Album Review: Lido Pimienta - Miss Colombia

Lido Pimienta is ready for you to get to know her. As a Columbian Canadian singer/songwriter/producer, she's in the minority demographically in her home country, and in a world shaped by a history of  Western Colonialism, she is almost certainly not always seen for her potential, when she's seen at all. Her latest album Miss Colombia is a rebuke of the erasure which threatens women of color.

Miss Colombia is Pimienta's second LP, and takes its title from a demoralizing series of events that transpired at the 2015 Miss Universe contest when Steve Harvey awarded the crown to Miss Colombia, who was actually the runner up. This gaffe prompting an embarrassing redo on live TV where Miss Colombia was stripped of the title that she had only a moment ago won so that it could be given to Miss Philippines. The event was a stark microcosm of intersecting degradations, causing Pimienta to reflect on how interchangeable and dismissible women of color can be in the eyes of the Western world. This event, as well as her own history of alienation, has resulted in an effort to make her follow up the career-defining La Papessa much more focused on indigenous music than the more pop-oriented fair of her previous efforts. The results are not as immediately digestible as a pop record could be expected to be, but with time, the complexity of the aural delicacies on offer becomes more recognizable as the pallet relaxes to their sensation and touch.

Miss Columbia begins with the sonorous and minimalistic "Para Transcribir (Sol)" with peddle spreading horns dueting with Pimienta as she orates a lush melody. The following track "Eso Que Tu Haces" is equally as sumptuous, offering cascading melodies, often held aloft by nimble synth arrangements and gusty basslines. The liberated qualities of "Eso Que Tu Haces" are carried through to the center of the album by the moist electronic shudder of the MIA-esque "No Prude." But as I previously alluded, this is more than a pop record. Indeed, its most intricate and inspired moments can be found on tracks like "Quiero Que Me Salves," a collaboration with El Sexteto Tabala, where Pimienta joins the traditional Palenque band in an exhibition of group vocal harmonies and Afro-Columbia rhythms. The proceeding tracks see the foundation of these rhythms presented in contrast to Pimienta's pop melodies on "Pelo Cucu," before transitioning entirely into a pop framework on "Resisto Y Ya." It's a lovely and instructive evolution that I did not think was possible on a pop record without sacrificing momentum or cohesion.

Miss Columbia is a bright, colorful, and largely celebratory album that showcases the beauty of Pimienta's heritage and the through lines that tie her to her present. On it, Pimienta is not looking for your approval or praise, and the self-evidence of her majesty is instead presented without comment, to await your embrace. You have to come to her. Because she's fine right where she is without you.

Get a copy of Miss Columbia from Anti- Records, here. 

Album Review: Magic Sword - Endless

Well would you look at that, another Magic Sword album. These Boise boys (I’m assuming they’re boys at least, they perform anonymously) came on the scene in 2013, writing soundtracks to medium-sized sci-fi films that only existed in their own minds. Behind those masks and hoods lay some fertile imaginations, my friend. And it’s not just me who thinks they’re talented either. In fact, they’ve been tapped to provide music for some actual films over the years as well. Remember Thor:Ragnarok? That was them! Did you play Hotline Miami 2? Well, they contributed to that one as well! Endless is Magic Sword’s second LP and follow up to 2015’s Vol. 1. If you haven’t seen or heard any of their work (or a sci-fi movie made during the '70s somehow) but are generally aware of what electronic music sounded like seven years ago, then the closest parallel to their sound I can think of is French neon-ghoul Perturbator. In fact, there are a number of tracks on Endless that come close to imitating Perturbator in terms of rhythm and tone (especially the Stranger Things theme-esque “Aftermath”), but Magic Sword never quite sounds as evil and downright satanic as their European counterpart. “Depths Of Power” has a Last Starfighter hero’s journey kind of vibe, “Prophecy” has a contemplative streamlined disco structure ala Daft Punk, while “Hope” shimmers with ecstatic joy and “Endless” has an appropriately triumphant end credit roll feel to it. Treat yourself to a drive-in movie in your own skull today and give Endless a spin!

Get a copy from Joyful Noise, here. 

Album Review: Wilma Archer - A Western Circular

Wilma Archer's debut album A Western Circular is an odd piece of art. It doesn't fit neatly into any of the boxes that my brain wants to tuck it into. For starters, Wilma also goes by Slime and Will Archer. An apparently cis white dude responding to all three names definitely peeks my intrigue, but it is not my place to speculate on the finer details of his identity when none are readily offered to me. Especially when the music he makes is mysterious enough on its own.

A Western Circular is the product of more than a decade of musical, emotional, and psychological growth for Archer, with the title serving as a reference to his journey coming "full circle" in a sense. He initially started playing music as a kid, learning several acoustic instruments like the drums, piano, and saxophone before transitioning into an electronic phase in college. This release once again finds him fascinated by the tactical qualities of acoustic instruments and consequently acting on a desire to integrate them into his love of hip-hop production. And there lies the point of intrigue. A Western Circular is basically a modern jazz album that feels strangely like a hip-hop album. This is partially due its collaborative qualities and guest spots, but also its wiry boastful energy. The confidence in these arrangements is blinding at times, a layered self-assuredness and peels off in radioactive sheets, penetrating the listener down to their soul in unexpected ways.

Sudan Archives lends her talents to the moody and posh banger "Cheater" and its stark, clean grooves are forever trapped within the folds of my brain now. Future Island's Samual Herring offers a dose of his distinctive, croaky croon to a couple of tracks as well, including the soulful romantic hymn "The Boon" and cheek-kissing swell and scintillation of "Decades" where he duets with London singer Laura Groves. There are some cool moments of pure jazz A Western Circular too, such as the reedy funk fault-line of "Scarecrow," and boggy slow-simmering slink of "Killing Crab." The album really finds its purpose and passion when these jazz numbers hit their stride. However, the star of the A Western Circular is most definitely MF Doom's guest spot on "Last Sniff," an oaky synth and string driven deep-soul emblem featuring some phenomenally chewy bars which Doom spits so that Archer can layer on sheet after sheet of forceful, spine-tingling strings and recursive guitar chords like bricks in mortar.

