Thursday 29 August 2013

Music Journal #XXX

I was hoping to continue the 'Music Journal' aspect of this project up until the end of the year 2013.

Unfortunately, I don't see a reason to keep it going anymore and I feel there is no point tying myself down with dead weight.
It's been a pleasure making more of an effort with music I have come into contact with.
However, I'm busy with other activities and will have to let this go; It has served it's purpose, I think.

End.

?

------------------

My favourite albums (and such) of the year thus far include (in no particular order):

Amygdala - DJ Koze
Som Sakrifis - Mohammad
Cold Spring Fault Less Youth - Mount Kimbie
Overgrown - James Blake
Yeezus - Kanye West
The Redeemer - Dean Blunt
Acid Rap - Chance the Rapper
The Inheritors - James Holden
Excavation - The Haxan Cloak
Run The Jewels - Run The Jewels (El-P x Killer Mike)
Modern Vampires of the City - Vampire Weekend
Engravings - Forest Swords
Abandon - Pharmakon
II - Moderat

I really should broaden my horizons, shouldn't I?
Here is a similar list, with albums replaced by songs:

Nices Wölkchen - DJ Koze ft. Apparat
Numbers on the Boards - Pusha-T (Kanye West-produced)
Every track on Yeezus - Kanye West (ft. Everyone)
1Train - A$AP Rocky ft. Kendrick Lamar, Joey Bada$$, Yelawolf, Danny Brown, Action Bronson, Big KRIT
You Took Your Time - Mount Kimbie ft. King Krule
Break Well - Mount Kimbie
Hannah Hunt - Vampire Weekend
Step - Vampire Weekend
Body Party - Ciara
Kathy Lee - Jessy Lanza
Thor's Stone - Forest Swords
Stone Island - Dean Blunt
Foreign 2 - King Krule
Overdose - Zomby
Started From The Bottom - Drake
Hold On, We're Going Home - Drake
Easy Easy - King Krule
Morro Dub Dende - DJ Die & Addison Groove
Hackney Parrot (Special Request VIP) - Tessela
Yayla - Rezzett
High Heel Sleaze - Svengalisghost
Good Name - William Onyeabor
Dyslogy - Demdike Stare
Amaze - Terekke
Chevy - Kahn & Neek
Renata (Daphni Remix) - James Holden
Made To Stray - Mount Kimbie

I'm pretty sure I've missed a host of other things.
Here are some videos that have stuck with me:

Strictly 4 My Jeeps - Action Bronson
Hot Knife - Fiona Apple
Late Night - Foals
Started From The Bottom - Drake
Numbers on the Boards - Pusha-T
Suit & Tie - Justin Timberlake ft. Jay-Z
Blurred Lines - Robin Thicke ft. T.I. & Pharrell Williams
Ingenue - Atoms For Peace
Overgrown - James Blake
Body Party - Ciara
Picasso Baby - Jay Z
Kathy Lee - Jessy Lanza
Sakrifis - Mohammad
Let Me Be The One - Let The Machines Do The Work


There's been some great stuff from Savages, The Child of LOV, Pantha Du Prince & The Bell Laboratory, loads of other artists and people and things.

I can't remember them all. Except when I come across them, that amazing feeling washes over me.
I guess that's the point, right?
The dream?

Maybe.
Ugh.

Peace.

Sunday 11 August 2013

Music Journal #015

Live In County Cook Jail begins with prison staff acknowledging the the higher-ups in the jail, received by what's largely booing, a little clapping and also laughter from the inmates. Their cheek turns to enthusiastic appreciation as B.B. King walks out, to perform favourites such as Every Day I Have The Blues and How Blue Can You Get? What makes this live record so great, is that you can feel the mood of the unconventional audience between, and throughout, the songs the blues legend and his band play. The chemistry and atmosphere is brought through via the sheer honestly in the environment - no pretenses, only sincere understandings. There's a brilliant few minutes at the end of Worry, Worry where B.B. King delivers a sermon as serious as it is entertaining, directed to the women and men about how love should be respected. My favourite renditions of The Thrill Is Gone tend to be the ones where B.B. King really comes across from rock bottom, but when he performs to a crowd of this kind, he opts for something not just uplifting, but inspiring - a stroke of genius towards the end of the album which I'm sure was deliberate yet feels wholly natural and from the hearts of the band.

My problem with Flume's self-titled album is that, behind how generally nice and amicable it seems, it doesn't really bring much to the table to really make a case for it's existence in album form to me. There are a fair few jams on there, sure, the oomph and vocals on Holdin On are pretty irresistible. Unfortunately, listened to as a whole, the record wears pretty thin pretty quick. It dances with all the themes that were lumped beneath the 'post-dubstep' banner a couple of years ago, and sure if it was released back then I might've felt differently. But it wasn't, and instead I've spent plenty of time in the past couple of years listening to blog-buzz bedroom producers doing the same thing - I guess Flume packaged it nicely ad marketed it better. I couldn't really connect emotionally to the album, and the tricks fell out of the sleeves from the offset - faux-dubstep, hip-hop or house, there's always the sweeping synths that aren't panned so well and overdosed on reverb. It's a nice listen, and I'm a sucker for this sound, it's just that the record is also almost instantly forgettable for me - there's no distinct character in the tracks. It reminds me of XXYYXX's album in that respect - well-executed and slick, showing talent but perhaps a lack of maturing creativity? I won't ignore future releases but I do remain unconvinced.

