"Cash In"- Solange

 

Indie or "alt-R&B" has been floating around for a few years now, defined by early-decade classics like the industrial judder of the Weeknd's House of Balloons or Frank Ocean's sonically restless Channel Orange. And like any nascent "scene", trying to shoehorn disparate styles into such a narrow label is unquestionably difficult. Even between the aforementioned albums, there lies a vast chasm of difference. Trying to define a movement in its infancy is akin to being a gatekeeper while the gate is still under construction.

Solange's Saint Heron compilation (out through her own imprint) ambitiously attempts to catalog the movement, while simultaneously pushing it forward. Similar to Brian Eno's No New York comp, her curative-effort weaves disparate threads together in the hope of crafting a seamless tapestry. The aquatic boom of newcomer Kelela's "Go All Night" nestles comfortably alongside Sampha's twitchy piano-laden "Beneath the Tree". If one commonality can be found, it's a will to "get weird" without forgoing unadulterated pop pleasure. Solange's sole contribution to the album, closer "Cash In" demonstrates the principle as well as any. A lingering organ figure edges the song into gothic romance territory, before cavernous drums spring the track from a dark prison. Clanging bells add color to the monochromatic proceedings. Fraught by the need to "get away" and put the past in the rear-view, Solange's wispy vocals capture the slow-trek of a relationship into an uncertain future. "We don't need to pave our way" she partially hollers early on during the enticing hook. With the release of Saint Heron and a song like "Cash In", she's failed to take her own advice.

Saint Heron is out now through Saint Records.

What's New(s)?

Arcade Fire to perform Reflektor on NPR

As the long steady march to the release of the Arcade Fire's Reflektor continues, the group has announced they'll be performing live on NPR October 28, the day before the album drops. The Canadian septet will play in Hollywood's Capitol Studios and broadcast on NPR's "First Listen". The show is slated for a 10 pm East-coast start on NPR affiliates, and will also be streaming live here. 

Last night, under the guise of "The Reflektors" the band performed on the Colbert Report where they pitched a travel plan to Haiti for Colbert and donned their giant masks for Reflektor track "Normal Person". They saved new single "Afterlife" for a web exclusive, performing under the glow of disco lights. Check it out below and look for Reflektor October 29.

Rustie remixes "Trouble on My Mind"

At some point after the release of Pusha T's engaging solo endeavor Fear of God II in 2011, plans were made for a remix entitled Lucky T. The tracklist 've featured the likes of: Lunice, Machinedrum, Hudson Mohawke and others but never officially surfaced. Today British producer Rustie has given us a taste of his remix of the hedonistic "Trouble on My Mind". Rustie replaces the Neptunes original electronic scrawl with pattering handclaps, Sleigh Bells noise bursts, and tingling steel drum; sending the original song's confidence into overdrive.

The track is available for download here and Rustie is currently touring the U.S. with tour dates below:

10/22 Santa Barbara, CA - Velvet Jones
10/23 Boston, MA - Middle East
10/24 Denver, CO - Larimer Lounge
10/25 Asheville, NC - Mountain Oasis Festival
10/26 Miami, FL - Bardot

12/15 Los Angeles, CA - Lure
12/17 Seattle, WA - Neumos
12/18 Portland, OR - Rotture
12/19 Vancouver, British Columbia - Electric Owl
12/20 Chicago, IL - The MID

12/21 Toronto, Ontario - Wrongbar
12/22 Austin, TX - Empire Space 

 

Solange announces R&B compilation

If you've ever wished for a compendium of indie-leaning R&B, Solange will soon be granting your wish via her Saint Records imprint. The compilation Saint Heron promises 12 original songs by like-minded R&B artists including: Cassie, Sampha, Kelela, Jhené Aiko, and others. 

Solange herself will be issuing a new single for the LP, which drops November 12. The first single is Kelela's dreamy trap-influenced "Go All Night" found below.

