Forget the entire Frank Ocean/Chipotle beef for a second. Stop worrying about the strange disconnect between telling one major business to "F*** off" and warmly accepting the invitation of another. I know it's hard to extricate all that noise from this track, but once you do you'll be able to appreciate "Hero" for what it really is: another great addition to what is rapidly becoming a vaunted songbook.
Almost right away "Hero" distinguishes itself from much of Ocean's work by introducing a subdued, scratchy lead guitar figure from the Clash's Mick Jones. Had Jones' name not been slathered all over the release, guessing a member of the Bar-Kays or Booker T. & the MGs would've been a safe bet. Not to mention the clattering piano keys and thick as syrup bass notes from Paul Simonon. Hearing it all you expect a gravel-throated singer from the backwaters of the South to step forward. That's not what happens. Instead Ocean's voice comes gliding through, pledging his loyalty to America while admitting "I love some queen." From there he only humblebrags more over Diplo's restrained drum-machine skitters. He plays concerts in the mud, paints subjects in the buff, and can dunk. He's a "hero" he croons in the most genteel way imaginable. And such heroism calls for something more, in this case an explosive solo from Jones and the West Los Angeles Children's Choir singing Ocean's praises far and wide. In that ascendant moment, he's no longer some "dude" battling a burrito franchise, he's the caped crusader of R&B. Are we better off without him? Absolutely not.
"N***** wanna want to hear
you rap, don't nobody care about how you feel," Odd Future collaborator
Vince Staples derisively proclaims over the stuttering drums and in-house horn
section of "Burgundy". After three years of waiting, an over-publicized retreat to Samoa, an Internet-baiting return track,
and an impossibly dense appearance on an all-time posse cut;
any fan of Odd Future and Earl wanted an album of raps. This was the "hot and bothered astronaut," "crushin' motherf***ers like moths in a mosh-pit,"
always smart-mouthed and quick-witted.
All Earl had to do for Doris was
stack raps on raps on raps, instead he undertook an entirely different
construction project.
Not that there isn't plenty of
pure, unadulterated rapping here. "Hive", the third single to spin off of the
album is a midnight marauder through a crumbling Los Angeles, where
"death's less important when the Lakers lose". Vince Staples appears
once more to strut down Death Row; carrying a "yomper big as Larry Johnson"
and piling bodies up "Auschwitz". Earl mentions "crawling down
'Fax like a rich n**** centipede", and the beat stitched up by Matt
Martians and Earl suggests that slimy lurching quality. Spaghetti-Western
guitar ripples of "Hoarse" provides Earl an ample opportunity to slow
down, while still "leaving opponents floating with paper and dirty
porcelain". I’m hard-pressed to pick a favorite line from the album, though
"rolling slick as the bottom of the bowling kicks," is hard not to
love. Jandek death howls appear from behind a creaking door, ensuring
the song's nightmarish status.
Earl's living through another
kind of nightmare on "Chum",
where it's been "twelve years since my father left, left me
fatherless" and he's hunted down by attention-seeking news sleuths. Over a
prodding piano line, Sweatshirt attempts to make amends with his mother and
takes up an older brother in Tyler. In the track's most telling moment the
19-year old Earl is "indecisive, scatterbrained, and frightened."
It's easy to forget he's still a kid trying to keep his head above water. The
aforementioned "Burgundy" is equally autobiographical, finding
Earl lamenting the loss of his grandmother (for whom the album is named) while
he's stuck "trying to get this album cracking." A friend called the
song "special" and I couldn’t imagine it at first. Now I can see it.
Rare is the occasion an artist opens up the diary of his life and invites us to
thumb through it; written in such rich detail we can hear his heart racing
"in the midst of a tornado".
"Sunday" flips to
another page, focusing on rocky relationships and swearing off substances.
Earl's dreams have gotten dimmer since he "stopped smoking pot," as
his relationship plots a similar course. He struggles to pick up the phone at
the beginning of the hazy track and soon enough he's asking "why we argue
a lot." The up-and-down is embodied in the chorus, Earl confessing:
"and loving you is a little different, I don't like you a lot." Loving
someone is difficult, though liking them is no cakewalk either. For his part,
Frank Ocean raps about leaving the object of his affections "at terminal
three," vanishing into his sleeper seat. In the outro, he's wondering
"what we're about?" Amidst all the traveling and extended vacations, you
can forget the reason you’re coming home. "Knight" provides a
temporary remedy from the nausea inducing beats, prescribing a soul sample of
the Magictones (previously put to good use by Raekwon).
