now, I really like it and I'm not bullshitting when I say it reminds me a a girl-pop version of Husker Du, at least in terms of the feel of the songs. Plus it represents my belief that even though the sound was done before, the albums that were produced by those bands were never as consistent of good as the ones being made now. I'd rather listen to Vivian Girls than any of the early 90's indie bands they sound almost exactly like, and that's kind of what matters.
Plus you can't help but appreciate that they're up there with DOOM and Gucci in terms of divisiveness.
I've voiced my opinion on this record and its bad rap before, but suffice to say this is a consistent Ghost album, if not better than The Big Doe Rehab. People just seem to be staunchly anti-R&B unless it's ironic, weird, or has gaudy trance-synth arpeggios. The only flaw is the auto-tune on "Baby" and the inclusion of a terrible Ron Browz bonus track.
Something I didn't quite keep in mind when I first started listening to this album is that when I got into the original Cuban Linx around my sophomore year in college, I listened to it for maybe two months before I realized I loved it. I was still only a year or two in me re-immersion into rap so I assumed that my rap pedigree would cut down that time when it came to its sequel.
Really, it took longer. NY rap albums the last couple of years can be a tricky enterprise. Even if the beats are on point and not on some Dipset low-budget shit, you still have to contend with bored, past-their-prime, or trying-way-too-hard rappers whose rapping leaves a lot to be desired. 8 Diagrams and The Big Doe Rehab made me wary of anything Wu-related, and as did the fact that besides Ghostface, the only Wu members putting out quality albums were GZA and Masta Killa, and even those albums weren't amazing or anything, just remarkable in their consistency. Considering Rae had already dropped two pretty terrible records, so he was the last person I expected to succeed on his much-delayed promises of releasing not only a good album, but one that would be the 2009 equivalent of the first.
But in a year where even U-God dropped a good album, clearly there's more reason to be optimistic than not to be. The kung-fu samples seem to forced and referential, "Catalina" and "About Me" are awful and ruin the feel of the album (not surprising because Dr. Dre has been coasting on reputation and not quality for a while), and Rae's voice never rises above "Xanex-flow" in his middle-age, eschewing any chances of anything as wild as "Criminology" to appear again. Still, Rae managed to put together an album with songs that jump out only after repeated listens and songs that immediately stand out as successors to Cuban Linx in both construction and fell ("Have Mercy"). There's no real discernible plot, but there wasn't one in the first album, either. Just denser-than-dense adjective-rap and a slavish dedication to thematic repetition. Considering the underwhelming Clipse album, this is the premier coke rap with a hardbody middle section that didn't really reveal itself until I was roaming the stacks towards the end of the semester with studio production headphones on, catching every click and bounce on "Surgical Gloves" and "Broken Safety". Really, it's exactly what I thought it would be at the most, a combination of the good Masta Killa (in terms of approach and consistency) and GZA (in terms of how digital it sounds) albums from the decade on steroids. Even GZA himself wakes up from his vocal coma on the most 90's rap sounding thing I've heard in a while, "We Will Rob You". Without the Dre cuts, this could've easily been the rap record of the year.
I expected even less from Mos than I did from Rae. Around December '06 my roommate Jordan and I were trying to figure out what was going on with Tru3 Magic, a stillborn album that was either released with little to no notice and fanfare to escape his deal with Geffen or was just inherently as poorly thought out as some of the more aimless moments on The New Danger. Either way, it had been three years, and up until this year, there was no activity on his label site, which was especially frustrating during the run-up between '04 and '06, and his Myspace was never updated. In that time, he'd said some ridiculous divisive shit on Bill Maher's show, acted in a ho-hum Bruce Willis flick and an uninteresting Michel Gondry movie, but nothing much musically save for some stray freestyles over Jay-Z beats.
When this album did come out, at first it was underwhelming. On first listen it seemed like Mos was off his game and was being overwhelmed by Madlib's beats which, though some of them were old from being used as music for Adult Swim bumps, were pretty spectacular. And after a while I realized that with it's short track list, short runtime and short track length, Mos had essentially followed in the footsteps of his favorite rapper and made a DOOM record. This album reeks of Stones Throw and undie rap cool, and after a couple of listens, the DOOM influence not only becomes clear, but it starts merging well with Mos' extant half-mumbly, Kemet-jocking, pro-black art-rap style. His raps take more patience to appreciate than they did 11 years ago, but it's miles above all the vague pseudo-gangsterisms he was employing all over The New Danger or the pretentious navel-gazing that ruined the already fractured Tru3 Magic. The reviews are accurate, he's finally got a handle on the singing-and-rapping thing, throwing in slick sing-song the way Nicki Minaj would on songs like "The Embassy" and "Pistola". There's a swagger, an international feel, and a sense of humor all of this album that had been missing from Mos' records for most of the decade, suggesting that either the climate or Mos himself had changed so much that he could make a record that actually sounds like he had fun making it.
