TEMPOREX is San Diego musician Joseph Flores. You may remember from his 2017 hit “Nice Boys”, which garnered a lot of love and play on Instagram and in particular TikTok. That song – and the entirety of TEMPOREX’s previous release, Care – traded in sweet but sickly bedroom pop. Those came out in his teenage years and, now in his early 20s, Flores does, to his credit, try to find new stylistic pop lanes in Bowling, his new album, while finding very few strikes to over the 10 tracks.
The record is purportedly inspired by 90s kids pop culture – Pee-Wee Herman, Rocko’s Modern Life, Rugrats – and the whole endeavour, admittedly, is akin to a sonic sugar rush hit: the production is vivid and gimmicky, wonky and wacky. TEMPOREX also wants to guide listeners through a full bowling game, and a lot of whether you’ll care for this album will depend on your inclination for such sparky conceptual work.
There’s a fine irony at play in Bowling: the references to 90s kids’ pop culture might make a lot of listeners feel old, but the sound of the album is also dated, in its own way. Although it’s more bright electronica than hazy lo-fi, TEMPOREX is still hugely indebted to the bubbly bedroom pop scene that followed Mac DeMarco in the last decade. “Nice Boys” fit very well back in 2017, certainly, but that these new songs sound so ancient already is a testament to how immensely fast music trends are currently progressing. It’s difficult to imagine many of Flores’ peers preferring this style over the manufactured yet sophisticated gloopy pop-punk movement spearheaded by the likes of Olivia Rodrigo right now.
Bowling starts with “Bad Pin”, which sounds like a song Triathalon might have considered releasing several years ago. He follows that with “Batter”, whose beginning sounds like a timid ripoff of DeMarco’s “Watching Him Fade Away”. The latter came from DeMarco’s 2017 album This Old Dog, and much of what Temporex does in Bowling is clearly influenced by it, from the twinkling but sincere keys in “Milton Post” and “Plastic Lester” to the R&B drums in “Delayed” and “GUI”.
“U Open Up a Window” is the only time he comes close to replicating the endearing flavour of “Nice Boys”, but it comes too late, right at the album’s close. “Now step back, gonna roll the ball / When it hits the alley gonna knock them all / Pins down, that’s what’s up,” Flores sings earlier in the album on “New Lane”: if he’s ever to get even a spare as TEMPOREX, a lot of innovation has to occur on his next album.
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Bands like BLK JKS don’t come along often, especially in places like Johannesburg. There was no South African indie rock scene to speak of when the group emerged from the city’s Spruitview district in the mid-2000s, and their distinctive sound – a blend of kwaito, dub and township soul fired through a prism of dissonant alternative rock – made them a hot ticket. Diplo invited them out to New York to play their first American shows. Dave Grohl called their 2009 album After Robots his favourite album of the year. They kicked off the 2010 World Cup at Soweto’s Orlando Stadium with a live collaboration with Alicia Keys. Superstardom beckoned.
But things didn’t quite go to plan. Reluctant vocalist Lindani Buthelezi departed and then they split with their label Secretly Canadian. While the band remained an active concern – invited on tour with Foo Fighters and collaborating with artists such as Thandiswa Mazwai and Vieux Farka Touré – it was starting to look like that second record would never come.
But 12 years on from After Robots, Abantu/Before Humans is finally here. It comes complete with a lurid storyline. The master tapes for the original album, recorded over a few months in a makeshift studio at the Soweto Theatre orchestra pit, were stolen in a studio break-in. The group couldn’t let it go, so a year later they went back into the studio and re-recorded it in three days. While we can’t say for sure, it’s certainly possible that the version of Abantu we have here is the definitive one; it feels powered by a sense of urgency, a need to summon itself into existence.
On their debut, BLK JKS sounded excited by the prospect of exploring their influences, and that excitement was infectious. But time has brought focus and Abantu feels more comfortable in its skin as a result. Its sound is rooted in windswept desert rock, albeit one often punctuated with feats of carefully controlled rhythmic pyrotechnics and bursts of brass courtesy of new recruit Tebogo Seitei. The loss of a lead singer is a tough one to bounce back from but the group have reacted to Buthelezi’s departure by all stepping up to the mic, singing in chorus or contributing parts. It’s a potent combination too. Consider Running – Asibaleki/Sheroes Theme, which collides snaking dub basslines, fiery afrobeat horns and wild percussion breakdowns before closing on a group chorus that hangs heavy with pathos.
A lengthy subtitle on the album’s sleeve positions Abantu/Before Humans as “a complete fully translated and transcribed Obsidian Rock Audio Anthology chronicling the ancient spiritual technologies and exploits of prehistoric, post-revolutionary afro bionics and sacred texts from The Great Book on Arcanum”. It’s some ambitious framing. Luckily the songs largely meet that bar, powered by a philosophy that straddles the political and the spiritual. “Harare” is a wistful musing on migration, memory and mortality, delivered by one of the record’s few guests, famo singer Morena Leraba. A track titled Yoyo! – The Mandela Effect/Black Aurora Cusp Druids Ascending, meanwhile, is more or less as remarkable as its title. It starts with a bold chant: “They’ll never give you power/You have to take the power”. But the agitprop gradually softens into something more nuanced, a reflection on human nature and the importance of self-actualisation as a way to scale barriers.
BLK JKS come from what Desmond Tutu called the “rainbow generation”, the first South Africans to grow up out of the shadow of apartheid. Few miss those days of discrimination and division but modern South Africa is no utopia and this music reflects that. Abantu’s best moments grapple with the pain of the past in an effort to transform it. Sometimes this results in something beautiful – see the rousing Maiga Mali Mansa Musa, which features guitar from Vieux Farka Touré. Other times, it feels more pointed. Mme Kelapile (“The Hunger”) is the closest the album gets to vengeful. Set to a beat based on a children’s playground song that mimics the rhythm of the train tracks that would ferry men to South Africa’s notoriously treacherous mines, you can hear a thirst for retribution rippling through its grooves.
