Gut Feeling: Fred Thomas - All Are Saved

Fred Thomas – All Are Saved

Polyvinyl, 2015

“Who is this guy?” I thought to myself whilst staring at the cover of Fred Thomas’ latest solo effort. “Is he from Brooklyn?” He looked like he might be from Brooklyn, which immediately brought on the reservations and mistrust I usually harbor for New York City bands. When I found out Thomas was from Michigan, all those reservations melted away. When I then found out he was the frontman for the excellent 00s indie pop group Saturday Looks Got To Me, I was sold. And then I listened to the record. This is what it’s like for me these days. There’s a vetting process based on ridiculous information, misconceptions, and it’s basically all about gut feeling and the strength of a band’s cover art.

One listen through it’s clear that you’ve just heard a man’s soul smeared across 11 tracks. Thomas is an excellent tunesmith (SLGTM’s 2003 hazy pop masterpiece All Your Summer Songs was an immediate staple when I found it in 2004), and while many of these songs are stuck in my head, they’re not there for the typical hooky pop reasons. They’re stuck there because they’re haunting. The images Thomas conjures in his lyric sheet are beautiful, rotten, and poetic. The songs themselves are a kitchen sink’s worth of quickly hammered out guitar chords, glaring electronics, latent pop flourishes (“Cops Don’t Care Pt II” is the earwormiest of the bunch, sporting the terrific sing-a-long refrain “They don’t give a fuck/ They don’t give a fuck about us”), and impassioned spoken word delivery.

All Are Saved is disarming. That’s the best I can do for it. It’s a bundle of raw feels that will give you the feels if you stick around and let it, which I recommend, because getting the raw feels is one of those things that makes you feel like you’re not totally alone in this world. Fred Thomas has released like 50 (fact check: 8) solo records but this is the first one to garner anything resembling attention. I am now wildly curious whether those albums are weirdo dabblings and it took him 8 records to figure out how to best sling his poetic alt-folk-pop or if he’s been churning out solo songwriting wizardry for the last 12 years behind everyone’s backs. I guess there’s only one way to find out, and by the time I work my way through that massive backlog hopefully Thomas will have unleashed another masterful record to the masses.

Check out that aforementioned excellent lyrics sheet here. 

"Cops Don't Care Pt. 2" - This is the one that'll hook you. 

"Bad Blood" - This is the one currently occupying the top spot of my "Favorite Songs of 2015" list. An absolute gut check. Beautiful writing, passionate music making, holy shit. 

Gut Feeling: Joanna Gruesome - Peanut Butter

Joanna Gruesome - Peanut Butter

Slumberland, 2015

Let’s just get this out of the way right at the top: We all know that Joanna Gruesome is a terrible band name. It’s funny, sure, but it does a disservice to a really terrific young band. Unlike most of the bands on Slumberland’s roster who seem content to dredge up the label’s pop-tinged shoegazey past, Welsh quintet Joanna Gruesome make their own beautiful mess out of punk, indiepop, and a kitchen sink’s worth of nods to the great hooksmiths of the 90s. Now allow me to undercut that statement by saying that Peanut Butter is the spiritual successor to Black Tambourine’s Complete Recordings. That’s about the highest compliment I can pay, because that album is maybe the most perfect indie-pop record ever recorded. The genre is at its best when the albums stick to a ten-songs, all under three minutes formula, and Joanna Gruesome not only follow that line, but keep the tracks around the two-minute mark. As a result, these songs achieve what is basically the equivalent of the Magic Hour in music: They don’t overstay their welcome and you want to immediately listen to them all over again.

Which is why I want these guys to change their name! You deserve better! I mean, it’s certainly a fitting moniker, considering that this band gives about zero fucks about what anyone thinks, but c’mon! Come to think of it, it’s much better than the uninspired band names currently overpopulating the indie rock landscape. At least it’s funny and has some personality! Speaking of personality, Joanna Gruesome has plenty. The opening track, “Last Year,” leads on as the shouty-post-riot-grrrl Sleater Kinney vibe that seems to be so popular at the moment before pulling the rug out and delivering the sweetest, most satisfying hooks I’ve heard all year. It’s a winning formula, and a beautiful juxtaposition that works throughout the record’s brisk 22 minutes. The band’s energy and love for vintage British twee reminds me of my beloved Los Campesinos! but they bring a darker, grungier edge to the table. The result is the most exciting album I’ve heard all year and the CD is going to stay in my car stereo for at least a month and a half.

"Last Year" - The new frontrunner for my favorite song of 2015 by about a mile at this point. If this song doesn't do it for you at least on some tiny level, you have no joy in your heart.

