That's My Dad.

Sun Kil Moon - Among the Leaves

Those familiar with best kept secret singer/songwriter project Sun Kil Moon know that subtlety is not a game they play. In the past ten years over four albums, relentless emotion and heart-shattering poetry take precedent on their music, never leaving a moment to breathe with the project’s tremendous emotional impact. Therefore, its massively disappointing to hear SKM avert from these aspects that made their appeal and style so unforgettable. Unlike the project’s appreciated discography, their latest album, “Among the Leaves”, deals with new territory at an odd time in the band’s timeline: coming-of-age. While change comes advised to creative folk artists, disaster almost always strikes when artists aim to create material over undeveloped territory. Throughout the entire set of seventeen painfully forgettable tracks, “Among the Leaves” is a sullen bummer: like a dreadfully blotchy diary no one wants to decipher. (6/10) 

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Best Coast - The Only Place

If you aren’t listening to Best Coast on a California beach or at a weed-ridden summer music festival, you’re doing it wrong. And their much-awaited second LP, “The Only Place”, is a serious testimony to that theory.

Lead singer/guitarist Bethany Cosentino has grown to be a cult figure in the contemporary indie rock scene for her warm, enchanting sun-dried tunes on the group’s debut LP, “Crazy for You”. With her overly simple yet gratifying lyricism, Cosentino ended up capitalizing on a specific demographic within the indie crowd of similar emotional proportions, becoming something of a small-time goddess for distraught post-modern youngsters. The real catch, however, was if Cosentino’s lyrics were taken out and placed in a less interesting surrounding, it would match the lyrical quality of ‘Top 40’ pop fodder.

It seems that Best Coast doesn’t have much to progress or evolve from considering their music succeeds exclusively their ability to emulate a certain place and feeling, as an organic product of their own environment. But the golden thread to their music comes from sheer artistic and human honesty, which is the only thing “The Only Place” has going for itself. It’s clear that Costantino has cleaned up her act: she’s off the couch, she doesn’t seem to be constantly smoking pot and her romantic affairs aren’t constituted by desperation and sweet-heartedness. Hence, her sound has changed accordingly. Gone is the lo-fi surf rock warmth and eagerness, instead “The Only Place” is like the sonic equivalent of a gross overcast over a formerly gorgeous beach. Best Coast’s change of direction managed to kill both of their best birds with the one proverbial stone: their lyricism and it’s musical context.

“The Only Place” won’t particularly offend or reveal any hidden layers, despite any number of listens. It’s a pretty superficial record. And even if Best Coast’s fan base will slightly disperse from this creative transition, they can’t be criticized for striving to make mature music. It was fundamentally inescapable for Best Coast to do an album like this right because it’s a new feeling for both artist and listener. So whether you’ll root for Consentino to start smoking again or to polish her sound up in her new, seasoned adulthood, at least we’ll still have those younger, brighter days.

This album was my senile grandmother. (5/10)

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Two Door Cinema Club - Tourist History

“Tourist History” is a snappy pop record that throws a bit of pixie dust at your face to compensate for the fact it’s really simplistic. It’s not something you end up hating Two Door Cinema Club for, I mean, their choruses stick around your brainwaves like leeches and they wear their European presence on their sleeve; instant love for some, right? “Tourist History” falls next to the likes of Foals and Phoenix and make for great indie pop mix-tape material, but aside that notion, “Tourist History” is the ‘flavor of the week’ pop album that you’ll certainly forget about, not matter how infatuated you get. (7/10)

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Santigold - Master of My Make-Believe

Four years ago, Santi White, better known as Santigold, set the bar for pop music for the music industry, especially herself.

Her debut record, “Santogold”, featured not just several of its year’s greatest tracks (“L.E.S. Artistes”, “Shove It”) but shed light on the line between mainstream and indie pop. White fit both molds, using creative freedom associated with indie music and the resources of a mainstream release. Looking back, “Santogold” still holds a place in my heart for making some of the most irresistible pop tunes without having to get weird (i.e. M.I.A., Lady Gaga).