The group have explained that Abantu should be thought of as a sort of prequel to their debut, which might be temporally confusing but, given the album’s recourse to mysticism and ancestral tradition, it makes some sense. Still, on their second album, BLK JKS are unquestionably facing forwards. Abantu/Before Humans is true 21st-century roots rock, drawing on new tools and new techniques to illuminate the way forwards.
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Take a map and find Gampo Abbey, a Buddhist monastery situated on a rugged finger of Nova Scotia, Canada, and you might notice that it sits at the end of a long track called Red River Road. David Morris, singer and songwriter in England’s Red River Dialect, wasn’t aware of the name when he applied for a nine-month stay at the monastery, but he couldn’t help draw meaning from it.
“Part of me likes the idea that everything’s coming together in some kind of cosmic fashion,” he tells Uncut, “like a David Lynch-like mystical thing going on, so I was quite happy to see that. If it’s at the end of Red River Road, though, does that mean it’s the end of my musical career?”
One would hope Monastic Love Songs instead marks the beginning of a fruitful solo journey – Morris himself is keen for it to flow alongside that of his band, who are still, in theory, a going concern. Following the recording of the group’s last album, 2019’s Abundance Welcoming Ghosts, the songwriter headed out to Gampo Abbey, one of the only establishments that allows its members to make temporary rather than lifetime vows. Musical instruments were not allowed (Morris believes a previous monk with a fondness for the ukulele put a stop to that), but in the final three months of his nine-month stay he was granted limited time with a nylon-string guitar and composed a series of songs.
When he left Gampo, he went straight to the Hotel2Tango studio in Montreal to track the record in one day with Swans’Thor Harris on drums and percussion and Godspeed’sThierry Amar on double bass. The result is sparse and subtle, the album’s 10 songs drifting at an unhurried and becalmed pace. Given due attention, these 36 minutes are seductive and deeply involving, hard-hitting in the manner of Nick Drake’s Pink Moon or Richard & Linda Thompson’s similarly spiritual Pour Down Like Silver.
The mood is established by the opening New Safe, at five-and-a-half minutes the longest track here. It’s a floating thing, hypnotic in its shifting chords and churning drones, while Morris sings of letting his “belly tension go” and of being at one with the world: “I feel the great expansive sky/Remember there’s no need to strive”. There’s a darker undercurrent here too, suggested by a discordant middle section and lines about a cracked safe leaking “a lake… thick like oil, scary stuff”.
The breezy Inner Smile began as a poem of thanks to his tai chi teacher, and it provides a positive, exultant end to the record, even as its lyrics dabble in aphorisms like the repeated, “it also tickles the paws of the jackals”. Skeleton Key evokes early Incredible String Band in its eastern-tinged verses, while its words catalogue Morris’s hopes as he entered the monastery: “Shaving my face and shaving my head/That person is dead… Please teach me how to always stay kind and open”.
“Rhododendron”, depicting Morris finding comfort in the shadow of a flower over a shrine, is another deeply spiritual song, yet it’s far from the hectoring associated with some religious music. Indeed, the enforced celibacy and hours of meditation at times led Morris to examine his own past relationships and the nature of love itself. Purple Gold,
for instance, looks back on first love, drawing a detailed picture of a 14-year-old Morris and friend listening to REM’s Up, “one headphone each”. The chord sequence is infused with tension, however, as if to show that this kind of “leaping the fence of memory” can’t be accomplished without some pain.
Circus Wagon is more of a parable, with the protagonist joining “a merry band” of acrobats, learning “how to catch a hand while falling through the sky, to dance beyond the you and I…” There’s also room for a charming miniature, Earth And Air, and a fine take on the traditional Rosemary Lane, its Jansch-inspired treatment lifted by invigorating, exploratory percussion and bass from Harris and Amar.
The latter’s louder final minute is as close as we get to Red River Dialect here, and it serves to demonstrate just how different this record is from Morris’ previous work: the songwriting may be similar, his voice just as idiosyncratic, if a little quieter, but the soul-searching intimacy and beautifully unembellished recording results in a completely different beast, fresher, stranger and painfully real. It exists in the moment, just like its creator has been trying to do.
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Jamie Hall has always seemed eager to don a number of hats. Ranging from the mythos psych of Nancy to the bone-rattling heaviness of Tigercub, such an adept grip of eclecticism could produce an ego, but none of these hats have made Hall’s head appear too big.
He’s still the same tinkerer, shaping his sound in the bedroom, feeling if he doesn’t have something to prove, he has very little. On As Blue As Indigo, all is honed, and the shockwaves continue as the pure electricity of 2016’s Abstract Figures in the Dark is retained.
It’s pure distortion, never abrasive, but Tigercub’s latest refuses to shift into an old timer-friendly domain. It’s a sound Hall may steady his way to, see the quiet-to-loud chassis of Stop Beating on My Heart (Like a Bass Drum), particularly its hammer-swinging gut, and heaviness appears in breaths on Sleepwalker; stormy clouds of romanticised distortion that unleash with each swing of a guitar pick.
The sonic energy intertwines with each heartfelt theme. The demented spiralling of mental illness finds a home within maddening hard rock on Blue Mist in My Head, while Funeral – topically collected from the death of Hall’s grandmother – makes use of absences of noise, quite beautifully with violin interpolations and whistling.
Even when ignoring the heartbreaking realism, one may detect a familiar spark in Hall’s voice. The Josh Homme/Queens of the Stone Age comparisons write themselves, but if you could sound like that, why wouldn’t you go for it? That muscly, sexy haze drifts its way through tracks such as Build to Fail, and the swampy sleaze of Shame, while Beauty sexes itself up a little differently to evoke the dance punk riffage of Death From Above 1979.
Such an act is driven with a pop appeal that somehow lives in harmony with harshness on As Long As You’re Next to Me, then with a grunge aura on In the Autumn of My Years, impressively capturing the spirit of Foo Fighters amidst vocal lines paranoid, attempting to restrain from panic.
It may all persuade the listener to believe there is, in fact, some genius within the hard rock manifesto of Tigercub. Hell, even the non-song intro title-track manages to manoeuvre itself from a creepy crawly, lurking premise to something a little more pleasant; Jamie Hall knows how to play with your ears, he knows.
