That reintroduction comes with the arrival of Ex-Vöid, a power trio that falls neatly in line with where McArdle and Owen Williams left off with their old project, bringing the exact same kind of kinetic energy back to the table. Twee indie pop sensibilities once again infiltrating a noisy post-punk lens in “Boyfriend”, the band’s irresistible new single. Taking cues from a perfectly curated list of sources, from Sarah Records to Flying Nun, Ex-Vöid rekindle a spark that was seemingly extinguished when they departed Joanna Gruesome.
“Boyfriend” is short but it’s sharp, sinking its hooks in deep enough to leave the kind of marks that lead to fondly-recognized scars. The into is a cavalcade of noise but that disintegrates into sunny melodies in an instant, the band launching into that familiar but distinct sound, bridging their influences to their own singular identity. It’s a thrilling listen that offers up a few more surprises as it goes, offering up enough grace notes to portend a bright future for a voice that we should all be glad has rejoined the table.
Listen to “Boyfriend” below and pre-0rder Ex-Vöid from Don Giovanni.
It’s rare and only granted to something genuinely masterful but once in a while, this site will deviate from its ethos of supporting the kind of bands that could genuinely use as many platforms as possible to elevate their work to a more widely-accessible world and turn its lens towards a piece from an artist that’s already a bona fide celebrity in the mainstream music world. It hasn’t happened since Run The Jewels’ Lakeith Stanfield-starring “Close Your Eyes (and Count To Fuck)” but late Saturday night Donald Glover donned his soon-to-be-retired Childish Gambino guise and released the earth-shattering music video for “This Is America”.
Directed by Hiro Murai, one of Glover’s most trusted collaborators and his go-to helmer for Childish Gambino clips, the video starts off innocuously enough, featuring not much more than a man picking up a guitar on a chair to sit down and play while Glover begins dancing, while a gorgeous swooping pan shot from the camera conveys a strange jubilance. It’s shot through with some weird energy and staged in a surprisingly grandiose fashion, bringing the work of Murai’s contemporaries Daniels and Nabil to mind. In a mere matter of seconds, the symbolic flourishes begin to start poking through.
Glover struts his way through a series of flashy moves, stopping for an odd pose while the camera pulls back to reveal a man whose head has been bagged sitting on a chair. In that fleeting moment, the entire mode shifts violently, to a genuinely startling effect. It leads to a low-wide two shot (above) that has to be a strong contender for the Shot of the Year in any film-related medium, Glover pulling a gun on the anonymous man and striking a Jim Crow pose before blowing his brains out.
In a second, the music swings from Gospel-tinged Africana to dark trap, with Glover announcing “This is America.” From that point forward, the clip focuses an unfixing gaze on America’s ills, some specific to the black community (the stigma attached to depression hitting especially hard), others a commentary on how those things are processed by America at large. Violence has become reduced to frivolity, suicide constantly takes place on the very fringes of the public’s eye, death’s white horse is coursing through an increasingly violent, troubled world and the self-appointed protagonists of unspeakable cruelty can’t evade their own actions.
All of this and more is taken on in “This Is America” which somehow intertwines those incredibly significant topics with micro-commentaries on the state of rap, touching on everything from Chance’s meticulously crafted “good man of God” persona to background lyrical riffs and allusions to rappers like Kodak Black (all while enlisting a stacked feature roster comprised of Young Thug, 21 Savage, BlocBoy JB, Rae Sremmurd’s Slim Jxmmi, and Migos’ Quavo, then pointedly reducing their contributions).
At every single turn, some wildly unpredictable, some dangled like bait (the introduction of the clip’s youngest cast members evoking the exact same dread that the opening episode of The Wire’s fourth season inspired) of “This Is America” there is fear, chaos, and odd bursts of joy, unaffected, desensitized, and painfully reminiscent of what modern society has become. There’s a war on religion, religion’s being co-opted for self-serving, people die, and still, our most pressing concern is keeping up with the latest dance move.
Not just a cold, unfeeling look at the concept of minstrelism, “This Is America” lights a match and shines a shred of light on everything before letting it bloom into a fully fledged spotlight. Murai’s direction and immaculate staging driving home a non-stop arsenal of memorable moments that are uncomfortable to consider and dissect. It’s masterful work that ranks among Glover and Murai’s finest work together, which is especially notable considering they’re both in the midst of producing some of the most exceptional installments of television’s Golden Era with their work on FX’s Atlanta.