Moderat develop a damn near perfect pop sound on II. Channelling hallmarks of their first record, such as the reinvention of Rusty Nails, which has evolved into Bad Kingdom, they've changed more than I'd expected. Because the lead singles of this album and their last carried such similar vibes, I thought it would indicate a similar, yet more refined effort. Instead, II has had all the fat cut from it, and certainly a shift in the balance has taken place - Apparat's fingerprints are far more frequent on each track this time round. It's a welcome change, as Modeselektor have already shown what they can do - their Monkeytown beats are still present, such as on Versions, but everything mid-range upwards is all Apparat. He dresses layers of sparkling electronica over each other while Modeselektor's contributes are surely subtle on Let in the Light, though perhaps I disservice them with these assumptions. Intervals are kept short and sweet, while vocals are more prominent across the half-hour or so. Moderat conjure magnificent clouds that obscure and mystify, slowing things to a crawl, or infuse you with rushing joy on a whim. The consummation of the album, with Damage Done preparing for the expansive This Time outro, is administered with expert craft, and I'm more than desperate to see how Moderat bring their sound to their live show.

Transcendent. Liberating. Exponential. Organic. Calm. Superhuman. Innate. Riveting. Pulsating. Impulsive. Constructive. Surreal. Dreamy. Loved. Danceable. Expressive. Emotional. Pale. Charming. Nurturing. Well-mannered. Shamanistic. Soothing. Delicate. Glowing. Harmonised. Grateful. Trembling. Whispering. Fond. Calculated. Textured. Soulful. Soaring. Expansive. Relentless. All-encompassing. Jon Hopkins' Immunity is an astonishingly well-crafted album that is simply a blessing to hear.

AlunaGeorge disappoint with their full-length debut, Body Music. The record gets off to a strong start with the mellow Outlines gentling pushing things before the duo launch themselves full swing into breakout hit, the uncanny, aptly-named You Know You Like It. Followed by singles Attracting Flies and Your Drums, Your Love, and then Kaleidoscope Love, it means four of the first five songs on the album are tracks listeners are more than familiar with. Even if most of them are great, they're nothing new which perhaps does hold the album back a little. Music has come a fair way over the past year or so, and their heightened attention as a result of their You Know You Like It EP meant people were looking for them to move some way too - I know I was. Bad Idea is the first time I begin to notice how similar all of George's productions are - it seems like every other track begins with a hyper-pitched voice sample, for example. Aluna's voice strangely draws you in, but I maintain it isn't strong enough to hold its own. The pair have figured out how to get the balance right on track, and then more or less duplicated the process over and over until they've ended up with an over-long sub-par release. There are some anomalies, of course - Lost & Found is ridiculously catchy and Just A Touch is still one of their best songs. On the whole, it is really nice-sounding pop music that is easy on the ears, it's just that there has been no growth since prior releases, despite the huge change in context, and their debut is too drawn out and too similar throughout.

Robert Glasper’s well-honed skill as a jazz pianist is the common ground that holds his Robert Glasper Experiment’s album Black Radio together. It’s his influence that allows the music to flow through different grounds of black music, bridging that gap between jazz and soul, hip-hop and R’n’B in the most tangible of ways. The flesh of each track is well-tendered too. After Lift Off sets the tone, or rather the free, room-for-growth state of mind, Mic Check strikes an early moment of genius with a sound collage of ad-libs as his guests – yet to perform – test the recording equipment. Erykah Badu is one such voice, who helps construct a wonderful single in the form of the deeply heartfelt Afro Blue, followed by Lalah Hathaway on Cherish The Day, which features the most wonderful sax solo. The hip-hop on the album strikes the areas you’d expect, with Lupe Fiasco and Yasiin Bey (FKA Mos Def) going over bars in the vein of what they’ve experienced before, while providing the political-socio commentary that would be expected of them. Bilal sings between Lupe’s verses, and makes some other appearances too, but it’s a pleasure to hear Yasiin Bey sing as well as rap. Another highlight is the soft, soulful and wooing Ah Yeah, where Musiq Soulchild and Chrissette Michele exchange harmonies. It ends with something of a wild card as the Robert Glasper Experiment go all vocoder on Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit, ending the romp on a high.