2013 Pitchfork Music Festival

(Photo courtesy of Tonje Thilesen/ Pitchfork Media)














Day 1 of the trek into Chicago's Union Park began rather unceremoniously, wolfing down burgers at a suburban joint in Naperville and then hopping on the highway praying that somehow Second City traffic would be different that day (it wasn't). Parking (as it almost always is with concerts) was a nightmare, but my friend Adam and I managed to find a spot, and we were off to the festival. Our pace quickened when we heard the tender plucking of harp strings and Joanna Newsom's recognizable warble wafting through the night air. We carefully weaved through the crowd, but the work was for naught. We managed to catch the last half of "Sawdust & Diamonds," before Newsom bid the crowd adieu for the night. But there was still Björk to come down from on-high and salvage our waning expectations.

"Yeah, this is going to be weird," were the last words I managed to speak before Björk came out on stage. An extremely obvious statement on paper, but one you almost can't keep from uttering once Björk announces her presence on stage. The set itself was an adept mix of new and old, tracks like "One Day" from her Debut perched alongside the Tesla Coil spectacle of "Thunderbolt." An immediate highlight was "Jóga," the throat-shredding tale from Homogenic of a relationship heightened to a "state of emergency." Björk's powerhouse performance here especially masked every one of her 47 years. For all of the power a Björk concert conveys, Mother Nature is stronger still, and cut the set short after "Mutual Core." Without missing a beat, Björk put the weather panic into context, "It's calm.... I don't know. This wouldn't be much in Iceland, I can tell you that much..."

Day 2 was much less panic-stricken than Friday night's festivities. Parking was no longer an Arthurian quest and there was plenty of time to peruse the endless stacks of records available in the record tent. But there were still shows to see, so we jaunted over to the Blue stage to see Julia Holter in action. Holter's sound is impossible to pigeonhole; featuring the occasional sax squall, violin pluck, and tender piano figure, it's a yearning blend of: Grouper's quiet solitude, Joanna Newsom's whimsy, and any number of electronic influences. It was music better suited for midnight than high noon, but our premium spot under a shade tree was a welcome substitute.

Julia Holter

Next up was the fury of post-hardcore heroes ...And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead, which did not disappoint. The band's been blazing since 1998 and their midday performance letting everyone know the fire won't be dying any time soon. We then meandered over to see Savages, a melange of post-punk stylings and gothic overtones. After such raucous shows, refreshments were in order, and they came in the form of sweet heavenly nectar masked as lemonade. Sipping the last savory drops of sweet lemonade as we marched towards the red stage, only the bitterness was left clinging to my tongue for the start of Swans.

...And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead

Count the number of times you've considered the angular motions of the Breeders or the antics of ...And You'll Know Us as "peaceful melodic breaks." I'll wait. Answer?- They don't exist, unless they're acting as buffers to the aural onslaught Swans unleash. The band trots out an amp as weathered as "singer" Michael Gira's voice. A lozenge would do him some good I think during the stormy "To Be Kind," but every nicotine filled blast is a prophetic warning to be heeded. The industrious clatter of the nearby L is drowned out by the death burble of the band. The howling wind and rain give way to the laser-guided buzzsaw blasts from bassist Chris Pravdica on "Oxygen." Gira's arms flutter around the stage like an apocalyptic tornado while clarinetist/percussionist Thor Harris stabs at the drums in the manner of a musically inclined Norman Bates. In the midst of all this chaos, Gira raises his hands towards the heavens and sends his band into a further ecstatic fit; a cult-leader mixed with Carlos Kleiber if there ever was one. Phil Puleo displays a Luddite proficiency on the drums and that rampage continues throughout 2012's title cut "The Seer." Harris takes to bashing the hell out of a wood block, hoping to send it into splinters. Gira circles into an unholy trinity with the other two guitar players sacrificing everyone's ear drums in the process. Before the show began, someone in the audience yelled out "TURN IT UP!" He got his wish. 