A Western Circular is a very fresh sounding jazz release that shows Archer to be a master collaborator and maestro, melding together some of the best elements of the contemporary western canon in ways that are uniquely balanced and personal to him.

Grab a copy of A Western Circular from Weird World Records, here.

Album Review: C.H.E.W. - In Due Time 7"

I've got a review of the new 7" from Chicago's lucid punk fever dream C.H.E.W. up over at Post-Trash. They're one of the best bands in the city right now and I'm very excited to have new music from them to help beat back the boredom of quarantine life. Check out my review here, and grab a copy of the new 7" from Iron Lung, here.

Album Review: Cirith Ungol - Forever Black

Cirith Ungol is a hard band to write a review about without it turning into a bit of a tome. This is because they are legends and it is hard to write about legends without it getting out of hand. I'm going to keep is mighty brief though, as I'm afraid that if I write too much about their new record Forever Black, I'm going to get over-excited and just start making up words (examples of which I will spare you). Some of those words may inadvertently be cursed phrases or spells as well and it may cause your eyes to start to roast like marshmallows within your skull as you read them. Trust me, it's not my intent to blind you. I'd rather leave the real witchcraft to the professionals at your local incense shop.

Cutting to the quick, Forever Black is great! The traversers of the Spider's Pass are absolutely vital here, as they should! They've had almost thirty years to write and record this album and it shows! The whole band sounds like they've spent the intervening eon between this record and 1991's Paradise Lost, half in hell and half single-handedly defending a lost kingdom and feasting on dragon meat. The time-sharing is probably attributable to the fact that Satan himself couldn't handle a full decade in the company of Cirith Ungol. In fact, I'm sure that red-assed rat would need to see a specialist about a traumatic stress disorder after a single scathing encounter with the likes of these gallant bastards. Vocalist Tim Backer sounds like an eagle gifted with the powers of human speech, swooping in for the kill with a howling hungry cry. Guitarists Greg Lindstrom and Jimmy Barraza take point on either flank of the group's thunderous assault, gutting hordes of mad goblin worriers with the pristine edges of their mighty axes. The echo of each swing parting the sky and the landing of each blow scaring the earth for miles. Bassist Jarvis Leatherby and drummer Robert Garven do their part by combining their groove like incantations to form an Ouroboros like circle of protection around their compatriates. It's a glorious thing to behold!

Despite the epic reach of Forever Black, it is an incredibly raw sounding for a power metal album, and the production is more akin to a Venom record than anything Cirith Ungol has previously released. This fact honestly makes the entire listening experience all the more appreciable as it gives you a sense of the grit and filth that the band's footing digs into as they mount their attack on your senses. Take for example the evil-incarnate rallying cry "Legions Arise" which rushes in like an invading army on horseback, spears at the ready, murder in their eyes as they advance with the feral energy of Anticimex and the skilled discipline of Sodom, a deathly combination only to be crossed by the foolish or suicidal. This war cry is followed by the frigid litch blues of "The Frost Monstreme," an ice-swamp march led by a murky groove and flair like arching solos that would make Deep Purple burst into flames of envy. "Stormbringer" is a macabre doom metal centerpiece that lights a summoning blaze in the name of Pagan Altar and the many long-suffering souls of metals gloomier realms. "Fractus Promissum" congers a funky, groove metal infused miasma that flows like mist off the bubbling bath of a witch's cauldron to spread a pestilence upon your body that will follow you into the next life. The entire hex laden nightmare concludes with the title track "Forever Black" a belligerent slab of truculent proto-thrash in the vein of the doomy Witchfinder General, relentlessly prosecuting a new and deserving recipient of its strange, twisted sense of justice. In the year of the plague, there can be no other champions, for none are as wicked or resourceful as Cirith Ungol.

Grab a copy of Forever Black from Metal Blade here.

Album Review: Chicago Crowd Surfer Round Up April

Chicago Crowd Surfer is loaded up with reviews for a bunch of albums that dropped this spring. I've contributed a handful of write-ups for Chicago-local releases that caught my eye. They're listed below with direct links for your convenience. Enjoy and stay safe out there!

Jackie Lynn - Jacqueline 

Hailey Fohr's alter ego is back in the saddle with a new album Jacqueline, it's a beautiful disco country odyssey that will leave you spellbound. Of all of the releases that I wrote about this week, this one made the biggest impact on me. Check out my review, here.

Get Jacqueline from Drag City, here.

Errant - Errant EP

Immortal Bird singer Rae Amitay dropped her solo project Errant's debut EP in April. On it she explores various venomous flavors of second-wave black metal, and offers us an absolutely arresting cover of Failure's "Saturday Savior." It's really amazing! Check out my review, here.

Get a copy of Errant EP, here (hurry there are only three vinyl copies left!)

Death on Fire - Ghost Songs

Melo-death do-badders Death of Fire is back with their second LP, Ghost Songs. The contents of the songs are more haunting than the music, which is just flat out ripps! Check out my review, here. 

Grab a copy of Ghost Songs, here. 

Chicago Blues Experiment - Jar of Dreams

Chicago has a long history as the epicenter of jazz and blues in the United States, and Chicago Blues Experiment draws on that legacy for their debut release, the light and sexy Jar of Dreams. These are heavy times, and it's nice to have something that swings a little to get me through the day. Check out my review, here. 

Grab a copy of Jar of Dreams, here. 

