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 | Deconstructed Club | Listen
BULLDOZING NATURE TO SERVICE MERCANTILISM
Kai Whiston's No World As Good As Mine has been making the rounds on Internet forums since its November release, receiving praise for its peerless take on Deconstructed Club and monopolization of incorporated futurism. One listen through the 61 minutes and those statements become abundantly clear. Unlike his debut Kai Whiston Bitch, which wearily crept into the genre following the lineage of likeminded producers Iglooghost, Rustie, and TNGHT, No World As Good As Mine boldly incorporates Post-Rock; A relative first for hyper-active Electronica of the modern era. The result is equal parts audacious and scatterbrained. In the end, too ambitious for its own good.
The presence No World As Good As Mine will leave could exceed that of its quality, as this merger of nordic Post-Rock that calls upon the agrestal nature of Sigur Ros, Yndi Halda, and .O.rang, and constrained, turbulent Deconstructed Club could impose a promising next step for conflated futurists. Glitch Rock perhaps? In a sense, even though the genres assimilated on No World sound familiar, the incorporation is exclusive enough to deem it something new altogether. Typically - as we've seen with Whiston himself as recently as XYZ, his collaboration with Iglooghost and BABii - current Electronic music comes in combustible bursts, entangled in a web of conflict, bombarding the brain with arbitrary bits of information. Much like our all-consuming Internet. No World pulls back that curtain and reveals the destruction such a lifestyle has caused, finding our natural world being erased with every pulverizing pulse. 'I Hear Chop Snares In These Willow Trees' and 'Hell For Ourselves!' are the most obvious examples of such an idea, though No World's overall pacing - that of total incongruity - drives home the concept better.
While simultaneously being its strongest setback. The album is just too disorienting and inconsistent, both in short-term spates like the muddled 'Don't Need It' or maundering 'II - Blue Dots,' and long-term outcomes like '(Run It)' or 'II - Beautiful Losers' being shoehorned into concepts they're totally removed from. Ironically, these last two represent some of No World's best, especially the former which is a riotous and sinewy banger jumbling the urgency of Anohni's brand of Glitch Pop. The latter borders on Brockhampton, failing to fit the mood of No World entirely. Likely the best example of Kai Whiston's genre-bridging here is the 13-minute finale 'IV - No World,' wherein his form of Glitch - which has previously dominated the LP - becomes overtaken by nature's robust tendency to reclaim all. The forward trudge of Post-Rock is handled with such care here, culminating in a lovely, albeit aberrant sample of children discussing their daily life over unfettered acoustics. It's a really pleasant and apt end to this dualistic battle of nature and technology, by incorporating an element of organic purity.
C
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How is one expected to properly quantify GFOTV? It spits in the face of expectation, mocking those who've come to expect structural coherency in their Pop music. Ten, matter-of-fact, stream-of-consciousness theme songs that outline the events of GFOTY's favorite 90's TV shows, with a crude almost fainéant behavior. Surrealism would put it lightly, as GFOTV is borderline indescribable. Planned or not, here GFOTY embodies a psychiatric patient with the mental capacity of a toddler recalling their past. Even the cover reflects that. The lyrics are trivial and elementary, nearly to the point of fascination. "It's a very good show about a high school" ('Schoolfriend Drama'), "He is made of sponge and he's got loads of holes" ('Under The Sea'), and "The sisters are so great I will watch them any day" ('Go Home Roger') are just some examples of the bizarre, improv style lyrical dialect occurring. GFOTV is truly a stimulating 12 minutes.
Too bad it sucks. Rarely, if ever, does the whole anti-art trolling work out, and GFOTV is no exception. There's no value apart from experiencing the initial state of shock and resentment. In my opinion, much of art's quality derives from the passion and time poured into it. It's obvious GFOTY scoffed at the idea of tinkering with this, deciding to leave it as a face-level joke. And that, in return, is how it should be treated. Even writing this much about GFOTV defeats the purpose. Though I will say, I don't entirely dislike the Minimalism and how its incorporated. The first four songs ('American Family' through 'Funnguys') features some lovely layered synthesizers, while 'Goodnite' - though utterly disconnected from the previous ten songs - prances around a piano medley that reminds me of Terry Riley. GFOTV has its moments, though they're served like bite-sized desserts amidst a plate full of vegetables. This is probably my most enjoyed F, by the way. It's worth a listen for the brief entertainment value alone.
F
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2019 | Industrial Hip-Hop | Listen
IN A WORLD WHERE THE BLACK PANTHERS PROSPERED
One may not recognized it but Political Hip-Hop is at a premium these days, a disappointing truth given the current American climate. Old-heads are spouting redundancies not worth investing in (see: DJ Shadow's Our Pathetic Age), new-heads are more concerned with image and artistry, and pacemakers like Kendrick Lamar and J. Cole have sought safer pastures in the Pop landscape. Currently, Political Hip-Hop exists in pockets across the country, restoring the age of the underground with blue-collar, fire and brimstone activists inciting the underbelly. Moor Mother is a textbook example of such an artist, hailing from Philadelphia, smelting racial, social, cultural, and political enmity into a stew that's reflected sonically. Analog Fluids Of Sonic Black Holes is the result, a cacophony captured at the eleventh-hour aimed at revolution.
Moor Mother accomplishes this through many avenues. The primary, Industrial Hip-Hop, is the Molotov cocktail burning with rage (see: 'After Images' and 'La92'). Spoken Word acts as the conduit to attracting mutineers (see: 'Black Flight,' 'Shadowgrams'). Dark Ambient looms as the tense, nonverbal hate (see: 'Repeater,' 'The Myth Hold Weight'). And Noise exists in combustible bursts discharged upon impact. There's plenty of modern comparisons, including Lil Ugly Mane's Oblivion Access, Death Grips' Ex-Military, and MIKE's May God Bless Your Hustle (in the incorporation of tribal sound, lineage, and custom). But no comparison runs deeper than Divine Styler's radical, avant-garde 1992 cult classic Spiral Walls Containing Autumns Of Light. Every remnant Moor Mother lays bear here can be felt there, distinguishing itself through modern bouts of irascibility.
Analog Fluids is a visceral record that treats the necessity for artistic enjoyment with as much respect as the incensed messages it aims to get across. Tracks like 'After Images' (which reminds me of slowthai's 'Doorman'), 'Black Flight,' and 'La92' are vicious and fierce, but engaging and beckoning all the same, as Moor Mother presents a litany of shifty, sinister flows one can easily latch on to. Not to mention closer 'Passing Of Time,' with its calm demeanor and relaxed posture, ends Analog Fluids with imperative optimism and pride.
B
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