Most-improved-rapper on the O.F. team Domo Genesis is "chasing
profits" despite his promise to finish college. Domo opens up about his
own absentee father and his success in spite of him. Earl sends a "shout
(out) to the fathers that didn't raise us." They're scouring the same
abandoned mine and yielding diverse results. Domo maybe the resident stoner of
the group, but his ambitions burn like bleeding lava. Earl is simmering, slowly
balling his fist up. Domo's the child still trying to prove something, Earl's
refusing to dwell in the past and filling the void any way he can.
"N***** think cause you f***ing
made "Chum" and got all personal that n***** won't go back to that
old f***ing 2010 s***," Tyler bellows in his rasp at the onset of verbal
onslaught "Whoa". We're given the "misadventures of a
s***-talker," whose is just as likely to found "bruising gimmicks
with the broom he usually use for Quidditch," as he is to "get a nice
spanking" courtesy of a new Sears catalog. Earlier during
"Sasquatch" Tyler cruised around in a truck plastered by puppy signs,
looking for One Direction fans to kidnap. Bouncing perfectly off each other,
the two also manage to highlights the differences between themselves. Tyler's
blissfully stuck in a state of arrested development, he's "soaring to Taco
Bell" while Earl's given up on ordering from the kid's menu. On Doris we
can hear Earl rap, but we can also hear the sound of him growing up.
As an added boost to his rapping status, begun on the "Oldie" posse-cut, OF-crooner Frank Ocean has posted lyrics on his Tumblr of what appears to be his own rewrite of the summer smash "Versace." "I'm wearing some Dickies, they cost 30 Euros, I'm not even into Versace," goes the final couplet. No word yet on if the song will make an official appearance anytime soon, though Ocean will be appearing at Drake's OVO Festival in Toronto next month, so we may not have to wait long.
Cults announce new album
Cults 2011 self-titled debut was an idyllic slice of 60s girl-pop with a modernist glaze and ripe-picked quotes from actual cult-leaders to circumvent the sweetness. Come October 15 the band will be back with a new take on the recipe entitled Static. Out via Columbia Records, the LP enlists the aid of Shane Stoneback (who worked on their original album) and Ben Allen (best known for doing production work with Animal Collective and Youth Lagoon). Check out a promo clip for the album here which features some gargantuan sounding 60s surf-pop.
"Byegone"
Justin Vernon (he of Bon Iver fame) is readying his second collaborative as Volcano Choir, his experimental-pop project with fellow Wisconsin natives Collection of Colonies of Bees. In the run-up to the release of Repave, they've debuted the video for first single "Byegone." The understated grandeur of the track is reflected in the video which features numerous skyward shots of a massive tree redecorated with light bulbs. Repave is out September 3 via Jagjaguwar.
"Hot Knife"
In the tradition of past highlights: "Paper Bag", "Fast You Can", and "Limp" Fiona Apple has re-teamed with ex-boyfriend Paul Thomas Anderson (the man most recently behind The Master and There Will Be Blood) to produce a video for The Idler Wheel... closer "Hot Knife". The stark black-and-white paneled video also features Apple's sister Maude Maggart who sung on the original tune. Just a few short months after The Idler Wheel dropped notorious recluse Apple booked it back into the shadows, so celebrate every piece of news we get.
For anyone that's cared to
listen, my only problem with the otherwise excellent Netflix exclusive House
of Cards series is that the Kevin Spacey portrayed Francis J. Underwood’s quest
for, and consolidation of power is far too easy. Dominoes tend to topple over,
but Underwood's opponents step-aside like well-trained matadors. It's easy to
root for the underdog and even the boss (if they’re amiable enough). But the
one who breezes through everything (without ever hinting at all the work put
in) could never be confused for the "everyman." We cheer for Michael
Jordan, but sympathize for the player riding the bench. I feel the same way
when I listen to Magna Carta...Holy Grail.
