"The Blacker the Berry"- Kendrick Lamar (Prod. Boi-1da)

Weird. Claustrophobic. Ferocious. Militantly black. Proud. Conflicted. I could be at this all day long and not exhaust the Oxford Dictionary for adjectives describing "King" Kendrick Lamar's head turning "The Blacker the Berry." The dude's grasp of the language and his knowledge of its potency is greater than entire English departments, so you're "better off trying to skydive..." than parse one of his tracks. It's far less of a Herculean effort to sit back and listen, though listening can be taxing too.

That's undoubtedly true of "The Blacker the Berry," which pummels you with Boi-1da's "Funky Drummer" percussion and makes you shiver with the zombiefied guitar circles. It most closely resembles "m.A.A.d. city" in terms of suffocating atmosphere, but even that feels tame in comparison to this. Lamar snarls a lot more on this one and plays into the utter paranoia of it all by suggesting schizophrenia in the intro. It's unnerving when he pointedly asks "you hate me don't you? You hate my people, your plan is to terminate my culture." Where before the city was "maad," now the kid is. And he's not sure what to do.

The "naïf," "idealistic" teen that accompanied us then has rotted into a man who can't come to terms with the fact that he's internalizing all of the racial hatred faced by Black Americans and unleashing it on his "kinfolk." He's weeping over the death of Trayvon Martin, and then killing someone "blacker than me." Whatever preaching he's doing with the Panthers is being negated by penitentiary trips. The chains binding his ancestors now entice Lamar to snatch and run, without the least bit of concern for his fellow man. Arguably that's the greatest tragedy of the Ferguson or Los Angeles riots; entire groups of people feel so "institutionally manipulated" that they stop giving a shit about their own communities. What's the smell of a dead neighbor when the trash has been picked up in weeks?

Despite the savior status he's often tagged with, Kendrick doesn't have any answers on "The Black the Berry." That's not what the song, which pays homage to the similarly conflicted "Keep Ya Head Up," is about. It's all about painful self-reflection, the sort that leaves you realizing "I'm the biggest hypocrite of 2015." If you leave the piece unaffected that's your fault, not Kendrick's. He's doing everything he can to expose generational plots and see through deceits. What other "King" works that hard?

(Details on the new LP are still scarce, but I wouldn't be surprised if it dropped at some point between now and festival season.)

"The Legend of Chavo Guerrero"- The Mountain Goats

When you're a kid, you need distractions from all of the: boredom, bad romance and bad parenting that afflict you. Everything seems to loom much larger then, so if you don't have anything to cling to you can feel overwhelmed. That's the general conceit of "The Legend of Chavo Guerrero," a propulsive effort that's our first taste of the Mountain Goats' upcoming "wrestling album" Beat the Champ. In this case, the specter of John Darnielle's abusive stepfather returns to wreak all sorts of havoc. He lets a young Darnielle down every chance he gets and openly mocks his hero Chavo Guerrero, a member of the distinguished Guerrero wrestling family. The louder he screams the further Darnielle retreats into the blue light of a luchador broadcast. "Look high, it's my last hope, Chavo Guerrero coming off the top rope," Darnielle sweetly wavers during the chorus as his acoustic guitar and Jon Wurster's drums lock into place. As fake as wrestling is, there's a real joy to it that we all could use; regardless of age.

(Beat the Champ is the Mountain Goats' first album since 2012's stellar Transcendental Youth and it's out April 7 in North America, April 13 in Europe, and April 3 in Australia/New Zealand, through Merge. For an explanation of the album you can check out Darnielle's Tumblr. Finally, the band's announced a tour to promote Beat the Champ and you can find the dates after the jump.)

Mountain Goats Dates:

1/24-25: San Francisco, CA - Sketchfest
4/2 Nashville, TN: Mercy Lounge
4/3 Asheville, NC: The Grey Eagle
4/4 Savannah, GA: The Jinx
4/7 Chapel Hill, NC: The Cat’s Cradle
4/8 Washington, DC: 9:30 Club
4/9 New York, NY: Webster Hall
4/11-12 New York, NY: City Winery
4/13 Philadelphia, PA: Union Transfer
4/14 Boston, MA: House of Blues
4/16 Cincinnati, OH: Bogart’s
4/17 Detroit, MI: Majestic Theatre
4/18 Chicago, IL: Vic Theatre
4/19 Minneapolis, MN: Cedar Cultural Theatre
4/21 Louisville, KY: Headliners
4/22 Columbus, OH: Wexner Center
4/23 Chicago, IL: Mr. Small’s Theatre
5/8-10 Atlanta, GA: Shaky Knees Festival
5/26 Denver, CO: Gothic Theatre
5/27 Salt Lake City, UT: Urban Lounge
5/29 Seattle, WA: The Showbox
5/30 Portland, OR: Wonder Ballroom
6/1 San Francisco, CA: The Fillmore
6/3 Los Angeles, CA: Mayan Theater

"minipops 67 [120.2] [source field mix]"- Aphex Twin

A major mistake I made when listening to "minipops 67 [120.2] [source field mix]," British producer Richard D. James' first new work as Aphex Twin in 13 years, was assuming the stirring vocals that end the song were lifted from some "ancient" source. They're so frail and wobbly that I just imagined James clearing them off a hard-drive labelled "Samples" from the year 2000. 