And that knowledge has led to a sublime second album. As Blue As Indigo tests the durability of its surroundings without demoralising, all stemming from a hunky production style that rocks with energy, richness and intellect.
So that’s another hat equipped by Jamie Hall, one certain to raise the hair of all those within close proximity.
Opening number The Beach is a slow build track. It begins with a strong pulse composed of a steady drum beat and guitar, with lead singer Ellie Rowsell’s gentle upper register inviting you into the world of Blue Weekend. From here, the track builds with more shoegaze style layers until it transcends into a frantic dreamlike state until it stops suddenly, leaving you bleary eyed and asking for more. And more Blue Weekend gives. It’s a stunning opener to an incredible album.
Wolf Alice first sprang onto the scene with their Creature Songs EP, with their breakout track Moaning Lisa Smile. The subject matter of that song is unconventional, a track written from the perspective of Lisa Simpson of The Simpsons. It’s a cleverly written song and showed a keen aptitude for great melodies coupled with interesting lyrics. The potential was even more on show on 2015’s My Love Is Cool, a kaleidoscopic album filled with ideas that give the album a kind of jukebox feel. This potential was realised on Visions of a Life, the Mercury Award winning album which spawned international hit Don’t Delete the Kisses. There was speculation as to where they could go from such a good album.
Blue Weekend takes that speculation and promptly sets it alight. The album is a true classic in every sense of the word, an act of fulfilling potential so well to the extent that it seems impossible for them to do anything wrong. Everyone on this album sounds like they’re having the time of their life, playing to the very top level. The rhythm section is the adrenaline pouring through the heavier tracks, and the heartbeat to the emotional numbers. Rowsell’s vocals keep getting better, moving from heavenly upper-register notes like in Safe from Heartbreak (if you never fall in love) to roaring like a woman possessed on Play the Greatest Hits. And Joff Oddie adds another level to each song, providing catchy, addictive licks that make the hairs on the back of your neck stand to see what that glorious noise is.
This is their most consistent album to date. All of the tracks keep the shoegaze dreamlike tendencies that instantly transport you into the setting they have created. The album cover perfectly advertises the contents of the record. Lipstick on the Glass has the most accomplished chorus of their career, emotional, intense and instantly memorable. The second most accomplished chorus of their career is a grand total of three tracks later on the fourth single from the album How Can I Make it OK?, a very rare type of track offering itself to you like a warm blanket after heartbreak.
It wouldn’t be a Wolf Alice album without some true heavy rockers. My Love Is Cool had the creep-blasting You’re a Germ, Visions of a Life had the vicious Yuk Foo and Blue Weekend has two in its 40 minute runtime. Smile is the second single, and includes the most furious guitar line you have heard. It’s the kind that will make your morning commute feel like the 3.7 mile long straight in the Le Mans 24 hour race. It’s exhilarating. Play the Greatest Hits somehow becomes even more vicious. It starts by letting you like it’s just heaviness with no melody. At halfway through however, it’s small but significant melody appears, giving a boost to the rest of the song.
And even though all the songs on the album are fantastic, special recognition has to be given to the emotional zeitgeist of The Last Man of Earth. It should be a crime to write a song that can consistently give you goosebumps, that can give you a huge emotional reaction each time, that can impress you this much. It’s easy to pick apart a song and mention which parts are good and give you that feeling, but to do that to this song would be bordering on sacrilege. (Bonus: listen to this performance of the song that was done on UK show Later… with Jools Holland and try not to be moved).
There are albums you recommend, and there are albums that you recommend. This one is the latter. If you have had any interest in Wolf Alice, you must listen to this album. Then show your family. Then show your friends. Music this good deserves to be shouted from the rooftops. Wolf Alice have created a masterclass in their own kind of music on Blue Weekend, and who are we to ask for anything more.
Much like their 2000s indie influences, the story of The Academic’s formation is simple; four schoolfriends decided to make a little music together. Their ongoing pledge is just as simple; to recreate the essence of those influences – label it ‘landfill’ if you must, but since their 2013, The Academic has worn its collective revivalist heart on its sleeve.
Such a habit was scrupulously brought to life on full-length debut, 2018’s Tales from the Backseat. New EP Community Spirit is more like ‘tales from the festival’, as its nostalgic sound, capturing that sense of spirit quoted in its title, fills the void implemented by an era with no live music with sing-along optimism.
The Academic were the latest in photogenic indie, but now, with hearts overtly sweet, they’re a sentimental bunch. Their bygone garage-to-studio drilling resembles The Cribs on Not Your Summer, which barks its title toward the listener, in a romanticised, but not too unlikely ‘our time to shine will come soon’.
But while the youthful rallying remains, The Cribs never filled their sound with stage-lit synths, which Smart Mouth is keen to point out. Nor were they likely to slow down and stargaze, which For the Camera acts on with enamour.
Contrarily, The Academic vow to push fast-forward, transitioning I Don’t See Good into a Tokyo Police Club tirade of motel sign-synth light-ups and teasing vocals that feel close. Any abrasiveness is avoided, shining light on melody’s role as a top utility; the slight return of the band’s photogenic emphasis.
They also vow to fill their palette with self-deprecating self-help, while keeping hold of any rowdiness. Kids (Don’t End Up Like Me) alerts those listening to do what they can to avoid life’s cruel traps, to restore love and snub sorrow; a blanket statement gussied with one of the band’s most spirited performances to date, partially thanks to a very uplifting chorus.
Uplift is indeed the name of the game, and Community Spirit has the potential to light up anybody’s summer whether they’re returning to festivals or feeling apprehensive. The Academic will be at the main stage of Reading & Leeds; luckily for those in attendance, they’re taking a few new bangers with them.
Fear is a topical lyrical theme considering we’ve spent the past 15 months in forced solitude. Our faces hidden behind masks as people duck and cover whenever someone coughs in public. With Covid, the debacle of the US election and a wealth of conspiracy theories to choose from the pervasive cultural anxiety has heightened everyone’s fight or flight response. It’s refreshing to hear the Irish duo of Patrick O’Keefe and David Ruth who compose Graham Davy rebuke this base human response in their succinctly titled new song “Fear”.
