With his first major release, Frank Ocean emerges as a broken-hearted sensitive crooner (a.k.a. an oddball) in the OFWGKTA crew, the angry youth-driven group that the public has deemed to be the worst thing since unsliced bread. While parents worried themselves silly with the Wolf Gang’s violent-sex crazed dirty raps, Ocean silently dropped one of the year’s softest, most honest releases. Listening to Nostalgia, Ultra. is like thumbing through old high school yearbooks, even if school didn’t consist of smooth R&B jam and sweet love-story heartbreak.
What sets Ocean apart from his R&B contemporaries is his songwriting ability. Layering well thought-out lyrics atop drum kicks of a genre more crudely known as “modern-day baby-making music” isn’t typical. Yet, Ocean does it well and with style. The strength of Nostalgia, Ultra alone landed the 24-year-old studio time with Beyonce, Nas, Kanye and Jay-Z.
Nostalgia, Ultra. is a trip down memory lane and the tour guide is the sweetest member of the crew that yells, “Kill People. Burn Shit. Fuck School.” He’ll point out teenage misfortune, young love and everything else necessary to make Nostalgia, Ultra. exactly what its title advertises.
Past Life Martyred Saints is an album that encompasses the feelings of disappointment and creeping failure that singer EMA experienced after moving to California to become an artist; her own account being that of devastation and emotional implosion that left her drained. Since then, she’s been offered redemption through the retelling of her struggle in what can be described as stark naked emotion that continuously sends sparks soaring up your spine.
It’s the delivery, striking lyrical imagery, and dark atmosphere that sweeps you up into her world. Her deft reversal of simultaneous devastation and beauty is powerful and lucid. The instrumentals give her songs a dreamy feel, yet they are unforgiving in their presence. The subject matter that she sings about is subjective and personal, yet without being cloying she reaches out and taps into a universal vein of raw emotion. The songs vary instrumentally in their sound and influence which covers a wide experimental range, but the album stays cohesive through EMA’s unrelenting voice and the feeling that her lyrics have broken bad; like sonic variations on her tragedy of losing everything.
By Sharon Din
#4 Song:
Fleet Foxes – Helplessness Blues
Let’s get this point out of the way: “Helplessness Blues” is an absolutely gorgeous song. Robin Pecknold’s melodies are as strong as ever, and the group harmonies are consistently sublime. But then again, you already knew that would be the case with the Fleet Foxes. So what is it that makes “Helplessness Blues” so special?
Try the improved songwriting of Pecknold, who now relies on introspective lyrics rather than simple, repeated lines dressed up in pretty vocal arrangements. Over an urgently strummed acoustic guitar, Pecknold muses over the loss of identity before succumbing to the fact that he might actually be content with said anonymity. However, by the time the full band arrives and makes its mark on the track, Pecknold reconsiders: “Someday I’ll be like the man on the screen.”
A song as great as “Helplessness Blues” is proof that Pecknold and company aren’t willing to just merely be faces in the ever-growing indie-folk crowd; in fact, they are positioned to become its leaders.
In 2011, one man’s guilty pleasure was another’s song of the year. At some point, your favorite embarrassing Top 40 jam probably earned a spot among some publication’s best tracks of the year, from the overwrought (“Someone Like You”) to the nonsensical (“Super Bass”) to the swagged-out/opulent/batshit crazy (“Niggas in Paris”). But 2011’s best pop song, Beyoncé’s “Countdown,” borrowed a little something from each the above – the mania, the emotion, the maximum-wattage #swag – to construct a career-defining track.
And a love of Beyoncé/Top 40 radio/pop music as a genre isn’t necessary to appreciate “Countdown.” It’s true that Beyoncé at her worst can exemplify the bloated nature of pop today– the split personalities, the over-the-top riffing, the meme-worthy music videos. But thankfully, Beyoncé has mostly managed to avoid the pitfalls of obnoxious pop stardom by assuming a relatively old-fashioned take on fame – keeping exposure of her personal life to a minimum, co-writing her own material, and even daring to experiment with what a pop hit can – and should – sound like. If only they could all sound like “Countdown,” Beyoncé’s most innovative, genre-spanning, peculiar and utterly triumphant song to date.
It’s easy to peg the other songs on 4, Beyoncé’s newest album, for their Top 40-bound treatment– the powerhouse anthem (“1+1”), the ebullient radio-ready love song (“Love on Top”), the empowering kiss-off track (“Best Thing I Never Had”), the laid-back party song w/requisite rap verse (“Party”) and the club banger (“Run the World (Girls)”). And then, there’s “Countdown. ” The song sounds straight-up weird on first listen – do those numbers even make sense? On what planet are pop hits structured like this? Did she really just say “Me and my boof and my boof boof ridin?” Take another listen, or two, or twenty, and all the song’s little quirks eventually bleed together into a non-stop sequence of flawless hooks.
Knowles has described the song as a cut-and-paste endeavor, saying of the production, “I was like a mad scientist, putting lots of different songs together.” “Countdown” is experimental for current pop music’s standards, and for all its borrowing from afrobeat, funk and Boyz II Men, the song’s spirit belongs to Queen B alone. You can dissect “Countdown” to try and pinpoint what gives the song its sparkle: the dancehall percussion keeps the tempo rolling, the marching band horns provide an irresistible bounce and the xylophone gives the rhythm a nimble backbone, all complemented by a few well-placed finger snaps. Beyoncé’s vocals are perfectly appropriate, in a rare performance that’s uncharacteristically understated but big in all the right places.
