Review: M83- Hurry Up, We're Dreaming

The tumultuous and disruptive decade since the onset and onslaught of the digital revolution has transformed not just the music industry, but has done a pretty neat job of changing music. As the synthesizer and the computer replaced the piano and the studio, people began to realize en mass that anyone could be a musician. For better or worse this is the state of affairs we find ourselves in as we scan the internet, sleuth the blogs and sites, dig through torrents looking for increasingly aggregate numbers of new music, new artists, new genres. I tend to think of it for the better, as the late 90s saw the traditional pillars of rock, pop and hip hop decaying and rotting from the inside out due to a void of creative contributions. The caveat to this situation and challenge to all potential contributors is how do you make yourself noticed? When every divergent genre and sub genre is constantly flooded with new content running the gambit along on all levels of quality and taste, what chance does an artist have beyond being innovative or spectacular. M83 does both; with Hurry up We're Dreaming, M83's Anthony Gonzalez creates an adventure that completely subverts and surpasses genre, even breaking free of the limitations on how music should be crafted, as dictated by things as blase as reality. With cutting edge modernity, coupled with a respectful talent for the classical- both in terms of instrumentation and the merits of the studio process- Dreaming is an album that seems future perfect and timeless all at once.

Gonzalez makes it immediately and enticingly apparent that this will not be an album defined or restrained by traditional and tangible barriers such as linearity, pacing, or thematics. In the expansive and dazzling depth of “Intro”, before Zola Jesus' commanding and celebratory voice kicks in, we hear a diminutive girl whisper, “we didn't need a real world, we didn't need a story... I knew you before you even existed”. Things like time and space are rendered meaningless here, Dreaming aims to exist where such concepts can't be accurately measured- in our dreams. Gonzalez has said he no longer wants to live in the real world, rather he would prefer to escape into the endless but stimulating void of our dreams. Here, story and structures, time and space, are nebulous and variable; and possibilities open up infinitely. This album codifies and embraces that sense of discovery and the wonders of the unknown. Instrumentation and arrangements are spacious and lush. Massive crescendos and dizzying dissents are common place to the point of being not just expected but unalienable, yet always introduced and handled in refreshing and creative ways. Synthesizers are purposed towards otherworldly and celestial hooks like the dazzling and potent beat of “Midnight City”, and the boisterous “Year One, One UFO”. Vocals and choirs, like those found in the bizarre and exciting melodic hook they form in “Ok Pal”, are heavily altered by modifiers and post production to ensure the album's ample background vocals carry the signature of something beyond human- alien and heavenly all at once. I hope the technical and evangelical implications of such a descriptor are not lost on people, for when do such concepts ever operate so beautifully together, as opposed to diametrically clashing. This paradigm is replicated in other ways like in the overtly artificial and crass 8-bit measures of “Another Wave From You”, beautifully and dutifully ferrying Gonzalez's demure and frail vocals along. More classical instruments, horns, piano, supplement this by adding an ever intensifying sense of grandeur, but only to some of the tracks.

Review: Neon Indian- Era Extrana

Era Extrana, the new release by Neon Indian, is not awful. A disclaimer as such is necessary as I'm going to spend most of my time here explaining all the things that are wrong with it. Again, the album is by no means a complete misfire, like some ill conceived experiment that births a wretched creation terrorizing an unsuspecting lot of villagers- although that is sort of the imagery that formed in my head. It's just that it's most pronounced attributes are also it's most glaring flaws, concealing the more admirable aspects. However I cannot claim Era Extrana to be a great, or even good album either, as Neon Indian has failed to expand or improve upon the shaky yet promising ground the broke in their first LP, Psychic chasms.

Ultimately I feel as if a thorough and deeply objective analysis of the counters and crevices of Era Extrana is sadly unwarranted when all that is required of me to say is that this album suffers from the same nearly crippling aliment that Physic Chasms did. That being a deeply rooted lack of confidence in their abilities as musicians coupled with their grotesque over indulgence as editors and post production hucksters. This album is at its core comprised of competent, and occasionally alluring tech-synth beats, only to be smothered and congested by an obtrusive and offensive amount of musical detritus. The melody is strangled and snuffed out by a tangled and ill defined web of haze and subterfuge in the form of obtrusive distortions in bloated numbers. I mean that last part rather literally as the basic beat of some of their tracks show real promise. The endearing and remorseful few seconds of their opening interlude, “Heart: Attack”- which is made all the more impressive and expressive since they composed it via canned 8 bit audio tracks provides hints of grandeur and importance. The inquisitive parading scales of their lead single, “Polish Girl” are equal parts superficially catchy and mentally stimulating- and in just the right balance. Clearly Neon Indian can at times, construct a good tune. Why they feel the need to consume these tunes in an unbalanced tide of post production bullshitery is distressing as both of these tracks quickly loose direction awash in a mess of distorted measures. Before one dissents and says there is no basis to say this is all egregiously applied after the fact and argues that much of what you here is performed in real time- stop. It's not. I have seen Neon Indian live, or should I say I have had the pleasure to see Neon Indian live. Their songs are significantly striped down; considerably leaner and more linear. The simplicity that they seem “restrictively” forced to convey is so much more appealing than their sloppy mosaic approach to music.

Review: The Rapture- In The Grace of Your Love

“You need to un-quit your band”, said DFA frontman James Murphy to Luke Jenner, singer of the then disbanded group, The Rapture. With the breakout success of their scathingly raw album, Echoes, and then the rave pop stylings of Pieces of the People We love, The Rapture had seemed to cement their status as a group on the bleeding edge of pop, dance and punk. To the surprise and dismay of many Jenner seemed to want no part of this, opting instead for seclusion and parting ways with The Rapture. With the surprising death of his mother, the birth of his son, and finding his role in the band grow increasingly distant from what he wanted, Jenner decided to call it quits. As celebrated was their accession, so to was their painful demise mourned. Times, thankfully, have changed; Jenner is back, The Rapture is back. In The Grace of Your Love is the result. And it's damn impressive.

