Frontier Ruckus - Sitcom Afterlife

Frontier Ruckus – Sitcom Afterlife

Quite Scientific, 2014

Acquired: Christmas, New, 2014

Price: $0

How the hell did I not notice the deeply personal nature of this record? I liked it when it came out. I liked it a whole hell of a lot but Eternity of Dimming had just dropped the year before and I was still obsessed with that one so I wasn’t quite ready. I’m listening to my copy now for the first time in six months and holy shit, I’m blown away. And now they have a new record coming out in a couple months and STOP THIS MADNESS! This is the same thing that happened with the Hold Steady. Every year I was delivered a new masterpiece and every year I felt unworthy of this world that was so gracious to give me a yearly installment of something I loved.

Actually, Frontier Ruckus and the Hold Steady aren’t that far apart, as both Matthew Milia and Craig Finn thrive on wordy, little-detail packed tales from their boyhood hometowns. That’s where I will mercifully end this crazed comparison, because FR’s method of filtering nostalgia through the sadness of the future is their greatest asset. Where Eternity of Dimming was a journey into the center of Milia’s beautiful Midwestern heart, Sitcom Afterlife plays like a focused look at love gone wrong. The album is much poppier than its predecessor, utilizing chiming guitar lines and harmonies that would make a choir of angels jealous, but wins with its quiet tracks. The big, slowburn closer “A&W Orange and Brown” is the group’s finest hour (to date) as far as I’m concerned. They nail this extremely precise tone of sadness that stays with you for days.

Taking a break from this record seems to have solidified my opinion of it. Looking at it with fresh eyes I appreciate the band’s boundless belief in what they are doing. You don’t put three albums out in three years if you’re not in love with your own music and can’t put into words how thrilled you are to share it. That’s confidence! A bucking of the typical media cycle most bands go through before embarking on the next cycle. I guess that’s doable for Frontier Ruckus since, for reasons that escape me, are relatively unknown. How these guys aren’t exploding is beyond comprehension because in my unesteemed opinion they should be everyone’s new favorite band.

"A&W Orange and Brown"

Gut Feeling: Sturgill Simpson - Metamodern Sounds in Country Music

Sturgill Simpson – Metamodern Sounds in Country Music

High Top Mountain, 2014

“What kind of music are you into?”
“Anything but country.”

This dismissive bit of dialogue is one we all know well. I’m assuming everyone has either asked that question and braced for that response or, in ones younger, more vulnerable years, said that statement out loud. I’m sure I did. Sturgill Simpson’s Metamodern Sounds in Country Music is the record that you use in response to “anything but country.” You shove it into the dismisser’s hands and say, “Here, if you can’t even remotely appreciate the rambling beauty of this record I don’t even know you.” Because there’s just so much to like about Simpson’s sophomore LP. And really, who doesn’t like outlaw country? I bet everyone who ever said “anything but country” would cop to liking Johnny Cash, right? Simpson is more of a Waylon Jennings, but that’s no matter. He sounds displaced from his proper era. His songs are certainly modern and often weird as hell, but the sound is pure late-60s Nashville. At first it feels like pure throwback, but repeat listens reveal it’s pretty slippery. Hard to pin down or pigeonhole as a pure tribute to the outlaw country legends of forty years ago. What are you supposed to do with lines like “There’s a gateway in our mind that leads somewhere out there beyond this plane/ Where reptile aliens made of light cut you open and pull out all your pain” from the opening track “Turtles All the Way Down.” It’s pure psychedelia, and if you don’t believe me, listen to Simpson sing “Marijuana, LSD, Psilocybin, and DMT/ They all changed the way I see” in the next verse. Simpson might have the voice of a shitkicking rabble rouser (I mean that as the highest compliment, his voice is tremendous, absolutely fucking tremendous and if you don’t believe me, wait til he belts out the last chorus of his cover of When in Rome’s “The Promise” and tell me I’m wrong) but goddamn this son of a bitch is deep. Metamodern Sounds in Country Music is an intoxicating listen with deep roots and sharp claws (“But it ain’t all flowers/ Sometimes you gotta feel the thorns/ And when you play with the devil you know you gotta get the horns”) that dig right into your skin without mercy.

Here's Sturgill Simpson's Tiny Desk Concert, which is a terrific gateway drug.