But the sheer radiance of “Countdown” is far more than a sum of the song’s parts. At the core of Beyoncé’s by-the-numbers extolling of her man’s strengths, beneath all the swagger, is the word “still.” From the song’s very first line, where she sings, “Killin’ me softly, and I’m still falling/Still the one I need, I will always be with you,” “Countdown” is dizzy with bewilderment. It’s as if Beyoncé can’t quite believe her luck; that for all the shitty dudes she’s trashed and raged at and cried over in “Irreplacable” and “If I Were A Boy” and “Ring the Alarm,” she managed to snag a good one. “Countdown” proves that Beyoncé’s at her best when she’s deliriously in love, and thankfully for pop music, she’s still crazy after all these years.
The Italian word “portamento” means a transition musically from one pitch to another, and it’s a fitting title for the Drums’ grim, somber second album. The Drums as we knew them were the lighthearded buzzband (see: “Let’s Go Surfing”). But on their newest album, they’ve assumed an entirely new perspective. For one, death is mentioned in nearly every song, with lead singer Jonathan Pierce taking a more personalized, dramatic direction lyrics-wise.
The shift in tone isn’t surprising, considering the transitions the Drums have made since their last album; the band split with their guitarist and flipped from a major label to Frenchkiss. As a result, Pierce was free to express his feelings on Portamento without having to appease a major record label, and it just so happens that he’s feeling very, very miserable. This morbidity isn’t necessarily a bad thing. The songs themselves on Portamento are catchy and distinctive, and it almost feels like the Drums’ upbeat rhythms are the wrong median for Pierce’s honest but depressing lyrics.
Maybe the newer version of The Drums are more authentic than in the days of their freshman album, but their “buzz” has definitely died down. No year-end recognition for the Drums is surprising, considering Portamento generated above-average ratings by critics. But the best part is that The Drums probably could care less, and rightfully so.
M83 takes its name from Messier 83, a galaxy 15 million light years away, and that’s precisely where Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming is set. From its dreamlike interludes to its expansive synth melodies to Anthony Gonzales’ career-making vocal performance, everything about Hurry Up suggests an existence somewhere far from Earth.
What launches Hurry Up into the stratosphere is one of the strongest album openers in recent memory, the one-two punch of the sweeping, Zola Jesus-bolstered “Intro” and the breathlessly exuberant “Midnight City,” the latter featuring a sax solo that (apologies, “Beth/Rest”/”Bizness”/all of Kaputt) puts all the other 2011 saxophone-soaked records to shame. And the album stays in orbit far past the first few tracks, featuring the strongest music we’ve heard from Gonzales yet. Hurry Up is a triumph, a double album absent of any bloated tracks or pretense, a record that’s effortlessly epic.
Followers of indie rock have grown accustomed to “cinematic” albums that swing for the rafters, and even witnessed Arcade Fire win a Grammy for one such album early in 2011, and next year Bon Iver is the key “indie” artist to be recognized by the awards. Interestingly enough, the ways his latest album and Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming have been written about are almost identical, aside from the dueling saxophones; their recent albums are big advances sonically for both artists, both featuring “virtuosic vocal performances” and rich instrumentals, with songs that unfold in suitelike fashion, building from calmness to soaring, crashing heights in a moment’s time.
But more importantly, both dealt in some way with redefining the geographical boundaries with which we’re familiar. Bon Iver released a beautifully crafted album, filled with stunningly pretty songs with names like “Michicant” and “Holocene” and other pseudo-cities, and his album has been hailed by many as the best of the year. But isn’t it more admirable, instead of crafting an album that works within the world we know, to break those bounds and build new cities to sing about? M83 rises above the bevy of other 2011 releases by inhabiting an entirely different universe, one of his own making.
I admit I was hesitant in approaching James Blake’s eponymous full-length debut, thanks to the countless anonymous bloggers raving about “the only album that matters in music right now”. However, it is difficult to ignore the brilliance of “The Wilhelm Scream”.
The entire song is built around one brief lyrical and melodic figure that repeats itself for over four minutes, severely limiting what Blake can achieve creatively within such strict confines. However, he rises to the occasion with skillful production, effortlessly building the music from a subdued atmospheric murmur peppered with percussive clicks to a deep well of dense synths and throbbing beats that resembles Blake’s “falling, falling, falling, falling”.
So this is what all those stormtroopers in Star Wars were thinking as they got lasered by rebels.
Afuche dances. And I don’t only mean musically. I mean that if you look at videos of them they’re just boogying away. But that’s not what makes Highly Publicized Digital Boxing Match a great album. There’s far more than that. Far far more than that.
This album was by miles the most innovative of the year. In every song Afuche manages to pack in so much information that the mind boggles. Sometimes this leads to a schizoid listening experience but if you’re comfortable going a little crazy at times it shouldn’t be too upsetting. If you’re not than listen to it anyway. A little discomfort lets you know you’re alive.
The brilliance of Afuche rests in how they use disorder. Within the tightly rehearsed and constantly changing mammoth that is their music you can hear them walking that line between playing a song and getting taken over by it. However, every time you think they’re finally going to fall over they manage to wrangle the song back in using many different devices ⎯ time-signature change, key change, new melody ⎯ anything to reign in the huge musical force they ride on.
No band member attempts to steal the show. This may be jazz-inspired, but it’s a far cry away from the self-indulging solos of bebop. Instead, each member of Afuche has the confidence to make a solid choice. They pick a phrase and stick with it. The other band members do the same and because they all created the backbone they all have room to experiment with these phrases. They solo as a group, building themes and contrasting melodies. Listening to Afuche is like listening to a conversation between long time friends. It’s dynamic. It changes. It morphs. But everyone plays off everyone else and stays complete within what they’re doing.
I have not tried to explicitly describe what Afuche sounds like because they sound like everything. But everything lies in the subtleties. Please do not dismiss this album after a song. The album is not about songs. It’s about an album. Please, take the time and listen to it as a whole and then say what you will. But give it a chance. Because it’s brilliance. Pure brilliance.
