Welcome to yet another Loosies Of The Week, a wrap-up of this weeks singles, throwaways, leaks, and any other loose tracks I find. A wide range of genres this week, with a well-rounded level of quality. There's sure to be something you enjoy.
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If intrigue seeps into your brain, never fight the urge to investigate further. That's exactly what I did with King Krule, after bearing witness to his unusual vocals and slight-of-hand production on 'Czech One,' leading me directly into 2013's 6 Feet Beneath The Moon. Borrowing from a trove of respected genres, whether it be Art Pop, Trip-Hop, Post-Punk, or R&B, King Krule's debut record, one that he somehow released at the tender age of 19, set the bar of his future career incredibly high. You wouldn't expect his tone, pace, or mood to produce such melodic moments that pour into your cranium, but that's exactly what happened with standouts like 'Neptune Estate,' 'Bathed In Grey,' and 'Easy Easy.' And thankfully, it seems, that peculiar identity will carry over onto The Ooz. If 'Czech One' was Marshall's sentimental side, 'Dum Surfer's' his rebellious one. Captured awakening from the dead at Purgatory's karaoke night in the music video, King Krule's assertive charisma and rockstar ego plays a massive role in 'Dum Surfer's' fascination. The genres, once again, are blended with detail resulting in a fine, aged wine of Post-Punk, Indie Rock, Neo-Psychedelia, and yes, even Abstract Hip-Hop if we're to see his opening verse as the pitch-shifted gloating that it is.
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Prior to Vulnicura, Bjork as a musician seemed to have lost her touch. Now, Bjork the artist was as strange, mysterious, and confounding as ever. But with efforts like Medulla, Volta, and Biophilia, her lifelong fans began to question if her musical wonderment would ever return. In 2015 it did, and suddenly, it was as if Bjork had never struggled to began with. Vulnicura was strong, riveting, and transparent, concerning a failing longterm relationship and the familial ramifications that could cause. Bjork has stated that Utopia, her soon-to-be released ninth LP, comes from a more pleasant place, one that seeks refuge and solace in the exploration of one's personal utopia. However, on 'The Gate,' that much fails to be apparent. Colder, darker, and more spacious than anything off Vulnicura, 'The Gate' instead owes a tremendous deal of gratitude to the song's producer Arca. For the first time in her entire career, Bjork feels like a featured guest. The airy production, that boasts as much silence as it does weightiness, would've felt more apt on Arca's self-titled Ambient Pop confessional earlier this year. A pace, mind you, I still struggle to cope with. 'The Gate' is long and slow, the payoff near-nonexistent.
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It's never easy to see an established artist struggle with identity. A decade ago, Burial created one of the more iconic sounds in modern Electronic music, something that would be expanded and intellectualized upon by 2012 with his immaculate three-EP run. Then, nothing. Something certainly happened in his private life to go from prolific to silent, and then return with the dull 'Temple Sleeper,' the agitating 'Sweetz,' and the aimless Ambient constructs dotting this past year. On 'Rodent,' we continue to see a man who once had his character traits under lock and key struggle to rekindle the past. This past year has seen Burial lost, unsure of where his passion, his ambition, his creativity went. Unlike 'Beachfires,' 'Young Death,' or the other Ambient passages, 'Rodent' sonic booms to UK Bass with no flair or panache. If it weren't for the vocal sample, grazed over with Burial's delicate signature, nothing here would signal his presence. The patterns are highly repetitious, something that would be strong in the rave scene, but not Burial's that takes place hours after it. The main problem with 'Rodent' is its lack of purpose, merely choosing to exist for four and a half minutes before deciding to end. Despite the relative enjoyment of solid percussion, the journeys Burial used to take us off would scoff at the idea of something so simpleminded.
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It took one second for me to rescind any fear, doubt, and worry that Ken would be a clone of Destroyer's past habits. My experience with Dan Bejar is rather slim given that I've only heard his two most recent albums, Kaputt and Poison Season, and not the other eight he's created, but even in that limited time cracks began to show. 'Sky's Grey' was representative of that, described simply as being painfully okay. It set out to achieve nothing Destroyer hadn't before, playing off the romantic loveless found in Poison Season's weakest outlets. 'Dream Lover,' it was not. However, 'Tinseltown Swimming In Blood' tells of a different story, one that never revealed its face on his 2015 LP. Pulsating synth stabs drive the foundation, providing subtle melody shifts as Bejar dances his starlit-seeing vocals across the sky. For Synthpop, of which 'Tinseltown' fits handedly, the production is nothing new. Where the track flourishes, interestingly enough, can be found in the combination of old and new. Here, Bejar proves he works best when confronted by a sonic obstacle, rather than something that fits his mold. As an aside, keep an eye out for some 22, A Million influence on Ken, as that now-iconic parched horn arrangement appears briefly as 'Tinseltown' winds down.
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Like 'White Iverson' of two years past, expect 'Rockstar' to unofficially be the lead single of Post Malone's next LP. Not for thematic sake, mind you. That's nonexistent on projects such as the embarrassingly bad Stoney or the mediocre but forgetful August 26. No, 'Rockstar' will be there because I suspect the power of popularity will grant it entrance. With 21 Savage in tow, I fully suspect 'Rockstar' to grace radios and emit a commanding presence, one that we haven't seen since 'White Iverson.' Not typically a word I'd use to describe anything in Trap's new movement, 'Rockstar' poises itself as a mature face surrounded by immature hooligans. Of course, the lyrics aren't anything to care for, what with Malone's jargon of rising out of dire situations, but it's his vocal dexterity that proves vital. Never before, no matter how hard he accentuated his roots, has his presence been so enjoyable. Sure, the production sounds like nothing more than an OVO Trap pander, polished but lacking in edge, but it's what Malone does with it that rescues 'Rockstar' from the bottomless pit of Trap's daily surplus. The shake and rattle in his voice alone gives 'Rockstar' worth.
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Sometimes, with how often I dissect music, it's easy to forget that this art, like any, is made from the sum of its parts. You glance at the whole picture, not realizing each piece that went into it affected the entirety in some meaningful way. This becomes clear to me on BadBadNotGood's 'Confessions Pt. III,' a continuation of part two seeing as to how it prominently features renowned multireedist Colin Stetson. The reasoning for this is simple. Prior to their mostly mediocre 2016 outing BBNGIV, Stetson's work hadn't reached my ears. Then I journeyed down the ever-expanding rabbit hole that was the New History Warfare series. However, as of this year with his All This I Do For Glory, Stetson's patterns, rhythms, and formulas have begun to show wear and tear. That's not the case on 'Confessions Pt. III' though, and that's all due to the parts within that sum. Unlike his solo work, he's not the center of attention here, merely a conscious collaborator with the chugging percussion of Alexander Sowinski and the soulful sax work of Leland Whitty.
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