Gut Feeling: Frank Turner - The Third Three Years

Frank Turner - The Third Three Years

Xtra Mile, 2014

The Third Three Years is Turner’s third (THIRD!) collection of b-sides and rarities, and it’s a delightful mixed bag of original tunes, collaborations, and a whole shitload of covers songs. Even though Billy Bragg is still alive, Frank Turner still seems to have wrested the torch from his hands. At his best--which is, seemingly, most of the time--Turner achieves the blend of brainy, witty, political and soulful that Bragg perfected in the 80s. Phil Ochs is dead, so I feel more comfortable saying that Turner is carrying his torch too (especially on the straight-up political numbers like “Riot Song” and “Something of Freedom”). Turner’s covers selection is best illustrated by the juxtaposition of the Weakerthans’ “Bigfoot!” and Paul McCartney & Wings’ “Live and Let Die” at the heart of the album. He turns two of the greatest capital A American rock songs (Tom Petty’s “American Girl” and Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run”) into quiet guy-and-a-guitar folk songs to great effect. The most profound moment of this compilation is nestled in the Tony Sly cover “Kiera.” Sly wrote the song for his daughter and here it is recorded for a tribute album where all the money goes to the Tony Sly Memorial Fund. Even if I wasn’t a father, and even if I didn’t have to face those grim thoughts about not being around to watch her grow up, I’d still probably get emotional. But since I have those last two things, Jesus Christ. The song feels like it was written posthumously, with lines like, “Maybe I’m no good at this/ Think of this as a lullaby/ To listen to when I go.” The track was recorded on a rainy day off of a busy street with the window open and it’s intense and beautiful. Turner does a terrific job of taking the focus off of himself (even though his version is better than Sly’s original) and highlighting a great songwriter who was largely unheralded because he operated in the oft thumb-nosed pop-punk genre. It’s a stirring tribute, a beautiful song, and the highlight on an album full of highlights. Also of note is one of the best live track’s I’ve ever heard in “The Ballad of Me and My Friends” where Turner turns big swaths of the vocals over to the audience who pounce and sing at top volume. It’s a great song, but an even greater portrait of an artist’s relationship with his fans. You don’t need an explanation, you can feel it. The energy in that room (the Varsity Theater in Minneapolis, one of my favorite venues!) I can feel myself getting carried away. This is what chasing the dragon is for a music nerd. Constantly looking for that next artist who’s gonna blow your dick off. Constantly looking for another rabbit hole to disappear down. This compilation is just so much FUN. I mean, it OPENS with a Queen cover! WHO DOES THAT!? And then there’s just so many truths nestled within. “You were born into freedom so you don’t know its worth/ And you constantly speak of solutions/ But you only repeat revolutions,” Turner sings in “Something of Freedom.” And this is a B-SIDE! B-SIDE GODDAMNIT! I’m quivering with excitement at a complete discography to excavate. This is the life-affirming music I live for.

"Kiera" (Tony Sly Cover)

"Hits & Mrs." - I immediately funneled this one to the running playlist of sweet songs I have to put on mixes for my wife. A straight-up less-than-three. Hilariously, Hits & Mrs. was the name of Pete Rose's 2013 reality show. I wish that was a joke, but it's funnier that it's not. 

Gut Feeling: Courtney Barnett - The Double EP: A Sea of Split Peas

Courtney Barnett – The Double EP: A Sea of Split Peas

Marathon Artists, 2014

My favorite albums of the year always seem to be the ones that I listen to like a regular human being. The great records strip away the part of my brain that goes “I HAVE TO WRITE ABOUT THIS RIGHT NOW” and I just enjoy the music. Like a regular person without this sick, sick compulsion. It’s Year End List season now, and whilst getting my affairs in order I totally forgot the period this summer where I was constantly jamming this record when I was cooking dinner. It’s such a pure, perfect record it didn’t cross my mind that I should immediately go and write down my favorite lines from “Avant Gardener" ("The paramedic thinks I'm clever cos I play guitar/ I think she's clever cos she stops people dying" and "Oh no, next thing I know/ They call up triple O/ I'd rather die than owe the hospital" are both winners). That’s a track that’s going to crack my Top 5 in my Songs of the Year post and I just now added it to the fold. Realizing I’d left it out and rediscovering how great and fresh and clever that track is was like listening to it for the first time. The sickly guitars drowing in an ocean of reverb, the half-spoken, slightly stoned sounding vocals, and an Indian Ocean’s worth of charm from the Australian singer-songwriter. So much charm and wit and sneaky pop bliss. Honestly, this slacker rock stuff is wonderful, but the attitude of it all, is what makes this one an instant classic. The amount of fucks given, I mean, it’s pry hovering around the ZERO mark. Just such an easy, fun, unselfconscious record that captures that rare vibe of sounding instantly familiar and totally fresh and interesting at the same time.

"Avant Gardener" 

"History Eraser"

And as if I needed more selling, here's Barnett covering the Lemonheads, which adds even more instant respect on top of what she's already earned with her original songs.

Gut Feeling: FKA Twigs - LP1

FKA Twigs – LP1

Young Turks, 2014

It’s not often that an album will drag me kicking and screaming from my safe world of indie rock. I hope that doesn’t sound like some sort of brag or backhanded compliment, because it is regrettable how I am set in my ways. There’s some wiggle room on both sides of my taste (forays into metal and hip hop are not unheard of), but it defaults to ham and egger indie rock so fiercely that I was unsure I would be able to handle FKA Twigs “Alternative R&B” (per Wikipedia) for more than two seconds. But there was something about the album cover, that sad, painted porcelain doll-looking rendition of Tahliah Barnett’s incredibly distinct face. There was something alluring about it; something in the pleasing array of colors and the look she’s giving. I wanted to know what that look was about, so I pulled up the video for “Two Weeks” on youtube and didn’t look away until it was over.

“Two Weeks” is the most sensual song I’ve heard in who knows how long. It’s the first half of Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love filtered through layers of throbbing synthesizers with off kilter drum machine beats a la Burial, and the sort of frankly sexual lyrics rarely seen outside of Prince songs. Of course it’s Barnett’s vocals that hypnotize. Everything working together produces a full body listening experience that is incredible. I think part of this is subjective because I’m out of my element and excited, but these often minimal tracks laced with longing and heartbreak are incredibly affecting. Though Barnett is the star and it’s her persona and performance that delivers these songs directly to the heart, the production is outstanding, which is, I suppose, when you take a bunch of intriguing producers (notably Emile Haynie who takes the reigns on this one with fantastic results) and task them with producing dark and moody beats. The most impressive thing about LP1 is that it only gets better from here. I get the impression that Barnett is going to keep mining and keep pushing her sound further and further outside the realm of what we know and just getting to bear witness to this sort of burgeoning talent is an treat.