Despite previous efforts, there wasn’t specifically any tension for her latest album: “Master of My Make-Believe”. As far as anybody was concerned, listeners were well aware of her creative standards. Looking her track record, there couldn’t possibly be anything wrong with any of White’s future work. Yet, “Master of My Make-Believe” succumbs to the worst complaint pop music could get: it’s boring.

Astonishingly so, “Master of My Make-Believe” barely rises to the occasion of its agenda and, frankly, lacks any sincere artistic efforts. It’s not that this LP has anything sour or tracks that stick out like sore thumbs, “Master of My Make-Believe” barely throws any hooks or punches that calling it a ‘snore-fest’ wouldn’t be entirely inaccurate. Four years ago, Santigold would walk in your door and kick-start the party into one of the best nights of your summer. Here in 2012 and Santi’s in the corner of the party with a red cup at hand, not particularly interested in socializing.

I can’t even get excited for the lead tracks: “Go!” and “Disparate Youth”. Despite their positive reception, all I’m left doing for three to four minutes is looking for something to impress me with. The weight of this album gets worse as songs begin clumping together; nothing prominent grabbing my attention or inspiring repeated listens. I wouldn’t be as indifferent or saddened had “Master of My Make-Believe” came from a newcomer artist, but this was freaking Santigold. All we’ve received is a lousy excuse of the same ingredients in “Santogold”, minus any trace of inventiveness. Here is an album destined to be bullied into the dusty corners of record stores and ignored during its week of shelf-time at Best Buy.

This album was not my dad. (3/10)

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Norah Jones - Little Broken Hearts

It kind of sucks that Norah Jones consistently remains overshadowed by the success of her 2002 Grammy-winning debut jazz masterpiece: “Come Away With Me.” Hard to think but a whole decade has past and Norah has come out four albums, each of which successfully collected dust on the shelves of every Starbucks and Barnes & Noble nationwide. This is not to say Norah, post-2002, took a nosedive and started making atrocious music; it’s just that she seemed to be the only person who thought moving away from jazz was remotely a good idea. Since then, she’s quietly transcended into a more down-tempo pop style that lacked any repeat value and served as a textbook example of sub-par art.

Alas, let bygones be bygones, it’s 2012 and she’s here with her 5th album: “Little Broken Hearts,” a full-fledged singer-songwriter based pop album that makes no apologies about it’s identity. Produced by the marvelous Danger Mouse and heavily echoing the style of their previous collaboration on the album “Rome,” it’s clear Norah’s given her blandish efforts a much needed kick in the head. “Little Broken Hearts” is not “Come Away From Me” however; far from it really. This is a mild, dark and bitter record that requires your attention for it’s charm to come near. Each track comes packed with a catchy, honey-sweet hook, retro-pop sounds and a new element or texture to Norah’s voice; features that win you over, shooing away clouds of past negative proclivities about Norah. ”Little Broken Hearts” might not leave much of a heavy impression like Norah’s previous three albums, but it’s nice to see her fully realized in her new directions; call it a glimmer of hope in a former legend. (7/10)

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The Joy Formidable - The Big Roar

Aside from a close listen and a speck of enthusiasm, there’s nothing that sets U.K. band The Joy Formidable apart from any Britpop or college rock outfit floating about our airwaves lately. But look closer, there’s more than just sophisticated vocabulary in lyrics and arena-sized choruses. Much like an Arcade Fire or an early Oasis, there’s patience required for their album: The Big Roar. With their elements of post-punk and the undeniably rocking female vocals of Ritzy Bryan, The Joy Formidable are one of those aged wine concepts in music. And once you hit the day, they’ll be the only thing you’ll listen to. (7/10)

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Death Grips - The Money Store

Read My Full Review on ‘Listen Before You Buy’