Album Review: Solicitor - Spectral Devastation

Polite society will always mandate a certain decorum and civility from human beings. But hey, human beings are animals and will always resist these lame domesticating demands. Some bands embody this rebellious energy better than others, but none can lay claim to it any better than Seattle’s Solicitor. This sleazy speedball of freebasing proto-thrash is here to rocket clean up your nose and out the back of your skull with their debut album Spectral Devastation, a potent cocktail of Chastain, Liege Lord, and Painkiller-era Judas Priest. Solicitor formed out of the ashes of another Northwestern band, the motley space warriors Substratum. For their debut release on Gates of Hell Records, Solicitor demonstrates that they are willing to dig into the darker, eviler side of their influences, making plenty of room for Tyrant’s Reign and Merciful Fate to ride shotgun on their road trip to hell. Opener “Blood Revelations” has caustic punk energy, while the blitzing “Betrayer” embraces a mythic Iron Median-esque quality to its rollicking grooves and soaring vocal melodies, “Night Vision” steps deftly into black metal territory with an ancient-sounding acoustic intro before acidic toned guitars rush into to wash the flesh from your bones, “Terminal Force” features ripping cross-over thrasher riffs with power-metal vocals, and the bone pulverizing dive of “Spectres of War” locks in that Painkiller vitality on the second half of the album. Spectral Devastation leans into harder material than most speed metal bands, but their courting of true death and mayhem makes for a listening experience that is as absolutely harrowing as it is exhilarating.

Get a physical copy of Spectral Devastation, here.

Album Review: The Black Dahlia Murder - Verminous

I've got a review of the latest album from Michigan's reigning sovereigns of melo-death metal over on Scene Point Blank. Their ninth album Verminous dredges up classic horror themes from centuries past while continuing the band's experimentation with thrash and speed metal. The result is another overwhelmingly brutal experience that comes close to contending with the band's best material. Check out my review of Verminous here, and grab a copy from Metal Blade Records, here.

Album Review: Golden Light - Sacred Colour of the Source of Light

I was able to review another powerful atmospheric black metal album this week for Scene Point Blank. Golden Light comes from parts unknown and their album Sacred Colour of the Source of Light will take you to places beyond the limits of human imagination. I would recommend listening to the entire album in one sitting for full effect. There is a story that unfolds between tracks that you will not be able to get your head around unless you take it all sequentially. The album drops on April 24 and you check out my review here, and pre-order a copy from Iron Bonehead, here.

Album Review: Big Cheese - Punishment Park

My first review for No Echo is now live. I reviewed the new album from UK hardcore revivalists Big Cheese, titled Punishment Park. It like a freight train driving between your ears and absolutely lives up to its name. Check out my review here, and grab a copy from Triple B, here.

Album Review: Cold Feet - Punk Entity

I've got a write up of the new Cold Feet album up over at Post-Trash. Punk Entity is a fantastic throwback to the early hardcore punk of SSD and NOTA. Just what I needed to jump-start another week with any drag. Check out my review here, and grab a copy of the album Feel It Records, here.

Track Premier: Cloud Cruiser - "King Couch"

It doesn't always feel like we have a lot to celebrate these days, with the world ending and all that is. However, today is 4.20.20, and not only that, but it's the first April 20th since recreational marijuana use became legal in Illinois! To celebrate, Chicago's deserty vibe rocking, dank herb (Motor)heads, Cloud Cruiser have dropped a new single, "King Couch." An electric shock wave of dry-heat lightening, where foggy grooves pull you along a starry strip of highway, that will slowly levitate you of terra firm, where you will find yourself drifting into a psychedelic stratosphere populated by cottony hooks and a sweet, lightly acidic melody. It's the perfect companion for escaping the confines of your living room on a consciousness-expanding escapade.

The single is debuting over on their Bandcamp page today and will get a physical release as part of HIGHly Recommended Chicago: Vol. 1: 6G, The Legalization through Shuga Records. The comp also features material from fellow smoke-wizards High Priests, as well as less metal oriented selections from other Chicago artists. Vinyl copies will be available for purchase once the whole COVID thing gets sorted out. In the meantime, you can light up in your preferred doomsday shelter of choice and grab a copy of Cloud Cruiser's new single here.

Album Review: Friday Round Up - Jordan MacKampa, Caroline Rose, CocoRosie, 070 Phi

It's Friday and I'm shaking it up a bit. Below are some recommendations for artists who are not metal, not punk, not jazz, not weirdo noise stuff. All stuff that I've been listening to this month so far... Ok, the CocoRosie album is still pretty weird, but it's also a lot of fun. Give them a spin. See what you like!  

Jordan MacKampa – Foreigner

What are any of us supposed to do about this great big mess of a world? This is a question that Jordan MacKampa poses on the simple, soulful, guitar-led swaddle “What Am I,” one of the leadoff singles from his debut album Foreigner. The British-Congolese singer and songwriter admittedly doesn’t have the answer to this question, but it’s clear that he’s willing to put in the work to find it. Foreigner is a modern mediation couched in the traditions and iconic idioms of soul music, lifting inspiration and accepting guidance as much from Marvin Gaye and Al Green as Erykah Badu and Pharell Williams. A lone songsmith with his guitar is not likely to be the image that rushes to mind when you thinks of soul music, but MacKampa’s reliance on the unassuming folk instrument gives his sound a grounded and human feel, preserving its intimacy and earnestness, especially on the flowy, feather kissed jog “Love at First Sight” and the delicate gripping prayer “Foreigner.” There is a lot of serious self-reflection and reckoning with the state of the world taking place on his debut, but that doesn’t mean that MacKampa is all stiff-collars and starch. He knows how to have fun too. Opener “Magic” is a funky, love drunk, block-party bop, while the disarmingly earnest “Under” will be the song that some couple falls in love to this summer. Foreigner is a fantastic debut from a big-hearted man, who is no stranger to the worries of the world, but who is also not about to let these trails impede him from finding the good in others as well.

Get a copy from AWAL Recordings, Ltd., here.   