With In The Grace of Your Love, Jenner returns to his former band with drastically altered ambitions and intentions, and the band's tool set is equally repurposed. Indeed it may be more apt to describe The Rapture under it's current incarnation as using an entirely different set of styles and techniques. This was my initial reaction to the album, however in the end In The Grace of Your Love is really still just pop music, an entity not entirely disparate from Pieces of the People We Love. The key differences that divides the two albums by such a wide margin is purpose. With In The Grace of Your Love, Jenner channels a insatiable passion for true and genuine sentiment. This is a far cry from, by comparison, a collection of party pop superfluousness in the previous album; one that was comprised mostly of songs about partying, dancing, copulating. Don't get me wrong, I love Pieces of the People We Love, but In The Grace of Your Love radiates an emotional functionality and depth that reveals the slight shallowness of their earlier work. In retrospect I can understand Jenner's prior frustrations that led him to part ways with the band; If all you can communicate is a desire for hedonism, then stagnation will surely kick in, festering and strangling the creative process. Better to move on before that happens. Thankfully in this case, Jenner returned with a renewed sense of purpose eager to explore his capacity for more emotive offerings.

Review: Little Dragon- Ritual Union

July kind of sucked in Vancouver- weather wise. It was cloudy, cold, it goddamn rained. But right towards the end of the month, things turned around. As if Mother Nature in all her venomous and contemptuous wrath decided to show some mercy. At right around the same time, Ritual Union, the third LP from Little Dragon dropped; to those familiar with Little Dragon headed up by Yukimi Nagano, they would agree that the timing could not have been more perfect. Little Dragon's mysterious, quirky, delightful, and uplifting brand of electro pop goes perfectly with my favourite season once it's in full effect. When I listened to Ritual Union for the first time, it was obvious that I liked it, but I wasn't sure if it was better than their previous album, the excellent Machine Dreams. If I was going to answer this question I needed to understand in what ways it was different, and if those differences yielded a better or worse album.

Upon initial inspection, Nagano's voice is immediately familiar to those who spent any time with their previous album, Machine Dreams. Instantly alluring, silky smooth, and paced elegantly and logically with the music it accompanies, listening to Nagano throughout Ritual Union reaffirms my belief that she is one of the premier vocal talents out there right now. My first few plays of the album had me more or less convinced that Ritual Union, at least in terms of Nagano's vocal contribution, was a logical and sensible continuation of the ground explored in Machine Dreams. While that is certainly satisfactory to some degree, there is something slightly disappointing about a group like Little Dragon, who I found so vibrantly unique at first, to stumble tragically into redundancy and repetitiveness. I wanted to give Nagano more credit, so I forced Ritual Union through a much more rigorous and borderline anal analytical wringer; I'm pleased I did, for I believe the findings to be most positive. It took repeated listenings, but I'm now certain there are some pretty key differences between how she sang on this album versus the last.

Review: YACHT- Shangri-La

In the spirit of full disclosure, I feel compelled to disclose that this will be a heavily lopsided analysis of Shangri-La, the new album from electro-dance poppers, YACHT headed up by Jona Bechtolt and Claire Evans. Whenever I attempt one of these things, I endeavour to give an equal amount of time examining an album's aesthetics, concept, writing, etc. In this case however I am undoubtedly incapable of achieving such balance. The story that is told in Shangri-La, as communicated by a cinematic style narrative and brimming with a plethora of amazing one liners, is too interesting and successful not to give most of my attention to when writing this. Yes I will give some mention to how it sounds (really good, thanks!) but the main body of this will be reserved for plunging the depths of Shangri-La and trying to absorb the story it tells.

But first- I find it worth mentioning that both Bechtolt and Evans' voices has progressed notably since See Mystery Lights. It can be at times difficult to discern which of the two is singing as the both tend to revel in their slight androgyny, and they often perform in tandem. They definitely run along the same trajectory, however certain vocal inflections have been dialled up to be more noticeable. The cocky swagger, the dismissive antagonism, the slightly irritable staccato are all more discernible this time around, and it makes the album better for it. In contrast however some of the experimental approaches to sound and music have been dialled back here. The types of music created are a little more linear and straightforward, a little less expansive than the last album. This is not terribly surprising as See Mystery Lights was as ambitiously diverse as it could get without crossing over into nonsensical batshit insane. Rather then spreading the instrumentation out in a vast space if stimuli, all of the beats and sounds are more tightly coiled together and focused, seeming more dense and moving at a faster pace. This more controlled and tempered sound seems necessary to effectively carry the albums narrative forward logically. This is not to say that Shangri-La sounds too traditional or boring- far from it. The slurring bass line that scuttles forward at a propulsive rate, mixing together with the tropical melody in “Utopia” sounds amazing. The tremor inducing synth notes that erupt throughout “Dystopia” are brilliant. I love the menacing and macabre key boards that sloth forward in a dizzying almost roundabout way in “Love in the Dark”. There are many overt and well placed musical cues and aesthetics taken from the DFA coda. The coarse rapid fire hum of high octave punk guitar interspersed with a more elegant and regal sounding piano beat in “I Walked Alone” come to mind. There's something I love about DFA albums, that while they sound so refreshingly distinct, they strive to share a semblance of musical DNA. However, as is always the case with YACHT, its the vocals that tend to be the most dramatic and interesting instrumentation.

Review: Tune Yards- Who Kill

Listening to Who Kill, the new LP from UK artist Tune Yards, headed up by Meryl Garbus, really makes me want to employ one of those “What do you get when you cross 'this' with 'that'” kind of equations. Unfortunately, as fun and helpful as those measurements often are, in this case they proved ill equipped to define Tune Yards, leaving the listener equally ill prepared. Preparation is necessary when listening to Who Kill. While light hearted in demeanour, it is not to be taken so, as it's confoundedly condensed and chaotic structures will potentially leave you overwhelmed and maybe even annoyed. After some time, the web seems to untangle however, and one can discern strands of mostly interesting and at times dazzling music.

Garbus' voice can prove at times challenging to get a grasp on and grow accustomed to. Her range of verbosity, volume and output, pacing, and even style is constantly shifting and modulating. It does so at seemingly random and unpredictable intervals. She'll go from a traditionally linear pathway of vocal utterances, to hyperactive and frenetic tantrums of singing. In the opening track “My Country” a silky smooth and relaxed pace sharply diverts into a lighting fast spoken word section and then jumps right back. Her decibels bounce disorientingly from restrained and seductive whispers to erupting and escalating wails, as in “You Yes You”, leaving your volume setting completely helpless. Her vocal aesthetic is sometimes set to wispy tremors like in “Riotriot”, then transitions to something much more brash and bellicose in songs like “Buisnezz”. At times her voice is akin to a cross between Amy Whinehouse and Missy Elliot. She spends most of the songs brazenly and at times violently switching back and forth. Despite the many bodies and conceits she seems to occupy she always does so from a position of either serene calm or strict confidence. The result being, while it seems alien at times, her voice always seems within her control and firmly grasped by at least some kind of logic and intent, as opposed to her just screwing around with no regard for what works and what doesn't.