Portugal. the Man always releases albums that almost feel like a single giant song. Everything on the album has one overlaying tone that ties the whole thing together, which also seems the case even with their earlier works. The theme for their newest album In The Mountain In The Cloud seems a serene happiness with a bit of golden age drama mixed in.
In The Mountain In The Cloud seems to be the happiest album released yet, with high-flying rhythms supported by wave after wave of beautifully harmonized vocals. It is hard to feel really sour at the album, even when it reaches its intense peaks towards the middle of the album. The lyrics are a bit less hieroglyphically inclined than before and not laden with linguistics gibberish. In The Mountain In The Cloud unfortunately toned down the flow and fullness that Portugal had in favor of simplicity. While the simplicity can undermine ITMITC, it makes it markedly easy to listen to and very accessible.
This year’s lists of best songs and albums feature a fair amount of work from solo musicians, or at least bands with a strong leading presence (your M83s and your Girls, for example). The bedroom-recording boom of the last few years has been conducive to making albums which serve as homespun personal manifestos, albums with particularly transparent portrayals of their creators.
For Merill Garbus’s second album, w h o k i l l, she moved her tUnE-yArDs project out of the bedroom and into a proper studio to record her own personal musical statement, and the results were some of the most dazzling and celebratory music of 2011. The lyrical scope of w h o k i l l is vast—womanhood, body image, race, national identity, sex, Oakland’s urban blight, gang violence—and Garbus packages these topics in an ecstatic blend of folk, funk, Afro-pop, and R&B.
w h o k i l l sounds like little that came before it, but its exuberance makes it an easy album to love. Joyful moments abound: the breakdown in “You Yes You” recalls the feel-good anthems “Kiss” and “Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag”; “Powa” contains some of the most unexpectedly diva-esque vocals since “Stillness is the Move”. These ten songs are brimming with Garbus’s sense of self-identity and confidence, and they came together to form one of this year’s most compelling personal statements.
By Brian Waligorski
#6 Song:
EMA – “California”
As a native Californian, I’m ambivalent about the Golden State; as a transplant from the Midwest, Erika M. Anderson is anything but. Anderson, performing solo as EMA after splitting from her old two-piece Gowns, hates everything about California, but she mostly communicates those feelings through her slam poetry delivery (the extra effs Anderson pushes out in opening line “Ffffuck California, you made me boring” get more emotion across than most artists can over the course of entire albums) and the cacophony of violins, guitars, drum machines and pianos that form her backing track.
The lyrics of “California” don’t rage against the state as much as they seethe about everything that happened to Anderson when she lived there. She gives us stray lines about abusive relationships, mental illness and feelings that she abandoned the people she grew up with, but none of these is generally tied to California. When she does directly address the state, her delivery is the only thing cluing anybody into Anderson’s anger; the line “You’ve corrupted us all with your sexuality/tried to tell me love was free” would be 100% less sinister if delivered by any other voice. This is not a song about California – it’s a song about tying memories of a long, destructive series of events back to a specific time and place. When EMA sings “You rubbed me raw and I heave when I think of you,” she’s attacking everything that happened to her over the last few years, and when singers this good deliver lyrics this honest, all you can do is think “amen” and start the song over again.
South African singer-songwriter Vusi Mahlasela achieved a certain level of global exposure when he became one of the featured musicians for the 2010 World Cup in South Africa, an event which was (much to my delight) just as much an exhibition of the music of Africa as it was of soccer. In January of 2011, Mahlasela proved that he deserved that position and more with his beautiful, acoustic album Say Africa, Mahlasela’s tribute to the continent that inspired his complex finger-picking and soulful croon.
The album is a multilingual, expansive exploration of Mahlasela’s home continent, as well as a deeply emotional ode to the people and places that raised him. Mahlasela’s mostly-simple arrangements emphasize his genuine, soulful voice, making the album emotionally relatable to audiences around the world. Though he sings of Africa, Mahlasela touches on something universal, so that when he sings in the title track (the best song of the year as far as I’m concerned) that “the dust on my boots and the rhythm of my feet and my heartbeat say Africa,” even those who’ve never set foot on the continent are inclined to agree.
The main complaint against Yuck, as written by bloggers or lamented by WVAU executive board members (past and present), goes something like this: “I don’t know man, if I wanted to listen to music from the nineties, I’d listen to (insert Dinosaur Jr., Built to Spill, Yo La Tengo, Pavement, Guided By Voices, Teenaged Fanclub here).”
But while its true that Yuck’s sound closely resembles that of most of the 90s most formidable indie rock bands, the key to the band’s success is how they skillfully appropriate of the best moments of the decade as well as the best elements of the bands listed above, and imbue them with something that some of these bands may not have specialized in or cared about: irresistible pop-melodies. While the album masquerades as a shameless tribute to the greatest apathetic guitar players ever seen by rock n roll, behind “the wall” of fuzzy, distorted power chords is a record filled with genuinely catchy and interesting hooks.
Sure, all ten songs on the album could most likely be directly attributed to different influences and bands that the cast and crew of Clerks probably listened to/discussed regularly on set. Sure, incorporating/ripping off the 90s is trendy. But unlike Wavves’s Blink-182 pop-punk fetishism or Widowspeak’s Mazzy Star revivalism, Yuck’s debut is more than simply an homage to a certain set of sounds. Because once you get beyond arguing over which of the ballads sounds like R.E.M., or which of the up-tempo cuts best channels J. Mascis, you have a record thats hook-laden, melody-filled and succeeds not only because its song-writing style is in fact “trendy,” but because the songs themselves are well-crafted pop masterpieces.
And as a sidenote, any record that allows the phrases “I’ve got a choice now, I’ve got a voice now,” to come off as earnest rather than naive has done its job.
