What's a Listening Log? Well, the idea is quite simple. It's a weekly segment that consolidates all the mini-reviews Dozens Of Donuts has given on RateYourMusic over the past week, split between the Past and Present. A straightforward grading scale has been put in place, ranging from A+ to F-, with C acting as the baseline average. There is no set amount of reviews per week, just however many I get around to reviewing. And don't expect week-of reviews. I wait one month - with at least three listens under my belt - before I rate and review an album. Enjoy!
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Brockhampton's position in Hip-Hop is one of notable curiosity, due to the fact that their swift descent was perceived months away. From the get-go, the Saturation trilogy's exposure was one that deviated from the norm. Their unrestrained rise could only be met with a fall. Not in quality mind you - I still defend iridescence as Brockhampton's best or second best (Saturation III) given the time and day - but widespread interest, or lack-thereof. Their musical styles were spread thin, the lyrical content too narrow to sustain longterm, especially as they attempt to age beyond adolescence. GINGER shows the first signs of wear, tear, and fatigue.
Compared to their other projects, GINGER draws closest comparisons to iridescence, largely thanks to the heavy incorporation of Alternative R&B (and Ambient Pop) that plays up Brockhampton's emotional instability as they grow. But then, if that's so, what's the point of GINGER when iridescence did that first, and better. Granted, I could say the same for any Saturation sequel. Tracks like 'Big Boy,' 'Love Me For Life,' and 'Dearly Departed' effort this sophistication, coming up short because of Brockhampton's own shortcomings in artistic ingenuity. 'Dearly Departed,' the best of those three, drops a few pegs on account of its obvious inspiration from Childish Gambino circa "Awaken, My Love." Only the second half of 'If You Pray Right' and 'Ginger' intrigue me in this regard, with their mellow grooves and subtle grasp on sentimentality.
People typically praise Brockhampton for their peculiar bangers, like 'Star,' 'Junky,' 'Boogie,' or 'J'Ouvert,' which act as funhouse versions of Pop Rap cliches. For the first time in their discography, an LP features none. The closest are 'Boy Bye' and 'I Been Born Again,' which, while fine in their execution, don't achieve the enormity and explosiveness you'd come to expect. The nuance in the production is appreciated - especially 'Boy Bye's' take on carnival Samba - just not remarkable or jaw-dropping like those aforementioned bangers. Last but not least, 'Victor Roberts' deserves more love. It's the one time Brockhampton conscious side actually means something, which is ironic considering it's by a total newcomer who, effectively, is Ameer Vann's replacement.
C-
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2019 | Vaporwave | Listen
AWKWARD SHUFFLES AND DOCILE DANCING AT THE OFFICE PARTY
Four years from Prom King - Saint Pepsi's project under Skylar Spence - six years from Hit Vibes, a peak Vaporwave work that aimed to express the genre's need for evolvement, and Saint Pepsi has returned. To a Vaporwave land left desolated, rusted in time like the era it deified. One could argue the lingering artists are those whose passion trumps that of profit, for the latter's effectively null and void. Even MANNEQUIN CHALLENGE'S name references a viral era long since abandoned in, perhaps, a supremely-meta comment on Vaporwave's cemented position in the early 2010's. But now, there's no metas, no aesthetics, no narratives. MANNEQUIN CHALLENGE succeeds purely off its artistic merits and entertainment factor.
Saint Pepsi's Future Funk is prevalent throughout these sample-laced instrumentals, powering forward with discotheque percussion, groovy bass licks, and lascivious horns. Is everything a sample or just the vocal aspect? I'm not entirely sure, which is a credit towards Saint Pepsi's ability to entwine and network various components to make something fresh. Perhaps fresh isn't the right word though, for MANNEQUIN CHALLENGE moonwalks itself straight to a 1980's middle class office environment. Yes, the album cover helps fasten that aesthetic but it's undeniably palpable in the songs, whether it's 'The Party Line' which sounds like a telemarketer hold tune, 'Visions' which feels akin to a poorly-acted training video, or 'Bench Presley' that sweats off with the oldies at a neon-lit gym. There's even seductive tunes like 'Detective Pepsi' and 'Myself When I Am Real' that evoke misty, grossly overstated romance scenes rife with tense sexuality.