Not to say that Jay-Z should go
back to rapping from the perspective of the scrappy hustler, "back to the
wall ashy knuckles," that spun golden yards of the crack game on Reasonable
Doubt. It's a ridiculous request and were Jay to readopt that persona it
would be as roundly dismissed as Rick Ross following the
outing of his false "gangsterism." That's not where Jay-Z is in
his career; he's signing Kevin Durant to his new sports agency, going all in on
what Bomani Jones pointedly
called "the greatest cell phone promotion ever," and vacationing
in Cuba. He's got infinite album budgets and a Rolodex of five-star producers
that would make entire labels blush. Wealth talk in hip-hop has never been
what's driven people away, Big Bank Hank on "Rapper's Delight"
bragged of having a "Lincoln Continental and a sunroof Cadillac" (oh
how the times have changed). Jay-Z's longing for a "Picasso in his
casa," on the booming "Picasso Baby" is an extension of a
material longing that only years of struggle could create. But the hunger was
satiated somewhere between the turkey bacon for breakfast and the bottles of champagne
for a nightcap.
Jay's hunger has always been at its
greatest when he's had something to play off of. Watch the Throne was
cut from the same fine cloth he’s now stitched in every time he leaves the crib,
but he had Kanye West around to light the proverbial fire under his ass.
Excepting the Murder's Row production list, The Black Album succeeded so
wildly because Jay was rapping on the door of retirement. Jay only crafted the
all-time diss track "Takeover"
for The Blueprint because vocal critics like Nas, Prodigy, and Jadakiss
were closing in on all sides. The higher the flames under Jay-Z's feet get, the
higher he ascends. MCHG then is unmistakably frigid at points.
By all accounts Mr. & Mrs.
Carter have a perfectly happy and healthy marriage, but you'd never know it
from the lack of chemistry displayed on the tepid "Part II (On the
Run)." The song, which rides a quasi-late-80s/early 90s R&B groove and
hasn't been officially confirmed as a sequel to the explosive "03 Bonnie
& Clyde," is a further down trending of what began on the cloying
"Lift Off," where the two last me. Surrounded by "No Church in
the Wild," and "N****s in Paris," that track felt entirely
unnecessary and coming in at nearly 6 minutes, so does "Part II (On the
Run).
Even with all the namechecking
of Basquiat paintings, Tom Ford clothing tags, and surprise trips to Marrakesh
to smoke hashish, the most opulent thing about the album is its length. The run
time of 59 minutes is deceptive; with late-album tracks like the Timbaland
beach-house groove "La Familia," contributing to the feeling that MCHG
is much longer. Despite putting a Gonjasufi sample to provoking use on closer
"Nickels & Dimes," Hov flatly ignores the Neil Young advice that
"it's better to burn out than fade away." Likewise, the suit and tie
s*** of "Holy Grail" could've been hemmed to get it under 5 minutes.
That being said, there are clear
highlights to be found on MCHG. Like an eyeball grabbing
summer-blockbuster, "Holy
Grail" is decadent and overblown in the best way. Justin Timberlake creates
a grand scale from the get-go, howling over a piano "I still don't know
why I love you so much." Jay continues the "papa paranoia" of Watch
the Throne's "New
Day," surrounded by "haters in the papers, photo shoots with
paparazzi," to the point where a walk with his daughter becomes next to
impossible. And despite what's
been said of the reworking of "Smells Like Teen Spirit" the
moment flies by so fast over the sprightly beat it's hard to take stock of.
"Oceans" is another moment of pure brilliance, returning to the
imbalances between wealth and race that WTT delivered a treatise on.
OF-crooner Frank Ocean conveys the mood, "this water drowned my family,
this water mixed my blood, this water tells my story, this water knows it
all," making the confined quarters of a yacht sound like paradise when
considering the slave ships that came before.
Elsewhere, the brash Timbaland
beat of "Heaven"
is one-step from launching into "Dream On," and again employs
Timberlake, this time to soulfully question just who makes it into heaven. Jay
rips through round 1 on the song, effortlessly rolling off the 12 jewels of
Islam (knowledge, wisdom, understanding, freedom, justice, equality, food,
shelter, love, peace, and happiness) giving credence to the line "can't
believe this much skill in the human body."