"Two Weeks"

"Video Girl"

Gut Feeling: Bell Gardens - Slow Dawns for Lost Conclusions

Bell Gardens – Slow Dawns for Lost Conclusions

Rocket Girl, 2014

Apparently, this is what happens when you take a couple of well regarded ambient electronic artists and have them make a folk record, and the results are disarmingly gorgeous. Stars of the Lid’s Brian McBride and minimal techno journeyman Kenneth James Gibson combine to craft dreamy and elegant Americana in the slowcore vein of Low but with more pedal steel. I’ve spent many an afternoon drifting in and out of naps listening to the expansive ambient soundscapes of Stars of the Lid, and while there are plenty of ambient elements that populate Bell Gardens’ second album, these richly textured songs are surprisingly straightforward. Like the discography of Stars of the Lid, Slow Dawns for Lost Conclusions is perfect nap music. It sounds like a slight, I know, but it’s damn hard finding an album peaceful enough to encourage rest. While incredibly deft, these atmospheric songs have a calming effect. I want to sleep inside them like a sensory deprivation chamber. Come to think of it, maybe I’d call this music Sensory Deprivation Chamber Pop. That sounds just about right.

RIYL: Low, Stars of the Lid, the Dead Texan, hardcore napping

Gut Feeling: La Dispute - Rooms of the House

La Dispute – Rooms of the House

Better Living, 2014

On Rooms of the House La Dispute’s strongest suit is making you feel like the world is ending and that it is ALL YOUR FAULT. They do it with an uneasy blend of post-hardcore, sing-speak verses, and all the resonance of the throwback vintage emo that is very in vogue at the moment (a trend that will surely wear itself out by the end of next year but, for the moment, is welcome and contributing to some really great records). It’s like walking through a decrepit old house where the floor could give out at any second. Everything is on edge, and the controlled sense of menace La Dispute manufacture on this record is an incredible feat.

Album standout and lead single “For Mayor of Splitsville” is perhaps the most perfect representative for Rooms of the House as a whole. Vocalist Jordan Dreyer speaks then screams then sings then all three. Rooms of the House is about a disintegrating relationship that seemingly transcends time and space but there, on that song, in that moment, everything is made crystal clear. The guitars unassumingly lurk in the verses only to strike with deadly force in the chorus, providing a roll of quarters to the punch of Dreyer’s vocals on lines like “Now I’m proposing my own toast/ Composing my own joke for those married men/ Maybe I’m miserable, I’d rather run for mayor of Splitsville/ Than suffer your jokes again.” These songs are cruel and uncomfortable and compelling.

It’s no secret that I’m a fan of a good concept album. Moreover, I’m a fan of break-up albums. When the two collide, I’m always there to soak up the misery. Rooms of the House makes the Alpha Couple in the Mountain Goats Tallahassee look like the Ozzie and Harriet.

RIYL: Cursive's Domestica, first wave screamo, being put through an emotional ringer

"For Mayor of Splitsville"

Gut Feeling: TV on the Radio - Seeds

TV on the Radio – Seeds

Harvest, 2014

In my head, TV on the Radio is way more avant-garde than they actually are. Somehow I forget that these guys aren’t avant-garde so much as innovative. As in the most innovative rock band currently going. Is that hyperbole? Overstatement? I’m listening to Seeds and wondering how a band so effortlessly brands their music with so much soul, excitement, cool, and straight-up kickassedness. Seeds isn’t as out there as their much lauded masterwork Return to Cookie Mountain, but even though it’s a pretty straightforward effort it’s one of the best rock records of the year. What TV on the Radio do feels effortless in a way that it overshadows how hard these guys work to make the music sound that way.

Somehow or other I missed the band’s 2011 album Nine Types of Light. Like totally missed it. Didn’t hear a single. Didn’t see the cover art. I didn’t even know it existed. I thought Seeds was the follow up to Dear Science (and thought “Damn, that’s a long time in between records”). It’s really been ten years since Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes? Ten years since TV on the Radio revealed itself to be on an entirely different planet than every other rock band. Tunde Adupimbe’s vocals anchor TVOTR’s art rock tendencies in a prism that can go from soulful (“Careful You”) to energetic (“Lazerray”) to borderline menacing (“Happy Idiot”) in damn compelling fashion. Of course it’s not just the vocals, because these guys are more than adept at churning out some of the tightest compositions you’re likely to hear anywhere and guitarist/producer Dave Sitek is one of this era’s producers of note. There’s not a lot of envelope pushing going on here, and given the quality of the songs this isn’t an issue.

"Careful You"

"Happy Idiot"

Gut Feeling: Frontier Ruckus - Sitcom Afterlife

Frontier Ruckus – Sitcom Afterlife

Quite Scientific, 2014

Frontier Ruckus’s third album—Eternity of Dimming—was my favorite album of last year. While I try to make it clear that my year-end lists are entirely subjective and that I’m not trying to isolate the “Best” album of any given year, I objectively think Eternity of Dimming was the best record of 2013. In his songwriting Ruckus front man Matthew Milia excavated the memories of his youth with precision and detail so as to capture them forever before they faded away. It’s a behemoth spanning two discs, sporting a running time over two hours, and boasting a lyrics sheet with more than 5000 words. I listened obsessively, savored the detail and twists of phrase, and appreciated the beauty of a songwriter digging down to his very core.