Review: Cut Copy- Zonoscope

After multiple listenings of Zonoscope, by Aussie elctro-wavers Cut Copy, I feel like I have a pretty good grasp on what it is I'm listening to. The only lingering question that frustratingly seems unsolvable is just what exactly a zonoscope, if anything, is. Alas any attempts at googling merely yields results for the album, which either spawned the term, or is more interestingly, its namesake. I really want to know. The album cover itself reveals some potential insight. An image of an impossibly beautifully, yet logically realized landscape framed through a circular, perhaps ocular lens; a scope if you will. My fixation on the issue is not random and superficial, not entirely at least. I am compelled to explore the meaning behind a zonoscope because for all of this album's compelling qualities and soothingly catchy hooks, what has me most interested is the way it looks back on and surveys the trends and styles of pop music's past. While this endeavour is not always fully realized or articulated, Cut Copy makes up for this short coming by proving their own stylings capable of filling in the gaps with incredibly catchy and palatable offerings.

Review: Destroyer- Kaputt

After listening to Kaputt by Destroyer, one may wonder why the creative force behind the act, Dan Bejer, refers to it as Destroyer. It's a pretty harsh moniker for music that is anything but, at least as far as Kaputt is concerned. Admittedly the career of Destroyer has seen many twists and turns and delved, at times rekclessly and aimlessly into many aesthetics and tones. The musical make up of Kaputt, while not the first time adventured by Bejer, is a recent development. It is breed from familarity, yet at the same time crafted in away that seems positively unique. Bejer, with the help of vocalist Sibel Thrasher, have made an expertly constructed and beautifully performed piece of work here; one that is refreshingly devoid of the cynicism that has crystallized like an impenetrable husk over the genres and stylings that Bejer draws inspiration from.

Part of why Kaputt works so well is it is propelled by a very clear sense of direction and well defined structure. At its core Kaputt employs a contemporary version of inoffensive smooth jazz that was more or less rendered obsolete by the early 90s. It's really a shock to hear it resurrected so casually and successfully in this collection. However the peripheries, or casing of these songs are comprised of modern hi fidelity indie pop and slightly dreary 80s new wave. Much of the bass is reminiscent of The Cure and Joy Division. Each element is applied pretty liberally on top of the aforementioned jazz center, maybe even heavy handedly at times. But both aspects are balanced admirably so the album manages to avoid any blase synth malaise that tarnished the 80s somewhat, nor does it seem to fall between the cracks of countless other fusion upstart groups. But then why would it?- as Destroyer, this is Bejer's 9^th album; he was honing his craft when the barren existentilism of the 80s was still considered modern and inovative in the early 90s. Again, these facets really are just ancillary to the core of Kaputt which is constructed from more orchestral and classical instruments. Flute, clarinet, saxophone, and trumpet, and bass- in it's diminutive way- make up the backbone here. But they aren't all employed in tandem or conjunction, rather sprinkled sporadically throughout the songs, with only occasional intermingling of all the instruments. “Suicide Note for Kara...” provides a perfect example of this as throughout the 8 minute track the central instrument keeps shifting; kind of like Mike Oldfield only not as jarringly mind bending and alienating. The shifting in arrangements here seem much more natural and unobtrusive. As a result, while the overall aesthetic is consistently orchestral jazz, the specifics and details are varied and even spontaneous. The music carries a sort of aged and eloquent wisdom to it, developing into a reassuring sense of warmth and comfort. For someone who was recently trumpeting the merits of the bizarre and slightly unsettling stylings of acts like Caribou, it's nice to be reminded of the joys one finds at the opposite end of the spectrum.

Review: Of Montreal: False Priest

When have the titles of Of Montreal albums ever made sense? Satanic Panic in the Attic? What could Skeletal Lamping possibly denote? Who was Hissing Fauna, besides potentially the Destroyer? As such, anyone who has continued the rewarding but disorienting life of being an Of Montreal fan long ago parted ways with deriving any literal meaning or interpretations from their titles. Which is why it's something of a shock that False Priest carries with it a quite literal and instructive denotation. Much like Hissing Fauna, and far removed from the incoherent insanity of Skeletal Lamping, False Priest is an album that is graciously about something. Kevin Barnes has made this no secret, as in scores of interviews he revealed the subject matter of the group's new undertaking would be an attack on organized religion. It goes beyond that however, this is more than a negative critique. Kevin Barnes and company absolutely assault the concept of organized religion and all of its constrictive dogmas. They bombard it with vitriol and vengeance. They napalm the church.

The best part about this album is the numerous and dynamic approaches they take to such an assault. At times Barnes uses language to agitate and offend the sensibilities of organized religion (lets stop with idealistic euphemisms here, its not organized religion as a whole, its Christianity). In several cases he speaks in terms of evolution, “How can we ever evolve, when our gods our so primitive” in “Enemy Gene” and saying that god has evolved into something awful in “Casualty of you”. At times Barnes directly address the fallacies and hypocrisies of the church. He casts worship in a perverted light when he says “you fetishize the archetype” in “Like a Tourist”. Furthermore, He indulges in heretic thoughts such as pagan rituals- something particularly antagonizing to christianity- like “soak me in animal blood”. All of the imagery is incendiary and volatile, designed to shake loose the foundations of the churches apathetic yet dominant structures.

Elsewhere Barnes is considerably more literal in his criticisms of the church. The final moment or so of the album is an increasingly distorted voice going off on a scathing rant about the ridiculousness, and very real dangers of religion and faith. “Casualty of You” is a clever bit of story telling as he personifies his relationship with god by relating it vicariously to being dumped and ruined by a girl. He laments “You stole something from me/ can't say what/ just know its gone”. He's not speaking to a person, he is referring to the riotous effect (to borrow Barnes' language) religion has had on him. Elsewhere he callously says “Your sister called me the other day”. Is he referring to an actual familial relation, or a sister of the church? It's subtly clever.