Graham Davy could be the band playing at The Roadhouse at the end of a Twin Peaks episode—a musical resolve to a story segment as Killer Bob lurks in the dark Northwestern forest and haunts our dreams. Like David Lynch, O’Keefe and Ruth understand the magnitude of fear’s corrosive thread and how it’s woven through our lives. They present a simple answer and this song’s strength is its beautiful simplicity. The drums hit on the backbeat under strummed reverberating chords and the choruses break into a gratifying wall of sound. Like a melodic Michael Gira singing for a Lynchian version of The Shangrilahs Patrick O’Keefe’s deep penetrating voice resonates and sooths our collective dread as he reminds us of fear’s impermanence.
There’s a spiritual quality to Fear and with O’Keefe’s confident delivery it can be heard as a prayer or a sermon. The song steadily gathers momentum and intention like the brilliance of a Beltane fire burning away the psychic shadows that obscure our souls from the light of beauty. As the world emerges from its isolation O’Keefe and Ruth have given us a gift—a needed call of faith to counter our lingering existential distress.
Splash ’96’s Summers in Anniston is a breezy glide through a nostalgic summer. It is full of drifting magenta clouds, jazzy riffs and a sensation of enfolding warmth that carries the listener away on sun-drenched daydreams. I can’t imagine a better album for lazing on a long, languorous day without any cares to trouble me.
One aspect of the album to which I am strongly drawn is Splash ‘96’s incorporation of funky, jazzy elements into the music. There are moments where smooth jazz riffs hit the tunes and funky beats and bass lines move under the other musical elements. I enjoy some of the cool chords and lines that have an undeniable feeling to them. I also like his ability to just sit in the pocket and groove along.
Splash ‘96’s choice of synths helps a great deal in establishing the easy, gliding atmosphere of the album and provides a hazy, warmth-filled sonic palette that suits the summery sensations that pour like caressing sunlight from the music. There are glittering, elevated synths and pan pipes that are round and rich, along with softly glowing sounds that sail and flow like blue water to carry me away on soft-focus dreams.
I enjoy the way that this album harks back to the cooler, more relaxed aspects of retro nostalgia. It moves away from the synthwave sound and explores a completely different side to the music of the ‘80s and early ‘90s. There are nods to jazz fusion, electro-funk and smooth jazz that only add to the overall summery vibe that oozes from the tracks and into the soul. I enjoy it when “retrowave” doesn’t always mean what people expect it to mean.
Track-by-Track Analysis
“CD City” comes into being with round xylophone-like synth drifting out in reverberating waves and the steady beat of a kick drum. A glimmering, repeating line of chiming synth joins the full drums as bright, shifting keyboard notes dance crisply through the track. I am drawn to the softly singing melody carried on a nasal, medium high synth that has the feeling of a tender embrace.
The melody weaves through the track as a tinkling synth plays a repeating pulse and a the high, winding line of melodic synth dances over the beat. There’s a hopeful, dreamy lead synth solo that comes in before returning to the “A” section melody. The elevated, glistening synth line is joined by a bouncy synth before the track fades out.
Bells with a slightly jangling quality start off “Our Camcorder” moving in waves as the smooth drum heartbeat pulsates and a shimmering synth carries an easily sailing melody. There’s a jazz-inflected moment of elevated synth before full sounding, bell-like synths carry a swirl of sound that swells into the track, going in volume. I enjoy the sensations of warm breezes and easy summer relaxation emanating from the medium-low synth.
A quick, funky line of organ cuts in before the open air feeling of pan pipe synths adds a hollow, airy quality as they float. Metallic sounds move in along with a high, shimmering line of smoothly sliding synth that calls out over the top of the drum beat and the full synth sings and intertwines with the open voices of the pan pipes.
“The Video Store” kicks off with resonant notes played on a jazzy organ before a circular synth with a slight distortion carries a melody that drifts along with consummate ease. The drums have a sexy throb to them as the medium-high line of synth slips through and now a sax-like synth plays a reedy pattern.
I am enamoured of the snaky, groovy beat on the track as well as the silken slide of all the sonic elements. The keyboard that plays a hypnotic pattern as the drums move the track on. A lulling, high synth line is joined by a flow of piano notes that add more layers to the music. This track has a touch of smooth jazz about it that I also like.
The sound of splashing water and a hollow, smooth drumbeat opens “Pool Water” along with a solid, moving bass line and a medium high, distorted synth pulsating steadily behind the groovy bass line that bounces through the track. A light, smooth pan pipe synth carries a gliding and relaxed melodic line as shiny glockenspiel notes sing out into the track over the throbbing beat and deep bass that add motion to the music.
I am drawn to the chimes that have a delicate, hazy shine to them as they carry a floating melody that moves across the track’s blue water feeling. The drum and bass groove is slow but strong as the pan pipes sing and an airy synth carries more of the touching, sunny melody. The bass changes and slows before upping the tempo before a whistle like synth plays piping notes that oscillate over the moving, deep bass line that comes back in again.
“Waterbed Nap” comes to life with distorted keys that shimmer and carry reverberating notes as a whisper of soft, smooth drums shivers lightly into the track with an airy brush of sound. Now a soothing, slipping melody is carried on a medium high synth that breezes into the music, caressing the ears as it lightly touches the music.
There are moments in which a raised, string-like synth that cries before there’s a return to the ease and glitter of the medium high synth line over the wash and whisper of the drums. A round-toned jazz organ descends and that easy gong high line of synth sings out through the track. There is such a relaxed and calming feel to the music as it evokes the luscious feeling of lounging around on a waterbed on a lazy summer day.
Low, smooth jazz organ moves below high chimes that sparkle and frolic over the funky slap bass line to open “Local Radar.” The chimes carry a flowing and relaxing melody that dances up above the smooth drums and grooving bass.
An airy, wavering medium-high synth with a delicate quality moves in the background while the chimes keep shimmering away. This track has a lovely misty quality and a feeling of intense ease as the guitar sings out a jazzy melody that briefly cascades through the track. The lead melody is taken up by the warm, rich tones of the guitar as it moves with a sliding ease over the bass line.