Whenever Rashad Becker is mentioned, his vocation as a professional, and exceptional, mastering and sound engineer is too. This does have some bearing in his productions - he has a keen interest in the nature of sounds, as opposed to songs, and the way in which we experience sound. One thing I note from his interview with Robert Henke is his contempt for ‘music-hating environments’, such as cars or perhaps on gym playlists on iPods or whatever. As I type this on a train, I think about how different Traditional Music of Notional Species Vol. I sounded in my bedroom, from speakers and subwoofer instead of 3.5mm-jack headphones. It’s certainly a weird and wonderful, unique and memorable experience in either setting. There are two parts, Dances and Themes, each split into four acts. Themes is more drawn-out in nature, with sprawling drones and foreboding ambience, jumping from subtle to bludgeoning on a whim. Dances is concerned with the atomic, breaking things into every little motion and countermotion, and it feels as if the music is physically attempting to talk here, instead of simply conveying communication. I’ve dodged what the music actually sounds like here, mainly because it’s so difficult to describe. All I will say is close your eyes, imagine the underbelly of a futuristic city, neither utopic nor dystopic, simply really, really busy. The bustling cars in the sky greet constructions and there is a lot of noise, largely because everything is digital and robotic and completely driven by sound, as opposed to vision, as if every car used SONAR bleeps and screeches. If you follow a frequency far enough, there’s no telling where it might take you.

Saturday 27 July 2013

Music Journal #014

Synthpop singer-songwriter Charli XCX's True Romance comes across as bland and one-dimensional for significant chunks of its duration. Charli's a capable pop songwriter, adhering to song structures and formulae that are expected in the field. While her vocal style doesn't reach as wide a range I'd hoped on the release, I think she still retains a unique selling point in there. Often, I was irked by the hit-but-mainly-miss production, which only switched up occasionally - such as Cloud Aura featuring Brooke Candy, but even then hip hop-influenced beat is marred by aspects like the shaking percussion overpowering one channel and hiding from the other. Gold Panda's You is essentially bastardised for the second track on the album, losing heart and becoming a husk for Charli to sing her rebellious take on romance over in a most patronising way. Indeed, her rough love lyrics lost between adolescence and fantasy are present throughout, and I could never really get on the same wavelength with them. I didn't hate it, it was okay, just generally uninspiring. It did get off to a great start though, with Charli channelling Gwen Stefani on the colourful opener Nuclear Seasons, and she certainly works her charm on You're The One too.


Forest Swords released the Dagger Paths EP in 2010 and since then, it seems to have turned into something of legend Ahead of the release of a new album recently announced, I found myself diving into the reverb-heavy guitar-driven electronic record. The mix of stretched and distorted samples, ominous string sirens and exotic percussion falls into creations that somehow make a whole lot of sense. Despite how agreeable it is in its musicality, that's far from the main focus of the EP. It's a tale of sadness, loss, weighty guilt and inevitable consequence, translated on all tracks, whether they carry the wandering pensiveness of Miarches' bass or the uncertain synth screeches of The Light. Pounding, Eastern drums and an anthemic, melodic loop in Hoylake Misst form the moment where Forest Swords effectively throws his gauntlet down and demands full attention, in case the subtlety of the prior track went underneath you. If Your Girl is the strangest of covers, built from the smashed remnants of an Aaliyah track, in the artist's own, distinct way. Dagger Paths is extremely characterful, and sticks with the soul long after listening.

The self-titled album from Italian duo Voices From The Lake is surely one of the purest embodiments of minimal techno. Compressing a life time into a moment and then stretching it out into an album length, Voices From The Lake never rush, taking their time to precisely develop each atmosphere on the LP. Thought-provoking pulsations, swampy percussion and atomic ambience transform into each other seamlessly and organically as tracks flower into new creations that never cease to wonder. The sound travels through deeper, foreign territories such as on the Amazonian Meikyu, while Twins In Virgo ditches the Earthly setting for lunar frequencies, yet only one track lies in between to launch the proceedings onwards and upwards. It's astoundingly easy to get lost in the world Voices From The Lake construct, yet the environments they traverse mean it's never a sub-optimal experience.

Everything in Light Up Gold reeks of laziness and nonchalance, in a good way. Parquet Courts conduct their charmingly slacker indie rock with maximum arrogance and self-celebration, stumbling through each riff, each lyric in the manner of the protagonist from Green Day's video for Warning. The lead never really sings or harmonises, opting for something between stating and shouting his barely-formed, almost-abstract lyrics. yelling, "You know Socrates died in the fuckin' gutter," before a solo rounds off the first track. More often than not it seems as if Parquet Courts aren't bothered enough to smooth the edges of their songs, with most tracks consisting of the barebones material just to justify the tracks' existence - the sole song longer than three and a half minutes is the self-absorbed memory, Stoned and Starving. There isn't much to emulate with on there, it's more about being entertained by the sheer fun and juvenile nature of it all - and if you're welling to step onto the ride you'll feel a whole lot of that fun.