[…] There are three types of people: those who listen to Death Grips, those who don’t and those who are scared shitless by them. Following up from the extremely uncompromising and vicious “Exmilitary”, Death Grips’ latest LP “The Money Store” now tackles the task of exploring their intricate style presented on “Exmilitary”. They’re moving past the brutal straightforward sonic clashes between punk and hip hop, instead offering higher levels of artistic efforts, denser material and intense abstract fury on top of the original formula. Much like an “OK Computer”or a Tom Waits record, “The Money Store” is one of those rare releases that offer an abundance of material, sonically and conceptually, enough to equally baffle and satisfy the mind. […]

(9/10)

Tycho - Dive

It’s an often under-appreciated challenge, but the hardest thing ambient artists have going for them comes in producing detailed, interesting and thematic music. Producer Scott Hansen is always playing with this notion under his project: Tycho. His latest album, “Dive,” follows suit as a successful work of ambient music loaded with bright, hypnotic sonic textures. Like on Shlohmo’s “Bad Vibes,” Tycho pairs subtle interplay between a mix of detailed layers and trance-like melodies. “Dive” is a warm, intimate and often serene work of ambience. (9/10)

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Julia Holter - Ekstasis

Read My Full Review On ‘Listen Before You Buy’

[…] So let’s make sense of Julia Holter: an experimental, no, abstract pop artist from Los Angeles. Her second LP, “Ekstasis,” is a determined little bedroom pop record dying to show its guts and craftsmanship. In a style beaming with impromptu efforts constantly justifying its own sloppiness, Holter earns full marks for her diligent service by putting some structure in a spineless genre. It’s this artistic laziness that drives Holter to challenge the conventions in unconventional pop music. […]

(7/10)

Alabama Shakes - Boys & Girls

As an audiophile, it shames me to think a band like Alabama Shakes will never receive the credit they truly deserve.

The current state of mainstream culture pays attention exclusively to artists who fetishize the past only to the extent where the masses can appreciate them. Primary example: Mumford & Sons are a band who get lauded for bringing back an Americana sound to a digital generation; when, in fact, their sound is merely a superficial interpretation. Artists influenced from nostalgia are adored due to current generation’s notion of what the yesteryear sounded like. Only a snapshot memory or a stereotype come to their minds. I bet in many youngsters’ narrow field of vision, blues music was just some African-American on a Les Paul crooning about a failed romance or the Mississippi River or some crazy shit like such.

This is what makes Alabama Shakes shine brighter. Like Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, Alabama Shakes comes off more spiritually invested in their genre; unlike the run-of-the-mill indie groups who receive attention merely because they sound like the ’60s or something. With a spirit and vigor thats hard to find, Alabama Shakes’ blues-garage-rock-gone-soul debut LP, “Boys & Girls,” is unquestionably the most soulful, gutsiest album of 2012.

For “Boys & Girls”, boldness comes from its simplicity. Alabama Shakes doesn’t pack their punches with dynamic instruments, compositions or musicianship. All these components serve as a canvas for the Mona Lisa to be painted. Brittany Howard is that Mona Lisa. Two parts Ella Fitz and one part James Brown, lead singer Brittany Howard is the Mona Lisa that everyone pays their tickets for. “Boys & Girls,” in its entirety, serves as a showcase for Howard’s powerhouse ability as a singer. With every track, you’re helplessly captivated by Howard’s immediate emotional delivery. Whether its the minimalist gospel-esque gem, “Hold On,” or the vindictive ‘get down on your knees and beg the lord for mercy’ post break-up song “Heartbreaker,” Alabama Shakes feel so simple on paper, but they’re far from it.

Howard’s rollicking vocal performance speaks out against the modern image of the perfect voice. Brittany Howard is not Adele, nor could she be your next American Idol; she’s better. Howard carries her scars as trophies, vocally and emotionally speaking. Her voice is the equivalent to a vintage, decades-old guitar with a gorgeously aged tone; her vocal idiosyncrasies are embraced and used to carve out her own renditions. And because of this, anything Howard will ever put out like this will be more detailed and exciting than any other vocalist who aims for the industry standard. Both on and off the mic, Howard’s individualist spirit is a inspirational force that cannot be argued against; regardless of your thoughts about their sound.

