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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2019 | Electroacoustic | Listen
EXPERIENCING AN ONEROUS HANGOVER AT SUNDAY MASS
The high of Carl Stone's previous 2019 record Baroo was unlike anything heard before. The under-appreciated kingpin of Electronica expanded that realm once again, as he did in the early 90's (see: Mom's), pushing sound processing and multi-layering to its absolute limit. Himalaya, his second record of the year, teases that same approach with a different background. Unlike Baroo, which seemed devoted to South American festival traditions, Himalaya took to the diverse cultures of Asia and that feracity can be experienced handedly in 'Han Yan,' 'Bia Bia,' and 'Jame Jam,' the album's first three and best three tracks. Here, Stone finds beauty in the absurdity of tourist overload, constantly reveling in the sights, smells, tastes, and languages of foreign lands. It's a magnificent endorphin rush that easily compares with Baroo.
Unfortunately, the second half is a slog marked by three tracks exceeding 13 minutes. 'Kikanbou,' the only to resemble the first three tracks in style, clocks in at 17 minutes and parrots Stone's distant past by using advanced looping mechanisms to get from point A to point B. Sort of like Rube Goldberg machine. As for 'Fujiken (Final Section)' and 'Himalaya (with Akaihirume),' there's not much to say as Stone's occasional knack for Minimalism reaches it ultimatum here. The former, devoid of substance and refinement, meanders around for far too long like a monk swaying around a monastery. It offers nothing but empty light Ambient texturing and a slight uncomfortable atmosphere thanks to the groaning vocals. 'Himalaya' fairs better due to Akaihirume's lovely vocals, echoing Bjork at her most extended, but still falters due to sheer lethargy.
C-
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2019 | Progressive Pop | Listen
SALUTING MOUNT FUJI WITH A TRIBUTE TO JAPANESE CULTURE
And the award for most bizarre concept album goes to 3776, an Idol group based on the precipice of one of the world's most famous volcanos. Every song pays homage to a month of the year, using constant time signatures in the form of Ide Chiyono's background counting which perpetuates the 73 minutes. Let me reiterate, there is a girl counting Japanese numbers on a loop for 73 minutes straight. That may be off-putting to some, but 3776 (and primarily composer Akira Ishida) does their best to mitigate the irritation by compounding an even stronger maximalist agenda through unmitigated Progressive Pop. By all metrics, Saijiki is an overwhelming experience that can be daunting, especially as set-pieces from one song crash-land into another leaving no room to breathe.
That's likely my biggest gripe with Saijiki, it's lack of pace. That, and my lack of understanding of the Japanese language but that's not a criticism for obvious reasons. Chiyono's happy-go-lucky presence - which does nothing to negate the stereotype of pubescent Japanese girls as depictions of pure, convivial innocence - is unavoidable and consistent in approach. Saijiki is quite one-note due to this, in spite of the array of futuristic instrumentation that occasionally mix themselves in with Japanese Folk Music ('March,' 'September'), as if to collide Japan's two strikingly-different cultures.
While it's tough to differentiate chorus, verse, and bridge, there's no mistaking 3776's knack for catchy moments that can infest all avenues of songwriting. Often times this is what causes Saijiki's standouts to have an identity, like the ravish, synthetic laser show on 'April,' Chiyono's stratified vocals at the peak of 'July,' or the adorable arrival of Saijiki's lone English speech on 'December' ("Merry Christmas and a happy New Year!"). Unfortunately the monotony of excess found elsewhere sours these highlights, since their appearance is as rare as finding a needle in the haystack.
C
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Dara Kiely plays the role of deranged lunatic exceptionally well. Think Buffalo Bill from Silence Of The Lambs, toying with his victims through non-binary erraticism, spending one minute breathing heavily in distress ('Prolix'), the next screaming in hysterics in the face of his abductee ('Amygdala'). That incoherency and extreme volatility lies at the heart of Girl Band's second LP The Talkies. It's similar in style to their debut, Holding Hands With Jamie, though the ideas are severe and degrading, loosening structure even further to create a cacophony of irradiated noise. Take 'Laggard,' which builds with a shrill, fingernails on chalkboard treble before disintegrating when Kiely arrives to wreck No Wave havoc. 'Laggard,' and the entirety of The Talkies by extension, is a visceral nightmare that undulates and putrefies with unnerving dread.