“Splurgin’ At The Mall” brings the funk! The drums and bass interlock and sit in the pocket as some super fun orchestra hits come in to add more energy to the proceedings. There’s a lot of dynamism in the bass before the medium-high, slightly rougher-edged synth carries a propulsive melody.
The percussion adds extra elements which only serve to further lift the energy level of this track. Quick flashes of different sounds add a little sonic spice as the uplifting melody keeps calling out. A very tasty guitar line comes in as the percussion throbs on and elevated synth sounds sparkle over the other elements. A hip shaking energy suffuses the track as all of the different elements come together along with super cool guitar work.
A resonant synth carries a repeating, angular pattern of notes as a xylophone’s lambent voice also shines to kick off “Quintard Cruising” as the dance floor friendly beat comes in. Floating, breathy synth chords start a melodic series of notes that move to the beat.
A pan pipe synth carries another hypnotic pattern. The track has me dancing in my chair as I write which is a good sign. Oscillating xylophone notes come in and the same hypnotic pattern repeats. This is a track all about making the booty shake.
“Late Night Drive Through” starts with a slinky, sexy drum beat and a shiny guitar playing a a chilled out, slowly unfolding melodic line. A drifting, lush synth plays a swirling glide of melody and “wah wah” guitar adds another layer to the music. The smoothly caressing jazz organ carries a delicate, feather-light melody that glides over the smooth beats and bass
Flashes of raised, nasal synth cut in along with a gnarly, sensual and groovy bass that I find addictive. Dancing, wild bursts of notes come in again the track has a glide to it and now a delicious bass line chugs into the track with swirls of higher sound around it. Through the whole track, the groove cannot be denied.
Distorted, wavering organ, slowly wobbling bass and smooth pulsing drums bring “Please Adjust Your Tracking” to life. A wild laugh and wriggly, shaking sounds move in along with raised chimes and distorted voices as the bass wobble is now joined by a voice saying, “please adjust your tracking.” A glowing synth line mooches through the track as the entertaining vocal samples come in and out.
The melody has a jazzy glide to it and the vocal samples add a quirky feeling to the track. Bells chime into the track in a rising, falling pattern that adds more light and some bea t boxing comes in along with synth brass hits and some scratching over the wavy bass.
Conclusion
Splash ’96s album Summers in Anniston is ideal listening material for a lazy summer day by the pool. It is easily flowing, soothing and calming music that still has character and energy to spare. I hope that Splash ’96 keeps making groovy, chilled-out, ear-grabbing music that takes a unique path.
Glenn Donaldson is prolific. Maybe not quite Robert Pollard or R. Stevie Moore prolific, but the man records and releases a lot of music. The Skygreen Leopards, his psych-folk collaboration with fellow multi-instrumentalist Donovan Quinn, put out seven albums in eight years, plus another in 2014. Another duo, The Art Museums, featured Donaldson working with The Skygreen Leopards’ Josh Alper; that project released an album and three EPs in the space of just over a year. Donaldson has also appeared on records by Woods, Thuja, The Fresh & Onlys and at least a dozen others.
But along the way, the Bay Area musician and composer has found the time to launch and sustain a solo project as well: the “DIY kitchen pop” of The Reds, Pinks and Purples. Between September 2019 and now, he’s recorded three full-length albums and an EP under that name. Released in April, Uncommon Weather is the latest from The Reds, Pinks and Purples. And there’s plenty more where that came from.
“I record more than I release,” Donaldson says with a chuckle. “I’m kind of pulling stuff from far in the past [along with] brand new stuff. I’ll tend to revisit old ideas and say, ‘Can I do something with this?’” Quite often the answer is a resounding yes.
A highlight of the new album, “Don’t Ever Pray in the Church on My Street” was written and demoed in 2015. At that time, Donaldson was briefly between bands, so he shelved the song. “But I felt like it was special,” he says. “I wrote it when I had a fever. There’s that legend about Neil Young writing ‘Cinnamon Girl’ when he had a fever, so…”
But The Reds, Pinks and Purples don’t display a great deal of the fuzzed-out proto-grunge of Crazy Horse. Instead, Donaldson’s solo work under that moniker feels more connected to the jangling sounds of ’80s college rock, particularly the “paisley underground” vibe of bands like Green on Red, The Rain Parade, and the Dream Syndicate.
“I grew up in the ’80s in Southern California,” Donaldson says. “So I was aware of the paisley underground. Some of my favorite music was The Three O’Clock and The Rain Parade.” He recalls seeing an MTV special on R.E.M., one that featured Roger McGuinn (The Byrds) and John Sebastian (The Lovin’ Spoonful). “From a very early age, I caught onto that ’60s-meets-new-wave’ sound,” he says. But later bands like Dinosaur Jr. and Guided by Voices influenced his own songwriting to a similar degree.
“I’m a student of songwriting,” Donaldson says. And with The Reds, Pinks and Purples, he seeks to make music that is accessible. “I was really thoughtful about making the songs relatable,” he says, “so that maybe instead of just being called ‘indie pop,’ they could actually be pop music.” In his world, pop is not an epithet. “I’ve done my time in the sub-underground,” he says with a laugh. “I don’t mind being on the radio. There’s nothing wrong with it!”
Donaldson says that despite his best efforts — The Reds, Pinks and Purples recordings sport a uniformly high production quality — his solo releases still get described by radio deejays as lo-fi. “Which is fine,” he says. “But it’s meant for a broad audience.”
The pandemic sidelined the live version of the project. “We played about 10 shows, and we were about to go play in Spain,” Donaldson says. But he isn’t feeling sorry for himself. “Many other people had much worse outcomes from the pandemic.” Still, he looks forward to gigging in support of Uncommon Weather. “I have a wonderful band here, and they get to interpret the songs how they want,” he says. “It’s different from the recordings, but that makes it fun for me.” He’s thinking about heading to Spain toward the end of this year. “Hopefully, I’ll kind of put the microphone down for a little while and just enjoy playing some of the songs with my friends,” Donaldson says.