For any overabundance that "Nickels &
Dimes" has, Jay-Z's lyrical dexterity is on full-display here. He
moves from talk of Mac-11's to soft-drinks and Johnny Cash without batting an
eye and later evokes Kubrick's nightmarish Eyes Wide Shut. Kubrick the
dictionary definition of "perfectionist"
is an idle auteur for Jay to compare himself to at this point in his career.
Jay-Z albums now are meticulously crafted things, not a note out of place, everything
from the guest-list to the packaging and promotion obsessively micromanaged.
But the curtains are never pulled back for us to see all the sweat and
sacrifice that goes into the finished product. The house of cards is set up,
but never in danger of falling down.
"What good is a jewel that ain't still precious?" Since Odd Future crooner Frank Ocean arrived on the scene with last year's resplendent Nostalgia, Ultra, his language has been that of loss. Ocean's vocabulary paints pictures of lost youth, lost love, lost time, and lost innocence. The precious hazy days of "Strawberry Swing," are razed by a rude alarm clock. On "American Wedding," Ocean's nubile bride is lost to the summer in a classic case of self-termed "American heartbreak." And Ocean loses himself in a den of drugs and Kubrickian fantasies in the nightmarish "Novacane." Suffice to say, Ocean's "losing lexicon" is communicated with ineffable ease, and nowhere is that language better broadcast than on Channel Orange.
When the frantic channel surfing of "Start," fades into the sorrowful strings of the now familiar "Thinkin' 'Bout You," we are in Ocean's world. Musically "Thinkin' 'Bout You," is dominated by fluttering drum snaps, with Ocean wondering if he's the only one in the relationship concerned with forever. "Do you not think so far ahead?" is the only question Ocean can muster in his fragile falsetto.
This sort of tortured self-awareness is broken up by tracks like "Sweet Life," where Ocean lovingly lambastes the twee-set. "You've had a landscaper and a housekeeper since you were born, the sunshine always kept you warm," Ocean jabs in the soaring chorus. Here the warm sun and the crashing waves are a far-cry from the tumult Ocean is used to seeing. For all the scrutiny, Ocean is entranced by this plastic paradise.
Ocean tastes the sweet nectar of success on "Super Rich Kids." Backed by piano plinks he plays the titular role to a tee, armed to the teeth with "bottles of wine," he can't pronounce and scores of "fake friends." In the scenic first verse, Ocean blends life's minutiae with the "monumental." One minute he's up on the roof taking in his domain and the next he's found kicking his feet up, "pointing the clicker at the tube." The silver spoon is bend beyond repair as Earl Sweatshirt stops by on the second verse to tamper the "Good Times." O.F.'s superior spitter delivers a dazzling verse, littered with mind-boggling assonance and alliteration that sees latchkeyed kids taking out their tempers on daddy's Jag. It's the first crack in the mirror that shatters with Ocean's admission that he's stuck "searchin' for a real love." Even with all his silver and gold, Ocean can never buy that which he longs for the most.
The blissful domesticity of "Rich Kids" is dashed on "Pilot Jones," Ocean quipping "we once had things in common, but now all we share is the refrigerator." Even as Ocean and his love battle for fridge space, he can be found flying high on the drug that is her love. Two songs later, Ocean is free-falling back to Earth as he poses that pivotal question of "what good is a jewel that ain't still precious?"
"Sweet Life"
The question has the same pained rhetorical-nature to it as last year's "what's a God to a non-believer who don't believe in anything?" Ocean knows that this jewel has become a diamond in an inescapable rough and will never again be pristine. Stuttering synths and warped bass breaks guide Ocean as he journeys to the heart of Ancient Egypt to tame the mighty Cleopatra. The sweltering air of the song suggests this is a fool's task and Ocean finds his queen "laying down with Samson." Once the "Jewel of Africa," succumbs to the serpent, the song is bathed in a propulsive dance beat that segues into a quiet storm of keyboards as we fast-forward to the desert of Las Vegas. Here Cleopatra is envisioned as a lady of the night and Ocean her lovelorn pimp that's lost control. "Can we make love before you go," is the only question he can muster as his love steals off into the night. Her love now comes equipped with a price-tag, one that he can never pay.