So last year there were two kinds of rap albums released, the consistent and enjoyable formalist rap record that struggled to be reverential and modern-sounding at the same time (Q-Tip's The Renaissance) and the wild and divisive new-school rap album that couldn't care less about said formalism (The Carter III). Last year I picked the former over the latter as the best rap record just because I thought The Carter III was exciting but just tried to please too many people, had too many dud lyrics, and just didn't hold up as well as the Q-Tip album. This year, it's the opposite. This list is littered with really good rap records, but save for the Mos Def album, nothing is really as immediately enjoyable as The State vs Radric Davis.
Over the year, I've vacillated from outright ignoring Gucci to downloading Back to the Trap House and getting converted by the first 5 tracks on the album, especially "I Know Why". Listening to Gucci at first there was a overwhelming feeling that he wasn't saying anything and that what he was saying I could barely understand from how thick his accent is. I've been listening to Southern rap for a long time, so it's not as if I can't Rosetta Stone foreign dialects, but Gucci in particular just had sounded like he had such a heavy mouth that it was hard to judge him on lyrics. From last spring up until the release of The State vs Radric Davis, though, I continued to ignore Gucci. Really, I spend a lot of the year in a bubble isolated from anything popular, so I didn't catch most of Gucci's features or the bubbling hype. When the Cold War Series mixtapes came out, I downloaded them to get familiar, but I didn't enjoy listening to any of the five mixtapes I got from him. Something was missing.
Like DOOM, I didn't think much of him past his unique flow and cadence and didn't get indoctrinated until that one record came out that made everything else stand out more than it did before. For DOOM it was Operation Doomsday, for Gucci, it's this album, which, save for a momentum-killing commercial R&B middle section, succeeds where most Southern rap albums fail.
It's hard to convince Gucci's detractors that he's good. The lyrics are an uphill battle because his topics are extremely limited, but then again, so is every rappers. Unless someone's pursuing Dadaism, most song lyrics can be neatly divided into a couple of categories, and Gucci's dedication to introspection, selling coke, girls, jewelry, getting fucked up, money and cars isn't really alien from anything else in rap. But who else kills songs thematically like "Lemonade", "Heavy", and "Volume"? Like I said about Nicki Minaj, I'd take a younger, invigorated rapper than sounds like they're having fun over old reliable ones any day. And Gucci never sounds like later-period Raekwon or GZA; he's always attacking the track, existing within the beat like a young Bun B but with a regal air to him. There's a noticeable haughtiness to Gucci when he works with words to find more and more new ways to approach really tired subjects. The beats themselves are all great, triumphant post-Jeezy tracks that come across a lot warmer than Jeezy does, maybe because Gucci actually raps and tends to ease all these really menacing sounding trance-trap beats with hook upon hook upon hook.
Something the record has in general, both due to the production and due to Gucci, is a tendency to have enough parts to each song to feel less like the average staid beat and some with actual song structure. Gucci throws in multiple hooks and refrains, but still has the patience to let breaks ride out, to not say dumb shit where he should be quiet and let things flourish or develop. Even R&B cash-grab section has it's moments, with "Bad Bad Bad" and "Sex in Crazy Places" being the only of the four tracks to not become endearing with repeat listens and the latter being kind of just unforgivably terrible.
Gucci does what you're supposed to do: Be entertaining and make good music. Everything else is pretension. There are moments, like "Volume" where he starts off saying something great like "I pull up in a four-door Porsche set-trippin'/Three young dreadhead niggas ridin wit me/I don't think they like me and I don't like 'em neither/But if they move wrong I wet up they wife beater" but never finishes the thought. He can turn an extended diamonds-as-fruit metaphor into one of the best songs of the year, but he doesn't follow up on a stanza that could've lead to a great storytelling track or verse. Maybe the next two installments of The State vs Radric Davis will have more of that but I don't see the quality matching that of an album good enough to make me enjoy Soulja Boy and Wacka Flocka Flame rapping.