But in the meantime, Donaldson continues to pursue The Reds, Pinks and Purples as a studio endeavor. “For this project, I really focus on the songwriting,” he says. “And I’m pretty versed in using the studio as an instrument.” He describes his method of recording in his kitchen as “a search for the sound along with the song. The hard part is getting the song written. Then, the fun part is just splashing colors on when I record.” And he emphasizes the listener-friendly nature of the music. “I wanted to make it a little more accessible and listenable for people who didn’t have a taste for the esoteric music that I come from.”
Donaldson says that like The Reds, Pinks and Purples’ other albums, Uncommon Weather is “an elusive portrait of San Francisco.” But what does that mean? “It’s about me and my time here, forming bands and just living my life,” he explains. “There are specific references to the neighborhood and locations throughout the songs.”
At the same time that Donaldson plays up the tuneful nature of his solo project, he labels it “depresso pop.”
“That’s sort of tongue-in-cheek,” he says with a laugh. “Someone gave me that tag in a review, and I thought it was funny.” In fact, though some of his song titles might suggest a kind of mopey, navel-gazing character (“I Hope I Never Fall in Love,” “I’m Sorry About Your Life”), for The Reds, Pinks and Purples, humor is often a vital part of the mix.
“A song like ‘A Kick in the Face (That’s Life),’ I mean, that’s ridiculous!” he says. “It’s completely over the top.” But at the same time, he says, “life is a kick in the face, and all you want to do is go home and drink.”
Or record another album’s worth of songs. “The follow-up album is already at the pressing plant,” Donaldson reveals. “That’s coming out in the fall … and it’ll be a double album.”
Grace Z. Li
https://www.sfweekly.com/category/music/feed/
are a band, or a supergroup, or a fuckin’ whatever, consisting of members from Taking Back Sunday, Circa Survive, and Grouplove, and, interestingly enough, none of those act’s music are a good indicator of Fuckin Whatever’s.
This music is very fresh and different. The press releases for the band boast that their music features zero instrumentation. Their music primarily consists of vocal music, and they utilize a variety of different vocal techniques for their sound, including a cappella, chanting, harmonizing, humming, whistling, vibrato, melisma, and fuckin’ whatever else you can think of. The EP doesn’t exclusively utilize vocal music, however; Grouplove’s Ben Homola adds some very distinguishing percussion to each song using only household items.
The vocal music, percussion, and Anthony Green’s lead singing accumulate to create an experimental, avant-garde, musical hybrid that invokes pop, dance, and traditional tribal and folk music of Nordic, African, and South American cultures. Animal Collective are the band’s most obvious influence, but there are strains that are reminiscent of Ozric Tentacles or The Slits, and even more contemporary artists, like M.I.A. or MØ.
Given it’s rawness and liveliness, Fuckin Whatever may give the illusion of having minimal production, but it is clear that a lot of production effort has gone into making these songs as fluid and interesting as they are.
Two songs from the EP, “Never Believe” and “Original Sin,” were released as singles. Singles are obviously an important part of promotion, to drum up interest in an EP or album before its release, but the Fuckin Whatever EP needs to be heard as a complete unit, rather than the songs being listened to individually, as listening to any of the songs alone can’t replicate the intended experience.
Fuckin Whatever don’t feel like an act that you go and see to hear a specific hit song. No, to paint a picture, Fuckin Whatever are the kind of act you go to see at a dingy, poorly-ventilated, 200-capacity club. As you sweat profusely and sway fitfully from left to right, out of sync with the music, on the two inches of dance floor you have to yourself on either side, the music bleeds together in a trippy union, and you leave as a euphoric, sweaty, dehydrated mess with a big smile on your face.
During its runtime, Fuckin’ Whatever does create a hypnotic, attention-grabbing 22 minutes. Admittedly, the lingering effects of those 22 minutes can be quite ephemeral after the EP is finished, but it is still an experience worth having. Don’t say “fuckin’ whatever” to Fuckin Whatever by Fuckin Whatever, and give it a chance.
The post Album Review: Fuckin Whatever – Fuckin Whatever appeared first on New Noise Magazine.
The Greek word apocalypse typically conjures up thoughts of a violent destruction or a catastrophic end. Yet, the word itself translates literally to an uncovering, a reveal, a parting of the veil.
It is in this context that San Francisco three-piece band TONG ponder the apocalypse on their new album MAN, out now.
MAN is a particularly heavy song cycle by most standards. It sounds at home among the likes of King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard and Ty Segall‘s discography. Corporeal imagery is sung in unison with heavy riffs; Parker Simon’s gnarled basslines are paired with Alex Dang-Lozano’s distorted drums. Tom Relling’s slide guitar offers a surprising texture — melodies shift from ethereal textures to Sabbath-inspired fuzz at the drop of a hat. The musicianship is superb and the band is tight, no doubt about it.
Tong album art by Gabriel Nikias
The question “What makes a man?” became album’s north star. In one sense, the question is literal — LUNG, EYE, MIND — each song title is named after a different part of the body. But as you could imagine, that question is really rooted in metaphor. “TONG set out to artistically explore this concept within the context of a dying American patriarchy, drawing influence from disturbing scenes of toxic hyper-masculinity, white supremacy, police violence, a Trump presidency, and an array of other shocking events that defined 2020,” says Relling.
Looking back, it’s easy to use our working definition of the word apocalypse as an analogy for the last sixteen months. The Bay Area music scene, as a representative sample, paints a disheartening picture. In that time, we lost several of our favorite venues — Slim’s, The Uptown, and Revolution Cafe to name just a few. TONG’s last pre-pandemic performance was also the final show at Amnesia, the beloved Valencia Street venue that shuttered at the end of February 2020 — just before COVID-19 sent the nation into quarantine.
And yet, even surrounded by the evaporation of these cherished musical spaces — if we imagine the apocalypse not as the destruction of the world itself but as an uncovering of systematic problems, what can we do about it? How can we change it for the better?
As we see our world beginning to reopen, we are faced with the task of making our world a better and more inclusive place for others.
