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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At long last, my journey through Tim Hecker's discography has reached its end, circling back from the embarkation; 2013's Virgins. Was it worth it? Not particularly no, as my perception of Ambient has been further soured with Hecker's stubborn tenacity and unwavering commitment to texture. However, we end on a relative high with Ravedeath, 1972 which, for me, slides alongside Radio Amor as one of only two Hecker projects I'd consider redeemable. Beauty lies at the heart of reasoning, as Ravedeath dissects music and sound for its potential discordance, stringing together these scattered ruminations with passion and ambition; the latter a first for Hecker's work.
Here, the Noise doesn't quiver at the sight of disruption as seen on Mirages or Harmony In Ultraviolet, but rather owns the spotlight ferociously, much akin to Shoegaze or blistering Noise Pop. This is best seen on 'Piano Drop,' 'In The Fog III,' and 'Hatred Of Music I,' all of which swell with distinguished, grotesque grandeur that forces your ear towards it rather than away from it. This, ever so subtly, defies the nature of Ambient. The album cover - depicting a collection of MIT students throwing a piano off of a rooftop - represents this aversion towards normality, or pattern. Granted, Hecker's Ambient often feels more predictable than any Pop singer, but the gravity and exigency behind his message deals a great dose of consequential denotation.
Even the quieter moments, namely one of Hecker's purest works 'No Drums' and 'Analog Paralysis, 1978,' highlight and offset the beauty in substance with strained restrictiveness. Both of these, especially the former, draw distinct comparisons to William Basinski's Minimalism. An apt comparison given The Disintegration Loops, a suite of somber eulogies to the end of sound. Closer 'In The Air III' excels by providing a hopeful spin on this downtrodden belief, with a pipe organ that pierces the fog of textureless immaterial with harmony. A lovely finale to this expedition through Hecker for me. Though, admittedly so, based on the very basis by which the producer prides his work it's difficult for me to offer resounding praise. There's still so much left to the imagination.
Though, I suppose, that's the point.
C+
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Few albums depict Exotica with such pronounced flair as Yma Sumac's Mambo!. Illustrated gloriously on the cover, mid-sway with exaggerated hand gestures and facial contortions, Sumac's wholly original operatic vocals basically manifest themselves in her visual caricature. That lies at the crux of Mambo!, an album with great expression, sensation, and feeling. The Peruvian lyrics are a moot point of contention, as the power of Sumac as a singer lies in her unwieldy range and arresting stranglehold on beatitude. Tracks like 'Bo Mambo,' 'Gopher,' and 'Malambo No. 1' are excellent examples of such an attitude, reminding me of Björk or Joanna Newsom and their ability to transform expectation into reverie by ludicrous means. 'Gopher,' with its outrageous birdcall vocals, recalls Björk's live performance of 'It's Oh So Quiet' where she morphs, briefly, into a dolphin.
Needless to say, Sumac's vocals are the star of the show. And for fans who can be entertained by such unquestionable talent, Mambo! will undoubtedly appeal. However, as is the case with almost all primitive music (this released in 1954 after all), variety and demiurgic artistry is largely absent. Intrigue will arise in the peculiarities Mambo! offers for American listeners who've grown accustomed to certain expectations when 50's music comes to mind, as Sumac goes over the top in terms of ecstasy, so much so that it's difficult to match nigh on 70 years later. The extremism on tracks like 'Taki Rari,' 'Five Bottles Mambo,' and 'Jungla' can't be understated, even if the quality and replay value struggles to sustain above anything more than a gimmick. Mambo!'s insistence on, well, Mambo, makes it difficult for Sumac to branch out into other respects. Thankfully the LP is brief and doesn't overindulgence in something that's a known ephemeral.
Also I'm deeply reminded of Office Space's magnificent soundtrack when listening to some songs here, namely 'Taki Rari,' 'Chicken Talk,' and 'Indian Carnival.' Contrasting the mundanity of 9-5 life with exuberant gaiety was, and is still, genius.
C
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It's official; Kveikur is my favorite Sigur Rós record. Always a band with beauty on their mind - a major selling point no one can dispute - the despondent level of reticence that dominated Post-Rock staples like Ágætis byrjun and ( ) never captured the imagination I constantly felt slipping away. Similar to Talk Talk, Sigur Rós' stark depiction of fantasy enchanted like a Grimm fairytale, and received the same criticism, that of parallelism turning daytime reverie into nighttime drowsy, those influential allegories received. Kveikur is not hindered by the same fate, bifurcating Sigur Rós' sound into two distinct, polar opposite styles that work in eminent tandem. Put frankly; Dark and light, as clangorous and moody Post-Industrial parlays diabolically with splendid and uplifting Dream Pop. Post-Rock is merely the ensuing concoction.
As was previously the case, my favorite Sigur Rós songs tend to be those that reach for the heavens with delirious vigor. Think 'Festival' or 'Popplagið.' Well, Kveikur has three such efforts, and they're each wrapped up in ornate Chamber Pop. 'Ísjaki,' 'Stormur,' and 'Rafstraumur.' All three are distinct, yet ride a familiar palate that is not too far removed from revamped, modernized Christmas canticles. Chimerical instrumentation, like glockenspiels and carillons, orchestrate bombastic Art Rock production that takes maximalism and runs with it. Excluding 'Festival,' which owns a special place in my heart, each and every one of these three could make a case for second favorite Sigur Rós song.