Gut Feeling: Mikal Cronin - MCIII

Mikal Cronin – MCIII

Merge, 2015

Mikal Cronin is writing the best Carl Newman songs since 2004. That isn’t a slight to either artist. Newman and the New Pornographers have matured since their power-pop heyday, and Cronin is there to carry the torch and deliver the hookiest, most satisfying alt-pop since “Sing Me Spanish Techno.” I was late to Cronin’s coming out party with his brainmeltingly blissful 2013 sophomore effort MCII, and mostly I’m just glad I caught the boat at all. I just read an article that says you stop discovering new music at 33! And that it is accelerated for parents! And I TOTALLY AGREE WITH THAT ARTICLE. I lack the drive to comprehend the new and the interesting.

Fortunately, Cronin’s tunes are so within my wheelhouse it’s no effort at all to enjoy his music. His third album (and second on Merge, which is the best home these songs could have) incorporates big, orchestral flourishes and you can practically feel the ambition radiating off this thing. The whole back-half is a five-song suite that breaks from the good-time pop mold and features Cronin laying it all on the line. It’s a huge, diversely arranged song cycle that has the feel and flow (and occasionally orchestrated) of a Neutral Milk Hotel record. It’s beautiful and heartfelt departure that has my pop-loser soul yearning for more Mikal Cronin.

"Turn Around"

Gut Feeling: Waxahatchee - Ivy Tripp

Waxahatchee – Ivy Tripp

Merge, 2014

Katie Crutchfield wasted no time capitalizing on the breakout success of her sophomore effort as Waxahatchee—2013’s excellent Cerulean Salt. That album was full of concentrated ramshackle indie-pop. Perfect hooks locked in sub-three-minute shells that begged relistening the way a junkie begs you to let you have just this next one free because they’ll get you the money in three days, they promise. It was one of those albums where I AGONIZED over which track would make my year end list, because half the songs on that album were show-stopping standouts and the other half were these subtle, soulful gems that helped Crutchfield crowbar the album under your skin.

Coming off an album that was effectively vulnerability personified, leadoff track “Breathless” sounds like a flexing muscle. A beefy drone of feedback carries through the track’s four minutes, which is practically an epic by Crutchfield’s standards. It’s a slow burner, relying on the underlying feedback tones to drag you into what is effectively everything the follow up to a breakout success should be: confident, assured, and willing to jump off the cliff.

Listening to Ivy Tripp in the car, I could practically taste a 90s Merge Records vibe. I couldn’t remember who put it out, but when I arrived at my destination and had a chance to check it made perfect sense. Merge is like a time capsule, preserving bygone traditions of indie rock. Ivy Tripp is a fair bit more put together than its predecessor, and though it’s maybe three tracks too long I still found myself putting it on when I didn’t know what else to put on.

Gut Feeling: Sufjan Stevens - Carrie & Lowell

Sufjan Stevens – Carrie & Lowell

Asthmatic Kitty, 2015

I know the whole “50 States Project” was a “joke,” but Sufjan Stevens had me fooled. If you asked me ten years ago what his 2015 release would be like, I’d have guessed he’d be releasing “Maine Squeeze” or “Utah-t Me How to Love” or “Get Down on the Dance Flor-ida,” not reverting to the blindingly gorgeous and hushed banjo-heavy folk of his 2004 album Seven Swans. It’s more surprising still considering his last full-length—2010’s The Age of Adz—was an experimental, electronic drenched epic that sounded like Stevens totally tearing down everything he’d built himself up to be. And I suppose that’s what happened. Carrie & Lowell is a return to the sound that made his name, but it’s also his most powerful piece of work. Inspired by the death of his mother, the songs are at times painfully raw and intensely personal. Ok, it’s all intensely personal. There’s no room to breathe, and that’s part of Carrie & Lowell’s power. The songwriting is of a strength that dispels the notion Stevens’ peaked on Illinois’ finest moments and illustrates that his best work may be yet to come. As great and heartwrenching as the songwriting is, the music here is truly outstanding. Sure it’s quiet and beautiful like Seven Swans, but it’s run through a filter of ten years of dabbling in minimalism, electronics, and hip-hop. It truly feels like the sum of years of hard work. It takes a delicate touch to pull off an album this intense, and for all of Stevens’ scope and grandeur on previous projects, this one feels like a legitimate masterpiece.

Listen to Carrie & Lowell in its entirety at NPR. Ideally in a quiet place, alone, after nightfall for maximum effect.

"No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross"

"Eugene"

Gut Feeling: Jeff Rosenstock - We Cool?