By Maxwell Tani
#7 Song:
Girls – “Vomit”
In an album full of masterfully crafted songs, from the surf-rock perfection of opener “Honey Bunny” to the heartwrenching organ outro of “Jamie Marie,” Girls’ stunning Father, Son, Holy Ghost reaches an emotional climax with “Vomit,” one of the best tracks of the year and Girls’ strongest to date.
Christopher Owens has written a handful of other songs that run past the 6-minute mark, but most of them don’t actually feel it –the lazily wistful “Summertime” and the woeful sing-along at the end of “Hellhole Ratrace” meander on until they become almost an afterthought. But Girls’ excellent 2010 EP Broken Dreams Club gave us a hint that Owens was capable of more than Album’s basic song structures and self-deprecating vocals on “Carolina,” a six-and-a-half minute, slow-burning masterpiece that crests from a two-minute meandering guitar line into Owens’ pristine vocals. Sonically, “Carolina” is the immediate predecessor of “Vomit,” and even the narrative picks up where “Carolina” left off; Owens’ promises to transport his beloved back home have since been forgotten, and in “Vomit” we see him wandering the streets in some altered chemical state, chasing something that’s long gone.
No matter how many times I’ve listened to “Vomit,” the song always maintains its element of surprise. I forget how big the song is until the sound crashes down a minute in, or about the snarling guitar solo that bashes you over the head, or about the sublime moment when Owens sings “I need your love” and the song’s storm finally breaks, as a yearning guitar motif emerges from the reverb and ushers in the year’s best use of a gospel choir. The secret weapon in “Vomit” is the classic-rock organ, which reaches “Like a Rolling Stone”– level perfection at the song’s climax as it punctuates the gospel choir’s swelling vocals and lingers just a little longer at the song’s end.
The sophistication and scope of “Vomit” is a far cry from Owens’ early wails of “I don’t wanna cry-y-y-y-y-y-yy the whole night through” but Owens is still the same fool chasing his folly, whether he’s begging a girl for a dance or chasing her shadow through a city’s empty streets. Owens’ strength as a musician lies in repurposing, in crafting what’s old, familiar, simple and oft-repeated into music that’s honest, emotional and wholly his own. And “Vomit” is the most stunning chapter in Owens’ story we’ve heard yet.
As 2011 comes to an end, 2012 should be ushered in with the clanking of wine bottles, half-witted New Year’s Resolutions and a long overdue moratorium on the word “swag.” If not for the word’s blatant overuse, the moratorium should be instituted out of respect for ASAP Rocky’s mixtape, LIVELOVEA$AP.
The young Harlemite’s mixtape is the very definition of the word. Influenced heavily by the chopped-and-screwed, syrup-sipping Houston rap scene, LIVELOVEA$AP funks more style than most rappers could only hope for when they beat their chest with their braggadocios and inflated egos. Enlisting the laid-back production of up and coming beatmakers like Clam Casino, ASAP Ty Beats and SpaceGhostPurrp, Rocky gives his confident, yet
relaxed take on the genre of drug dealing, crime-ridden rap.
Working to propel Rocky to levels of impossible cool, LIVELOVEA$AP is sleepy, smooth and fluid above everything else. Filled with heavy bass and lazy flows, the mixtape isn’t about lyrics, but the illustration the rapper has procured for himself. In a year where image and swag was everything, Rocky came out swinging and stayed light years ahead of his competition.
There is hardly any aspect about the band Fucked Up that isn’t in some way polarizing or complicatedly multifaceted. Citing dysfunction as a source of their namesake, you can understand how seemingly self-contradictory concepts are often what build Fucked Up’s character. For instance, the band that was once described to me as “one hardcore kid and a bunch of librarians,” put out this year their third LP, David Comes to Life – a double length, 78-minute, conceptually charged behemoth of a “rock opera.”
No one, not even the members of Fucked Up, seems to know the exact details of the 4-act piece’s plot. What’s important and what shines brightest about the storyline of love, tragedy, and an eventual overcoming acceptance is the feelings that the album artfully evokes. Sandy Miranda/Mustard Gas and Cults’ Madeline Follin sing in beautiful juxtaposition to Damian Abraham/Pink Eye’s gruff, raw vocals and deftly provide a sense of powerful desperation throughout the album. This, along with catchy refrains and anthemic choruses, catches you unexpectedly and viscerally resonates within you.
The instrumentals of the album, just as similarly, are far from standard hardcore protocol but still manage to nod to them, an goal Fucked Up has strived to achieve for some years now. The drum beat is brutal at all the right moments and adds that punch of urgency, while the numerous maximalist guitar layers build into an impressive wall of sound that together make you feel a moment of rush in the best sense.
David Comes to Life is the culmination of ten years of Fucked Up. Many have rejected it as self-indulgent or straying too far from its roots in overrated or contrived pretension, but despite its polished production and somewhat different sound, the truth is that the album is just an earnest, heartfelt, and honest expression of their need for growth and innovation that is truly inspiring.
By Sharon Din
#8 Song:
tUnE-yArDs – “Bizness”
In a year when many artists were going back to basics, tUnE-yArDs’ “Bizness” broke from the pack by sounding different, and arguably better, than anything else recorded this year or ever. The four and a half minute song brings the listener to the brink of total afro-beat chaos, only to bring them back at the end to Merrill Garbus’s simple and sweet acapella.
Equipped only with a loop machine, drums, dual saxaphones and her own beautiful, soaring voice, Merrill crafts a song that captures the energy of an 80-piece afro-beat band. Like most of her songs, “Bizness” is driven almost entirely by Merrill’s incredibly dynamic voice, switching effortlessly between a tribal African-inspired yell to a soft, high-pitched croon, and often layering the two on top of each other. Merrill’s voice soars over a funky, Fela-esque dual saxophone riff which, at her live shows, stretches the song into a nearly ten minute chaotic exploration of the very limits of a saxophone’s capability.