I feel like I’m not ready for that album’s follow up, but it’s here, and it’s great! I know it’s great because I’ve spent the six or so go throughs I’ve had with Sitcom Afterlife trying to poke holes in it. It’s not as intensive as Eternity of Dimming—and honestly, that album was a once-in-a-discography kind of thing—and the comparatively brisk runtime makes the songs so much easier to digest. There’s also a lot of rock solid growth on display here. The band pushes past the folky, bluegrassy blend of their roots into pure pop territory and the results are a thrill. Horns lurk around every corner and give Milia’s as-usual magnificent songwriting a new kind of backbone. The songs are fuller, richer, and overall it sounds like a band clicking into a new mode with confidence.

The most drastic change is the re-addition of band member Anna Burch on harmonies, which provide equal amounts of loveliness and tenderness. If you’ve seen videos of Burch and Milia singing together, their chemistry is obvious, and their harmonies are a big part of why Sitcom Afterlife is such a worthy successor to such a hugely ambitious record. The whole band’s chemistry is obvious, goddamnit. It’s mind blowing that they are still toiling in obscurity, because the music is just too damn good. It just blows my mind that they’ve released four records, each better than the last, each brimming with these gorgeous lyric sheets and forward-thinking Americana, each a testament to a specific time and place that is really every time and place. Just listen to David Jones' outrageous kinetic banjo line that serves as the spine to the album’s thunderous centerpiece “Crabapples in the Century’s Storm.” Where else is that happening?

Frontier Ruckus established themselves on Eternity of Dimming, but Sitcom Afterlife is definitive proof that this band should be your new favorite band. Their songbook is a treat and their following their evolution has been one of the most severe joys I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing in the last couple years. If they don’t catch on, oh well. I’ll just sit here thinking about how the big, cyclical closer “A&W Orange and Brown” is their “Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands” and making a mythology for this little Michigan quartet and enjoying their music with the utmost satisfaction. 

"Sad Modernity" 

Listen to the album in its entirety over at Under the Radar.

Gut Feeling: Angel Olsen - Burn Your Fire for No Witness

Angel Olsen – Burn Your Fire for No Witness

Jagjaguar, 2014

I’ve always compared Angel Olsen to the great forgotten lady folksingers of the 70s (or at least those featured on Numero Group’s Wayfaring Strangers: Ladies of the Canyon compilation from 2006) but on Burn Your Fire for No Witness she sounds like the reincarnation of Leonard Cohen (yeah, I know, he’s not dead but you get the picture). You can practically hear her channeling the man himself on “White Fire,” which is so densely moody you can barely move around in it. You just have to sit there in that hot tub of smoky atmosphere and take it. Cohenesque-ness aside, this is no imitation act: Angel Olsen is the real goddamn deal. While she can brood with the best of them, the sonic diversity of Burn… is what makes it such a compelling listen and even on more upbeat tracks like “Forgiven/Forgotten,” the intensity is always cranked to the max and consistently comes across as a songwriter wise beyond her years.

"Forgiven/Forgotten"

"White Fire"

Gut Feeling: Serengeti - Kenny Dennis III

Serengeti – Kenny Dennis III

Joyful Noise, 2014

 

Kenny Dennis returns for another chapter of his wild and crazy life. “Hot dog for lunch/ Hot dog for dinner/ Don’t need breakfast/ I ain’t no beginner,” he intones on the opening track “No Beginner.” While this simple life of hot dogs for dinner might make it seem that Dennis is settling for complacency, the third-ish proper installment in Kenny Dennis’s journey chronicles his wild ride back to fame and fortune. Of course, in the case of KDz, fame and fortune consists of touring the mall circuit and winning talent shows with his new project Perfecto—a collaboration with his quasi-mentee Ders.

On Kenny Dennis III, Kenny lives by the mantra “Win big/ Lose big/ Can’t break even/ No even stevens.” For someone who has been out of the limelight as long as Kenny has, the newfound success is as addicting as the bennies he can’t stop popping and by album’s end Kenny is on the verge of losing it all. His lovely lady Jules, O’Douls, and probably even some brats. For those uninitiated with Kenny’s saga, it’s best to start from the beginning (or at least listen to “Dennehy” which paints a pretty lifelike portrait of the man with the mustache).

On the sonic side of things, Serengeti once again enlists Odd Nosdam to craft a set of diverse beats that keep Kenny Dennis III rolling even when the record devolves into a long stretch of spoken word tracks by Anders Holm (the same Ders from Workaholics) that are hysterical when they’re broken up (as they were on The Kenny Dennis LP) but approach zone-out territory here and would be totally lost if it weren’t for the fantastic beatcraft. It’s a surprisingly subtle record for a character with an ego as big as lake Michigan, and repeat listens prove it’s a worthy installment in life of this incredibly strange character. I’m eagerly awaiting Geti’s next non-Kenny Dennis follow-up to 2012’s C.A.R., but until then, I’ll take as much KDz as I can get my hands on.  

"No Beginner"

Gut Feeling: Lagwagon - Hang

Lagwagon – Hang

Fat Wreck Chords, 2014

 

Pop-punk (especially the brand championed by Fat Wreck Chords) gets a bad reputation. It’s generally perceived as dumb, low class, and something for teenagers. OK, the teenagers thing is true. I spent my mid-teens fawning over NOFX, Lagwagon, No Use for a Name, and became a disciple of Fat Wreck. Fat Wreck is where I cut my teeth as a music appreciator, and as a result I’m still very much in love with pop-punk and always on the lookout for new bands who put their own unique spin on this ever looked down upon genre. But I also get excited when my old favorites put out new records because somehow, dudes like Joey Cape and Fat Mike never really change. Sure they get older, and maybe they mature (Cape definitely has, Fat Mike is still making his living peddling dick jokes and that’s totally fine!), but ultimately this stuff sounds the same.