Here, they lay the weight of America’s burdens on the table, twisting them into an impressionistic splatter paint canvas that cuts nerve after nerve with deadly precision. While some of Childish Gambino’s earliest work remains both inconsistent and problematic, it’s good to see Glover growing as a thinker, a musician, and an activist. He’s seemingly acknowledged his own complicity with “This Is America” and found a way to condemn not just that past, but that entire path that’s been walked and continues to be walked by so many.
Glover and Murai also, for the first time, have finally figured out how to effectively translate Glover’s ridiculously clever sensibilities to the visual realm. Every shot in “This Is America” is nuanced and offers up a ridiculous amount of elements to dissect, some with multiple meanings. The layering in the clip is absolutely staggering and suggests that Childish Gambino, after an erratic run, has found a voice in its twilight days. If this is how the project goes out, it’ll have been more than worth the journey.
Angelella’s “Red State”, an exceedingly clever bit of basement pop, was recently featured on this site and effectively set the tone for Road Movie. All of Angelella’s work as a multifaceted songwriter and musician come into play on Road Movie, showcasing the kind of talent that’s only obtained by the kind of well-rounded journeyman who have spent as much time in the DIY punk and bedroom pop circles as the top 40 pop and rap side of the music world.
Road Movie, understandably, is far more modest than the works of Angelella’s more high-profile collaborators (Kendrick Lamar, Tinashe, and Lil B, among others, have benefited from his contributions as a session musician) and much more in line with the bands that have counted — or currently count — him as a member (Hop Along, Lithuania, Cold Fronts, and mewithoutyou all belonging to that group). Introspective and freewheeling, Road Movie is a deceptively polished work from a master songwriter, someone that’s earned a deepened understanding of their craft.
Breezy, well-paced, never too flashy, full of whip-smart turns of phrases, smart compositions, and an easygoing charisma, Road Movie is the kind of record that entices the listener to keep exploring. It’s a multi-layered work, for all its low-key charm, that strengthens in ratio with the investment its granted. A perfect soundtrack for the warmer seasons, Road Movie is the kind of small gem that always deserves to be heard.
Every once in a while, there’s the kind of band that kicks around in murky shadows, refining a mixture of sludge, grunge, and post-punk. Boston built an entire scene around that specific genre but the latest band to forge an identity on the back of that kind of darkly-tinted magic comes from Boston’s far neighbors to the (Mid)West in Chicago’s sewingneedle. The band’s been active for more than four years, turning heads at an increasingly rapid pace with a reportedly stellar live show and incredible new material.
“feel good music” is part of the band’s improbable run towards greatness, a song that was released simultaneously with an effortlessly captivating music video that touches on the kind of lurking anxiety that the band imbues into their music. The clip’s opaque, opting to strive towards eliciting an immediate, intangible reaction rather than going for something easily explained. Drone shots of a raft tethered to a journeying boat, men racing through a field, and urban sprawl all coalesce into a mesmerizing whole in “feel good music” which defiantly announces sewingneedle’s bid for something bigger.
Watch “feel good music” below and pre-order user error here.
Last Friday offered an extraordinary outpouring of new records with several of those releases seeming poised to be legitimate Album of the Year contenders. While those records hit hard, Half Waif’s Lavender hit hardest. A handful of the record’s songs have been featured here already but it’s the cumulative effect of the record that elevates the songs from heartrending to heart-stopping.
Nandi Rose Plunkett, Half Waif’s fearless bandleader, wrote Lavender in the waning days of her grandmother’s life and found a way to preserve her memory in astonishing fashion with Lavender. Imbued with familial love and meditations on the joys and consequences of mortality, Lavender ceaselessly finds ways to grapple with heavy burdens through a series of open questions, some unanswerable. The examination process is one that becomes intimately familiar to anyone whose ever had to confront the death of a loved one and it’s not hard to read into Lavender as a personal reckoning from someone in the throes of that journey.
It doesn’t take long for the ghost of Plunkett’s grandmother to find a home in Lavender, appearing as early as the record’s breathtaking opener “Lavender Burning”. That specific song is a perfect introduction to the record as it marks a slight — but distinct and extremely important — stylistic shift for Half Waif, who move into a more subdued realm that’s enhanced by a re-dedication to introspection, more naked here than at any point in their discography.