Swans

We were fortunate enough to catch some of The Breeder's anniversary set of the still-fresh Last Splash, a welcome trip down memory lane. "Cannonball" was the entry point for so much of my current musical fascinations and to hear it razing the ground of Union Park was one of the most memorable moments of the entire festival for me. My fandom must be called into question however as we decided to push on to find the best possible spot for Solange. It was a party from the first second of the show, "Some Things Never Seem To F***ing Work" rendered joyous in a live setting. Solange effortlessly strutted and glided across the stage throughout much of the set, nostalgically urging everyone to "turn this into a high school dance." "Losing You" was prefaced by a PSA from Solange to essentially enjoy every moment of the song without any interruptions from phones or peripheral distractions. Even though it's a song I've heard countless times since its initial debut, I tend to have an adverse reaction to the subtle melancholy of the song, but that wasn't the case live. Any suggestion of a stormy was blotted out by the song's sunny groove. 

Solange

From Solange, we sought out a spot for Belle & Sebastian, sitting down and waiting for the pithy chamber popsters to announce themselves. Soon enough, Stuart Murdoch (decked out in snow-white pants) and company took to the stage, beginning with the jokey "Judy is a D*** Slap." It was steady march through the discography, stopping off at "Piazza, New York Catcher" from Dear Catastrophe Waitress and the more recent "I Can See Your Future" from 2010's Write About Love. Murdoch was affable throughout the night, labeling himself and the band "your aunties and uncles." When the rain began to fall for a second night and you could see the golden lighting shining through the droplets, the subdued "Judy and Her Dream of Horses," became transcendent. It was a moment to make anyone "smile when you're down."

Belle & Sebastian

(Photo courtesy of Pitchfork Media) 




   
           









Day 3 began with gravelly rasp of local MC, who couldn't help but grin from ear-to-ear at the prospect of being in his hometown for a show. The defining moment was "The King" as clear of a definition of Tree's self-termed soultrap genre as you're likely to find. Adam and I stayed defiantly seated at the green stage for Killer Mike, hearing only the occasional riff or joke from Foxygen over at the nearby red stage. Soon enough, the wait was over and Mr. Michael Render was raging through "Big Beast" as the crowd screamed "hardcore g-s***" right back at him. It was insightful, bracing, and at times touching, Mike tearing up before the start of one song when he spoke of a Chicago woman who inspired him to become a community organizer. "RAP Music" was the ultimate in sermonizing, as I looked around the sweat-drenched crowd, smiling faces could be found throughout. In moments like this, any facade of showmanship or posturing disappeared, and all that was left behind was one man with a microphone; tearing down the city of Chicago and then building it back up.

 Killer Mike

 























After one-two-gut-punch of Mike and El-P we sought refuge back in the shade of the blue stage, and got lost in the folk-informed punk of Waxahatchee. It was an assured set, without time for a pause or even applause, Katie Crutchfield ran through her set eying the prize of the finish line. There were clear fans in the audience, and anyone that wasn't was converted by the time the last chord cut through the thick air.

Waxahatchee

   


















We crept back out from the shadows and into the sweltering heat as Yo La Tengo began. There's a reason this band is one of the most revered in all of "indie rock" and it's their insatiable appetite for innovation and invention. They traded seats and instruments early and often, and careened through a catalog stuffed with tender dream pop and droning noise rock. Ira Kaplan so barbarically mutilated his guitar throughout their performance, it was a small miracle there was anything left by the end.

Yo La Tengo

Lil B was up next and neither Adam nor I knew what to expect, other than an extremely based performance from "The Based God" himself. As his start time of 5:15 got closer and closer, a mini-panic started inside of me. "There's nothing set up on the stage," rumbled through my mind. Focusing on that conundrum was almost impossible with the screams of "swag" and "thank you Based God" that enveloped me. "How can he do a show with nothing on stage?" That question was quickly answered when Lil B walked out on stage to perhaps the most uproarious applause of the entire festival. The crowd cooked, moshed, (two people even hopped on my shoulders) and gleamed with excitement the entire time Lil B was out on stage, reverent of his every word. Picking a highlight or even naming off all the songs that were performed is an exercise in futility, similar to sifting through his seemingly infinite music library. This was a performance for the converted; those that already bask in the glow of "The Based God."