There is something very comforting about the way Hang sounds like it could have been made in 2001. The production is cleaner, but it pulls elements and energy from early Lagwagon records like Duh and Hoss. I’m a firm believer that Joey Cape’s more subdued side project Bad Astronaut made him a great songwriter. Lagwagon’s songs were always really good before Bad Astronaut, but afterward they had a newfound depth. Lagwagon’s most recent albums Blaze and Resolve were surprisingly deft affairs, and Cape has continued to hone his craft with solo albums and a pair of solo albums with Tony Sly, whose tragic death in 2012 haunts Hang.

Though Hang isn’t entirely about Sly’s death, the short, heartbreaking acoustic opener “Burden of Proof” makes it seem plain as day and the blistering follow-up “Reign” expounds on the grief. “While you’re leaving/ The rest of us will be here grieving,” Cape sings in his trademark timbre that hasn’t changed a lick in 25 years. It’s one of the most emotionally resonant gut-punches of 2014. Not all of Hang is this grim, however.  (In case I totally misread everything, at the very least the emotionally walloping "One More Song" is definitely a tribute to Cape's late friend).There’s a fair bit of heavy melodic hardcore peppered in that’s a bit of a drag (the track “Drag” is actually a perfect example), but tracks like “Burning Out in Style” serve up the levity of clear-eyed pop without giving up any of this album’s hard earned gravitas.

"Burden of Proof"/"Reign"

Gut Feeling: Weezer - Everything Will Be Alright in the End

Weezer – Everything Will Be Alright in the End

Republic, 2014

Despite almost fifteen years of churning out some of the worst, pop chair-poised alt-rock, I still can’t completely write off Weezer. Because, like many men and women of my generation, our junior high and high school years were dominated by the band’s first two albums. This is just a fact. I wonder what the percentage is. Like the boomers and the Kennedy Assassination, I remember where I was the first time I heard those opening notes of “My Name is Jonas.” 9^th Grade, I was 15 years old and tasked with an insanely intensive biology project that determined my final grade. I had to write up descriptions of five flora and five fauna from the earth’s seven biomes. 70 paragraph-long descriptions of arctic foxes, desert brush, and parasites. It took a whole fucking weekend. Like 6 hours on Friday, 12 hours on Saturday, another 8 hours on Sunday. I still have it at my parents’ house because goddamnit, that’s a weekend of my youth I will never get back. But I don’t WANT it back, because I forged my love of power pop in those desperate hours as I listened to the Blue Album and Pinkerton on repeat, one after the other, for 25 solid hours. This is where I come from. This is why I’m a sucker for a big hook and even bigger guitars, soaring like a majestic eagle over a plain of crashing cymbals and snares and riffs and meaty bass lines. I enjoyed the Green Album, and I have a vivid memory of running a red light on the way to Hastings to buy Maladroit the day it came out, and I can still feel the ache of the letdown. After that I focused my efforts on punk rock and Weezer was put on the shelf, only to be taken down for road trip sing-a-longs and general nostalgia. Put on “Say it Ain’t So” in a room of 28 year olds and I guarantee we’re all belting that shit out in thirty seconds. Still, Weezer is something from our past, and it’s been a general rule of thumb to make believe Make Believe never existed. To ignore the silly album covers of Raditude and Hurley and the even sillier songs collected within. I could talk about this shit all day. The transition of Rivers Cuomo from an incisive songwriter whose pain was felt and understood by millions of people to a guy who would rather cut out his vocal chords than sing a single honest word ever again. The songwriting from the Green Album on is the hollowest shit you will ever hear.

Everything Will Be Alright in the End is Weezer’s least embarrassing album since the Green Album. Cuomo’s songwriting is still pretty dumb but the hooks almost always feel like vintage Weezer and some terrific collaboration with the likes of Best Coast’s Bethany Cosentino and Titus Andronicus’ Patrick Stickles are beautiful little moments. It shifts Cuomo’s empty calorie lyrics into something more substantive. He feels like a songwriter in transition, because even on his own on a track like “Da Vinci,” you can feel some real emotion but it’s sapped by the whistling-accented lightness of the verse. But the chorus on that track barrels over you like “Why Bother?” The Best Coast collaboration “Go Away” feels like a Green Album cut with the added twist of being a duet. It’s a piece of fluff, but it’s goddamn catchy. “Foolish Father” on the other hand, is totally disarming. Simple, but incredibly affective and a positive sign for Weezer’s potential to return to a world where relatable songwriting is prioritized. The hooks are there, and they’re glorious, but until Cuomo can eradicate lines like “Don’t wanna be mass consumed/ I’m not a happy meal,” which is both dishonest and dumb, there is still a lot of work to be done. Everything Will Be Alright in the End is a positive step, and while it doesn’t totally restore my faith in Weezer, it brings me way more satisfaction than I ever thought I’d get from a Weezer record and I feel like I’m fifteen, rocking out with my headphone on, writing about the animals of the taiga. Horns raised, head rocking, engraving the stylized Weezer W on the front of my Five Star notebook. Let's hope this album's title is a self-fulfilling prophecy for this band.