Caroline Rose - Super Star

Who loves a good underdog story? Everyone, that's who. The popularity of these kinds of narratives boils down to a simple fact. People generally see themselves in a lower position than their peers. So when they encounter a story about someone down on their luck and striking it big, they like to imagine that the fortunes of the story's hero are their victories as well. It's not rare for young writers to draft such accounts as a mirror for their ambitions. What's not common is for an artist to ruthlessly mock their own ambitions for the pleasure of others. Welcome to the beautiful, twisted, vain-glory nightmare of Caroline Rose's Super Star. It's the follow up to 2018's Loner, that phenomenally entertaining ass-backwards take on '80s soul music, and a concept album about a woman who heeds the call of the west and sets out for California to make either make history, or die drunkenly crashing a convertible into the neighbor's pool. It's an admission of Rose's one drive towards stardom, and the ridiculous lengths she'll go to for a shot to see her name in lights. The arch of the story is intentionally predictable leaving Rose room to experimentation within the margins of this familiar tale of folly. Super Star is as strange and brilliant as its predecessor, while being more consistent and conscious in its style and approach. You'll hardly believe that the funky fresh, lush and lipstick-stained rubber soul numbers like "Do You Think We'll Last Forever?" were recorded in Rose's home, closet-sized studio. Some of these songs just sound too big for the album, which to their credit, is kind of the point. More fun is to be found in the confident, wide-swagger, disco lighted swank of "Feel The Way I Want," and the submerged prurient purr of "Freak Like Me." Both of these tracks help flesh out the album's perverse plot, while setting up its climax on the leather-gripped, late-night head-hunt "Command Z." Super Star is a testament to the fact that for your dreams to take flight, sometimes you have to shove them off a cliff first.

Grab it from New West Records, here.

CocoRosie - Put the Shine On

CocoRosie is sisters Sierra and Bianca Casady. They've been releasing strange, maximalist bedroom pop since 2004's La maison de mon rêve.... and some people absolutely HATE them. It may come as a surprise to some, but music critics (yes, even those at large, influential media outlets) have arbitrary opinions about artists. And many times these objections are based on little more than the musician simply being too weird for the critics more buttoned-up sensibilities. Which seems fair, but not when it comes to CocoRosie. These girls are odd in all the right ways. CocoRosie's genuinely adventurous, and often bewildering, post-genre approach to songwriting may be polarizing to some, but if you dig on Amanda Palmer and feel like she could use to cut an album with Dan Deacon, then you're likely to get a lot out of their music. Put the Shine On is CocoRosie's seventh LP, and is distinguished itself from past efforts by its darker tone, as well as the sheer number of times that the sisters slipping into a rapping song cadence. You'd think that this last part would be off-putting, and it is, but only in the same way that some people find tapioca pudding off-putting. If you embrace the girt and texture of it, you'll be alright. "Burning Down the House" has the most confident melody of any track on the album, with one of the sisters laying down a Santigold-esque flow over darkly jovial, electronic orchestrations. "Restless" is piano-driven, backed by highly distorted, bending guitar chords ala St. Vincent. "Smash My Head" is a beautiful, but ghostly march through shuffling ambient soundscapes, menacing guitar stabs, and deep-fried drum machines. Lastly, "Hell's Gate" has a lapping, R'nB melody that floats over a hybrid space rock/ gospel gangster rap beat. Put the Shine On is peculiar, bleak, and demonstrates concerning preoccupations with morbid subject matters, but honestly, I dig it. I dig on all of it.

Give your money to Marathon Artists, here. 

070 Phi - My Father's Gun

070 Phi is a New Jersey rapper with an extremely smooth flow, and a preference for ambient, jazz-funk beats. His slapping, grinning flow falls somewhere between Common and Kanye West- forceful, but laid back, with a hint of latent weariness. My Father’s Gun is Phi’s leap of faith from the ledge that was his 2019 EP Outside, and a precocious album-length prelude to his forthcoming LP 7 Summers. As far as trailers are concerned, it’s a bold move to release one that is feature-length, but My Father’s Gun is more than capable of standing on its own as a complete and coherent statement of intent, with sober, reflective writing examining decisions made and memories tarnished by the traumatic act of being thrown out the house and forced to live on the streets. A true-life event that prefaced Phi’s actual writing of the album. My Father’s Gun is rife with themes of family dysfunction, love, loss, and misdirected anger that should give us all plenty of food for thought concerning our own familial relations. Common’s Be feels like an obvious inspiration for the heavy, “The Deep End,” a track that makes classic jazz rap concessions, although with a spike of venom and an albatross wrapped around its throat like a new necktie. “No Mannas” is all bad intentions and wet, tittering beats, with a cup that overfloweth with bitterness and regret. Things take a turn toward redemption on “No Resources,” a smooth and humble, bass lead banger about life on the streets, a vibe that you can ride into the heavenly bright and dub infused “100 Bands.” The metaphor of a weapon inherited from one’s father as symbolic of the anger one feels as a young man is fully explored on the cursed soul echo-chamber “I Bought a Badu Vinyl.” It’s easy to see that Phi has come a long way on this album, and I’m excited to see how much farther he will go on his next release when it drops later this year.

Pick up a copy from Mass Appeal, here.

Album Review: Alfred. - One Trick Pony

Alfred. is a Virgina based hip-hop artist who you should probably keep an eye on. They are one of those rappers with an incredibly transitive flow, sometimes sounding like a reefer reeking, sleepy eyed young philosopher, other times they sounds like an ex-lover confessing their concerns over the phone, and still elsewhere they sound like a straight hustler making bread while avoiding the cops as they scan the block for “broken windows.” They have been releasing a few records here and there over the past two years, but things seem to have really fallen into place on One Trick Pony. Produced by longtime collaborator clwdwlkr the album slips through moods and Dilla donut-shaped wormholes to take you on a weird journey of self-expression to learn the greatest lesson life has to offer: You can’t be free until you run out of fucks to give. The whole six track affair is such an easy fitting hand-in-glove situation that it’s hard to believe the beats and bars were assembled separately. Their collaboration is surprisingly the most cohesive on the more dissident tracks like the deep fried and jagged “LIKE THE JABBERWOCKY” with its clipping, moaning samples and the resin crusted, psychical spin-cycle of lead single “PRNDL/DR. CALL.” One Trick Pony is a solid Ep form a talent on the up-and-up, even if it proves that the title, is a bit of a misnomer. 

Get a copy from TopShelf records, here.