It's the only thing though from "minipops 67 [120.2] [source field mix] that feels "dated."  The layers of fluttering drum machines, watery synthesizers and stray noises are remarkably of the moment; recalling Aphex Twin disciples like shadowy post dubstep artist Burial and experimental hip hop producer Flying Lotus. James' aforementioned sighing at the song's end could be confused for a new Radiohead effort. Aphex Twin's been dormant since the maligned Drukqs in 2001, but James has clearly been paying attention to his imitators.

So much so that it sounds like he's read ahead of the class. As much as "minipops 67 [120.2] [source field mix] is of 2014, it’s simultaneously out of time. Individual ripples of synth keys are soundtracking a sci-fi flick that won't be made for another 10 years. The robotic heaves throughout the track are alien to my ears. There's no Rosetta Stone to decode the language of James' vocal manipulations. Aphex Twin is unquestionably back and already out in front of the field.




Aphex Twin's new album Syro is out Sept. 23 through Warp Records. You can find James' mangled bio accompanying the new release here and view the tracklist below.

Syro:
1. "minipops 67 [120.2] [source field mix]"
2. "XMAS_EveT10 (thanaton3 mix)"
3. "produk 29"
4. "4 bit 9d api+e+6"
5. "180db_"
6. "CIRCLONT6A (syrobonkus mix)"
7. "fz pseudotimestrech+e+3"
8. "CIRCLONT14 (shrymoming mix)"
9. "syro u473t8+e (piezoluminescence mix)"
10. "PAPAT4 (pineal mix)"
11. "s950tx16wasr10 (earth portal mix)"
12. "aisatsana"

Track Attack- "Born in the U.S.A. (Demo Version)" (Bruce Springsteen, 1982/1998)

"Born in the U.S.A." was the song that got me into Bruce Springsteen. I know that isn't a particularly earth-shattering revelation, countless people came to The Boss in a similar fashion. But I still remember mine, which has to count for something. When I got my first MP3 player at 13 I went on a downloading spree on the non-free Napster, filling my drab gray electronic stick up with whatever caught my eyes and ears. One song was Born in the U.S.A.'s booming title-track. If "Like a Rolling Stone"'s opening snare shot kicked open the door to Springsteen's mind, Max Weinberg's "exploding drums" left giant wood splinters in my brain. It wasn't just Weinberg's raucous playing though; it was Professor Roy Bittan's synthesizer riff which has hypnotic bile coursing through its Clarion veins. Hearing it now, I'm still not sure if he's striving for anthemic or stomach churning. 

And then of course there's Springsteen, howling with a righteous hunger and indignation he's rarely returned to. More than any of those other elements, his voice is what drew me in. At 13 I had no idea why he was screaming. That utter desperation cast a spell on me though and when I returned to Springsteen several years later, this time for good; the crushing despair is what drew me back in. If the veins in Springsteen's face weren't popping out when he recorded the album version, it'd be easy to imagine. The cliché of doing (blank) "like your life depended on it" has rarely been as true in music as it is here. His wailing about going to "kill the yellow maaan" doesn't have anything to do with bloodlust or cultural imperialism, he's been backed into a corner and using the rifle in his shaking hands is the only way to get out.

If the 1984 album version of "Born in the U.S.A." is about desperation, the ‘82 acoustic version Springsteen cut for Nebraska is resignation incarnate. Gone are the massive drum fills and queasy synth lines. The seismic roar of Springsteen's voice is distilled to a ghostly whisper. "Righteous hunger" has ceded to starvation. Infamously Ronald Reagan's 1984 presidential campaign attempted to co-opt the song and sought The Boss' endorsement. Wholly unaware of the song's bitter resentment of blind nationalism and mistreatment of Vietnam vets, conservative columnist George Will went so far as to say of Springsteen, "He is no whiner, and the recitation of closed factories and other problems always seems punctuated by a grand, cheerful affirmation: 'Born in the U.S.A.! '" Had Will listened to Springsteen's intensely strummed offering first, he would've altogether abandoned any "patriotic" talk. No way could anyone point to jingoism in a line like "nowhere to run and nowhere to go," especially when there's nothing distracting you from the sentiment.

It's easy for some then to see the song's true colors and label Springsteen unpatriotic. While I find it incredibly dimwitted to do so, I understand it. Just like most don't want to hear their favorite sports team lambasted, they don't wish to see their country taken down either. Hearing Springsteen depict Veteran's Affairs as callous, "you" want to fire back at the charge. It's a department that does deeply important work and how dare someone criticize it. He's not criticizing V.A. callousness or American ineptitude after Vietnam out of hate though, but love. He had friends shipped off to the war. He got the same draft notice in the mail and had to take the same physical. While he was "fortunate" enough to fail, plenty of his friends weren't so lucky. This isn't a situation then he's unfamiliar with, he knows it all too well. When he frantically plucks guitar strings in the Tracks version and anxiously moans "I had a brother at Khe Sahn, fighting off the Viet Cong, they're still there, he's all gone" your heart falls out of your chest because its uncomfortably real. With "Born in the U.S.A." Springsteen wasn't speaking out of turn about a country that had given him everything; he was giving a voice to those who the country abandoned. It's not a condemnation so much as a correction. And the sparse 1982 demo version makes that painfully clear.

I hope everyone has a happy Fourth of July! Look for the blog to return in full-force on Monday.