WVAU 2015: Most Overrated AlbumsBy Eli Fosl and Kathleen Lovito
I Love You, Honeybear by Father John Misty
Courtesy of Flac-Lossless
You’re sitting at a bar in Bushwick waiting for your date. It’s a blind date that your friend set you up on and you’re feeling really weird about the whole thing. Your friend said the guy was someone you’d like and that, in addition, he “really needed to get out more, so you’d be doing him a favor.” You order a glass of wine to calm your nerves and, right as you’re taking your first sip, he arrives. He’s good-looking in an art school
You chat for a while, or he talks for quite a while, and you throw in your own comments here and there. He says he recently left a band to pursue a solo career. He describes his work as “intellectual, absurd, sardonic, grandpa folk-rock,” though he doesn’t like to attach labels to it. You start to get a weird sense of someone like the kids from your high school that discovered Pitchfork too late in the game and got high before Vampire Weekend shows and wore Uncle Tupelo t-shirts as trophies of pride. You think it’s impossible that any adult could have failed to have grown out of that stereotype. He says you should come see him some time though he doesn’t play open mics anymore because he couldn’t stand “all those kids that think they’re poets or rappers or whatever.” He also seemingly won’t shut up about his ex, who he sort of disrespects even though she seems cool by his description: a sculpture artist from Philly. You can’t tell if she hurt him, or if he’s just being a casual misogynist. He finally asks you about your life and you quietly go on about your work and your roommates and your hobbies. He starts to look a little bored with you and it makes you feel bad even though you know you didn’t do anything wrong. He invites you to see Carly Rae Jepsen on
Another patron goes up to the jukebox and your date excitedly peers over, waiting to see what he puts on. The first few notes of Yo La Tengo’s “You Can Have It All” soar out and your date laughs. “Really original song choice. Great
Depression Cherry by Beach House
Courtesy of WCVW
Before we begin this discussion on the heartthrob album of suede-clad sad kids everywhere, let me just say that I get it, but also please stop. Because, yes, Depression Cherry has all the ~feels~ your despairing, parasitic soul craves, but it’s also a nine-track-deep pool of bittersweet molasses goop. It’s delightful, but, rather than supplying a sugar high, wading through each track only depletes your stamina and leaves you desperately craving a bite of a more zesty tune.
Now, if by some divine miracle you’ve managed to escape the silent siren call of Depression Cherry’s plush velvet cover, let me assure you that it’s a beautiful album. Each track is a master collection of seductive croons, breathtaking drones, and ambient noise that enchants from the first measure. It’s good ole Beach House doing what they do best: being the poster child for dream pop.
The album is by no means overrated because of its musical qualities (although their latest release, Thank Your Lucky Stars, seems to do all the same stuff but better). The real issue is how Depression Cherry’s intricacies are often drowned out by passionate vocalizations of Beach House zealots that go a little something like: “CRY. CRY. CRYING. TEARS. SO MANY TEARS. ALL OF THE TEARS. TEARS 4 DAYZ. BAWLING FOREVER.”
These dream pop junkies are more concerned with the nightmares the genre addresses which, I mean, is fine because music’s the “language of the soul” and all that jazz, but your soul needs to take a chill pill. I haven’t gotten a chance to see Beach House live yet, but, with all the weeping I’m lead to believe would take place, I image playing “Space Song” off my computer just loud enough to hear it’s drones in-between sobs of a personal cry-sesh would be
Besides, why THIS album? Why