Album Review: Local H - Lifers

Even before I lived in Illinois, I had a warm gooey spot in my heart reserved for Local H. Singer, bandleader, and songwriter Scott Lucas always seemed to give his music a highly personal quality, something that I found relatable in my wayward years growing up in a cloistered Midwestern town. One not dissimilar from the one Lucas came up in, Zion, IL. What I found most relatable about them in those formative years, what their angst. To say that Local H is angsty is like pointing out the fact that teen boys love professional wrestling. Because, of course they do. And like Local H's angst, teen boys will put you in a headlock just about every chance that they get. It's not just their angst that defines Local H, though. Rather, it's the intensity with which they feel it, and the earnestness with which they communicate it, that makes the difference. Listening to a Local H album can be like getting an awful sunburn. You can feel your skin sizzling during your initial listen, but it's too hot to tell just how badly you're being burnt until hours later, when you realize just how long their slapping hooks have continued to roll through your brain after you've turned the record off. The prick of each of Lucas's stinging societal observations, pinching you ever so often as you move throughout your day, reminding you of their impact on your perception, chaffing just around the neck and under the color of your shirt.

I confess that I hadn't been keeping up with Local H since they released the superb and biting, double album polemic, Hallelujah! I'm a Bum, named after a depression-era (ok, the PREVIOUS depression-era) film starring Al Jolson. I was going through some life changes in 2015 and music stopped being my priority at that time. Hence why I slept on Hey, Killer. I'm glad that I'm back at a point in my life again where I can truly appreciate their most recent effort, Lifers.

Like most Local H albums, Lifers has a thesis. Namely, that there comes a time in everyone's life when their future gets locked into place. There comes a time when your destiny has been written by your past and your circumstances, and the world around you has closed in and barricaded off paths that you had naively thought would always be open to you. Whoever you are at that time. Whatever you're doing. That's you. That's you until they put you in the ground. The final chapter of your life has been written and all you get to do now is turn the page and read it. If this realization doesn't make your blood boil then you simply have not grasped the enormity of it. Even a happy life, one defined by good health, material security, and consummate friendship, is only as tolerable as its momentum is assured. You lose the ability to change course or achieve some higher-end, and it all starts to feel like a sitcom rerun. Resetting each day. A cycle of familiar set pieces and plot arches. An immutable status quo of compounding purgatories. It's enough to make you want to scream. Which as luck would have it, belting out one's grievances is where Lifers excels.

Lifers breaks wide open with the strained howl, nine-iron swing, and red-zone rush of opener "Patrick Bateman," which takes perfect aim at the glassy-eyed, reptile brained "elites" who call the shots for the rest of us. The next round in the chamber is "Hold That Thought," a window shattering clasp of thunderous bass and percolating, brain-boiling grooves that decimates upon arrival and rides out with sardonic glee. The hot and slippery "Winter Western" will drown you in a flash liquesce of glacial grunge hooks, and the sober psychedelic sucker-punch of "Beyond the Valley of Snakes" will leave you wheezing through bubbles of spit as you struggle to recapture your breath. Later the dusty spark-thrower "Demon Dreams" will melt the fillings in your mouth as it crashes towards oblivion in a suicidal plunge. Lifers is comprised of the most searing hard rock I've heard in a long, long time. But it's not just rage that fuels Lifers. Reflection goads Lucas into sentimentality on the gracious and jangly acoustic folk tune "Sunday Best," which considers the debts owed from the love given by others, tender thoughts wound around a bending James Taylor-esque chord progression that would be the envy of any songwriter. The real heart of the album though is "Innocents," a track that is bathed in revelatory feedback, led by ringing guitar chords that guide the listener into a kind of baptismal journey through seven circles of lonely nights, crushing regret, and deferred dreams, to come out the other side, a stronger, if greyer, version of oneself. The hardest lesson one can learn is how to live with themselves in what little time they have on this little waterlogged space rock. Everyone is scraping by in the same open-air prison. Living may be a life sentence with no parole, but eventually, your time will be up. But recognizing this fact means that you don't have to serve out your sentence in solitary isolation. I like to think that with each new Local H release, I get to know Lucas and Co. a little better. Or at least, after listening to Lifers, I feel like they already know me.

Get a copy of Lifers from AntiFragil Music, here. 

Album Review: Heaven Shall Burn - Of Truth & Sacrifice

I bet you didn't think that Heaven Shall Burn could get any more ambitious in their songwriting and album concepts after Veto, did you? Oh and you definitely thought they were going to lighten up after the repeated pummeling they gave you Wanderer, huh? Well, the joke is on you sucker, because Heaven Shall Burn's eighth album Of Truth & Sacrifice is over a hundred and thirty minutes of double trouble, and it is extra as fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Debuting at #1 on the German album charts, Of Truth & Sacrifice sees Heaven Shall Burn exceeding all previous benchmarks set for themselves in terms of technical adventurism and savage demolition-mode rock ‘n roll. The band has come a long way from their early days as a metalcore band with a Bolt Thrower fetish and a sticky At the Gates habit, and I doubt anyone who heard Asunder back in 2000 would have anticipated that the band would transform in such dramatic ways over the proceeding twenty years (provided anyone expected them to last that long to begin with). Indeed, Of Truth & Sacrifice is everything an adolescent metalcore band could hope to be when they grow up. And it's ok. Just ok. 

To be clear, there are some straight bangers Of Truth & Sacrifice, like "Thoughts and Prayers" where the band sounds like a monstrous war-machine with Christian Bass's drumwork laying down covering fire for Markus Bischoff explosive vocal performance while blinding search-light like leads sweep overhead. The band goes full OS death metal with a taste of Nile's decisive attack on "What War Means." "Tirpitz" puts one between your eyes with a suicidal Bolt Thrower groove that paves the way for sharp, low-flying leads that will take your head off if you don't duck in time. There is even an admirable Nuclear Assault cover as well, bringing the untamable "Critical Mass" to heel, and making it their war-stallion. So why is this not the best deathcore release of the year? Well, it's not for their lack of trying. "Expatriate" sees the band embracing balladry with a bitter-sweet and feathery piano lead orchestral number. The guys also branch out into industrial electronic dance music, most notably on the dark, trancy, and futuristic "La Resistance." Ultimately, the problem here is not due to a lack of complexity or intensity,  but a lack of restraint. There is simply too much material here, and listening to the entire album in one sitting can be a bit of an endurance challenge. Even though I enjoy what I'm hearing every time I give this baby a spin, I can't shake the feeling that it could have been trimmed down to a tidy 40 minutes, with the remainder appearing on a handful of EPs, or even held for an epic B-Side Comp. Let me put it this way. Of Truth & Sacrifice is like if someone were walking by with a full sheet cake, stopped to asked me if I wanted a slice, and when I answered "yes" they proceeded to dump the whole thing in my lap. I mean, I like cake. And I intend to eat all of the cake that has been deposited in my crotch and on my thighs, but I honestly would have been satisfied with a modest slice of cake on a paper plate with a scope of ice cream on the side. Heaven Shall Burn did some excellent metalcore here, but they did it too much. You hear me? You're too much boys! Reel it in!