In short, Merrill packages the best of afro-beat into an arrangement that only she could think of to create a song that has the energy and danceability of old school Fela, with the grace and beauty that only the most versatile voices could manage.
Colin Stetson – New History Warfare Vol. 2: Judges
Think of everything you believe a saxophone to be capable of. Over the course of the 45-minute New History Warface Vol. 2: Judges, Bon Iver/Arcade Fire associate Colin Stetson burns those notions to the ground and builds a city of unbelievable potential for the instrument from the ashes.
Recorded using only one baritone saxophone in single takes with no loops, Stetson is able to evoke simply unbelievable sound and emotion. Judges begins with the droning “Awake of Foreign Shores” and moves to the fast paced, ethereally hypnotic “Judges” within a single breath. As it continues, Stetson hearkens an atmosphere of the supernatural (“Lord I Just Can’t Keep From Crying Sometimes”), the philosophical (“A Dream of Water”), and even the tribal (“Red Horse: Judges II”).
It’s a very rare occurrence when an artist has such a radically different sound the likes of which have never been heard before. For this feat alone, Colin Stetson easily deserves recognition.
For a genre teeming with pale, skinny, upper-middle-class dudes, its surprising that an indie group didn’t deliver The Suburbs much earlier. But while Arcade Fire drenched its Grammy award-winning semi-autobiographical album in weirdly bombastic/overdramatic metaphors (“the music divides us into tribes” from “Suburban War” was easily one of my favorite lines), Real Estate’s second full-length Days takes a far more muted and interesting approach to the subject matter, heavily emphasizing mood and feeling over style.
Unlike their self-titled debut, Days takes a more straightforward songwriting approach, with plenty of uptempo cuts and notes that ring with precision rather than hesitation. Shimmering guitars, reverb-infused hooks, and steady percussion are the perfect soundtrack to suburban life, as if written for sub-par car stereos or back-yard barbecues. Days yet again captures the subtle melancholy of summertime in the ‘”sprawl” with wistful lyrics, slowly spiraling riffs, and nostalgic production that feels like a polaroid or a roll of your parent’s Super-8 film or a grainy home-video tape.
And while singer Matt Mondanile never raises his voice beyond a careless drone, the content is anything but mundane. The band’s colloquial lyrics are simple yet potent and powerful, as the record laments loss of innocence, ambivalent and flawed young love, yearning for a lifestyle long gone.
To some, the album may be a pleasant, inoffensive one-time affair. But while these songs may seem unremarkable to the passive listener, the timeless melodies slowly creep into focus upon further inspection. Days’ careless suburban lifestyle is, appropriately, a sigh rather than a shout. And for anyone pale, skinny, upper-middle class dude who has spent countless lazy days aimlessly circling the mall or drifting down the coast, the album is a familiar reminder of the hazy teenaged love, boredom, and beauty that quietly slipped away.
Churning out beach-washed riot girl anthems, the Dum Dum Girls have given 2011 Only In Dreams, an album that isn’t afraid to express innermost female laments while simultaneously becoming a gut-punching rock gem. Taking you in a whirlwind of garage rock melodies, Dum Dum Girls make girl groups thrilling, intriguing and downright sexy again. The album itself takes the listener deeper than just their allure into their glossy world of girl bands, without sappily drowning you in drama.
The brute female energy from the album should be attributed to Dee Dee, the band’s lead singer whose voice trembles over the lesser vocals and instrumentals. Jules, Bambi, and Sandy complement Dee Dee’s driving force as a backup singers, softening the edges of the album, creating echoes, and giving the Dum Dum Girls the pop charm that critics often compare to that of 60’s girl groups like The Supremes.
Dee Dee recently was quoted voicing her dislike for being referenced as a “retro pop act.” In an LA times blog she corrects. “I think that’s crap. All music borrows and is influenced by what has come before it. It’s how you put your own spin on it that marks progression. That’s something I think about all the time. That’s why I’ve made such a point to have each release demonstrate a progression.”
It may be difficult for the group to separate themselves from music created in the past, and pose themselves as a single group promoting a new sound. Only In Dreams isn’t a perfect album, because the group has room to expand in new directions. But Only In Dreams is still a significant release from an emerging act this year. Songs like “Coming Down” and “Bedroom Eyes” significantly grabbed my attention and were successful in driving the band away from the female girl group stereotypes. I hope the Dum Dum Girls follow that stream of thought they’ve shown in “Coming Down” and “Bedroom Eyes” and brew us something similar to those tracks in the future.
By Louise Brask
#9 Song:
Yuck – “The Wall”
In an album full of innovative twists on a genre far imitated, it’s hard to select one song that is the best. Yuck’s musical desire for reviving a category made known by Pavement and Dinosaur Jr. (the influence is obvious) has been defined as derivative and stale, but this album is a beautiful break in the progressive trends.
“The Wall” is debatably the best song from Yuck, and potentially one of the best of the year. It starts out slow, like most other songs on the album, but peaks about halfway through and erupts into a lyrical intensity. By the time that the lyric “It’s just the way that I feel” is sang over and over, the repetition has become so ingrained in the listener’s mind that it’s easy to forget that that “The Wall” is just a repetitive concept of merely three lines. Although there are very few variations in lyrics, the strength and passion behind the lyrics and instruments amount to a truly creative experience.
From the beginning, “The Wall” stays fairly consistent. The transitions are subtle and smooth, and though Yuck’s sound is at times monotonous, the simplicity contrast the song’s heavy sonic alteration, which is synthesized with a metallic, distorted sound.
If an album appeared on your “top indie rock of 2011” list that was from the first half of the year, it was probably Yuck. The London based noise-rock group impressed many with their aged-sounding album with a twist. Although “The Wall” seems like it could end thirty seconds in, Yuck’s captivating yet blatantly simple approach is in no way a bad thing.