“Watching my grandmother walking her garden, she’s lost her hearing does not notice the cardinal”, Plunkett sings, cardinal breaking up into lilting syllables as the memory overwhelms. It’s one of many small vignettes that litter Lavender‘s landscape, flowers dead and blooming. It’s not long before the burden of knowing sinks in and cries of “Is this all there is?” ring out over lush beds of synth and intuitive instrumentation. Confined to a confrontational solitude, Plunkett starts wrestling with existential autonomy: a sense of place, the weight of decisions, and the fear that accompanies free will.
All of these questions, all of these backwards looks and sideways glances are more immediate than any single narrative Half Waif’s presented in the past. They’re also by far the most gripping, as the music Half Waif has afforded these moments is their most expansive, textured, and ambitious to date, leaning hard into the band’s more ambient sensibilities. Lavender‘s rhythm section pulsates with purpose, reverberating throughout the record with the clear knowledge that the stakes here are legitimately life and death. From start to finish, it’s a fight for the means to survival.
If Plunkett’s grandmother is the foremost figure of Lavender, New York City and Plunkett herself aren’t too far behind. The relationship between the two, specifically, anchors some of the record’s most breathtaking stretches, including both “Lavender Burning” and “Back In Brooklyn”, which the songwriter penned an incredibly moving essay for over at The Talkhouse. “Back In Brooklyn” is a song that lands with exceptional force for anyone who’s ever been wrapped up by the titular city’s formidable being and goes a long way in laying out Lavender‘s gently beating heart.
Not coincidentally, the song resides in the album’s central stretch, arriving just after “Silt”, the two constituting Lavender‘s most breathtaking moment. It’s here where Plunkett comes nearest to breaking down completely, stretching out a hand for guidance, assurance, or even just a small moment of clarity in the fog of uncertainty. The closing moments of “Silt” offer up one of the record’s most haunting moments, an outro that beautifully segues into the painfully gorgeous “Back In Brooklyn”.
Everything that leads up to those two songs makes their back-to-back even more potent, the themes splintering apart into what feels like a million pleas, some from the city, some for the city, some from Plunkett, some for Plunkett’s own well-being. It’s here where Lavender finds its path to becoming transcendental. Those two songs combine to retroactively strengthen the songs that have preceded them while setting up one of the most memorable closing runs of the present decade.
It’s here where the allusions stop becoming guarded and are faced with no hesitation, Plunkett seemingly locked into a white-knuckle grip on the legacy of family, self-understanding, and the trials of knowledge. The latter of the three has one of the more potent dichotomies and that scale is explored through the framing of the former two. It’s that dynamic which makes the final quarter of Lavender so harrowing and so beautiful, the acknowledgment of the necessity of the scars and bruises that allow us to move forward towards our own destiny and towards the same fate that will take everyone we’ve ever loved.
Rather than waist time on hypothetical situations, Plunkett discards them in the service of realism and a commitment to the bravery the bandleader strives for on “Parts”. There’s a dissection of shame and anxiety in that song, one that resonates through to Lavender‘s end, before the tacit acceptance of the fearlessness required to continue existing. By the record’s end the only home Plunkett seems to have is forward motion, abandoning cities, clinging to friends, family, and lovers, doing whatever it takes to find a measure of peace in life’s restlessness.
Lavender‘s final verse acts as a summation of the themes Plunkett can’t escape through the course of the eleven songs and diverts them in a fruitless bid to forget what most of the record has exhausted itself in staring down before its final, heartbroken declaration: I don’t wanna know this/I don’t wanna know how this ends/In the grand scope of things/I know. It’s right then, in that last word, Lavender becomes complete. Not just a record about confronting death, Lavender is a record about the allowances of life, the difficulties that make it harsh, the people that make it worthwhile. In the end, when all is said and done, what’s left is the weight of knowing, and allowing it to sink to oblivion or float just a little while longer.
Listen to Lavender below (and watch a packet of live videos beneath that) and pick it up from CASCINE here.