"Pyramids"
That utter decimation is firmly felt on "Bad Religion," where Ocean is on the losing side of unrequited love. With a minor-key organ as his only companion, he slides into the backseat of a taxi cab and begs the driver to "out run the demons." As Ocean is buried under the weight of his situation, he comes to the sobering realization that "this unrequited love, is nothing but a one-man cult." To Ocean unrequited love is the ultimate "bad religion," a theology where reciprocity is in short supply, a self-destructive habit akin to drinking cyanide "from a styrofoam cup." When he devours the last of his drink, he's in a state of shock, repeating the melancholic mantra "it's a bad religion, to be in love with someone who could never love you."
Earlier this month when Ocean published his letter to a lost love, he was heralded for his bravery and profound lyricism. Scorned by a man who could never love him, Ocean was left standing alone with his heart in his hands. For three summers, Ocean struggled to keep the rhythm of "the dance," as he drove cross-country trying to escape the pain any way possible. "I wrote to keep myself busy and sane. I wanted to create worlds that were rosier than mine. I tried to channel overwhelming emotions." Channel Orange is the showcase for those "overwhelming emotions," a springboard for all of Ocean's anger, frustration, and confusion. "I feel like a free man," he writes near the end of that sterling letter. For all of the pain and peril this album is ultimately about Ocean's redemption, documenting his escape from life's wilderness. With Channel Orange as his guide, Ocean is no longer lost.
"I'm starting to think we're a lot alike," Frank Ocean writes in the letter to himself that appeared on his Tumblr late last night. The letter details a summer of misspent youth for Ocean, who fell for a man that couldn't reciprocate. In a heartbreaking moment, Ocean writes "he wouldn't admit the same," lamenting a love that was entirely unrequited. From there Ocean flashfowards and details the struggle to make sense of something so senseless. "The dance went on," but from the tone of Ocean's letter its clear it was a solo tango.
The greatness of this admission cuts across many boundaries. It's the logical continuance of a line from "We All Try," which saw Ocean adamantly declaring that marriage is between "love and love." The sterling statement is picture-perfect considering Ocean's affiliation with Odd Future, who have dodged cries of homophobia from Day 1. In an austere show of support, every single O.F. member took to Twitter and expressed support for their big brother Frankie, Earl Sweatshirt laconically tweeting "Proud of frank." Likewise coming from the Rap/R&B community which has had a tenuous relationship with homophobia at best is monumental. Even seemingly intelligent, thought-provoking rappers like Common have stooped to saying "fa***t" on songs before. In a world inundated with hyper-masculinity, Ocean's move is beyond bold.
With Ocean's letter arriving less than 24-hours after Anderson Cooper finally admitted to being a gay man, this is shaping up to be a benchmark week for the LGBT-community in the celebrity-sphere. But therein lies the rub. These are celebrities we are dealing with. I don't have one iota of a problem with the statements themselves, especially Ocean's which was written in the most beautiful and poetical way possible. I take issue with the underlying fact that these are people with reservoirs of good will. Cooper is on a national news program every night of the week and Ocean has had a phoenix-like rise in music over the past year. Ocean and Cooper are two talented individuals whose throngs of adoring fans will stand by them, no matter what their sexuality is. That same cheering section isn't available to everyone. Whereas Ocean and Cooper have the luxury to step outside, many can only call the shadows home. "I feel like a free man," Ocean writes in a celebratory fashion near the end of his letter. Tragically, because of their lot in life many can never know this freedom. While it's not fair to force Ocean and Cooper to lead the march toward freedom, it's a point that must be made. We should celebrate Ocean and Cooper for further strengthening the cause of a much-maligned group. However we must remember that the two speak with voices that ring louder than most. And it's the voiceless that always need the most support.
In what stands as the bummer music news for today, Odd Future crooner Frank Ocean announced on his Tumblr that his long-promised Nostalgia, Lite won't be seeing the light of the day. The deluxe edition of 2011's excellent Nostalgia Ultramixtape, Lite was supposed to contain choice cuts from Ultra, in addition to bonus tracks "Acura Integurl," and "Whip Appeal." However, it's no longer happening. Have no fear though, the Wolf Gang crew is dropping the Odd Future Tape Vol. 2 tomorrow and Ocean is featured on four separate songs. If you can't wait for that, enjoy the still great video for "Swim Good."