Future Islands’ On the Water isn’t particularly long, but it still manages to takes its time. Like the best break-up records, it knows you don’t have anything better to do with your day than sit around listening to music. It saves its poppy single for the final ten minutes and most of its songs begin with ambient passages. If Future Islands kept the mood and pacing but replaced their synth & bass set-up with electric guitars, boring people would inevitably call On the Water “dad rock.”
As it is, On the Water is the latest entry in Future Islands’ quickly-expanding catalog (in 2010 alone the band released one album, three EPs and a split single) and it’s by far their most subdued release. Unlike last year’s In Evening Air, where you could practically hear his laryngitis setting in, vocalist Samuel Herring doesn’t scream any of his lyrics here, choosing instead to moan them in his breathy rasp. He’s dramatically articulating the sometimes banal moments of heartbreak and proving that there is power in a well-developed sense of restraint.
This song is irresistible. It’s got the perfect recipe for utter euphoria- a relentlessly grooving breakbeat, walls of thick guitar, and the mischievous, elfin vocals of frontman Ruban Nielson. These ingredients come together to produce the stickiest, sweetest slice of psychedelia the year has to offer. The song’s verses possess a wistful feel, with Nielson’s falsetto echoing as if it were traveling out through time itself.
And then the chorus… Oh, the chorus. This chorus might just have the power to bring peace to the world. It combines the melodic gift of the Beatles with a slight level of insanity, just enough to turn up the level of mirth to a point at which it reaches a too-good-to-be-true balance between the joyful and the deranged. My co-host and I witnessed this song when UMO opened for Toro Y Moi in September. Hearing it once made us seek out their album. The whole thing is great, but nothing can match the lysergic power of “FFunny FFriends.” But if you do check it out, be warned: the chorus may never leave your head.
You know that time of year when you just stop caring? You visit your friends less because maybe it’s snowing and you have too much homework then all of a sudden your dog has the runs all while your mom is calling to tell you that bitch across the street has the same Christmas decorations as her. All you want to do is curl up in bed with apple cider (spiked with rum if it’s one of those days that ends with the letter “y”) and maybe watch a few episodes of the O.C. to help you remind yourself of the time before you knew what the words “adorkable” and “fupa” meant.
So if you’re feeling this way, first come with me to the doctor so we can both be diagnosed with a case of the SADs, and then go and listen to Feist’s new album.
Leslie Feist, known just as her surname, has a new album out called Metals. Although her new album does not have as alarmingly catchy of a song as “1, 2, 3, 4” that we all know and love from the Apple commercials, Metals offers a more soulful look into who Feist is as a woman. This album is wrought with more heartache than her previous ones and presents a more mature outlook on life. She has not made a new album in years since The Reminder and the break has done her good. Now 35, Feist has lost the whimsy she once knew. Her days of singing about teenage love are over. Instead, she is now a woman who brings an enlightened wisdom to her music.
It is evident after listening to Metals that Feist offers a less naïve and quite honestly, a less annoying, take on love. In “The Bad in Each Other,” Feist harkens on the darkness that pervades two seemingly sane people after falling in love. This is the perfect album for anyone who feels torn or bruised by past love, especially the song “Bittersweet Melodies,” where Feist tugs at your heartstrings when she sings “Can’t go back. Can’t go on”. Feist does not offer advice on how to mend broken hearts or stay away from unhealthy love, but rather proves to the listener that the pains of love even affect a millionaire celebrity like herself. No one goes unscathed by misery.
Don’t get me wrong, Metals is not a pity party. On the contrary, it is almost a celebration of heartache and a testament to survival. Feist turned sadness into a brilliant soulful masterpiece proving to whoever broke her heart that she has the last laugh. This is not a “fuck you” album to her past lovers, but rather a “thank you for helping me grow as a human being” kind of album.
I highly recommend this album not only because I have been a Feist fan-girl since Broken Social Scene, but for the story behind the production of the album alone. In a quest to find herself, Feist traveled the country and ended up in Big Sur, California, a past haven for intellectual bohemians like Allen Ginsberg, where she bought a barn and renovated it into a studio where her and her friends made a truly beautiful album. As a lover and visitor of Big Sur, Feist captures the relaxed essence of her surroundings and offers an album that encapsulates the sometimes devastatingly beautiful nature of love and love lost.
Buy this album and let Feist teach you how to be the bigger person.
A new wave prince of the 2010s, George Lewis Jr. is the captivating lead singer and musical intellect behind current Brooklyn-based band Twin Shadow. Closing the last hour and a half of a Wednesday night with soft, sparkly melodies at the Santos Party House, Twin Shadow’s set at the Noisey showcase was part of the CMJ Music Marathon in New York City. Lewis played a set that with an emotional sophistication and a strong stage presence that could make him an underground indie rock sex symbol.
Lewis himself looked like a star reborn from the pool of 1980s New York club kids’ scene. The lead singer’s stage appearance was tremendous to see, as he sported a gold chain and flat brimmed hat a la Boy George of Culture Club’s “Do You Really Want To Hurt Me,” gave him the already famous look, but the mostly under-the-radar indie rocker was one of the many faces of CMJ who were trying to expand their audience by choosing to perform at CMJ’s music marathon.
As George Lewis Jr. and his band jammed out in the packed upstairs of Santos, the playful, mellow reverbs of “Slow,” droned the crowd’s atmosphere into a sea of sound. “Forget,” the title track of their debut album, followed up from a slow start and built up rock jammery that displayed the band’s cross-genre aesthetic of chillwave and new wave. While many chillwave bands stick to low-profile jamming behind their synthesizers. It is sex appeal and stage execution that separates Twin Shadow apart from the current scene.
Lewis has a stunning live performance, and captures the audience’s eye by tantalizing them. The performance didn’t explicitly demonstrate any physical or direct references to sex, and none of the lyrics would be characterized by being “obscene,” but it is a figurative attraction, and the impact of George Lewis Jr’s physical essence that makes the band tantalizing.