The last week ended strongly, offering up an absolute treasure trove of full streams for a host of records that may find themselves being discussed again in December. Speedy Ortiz, Double Grave, Rachel Angel, Spielbergs, Holy Now, Anemone, Sibille Attar, Launder, Porlolo, and Grouper were all artists that played a part in that outpouring (as did the just-featured Forth Wanderers). Still, the focus of this post falls to an entry in a different format entirely: Snail Mail‘s elegantly crafted and surprisingly pointed clip for “Heat Wave”.
The solo project of Lindsey Jordan, Snail Mail has been making a series of incredibly smart decisions over the past year, including their partnership with Matador Records. Another one of those decisions was enlisting Brandon Herman‘s talents for the clip, allowing the filmmaker to handle directorial, editorial, and DOP duties with aplomb. The project and the filmmaker have delivered a carefully constructed metaphor for the importance of fighting for yourself, even in the face of unfavorable odds and seemingly insurmountable pressure.
“Heat Wave” finds clever ways to make its timely heft an incredible amount of fun (without sacrificing an ounce of integrity). Centered on Jordan, wrapped up in a hockey-centric escapist fantasy, “Heat Wave” refuses to pull punches throughout a range of exceptional moments, from an anxiety-inducing confrontation to some cathartic moments of unbridled rage. By the clip’s finale, Jordan’s made sure that absolutely nothing’s left on the rink and that the songwriter can escape with both contentment and a touch of pride.
Uplifting and upsetting in turns, “Heat Wave” is an effective portrayal of the themes frequently deconstructed by the clip’s protagonist. It’s a gentle reminder of societal culpability and just as effective as a demonstration of how our own convictions are necessary for not just advancement but survival. The song’s a new highlight for the project and the clip is its best to date. We should all be grateful that Snail Mail’s being given the chance to accelerate.
Watch “Heat Wave” (and a live performance of the song) below and pre-order Lush from Matador here.
The last several days of this week brought noteworthy music videos from Sun June, Dead To Me, Acid Dad, IV League, Annie Hardy, Self Defense Family, Joan of Arc, and Brent Cobb. Additionally, that span of time saw the release of more than a dozen records worthy of highlights but that’s a subject for a later post. Here, the headline belongs squarely to Forth Wanderer’s astounding self-titled, which has the potential to catapult the band from a buzzy staple to much wider recognition.
Sub Pop signed the band for the release and less than halfway through the first listen, it’s hard not to imagine they won an aggressive bidding war to release Forth Wanderers because it’s an absolute behemoth of the record that finds the band in the sharpest form of a young but already impressive career. Virtually every track that came out in advance of this self-titled was featured on this site in some way and led to stratospheric expectation. Improbably, Forth Wanderers actually finds ways to surpass those expectations, resulting in a record that leans more closely to essential than merely exceptional.
Forth Wanderers’ compositions sound more inspired than ever — which is no small feat — and Amy Trilling ensure the lyricism takes that same step forward. A record that explores the various facets of uncertainty in every day modern life, the sentiments that riddle the record have taken on a considerable amount of weight in recent years. Questions are raised with frequency throughout Forth Wanderers but they come from a thoughtful perspective, weighing things like how far does one have to be pushed to stop being complacent (“New Face”) and how to navigate the spectrum of expectations (“Temporary”).
The record’s greatest trick might be its own assurance in the face of those questions, wondering aloud about their implications with the type of assurance in those pathways that makes the listener certain they’ll find the answers. Of course, those narrative moments are significantly elevated by some incredible, across-the-board instrumental performances. Everyone here seems to be embracing their voice with a newfound confidence, not just Trilling, and it’s exhilarating to hear it all unfolding.
Forth Wanderers aptly acts as its own summation in “Taste”, as Trilling exclaims “I’m the real deal”. After just one listen, it’d be hard to argue that sentiment but after multiple spins — where the record unveils a surprising amount of additional nuance embedded through its many layers — that statement becomes impossible to argue. In addition to being one of the genre’s best offerings in years, it stakes its claim as simply one of the best records of the past few years as well. Volatile, weighty, affecting, and unfailingly sincere, Forth Wanderers is nothing short of a modern classic that deserves a spot in any music lover’s collection.
Listen to Forth Wanderers below and pick it up from Sub Pop here.