Born To Die shot itself in the foot with its overly-long album length. Still, Lana Del Rey's album is a genuinely great listen, most likely down to how entertainingly over-dramatic it is. The combination of alternative hip-hop styled pop beats and thinly 'epic' string arrangements add weight to the singers voice, cinematic in more way than one; You have to believe, in order to be convinced. Wallowing in its own melodramatic and deadly-serious world, it becomes all the more surprising that Born To Die pulls it off. The exceptionally good start to the album helps to convince sooner than later, with the irresistible Off To The Races followed by singles Blue Jeans and Video Games, until Diet Mountain Dew plays along the edges between typically-Rey thematic elements such as dark romance and materialism in modern Western living. One of the bonus tracks, Lucky Ones, provides a far more satisfactory end than the standard version's This Is What Makes Us Girls, yet even before then, Rey's sleeves are emptied, though the attitude of Lolita does make for a great late rally cry on a memorably grim pop album.

I went into Zahava Seewald & Michaël Grébil's From My Mother's House knowing nothing about the artists or the album. In some respect, the undercurrent trend throughout my experience of the record is how little I understand. Frequently in German and often in French too, the spoken word stories, monologues and revelations were alien to me. They appear regularly amongst field recordings, classical and drone, pieced and pasted together like shards of a glass puzzle reconstructed blindly. The music comes across as purposefully alienating, perhaps as it seems so personal. At the start I'm left out in the rain, stumbling into sounds I feel I shouldn't be listening to. By the reprieve at the end, the second version of the title track opener, I'm inside and experiencing things first hand, as if my presence in these memories have been tolerated and grown accustomed to. Indeed, it's as much my story at the end as the artists' - for the album has required my interpretations and extrapolations from the snippets to form my experience, and we are invested in and indebted to each other. The mix of feelings is that of memories, strange and twisted familiarities, translucent truths inducing elation, nostalgia and regret and many other things. Some have an elegance more refined, such as the waltzing strings of Rast krasna, whereas the chapter Soleils noirs / Rentrer carries something of a curveball intrusion towards the end as old realities intertwine with each other. Certainly, From My Mother's House is one of the more fascinating pieces to reach my ears recently.

Riding a wave of appreciation from work on Yeezus, Arca opts to drop the &&&&& mixtape with little hype - pre-release, at least. It's an interesting listen for sure, consisting of what's essentially a sluggish take on bass music and hip-hop, sounding like frequencies swishing around the unstable guts of a queasy, sea-sick Flying Lotus. Large parts of the tape feel purposefully over-compressed and claustrophobic, as if to shake free of restraints we seem to have built for ourselves within the genre. Vocal samples, including Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg loops as well as others I'm unfamiliar with, are distorted with an over-encumbering level of reverb. The tape is a dark trip through all things between Night Slugs and Brainfeeder, maintaining the same spirit through different explorations of the sub-frequencies.


Frank's Wild Years sounds pretty much as I expected it to - in that it chronicled some of Tom Waits' most zany, discombobulating and gleefully unhinged music.I could spend years talking about how fantastic Way Down In The Hole - of The Wire fame - is, with its infectious rhythms and genuine absolving power. "Don't pay heed to Temptation, for his hands are so cold," Waits sings, several songs after a track devoted to Temptation, in which he despairs, "My confusion is oh so clear." Tom Waits' songwriting is visceral as ever, but its his experimentations with everything from Latin jazz to Central Asian folk that encapsulates the essence of sheer depravity and troubled nature of the album. Waits uses the power of putting songs in different contexts on occasion, with two Straight To The Tops and two Innocent When You Dreams, all completely Waits-ian takes on things.

The Idler Wheel Is Wiser Than the Driver of the Screw and Whipping Cords Will Serve You More Than Ropes Will Ever Do. That's the name given to Fiona Apple's 2012 album, and is the first release of hers I listened to. Her ability to write a song, to send a fleeting feeling, a restoration of hope, a shiver down a spine, is uncanny and incredulous. Apple demonstrates an ability to sing with the most delicate voice a mere second before bellowing powerful tones in the next breath, as early as the first song, Every Single Night. There are just so many magnificent moments here I'm struggling to string sentence together about... The lilt and saunter of Periphery, the light clap of Daredevil, the simple brilliance of the beating heart throughout Valentine before it evolves, and the way Fiona Apple changes from being reactive to proactive during the course of Hot Knife. The album was a charming, brilliant and effervescent listen and it still has me wrapped around its fingers.

The self-titled Melt Yourself Down rides the wilder side of modern jazz, opening with the progressive and messy Fix My Life, which somehow finds a hook amidst all the noise. It's a strange album; when it's on, it's a wonderful joyride that smashes through anyone or anything that tells you you can't ride that way round here, yet once it's over, you wonder if any of it ever happened at all. Since every track throws so much at you, everything from rabid saxophone to foreign or unintelligible soaring vocals, it's no wonder it leaves you in a jaded state. Playing with all influences be it Congo, samba or post-punk, Melt Yourself Down makes for a nice spanner in the works.