Jeff Rosenstock – We Cool?

Quote Unquote/Sideonedummy, 2015

I swear, once a week I sit and quietly reflect upon all the music I love that I’m not listening to. I’d never heard of Bomb the Music Industry! until I took a flyer on frontman Jeff Rosenstock’s latest solo record after seeing his name pop up on Facebook. After an exhausting decade of trying to keep up with everything, my new year’s resolution was to quit reading music reviews in an effort to put a stop to the little voice inside my head that plays when I listen to music (“It only got a 5.4 on Pitchfork, hmm”). I’m a much happier person. And it makes way more sense getting clued in by people I actually like and trust. So there you go. Jeff Rosenstock’s name pops up in my Facebook feed and I A.) Know I need to get all of those Bomb the Music Industry! albums B.) Found another dude who totally nails that poppy bedroom punk sound that is maybe my favorite sound and C.) all of a sudden have a valid album of the year contender.

We Cool? is a messy and urgent examination of that late 20s/early 30s unhappiness (“Nothing makes me happy/ I’m like a shitty child”) and general ennui. A sort of “Well OK what now.” It’s not exactly uncharted territory, but Rosenstock has so much fun with the subject matter and the songs it makes for a fun journey down this well trod path. A poppier Andrew Jackson Jihad was an immediate touchstone and wouldn’t you know it, they’re cohorts (and tour mates, who just played Lawrence last night and were I still a member of that unattached late 20s/early 30s crowd I would have been there hell/highwater style). The epic power pop of early Weezer are also present, but its honestly more akin to Weezer acolytes Ozma who had a sweeter, synthier vibe. Either way, We Cool? is insanely catchy and infinitely relistenable and it’s sneakily become my go-to record for 2015. Bad day? Put on “Hall of Fame” in the car and make everything better. Feeling pissed off at everything? That drunken Ben Folds-y piano and chant-a-long chorus on “Nausea” does the trick.

I’m thinking We Cool? is exactly what I was looking for and I’m glad I stumbled across it (and Rosenstock’s own Quote Unquote records which offers free downloads of the labels albums and asks only for donations). When you go through the motions of modern music and hype and label spin on a regular basis, finding a pocket of that pure, amazing, unaffected DIY spirit is like finding a woman you want to spend the rest of your life with. So pure and good and right. For someone (like myself) particularly susceptible to that aforementioned spin, hype, and bias, this music feels like home. 

Get it here.

"Nausea"

Gut Feeling: Father John Misty - I Love You, Honeybear

Father John Misty – I Love You, Honeybear

Sub Pop, 2015

Josh Tillman’s first album as Father John Misty—2012’s Fear Fun—was a beautiful and weird examination of ego and personal mythology set in a Hollywood of drugs and debauchery delivered with pure swagger. It was my favorite record that year, and its followup, I Love You, Honeybear, is poised to be my favorite record of 2015. I know it’s early, but goddamn, Misty gone an done it again!

I Love You, Honeybear is a disarmingly romantic record. Compared to the wall-to-wall weirdness and self-indulgence of Fear Fun, it’s a joy hearing a record of songs about how much Tillman loves his wife. There’s no simpering sentiments or any of that mushy stuff, but there are plenty of moments that hit you right in the heart. Right down to the guts. It’s a record about not just finding someone to watch the world burn with, but also finding someone who makes you understand that love is a transformative process two people undergo, and openly willing to make that transformation.

It’s a photorealistic portrait of true love. There are still a lot of drugs and weird sex involved, but this time around, Misty has someone to share in the experience. On “Chateau Lobby (in C for Two Virgins)” Tillman belts out “First time you let me stay the night despite your own rules/ You took off early to go cheat your way through film school/ You left a note in your perfect script/ Stay as long as you want/ And I haven’t left your bed since” before a mariachi band punctuates the sentiment with big, brassy horns.

Sweetness, sexiness, and swagger blur into one big, unnamable emotion just like the album’s two central characters. The emotions are so large and earnest, I’ll probably shed an actual tear of Josh and Emma Tillman ever divorce. Honestly, all I want from music is honesty and when honesty is spilled out so openly as it is on Honeybear, I tend to obsess. Or maybe I’m just happy that someone finally made a record for my sect: Married Dudes Who Deeply Love Their Wives. I’ve always been an enormous fan of break up albums, but goddamn is it refreshing to hear such an artful examination of getting together and staying that way. 

"Chateau Lobby #4 (in C for Two Virgins)" - Wait for that punctuating mariachi solo and tell me you're not sold!

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"