Even more damaging to the church is the way Barnes intermingles religion with highly sexualized psychedelic conceits; specificity, the sort of thing the church vigorously contests. Where as Christian preachings have always threatened some non descript punishment for doing anything other treating your body like a temple, in “Sex Karma” he and Solonge Knowles, lavishly treat each other's bodies like a playground. In “Enemy Gene” Barnes challenges the notion of the human condition being characterized by original sin and rather orients it around sex and hedonism. It is our own urges that influence the world we forge, not some theologically instilled notion of good and evil. In “Girl Named Hello” Barnes slurs “If I treated someone else the way I treat myself/ I'd be in jail” promoting a not so subtle reference to his perceived joys of sadomasochism. There's even a song called “You do Mutilate”. He continues to exercise phraseology that carries a specific meaning to the church throughout the album as a sort of affront to them. In the first song “I Feel Your Strutter”, he blissfuly sings how blessed he is to be in love; it's a back handed way of saying all the bliss and fulfilment that the church promised us is something they are incapable of delivering, but we can find it in others- without them. All of these maneuverings are not direct or blunt strikes against the church, rather he he uses sexuality and the physicality of the body as a hedonistic canvas in which to create his protest against the overtly conservative rigidness and intolerance of Christianity. And what better way to malign the church that to use sex; is there anything else that makes devout Christians more uncomfortable. By tangling them together, intersecting them he destroys the barriers the church has built around itself protecting it from such dimensions. “Godly Intersex”, anyone?

As a result this is Of Montreal's most overtly sexually liberating and explorative album. The low fi Sesame Street, Yo Gabba Gabba innocence of the Sunlandic Twins and Satanic Panic in the Attic is long gone. Barnes is no longer traumatized by one singular apocalyptic emotion as in Hissing Fauna. Whatever was going on in Skeletal Lamping... well thats gone too (Don't get me wrong, I quite enjoy Skeletal Lamping, but seriously can anybody tell me what the hell was going on there?). More so than ever Barnes' vocals are seductive and suggestive. Its like the Musical equivalent of a Russ Myers film. This element is lost however during the few occasions where Barnes makes the mistake of regressing into some sort of spoken word monologue, as in “Our Riotous Defects” or "Famine Affair”. He's playful funk falsetto is supplanted by insipid and blase drudgery. I'm thankful it only happens a couple of times but even once is too many. Oddly, my favourite track on the album, “Coquete Coquette” seems (so far) the only track on the album that seems devoid of the thematic punch that defines the rest of the songs. I don't really have an issue with this, as its a damn good song. Mixing a striking guitar hook with a hallucinogenic frenzied fade out, it's an intense trip. It also probably has my favourite line I've heard in a song this year: “I don't wanna catch you with some other guys face under your eyelids”- a wonderful metaphor.

As with all of their albums, False Priest is endowed with a daunting array of alien riffs, oddball synth, feral sounds, nocturnal brassy beats (especially in “Around the way”), and baffling and awkward rhythms and harmonies. Unlike Skeletal Lamping which was nearly torn a sunder by its own strikingly atypical architecture, most of the songs here take the menagerie of audible oddities and firmly coil them together into something much more focused, directed, and coherent. This precision decays somewhat only in the last song, but after making it that far, I'll certainly afford them a little inane experimentation. It's melodically smoother than maybe any of their prior albums; many of the rhythms have a sort of instrumental equivalent to a soft palatalization. Once again they dive heavily into 70s blacksplotation funk, also mixing a great deal of 80s dreary synth pop in the vein of Depeche Mode, albeit at a greatly accelerated tempo. “Hydra fantasies” deviates a little from this but still feels distinctly like Of Montreal with a peculiar and perverted harmony to it. It reminds me why I once described this group as the Mad Hatter of music: mysterious, intriguing, playful, but slightly unsettling and sinister. However there is nothing on the grandiose or epic level of “The Past it a Grotesque Animal” or “Nonpareil of Favor”. Everything here, while bursting with energy is a little more diminutive.

I hope when people listen to False Priest, they will hear more than just slightly obtuse, and scatter brain pop music. It carries with it so much more intent, sincerity, and passion that your average top 40 pop affair, even if at times it seems like nothing more than an abstract perversion of such material. Its content is worth studying in great detail, and in a way that can't really be said for what people may start to mistake as Of Montreal's contemporaries (I have a feeling that people are going to start comparing Kevin Barnes to Lady Gaga. Barnes could eat her alive- have you seen the video for “Coqute Coquette”?). While it is vengeful, spiteful, and even maybe a little narrowly bias, it is done so in a brilliantly nuanced, subtle, and imaginative way. It may be hard to take they're claims seriously when presented in such a hyperbolic manner- but you really should. That's the way it should be anyways, as I can think of few better words than hyperbolic to describe Of Montreal.

Review: The Walkmen- Lisbon

I always respect a band that places more prominence on its own development and evolution than a shallow need to fulfil its fans myopic desires. The problem with subscribing to such a pretentious high ground is I often am one of those myopic fans. As such, like everyone else who has charted the progress of The Walkmen, Lisbon will leave you a little unfulfilled, if only because it's still not just more Bows and Arrows. However this reaction should only be preliminary at most, as closer examination and dismantling of Lisbon gives way to its own merits and dynamics.

While the subject matter from previous outings is very much prevalent here, the tone has shifted dramatically. The Walkmen have always dealt with the disenchanting issue of isolation and loneliness, however in Lisbon, vocalist Hamilton Leithauser has realized his jaded and battered outlook was in dire need for a major reevaluation. As such, much of this album still orbits around the central idea of being alone, however such a thing is no longer characterized in such a demoralizing light; rather Leithauser seems at best, able to ascertain the positive contributions of such a situation, and at worst, nonchalantly unaffected by it. Leithauser wastes no time conveying these new sentiments, as he lays his restructured character directly before us with in the first spoken words of the opening track “Juveniles”. “You're with someone else tomorrow night/ doesn't matter to me”- he seems to accept the fact that at times isolation is a human condition that wholly transcends the grasps of anyone persons control. He goes on to carefully contextualize being alone in something of a comforting even nostalgic manner. “The country air is good for me” he mumbles differentiating the infestation of over populated urban existence with the leisurely, albeit lonely rural life; Leithauser makes his decision clear.

