The Notwist - Close to the Glass

The Notwist
Close to the Glass
24 February 2014
Sub Pop

3.5 stars out of 5

 

Bavaria’s The Notwist have had an incredibly varied twenty-five-year career, winding through metal and indie rock into the electronica terrain they’ve inhabited in recent years. Close to the Glass is their eighth proper studio LP, and it’s all over the map stylistically. From dark glitchy electronica to acoustic folk, it’s a caravan that’s taken several wrong turns to end up magically in the right place.

The title track is a bit like Autechre meets Einstürzende Neubauten musically, like Radiohead in its vocals, and like awesome in its execution. “Kong” is an indie rock rocker that begins with the guitars out front and the melody college radio-friendly before mutating into a Trans Am-like electronic jam. “Into Another Tune” features an array of different organic percussion, while “Casino” sees the band break out the acoustic guitar. “From One Wrong Place to the Next” is Kid A condensed into 2:44. “Run Run Run” blends an indie rock vocal melody with a twisted math rock structure and electronic instrumentation into a brooding five-minute song which is the centrepiece of the album. The closing “They Follow Me” haunts the deserted rooms of the home that kraut rock and indie electronica might have lived in had they got married and started a family.

Close to the Glass is a musically extroverted record performed by a bunch of emotionally reserved introverts. The vocal delivery has the coldness of Ralf Hütter (this is definitely not a bad thing). It’s fascinating that such a reserved manner of singing could pack such an emotional payload. On the other hand, one wonders what this band could do if it were a little less reserved and a little more unhinged.

reviewed by Richard Krueger

Wild Beasts - Present Tense

Wild Beasts
Present Tense
24 February 2014
Domino

4 stars out of 5

 

“Don’t confuse me for someone that gives a fuck,” sings Hayden Thorpe on “Wanderlust,” the first single and opening track on Wild Beasts’s fourth LP, Present Tense, their first since 2011. The record is packed full of beautiful laments, sad dirges, and a deep sense that Thorpe does in fact give several fucks—perhaps not about you and your expectations, but definitely about the music he and his fauvist friends present on Present Tense.

After a weak start, the album begins to gain momentum with the third track, “Mecca,” a stylish new wave ode to emotional nostalgia: “All we want is to feel that feeling again.” The next track, “Sweet Spot,” sees the album getting stronger still, moving closer to the center of the lush New Romantic rainforest that Wild Beasts explored so thoroughly on their previous LPs. “Pregnant Pause” is a tensely shimmering song that worms its way under your skin to linger and grow. “A Simple Beautiful Truth” is classic New Romantic material, blending pop with post-punk into what is likely the most accessible and radio-friendly track on the album. After passing (definitely not unscathed) through the dark tunnels of “Past Perfect” and “New Life,” the album closes with the elegant “Palace,” a dignified, chin-high, deliberately slow walk through the gauntlet of critics, letting them know where they can shove it.

More subtle than their deadly Two Dancers, this record creeps up on you and gets in a few low blows before you even realize you’re under attack. It could easily have been titled Present Tension because of how well it builds and sustains the foreboding and the despair. Don’t let the New Romantic synths and postures fool you: this is some heavy-hitting emotional music, not suitable for casual background listening. You might need a box of tissues and/or a psychiatrist after this one.

reviewed by Richard Krueger

Beck - Morning Phase

Beck
Morning Phase
21 February 2014
Capitol

3.5 stars out of 5

 

On Morning Phase, Beck revisits the acoustic folkiness of 2002’s Sea Change. Recording sessions for the new album began in 2005, with much of the same folks who graced Sea Change with their presence. Finally completed and released nine years later, Morning Phase finds Beck content simply making pretty sounds, concentrating on the atmosphere and the lyrics rather than exploring new and interesting songscapes, as has been his trademark. While this is by no means a bad record, there’s not much here to hold your attention either.

