Tag: albums

Imagine the scene: You’re in some smoky, crowded backroom speakeasy for an open mic poetry night. Most people performing do so in the way you’d expect—they shuffle up to the lonely microphone in the spotlight, tentatively read a poem or two that they’ve printed out, and then shuffle off again to a polite round of applause. And then, out of the shadows, a tattooed beatnik/Hare Krishna/Frank Booth hybrid walks onstage with a boombox. He sets it down and presses “play,” allowing a dystopian cacophony of industrial noise to fill the room. And then he—he being Alexis Marshall, the vocalist of uncompromising, cult-like Rhode Island noise rock outfit Daughters—starts shouting and ranting, bellowing the words of a lost soul, one forsaken by both God and the devil, one whose reality is entirely internal yet still reflects the turmoil raging incessantly and constantly in the ravaged world outside. 

All of which is to say that House of Lull . House of When—Marshall’s debut solo album—sounds like the end of the world. It’s not one brought on by a Hollywood blockbuster-style disaster, however. Rather, this album’s nine tracks—all of which were essentially improvised in the studio with help from Daughters drummer Jon Syverson and Young Widows’ Evan Patterson—capture the collapse of modern industrialized society and the ravaging, fatal effects of the economic system that rules it. It’s not just capitalism’s destructive tendencies that this record depicts, though, but also the damaging effects of religion, and a more harrowing mental collapse. 

On their own, devoid of the sinister, macabre soundscapes and post-apocalyptic atmosphere created by the music and Marshall’s unhinged delivery, it’s hard to know if these poems—for these are poems much more than lyrics—would stand their own. Opener “Drink From the Oceans Nothing Can Harm You” and the visceral descent into madness of “Religion as Leader” contain some riveting imagery, but they’re much enhanced by Marshall’s powerfully deranged delivery. Yet while there’s merit and substance to the words and imagery here—unlike, for example, the poetry by Touché Amoré frontman Jeremy Bolm (who has previously released poems by Marshall on his label, but whose poetry doesn’t really work on paper)—the arresting, atmospheric soundtrack certainly helps carry them further than they’d otherwise go. Whether that’s the buzzsaw frenzy of “Open Mouth,” the disturbed paranoia of “Hounds in the Abyss,” or the tormented ender “Night Coming.” 

It’s an uneven listen, and its abrasive, experimental weirdness can be too overbearing (as on “It Just Doesn’t Feel Good Anymore”), but House of Lull . House of When is nevertheless a weird, wild ride worth experiencing at least once, even if that’s just to see whether you can make it all the way through.

The post-reunion phase of a rock band’s lifespan can be a strange period to navigate. Provided the fans are on board, it is often a chance to make the sort of serious bucks that are out of reach during a band’s first flush. But a reunion often lays out an unwritten contract of expectations between band and fans; we want the nostalgia, we want the hits, do it this way, not that way.

In this respect, Sleater-Kinney have not entirely followed the letter of the deal. Their second post-reunion album, 2019’s St Vincent-produced The Center Won’t Hold, felt like a makeover of sorts, the roughness and rage of the band’s early days subsumed in a glossy, radio-friendly production that divided critics and fans alike. But the real shock came when, a month before the album’s release, drummer Janet Weiss announced she was leaving the band, citing Carrie Brownstein and Corin Tucker’s increasingly exclusive musical partnership: “I said, ‘Can you tell me if I am still a creative equal in the band?’ And they said no. So, I left.”

For a band often used as a byword for feminist solidarity, this sudden intrusion of personal animus came as a shock. But then, Sleater-Kinney have always been about kicking out against the expectations loaded on women. As Carrie Brownstein has it on Complex Female Characters, one of the standout tracks from their 10th album Path Of Wellness: “You’re too much of a woman now/You’re not enough of a woman now”. It’s that old story, so familiar to female musicians: damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

Path Of Wellness was written and recorded in the long, hot summer of 2020 in Portland, Oregon, with Brownstein and Tucker assisted by a host of local musicians. It is the first album that Sleater-Kinney have produced entirely by themselves, although that doesn’t mean a return to the raw riot-grrrl sound of old. On the contrary, there’s a full, rich quality to the record, which is thick with Wurlitzer and Rhodes, and often echoes various genres of a ’70s vintage – country and glam, funk and hard rock. The latter, in particular, powers some of the record’s best moments. High In The Grass is an exultant summertime anthem steeped in the histrionics of ’70s rock: “We lock when the pollen’s up/We love when the party’s on”. Wilder still is Tomorrow’s Grave, a knowing tribute to Black Sabbath that makes some entertaining rock theatre out of that band’s doom-laden clang.