Lil B

 

      
















My back was in disrepair after Lil B and the rumbling in my stomach became cacophonous so I headed back to the food tents for recovery. Finding lemonade an appropriate substitute for water, I swilled down two in quick succession. Being the boost I needed, I met back up with Adam and we began jockeying for position at the green stage for R. Kelly. We caught the back-half of Toro y Moi laid-back funkified set which had every toe-tapping and head nodding by the end. Chaz Bundick could hardly contain himself behind his keyboard, getting lost in his lush swirling grooves.

Toro y Moi

Now all that was left was the wait for Mr. R. Kelly. At various times my eyes were affixed on the stage, trying to imagine what we could expect. Even the Sri Lankan Christmas (Adam's own pitch-perfect description) of M.I.A.'s genre-defying set couldn't distract anyone over at the green stage from the impending performance. The crowd's mettle was tested when the earworm of "Paper Planes" slithered through Union Park, but some still managed to avoid shooting along with the song's now legendary chorus. After a run-through of "Bad Girls" all that was left was Kells and the crowd couldn't wait. 

The stage was meticulously assembled and just when the impatience became palpable, a robotic voice announced over the loudspeaker "R-Minus 9 minutes to show time." A collective scream broke out and the countdown was on. "R-Minus 4 minutes," and Sam Cooke's "A Change Gonna Come" begins. I'm lost in that eternal croon for a time, but snap back and check the time. "R-Minus 30 seconds," and the scream becomes a seismic roar. "10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1," and then "Ignition" (Remix). Kelly didn't even break a sweat during the song and moved through the iconic song like it was just another piece of ephemera. It was that kind of show. He strutted through "Hotel," reimagined "Flashing Lights" for his own purposes, had the crowd "Slow Dance"-ing, and served up "Sex in the Kitchen" while avoiding so much as a chuckle. He soundtracked himself grabbing a towel to wipe sweat off (take that South Park) and steadily scooped up the entire crowd in the palm of his hand. Kelly's silky-smooth croon became a soulful wail as the set neared the end with "When A Woman Loves." By this point, the crowd hung onto his every word, mesmerized by the unparalleled showmanship on display. One song was noticeably absent for the first hour-plus, but "I Believe I Can Fly" arrive in full-flight. The spectacle was at its apex here, Kells again backed by a gospel choir while white balloon doves shot out into the night sky. Any inclination to dismiss the song as  overly sentimental is obliterated the moment you experience it live. The perceived schmaltz is soon replaced by treatise on living life to its fullest. When someone like Kelly has this much confidence in himself, there really is "nothing to" a concert of this magnitude. 

R. Kelly

Expect updated links and photos on this page as they become available on the Festival website page. I wanted to get out an initial draft to everyone while it was still relevant.                     

 
       

Top 50 Albums of 2012 (Part II)

After a slight delay (writing this many reviews is tough people), the countdown continues as 2012 winds to a close. All are welcome on this as hopscotch from noise rock to hip-hop with ease. If you missed a step, catch up with 50-41, and then continue on with Part II of the Top 50 Albums of 2012.

50. Cigarette Boats- Curren$y
49. Vicious Lies & Dangerous Rumors- Big Boi
48. There's No Leaving Now- The Tallest Man on Earth
47. Blue Chips- Action Bronson & Party Supplies
46. Wrecking Ball- Bruce Springsteen
45. The Only Place- Best Coast
44. Live from the Underground- Big K.R.I.T.
43. I Bet on Sky- Dinosaur Jr. 
42. Lux- Brian Eno
41. Rich Forever- Rick Ross