Best of all, and what separates Girl Band from their influences like This Heat, Lightning Bolt, and Contortions, is the enjoyability that arises within the raucous atmosphere. Too often Noise Rock outfits take dissonance too seriously, forgoing conventional forms of entertainment in the process. Thankfully this line of thinking is changing with bands like black midi, Daughters, and IDLES, and Girl Band is no exception. That can best be seen on the upbeat, one-two romp of 'Going Norway,' an experience not far removed from early Liars, with Kiely's precarious vocals and the Dance-Punk rhythms. 'Shoulderblades' carries this theme with a greater emphasis on militaristic drums, as does 'Salmon Of Knowledge' with its sleek, call-and-response verses. The whole of The Talkies is a thrill-seekers marvel one shouldn't miss.
B
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On XYZ, Iglooghost joins Kai Whiston and BABii to form Gloo; An ensemble whose primary goal is manufactured pandemonium. Ever since his breakout EP Chinese Nü Yr, Iglooghost has been doubling down on his eccentric, but instantly recognizable brand of Wonky. On its own, like 2017's Neō Wax Bloom, it's a bit scattershot and directionless. Equip with singers, rappers, or other producers pinning Iglooghost to quotidian structure however, the result's grow exponentially. That can be seen on XYZ, as Kai Whiston helps engage highlights longer with tactile loops under Iglooghost's typical hysterics ('Teef Chizzel' is the best example of this). This allows Gloo's multi-dimensionality to shine, as one can admire the lark performing Footwork atop while preparing for greater, more grounded longevity underneath.
In my eyes, the star of XYZ's show is BABii though. Not for lack of originality - I presume, much like Iglooghost, the other two artists are following their established quotas - just unfamiliarity. The jaunty, sanguinity expressed by BABii on Glitch Pop bops like 'Drown U' and 'Lamb' are excellent, and bridges the accessibility gap between modern SynthPop (Charli XCX, Hannah Diamond, Carly Rae Jepsen) and the more out there stuff (Kero Kero Bonito, QT, Dorian Electra). These vocal tracks ('C Thru' included) separate themselves from the more expressive instrumentals like 'Maü Shit,' which is my least favorite on account of the lack of identity. It's indecipherable when paired with Iglooghost's recent EP's Clear Tamei and Steel Mogu. Minor quips aside, this is a curt and lively LP that prides itself on convenience.
B-
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2019 | Sophisti-Pop | Listen
FORGOING ONE'S GUMPTION TO INDULGE IN THE SENSES
Four years and a slew of singles removed from 2015's Headroom, Men I Trust return in abundance. Too much so, one could argue quite easily. In response to their extended absence, the Montreal-based Sophisti-Pop band made a resounding decision to hedge quantity over quality, resulting in 71 minutes of limp, one-dimensional Pop that begs the question: Who's being tortured more, the listener or the band? Countless songs on Oncle Jazz abide by the same indolent metrics, including Emma Proulx's prurient vocals that drift in limbo between asleep and awake, and Men I Trust's generic, gossamer guitars that would make the worst of Mac DeMarco (Another One, Here Comes The Cowboy) grinning with content.
On their own, a handful of Oncle Jazz tracks muster enough courage, beauty, and stimulation to warrant repeated listens. This list includes 'Tailwhip,' 'Found Me,' 'Say Can You Hear,' and 'Porcelain.' All, unsurprisingly, more upbeat and dynamic, like the nocturnal grooves of 'Found Me' and its Chromatics influence, or the light Neo-Soul elements carrying 'Say Can You Hear' which wouldn't feel out of place on The Internet's latest record Hive Mind. Even 'Tailwhip' recalls an early era of Röyksopp, and it does so fairly well. Problem is, Oncle Jazz is rife with melodic cuts that not only wist listeners to sleep with their somnolent nature, but provide an induced coma through oppressive repetition of said ideas. 'Numb,' 'Dorian,' 'Show Me How,' 'You Deserve This,' 'Pierre,' the list goes on. As quick as they came, each and every one will soon be forgotten for their identity is naught.
If mixtapes were a thing in any genre other than Hip-Hop, Oncle Jazz would be brash calling itself anything more. Apart from the short openers to each disc, nothing on any side of Oncle Jazz has any rhyme or reason for its placement. Maybe excluding 'Tailwhip (Revisited)' for obvious reasons. Pacing, arrangements, and artistic sensibility are thrown out the window due to Men I Trust's lack of quality control. All to satisfy their fans' thirst and, if it succeeded (I, not being a fan, can't say), then more power to them. Also bad, bad cover.
D
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