Like the cultural service Aretha Franklin provided her generation, “Boys & Girls” is the type of album that fills your soul up with goodness. She will overwhelm you, ignite waves of goosebumps and rise eyebrows all around. One can’t say it more assuredly: Alabama Shakes is a true winner.

This album was my dad. (10/10)

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Lambchop - Mr. M

Good tension in music comes from a calculated set-up. St. Vincent’s 2011 LP “Strange Mercy” was a bipolar masterpiece; it understood how to take ugly and beautiful and sync it up for dramatic results. Through all the madness, it found something very poetic. Lambchop’s “Mr. M” falls right through the potholes in the creating process of musical tension. The album offers mouth-watering, angelic productions but pairs it up with startlingly out of place vocals by Kurt Wagner. The opening track “If Not I’ll Die,” in itself, begins masterfully with a picaresque string and mild-mannered drum accompaniment and then you hear a 54-year-old alt-country singer oddly deliver the lyric “Don’t know what the fuck they talk about.” Listening to this album brings the same uncomfortable feeling of walking in shoes several sizes smaller than yours. Despite its passive-aggressive deliberations, “Mr. M” results as an unorthodox experience that baffles the mind trying to find the beauty in this confusion. (5/10)

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Tindersticks - The Something Rain

Progressive, minimalist jazz compositions are a galore on Tindersticks’ “The Something Rain,” a strong body of unique qualities. Opening with one of the greatest spoken-word/minimalist jazz tracks spanning nine minutes, “Chocolate,” the album takes a dive into the next eight tracks with an oft-kilter mix of maudlin and a barrage of instruments to follow suit. It’s not the finest piece of music of its kind, aside from the opener, but Tindersticks certainly deserve acclaim for their sheer level of musicianship; one of complicated proportions. (6/10) 

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Major Lazer - Guns Don’t Kill People…Lazers Do

A monumental, hyperactive work of reggae-fusion/dancehall guaranteed to serve whopping amounts of thrills and a plethora of sonic textures. (9/10)

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M. Ward - A Wasteland Companion  

Read My Full Review on ‘Listen Before You Buy’

[…] Matthew Ward, better known as M. Ward, better known as the quiet dude who plays behind Zooey Deschanel in She & Him, returns with his much-awaited seventh album: “A Wasteland Companion.” In the past few years, critical responses held a minor taint of lack-of-seriousness under the pretension of M. Ward’s stylistic and nostalgic indulgence. As a follow-up to previous release “Hold Time,” Ward re-examines certain qualities of his, yet refuses to interfere with his signature style. With a unique recording approach, having done “A Wasteland Companion” over eight studios around the world, along with a more detailed lyrical quality, M. Ward is out for a drive in the same old car looking for a new muse. […] 

(8/10)

Some of my favorite albums, in raw theory, are actually terrible albums.

Feist’s Metals has the components of a quality indie rock album. Postmodern lyrics about love and what-not, experimental rock compositions that act as fundaments, attention to overall tone. Indie rock fans look for these things often and helplessly fall for it. You can’t blame them; this is what makes for the albums you want to own on vinyl. The ones that earn “heavy rotation” status in your hearts and leave an intimate relationship between the music and the listener. Metals can very well become one of my favorite albums.

Well, why the fuck isn’t it?

On Metals, Feist has decided to focus on experimenting sonically more than anything else. She does this to the point where every other aspect of her work is entirely neglected and practically non-existent. Gone is the emotional and transcendental slant on common themes that made Feist’s pop so honey sweet and charming. What’s left is something progressive, barren and heartless; Metals is, without question, one expressionless album.

It’s a shame to see a dreamy indie pop artist of this caliber digress to a colder, bleak and depressing style. Despite possible curiosities, this is a heart-breakingly boring album and well worth the warning. Save your kindred spirit of love, loss and depression for some other album.

This album was my grandmother with a diminishing memory who can’t do anything anymore. (2/5)