My main issue with The Knife's Shaking The Habitual is that it surely loses some of its point along the way, during it's ninety-six minutes or so running length. It does succeed, however, in its mission to be 'difficult' to listen to. It's a chore to hear it in full, nay, a distressing discomfort. I do love alienating music, so I'll say that's one-and-a-half major nuances I've found. It's also for the most part brilliant to listen to. The entire experience is overwhelming, sure, but the musical deviations and divergences along the way make it so worthwhile Full Of Fire, for example, is club-ready 4/4 as well as harrowing, disturbing and eerie noise. It comes after the relatively gentle A Tooth For An Eye, and followed by the largely ambient, verse-long A Cherry On Top. The track that carries the album's namesake is suitably titled, Without You My Life Would Be Boring, as it's a smorgasbord of all things exotic and adventurous, fluttering flutes, tribal percussion, excitable accents and all. The album goes out of its way to make things uncomfortable, even when you think you've acclimatised, but that's the whole point - to never acclimatised, to never accept mediocrity as 'good enough' and to always move. A minute of grating oscillations can be followed by nineteen minutes of quite frankly not that exciting drone. And then, Raging Lung can happen. Of the more 'out there' productions, the metallic and unnatural Fracking Fluid Injection might be my favourite, carrying plenty of weight and making a statement with the pained samples. There are plenty of highs on the album, and a fair bit of nonchalance too - which can be an issue for something so long, as I'd always wonder whether the next destination would be worth the journey there. Shaking The Habitual is certainly an album worth enduring or experiencing, if not enjoyed.

Sunday 14 July 2013

Music Journal #013

A lot of people have reservations about electronic music albums, and I still fail to see why. Comfort, the debut album from Maya Jane Coles only stands to further prove the attitude wrong. What I like about Coles the most, is that she embraces her intuition and moves towards whatever feels right for her, something that comes through in the words she sings, art she creates, and of course the music she makes. That seems to be what glues Comfort together so well - it's completely, utterly Coles, despite the numerous guest vocalists. On the other hand, the fact that it fits too neatly into that Coles-shaped hole is the only criticism I hold, as there aren't any real surprised or revelations. What there is, however, is a set of beautifully constructed deep house movements filled with compelling emotion as well as innate danceability. There's a nice mixture of catchier tracks - Blame, Strange, Easier to Hide - unsettling and engrossing material, such as Tricky's murmurs on the bubbling Wait For You and lead single Everything, plus songs even more intimate than the rest, such as Come Home, perfectly summing up Coles' few years travelling the world having become such a huge, in-demand DJ in such a short space of time. Maya Jane Coles comprehensively documents and explores her sound on Comfort, which feels familiar enough with some sensual variation too, and it shall be interesting to see where she goes next as a producer.


El Mahdy Jr. is an Algerian-born beatmaker living in Istanbul, channelling his surroundings into music forward-thinking enough to fit right in on a label such as Brainfeeder, as it draws the slightest of parallels with The Gaslamp Killer's productions. El Mahdy Jr. works with more hazy, blurred layers, meshing together raw, rebellious attitudes of hip-hop beats and Turkish and Algerian folk music on The Spirit of Fucked Up Places. It's a record that never stands still, always translating onto something new - on Coins & Diamonds the hustle and bustle of the bazaar obscures pseudo-Burial 2-step and two tracks later the sounds of Mala and Kode9 seem to be thrown in the mixer on the initially brooding, later grandiose Zalim Delay. I don't think El Mahdy Jr. is taking particular cues from these artists - it feels as if he has organically stumbled into the same headspace as them, trying to make sense of the urban dysfunction and cultural confusion surrounding his home. The Spirit of Fucked Up Places is energetic and befuddling, and certainly makes well as a beacon for the growing Turkish beats scene.

Helix’s Club Constructions Vol. 4 entry into the esteemed Night Slugs series is typically explosive and suitably havoc-wreaking. Starting with a rush of hi-hats, Whoosh Ice Dispenser develops a killer bassline beneath chiselling, drilling and sculpturing percussion work before turning into something more abstract, unscrewing at the top in the latter part. It’s followed by characteristic Night Slugs metallic juke on Track Titled 1, which falls flat for something supposedly intended for building things up. Linn Jam is a bonkers journey through footwork with burst-fire kicks that turns into a whole new beast, taking a turn for techno on the cut that includes the synth, softening the hard drums of the raw version. Helix rounds things off on the head-scratching Damnson, a track that’s all about the claps with a dose of shuffle too. Night Slugs continue their growing tradition of high quality DJ-friendly EPs on Club Constructions Vol. 4.

The nature of Twelve Reasons to Die seems obvious in retrospect – Ghostface Killah is one of the masters of storytelling hip-hop, his conversational flow complemented by Adrian Younge’s throwback 70s Blaxploitation-b-movie soundtracking. Together they tell the tale of Ghostface Killah’s alias Tony Starks, and how he came to be the Ghostface Killah – one highlight being the moment the transformation is discussed, on The Rise of the Ghostface Killah. Visceral lyricism conjures vivid images, usually of an outrageously violent nature, backed by Younge’s gritty production that sounds natural to the Wu-Tang style, even if nothing near the style of the RZA’s music. Ghostface Killah, Masta Killa and others appearing on the album frequently quote lines, in-jokes and anecdotes from the Clan’s story with nods that don’t feel out of place, always remembering they’re telling a story. The story itself isn’t particularly surprising. In fact, nothing about the album is, it’s all about the execution. Their focus pays off as the artists hit a sweet spot during the middle of the album with really engrossing songs such as Enemies All Around Me and An Unexpected Call (The Set Up). Despite the relatively short length, it’s a particularly exhaustive listen, and I’m unsure how often I’ll come back to it, seeing as it doesn’t really bring much new to the table. Regardless, it does a magnificent job of cementing and solidifying the works of a talent like Ghostface Killah, riveting as ever, and promoting Adrian Younge’s production ability, which shines on the instrumental title track that closes the story.