“Stranded”, A clear stand out track on the album continues this line of thinking while at the same time introducing an intriguing subtext to the album. Leithauser pleads “You don't want me, you can tell me”, as if to explain he no longer needs his feelings spared from the inevitable parting of ways between whoever he is speaking to. The only track on the album carried by a horn melody, its tune radiates an enveloping sense of warmth and content. Its both interesting and instructive listening to this and then going back to Bows and Arrows. Leithauser is clearly no longer searching for the cathartic vitriol that spewed from the “The Rat”. That slightly destabilizing sense of anxiety is no longer propelling the bands music forward at such a pace. Leithauser isn't in a rush to get somewhere, rather being content lingering exactly where he is. The music in “Stranded” especially, but elsewhere as well, astutely translates these feelings into something more tangible for the senses.

As for the aforementioned subtextual references, now that Leithauser has taken successful strides towards conquering his own neurosis, he has directed his efforts towards others. Through out segments of certain songs he seems compelled, all though by no means confident in his ability, to apply a similar panacea to others as he did himself. Just as he seems less tormented by a life of loneliness he wants the rest of us to feel the same. Realizing he lacks the capacity to accomplish this, he finds himself striving to be with this people in some noble endeavour to protect them from a vacuumous solitary confinement. In “Angela Surf City” he boasts “Let's go home happy again/ just take your head from you hands”. In “Stranded” he desperately wants to know how his friends are doing; are the ok? Are they drunk and lonely? But he is unable to come to their aid as he says “There's broken glass around my feet” Awesome Die Hard imagery aside, he is conveying that while he is overcome his own dilemmas he is trapped from freeing others from such melancholy. This appears to be the new inspiration for Leithauser's agonized and scouring slurs.

While the pacing and subdued vibe of Lisbon certainly shares more in common with its more recent predecessor You & Me, as opposed to the variable speeds of Bows and Arrows, its construction seems unique and fresh. Most notable is the majority of the guitar seems a great deal lighter, euphonic even. More specifically it seems to generate something of a maritime, pacific aura. While pleasing and euphoric at times, it lacks the charisma of the Walkmen's earlier work. There aren't really any tracks that create the energetic tension and release that “Thinking of a Dream” “In the New Year” and “On the Water” had. This is not to say the direction is a mundane misadventure, I simply miss galvanizing triumphs and vengeful tirades their music use to personify. I have no doubt they till have this ability; perhaps they felt Lisbon's subject matter called for restraint. “Blue as Your Blood” comes close to being an exception with a guitar hook that is decidedly more blunt and penetrating the the rest of the album. “Angela Surf City” seems to be another as it ditches the minimalism of much of the album in favor of more brash hyperactive affair; I think its one of the better songs. Its core melody is actually purposely recycled and altered for a couple of the more low key and low fi tracks on the album. While by no means a recent innovation, it is a tactic that seems to be oddly common as of late. Arcade Fire and M.I.A. have both made similar moves in their recent work. With Lisbon, the purpose of such a maneuver eludes me, and its results seem to be less impacting as a result, when compare to The Suburbs by Arcade Fire at least.

As with they're other albums Matt Barrick shows himself to be one of the best modern day drummers. Throughout the album he directs the percussion from simple supportive backbone to the determining factor in altering and directing the pacing of a song- and then swiftly back into something understated once more. While less prevalent, Leithauser seems to have lost a touch of that grizzled scathing quality to his voice. It seems slightly more mellowed and crooning. The affects of this are minimal at best, but it seems worth mentioning.

With Lisbon, the Walkmen have taken another stride in the opposite direction of venomous outbursts that originally made people take notice of their efforts. Where as with so many other bands, such a maneuver is derived form an misconceived notion of innovation for innovations sake, The Walkmen's journey so far has been pleasantly logical and carefully mulled over. Their sound has become slightly lackadaisical and although its still engaging and thoughtfully engineered, it has discarded its alarmist and rattling guitar and pacing. However the new sound, while perhaps less startling, more aptly compliments a group that has become more seasoned and less irrationally bound by, as they would put it “juvenile” emotions. One wonders if they would take that as a compliment.

Review: M.I.A.- MAYA

In attempting to navigate my way through the nuances and mysteries of M.I.A.'s new album, I grew concerned that I would be woefully incapable of separating my thoughts on its content from my increasingly scathing view of her character. After all, people don't like M.I.A. anymore. Who was once a mysterious and distanced observer of the absurdity of pop culture in a world that cultivates constant warfare and atrocities, has now been swallowed by the most superficial and banal elements of it. More concerning, she has taken the scope of her world view, formally aimed at intriguing dichotomies and anathemas, and turned it narcissisticly inwards on herself. With all the animosity she has excessively garnered, would any of that negativity unfairly crossover into what should be an unbiased critique of an artistic endeavour? Alas, such fears appear to be moot, as there is plenty to MAYA in it's own right to make you not like it.

To understand just what the hell went wrong, one must first grasp the multiple shifts in focus and theme M.I.A. has made here. Whereas Arular and Kala were both studies in how two vastly disparate cultures- the war torn third world, and the over privileged globalized world- struggle to mesh together, MAYA has a more mono-thematic approach. This is an album about the culture of the internet; just look at the bloody album cover. While this may seem needlessly abstract at first, such a mission translates tangibly into the music and sounds we are subjected to. Rather than represent the wonders of the digital age for all its expansive, creative, and bold contributions it has made to music, she instead chooses the guttural route of engaging in all the unfocused, unstructured, and fractured noise that also creeps through the tubes. As a result, this album is a aural mess. Random sounds, noises, and barely audible distractions are haphazardly and lazily pieced together into a jumbled forest of distortion. There are some interesting and discernible melodies, such as the faux metal hook in “Steppin Up”. But it is buried under, smothered even, by aimless cacophony. “Lovealot” starts off promising as M.I.A. effortlessly shows her talent for stringing together vocal slurs that have an almost onomatopoeic quality (it sounds like a slowed down “XR2”). However it doesn't take her long to get bored and throw away all coherence in favour of clashing factory-house noises that have no business in the song. One wonders if M.I.A. listened to the brilliant “Clavda” by Bjork- a song where a seemingly randomized string of noises are reined in and molded in to an engaging melody. M.I.A. has the random part down, but seriously over estimated her capacity to fulfil the terms of the all important second part.