"Foolish Father"

"Ain't Got Nobody"

Gut Feeling: Sun Kil Moon - Benji

Sun Kil Moon – Benji

Caldo Verde, 2014

When my daughter was born, I got a month off work. It was great, and more exhausting than work, and for thirty days I worked the night shift while my poor, bedraggled wife slept. From 10 PM to 5 AM I’d hold Rosie while she slept because, naturally, the only way we could get her to sleep for a decent amount of time was to put her on my chest. I liked it. I loaded up my phone with lovely, quiet music and downloaded a couple of great games on the iPad and I settled in for my shift. During this time I must have listened to Benji forty times. The quietly sung songs played on a delicately finger-picked guitar let the baby sleep and let my mind devour the music. I listened to it incessantly, and I’m just now getting around to writing about it because I’m still processing, still uncovering, and still don’t feel like I’m ready to move on from Benji.  

I’ve always been a fan of Mark Kozelek’s output, but a casual one. I heard Red House Painters’ Songs for a Blue Guitar in college and very much enjoyed its loveliness. Sun Kil Moon’s Ghosts of the Great Highway was in the background in my later college years and his album of Modest Mouse covers—Tiny Cities—got some play as well. I enjoyed his collaborations with Jimmy LaValle and Desertshore last year, and I think it was those albums that put Kozelek back on my radar and set me up to get totally lost in Benji, which, I should add, is probably the saddest album I’ve ever heard. It’s not depressing (although I’m sure that’s arguable), just deeply sad. But also breathtakingly gorgeous and occasionally laugh out loud funny. It’s a masterfully rendered self-portrait that is so emotionally honest it’s almost painful to experience.

The thing that sticks with me most is that Kozelek has had not one, but two relatives die via exploding aerosol cans in garbage fires. I can’t get over the weirdness of that, and I don’t think Kozelek can either, considering both his deceased cousin and uncle get songs in this album (“Carissa” and “Truck Driver,” respectively). “I Can’t Live Without My Mother’s Love” appears to be tender and sweet upfront until you realize it’s a meditation on not knowing how he’s going to cope when his mother inevitably passes away. “Pray for Newtown” plays like a response to a letter mentioned in the song where a fan asks him to pray for the victims in the tragedy that was Newtown and the song is an exercise in attempting to cope with the most horrific tragedy in modern American history. It just goes on like this, and it’s so incredibly comforting to hear someone bearing everything. All there, right out there for you to share and while I’ve never had a loved one die in a fire caused by an exploding aerosol can, I can relate to all of the underlying fears and anxieties.

 Mercifully, Kozelek closes the album with a bit of lightness. “Ben’s My Friend” is a chronicle of attending a Postal Service reunion show. It’s a mundane account of the day and I feel like it’s there to let you know that life goes on. Despite all of the heartbreak of the album’s previous ten songs, you still gotta get up every day, run errands, and try to enjoy your life. The lyrics crack me up every time. Stuff like “Bought a 350 dollar pair of lampshades/ And we at eat Perry’s and I ordered crab cakes” and the refrain of “Sports bar shit” that serves as the second chorus is like a sigh of relief. Sometimes I feel like the only person in my life that really appreciates darkness, so these sad records tend to be very personal experiences. It’s like the record became a part of me and now I carry it around with me. I like that. I think great albums do that to you. You transform a little. You’re a little something more than you were before you heard it. You see things a little differently, things are a little heavier or lighter or fuller. Benji is one of those albums that reminded me why I choose to love music, and I am eternally thankful for its existence.

"Carissa"

"Ben's My Friend"

Gut Feeling: Cymbals Eat Guitars - LOSE

Cymbals Eat Guitars – LOSE

Barsuk, 2014

A few years ago I gave up on trying to be anything but an indie rock kid. It was hard to quit pretending that I really listened to everything when really all I wanted to listen to was people banging out chords on guitars singing simple, heartfelt songs. After leaving KJHK, where I felt it was important to paint myself as someone who loved all types of music, I went into a deep hibernation of 1990s alternative rock. I listened to the Lemonheads and Superchunk incessantly in addition to combing through the darker recesses of Guided by Voices’ back catalog. It was so fundamentally necessary to unwind from almost four years of playing tastemaker. It’s embarrassing that I even think of it like that, but that’s how I approached my job at the station and when it was all over and the mask fell off, I accepted myself for what I was: Someone with boring taste. That’s not to say I don’t appreciate all different types of music, it’s just when I instinctively reach for something to put on in the car or in my headphones I go for the same sort of stuff. Some is punkier, some is poppier, some is folkier, but it’s all a variation of my beloved indie rock and roll.

When I put on the new Cymbals Eat Guitars record I was just looking for something pleasant to have on in the background. I remembered enjoying their first record—Why There Are Mountains—when it came through KJHK, but couldn’t remember anything but a line about Natural American Spirits from the one song (“Wind Phoenix”) I listened to on repeat. They released a follow-up in 2011 that I totally missed. The last I heard from them they were doing an episode of the AV Club’s Undercover series in which they covered Superchunk’s “Detroit Has a Skyline.” Which is ultimately what caused me to take a chance on LOSE, which ended up being one of the most surprising and enjoyable records I’ve heard all year.