It's all on the nose for Vaporwave, but what sets MANNEQUIN CHALLENGE apart is the quality in which these views are displayed. The production is intoxicating, balancing the ever-difficult duality between aesthetic and enjoyment. You don't need to appreciate the umbrella concept of Vaporwave to immerse yourself in this LP. In fact, some of the most notable influences Saint Pepsi fancies himself with are notable artists like The Avalanches or A.A.L. (Nicolas Jaar's Deep House side project). The former comes out in the psychedelic charm of 'I Need Your Love In Me,' 'Sea Tea,' and 'Egg McMacy.' Whether it's from the Since I Left You era or Wildflower it doesn't matter, the evocation of both is there. Then there's the uptempo jittering of tracks like 'Bench Presley' and 'Mr. Wonderful, pt. 2' that rip into the addictive trance of 2012-2017. The latter, along with 'God, pt. 2,' end MANNEQUIN CHALLENGE on such a high note, with exuberant jubilation taken from Pastor T.L. Barrett (I think) and Beach Boys samples.
B
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2019 | Post-Punk | Listen
SUREFIRE IMPLOSION FOLLOWING THE FIFTH BREAKUP
It has been a painful few months enduring The Twilight Sad's discography. One could question with vast levels of reason why I even bothered. Following the promising debut Fourteen Autumns & Fifteen Winters, the Scottish group replicated their identifiable sound ad nauseam, stalwart in their commitment to facsimile. As of this writing, Last.fm lists my listened to artists at 1,438. None - and I stress, none - exceed The Twilight Sad in terms of artistic torpor. It's astounding how insignificant their sound has changed over five albums and twelve years. It Won/T Be Like This All The Time only reaffirms that. It's not their worst, only on account of invariability between their previous four projects. If you stealthily replaced one song from this LP with, let's say, one from 2012's No One Can Ever Know, I bet the band themselves wouldn't even bat an eyelash.
To this day The Twilight Sad's greatest artists achievement is their cover art, and that doesn't change here. Interesting, pseudo-artsy track titles can't reinvent their prosaic sound, as the drudge of Rock convention powers through It Won/T Be Like This All The Time's 46 minutes. Nothing is outright bad, or even amateur sounding. It's just inexorably dull. The patterns are the same, the vocals, the instrumentation, the content, the emotion. Nothing ever changes. Therefore speaking on behalf of individual songs proves difficult as none stand out. The one noticeable variation is a slight uptick in ruminating Darkwave, seen best on '[10 Good Reasons For Modern Drugs],' 'VTr,' and 'Videograms.' Still, it's minuscule and overshadowed by The Twilight Sad's redundancies elsewhere.
D-
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2019 | Art Punk | Listen
SUBVERTING WHAT'S COOL AND NORMALIZING THE ABSURD
One year removed from A Laughing Death In Meatspace and one of Australia's preeminent art bands return with Braindrops. With similarities abound, the distinction between the two are made within the absurd, of which Tropical Fuck Storm hold no inhibition. The sounds are crazier, the combinations more robust and off-kilter, the variations as the group stray from templates palpably unusual. There's an odd comparison to be had with songs like 'Who's My Eugene?' and 'The Happiest Guy Around,' and that's tUnE-yArDs. The eccentric potency, childish brouhaha, interest in underutilized instruments, and untenable bombast all find similarity in Merrill Garbus' work. Here, it's just with a Rock - and not Pop - edge.