Small Change sees Tom Waits near his most-deranged, struggling with alcoholicism and acknowledging his drinking problem with intimacy and black humour. This style manifests itself quite clearly in Bad Liver And A Broken Heart [in Lowell], where Waits bemoans his problems in signature gruff whaling, claiming, "What's your story? Well, I don't even care, 'cause I got my own double-cross to bear." This harks to how he's been kidding himself about his addiction for so long, as on The Piano Has Been Drinking [Not Me], another cry over stumbling piano, during which Waits carries on as a drunk does, relentlessly pouring his heart out about his own problems which he misplaces in others, juxtaposed with hilarious songwriting - "You can't find your waitress, with a Geiger counter, and she hates you and your friends, and you just can't get served without her." Waits explores a more classical avenue on the opening ballad, Tom Traubert's Blues [Four Sheets To The Wind In Copenhagen], followed by speakeasy jazz on the delightful, too-good-to-be-true teleshopping tribute, Step Right Up. The song that led me to the album is called Pasties And A G-String [At The Two O'Clock Club], in which Waits paints the most vivid picture of a gentleman's club via a stream-of-consciousness style soliloquy from a client's perspective, proving to be dirty and descriptive, and both insightful and tremendously amusing. Small Change is comprehensively fantastic album that reveals a lot about the Waits of that time, with heavy influences from the likes of Howlin' Wolf channeled into something uniquely Tom Waits.


Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan is a voice and face I distinctly recognise from my childhood, my roots, yet know virtually nothing about. Mustt Mustt is an album that fuses the guitar of Michael Brook with Khan's pioneering Qawwali talents. Qawwali is a vocally-driven, spiritually-infused Sufi style of folk from the Indian subcontinent. The title track kicks off the record, gradually probing deeper and deeper into the folk music over ambling, downtempo percussion as if to introduce the listener without intimidating. The song that follows allows Khan to express his astonishing harmonics over something more grand, while wind and string tease with their own little moments. Tracks such as Tracery and Sea Of Vapours manage to hit an exotic sweet spot, led by a gently unfurling guitar progression with no words, only sounds. It's as if both musicians are stepping away from their own comfort zones to try and convey something that isn't Eastern nor Western, yet is universal. Some of the more upbeat songs were highlights on the album for me, with the rushing tabla on Taa Deem and Tana Dery Na only matched by Khan's vocal prowess, expressions that I want to describe as similar to scatting though that gives it little justice. The main stream of the record ends with Avenue, a surprisingly paced affair emanating ecstacy and joy and finishing off on a high. A bonus track is included too - a remix of Mustt Mustt by Massive Attack, and thankfully is as good as it sounds, the UK trip-hop group retaining the spirit of the original in their rework.

Abandon begins with a scream. It might be more of a screech, or a cry, but either way Pharmakon sets the scene as the voice is lost beneath white noise and an industrial sampling nightmare, accompanied by eerie, unintelligible mutters just to tip things over the edge. Ache contains drawn-out roars over ringing drills - as if a grenade has exploded nearby and as you try to recover from the fallout, your friend is angrily screaming at you for something you've done. And it's stretched into seven minutes. Another highlight on the experimental drone release is Crawling on Bruised Knees, where synths rattle with warbound intent, as a drone repeatedly fades in and out like a helicopter overhead. Then Pharmakon delivers her sermon with contorted passion, twisted into something sinister, smothering listeners with confusion. The final sound might actually be the nail in the coffin - it's hard to see down here. Sour Sap, which may be a previous EP, is included as a bonus track as Pharmakon doesn't seem to be concerned by overkill - it's just as harrowing as Abandon though much more messy and undirected too.


I'm a little disappointed with Baths' Obsidian, I have to admit. Aesthetically, some of the songs are really pleasing, especially on the first half of the album. Unfortunately I can't harmonise with the various bards about death or sex, which feel a bit lacking in depth and slightly dishonest to me - "It is not a matter of if you mean it, but it is only a matter of come and fuck me," on No Eyes is particularly grating and feels forced. I enjoy the meandering, wispy close, Inter, which mixes the ethereal with the bittersweet just right. The chimes on Ironworks and melodies on the sprawling Miasma Sky are also special moments, though overall there isn't enough on here to stick with me.