All the indie rock elements are there, but the Staten Island quartet arranges them in such a way and bends generic conventions is a refreshing treat. The first three tracks go from emotionally charged slowburner to a reverb drenched 80s alt-rock throwback to a propulsive, harmonica heavy folk-tinged stomper. It’s an excellent place setting that keeps the listener off balance but also keeps them locked into curious route this band is taking. The lyrics come across deeply personal and deeply sad. Certain lines catch my ear and I know I’m going to be poring over this one for the rest of the year (“I learned to scream ‘Bone Machine’/ My windshield spit was glistening” and “Each frequency’s a memory of some show we attended/ Fuck you learner’s permit/ Drive down to Philly with me to see the Wrens in a rec room” are good examples. Actually, there are a couple of Wrens references on LOSE, and the lyrics sheet looks a whole hell of a lot like The Meadowlands. Which is a really good thing). The personal burden unloaded in Joseph D’Agostino’s songs helps to eschew the normal indie rock conventions and offer a document of drugs and friendship and grief. It’s the sort of deep, thoughtful record with a hearty shelf life that makes me salivate.

"Jackson" 

"Warning"


"Chambers"

Gut Feeling: The New Pornographers - Brill Bruisers

The New Pornographers – Brill Bruisers

Matador, 2014

The New Pornographers are making records like there are other bands vying for the title of finest power pop band of the 21^st Century. As usual, no one even comes close to matching the explosive, soulful, and devastatingly hooky pop Carl Newman and company have been crafting since the turn of the century. Their last two records—2007’s Challengers and 2010’s Together—were understated, democratic affairs, that were enjoyable but seemingly shooting for loftier emotional payoff rather than pop majesty. Brill Bruisers is their most undeniable record since their 2005 masterpiece Twin Cinema and a mighty return to form.

Has it really been almost ten years since Twin Cinema? That record is still so fresh in my mind. Driving down I-35, blaring it the day it came out, understanding that it was going to be my favorite record of the year. Undeniable. The kind of music with a direct line to that kinetic link between my heart and mind. Nine years later I’m driving down the same highway, listening to Brill Bruisers, and feeling that same satisfaction. And I’m thinking Brill Bruisers is the better album. It just feels like a classic.

While a lot of what I love about Brill Bruisers is rooted in a gut-level appreciation for the booming guitars and lovely harmonies, but have been actively tricking my brain into appreciating all of the elements that went into making this immensely satisfying record. First, it’s a wonderful blend of something old and something new. The aforementioned full-bodied guitars that morph into a big wall of sound at will are like sonic comfort food, but it’s worth mentioning that Neko Case and Dan Bejar are coming off the best albums of their respective careers and there’s something about Brill Bruisers that feels like an All Star Game, but with actual stakes. Carl Newman (who is also coming off the best solo album of his career) plays ringleader, effortlessly corralling all of these elements like a master alchemist.

The Neko led “Champions of Red Wine” is buoyed by sparkling synthesizers and despite having throaty, driving guitars backing her up, it’s the album’s most intimate moment. The crunchy guitars that anchor two thirds of Dan Bejar’s tracks are perhaps the furthest thing form the euro disco vibe on his latest album as destroyer, Kaputt. “Born with a Sound” oscillates between heavy verses and effervescent choruses thanks to the sweetness of Kathryn Calder’s co-vocals. His other stand-out track is the album’s single “War on the East Coast” which is a delightful bit of fun with menacing guitars and the busy synthesizers that tie the whole album together.

There are so many treats on Brill Bruisers that it’s impossible to list them all. The ELO inspired vocoded vocals on “Backstairs.” The token late album change-of-pace track “Wide Eyes” features the album’s best interplay between Case and Newman and it’s just nonchalantly tucked away! Slow burning closer “You Tell Me Where” ends the album the way all New Pornographers albums end: with big, satisfying harmonies and perfect synthesis. It’s amazing this group is still together, considering how successful Neko Case and Dan Bejar have become in their own careers. Still, after 14+ years, maybe it’s inertia keeping these guys together. And in that case, thank god for inertia. I don’t expect this album to grow, not really. They don’t have to evolve. I look forward to their albums because I know I’m going to get the best, soul satisfying power pop the modern music world has to offer and yet here I am, delightfully surprised that the group has somehow gotten better. I’m going to appreciate it while it lasts, which will hopefully be a long long time.

"War on the East Coast"

Gut Feeling: Mac Demarco - Salad Days

Mac Demarco – Salad Days

Captured Tracks, 2014

Mac Demarco’s guitar sounds sick. Not like, “Sick brah,” sick, like in bed with a head cold sick. The easygoing riffs somehow find a way to shimmer despite sounding like they’re wrapped in gauze and played on the worst guitar in the world. Though Demarco’s tendency for raunchiness in a live setting precedes him, the image of Mac Demarco the prankster/goofball/dipshit contrasts sharply with Mac Demarco the pop genius. This motherfucker can write a motherfucking song.

Or 34 songs, for that matter. That’s how many songs he’s released in the last three years over three successive albums (2012’s Rock and Roll Night Club and 2013’s 2). Each one has been a strange, murky, hard-to-put-a-finger on blend of lo-fi bedroom pop injected with a healthy dose of total weirdness, slacker vibes oozing from slack guitars, and pure animal magnetism. I cannot stop listening to Salad Days. It’s pretty much a perfect summer record. I’ve been listening to it at work in the mornings, in the basement shooting pool on my father in law’s uneven pool table, in the car, on the back deck watching the sunset. It’s just been following me around like a mangy dog that you can’t help but love.