OF-crooner Frank Ocean has dropped yet another song on his Tumblr, the 90s-indebted "Voodoo." Backed by a smoothly-squealing synth, Ocean goes the route of "older" tracks like "Acura Integurl" and "4 Tears," delivering a snippet of a song that's under two-minutes. In the little time he has, Ocean name-checks: Juicy Fruit, wedding bands, and the "Whole Wide World." The song isn't the sort of bubble-gum affair you would expect from those topics though, as Ocean declares "the truth is obsolete." No word yet on if these will eventually appear full-formed on an album.
Lock your doors and hide your daughters, because the ever-controversial LA rap-collective Odd Future is back with a new compilation album set to drop on March 20th. According to Rolling Stone, the comp will be entitled The OF Tape Vol. 2. Akin to the previous Radical mixtape from 2010, all the members of OF including crooner Frank Ocean will be involved, sans Earl Sweatshirt who is still M.I.A. The album will be officially-released through Odd Future Records and the Wolf Gang plans to promote the release with a 10-city tour.
In related news, MellowHype and Tyler, the Creator are both slated to drop their third albums this year. MellowHype has their album Numbers slotted for a summer release and we can expect Tyler to drop Wolf in the spring. Finally, hold out hope for Ocean's major-label debut which we may see before the year ends.
We're cracking the top 10 as the year winds down, but before we do, let's take a look at how we got there.
30. 4- Beyonce
29. The Dreamer, The Believer- Common
28. Just Once EP- How to Dress Well
27. Alien Observer- Grouper
26. Step Brothers- Don Trip & Starlito
25. Cole World: Sideline Story- J. Cole
24. Weekend at Burnies- Curren$y
23. Suck It and See- Arctic Monkeys
22. Celestial Lineage- Wolves in the Throne Room
21. The Whole Love- Wilco
20. Bad As Me- Tom Waits
19. Live, Love, A$AP- A$AP Rocky
18. Helplessness Blues- Fleet Foxes
17. 21- Adele
16. Wounded Rhymes- Lykke Li
15. Hilarious- Louis C.K.
14. Cults- Cults
13. Goblin- Tyler, the Creator
#12 Tomboy- Panda Bear
It’s no secret that 2011 has been a year for wistful nostalgia in music. This admiration for ages past has pervaded rap, electronica, pop, and indie from January to December. In a calendar year for reminiscing, Panda Bear was bound to succeed.
One second into the album, Panda Bear is recalling the Beach Boys more overtly than ever. “You Can Count on Me,” is the by-product of throwinga Pet Sounds record into a blender with layered vocals and industrial clanging. “Surfer’s Hymn,” meanders down a similar road before being coated in electric ash more akin to Animal Collective. “Slow Motion,” bleeds with broken beat-boxing and out-of-tune piano, singing about the childish-lie of “practice making perfect.”
Panda Bear’s homesickness for the past is palpable on “Last Night at the Jetty.” The wobbly beat leads to him singing about “dreams that we once had.” He dolefully inquires “didn’t we have a good time?” In the teenage fantasy that Tomboy hearkens back to, it’s a pitch-perfect question, and one Panda stalls in answering.
As marvelous as the malaise is, Panda Bear realizes on “Friendship Bracelet,” that he’s made “grave mistakes,” and daydreaming is never enough. A mature realization for the eternally-youthful Animal Collective drummer. Much of his past work both solo and with AC, has been about the pains of reliving the past while trying to grow up. Nowhere is that pain better felt than on Tomboy.
"You Can Count on Me"
#11 Strange Mercy- St. Vincent
After more than a dozen listens, I still don’t understand this album. This isn’t for lack of trying. The environs of Strange Mercy are so impenetrable, that total comprehension is futile. This is an album that delights in being willfully weird, in taking the smiling face of commercial pop sending it to another planet and bloodying it up.