By crafting an album around internet phraseology and decorum, her sound has lost its softer organic quality, in favour of sterile artificiality. The Bohemian, Rastafarian, and African vibes and instruments are frustratingly absent, only to be replaced by... the sound of visceral banging on metal sheets and buzzing chainsaws? One notable exception is “It Takes a Muscle”; it has a casually laid back Hawaiian quality, and is unsurprisingly her at her most genuine and sincere. It also benefits from a semblance of recognizable pacing, which apparently M.I.A. is too trendy for now. So many songs brazenly insert musical oddities, abruptly segue from one poorly conceived musical experiment to another, or most annoyingly, just stop without warning or reason. Its as if these songs were constructed not only with an elitist disdain for structure, but for what is palatable to the ears.

While this album certainly carries an offensive grating sound it, what is even more distressing is its lyrical content; or lack thereof. M.I.A. showed with previous work, she can craft insightful, thought provoking, and distinctly unique lyrics. She used her position as a person that was acutely aware of the vast differences between the 3^rd and 1^st world to highlight them. In “M.I.A” She spends one line talking about texting from her Nokia and the next blasting the corruption of the democratic political process. In “Amazon” she relaxingly paints her nails and leisurely sips on a cocktail, only to then be held hostage in the rainforest. By playing these two divergent streams of thought off of each other she provided a n interesting commentary and forced us to look at our lives in a different light, if only for a few seconds. Now, she likes tweeting from her iphone and is pissed that her internet connection is down. She has lost all communion and interest in her roots and has fully embraced the vapid culture she once subtly mocked. How did she go from conveying the absurdity and horrors of torture in songs like “Sunshowers” and “$20” to playing around with Gossip Girl memetics in “XXXO”?

She spends less time on this album trying to describe the things she has seen and learned and the experiences of others; Remember “Mango Pickle Down River”? That was a great story. Growing ever more narcissistic she instead uses the album to talk about herself as much as possible. “Story To Be Told” has her almost complaining that no one is telling her story in a seemingly victimized manner. Didn't she already tell her story in “Paper Planes”? Didn't the New York Times tell her story? And everybody hated it. She named her last two albums after intriguing and mysterious figures that exist either in her memories or her dreams. For christ sakes, she named this album after herself, with a cover that places her vestige at the proverbial center of the goddamn internet. I'm not convinced she is entirely a lost cause however; after all “Born Free” is a good song. That silly video aside (its not a subtle political message, its about as blunt as Mr. Mackey saying “drugs are bad”, m'kay), it shows that she still has a few not entirely self centered things left in her to say. Interestingly, at one point she says, “with a nose to the ground, I found my sound”. When she once again pays attention to the world around her she has something interesting to say. Its no surprise that this song is by far the most energetic song in the collection with an actually interesting fuzzed out base hook.

M.I.A. has taken the credibility and benefit of the doubt that two brilliant prior outings has afforded her and used it to callously test the boundaries of her creative licence and what listeners will blissfully tolerate. In MAYA, she has violently crashed into those boundaries spilling and splaying a torrent of poorly crafted ideas, unfinished thoughts, and an egotistical and impatient demeanour over the shores of a culture she was so sure she understood. I can think of nothing more beneficial for M.I.A. than the backlash that MAYA has already wrought upon her.

Review: Arcade Fire- The Suburbs

Just in case you thought the summer had been too carefree and breezy, the Arcade Fire are back; and to no one's surprise, they're still damn good. With their third LP the group takes aim at the disaffecting concept of life in the suburbs. With the first track the tone is set for an album with a razor sharp focus and conflicting sense of grandeur and sedation. Songs often carry a calm serene vibe in certain aspects and barley stable, yet still controlled spasms in others. Notice the blitzkrieg tempo of “Ready to Start”, in conjunction with his demoralizingly calm tone. In “The Suburbs” we are treated to a quaint, folksy piano line and Win Butler's voice that is weighted down by borderline terrified sense of anxiety; and slowly but surely the tune adapts to him- very well done. The group appears to be trying to encapsulate the boring drudgery that stigmatizes the suburbs with unbridled and untaped creativity and emotion that they have proven to be so adeptly in tune with.

The album as a whole seems to carry the grandiose vibe similar to Funeral that was somewhat lost in Neon Bible for a leaner, more streamlined, but ultimately less fulfilling sound. Even slower tracks like “Rococo” seem to grow and rise above you with a growing sense of blunt dread.With the suburbs, the group actually takes a step away from some of their classical stylings at times. Violin is in several instances replaced by high scale pop synthesizers. This is particularly noticeable in the underlying beat of “Rococo” and the main melody of the “Sprawl II”. Its subtle maneuvering but one that garners great returns. As with the previous albums, this one benefits from mostly great pacing. More methodically directed tunes such as “The Suburbs” and “Modern Man” fit well with with tracks that fly forward at such a speed that you can barely keep up like “Empty Room” and “Month of May”. “Month of May” is actually a terrific track that got overshadowed by “The Suburbs” when they were both released earlier in the year; it evokes a sort of “Go With the Flow” by Queens of the Stone Age vibe. The pacing does suffer a bit in the middle as if the group is saving their waning energy for the climatic conclusion. Then again any 16 song album is bound to suffer from the occasional long in the tooth syndrome.

Regine Chassagne isn't featured enough in the album, but that was true of the other albums I suppose. Her voice is piercing yet maintains a soft edge somehow. She really needs a solo album. Luckily the album's best song, “Sprawl II” is all hers. Carrying melodic artifacts of recent work by MGMT and Hercules and Love Affair with a slightly staccato vocal track that is actually very reminiscent of Blondie, its a bit of a weird song. It burst and bubbles with bright eyed pop hooks and her perpetually energized wails and slurs. It perfectly encapsulates the stifling malaise of the suburbs, “They heard me singing but they told me stop/ quit these pretentious things and just punch a clock.” As with “In the Back Seat” she holds nothing back; belting out the words while still retaining a perfectly audible quality, free from any grizzled distortion.