On the intelligence thing, there's a fallacy about speech equating intelligence. Byron Crawford brought this up recently that some of the dumbest people he's ever had to deal with spoke perfect English, but because the stigma is that heavy regional accents and colloquialisms aren't the norm in the language that they more than just seem "ignorant" or "stupid" but actually demonstrate ignorance and stupidity. Not to imply that Gucci's a genius either (that year-long bid he's doing for parole violation is testament to that), just to remind to stupid is as stupid does.
I might be blinded by my own attendance at every Purchase gig they've done, with a small room full of friends and fans who know every word and song, sweatily swaying to what sounds like Julian Casablancas fronting a drunken, manlier Pavement. But I have full faith that my celebration of this band and this album go farther than college ties when I say that if there was any justice this band would be much bigger, being reviewed on Pitchfork and getting praised outside of our incestuous circle of fellow musicians and hangers-on. Go to their Myspace, go on iTunes, and buy their album from ShackAttackRecords. Unless you don't like earnest and quirky mope-rock, then, you know, I understand.
Like the HEALTH record in that it's more about the mood than actual songs (though there are a few), Psychic Chasms often sounds like Discovery-era Daft Punk covering Wings' "Simply Having a Wonderful Christmastime" in a 1990's retail outlet store.
Alan Polomo made a comment on Pitchfork about not wanting the fact that his stuff sounds like listening through music through a tape recording of a TV playing a VHS take primacy over the actual music. If you listen to it enough, it doesn't, the songs are clearly there and the production technique is just that. Memory Tapes, whose record was a little more rewarding when it comes to this sort of thing, took that further since, for all the pretension and half-kidding rend pieces, Memory Tapes is essentially the Hercules and Love Affair album stripped of that album's fidelity and dedication to Bjork-y queerness."Bicycle", "Stop Talking" and "Graphics" are essentially the same kind of disco-friendly genre-jumping dance music that Hercules and Love Affair and Cut/Copy made last year, just sonically distant. Memory Tapes is odd, though, because this aspect seemed really unnecessary. After enough listens, it becomes clear that the album would've played out better had the volume and equalization been the same as those two acts' albums to bring out the fact that this is a really great dance record hidden behind an indie-friendly digital masking. "Plain Material" benefits from the "chill" treatment, but really everything else seems a little hampered by it.
I don't think anyone who got into Wavves this year expected to like Wavves. There's just too many things about Nathan himself that are off-putting and grating. But the songs are there, and for all the hipster gossip and drug-cocktail tantrums it's probably the best rock record to have been released in a while, sounding tossed-off, effortless, and ingenious like good rock should.
Natasha Khan makes the record that I wish Bjork still did. She's certainly taken up that mantle visually, although sonically she reminds me of a mix between the better moments on PJ Harvey and TV on the Radio records, or at least PJ Harvey with a better range singing over early TV on the Radio songs. In fact, tracks sound a lot like each of those artists, with "Two Planets" sounding like Bjork, "Travelling Woman" and "Moon and Moon" sounding like PJ and "Good Love" sounding like TVOTR. Immediately noticeable influences aside, it's a gorgeous album, husky, morose and sometimes danceable like an episode of Fat Albert.
What can you say about this record that hasn't been said about the Taj Mahal, the Sistine Chapel or Kim Kardashian? There's no reason to talk about this album any more than it already has been, except to say that it's takes multiple listens to get into, is painfully pretty at times and is studiously arranged.
Also, everyone in the band looks funny.
Probably the most slept-on record ever. EVER. If you Google it, you'll notice it was barely reviewed, with the most notable one being a glowing Spin write-up. There's really very little missing from this record, which is edgy in the 70's, Richard Pryor "I'm going to say whatever I want, no euphemisms" way, and opens with a samba song. There's Parliament and Dilla-isms all over the record, and whereas Flying Lotus just has Dilla's clunky drums, Sa-Ra filters later Dilla weirdness through a George Clinton lens. There's warmth, soul, and coke-informed strangeness all over the record, from each background blip to the melodies and vocal deliveries, and it's hard not to love an album that ends with a 7-minute concept song about a future where a guy let's his daughter go to a cosmic ball that essentially boils down to a 4 minute jazz solo piece. Everything is awesomely trippy, even moreso than the Flaming Lips album, and the quality of the record belies the throwaway Sa-Ra production leftovers vibe that their bland and egalitarian moniker and status as crew behind recent music by Farnsworth Bentley and Erykah Badu signed to and subsequently shelved by Kanye's G.O.O.D. Music imprint. It's everything a good movie should be, sexy, violent, beautiful, drug-fueled, vulgar, gentle, and there's some jazz, electro and samba thrown into just for fun. Simply, it's the densest and most varied and rewarding 71 minutes of music released in a minute.