All of this would just be your common Brooklyn bedroom bullshit if it weren’t for Demarco’s knack for pairing his hazy, tuneful gems with surprisingly insightful, if simple, lyrics. My two favorite tracks on the record—“Let Her Go” and “Treat Her Better”—are perfect little bad boyfriend songs. Maybe I’ve just been in too many of those conversations where a buddy is telling me that he doesn’t know if he wants to be with a lady and had words like “Tell her that you love her/ If you really love her/ But if your heart just ain’t sure/ Let her go” or “Treat her better boy/ If having her around is something you enjoy.” He’s not gonna win any songwriting competitions, but the sentiment is refreshing in a songwriting world of “she done me wrong” and fuck you songs.

Salad Days is the most complete work yet from who has found a way to balance being prolific and improving on each consecutive release, and I’m sure at this rate his next album will be another gem as well. It’s not a masterpiece, but it gives me the impression that Demarco definitely has a masterpiece in him and we will probably be hearing it sooner rather than later. Demarco’s complete deconstruction of the Pop Song is marvelous, and the arsenal of earworms on this one is truly impressive.

RIYL: Ween, Real Estate with a lobotomy, A Scuzzier Jonathan Richman

"Let Her Go"

Gut Feeling: Happyness - Weird Little Birthday

Happyness – Weird Little Birthday

Weird Smiling, 2014

My notes for UK trio Happyness’s debut LP consist solely of a list of bands Happyness clearly hold near and dear to their hearts. Sparklehorse, Wilco, Eels, Yo La Tengo. There are more, but after crossreferencing this list with other reviews of the band, I noticed that I wasn’t the only one that thought Happyness act is a bit of pastiche. That’s not a burn, though, because one of my favorite new bands of the last five years—fellow Brits Yuck—released a debut that culled all the best parts of 90s indie rock and delivered it in a way that made me forget the sum of the band’s influences entirely. They synthesized the feel of Pavement and the like and reignited that part of my heart that loved the way those songs felt and made me feel. Happyness do the same damn thing and warm the particular cockles of my heart tuned into American lo-fi ramshackle pop music.

But really, I should let it be known that this band really sounds like Sparklehorse. And “Naked Pictures” sounds like it could have been a b-side from Wilco’s Summerteeth (there’s also the lyric “there’s something in you bloodier than blood” on a later album track). The downtrodden “Pumpkin Noir” plays like every Eels track that wasn’t “Novocain For the Soul.” But as the guitars jangle on, and as the influences become mixed and morph into this band’s personality, I find myself enjoying this weird little album more and more. I get the feeling that these guys are more than capable of crawling out from under the shadow of their heroes. Regardless, Weird Little Birthday is pretty damn infectious and delightful and when they're at their best (the aching penultimate track "Lofts" is a wonderfully sad, wonderfully written piece of mope pop and sounds like someone has gone over it with a highlighter) they cut right through your heart. 

"Great Minds Think Alike, All Brains Taste the Same"

"Baby, Jesus (Jelly Boy)"

Gut Feeling: King Creosote - From Scotland With Love

King Creosote – From Scotland With Love

Domino, 2014

It’s always been that I’ve found my favorite albums by accident. I stumble over them like a crack in the sidewalk. Last year’s album of the year—Frontier Ruckus’ Eternity of Dimming—was discovered via watching their AV Club Undercover video for Third Eye Blind’s “Semi-Charmed Life.” 2012’s album of the year—Father John Misty’s Fear Fun—was in one of the myriad flats of CDs I was pricing in the basement of the Half Price Books in St. Louis Park. I put it on because I liked the cover, and then listened the CD at least once a day every workday for the next two weeks. I’m not saying King Creosote’s soundtrack for a film about Scotland in advance of the 2014 Commonwealth Games is my favorite album of the year, but it’s definitely on the list. And I only listened to it because I mistook it for a new album by English singer-songwriter King Krule. Happy accidents.

I have just spent a lovely sunny summer Sunday afternoon with this album as my soundtrack, and I am pleased. More than pleased. At ease. Do you know how hard it is for me to be at ease? I live with my in-laws because I barely make any money. I mean, it’s not that I don’t make any money, it’s just that the money I do make is siphoned off by massive student loan payments, health insurance, car insurance, car payments, and the various things needed to ensure the survival and happiness of a four month old girl child. Almost all of my free time is spent worrying about money. Sure, there’s happiness in the form of severe love from and for my wife and daughter, but perpetual stress is as close to a modus operandi as I get. So being able to spin an album of lush, gorgeously crooned melody drenched folk songs sung heartily with a Scottish lilt and feel relaxed is as close to pure mental wellbeing as it gets around these parts.

From Scotland With Love is absolutely fucking lovely. And it’s the most recent release in Kenny Anderson’s sprawling discography. He has been releasing records (initially in the form of CD-Rs) since 1998 and I feel flabbergasted that, as someone who considers himself to be pretty in the know in re modern music, I would have failed to have heard of someone who has been making music for 16 years. Even in passing. Ok, he’s only been releasing albums-proper since 2003, but still!

From Scotland With Love is a delight. The tracks run the gamut from quietly beautiful (“Something to Believe In,” “Pauper’s Dough”) to sunny and upbeat (“Largs,” “For One Night Only”) to string-laden showstoppers (“Miserable Strangers”) and the shifting texture, sonic diversity, and overall quality makes it surprising that this is a soundtrack for a film and not a standalone master class in nostalgia and pleasantness. 

"Something to Believe In"

"Miserable Strangers"