Clear some space on your hard drive and grab a copy of Of Truth & Sacrifice from Century Media here. 

Album Review: Dodenbezweerder - Vrees de Toorn van de Wezens Verscholen Achter Majestueuze Vleugels

There is a new black metal project from Danish haunted headed eccentrist Maurice de Jong out now on Iron Bonehead. Dodenbezweerder (Danish for Necromancer) is a ghastly atmospheric black metal whose debut album is sure to add a little salt and pepper to your hair. Check out my review over at Scene Point Blank here, and grab a copy from Iron Bonehead, here.

Album Review: Kvelertak - Splid

Norwegian hell raisers Kvelertak released an album this year and you can check out my write up over at Scene Point Blank. Kvelertak has always defied expectations, never more so than on their fourth album Splid.  Check out the review here, and grab a copy from Rise Records, here.

Album Review: Kalbells - Mothertime EP

10 Flowers was a delightfully minimalistic album that allowed Kalbells aka Kalmia Traver to focus her energy in order to exude it in sticky, syrupy fountain of life-affirming vivre. If her debut studio album was a unicorn tapping at a pocket piano with hits horn, the Mothertime EP is a horse of an entirely different color. The richer arrangements point to a blossoming of Traver’s talents and a willingness to take up more space with the available range of sonic possibilities. You can still find the warm plushy synths, the playful beats, and lofty conversational vocal delivery of the debut, but now there is a certainty of purpose and a weight to her delivery of these elements, especially on the track “Precipice” which feels like a refreshing cold bath after dragging oneself out of a house fire, accented by calming effects of flowy saxophoney synths and a wading waist-high beat. This new approach is helped greatly by her collaboration with Chrome Sparks’ Jeremy Malvin, who produced the album at his Brooklyn studio, and is responsible for much of the acoustic percussion as well. It’s a compact little gift Traver has offered us here, highlighted by the replenishing affirmational breath of the buzzy “Cool and Bendable” and, the deeply gripping and reflectively grateful uplift of the title track “Mothertime.” I think Traver has engineered an excellent evolution of her sound and songcraft on this EP and I think there is a lot of potential in it to explore and build off of for her next full length.  

Get it from NNP Tapes, here. 

Album Review: Code Orange - Underneath

I have a write up of the new Code Orange album Underneath over at Scene Point Blank. It's shot of pure punk adrenaline that will make mincemeat of your brain. This may be my album of the year honestly. Check out my review here, and grab a copy from Roadrunner Records, here.

Album Review: Sunny Jain - Wild Wild East

My early twenties were spent basking of the glorious filmographies of Sergio Leone and Sam Peckinpah. An experience that left me with an impression of the cowboy as somewhat of a mercenary character. Lonesome, tired, driven by hunger and an insatiable desire to fill his fists with dollars. When I finally moved out west, I had the occasion to meet some actual cowboys. My impression of them didn’t change that much. However, these encounters forced the realization that my mental image of the cowboy applied to most Americans rather evenly, rather than this subset of humanity in particular. I find the vision of the cowboy depicted by Sunny Jain in his latest studio album Wild Wild East and encouraging alternative. Jain uses the lens of his own experience as a first-generation Asian American, and the history of his father and mother’s journey from east Punjab to the United States in the ‘70s, to recast the pioneering image of the dust-caked western wranglers of legend, as a rightful people of alien origin, making due in an unfamiliar place, living for the future, as they scrape through today. Jain's interpretation of the cowboy forces a confrontation with the conflation of native people and South Asians but colonizers, by centering the experience of the latter's attempts to survive in the lawless space created by the displacement of the former. The opener “Immigrant Warrior” begins the tale of Jain’s self-discovery in the limbo of the west with galloping percussion that propels an Ennio Morricone inspired desert passage wrapped Bhangra flair. The journey continues on the lush, bluesy inflection and prickly rapt of the title track featuring singer Ganavya’s sandspout summoning call. The most evocative to my ears though is the collaboration with rapper Haseeb on “Red, Brown, Black,” an allusion to the colors of the US flag, a message of solidarity with the victims of disenfranchisement and brutality who recognize each other in their intersecting struggles beneath its shadow. Wild Wild East is an inspiring summit of ideas which serves to evaluate our national character in an inclusive and forthright manner. Through a fresh interpretation of our presumed cultural heritage, it may yet be possible to awake from the nightmare of history. The key is other's dreams. Dreams of freedom and possibility. Dreams whose seeds came from far off lands, but which found good soil and took root here, and now blossom under the fathomless skies of the wide-open plains.

Grab it from Smithsonian Folkways, here. 

Album Review: Cindy Lee - What’s Tonight to Eternity?