On listening to Björk's second solo album, Debut, I immediately felt ashamed and cheated by the fact that I'd gone twenty years and some without hearing it. Her songwriting and general attitude towards things is simply refreshing. Her music spends a lot of time dabbling with the alternative and unconventional, thus it's normal for her, while more traditional ways are alien to here - conveyed in the first track, Human Behaviour, which analyses the human race from the outside, not from within. Its riffy, playful beat leads into DFA-style house on Crying and Björk bellows over light strings after that. There Is More to Life Than This brought a smile to my face that I couldn't get rid of no matter how hard I tried; With a jacking house instrumental and an irresistible pop hook, the singer begins to really have fun as she seduces over the beat. There's a delightful moment where she audibly leaves the dancefloor and sings from what is presumably a cubicle in the women's restroom, shaking up any idea of predictability listeners might have. Often, the delirious passion has an edge of uncertainty, some sort of intangible omen, acting as a spice to the servings on tracks such as the studious Violently Happy. Debut is an intellectually-exhausting, satisfaction-filling album that shimmers with adventure and daring, certainly a new entry into my favourite pop albums.

There are two moments during A Love Supreme, two moments where everything clicks together. The first moment I refer to happens during the first part of the suite, Acknowledgement. A gong, a rush of the cymbals, a foundation of bass and piano and John Coltrane is off! It becomes clear that Coltrane is shaking free of the reigns that once guided him. The four-note bass progression through the introduction grows and changes, culminating in the chanted mantra, "A Love Supreme," that says so much for so few words. On Resolution, Coltrane's saxophone becomes freer, more expressive than before, leaving little time to take it all in before the piano solo takes over part-way through. Pursuance, as the name suggests, gains momentum and finds joy in the chase. The final movement Psalm, feels separate to the main proceedings, an epilogue of sorts where Coltrane delivers a stoic sermon backed by the deepest of drums. The second moment I mentioned near the start, it happens at any point throughout the suite. A moment where everything becomes transparent, and things that natter move into focus. A Love Supreme is not just a musical tale, it's a mirror to direct us to the tale inside of us all, and a guide too: Acknowledgement, Resolution, Pursuance, and a Psalm to underline all we may learn.

Everything on These New Puritans' classical-flavoured post-rock album Field of Reeds feels meticulously planned and carefully thought through. The piano-rock, strings and brass on Fragment Two sounds brooding as opposed to cheesy, and is very rigidly structured. In fact the first part of the album feels deliberately light, up until the crash at the end of the third track, and the pounding drum rhythm on the fourth. The nine-minute long V (Island Song), was perhaps a highlight for me, not just because of the build up to the heavier use of percussion, as the eerie hymn-like vocal shifts and woozy synths over the piano are strangely enticing. Organ Eternal would fit perfectly accompanying a title-screen to a video game, put together as a largely-instrumental arpeggio-driven traverse through dreamier spaces. Each song comes with heavy baggage, somehow adding depth instead of pushing the tracks over the edge, helping to transform the album into a notably positive receptacle of heavy meditations.

When a league of West African folk musicians failed to reach their Cuban counterparts, the unfortunate missed chance resulted in an astonishingly good piece of music in the form of Buena Vista Social Club. Fourteen years later, the cultures finally combined to put out AfroCubism, and answer the question of what could have been. There is plenty of both influences on the record, though it does seem to give off an overall African vibe. At times one side is more reserved, and more subtle than the other, such as the predominantly Cuban cheeky tune of La culebra, while at other times the balance is struck with jaw-dropping harmony. Certainly, the two opening tracks feel all natural, adhering to the musicians' folk with the lightest layers of the exotic unknown. A lot of the time it does feel like the songs are a Cuban take on Mali, for example, or a Malian take on Cuban music. Still, these tunes are far from harsh on the ear but the pinnacles are reached too, such as the pacey percussion of Dakan licked with light acoustic guitar from across the Atlantic. It's a shame the vocal styles rarely collaborate as much as one might like, however there is such a barrier between the cultures already that it's magnificently inspiring for them to have traversed the bridges they have done on AfroCubism, which does of course make for a highly enjoyable listen.

Have Queens of the Stone Age managed to retain the art of keeping secrets such as how to exist for a long time with consistent quality? They make a solid case for it on ...Like Clockwork, that's for sure. It's astonishing how they sound completely Queens of the Stone Age, yet nothing like Queens of the Stone Age at all. Meshing their blues-tinged stoner rock with menacing provocation, they start the proceedings with Keep Your Eyes Peeled, riffs aplenty beside the typically unsettling lullaby of Josh Homme. There are so many fantastic moments on the record, the opening shreds on My God Is The Sun among the best. Combining quirky lyrics and a sing-a-long melody with boot-stomping anthemic panache, If I Had A Tail also impresses. Things get a bit weirder for the better on Kalopsia and Fairweather Friends, the former oozing with bipolarity and the latter touching on deranged desire and wonder. Queens of the Stone Age round the LP off with the more mellow namesake track, zipping between styles to surprise listeners once again on a commendably strong full-length effort.