#40. Life is Good- Nas

A 20-year old Nas sits scribbling lyrics in his notebook about his “tec on the dresser.” The organ-driven “Accident Murderers” featuring a guest verse from Rick Ross is the sound of a 39-year old Nas acknowledging the brutality of bullets, how they keep kids from coming home, and how reckless gunplay can lead to anyone becoming “an accident murderer.” The Nas of “The World Is Yours” is thinking up a word “best describing my life to name my daughter,” and Nas the father on the sweet “Daughters” is scrambling to be the best parent he can be. “I’m too loose, I’m too cool with her, should drove on time to school with her,” he self-reflectively raps on the second verse, realizing his days of playin’ and heartbreaking have brought him a daughter who’ll see things from the other side. He was once warning “I ain’t the type of brother made for you to start testin’,” but on the weary “World’s An Addiction” he’s letting beefs go dead to ensure they don’t blow out of proportion. “Bye Baby,” an insight into Nas’ divorce with singer Kelis reveals itself as a yearning to “take it back some years.” Hindsight’s clearly 20/20 and the past is the only place to dwell when the present seems so conflicted. The No I.D. produced “Back When” which samples MC Shan’s Queensbridge class “The Bridge” is a history lesson of misspent youth and misplaced blame. “The ill reminisce and think about the fly days, nothing like them 80s summer NY days,” he raps early on in the track. Many mythologize Nas’ career in a similar way, wishing for a proper follow-up to Illmatic a larger-than-life benchmark from a 20-year old that’s hip hop’s measuring stick for greatness. On opener “No Introduction” he labels those people “trapped in the 90s n****s.” You can never return to what you once were and Nas knows that better than anyone.

"Daughters"

#39. Hair- Ty Segall & White Fence

Seas of tranquility mutate into swells of sound. The jingle-jangle of tambourine twists into thunderous drum beats. Folksy dreaming is corrupted by a feedback-laden nightmare. Such is the way of Hair, garage-rocker Ty Segall’s collaborative effort with fellow San Francisco weirdo White Fence. The pair is perfect together, adeptly crafting odes to their Nuggets forefathers, then pelting their elders with an explosive static. The hazy “The Black Glove/Rave” could pass as an outtake from The Beatles Revolver before Segall & Tim Presley of White Fence grow impatient and skewer the track with shards of guitar chords. “Crybaby” is an on-edge rockabilly raver that Segall & White Fence send careening into a canyon. “Scissor People” recalls The Yardbirds “I Can’t Make Your Way,” until the pair tear down the garage and sift through the rubble. All initial signs point to closer “Tongues” as the safety from this raging rock, but no melody is safe from these two and whimsy quickly becomes rage. It’s clear that on the Hair EP, Segall & White Fence aren’t so much historians as revisionists, borrowing the classics from garage rock’s hallowed library and burning the rest. 

"The Black Glove/Rag"

#38. The O.F. Tape Vol. 2- Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All

If 2011 was all about Odd Future seizing control of the rap conversation with their seething lyrics, striking videos (remember the first time you actually watched “Yonkers?”), and general devil-may-care attitude, then 2012 can be seen as a continued occupation. Through a steady-stream of releases including the very-good No Idols by resident-stoner Domo Genesis and the overlooked Numbers by MellowHype, the crew put to rest any notions that this was just the Tyler show. Instead of one voice, there were now 10 “under pressure, standing in the middle like hula-hoops.” Domo’s voice in particular rings out on this release, cutting through clouds of smoke to rattle off dizzying lines like “put that hash in the bong, it’ll make you cough, and the purp’s going down like the Lakers lost,” on the lurching “Lean.” Hodgy Beats rips through the Spartan Left-Brain produced “50” with “a lotta narcotics, flow aquatic atomic.” The Michael Myers piano-affair “NY (Ned Flander)” plays host to a lecherous Tyler “sneaking in your kid’s earlobe.” “Forest Green” finds shy-guy Mike G “just tryna get rich, middle fingers up screaming swag me out b***h.” Even “not rappers” Taco and Jasper return for the Waka Flocka Flame inspired “We Got B*****s,” the sorta sequel to Goblin’s “B***h S*** D***.” Amidst all this chaos there’s room for Frank Ocean to sing the tender “White,” where he fades in and out of a dream. It all builds to the epic posse-cut “Oldie” where: Tyler, Hodgy, Left Brain, Mike G, Domo Genesis, Frank Ocean, and a now free Earl Sweatshirt trade verses over a ten-minute boom-bap track. Earl steals the show, “the culprit of the potent punch, scoldin’ hot as dunkin’ scrotum in a Folgers cup.” “I started an empire,” Tyler raps near the conclusion. In the course of a year that empire has given rise to a democracy where every vote matters, where everyone has a voice.