For an opening night at CMJ, Twin Shadow kept the crowd dancing and bobbing their heads throughout. Balancing emotionally rocky, heartfelt ballads like “Tyrant Destroyed” that make up their debut album “Forget,” and progressing into the key singles “Castles in the Snow,” and “I Can’t Wait.” The collection of songs performed really spoke to the impact of the melodies, lyrics, and dynamism their one album of songs can have.
All in all, Twin Shadow was my choice for best live performance of CMJ 2011. Carrying an emotional drive laced with rock vibes is what Twin Shadow does best. George Lewis Jr. has a shyness, delicacy, and sex appeal paired with a guitar on stage that made him an unparalleled dream to the chillwave and indie rock fangirls of CMJ.
Chelsea Wolfe is truly something demonic. In her follow up to her 2010 debut The Grime and the Glow, Ἀποκάλυψις (pronounced ‘Apokalypsis’), Wolfe engages in a forlorn study of absolute darkness in all of its many aspects. The result is a gripping, deep, and mature piece of work that improves on all aspects where her previous faltered.
Graduating from a mere 8-track self-recording technique used on her debut, Wolfe has the luxury of an actual studio, which she uses to great effect. The recordings are much cleaner and concise, with every track coated in a constant, subtle reverb. This could be worrying, as it has become commonplace for artists to distract from a lack of song writing ability with glossy and expensive sounding echoes. The worries are unfounded, however, as a mastery of the songwriting craft is demonstrated admirably on every track of the LP.
Ἀποκάλυψις begins with a twenty-four second introduction (“Primal/Carnal”) which features solely Wolfe, snarling and producing horrendous death metal growls entirely unexpected due to their ferocity and animalism. Though the growls never return in the coming nine tracks, the introduction sets the dark tone for the entirety of the collection. Immediately after is the eerie “Mer,” a single-ready writhe of a song laden with a precise amount of gloom. “How can you live with yourself?”, Wolfe breathes in the chorus, backed with subtle howling winds, as if she’s directing the question directly at the listener.
The songs continue in this vein, evolving the theme past mere gloom on tracks such as “Demons,” which boasts tribal drums and pseudo-psychedelic instrumentation that compliment Wolfe’s wispy vocals. Chelsea wears her inspirations on her sleeve throughout, with a clear nod to shoe-gaze in the use of reverb as well as on the appropriately titled “The Wasteland,” and a presence of Nick Cave that I cannot put my finger on exactly, but is there undeniably. The seven-minute epic “Pale On Pale” is a smoldering burn of a track which takes clear inspiration from the doom or drone genres in bands such as Earth or Boris and seems like some giant metal beast, lurching across a vast, cold and dead landscape.
The album ends with the haunting “To the Forest, Towards the Sea,” a sonic collage of the most nightmarish sense shows her affinity for Norwegian black metal artists such as Burzum. Despite no real song or melody to speak of, the effect of the track is gripping, plunging the listener into an unsettling void of darkness, but one that you want to dive back into the moment it concludes.
Chelsea Wolfe views the apocalypse not as a fiery explosion of terror which will come immediately and painfully, as many metal artists seem to believe from their immense volume and lyrics. Rather, she views the apocalypse as something that will come slowly and visibly, ending with a silent and icy cold whimper of despair. In this, she is darker and more sinister than even the most extreme black metal groups. In Ἀποκάλυψις, Chelsea Wolfe has lovingly constructed a beautiful and bleak portrait of darkness that will remain listenable for repeat experiences, begging to be deconstructed. Ἀποκάλυψις is gorgeous, bold, and, above all, absolutely pitch-black like no other release this year. It is worth your time. Embrace it.
The Roots- Undun
After seeing the Roots live this summer and watching them perform mischievously on Jimmy Fallon’s show, I’d expect their new album to be a big showy, brassy affair. Instead, it’s scaled down, condensed, distilled. At 39 minutes it’s their shortest album to date. But it is not weakened by brevity. The nine songs on this album are all brilliant, bursting with wordplay and unstoppable flow that lead MC Black Thought and his revolving cast of characters (especially Dice Raw and, um, Greg Porn) have been known for since the Roots’ beginnings almost two decades ago.
What makes this album amazing is not simply the level of rapping, but the level of content. The lyrics chronicle the daily life and musings of a poor, intelligent urban man, combining inner-city imagery with grander musings about the past and the passage of time and turning his struggles with existence into universal statements. The beats on this album are perfect, complimenting their lyrics with deep and enticing chord progressions and riffs, their most consistent set of excellent beats since Things Fall Apart. The choruses, more often than not, include stellar vocal performances.
(NOTE: This album also contains what might be music’s first reference to the Occupy movement on “One Time”… of course, it’s tongue-in-cheek)
Undun ends with a mini-suite of four movements, traveling through solo piano chords via Sufjan Stevens (it’s actually an earlier Stevens recording, “Redford,” which apparently inspired this whole album) into arresting classical string pieces and flailing free jazz. The Roots have always been about making hip-hop more than hip-hop, and to me they’ve seemed to be eternal messengers of music itself in the mortal guise of some talented hip-hop musicians from Philly. Maybe that’s just me. But I defy anybody to listen to this album and tell me it’s just simple hip-hop; the brilliance of the Roots is their ability to make it into a greater art, showcased nowhere better than on this gorgeous instant classic. -Jesse Paller
RIYL: Any Roots, Mos Def, Common, A Tribe Called Quest, Talib Kweli, Erykah Badu, John Legend, Raphael Saadiq, The Foreign Exchange, any hip-hop with higher aspirations than making money
Recommended Tracks: 3-10, 11-14 (as one full song)
As I near my final weeks in Florence, Italy, the cradle of the Renaissance, studying art conservation and art history, I pause to write for you, dear DJ, a playlist that conveys for your some sense of my experiences in a foreign land. Though I could go on and on about my semester in Dante’s hometown, boring you to tears, I thought it would be best to give you a playlist instead. It’s more fun, and you can dance to it. I mean, if you dance to people telling stories, then hey, big ups to you. Now- ascoltare! Listen in!