As has become the hallmark thematic exploration with the group, Butler and co delve once more into to the increasingly contested issue of the nature of family. Butler seems less concerned about being a family man per say, rather he is pondering the implications and consequences of pursing a family in a world such as ours. He has approached this matter from multiple angles, all of them having a negative connotation, implying he still not comfortable with the life of normalcy that having a family often denotes. In Funeral the problem Butler approaches is obvious: if you have a family, you can loose it. Neon Bible observed the idea of religion, once thought to be a central foundation to a stable family, which has now been modernized and monetized into a perversion of its original intent and comfort. With The Suburbs, a key characteristic of the traditional family- the environment in which they are supposed to thrive in- is dissected and analysed. The results are disturbing to say the least. The groups conclusion seems to be that a life in the suburbs is one of stagnation, suffocation, a festering and contagious sense of boredom. The suburbs is an assault on the psyche for the sake of sheltering cohesion. They need to escape this. In “The Suburbs” we are encouraged to “move your feet from hot pavement and into the grass”. In the Sprawl II Chassagne is terrified of being surrounded by mountains of dead shopping malls. Butler says he wants, “to break the mirror of the modern man” freeing him from the confines and boarders that he is supposed to conform to by his mid 30s. Its powerful imagery and hearing the group progress through these deliemas traced back to the first album has been a rich and satisfying journey. This is a tightly cohesive trilogy of albums that feels stronger as a combined effort; that is saying a lot I believe.

The last track is short but sweet, but highly noteworthy for two reasons. It has the same beat from “The Suburbs”, only slowed down and repurposed. After months of listening to the first single on repeat as so many others have no doubt, it is highly refreshing to hear the melody in an altered state. More importantly and ominously is the subject matter, brief though it may be. Butler in a frail, exhausted, and defeated voice, achingly admits, “If I could have it back, all the time we'd wasted, I'd only waste it again” After the whole album and especially “The Sprawl II”, the proceeding song, we think that Butler has gotten to the core of his fear of a family life, but even after three albums he, regretfully, still hasn't. Knowing everything he has discovered in these exercises, he would still make the same tragic mistakes. Something is holding him back; and its not necessarily the taunting spectre of death, or the malignant corruption of religion. At the beginning of this album and throughout, Butler was so sure the suburbs were at the root of this fear, but by the end he is just as lost as ever. On the plus side, Arcade Fire will probably have to keep making albums as a result.

Review: Broken Social Scene- Forgivness Rock Record

Being an upper hierarchical supergroup such as Broken Social Scene has meant that the group has always had certain unique advantages. Solid solo efforts from Kevin Drew, Brendan Kenning, Emily Haines, and Leslie Fiest show that the crew has a vast array of talented and creative sources to draw from. Their is a great deal of variety peppered through out Forgiveness Rock Record. This is undoubtedly the album's biggest strength. With so many different vocal sources and perspectives, this is an album that maintains a fresh appeal even after repeated adventures through its content. “Art House Director” has a playful big folk band vibe, blended with low key funk. The first single, “World Sick” is typical of the bombastic grandstanding that BSS only occasionally showcases. “Meet Me in the Basement” is a spiritual successor of sorts to “KC Accidental” from You Forgot in People. This time however it is free from the conflicting depressed nature of KC and is instead carries an anxious optimistic quality.

While the album is refreshingly diverse in terms of sound and pacing, it carries a thematicly consistent message throughout. Their first studio LP focused primarily on conflict and anguish- the things we do to hurt people. Their 2005 LP (unofficially called Windsurfing Nation) was more about distancing oneself from such issues. With Forgiveness Rock Record, the group returns to the problems of the past, not to rehash them but instead to find closure and as the name implies, forgiveness. In retrospect, this may seem like a logical progression, but it seems unexpected coming from what was initially such a cynical experience. There is evidence of this throughout the record. Emily Haines sings “Off and on is what we want”, admiring that it was at least not entirely the other persons fault.

In past efforts, Broken Social Scene has suffered from the malignant “too many cooks in the kitchen issue”. With so many unique sources of creative input trying to coalesce into a single coherent stream, individual ideas and concepts end up clashing with others and regrettably create a somewhat washed out sound. This time around that problem has been, while not entirely, greatly alleviated. Instruments and voices are more balanced with considerably less obtuse white noise obscuring the beat- especially compared to their second LP. The whole album benefits from a more direct focus in terms of melody; songs sound tighter, albeit it slightly less expansive than previous work. Regardless, its good to see the group tinkering with the Broken Social Scene formula. Adding some fresh blood to the group seems to have paid off, giving them something of a new edge.

Much to the chagrin of myself and no doubt others as well, Forgiveness Rock Record, like its predecessors suffers from an almost conceited and pretentious devotion to boring bland and long fade outs. “World Sick” is a terrific opening track, with a grand sense of scale and scope setting the tone for a more opportune oriented album- for the first 5 minutes at least. The listener is then subjected to nearly 2 aimless minutes of nothing more than the last remaining instrumental notes lethargicly wasting away into nothingness. This is a particularly sore point of contention for me when it comes to music; one that I will give no group a pass on. “Great Release” by LCD Soundsystem is absolutely brilliant- but I always skip the last 60 seconds of epilogue. BSS are even worse offenders here. Why are they wasting their and our time with this. They prove in the very next track, “Crash Scene” that they are just as conformable closing a track with a brief, intense climax that is vastly more satisfying. “ungrateful little father” is just as frustrating, as the song devolves into the occasional chiming of a twinkling bell for, again, almost two minutes. It seems like they were trying to create the ephemeral twilight of recent Animal Collective songs- instead it sounds boring. This worst part of this is it makes an otherwise interesting and adventurous album seem long in the tooth and makes listening to the whole thing a laborious chore; it really shouldn't be.

Nevertheless the parts of substance are engaging- effectively bridging the gap between hi tempo optimism and relaxed contemplation. Nothing about this album is depressing; regret and remorse are eschewed by contentment. It seems that their experiment was a success. As long as its summer, Broken Social Scene might as well have mad some summer music.

Review: Dead Weather- Sea of Cowards

No one tells stories like Jack White. Listen to “We Are Gonna Be Friends”, “Take Take Take”, “Carolina Drama”, or a dozen other tracks from his illustrious career for proof of this should you be foolish enough to dispute such a claim. That's whats kind of strange and disorienting about Sea of Cowards (continuing the Jack White trend of giving his albums impossibly cool names). There aren't much in the way of focused tales or stories this time around. Rather this album appears much more impulsive with White and co vocalist Alison Mosshart spitting out, admittedly bad ass, but certainly tangent and meandering one liners. From an audience stand point, this cannot be classified as a criticism, but merely an observation. If there is fault to be found in such a tactic, its that it gives the album a slightly deranged quality. Rather than natural progressions insofar as lyrics are concerned such as climaxes, chorus- you know, structure- the album seems to be a series of non-sequeters fearlessly cobbled together by a pair of mad scientists. This is no doubt by design as the Dead Weather has always been an experiment in modernizing and recreating the the off the top of your head spontaneity and improvisation of traditional blues rock that has done so much to influence White's journey through the industry. This isn't indicative of the whole album, just much of it- some songs still follow a more defined route like “the Difference between us”. The non linear nature of Sea of Cowards actually reminds me a little of Skeletal Lamping by Of Montreal. I never thought I'd compare the Dead Weather to the work of Kevin Barnes, but here we are.