“I’ll make a living out of telling people what they want to hear,” the decorous Annie Clark sings on “Champagne Year." The sentiment can’t go far for her, because who wants to hear such unfettered emotion? She lies to herself, promising a “champagne year,” that will never come, choked out by the cobwebs clinging to the unadorned walls of her life. Under the vocal manipulation of “Cheerleader,” Clark is controlled by a split she can’t comprehend. “I’ve told whole lies, with a half smile.” Her tempestuous guitar in the chorus jolts her back to life and for a time she is free. The uncertainties of “Northern Lights” are likewise put down by Clark’s guitar, a sinner in a saintly song.
Strange Mercy perpetually plays this game of stark contrast. The stutter-stepping of “Chloe in the Afternoon,” a tale of a high-class prostitute grown bored rests alongside the demure “Dilettante,” where Clark asks the fictional Elijah to “slow down.” The story-sketch is a call back to “Cheerleader.” She’s no longer having “good times with some bad guys,” but bad times with good guys. Even as she prepares for her champagne year in “Northern Lights,” she sings it’s “full of sober months.” There are still many mysteries I will never solve on this record, but with journalistic lines like these, I can come to understand the dichotomy of “strange mercy.”
"Cruel"
#10 Parallax- Atlas Sound
If he wanted to, Bradford Cox could become a pop-star tonight. Professing to be a fan of Martha & the Vandellas, The Crystals, and a slew of other renowned girl-groups, he knows his history. On the cover of Parallax, he’s got “the look,” Sinatra-like in the way he clutches the giant- microphone. Most importantly, he can craft a catchy tune. The problem is, with his evasive lyrics and profound shyness, he’d be a fish far out of water.
“You can come around, when you’re down,” he sings over the looping harmonizer of “Te Amo.” The track is pure puppy-dog love with a mysterious edge, enigmatic Ricky Nelson. Cox pays homage to the jangle-pop of The Byrds on “Mona Lisa,” and shows he has more in common with R.E.M. than their hometown. The track is a carry-over from Cox’s “Revival,” under his work with Deerhunter. Since Atlas Sound first began Cox has been using the two projects as staging-grounds for one another.
“Praying Man,” sees Cox in garage-rock mode, singing the requisite “sha la la,” chorus in an Elvis quiver drowning in gooey reverb. “Angel is Broken,” reminds me of a warped Roy Orbison with a strange sway. The pop act for Cox continues on “Lightworks.” The track sports a Dylanesque harmonica solo and whammy-heavy guitar playing. It’s a sock-hop song for the indie scene.
The record would be outright pop were it not for his tendency to coat everything with a reverberating veneer. Likewise, the lyrics of the interrogative “Modern Aquatic Nightsongs,” are too eccentric to rub elbows with the Ronettes. “Hey you got a story, would you trade with mine,” he intones on the blipping “Doldrums.” With this third Atlas Sound LP, it’s clear that Cox wants to want to take on the life of a pop icon. It’s up to him to see if the deal goes through.
"Modern Aquatic Nightsongs"
#9 Nostalgia, Ultra- Frank Ocean
“When we were kids, we hand-painted strawberries on a swing, every moment was so precious then.” From the first line of Odd Future crooner Frank Ocean’s first mixtape we are washed in the waters of nostalgia. The innocence of “StrawberrySwing,” is soon sullied and the listener is dropped into the troublesome recollections of “Novacane.” Here the woman Ocean remembers is “paying for tuition, doing porn in the valley.” He gets too close and soon sees “cocaine for breakfast,” “yikes” being his only response.
These jarring juxtapositions cloud the view Ocean has of the past. On top of sliding guitar and in-the-pocket drumming in “We All Try,” Ocean reaffirms his faith in humanity. Such optimism is a far-cry from the 808s & Heartbreak-influenced “Swim Good,” where he envisions driving in the ocean to “swim from something bigger than me,” counting down to his own demise along the way.
Ocean succeeds because of these “walking paradoxes.” He’s at once lustful, wanting nothing more than a garden romp in the MGMT cover “Nature Feels,” but strangely loving on “Dust,” admitting to falling in love with a girl. In doing this, Ocean is more successful than any of his OF-brethren this year in creating a work that will have longevity. Our understanding of the past is often hazy, our own nostalgia regularly a contradiction. Ocean knows that full-well and has released a record that reminds of us just how often we intentionally forget our past travails, instead remembering our triumphs no matter how minuscule.