This, somewhat, goes against the general consensus of Kveikur, as more were attracted to the darkened, Post-Industrial crevices of the LP. The masqueraded Noise on 'Brennisteinn,' and how that affectedly morphs into translucent, icy Ambient is a sight to behold. The same could be said for 'Hrafntinna,' a track that ends with a glorious, minute-long eulogy that bears resemblance in tonality to William Basinski's grim doldrums. To me, neither of these moments - or the final moment of obstreperous iniquity, 'Kveikur' - represent the album as a whole. Kveikur very much feels like an album about good trumping evil, like those aforementioned Grimm fairytales where the conclusion - that of the altruist being rewarded, the evildoer receiving penance - perpetually occurs as an insistence upon reality to reflect their means. It's a gorgeous project that reveals its worth in a myriad of dimensions. A catalyst for one's self-serving enrichment.
B+
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Caught in the eye of Post-Rock's storm, Mogwai Young Team can be seen as quite the quintessential experience for those seeking refuge in the genre's ominous disguise. That is to say, it's not original at all and blends into the foreground with minimal distinction to separate Mogwai from the flock of intrepid killjoys. Slint is an obvious string to connect, as Young Team borrows heavily from Spiderland with its tenuous instability and restless storytelling. The former, as seen best on 'Like Herod,' is handled quite well, as the dynamism of the soft/hard parlay gets taken to such an extreme that each jolt of ferocity will send shockwaves. The latter, hampers the LP with such poor mixing that makes dissecting the lyrics - and purpose of said lyrics - almost impossible. Their frequency is such that one can't ignore whenever vocals arise, yet struggle to discern what's even being said. 'Katrien' is Young Team's biggest offender of this. It doesn't help that 'R U Still In 2 It?'s' mellow grooves force the vocals into prominence, thus confirming Mogwai's know-how to properly tune them, yet stubbornness in refusing elsewhere.
Unlike many of Post-Rock's established taste-makers who revel in generic platitudes, Young Team actually features a decent amount of variety to add some spice to the downtrodden. Though it does tend to boil down to variations on the soft and hard dynamic, such as 'Radar Maker's' Modern Classical and 'With Portfolio's' Harsh Noise respectively. The aforementioned 'R U Still In 2 It?' features an excellent diversion into Slowcore that's eloquently-paced and gorgeously-foreboding. But nothing soars higher than the 16-minute closer 'Mogwai Fear Satan,' a textbook Post-Rock odyssey that manages to surpass almost every contemporary with a rush of percussion that highlights the optimism at the crux of all Post-Rock endeavors. The underlying Krautrock doesn't hurt either. I'm drawn on 'Mogwai Fear Satan,' as I am with much of Young Team, to Do Make Say Think. Their 19-minute trudge 'The Fare To Get There' functions in much the same, voyaging way. Difference being, their sense of optimism isn't shielded behind sepulchral melodramatics, providing a much better alternative to what Mogwai muster on their debut.
C-
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1986 | Neo-Psychedelia | Listen
ENSNARED BY A JEWEL-ENCRUSTED BOOBY TRAP
Regrettably so, Island Of Jewels highlights the crux of Legendary Pink Dots' aesthetic I so wish they'd disembark from. Like Curse or The Tower, Island Of Jewels revels in kitschy, Halloween fanfare that treats ghosts, myths, and lost medieval civilizations as substitutions for real horror. Unlike Asylum, which diversified Legendary Pink Dots' portfolio with mysterious, mid-80's chintzy equal parts cheesy and pragmatic, Island removes entirely the second half leaving a gaudy and grotesque experience that has aged horribly.
There are no tracks that I can say I wholeheartedly enjoy, though moments do arise. Sometimes Legendary Pink Dots' commitment is so brazen and bold you can't help but succumb to such trivialities, like the extremism found in 'Emblem Parade's' strings or 'Rattlesnake Arena's' electric guitars. The last minute of 'Our Lady In Darkness' is also pleasurable, and really brings out the film score aspect Island Of Jewels harbors. Not that it's particularly successful, but the intensity and gravity by which these elements are mixed really draw comparisons to some student-made slasher film. Blunt, edgy, and anything but subtle. There's merit to that madness, one just won't find it here.
D
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1986 | Gothic Rock | Listen
WATCHING THE FUNERAL IN HANDCUFFS AND CHAINS
The consensus is right with this one: Your Funeral ... My Trial is the first great Nick Cave album. It all comes down to identity, as the savage power and dreary substance merge effortlessly into somber tales of passion, pain, and remorse. Not to mention, the brisk tracklist of eight helps to instill Nick Cave's caliginous situation without overindulging as most musicians would. The mood is achieved right off the bat with Your Funeral's best, 'Sad Waters,' a melodic and periodically hopeful ballad that borders on Post-Punk masterpiece, drawing similarities to Joy Division's most despondent efforts. It's gorgeous and will never become stale thanks to the underlying melody and drive.
Then comes 'The Carny,' a tonal shift like none other, and Your Funeral's most provocative piece. While it fails to match the atmosphere found elsewhere, with its outrageous carnival ostentation akin to Tom Waits, there's no doubting the impact and curiosity 'The Carny's' whopping eight minutes presents. Though I still feel it would've been better suited to an exiled single, rather than shoehorned into Your Funeral's lugubrious, downtempo first half. Even placed in the second half, next to the likes of 'Jack's Shadow' and 'Hard On For Love' that emphasize The Bad Seeds' early No Wave, Gothic Rock influence, would've suited 'The Carny' better. But alas, a minor quip given the sterling quality abound.
'Your Funeral My Trial,' rightfully so, receives much praise for Cave's lyrical exigency and the production's matching procession, but not enough exaltation goes to closer 'Long Time Man.' These two, paired with 'Sad Waters,' creates an unstoppable trilogy of ballad bliss, and compliment each other by presenting Cave's paradoxical emotional state. Whereas 'Your Funeral' dove deep into his state of despair, 'Long Time Man' finds Cave's confidence and prowess on the come up. Almost menacing in its revealing case of revenge. An excellent closer to an excellent album, though it's not as superior to Kicking Against The Pricks as many believe.
B
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