"Oldie"

#37. Reign of Terror- Sleigh Bells

“Burn the streets baby please, finish me,” Sleigh Bells singer Alexis Krauss sneers on buzz-saw opener “True Shred Guitar.” The line is the perfect sentiment for the Sleigh Bells sound, a Molotov cocktail of beauty and brutality threatening to go off at any time. In true Sleigh Bells fashion, this album is undoubtedly louder than anything else you’ll hear all year. At times the mixing is pushed so far into the red the soundboard should be bleeding. Guitars don’t just roar on this album, they flatten everything in their path. They take no prisoners in their all out assault on your eardrums. But loudness alone can only go so far, and Krauss’ saccharine vocals on tracks like the shoegaze-inspired “Born to Lose” are the perfect antidote to Derek Miller’s lacerating guitar. “Crush” is the child of an unholy marriage between the heavy-metal and cheerleader set, sated with echoing stomp/clamps and enough riffage to make Angus Young envious.  Krauss summons up the spirit of 60s girl-pop on the song, whispering “I gotta crush on, I gotta crush on you.” Unlike debut Treats that rah-rah attitude isn’t everything, as the elation of love slowly gives way to disappointment. Krauss is exasperated on “End of the Line,” struggling to make sense of a romance that now amounts to “nightmares in the morning.” She squares off with demons physical and figurative on the riff-paradise of “Demons,” begging for a fight as she’s slowly engulfed by flames. The jackhammer drumming of “Comeback Kid” leads Krauss to urge another to “try a little harder,” but she may as well be speaking to herself. The nagging teens of Treats have grown on Reign of Terror, doing everything in their power to “deal with it.” 

"Comeback Kid"

#36. True- Solange

It’s hard not to be cynical about True. An EP riding 2012’s biggest wave (Indie R&B), performed by someone’s who has already made a big for “pop stardom”with 2008’s severely underrated SoL-Angel and the Hadley Street Dreams.  And oh did I mention she’s Beyoncé’s sister? The entire formula came across as pandering, and the odds were stacked against Solange. That all stops mattering the moment the beat on opener “Losing You” lands via spaceship. It’s positively giddy, euphoric shouts rubbing elbows with a warm synth line at the world’s hippest, happenest party. Solange delivers lines announcing the end of a relationship “clearly we are through” and the giddiness continues, refusing to let anything spoil the utter joy of living. Like most of the album, the unassuming “Some Things Never Seem To F***ing Work” is wrapped by sole-producer Devonté Harris (of Blood Orange fame) in a smooth 80s groove that never intrudes. The beat is jaunty though Solange is singing of a strained relationship, thinking of “some time off.” Soon Solange is drifting back to the by-gone days of the sharing kisses at “Jimmy John’s when I was 17,” when the two really knew each other. There’s a childlike bliss in these tunes, albeit tempered by hard-earned wisdom as seen in “Lovers in the Parking Lot.” “Maybe I lost you, but I was not done having my fun, played around with your heart, now I’m playing around in the dark,” she sings over a skipping drum and bass track, almost apologizing for her constant quest for true love. The squelching synthesizer of MGMT’s “Electric Feel,” is recalled on “Don’t Let Me Down.” Overcome with affection, Solange slips into a love-struck stream of “oh oh oh’s.” With so much joy in the face of occasionally crushing circumstances (fading relationships, sleepless nights, and doubts about real love), it’s impossible to be cynical. The storm of self-doubt gives rise to a sunny day.

"Losing You"