Well of course Wanda Group's album out on Opal Tapes is called Piss Fell Out Like Sunlight. Characteristic penchant for interesting, challengingly honest titles aside, Wanda Group has apparently been making music for a long time now, under many a moniker, though has become a relatively recent revelation on the UK electronic scene. The first four minutes of Her Stomach on Terror manages to make interesting despite it's minimal ticking and drawn-out concept - seemingly sampling the sound of pissing - before the song hits a wall of noise and submerges itself in ambience down the drain. The artist takes cues from many elements in his experimental explorations, whether its instrumental moods or more space-like noises. The second track, Pans Out in the Afterlife, is a less scary affair than its predecessor, though it benefits from the luxury of the scene already being set. One synth loop battles through fuzz and crackles, disappearing and reappearing at the end, with all sorts of madness in between. Somewhere in the middle of Andy Stott and Lee Gamble, Wanda Group's Piss Fell Out Like Sunlight is just as incredible.

It doesn't matter that I can't understand the Arabic on Jerusalem In My Heart's Mo7it Al-Mo7it. Founded by a Lebanse-born, Canadian-by-way-of Oman technical engineer, the trio traverse numerous genres, transcending any clear categories. Vocals on the opening track come across arch-typically Middle Eastern, though it's followed by a song that lacks any harsh harmonies, favouring guitar from the same region or perhaps North or West Africa. On Yudaghdegh El-ra3ey Walal-Ghanam, styles from the Arab world are dropped for scaling synths and daunting drones. They don't progress substantially so new elements are always brought in, though the track somehow avoids feeling claustrophobic. 3anzah Jarbanah explores the vocal style even further, translating pain and desperation unhidden, in as much as a single note. The track Dam3et El-3ein 3 is led by the simultaneously rough and regal strings of the buzuk, followed by a punk-influenced ascension of riffs on the penultimate song. The eclectic mix of things going on in the record is staggering, and the detail begs for repeat listens, as of course do potential interpretations. Thankfully it's more than good enough to deserve more time, and the work of Jerusalem In My Heart is definitely something to be excited about.

jerusalem in my heart

Sunday 30 June 2013

Vampire Weekend - The Troxy, London - 02/05/13

As the build-up to their third album reached boiling point, one London date was announced by Vampire Weekend to debut songs from Modern Vampires of the City to a UK crowd. A queue formed outside of the relatively intimate Troxy early than anticipated but my spirits couldn’t be dampened on such a sunny, summery day - if Vampire Weekend aren’t in essence summer, then I don’t know what they are.

Suffice to say it was odd to head inside and hear a playlist of five songs – including Modeselektor’s Blue Clouds, D’Angelo’s Devil’s Pie (!) plus some southern rap – on repeat throughout the intervals. It’s not often I feel old at gigs, yet here I was with my shirt and my tie and my beard.

Support came from Syd Arthur, whose generally accessible, occasionally psychedelic rock captured the attention of the crowd in small bursts. Their set stumbled through the atmosphere of chatter and unintelligible vocals (“What’s your name?!” was heard between songs after a mumbling introduction). I couldn’t help but feel they were made to be a support band. Still, as their final song came to an end, they had gained the approval of The Troxy and I found myself wanting to hear a little more.

After the five-song playlist tried for another few minutes of fame, the headliners walked out on stage to an excited and eager audience, swinging straight into things with the lead Contra single, Cousins. Four familiar songs in, they opt to play new songs Diane Young and Step back to back. Fans have had enough time to get acquainted with the lyrics and after the former, Ezra quips that it’s the first time they’ve played that song properly. I’m not so sure about that – he doesn’t seem too into interacting with the crowd personally, and the most we get is Rostam instructing us to sing along to the chorus of Horchata.

It all seems a little too rehearsed however I was sure to feel that, having watched their Steve Buscemi-directed performance at the Rosalind less than a week prior. The comments (such as Ezra simply stating ‘Do what you want’ before diving into A-Punk) were the same and the set-list was identical. The latter is not really a problem in my eyes, as I’m thoroughly convinced Vampire Weekend can play the songs they want in whatever order they like and everyone will still know all the words.

Despite the deja-vu feel, the show was filled with genuine fun. Bassist Chris Baio was shaking at least one leg the entire time, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d managed to impregnate his instrument by the end of it. When Rostam was free from his keyboard duties and backup vocals, he was able to whirlwind off with his guitar and thankfully these two translated the energy of their music well. It wasn’t crucial as the audience were happily energised for the most part and took a breather during the new songs. Energised a little too much at times, as shirtless moshing at a Vampire Weekend show is perhaps a bit of a mismatch.

When Giving up the Gun drew to a close, Baio threw his pick at an unsuspecting woman and the band walked off stage. For the encore, they drew out another song from the new album – called Obvious Bicycle of course - which continued the trend of tunes from the third album going down well, then tracks such as One (Blake’s Got a New Face) and Walcott for a resounding finish. The gig was sincere and innocent Summer-time fun and the clear, crisp sound of their music made for great listening – never a given thing during live performances. I know I’m not the only one who left the venue light-footed and light-headed in a daze of sunshine despite the night-time.

This is apparently the best photo I could manage