Cindy Lee definitely blew my mind when they dropped What’s Tonight to Eternity? back in February. It’s taken me a minute to collect my thoughts on it, and I’m still not sure I totally understand what I’m hearing. I wouldn’t be much of a music writer if I didn’t start drafting before I totally knew what I was writing about, though. This profession has standards that we all must strive to maintain after all. Cindy Lee is Patrick Flegel, Canadian singer and songwriter, and former front-person for the band Women. Women is easily one of my favorite post-punk bands, and Cindy Lee continues to find herself dogged by many of her old band’s habits and preoccupations. By the later, of course, I mean ‘60s chamber pop and ear fraying feedback, and by the former, I mean absolutely excelling in every department, full stop. There are many moments on the album that evoke complex, and often contradictory emotions, such as bloody panic and swooning affection, like on “I Want You To Suffer,” which sounds like the Shangri Las performing at the gruesome climax of a Dario Argento film. A similar juxtaposition between pensive dread and the consummate validation screams to life on “Speaking from Above,” as well as on the ambivalent, tepid composure and fluctuating verve of the albums title track. The alienation continues on the spinning and syncopated “Lucifer Stand” which sounds like the type of song John Carpenter would have written for a Supremes’ bio pick, if something so dark and wonderful could ever be possible. There are moments approaching sanity on What’s Tonight to Eternity? as well, like on closer “Heavy Metal” which proceeds with some perfect Preoccupations-esque chords, serving as a raft for a swinging Ronettes melody to dan upon, and opener “Plastic Raincoat,” which feels like an uncharacteristically lucid Peter Ivers penned deep cut. If Cindy Lee’s latest album has left me with one overriding impression that trumps all others, it is that eternity waits for no one. Enjoy this beauty while you can.

Get a copy here. 

Album Review: Dan Deacon - Mystic Familiar

Dan is still the man. I've enjoyed his somehow alien, and somehow still comforting exploration of minimalist electronic orchestrations for as far back as I care to remember. My interest in his work has waned in recent years, but I've never given up on him. And now I'm glad that I kept the little rascal in my back pocket for all these years, because he's really done something that I want to share with the rest of you. Mystic Familiar is Dan's first album since 2015's Glass Riffer and represents his tightest collection of songs since at least Bromst. The layered effects enriched vocals, rapidly oscillating Fisher-Price beats, enthusiastic builds, mellow breakdowns, and playfully existential lyrics are all present, accounted for, and spruced up for prime time. It feels like your favorite episode of Adventure Time that somehow turns into a crossover with Garfield and Friends, that also goes back in time, fixes your parent's relationship, and saves them from divorce. Your 'rents are then so elated that they buy you a puppy and let you eat ice cream for dinner the rest of the week. In sum, the adult version of me found it very validating, and my inner child even more so. If I had one complaint, it's that Dan, at times, can slip into lessor versions of artists who he is (in my very humble opinion) significantly more talented than. I really don't need, or want, to hear a low-rent rendition of Animal Collective when I'm not even a fan of the original, up-scale model! However, these instances of unfortunate mimicry are not representative of the Mystic Familiar as a whole, and constituent only the briefest segments of the album. The intimate, massaging cascades of opener "Become a Mountain," the resonate, momentous ripple of "Fell Into the Ocean," and clean, urgent whirl of "Weeping Birch" really show Dan off at his best, and are enough to convince me that when I make my first million dollars as a blogger, I need to personally mail a copy of this record to everyone in America, along with a coloring book and a decoder ring. The last two items aren't strictly necessary, but I figure they couldn't hurt either.

Grab a copy from Domino Records, here. 

Album Review: Calibro 35 - Momentum

Roll out the red carpet, because we've got another blockbuster on our hands! Calibro 35's sound is so iconic it feels like they've always existed. It's hard to imagine that the group is kind of a fluke. As legend has it, the group of Italian musicians convened for a five-day stint to rerecord some obscure exploitation film scores, and the one-off project ended up being such a success that they stuck with it. That was over TEN years ago, and now they've dropped their eighth LP, Momentum. Calibro 35 have cultivated just about every breed of retro-funk there is in the menagerie of mean sucker-free film scores, from the greasy and homespun, to the nimble and flashy. Surprisingly, the band have never really courted hip-hop, despite the genres seemingly inexhaustible and compatible love for exploitation cinema. That hasn't stop devious, rhyme masterminds like Dr. Dre, Jay-Z, and others, from pilfering Calibro's stockpiles for ammunitions, though. With how many hits they've helped others make, it's about time that Calibro pulled the trigger on some hip-hop bangers of their own. "Stan Lee" is a clean bulls-eye, hitting a sweet spot between scintillating, spy-thriller intrigue and lavish psychedelic blues, with Detroit's Illa J helping to cool the smoking barrel with a combination of clean singing and revolving flow raps. Later, British MC MEI confidently drops dry, lashing rhymes over a rubber, bounding bass and a timbery beat on "Black Moon." The heat really gets turned up on the ion charged future funk of the sharp and bright "Fail It Till You Make It," while "Thunderstorms and Data" sets its sights on the stars and doesn't care how much jet fuel it has to burn to reach its final destination in the great unknown. On Momentum, Calibro 35 have penned another great soundtrack to a film that was yet to be made, but which is more cinematic tone and execution than many films that have.

Grab it from Record Kicks, here. 

Album Review: Myrkur - Folksange

I've been a fan of Danish singer and songwriter Amalie Bruun since her Ex Cops days. Her Sarah Records inspired project with Brian Harding was a far cry from the black metal folk hybrid she cultivated through Myrkur, my admiration for her having been eternally attained upon the release of her darkly triumphant second album, Mareridt. As adventurous as my listening habits can be at times, I was not thrilled when I heard that her third LP would drop the pretenses of black metal traditionalism altogether, and would instead be leaning into the pure folk elements of her sound. It felt like a move that capitulated to the complaints leveled at her previous efforts, in that she was jettisoning the more controversial aspects of her music for safer, more formal fair. As a result, I almost slept on Folksange. By Odin, would that have been a mistake.

Folksange is a collection of twelve Scandinavian folk songs, sung an arranged by Bruun with the help of he-witch Christopher Juul of Heilung fame. To manifest the authentic connection with her ancestral roots, which she believes these songs afford, she has employed a host of traditional instruments, including the frame-drum, nyckelharpa, lyre, and mandola. Further, Bruun insists that she is not updating or "modernizing" the songs that she sings on Folksange, but rather taking ownership of them, and making them her own. Bruun is a devotee of Jungian psychoanalysis, and it is hard not to feel as if she is tapping into some archetypal forms when she is singing these songs. For most artists, an album of covers would be filler between studio releases, but Folksange is confident and committed to its task of manifesting these traditional tales of love, loss, and deus ex machina, as real and relevant in a digital world that has been conquered by a self-satisfied cult of reason. Even though I don't speak the same language as the one these tales are spun in, I can still feel their power influencing me, conjuring emotions that may not have been felt to their fullest extend this century, or any century since humankind wrested control of the earth away from the gods.