#35. Pluto- Future

“This is death of Auto-Tune moment of silence,” Jay-Z maliciously rapped on 2008’s “D.O.A. (Death of Auto-Tune),” before advising singing-rappers to “get back to rap; you’re T-Paining too much.” From the sounds of Atlanta artist Future’s debut album, he didn’t get the memo. Future doesn’t just use the “played-out” device to cover up vocal shortcomings; he uses it as a conduit into his emotionally conflicted soul. “Truth Gonna Hurt You” sits the roaming astronaut down and wrangles a promise out of him to “get my act together.” Future wears his heart on his sleeve on the Mike Will Made It produced “Astronaut Status,” slow-walking through the night life with a woman he’d do anything for. Affection becomes angst on “Turn on the Lights,” when Future burbles about the girl of his dreams. He cuts through the darkness with a flashlight and flips on lights to find her. Angst morphs into paranoid anger on the devious “Tony Montana.” Tag-teaming with Drake, Future warns all-challengers they’ll need an army to take him down, he’s “moving like a mob boss.” The sampled to death “Same Damn Time” is one of rap’s standout hits from 2012, an earworm that has you from the get-go. Future can barely constrain his spending spree over an off-the-rail synth courtesy of Sonny Digital Future’s rocking “Gucci and Bally at the same damn time,” as if to sneeringly tell naysayers “give up you’ll never get to this level.” The lyrics are riddled with the “if one is good, two are better,” mentality, Future’s indecisiveness masked as flexin’. That double focus is all over the LP, Future knowing full-well when to stunt and when to sob. He’s rap’s interplanetary traveler, coming in peace or coming to conquer. Only he and his Auto-Tune know which one it’ll be before they touch down.

"Same Damn Time"

#34. Psychedelic Pill- Neil Young & Crazy Horse

     

Repetition, repetition, repetition. A wheel spinning endlessly throughout time. Such steadiness can be maddening to some, but to Neil Young & Crazy Horse repetition is assurance, the bedrock of an unshakable sound that began more than 40 years ago and can still be heard today. Opener “Driftin Back” lazily floats down a river into infinity with Neil Young & Frank Sampdero’s guitars as its guide. There’s rarely a scream or yelp to be heard from the trance-inducing solos in the song’s 27-minutes. All we hear are whispers as Young ruminates on how corrosive technology can be, “I used to dig Picasso, I used to dig Picasso; then a big tech giant came and turned them into wallpaper.” He escape by hopping hop on the wheel and spinning back to a simpler time. The co-dependent couple of the gorgeous, but troubled “Ramada Inn” are stuck in a rut. For the song’s 17 minutes, they’re seeking a portal to the past, to a time before: drinks, drugs or kids who never call. They long for a time when it was just the two of them living for each other. Neil Young’s warbled refrain of “she (he) loves him so, she (he) does what he has to,” is that road to redemption, a reminder of loves saving grace. The tribute-laden “TwistedRoad” is all-about the eternality of music, how a few familiar chords can take you back to that first time you heard “Like a Rolling Stone,” where there was magic in the air and time stood still. De-facto closer “Walk Like A Giant,” captures Young floating like a leaf in a stream. A reappearing whistling figure veils Young’s disappointment with his generation’s failure. They were “getting closer every minute,” but the wheels fell off and the train derailed. They scorned the steadiness of time to build a path that was destined to die. To some consistency is foolish but to Neil Young & Crazy Horse its comfort, a one way ticket to the eternal.

"Ramada Inn"

#33. Spooky Action at a Distance- Lotus Plaza

Waking up from a sublime dream, you struggle to recall it all, to fill in the blanks to a story that’s slowly disappearing. You close your eyes and cling tight to your pillow, praying you’ll be transported back to the start. To relive it all one last time before the “weight of the world,” comes bearing down on you is your only wish. Spooky Action at a Distance, the second LP from Deerhunter guitarist Lockett Pundt’s Lotus Plaza project, begins as a search for that half-remembered dream. “Jet Out of the Tundra’s” chugging bass-line accompanies Pundt’s quest to go back “where we were again.” He’s running with his back to the past and his face hidden from the future, trying to make sense of an ever-changing present. All he needs is his other-half to wake from a dream and help him face the day. The longing for another soul to join you on your walk through the scary world outside your bedroom door is a running theme throughout Spooky Action. The soft strumming of “DustyRhodes” uncovers Pundt’s naked emotions; every beat is his pulsating heart as he works up the courage to ask for accompaniment into “the unknown.” Questions like “would you leave with me,” are never easy and Pundt does his best to sell the scenario. If “Dusty Rhodes” is his pitch, then the drum-heavy “Out of Touch,” is the plan to “take it slow, just live day by day.” It’s the distillation of the plans you concoct from beneath the sheets once you’ve given up on the dream, to “start a life, some place new and out of touch.” “Monoliths” starts with the sound of something rewinding (a fresh start of sorts) before Pundt casts aside “God, hate, fun, and faith,” for a chance to walk about and breathe in the liberating air. By the time his own walkabout takes him to the doors of the penultimate “Remember Our Days” Pundt’s waving goodbye to all the plans and promises he made. He’s no longer interested in recalling the dreams, he’s committed to remembering the truly fleeting moments of our lives: the days.