There’s an engaging palette (the pale blues at the beginning are especially mesmerizing) that morphs as the song barrels along, matching an impressive range of motion for both the camera and its subjects. “Colour of the Outside” also offers up a masterclass in lighting but those small, significant details would be lost without engaging core performances from the band members. Casper Skulls have given notable performances in their clips before but deliver here with some extra weight behind their conviction, making “Colour of the Outside” a testament to their growing confidence. Tethered together, the cumulative effect is spellbinding, pushing the band to an unexpected career highlight that’s massively satisfying and imparts a sense of excitement for whatever Casper Skulls decide to do next.
Watch “Colour of the Outside” below and pick up a copy of the band’s recent Mercy Works over on their bandcamp.
It’s an announcement that comes hot on the heels of the band’s Dirtnap 7″, The Pain of Loneliness (Goes On and On) b/w Go Easy, which was featured here last week. That review touched upon the band’s identity, something that “Leaf” helped form in their earliest stages. There are certain songs that have the power to make you believe in a band from the jump and, even more rarely, there are songs that can rip through a person so forcefully they’re left on the verge of tears after one listen. “Leaf” is both.
The first song pianist/vocalist Julia Blair wrote for the band, even in its earliest iteration and was the kind of song that had the capacity to level crowds, leaving more than a few people breathless. In the four years since the song was released on their demo, “Leaf” has evolved with the band, the edges of booth smoothed out and refined. There’s a tender sheen “Leaf” carries, indicative of the care that’s been poured into the song over its journey to a proper release.
Now, the song has a video to do it justice, courtesy of Finn Bjornerud, who’s handled the band’s other clips (and a handful for bassist/vocalist Amos Pitsch’s flagship project, Tenement). Anchored by lived-in performances from Rachel Crowl and Helen Kramer, the clip pays tribute to the song’s narrative while offering up the quiet visuals that define life in small-town Wisconsin (and a host of other small towns the country over). Still, Wisconsin feels specific to the band’s music and that kind of celebration is always worth noting, especially when it comes from unexpected places that are too-frequently glossed over or discarded in the pursuit of something bigger.
It’s that kind of dedication and sense of place that’s informed Dusk’s music from the onset but it’s never been extended to their visuals as beautifully as it has with “Leaf”. Landscapes both wintry and autumnal switch back and forth, tethered together with a warmth and determination that the cold seasons seem to bring out in Wisconsin’s citizens, “Leaf” finds its source of life in the smallest moments. Grocery shopping, chopping wood, loving greetings, and prep chef work all play parts (as, of course, do shots of hard liquor).
At every second, in every frame, there’s a resilient grace and a sense of affection on display. That level of welcomeness has been the band’s modus operandi since their formation and it’s only strengthened over time, a sensibility that’s escalated in their music as they moved forward. It hits its current apex here with “Leaf”, Blair’s overlaid harmonies acting in accordance with meticulously crafted visuals, creating the kind of warm blanket that the band extends to its listeners at their best. And make no mistake, “Leaf” earns a spot in that pantheon. This is the type of release that’s worthy of remembrance.
Watch “Leaf” below and pre-order Dusk from Don Giovanni here (and if you’re one of the first 300 to reserve a copy, you’ll receive an additional bonus 7″).
In the closing stretch of last week records from Karen Meat, Blues Lawyer, DEEREST, Mind Monogram, and Say Sue Me all found ways to make an impact. Another piece of music that found release in that time was Yowl’s “Warm (in the Soft White Fire of Modern Living)”, a dynamic slice of post-punk that veers back and forth between a probing, mid-tempo verse and an extremely explosive chorus that suffuses the song’s narrative with some crushing realism.
Shades of Pavement are as easy to pick out as references to their contemporaries in Car Seat Headrest, but something about “Warm (in the Soft White Fire of Modern Living)” feels singular enough to separate Yowl from any comparisons to those two acts (or any number of Flying Nun projects). There’s genuine conviction in this songwriting and the band have sculpted a composition that allows both the lyrics and music to heighten each other, rather than taking a more ancillary role. It’s an incredible track that finds Yowl well on their way to entering bigger discussions. “Warm (in the Soft White Fire of Modern Living)” is the kind of statement track that deserves — and seems poised to earn — a much wider audience.
Listen to “Warm (in the Soft White Fire of Modern Living)” below and keep an eye on this site for more details on the band in the future.
Heartbreaking Bravery 