Interestingly enough, much of the musical content of the album, melody and harmony, guitar and piano- are actually more linear and logical in terms of pacing. Keyboards are more rhythmic and flowing proving to be a functional apparatus- especially in tracks like “The Difference Between Us” and “Invisible Man” as opposed to obtuse distractions in the Dead Weather's first effort Horehound. Piano and guitar play well of each other creating an nervous sort of urgency that continuously builds until a visceral explosion in the albums centrepiece “Die By the Drop”. “Gasoline” opens with a goofy but playful carnival vibe; however you soon forget it once the song escalates into its blisteringly convoluted solo that will no doubt piss of Jack White when it winds up in future iterations of Rock Band. The result is tracks like “Old Mary” with a cool and calm melody with a sense of direction that is applied to basically one not fully realized thought, “Now to the moment of your last breathe”. The opening track “Blue Blood Blues” has a deadly catchy guitar hook with Mosshart panting in the back ground while Jack White screams “shake your hips like battleships” and “when I come home all the neighbours are pissed, I make them now this”. Does it make sense? Not really. But it's still pretty cool.

As with Horehound, One of Sea of Cowards best attributes is the interplay between Jack White and Alison Mosshart. The duo bonce abrupt screeches, under the breath mumbles, psychotic boasting, frail cascading wails and breezy one liners off of each other with ease and vigor. Its actually not easy to figure out exactly who is singing at all times as the two sound not entirely dissimilar. White has this feral femininity to his voice where Mosshart can drag and pull her voice into the guttural lower octaves like she was born with a cigarette in her mouth. She lives up to her reputation as the person who only stops firing automatic weapons in the suburbs to light a smoke. Its especially satisfying when she channels her inner DFA 1979 and starts moaning in this bellicose manner, “I don't need a sweetheart, I need a machine!”. Both of their voices manage to at least approach if, not occupy this liminal space between genders. Their voices mix and blend together in to a intimidating, aggressive but strangely inviting cocktail. Unfortunately there is too much post production distortion and obscuring applied to the vocals. This not only doesn't help with the who is singing this part conundrum, but it seems to be an anathema to the more organic quality to the sound and feel of the instruments.

Sea of Cowards is a more nonsensical spontaneous outing than Horehound. But its also more catchy. Nothing grabs you by the whatever part of your self is effected the most by a song like “Treat me Like Your Mother”, But there are still some real stand out tracks like “Blue Blood Blues”, “Die by the Drop” and “The Difference Between Us”. You will listen to these songs more than once. Beyond that, comparative analysis between the first album and this one is not very instructive. They're actually fairly different albums. With this album, White shows that he has more than just a good folk tale in him; I'm just not sure how much of it anyone wants.

Review: Crystal Castles

Crystal Castles opening track from their debut LP in 2008 was a paranoid but melodicly soothing introduction to their take on the burgeoning but already too trendy for its own good french art-house synth scene. They were more melodramatic and frenetic than their contemporaries but they carried with them an intriguing sense of mystery that they gently laid out before you. Two years later, there is no such hand holding or coddling. This time the opening track, “Fainting Spells” begins with a grating raucous before balancing into something more palatable to the ears. Depending on your attitude, balance is something Crystal Castles struggles to find this time around. Much of the album finds its euphonic melodies and beats overwhelmed and even assaulted by cacophonous, blunt, and abrupt freak outs. By comparison, their first album could be described as easy listening. There are still a number of sleek gently flowing tracks such as the dreamy “Celestica” or the sparkling twighlight melody “Vietnam”, but even these are often punctuated or prefaced by bizarre audio distortions.

Once you get used to tension of unknown outbursts to come however, one appreciates all the effort and success that come from such experimentation. “Doe Deer” is as abrasive as it gets, but is actually one of the more melodicly focused tracks. “Intimate” takes its time allowing you to get accustomed to its beat before tearing it apart with a 20 second or so static shit storm. As you begin to question the motivations of a group that would ever consider recording such noise, the initial beat begins to fight back. A deep penetrating bass line kicks in with a cleansing gravitas and you realize why that schizophrenic blitz was there in the first place; to make the climax all the more impressive. Closer examination to many songs reveal their talent for balancing and mixing as simply adjusting the levels and prominence of existing beats and rhythms greatly affects the tone and content of songs like “Fainting Spells” and “Birds” for the better.

As with their first album, Crystal Castles distinct approach to language and vocals is very much present here- more so even. Alice Glass's vocals are altered, distorted, manipulated, deconstructed and reconstructed, and repurposed. The end result is barley comprehendable on a couple tracks like “Empathy” but for the most part unrecognizable. Its not as if it doesn't sound like language, quite the opposite actually as it feels like the group has crafted an entirely new and much more pleasing syntax- one that was designed for music. That's what so frustrating yet compelling about the whole affair; they created a unique array of vocals that we want to understand but we lack the logical points of reference and interpretive context to discern anything beyond mysterious sounds. By the time you reach the last third of the album you stop trying though, instead focusing on its delivery and tone; things like sense of urgency or playful aloofness. Through this, meaning can be derived. Such tactics are present in their earlier work but here it is explored with much more depth and variety. Not always with as much success however, at least as far as being crowd pleasing is concerned. The amount of depth and exploration here can result in a overly dense and cluttered album at times in comparison to their leaner easier to follow debut.

It depends on what your in the mood for perhaps. Their first album may have been more conventional and appealing in terms of rhythm, but this time there is much more to interpret and analyze which in the end is vastly more fulfilling. Whether or not this album sounds better is not necessarily relevant when determining if this album is a success. This album is a positive contribution because it shows that the group has managed to take great strides in escaping the confines of a blase sub genre that has already lost much relevance and been relegated to the me too scenster bin. This is a feat that groups like Justice and MSTRKRFT have yet to accomplish. MGMT boldly attempted something similar but instead came off as bat shit insane. Crystal Castles however have proven their talent for expansive, experimental, and compelling work- even if we don't quite get it.