As Path Of Wellness came together, the state of Oregon was in a strange flux, grappling with the pandemic, encroached on by wildfires, and gripped by protests against racial inequality that saw police suppressing crowds with batons and pepper spray. In places the album seems to address this explicitly. Favorite Neighbor is a righteous skewering of hypocrisy that accuses those “putting out fires/When your own house is burning”, while Bring Mercy finds Tucker singing, “How did we lose our city/Rifles running through our streets…”

Elsewhere, the turbulence outside seems to have brought out a reflective tone. The title track uses the language of self-help and self-care to interrogate personal insecurities, while the sleek, funky Worry With You addresses that feeling of anxiety when the shit
has hit the fan and the loved one you need is out of reach. Once upon a time, Sleater-Kinney records were righteous and declamatory. More often here, the tone is open and inquisitive, a band trying to find their bearings when the times are a-changin’.

In an interview about her departure from the band, Janet Weiss spoke of the tight relationship between Tucker and Brownstein: “I just think the two of them are so connected and they really agree on almost everything.” Listening to this new clutch of songs, you’re often reminded of this. Even as Path Of Wellness grapples with the world outside, its songs often speak the intimate language of a private conversation – the words of one friend, or lover, to another.

Fans who listened to The Center Won’t Hold and baulked at its lack of righteous rage might also find moments here wanting. But Path Of Wellness proves Corin Tucker and Carrie Brownstein haven’t forgotten the empowering, life-giving qualities of rock’n’roll fun. Sleater-Kinney are turning their reunion years into a reaffirmation of the importance of support and solidarity on a private, personal level. As they sing on album closer Bring Mercy: “If it’s coming for us, darlin’/Take my hand and dance me down the line”.

The post Sleater-Kinney – Path Of Wellness appeared first on UNCUT.

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’s Thierry 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.

The post David John Morris – Monastic Love Songs appeared first on UNCUT.

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.

One critique has overshadowed the music of Greta Van Fleet since their 2017 debut EP From the Fires: “They sound too much like Led Zeppelin.” Whether the critique is valid or not depends on the ears of the beholder, but the Grammy award-winning band’s latest album, The Battle at Garden’s Gate, finally put enough distance between their music and the sound of their inspirations.

The album, out via Republic Records, sounds freer than any music Greta Van Fleet has released before– somewhat shocking considering it was recorded during the coronavirus pandemic. But they made up for the lack of social freedom in the studio, introducing listeners to their most explorative album yet. They also moved from their tiny hometown of Frankenmuth, Michigan to Nashville, Tennesse, and worked with a new producer, hiring Greg Kurstin– an eight-time Grammy winner and two-time Producer of the Year, working with talents such as the Foo Fighters, Paul McCartney, and Adele.

They make this shift immediately obvious, beginning Heat Above, the first track on the record, with a resonant synth held on one chord. As it pulsates in the background, they slowly introduce a disorganized organ solo. Listeners get quickly lulled into this false sense of relaxation before they rip the rug out from under their feet, and the stellar rock album officially begins. They did, similarly, open their 2018 album, Anthem of the Peaceful Army, with this quiet before the storm approach, but this time around they used more updated sounds that music fans in the 2020s expect, as opposed to the classical approach taken in 2018.

The Barbarians and Trip the Light Fantastic may be the most experimental song Greta Van Fleet has ever put out. The ladder of the two is a striking track that begins with some sort of congested electric piano/synth that plays a catchy riff that loops throughout the song. The lead guitar also has a funk element to it that fans of the band have never had the chance to hear. While Trip the Light Fantastic issimilarbut incorporates classic guitar power chords.

Looking past the obvious, there is a substantial amount of growth in their lead guitarist Jake Kiszka. For the first time in the band’s discography, the guitar solos tell a story instead of merely being a show-off jam session. Broken Bells is the best example of this, as Kiszka shreds an emotional solo before his brother Josh shrieks outro with his built for rock and roll voice.

This album also showcased an even more powerful brand of rock music. Not only the solos full of life, but the riffs are also punchier, while the vocals breathe passionate life into the music. The band was set to open for the iconic metal band Metallica, which may have been the boost they needed to take their music to the next level.

But for as much progress as Great Van Fleet showed, the album did have low points. For one, the songwriting was often too ambiguous to nail down exactly what meaning they wanted listeners to take from the song. In interviews, the band often alluded to the album being societal expectations, which makes sense, but it is hard to deduct that without an explanation. On many songs, Jake’s guitar did the talking, not the lyrics. Still, Josh’s voice is so infectious and interesting it almost doesn’t matter what he is saying.

For two, they did step out of their comfort zone, but, overall, they did not give us anything we haven’t heard before. In fact, even on songs where the band showed personal strides, it still followed the same formulaic outline. It’s enjoyable, but over the course of the hour-long album, it can really start to weigh on the listener.

That being said, it is still incredible rock music that put substantial distance between their freshman EP and album. A great album doesn’t have to be groundbreaking to delight the ears of listeners. At the end of the day, The Battle at Garden’s Gate is an album that’s easy for almost anyone to get into and is sure to delight both Great Van Fleet and rock music fans.

The post Greta Van Fleet – The Battle at Garden’s Gate appeared first on Indie is not a genre.