It is easy to idealize the former status quo, to try and pick up exactly where we left off and aim to maintain its same trajectory. But it is much more important to acknowledge that our world was (and still is), in so many ways, broken. Broken by patriarchy, racism, white supremacy, homophobia, ableism, sexism, and transphobia. Broken by inflexible economics — unreasonable and eternally rising rent prices, which had already squeezed the Bay Area’s residents and business owners too tightly.
The first step to correcting course, according to TONG, has roots in another greek word: catharsis. Relling describes MAN as “a sonic patricide to atone for the past, clearing the way for a new way of thinking.” In context, these anatomical song titles take on a new meaning; piece by piece MAN is quite literally a construction that is meant to be incinerated, a burnt offering. Out with the old, in with the new.
MAN is available now on Bandcamp and everywhere else you listen to music.
Daniel Quasar’s WAVES is an album exploring issues of being and becoming, along with loss and pain. Their emotional exploration also includes a sonic palette that further emphasizes the themes that appear in the song lyrics with sensations of emptiness, desolation, and drift emanating from the synths that they use. The feeling of deep loneliness is occasionally pierced by light and moments that are more uplifting.
The first element that drew me to WAVES is the caliber of Daniel Quasar’s songwriting. They are able to craft words that clearly and sharply delineate emotion and humanity. Their insight into thought and feeling allows the songs to cut incisively into the listener’s mind and plant the ideas there. I also enjoy their way of crafting strong images through words.
Another strong aspect of the album is the use of synths to evoke feelings of emptiness, vast cosmic voids, and great distance. There are cold, starry twinkling sounds, glitches, and static along with moments of deep bass and sounds all backed by wide open sonic space. Those sensations of separation and division match the lyrical content nicely. I find myself transported by the overall sonic palette of the music and carried on a space journey.
I also find myself drawn in by the way Daniel Quasar uses their voice. They have a natural ache in their singing that only emphasizes the emotional content of the music more but they have also effectively used a vocal filter that creates a robotic tone. The feelings of isolation, cold, and distance are all powerfully present and deepen the strength of the lyrical content further.
My Favourite Tracks Analyzed
“UPGRADE” comes into being with a great void of open space around Daniel Quasar’s robotically distorted voice and a hollow, metallic sound that expands into that vast sonic space. Echoing, bouncing and metallic sounds keep flowing out into the cosmic void along with their distorted vocals.
Sharp-edged, medium-low synth sounds drift in waves as they’re joined by the throbbing pulse of the beat. Their vocals drift along through space and the beat feels relentless as the hard-edged synths growl into cavernous space. Now we fade into those broken, brief sounds and clouds of sharp-edged synth underneath and the beat breaks apart. Their voice has a lost quality as it moves into the song.
Dislocation, loss, and a sense of confusion fill the words of this song. The narrator talks about feeling something coming from all around. They ask, “What was I thinking? Leave it all behind.” There is uncertainty for them as they wonder, “If I take it all when it comes, will I make it to the other side?”
The confusion seems to reign as our narrator isn’t sure about what’s going on. They do, however, realize that it “won’t be long ’til I find myself in another place” where they’ll be “left to devices” and can’t go wrong.
Intense feelings grow like “a storm brewing in my mind” and as they go into the rush, ‘it feels like desire.” They ask if they weather it, will they find themselves “planed even higher?”
Uncertainty grows too as they are “stuck in this from within” on a path that was chosen but the narrator questions whether the choice was theirs at all. Even if it was, they ask,” Could I change the pace? Find some meaning held deep inside.”
Shadowy waves of computerized synth sound rise in dark, full chords to open “Lonely Soldier (feat. Vice)” as deep tubular bells move below Daniel Quasar’s expressive vocals. The dense clouds of trembling synth echo out around the lost, almost spectral vocals. There is a brightness in the synths that move in, but it’s the cold and empty light of distant stars.
The vocals interlock with the deep resonance of the tubular bells before Vice starts to rhyme over the stuttering beat and floating synths that ripple out behind the music. Daniel Quasar’s voice fits the emotional tenor of this music well. High, whistling, ethereal synth moves in shifting lines and the deep tubular bells swell and fade out to end the track.
A tale of a robotic or cybernetic soldier unfolds in the lyrics. The character in the story is “frozen in a lake of every kind of danger” and is surrounded by it. It is taking over and the soldier’s answer to not knowing where to go is to “breakthrough.”
Even after taking the time to “realign” their surroundings, the protagonist realizes that something is quite wrong. The main character is just ”a lonely soldier, mechanical wonder” who has been “through the fire and out from under.”
Loss and emptiness permeate the song in the lines, “I don’t know what it takes but I don’t fit in this place. There’s no one else here.” The soldier comes to eventually realize that “it’ll fall apart if I mine this iron heart.”
Our narrator points out that we take our time to survive but asks, “How will you know when you crossed that line?”
Vice’s rhymes are enjoyably complex and nuanced verse. It is from the main character’s perspective and contains some powerful images. This is a journey into a slowly dawning comprehension that has been hard-won. There is a need to let go and break free of old patterns expressed here.
I have some favorites out of the rhymes that were created. I enjoy the contradictory feelings in the line, “crave the morning light which I refuse to harness.” I love the tripartite personality shown in the words, “a lonely soldier or a broken man or a chrysalis bursting in my squeezing hand.”
I enjoy the vigilance and seeking being described in the words, “I keep an eye on my mind and on my latent desires. Ever searching for an ember to kindle a flame” and the neat phrasing in the line, “there isn’t a science to the art of being.”
The realization that inner knowledge is the most important form of knowledge is expressed in the words, “Of course that ember’s hidden deep inside, only recognized by the eternal eye.”
I am enamored of the sophistication in the lyrics that say, “against the grain of generations of pain, epigenetically embedded in our bones and veins.” I enjoy the interwoven rhyme inside the lines, “Its armor slow sundering, the siren call of these luxuries, that constant psychic hungering.”
“LAST/STEP” comes to life as a rush of tight synth sound moves into the wide-open sonic spaces of the track. Medium-high synth moves in rising lines over the deep wells of bass and a throbbing drumbeat that becomes more active as it moves, but still brushes the surface of the track rather lightly.