"Monoliths"

#32. Food & Liquor II: The Great American Rap Album Pt. I- Lupe Fiasco

Can we just pretend that Lasers, Lupe Fiasco’s middling third album never existed? That “The Show Goes On” for all its success was a forced sellout courtesy of Atlantic. There was still the message, Lupe railing against “State Run Radio” and advertising that black is beautiful on “All Black Everything,” but it was lost under a commercialized sound bordering on parody. Lupe might’ve had a lot to live up to in delivering a sequel to 2006’s faultless Food & Liquor, but once Lasers dropped that pressure vanished. With a weight lifted from his shoulders, he was free to make the record he wanted on his own terms. FLII is the fruit of that labor. “Teddy bears, liquor bottle shrines, and rocks,” can be found on the corners of “Ayesha Says” his sister’s introduction to the worldwide ghetto that’s growing every day. It’s a ghetto Lupe raps of being forced into on the numbing “Strange Fruition.” “I can’t pledge allegiance to your flag, cause I find no reconciliation with your past,” he raps with righteous anger over the slowly-dying electronic beat. Lupe doggedly searches for that past on “Unforgivable Youth” looking for a time before slave labor forces were providing “wealth to the machine,” but all he sees are permanent scars and “tears left as proof.” “Around My Way” boldly recycles the beat from certifiable classic “T.R.O.Y.” by Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth, not to pay tribute to a fallen-friend, but to eulogize a dream deferred. On the corner of 165^th & Broadway, Lupe scans an empty “Audubon Ballroom,”looking for the ghost of Malcolm. With the work of Malcolm and MLK as fuel, Lupe reignites the flames of that dream. To ensure the fire burns bright, he diverts the poisonous waters of the word “n****,” and assures that “black people we’re not n****s, God made us better than that.” No word ever capable of defining an entire race. Not every track on FLII is a message for the masses as evidenced on the personal narrative of “Cold War.” A vocal whispers through a cold New York wind while Lupe sees a fallen friend off to the other side. “Baby grab a jacket it’s a cold cold war,” singer Jane $$$ bellows on the hook. With an unswerving message in his mind, a fire in his heart, and a microphone in hand Lupe’s survived the winter of discontent and he’s better than ever. If Lasers did anything it served as confirmation that “even the greatest gotta suffer sometime.”

"Strange Fruition" ft. Casey Benjamin

#31. TNGHT- TNGHT

This is the sound of Lex Luger with a laser-beam, Young Chop going surgical on a beat with a scalpel. If Three 6 Mafia were born in Manchester instead of Memphis and came armed with a laptop this would be there trade. TNGHT’s audacious EP is a trunk-rattling rap record reflected through the prism of dubstep & bass music. “Higher Ground” skitters across the dancefloor, coasting on an amplified vocal sample before it disappears in a cloud of trap-rap drums and beat-drops. Remarkably the beat makes room for a heavy horn that gives the track an element of danger. The itchy beat of “Top Floor” reads as a Chief Keef track stuck in a slow moving syrup-laden purgatory where a stable of horror movies villains are lurking just around the corner. And the glitch-ridden beat of “Easy Easy” is begging for a snarling T.I. to come in and tear the roof of a futuristic house-party. That collaborators Hudson Mohawke and Lunice hail from Glasgow and Montreal respectively reads as a shock at first; musical interloping at its worst. But with cosigns from Waka Flocka Flame, Kendrick Lamar, and Kanye West its clear these two have all the hip-hop credentials they need. 

"Higher Ground"

Any problems with Round 2? Then let your voice should be heard, and remember there's still 30 more to go as we climb towards the mountain top of 2012.