Those, along with 'The Planet Of Straw Men,' are the most outright enjoyable songs, relying on nothing but nutty self-release. Other greats emerge in 'Paradise,' 'Braindrops, and 'Maria 63,' which all follow the practice of progression. Starting small, building tension and anxiety, before exploding in the midst of a panic attack. 'Paradise' does it best, with brilliant pacing that really emphasizes how Tropical Fuck Storm's unsightly instrumentation correlate to feelings of discontent. Here, in sound not structure, I'm reminded of Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds' early, Punk Blues output. Gareth Liddiard's borrows from Cave's mental bank, while modernizing the output with bouts of hectic Spoken Word.
There's some moments, including the back-to-back 'Aspirin' and 'Desert Sands Of Venus,' that slow Braindrops a tad, but nothing is outright bad, making this an enjoyably wacky Rock album from start to finish. Favorite has to be 'Who's My Eugene?' though, only because of the insatiable squawking by Erica Dunn. More of her, Tommy Pickles-esque magnetism please.
B
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Too little, too late. Those are my general thoughts towards Apparat's LP5. Granted, it's the first album I've heard of the German virtuoso, after hearing the lovely 'Goodbye' at the onset of every episode of Dark, so this brand of Ambient Pop fed through percolating Glitch could've been his M.O. from the get-go. But now, in 2019, Apparat's larger contemporaries - based off LP5; Bon Iver, Thom Yorke, and How To Dress Well - sour any originality this LP might've had. His vocals quiver against the equally-frail production, causing no individual pieces to stand out. And the ones that do, namely 'Heroist' and LP5's only great track 'In Gravitas,' owe Thom Yorke and Caribou respectively for the merits in which they burgeon. Listen to Yorke's solo work - Tomorrow's Modern Boxes and ANIMA - if you want this sound but better.
D
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2019 | Singer/Songwriter | Listen
THE MEMOIRS OF A TRAGIC, AMERICAN ROMANTIC
How exactly did Lana Del Rey resuscitate her career in the eyes of the critic? Despite being her worst-performing commercial release, Norman Fucking Rockwell gained the hopeless romantic new adorers by stripping back the ancillary facade that competed with her own lavishness. Del Rey, as the tortured artist, is quite the compelling character. Her personal setbacks and never-ending quest for relational deference expose themselves greater than they ever had before on Norman Fucking Rockwell, and that's due to the recession of contemporary production. Moments excused, like 'Venice Bitch's' second half, 'Doin Time,' and 'How To Disappear,' stripped-back Singer/Songwriter dominates the 67 minutes.
And while Del Rey's vocals are great, her lyrics continue to sour, showing no growth despite suddenly becoming the primary benefactor. Contrary to popular opinion, Del Rey rebranding herself as the paramount, contempo singer doesn't excuse her trivial lyrics on self-imposed relational qualms. There are examples to the contrary though, and they typically occur when Del Rey doesn't ponder but rather articulates. 'Mariners Apartment Complex' is an endearing origin story for a soon-to-be romance, while 'How To Disappear' - despite taking cues from Radiohead - reveals Del Rey's inner wants and desires. Those, in my eyes, are Norman Fucking Rockwell's best efforts, along with the ten-minute opus 'Venice Bitch,' even though nothing in the straying Neo-Psychedelia that concludes it matches the unparalleled beauty of the first two minutes.
Elsewhere, theatrical moments that feel destined for a biographical play emerge in the title track, 'The Greatest,' and 'Cinnamon Girl.' Here, the production matches Del Rey's eloquence, rising and falling with hope and despair. Despite doing nothing particularily new with Singer/Songwriter soundscapes, the quality is often-times awe-inspiring. Unfortunately, those efforts are matched with weary Piano Rock that meanders droopingly behind Del Rey's jaded musings. I'm talking about 'Love Song,' 'Bartender' and its annoying, ASMR-like chorus, 'Happiness Is A Butterfly,' and the barren but thought-provoking closer. Norman Fucking Rockwell has electrifying highs that amount to some of Del Rey's best material. It also has extended periods of drab Singer/Songwriter that retort on the same tired tropes, indulging with a nonexistent sense of purpose. No better or worse than Lust For Life, just different.
C
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