“Heart Is a Drum” has a bit of a Nick Drake feel to it, though in more of the fully orchestrated Bryter Layter vein than the stripped down Pink Moon. “Blue Moon” is a sunny single full of acoustic layers. It’s the kind of song you’d bring home to your mother. Unless your mother is cool, then don’t bother, because she’ll embarrass you both by asking why you broke up with that other guy with the tattoo of bpNichol’s poetry on his neck and the odd way of pronouncing “totalitarian” as “totally-terrain.” She wanted you to marry that guy and everyone ever after will be a disappointment in her eyes. “Wave” is Beck’s attempt to remake Björk’s “Hunter” without the broken drum’n’bass. It’s the highlight of the album, full of lovely strings and melancholia. “Turn Away” has a ‘60s California psychedelic folk feel to it, all vocal harmonies and minor-key expository sermons of fake wisdom. “Country Down” stays in the same state, but moves on to the country-fuelled ‘70s for its inspiration. “Waking Light” closes the album on a promising note: powerful, gripping, moody, and beautifully textured.

One of the problems one encounters when reviewing a record by someone who had helped completely redefine pop music in the ‘90s (along with the aforementioned Björk and others) is that, even if this would be a good record by most other artists, there’s always a sense of disappointment. Coupled with the feeling that Beck is holding back a bit with his creativity here (as inferred from press releases heralding the album), this is an LP that has had an unenviable Sisyphean battle from the beginning. It has its moments, but likely won’t be considered among Beck’s stronger records once all the dust has settled.

reviewed by Richard Krueger

St. Vincent - St. Vincent

St. Vincent
St. Vincent
24 February 2014
Loma Vista/Republic

4.5 stars out of 5

 

“Oh, what an ordinary day. Take out the garbage, masturbate.” So sings Annie Clark on St. Vincent’s eponymous fourth LP. The music here, however, is anything but ordinary. Clark brings both the experimental ecstasy and the attitude. If you read to the end of this review, you’ll learn new ways of being irrationally giddy at how good a record can be.

Clark gets off to a running start with “Rattlesnake,” a true narrative of her journey into the desert. This engaging track is full of pseudo-industrial noise sets the tone for what is a very exciting and innovate suite of songs to come. “Birth in Reverse” is just awesome. Go listen to it and you’ll see. Trust me. Would I lie to you? (Answer: depends.) “Prince Johnny” sees Clark snorting pieces of the Berlin Wall (ouch!) against a backdrop of DNA-damaged R&B. “Digital Witness” is (insert multiple hyperbolic adjectives here). If Tori Amos had stayed on her game post-Choirgirl Hotel and made some truly great records, they might have sounded (if they were lucky) a bit like this. “Bring Me Your Loves” deserves more praise than I am physically capable of giving at this moment. “Every Tear Disappears” begins like The Cars’ “Good Times Roll,” chugging back and forth before Clark takes it to her breast and nurtures it into a fully-blown edgy and angular (oh, the clichés!) St. Vincent™ tune.

In conclusion: it’s all good. Really freakin’ good. If you weren’t a St. Vincent fan before, you probably still won’t be, for all the same reasons, but you will have to grudgingly admit that this record is unforgettable (if still unlikeable). And then in a year or so you’ll come around, just like all those people (myself included) who hated Animal Collective pre-2009 and then simply couldn’t deny that Merriweather Post Pavilion was all that and a bag of chips.

reviewed by Richard Krueger

Solids - Blame Confusion

Solids
Blame Confusion
18 February 2014
Fat Possum

3.5 stars out of 5

 

Montréal’s Solids is comprised of guitarist Xavier Germain-Poitras and drummer Louis Guillemette. Their music evoques comparisons to Dinosaur Jr. (minus the wah pedal) and the more relaxed moments of pop in Sonic Youth’s career, though …And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead also comes to mind. These francophones sing in English, which is a strategic play in this city where I live. English lyrics means the possibility for global attention, though such an economic move can have political ramifications in a bilingual scene like this one, where there are always unspoken tensions.

The term “shoegaze revival” seems to be applied to any band these days that employs pretty chords and layers of distortion and effects. Well, in that case, the album’s second track, “Off White,” is a pretty little shoegaze revivalist ditty, though in mood it’s more Source Tags & Codes than Lush or Slowdive. “Haze Away” is a near perfect Dinosaur Jr. mid-tempo fuzzfest. “Blame Confusion” is an upbeat tune that slowly dissipates into layers of sun-drenched delay. “Cold Hands” is all urgency and speed, but leaves caverns of space for Germain-Poitras’s guitar to build some beautiful arcs and bridges around and between Guillemette’s towering peaks of drums. The closing, almost mellow “Terminal” is where the duo relaxes on the couch after the fast and probably exhausting workout of the rest of the album, basking in the glow of this glorious noise they have created.