M83: “Raconte-moi Une Histoire”
My roommate, Phoebe, always had her music on in the kitchen, as background music for cooking, working, or just surfing the often-slow internet. She has a wide range of musical tastes, but they were firmly established in electronic music and dubstep. Like me, and like many of you, she was extremely excited for M83’s new LP, Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming. Once the album came out, I could count on hearing this song, along with other from the album, playing on repeat while polenta was cooking.
Sleigh Bells: “Rill Rill”
Other than Renaissance artworks, Florence is famous for its many beautiful churches. And where there are churches, there are bells my friend. Living a hop, skip, and jump from Florence’s Cathedral, or Duomo, means that many a Saturday and Sunday you get a nice medieval alarm clock. And once, just once, while walking home from class, the bells of the Duomo sounded like the bells in this song.
Jovanotti: “La Notte Dei Desideri”
What type of Italy-related playlist would this be without some Italian artists included? At the time of writing, this song is the top 10 single on the Italian charts. While many Italian pop songs are either too dramatic or too ridiculous to be taken seriously, Jovanotti’s hit mixes just the right amount of silliness with sincerity, coming off as a male counterpart to Robin or Yelle. Plus- cr-aaazy costumes!
I Cani: “I Pariolini di 18 Anni”
Does Italian indie rock exist? Yes, it does. Just like its American cousins, it encompasses a variety of sounds. In the case of Rome’s I Cani (The Dogs), they combine a pop-punk joviality with a truck-load of synthesizer and electronic effects. Don’t worry about that description; it’s more of a happy No Age than a Warped Tour monster.
LCD Soundsystem: “Home”
If you would have to choose an LCD Soundsystem song about living in a foreign country where you didn’t speak the language, you would probably choose “North American Scum”. And for the first month I was here, I would have agreed. The euphoria has worn off, and now you’re stuck in a country where the shopkeepers and residents are at the very least mildly annoyed with dealing with you. But after a while, it becomes part of the territory. You love the grumpy scooter drivers, the masses of tour groups blocking your way to class, and of course, the gelaterias on every corner. You make unusual friends- in my case, a large group of Portuguese students over in Florence doing internships for the European Union’s Erasmus program. It starts to feel like- please kill me- “Home.”
And, finally…… LL Cool J: “Headsprung”
What better background music is there to memorize the layers of a Renaissance fresco? I believe Giotto would approve.
The role of the independent record label in the 21st century is to curate and to catalogue music, even through the great multitude of pressures and distractions of society. Their mission is to represent a group of bands that set themselves apart and share an interest in preserving the important aspects of music. In a world where there wasn’t an Internet to preview music, one had to solely rely on the name and product of labels to determine what albums to purchase.
Jagjaguwar, the Indiana-based label, was created just like most – to produce albums for a single band. In this case it was the Curious Digit, a relatively unsuccessful band from Charlottesville, Virginia. But the fear from the Curious Digit remained the same for all bands in this situation, having a record label’s influence and strong presence in the sound.
But Jagjaguwar didn’t just stop at one record label, and in 1999 became partners with the label Secretly Canadian. From that point on, both labels shared office space, staff, and talent. Nowadays, it’s often that labels will work within each other to produce side-projects or even completely different bands. More recently, both Jagjaguwar and Secretly Canadian added a third label, Dead Oceans, to their offices and staff. These three continue to work together and release quality records.
Jagjaguwar has its diversification very high up on its priorities; many bands are progressive, yet some seem to stand still in time. Sunset Rubdown compared to the Cave Singers shows an aggressive yet quiet mix of upbeat, multi-instrumental music versus a simple riff with standard instruments combined with a raspy folk voice and lyrics of rural open space. Also look at Black Mountain, the distorted psychedelic rock band, versus Women, the ambient pop band. One can clearly see that Jagjaguwar picks bands based off more than just a specific sound. Label founders Chris Swanson and Darius Van Arman have discussed how their process of signing a band to the label not only requires listening to demos, live performances, etc., but it also involves creating a personal connection between the band and the label.
Secretly Canadian also has a notorious list of released music. The War On Drugs makes the list of the label’s newest and best music, and Jens Lekman and Yeasayer has released most of their discographies on Secretly Canadian. Dead Oceans doesn’t have quite as impressive resume, but they do have The Tallest Man on Earth, one of the best contemporary folk musicians in the genre.
Bon Iver definitely is the biggest success story on this progressive label. Justin Vernon released both of his albums under Jagjaguwar because he thought that the label’s ideals matched the closest with his own. The rapid commercial success of Bon Iver spoke to the ability of musicians in this era; Vernon produced all his own music and continues to do so. Considering his handful of Grammy noms he just picked up, it’s safe to say that Bon Iver is a common name among music enthusiasts, and with his collaborations with Kanye West, St. Vincent, and James Blake he’s made a name for himself in the independent community.
This small-town label definitely avoids the pressures of vast media industries. Starting out in a small city made money less of an issue and attention to the music the primary concentration. Although the label’s bands seem random, that is in essence the definition of a record label. After all “Jagjaguwar” comes from a random “Dungeons and Dragons” name generator. The smaller town sound is apparent throughout Jagjaguwar’s picks, since most aren’t typical and all are unique. Jagjaguwar continues to deliver quality records without the influence of a corporation or an urban setting. After all, it’s easy to compete with the others when you’re self-dubbed “the mightiest record label on earth.”