Sharp synth rises in minor key lines and the drums gain some power as all of the sounds rush on in shadowy space. The beat launches again along with some astral, breathy, open sounds flowing out into the track. I enjoy the mixture of glow and ache in those lambent notes. I also like how the melodic segment is slowed down so the melody unfolds more gradually.
Bursts of glimmering synth are joined by high, slicing sounds that move over the throbbing beat as “Celestial Beings” kicks off. The beat fades for a moment as shimmering, airy synths flash into the track and weave a bright tapestry. The beat rises and again drops off as the synths swirl together as a high melody calls out in a wandering line.
I am drawn to the flash and sparkle of this track, balanced against elements that feel tense and nervous. Above all of the other sonic elements of the track, the flickering synths dance. The beat drops out again and a sawtoothed synth cuts in and fades before the beat re-establishes itself. A quick line of glowing, cascading synth moves and wiggles above the track as it closes out.
“Wild Abandon” beings with oscillating synth waves floating out over the gently throbbing drums and Daniel Quasar has imbued their voice with a robotic distortion, creating an alien feeling. I enjoy how the robotic vocals effectively increase the sense of desolation the permeates this album. A synth with a ragged edge and a hard glitter flashes into the track and the beat has a smooth, full feeling.
Over the beat, the synth drifts into medium-high, guitar-like waves. An echoing, metallic circular sound is joined by a high, howling synth. Like many of the tracks on this album, it has an open and spaced-out feeling that adds to the overall impressions of alienation and struggle with inner complexity.
A sense of questioning and seeking fills the lyrics of this song. Our narrator begins by saying,” Can’t seem to understand, there are mysteries all around.” They continue to question if it’s something that they could even change and if so “could I hold it down?”
Their mind is racing with “wildly abandoned thoughts” but they still are forced to ask, “Why is this silence so loud when I can’t seem to make a sound?” There is an internal struggle going on as the narrator feels tears on their face but asks, “What is this I am trying to feel?”
Now they cry out, “Mysteries escape and again, couldn’t I just speak aloud?” The feeling of incomprehension is clear as they say they can’t understand and add, “if it’s something I can, could i hold it down?
Ghostly, elevated synths that drift out into space are joined by brittle metallic xylophone notes and a harsh, clashing beat as “Proto” starts. Raised synth bursts over top in glistening notes that carry a minor key pattern. A warmer, richer flow of synth comes in with the sound of tubular bells and the lead synth has a triumphant quality to it.
Another moment of metallic tinkling moves in before the raised, round-sounding synths climb up over the depth and weight underneath them. I am drawn to how all of the synth elements intertwine in this track. The rising waves of notes are underpinned by more shadowed swirls of sound and the bursting beat that hits under it and we fade out on shimmering notes and ghostly chimes.
“BLUE” opens on elevated, bright, glitchy synth sounds that are reminiscent of a cassette tape being rewound over a smooth, flowing background. Daniel Quasar’s voice drifts into the openness as a steady drum heartbeat pulse and accelerates. The beat subdivides and in the background gliding, airy sounds shift and coalesce.
Once more, Daniel Quasar’s vocal distortion adds to the feeling of dislocation. The high, twisting synth slowly moves in the background and again there is a half-time beat. A pipe organ-like synth twines out a series of melodic, caressing notes and we fade into silence.
This is one of the more positive songs on the album as it speaks of progress and change for the better. The narrator says that they have changed and that they “realize things are different,
I know I did you wrong” but now they are set free and they want to make amends.
They ask what the person they’re addressing sees n their eyes and if they’d see “would you see the same life as i do?” Our narrator speaks of a spiritual change in them and adds, “I’ve grown to such great heights. I’ve seen the world, the universe for what it’s worth.”
The narrator concludes, “I’ve seen the end and I’ll do so much more.”
Hollow synth sounds fill the opening of “COLORS” before they’re joined by a string-like sound that cascades through the song behind Daniel Qasar’s distinctive voice as they sing in Japanese. Slow arpeggios revolve and the beat pulses as the synths glide and swirl around.
I enjoy the angular quality to the shining guitar melody that moves through the song. Tense, tight pulses of shiny and metallic synth glide out through the track, moving under the expressive vocals.
The song has more forward motion now as it drives on and that angular guitar melody fades to flashing string-like sounds and open space. The slow arpeggios gently turn before the dynamic, rising guitar melody cries out and the beat pulses onward. The vocal melody doubles the guitar and the guitar sings out in long lines of shimmering notes.
In keeping with the ideas and themes explored on this album, COLORS is a song by the Japanese artist Hikaru Utada that explores themes of connection, dissolution, and identity. Daniel Quasar chose well when they picked it.
“Ambivalent” comes to life with static glitch and twist flowing out into space, like a signal cut loose from its source. Elevated piano notes drift into the music through the open space all around them. The patterns of notes rise and fall into the emptiness around them, echoing out in repeating lines as a deeper flow of bass and a slow, full drumbeat gives the track form and shape. as rich but slightly edged synths rise up in full waves to support the music.
The synths shift in medium-low waves as elevated, lost feeling piano drifts over the growing sonic strength underneath it. Slow, gentle notes swirl out into the echoing emptiness that feels like it might never end. The repeating piano line has a hypnotic quality that I find addictive. The slight buzz of the lower synths swells up again and the whorls of sound intertwine with the deep bass.
A quick rush of sound rises and floats out into space along with a keyboard-like swirl of sound as “Drift(Fate) begins. Some unique percussion adds a rather ethnic flavor to the track as flowing synth notes move through the grand aural void of the track. There’s an elevated synth pattern that has a whorled quality to it.
A round, glitching, twisting synth carries a wandering line over the beat, and lighter sounds gleam in the distance. I like the complex nature of this track as glitchy synth twists and piano notes that cluster and wriggle through as the beat continues onward. As the track ends, alone twisting and distorted synth flows out into vast space.
Conclusion
WAVES is a rich, nuanced listen that voyages across the deep emotional territory and create a wide-open, cold soundscape along with a very human examination of vulnerabilities and ways to grow.
Karl has been a freelance writer for over 10 years. He’s passionate about music, art, and writing!