Like other guitar-and-drums two-piece outfits (Japandroids, Blood Red Shoes, etc), Solids tend to be fucking loud; however, on Blame Confusion the melody is always the core of the music. This is head-nodding sing-along loudness rather than the head-banging mosh-along kind. It’s a good record that doesn’t make it into great territory, but never drifts toward the mediocre either.

reviewed by Richard Krueger

Phantogram - Voices

Phantogram
Voices
18 February 2014
Republic

4 stars out of 5

 

Voices is the somewhat delayed second LP of Sarah Barthel and Josh Carter, a New York duo that records under the name Phantogram. Their keyboard and guitar approach to minimalist pop music makes for some catchy tuneage on this album which, while never attaining any ecstatic heights, keeps delivering the goods in a timely and efficient manner. (Sorry—I’ve been spending too much time in warehouses lately.)

The opening track, “Nothing But Trouble,” is a trip-hop/guitar freak out bastard child. Barthel’s vocals and Carter’s unstoppable guitar madness propel the song into something special. “Fall in Love” is a gritty, angular pop song, with Barthel’s keyboards taking up alllll the bottom end while her vocals evoke Sarah Cracknell. Carter takes a turn at singing on “Never Going Home,” an introspective mid-tempo piece. “Strange it didn’t affect me,” sings Barthel on “The Day You Died,” a new wave sing-along with a properly post-punk guitar riff. “Howling at the Moon” features some interesting vocal exercises, with Barthel’s delivery almost like an MC, exaggerating her spacing and employing unexpected emphases. “Bad dreams never affect” Barthel either, or so she claims on “Bad Dreams.” Her urgent, breathless delivery would indicate that her unemotional pretentions are a smoke screen.

While I admit that I’m a sucker for this kind of music in general, this one really is a keeper. There’s a bit of drag on the home stretch, but enough wind in the rest of the songs to propel it along very nicely. Hopefully we won’t have to wait another four and a half years for LP #3.

reviewed by Richard Krueger

Angel Olsen - Burn Your Fire for No Witness

Angel Olsen
Burn Your Fire for No Witness
17 February 2014
Jagjaguwar

4 stars out of 5

 

“Thought I had ideas once—they were all on loan.” So sings Chicago’s Angel Olsen on “Dance Slow Decades,” one of the more striking moments on her very strong second LP Burn Your Fire for No Witness. If you thought she was just another Bonnie “Prince” Billy collaborator without a voice of her own, you were dead wrong. This delicate but confident offering of naked sorrow is a must-hear for anyone who loves the more personal and blood-stained aspects of Americana. Olsen does have ideas, and even if she borrows here and there, her songwriting is distinct and memorable.

The album begins quietly with “Unfucktheworld,” featuring only acoustic guitar and Olsen’s radio-distant distorted voice. “Forgiven/Forgotten” brings the noise, with fuzzed-out electric guitars and a full band. The creeping gothic tale of the electric folk “White Fire” broadens the scope of the album. Olsen captivates with her story and vocal delivery. “Stars” is a darkly personal plea to a loved one that explodes into a sorrowful indie rock song reminiscent of Tanya Donelly. “Iota” is straight out of the 1950s: Olsen is the heroine in a Hollywood western musical, but using her lyrics to twist the classic period into a knowing exposé of its own hollowness. “Dance Slow Decades” funnels all the power of Olsen’s harrowing voice and the poisoned barbs of her lyrics into four minutes of sustained deadly attack.

The album ends with the gentle plea of “Windows,” in which Olsen asks “What’s so wrong with the light?” Indeed, nothing. Olsen pulls light out of some very sinister shadows all throughout Burn Your Fire, looking into the abyss and then stepping back from the edge to tell you what she saw with a smile and a warm hug.

reviewed by Richard Krueger