Opener "Ella" has a lush, cascading top-line melody that rushes at you like a river, sweeping you off your feet and over the edge of a waterfall, only to keep you suspended in the air until you land comfortably on "Fager som en Ros," a playful song of devotion with a subtly mischievous aura, possibly an illusion the finality suggested by its romantic gestures. "Tor i Helheim" is clean and resonate with Bruun singing along with a pared-back piano and guitar accompaniments depicting a literal trip to hell to find a lost lover. Later, the somber "Gammelkring" shuffles its way through a cold stone passage, wincing at the bitter light as it splits through the cracks in the crumbling structure. It is one of the more haunting tracks on the album, and contrasts interestingly with "Gudernes Vilje," a more uplifting track with a melody that slowly evolves, beginning on the mossy ground only to levitate off this terrestrial plane on a slow, sure-footed climb skyward, revealing additional layers to the composition as it blooms in a brilliant but weary transcendental procession. Closer "Vinter" takes us the farthest from Bruun's starting point with Myrkur, introducing a delicately innocent and cinematic sounding piano-driven waltz that feels like a heavy curtain falling from a pane-glass window to reveal an idyllic countryside, complete with bustling herds of sheep, bumbling their way down a dirt road, past clean cobble-stone walls. There is a hint of hesitation to the song, a bit of uncertainty, but it is overwhelmed by the hope it exudes. I am never one to shy away from the darker places music can take us, but in shrugging off the weight and turmoil of Myrkur's black metal past in favor of something more ancient, she may have found something just as eternally peculiar and evocative than the bloodthirsty howls of Bathory and Dark Thrown that she once mightily evoked. Time will tell how much farther she is willing to turn back the hands of time to find even more redolent sounds to excavate. Whatever the future holds for Myrkur, though, I will likely continue to sing a hymn and refrain to her glory.

Grab it from Relapse records, here.

Album Review: Adrian Younge and Ali Shaheed Muhammad - Jazz Is Dead 001

Is jazz dead? There is a point in my life when I would have answered with an affirmative, yes. That was a lifetime ago. My repertoire has since blossomed out of my raised-on-radio-rock larval phase, leaving behind the withered husk of a Foo Fighters t and a stack of Punk-O-Rama comps to gather dust in a basement somewhere. The album that got me out of my pupa stage and ushered me into the exotic wilderness of jazz was Herbie Handcock's Headhunters. I had never heard anything so weird, willful and obtuse. I thought that rubbery, alien synth groove on the opening track "Chameleon," was punk as fuck back in college, and it still impresses me with its audaciousness to this day. In the years since I've discovered the idiosyncrasies as well as the beauty of John Coltrane, Thelonious Monk, Archie Shepp, as well as modern masters like Jeff Parker and Angel Bat Dawid. Each, in turn, opened my mind and provided me with new shelf space inside my head where I can place and inspect new and fantastic ideas. It's quite literally expanded my consciousness. Is jazz responsible for my late in life turn towards more far left politics? I can't say for sure, but it certainly hasn't been a deterrent!

So is jazz dead? Obviously, no. But if you were to press me for an explanation as to why (and for some reason no International Anthem releases sprung to mind as a rebuke [an insane proposition, I know]) I'd be tempted to offer you the latest bit of ripe fruit to from that perennial giving tree that is collaborative duo Adrian Younge and Ali Shaheed Muhammad. I first encountered Younge on his team up with Tony Starks on 12 Reasons to Die, and unbeknownst to me for far too long, I had been listening to Muhammad as long as I had been listening to hip-hop, as the man's work with A Tribe Called Quest casts an impossibly long shadow. I've trusted their chemistry since checking out the debut of their project Midnight Hour in 2018, as the funk flowing off that bad boy helped rescue me from the depths of a tricky deep summer depression. Their new album Jazz is Dead 001 isn't as exciting as their Midnight Hour work, but damn it to hell, if it doesn't satisfy. Recorded with vintage equipment at Highland Park's Linear Labs, and roping in an army of incredibly talented friends, including funk and vibraphone pioneer Roy Ayers, Sax stallion Gary Bartz, Brazilian jazz-funk rhythm-smiths Azymuth, and Miles Davis sideman, Brian Jackson, it's nothing you haven't heard before, but then again, that's kind of the point. As Younge explained to the LA Times, the project seeks to maintain "the compositional and sonic perspectives of yesterday, but pushing that forward with a new idiom." You don't have to reinvent the wheel to get from here to Albuquerque, but that also doesn't mean you can't off-road it when the urge arises, either. Each of us has to find their own through life, after all.

Things start out nice and easy with "Hey Lover" featuring Roy Ayers, and it has a breathy, smooth and scintillating quality to its soft, courting saunter. "Distant Mode" is anchored by Gary Bartz's lyrical sax performance, which pairs surprisingly well with bursts of wild psychedelic feedback, feeling a little like a collaboration between John Coltrane and Jimi Hendrix at times. Davis's boy Brian Jackson makes his appearance on the enduring "Nancy Wilson" where a twinkling piano finds itself in conversation with a nimble flute performance, setting the stage for a what feels like a romantic autumn stroll through the park. The funky and obtuse "Apocalíptico" and lightly psychedelic "Conexão" throw in a delicious dash of spacy bossa nova, while the sexy samba soak of "Não Saia Da Praça" will wriggle its way into your ear canal like an incredibly charming soon to be house-guest, talking past your defenses to get his foot in your front door. All three tracks serving to platform often overlooked strains of jazz hailing from the Americas, and I'm extremely thankful for their inclusion. If Jazz is Dead 001 doesn't convert the uninitiated into a grinning jazz-head, let me know, and I will threaten to mail them a copy of Headhunters.

Get a copy from their Bandcamp page, here.