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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2020 | Psychedelic Folk | Listen
A SHARED DREAM, SHAPED BY A CHILD'S IMAGINATION
With the emergence of Do You Wanna Have A Skeleton Dream?, Big Blood's 25th studio LP, a revelation has been struck. Rather than cease arms and rest after tireless hours crafting unforgettable music, Big Blood have essentially revamped, remolded, and reignited the flame for a second leg that's, hopefully, as rewarding as the first. Why the distinction with Skeleton Dream? Well, we can look to Big Blood's newest official member; Quinnisa, the daughter of Colleen Kinsella and Caleb Mulkerin whose ambrosial childhood has been captured infrequently over the course of Big Blood's 13-year career. Coincidentally not, the exact age of Quinnisa whose infantile state was found on the cover of Strange Maine; the band's first album. Her prominent inclusion here, along with Deep Maine's reflective ode to Big Blood's landmark Avant-Folk past, has essentially declared this the turning point. A new voice citing aberrant social commentaries and a curious Girl Group dynamic solidify that shift.
But, as with everything that came before, Skeleton Dream is utterly Big Blood. Rather than tell stories of killer rabbits over a tape recorder ('Moo-Hoo'), play backing bass on Operate Spaceship Earth Properly, or write the concept of 'Pink Eye,' Quinnisa sits front and center on five of Skeleton Dream's eleven songs; 'Sweet Talker,' 'Real World,' 'Insecure Kids,' and the two flashback interludes that provide the crux of Skeleton Dream's fairytale inanity. Though, interestingly enough, it's Quinnisa who strays from the mold of the fanciful imagery her parents so dutifully embrace. On 'Real World' she decries the rampant spread of first world problems, equating one's lack of WiFi to death due to injustice, while 'Insecure Kids' finds the newly-donned singer castigating today's youth for their lack of face-to-face interaction. Calling out Fortnite, Snapchat, and internet creeps in the process. There's a lot to unpack here, as Quinnisa doesn't shy away from provocation; something Big Blood have not previously been known for. Her lyrics scream "le wrong generation," as does the Doo-Wop pageantry prevalent in her songs. This creates a frustrating paradox as what the lyrics lack in subtlety, Big Blood more than make up for in enjoyability as the punch of 'Real World' and regality of 'Insecure Kids' make up some of Skeleton Dream's most entertaining listens. One needs to be reminded of her age as a budding teenager though, while applauding Kinsella and Mulkerin for not stifling her spirit even if it strays from the Big Blood we've come to love.
Speaking of which, the textured Psychedelic Folk is not lost in the slightest. 'Providence,' 'Heaven Or South Portland,' and 'Monsters Of Men' all embody that otherworldly spirit, as the former (along with 'Sweet Talker') pounce with the vicious bite of Daughters Union's Experimental Rock, while the latter sways in unstable waves like Deep Maine's trippiest cuts ('Hail The Happy Hourlings,' 'James Bay') and The Wicked Hex's enduring liturgies. However, Skeleton Dream's two best efforts dabble in creatively-paradoxical spheres. Given the expressed Girl Group kinetics 'Sugar' is a bit more easy on expectations, as Kinsella masterfully (what else is new?) croons and bellows over something akin to enchanted Blue-Eyed Soul. Her vocals never fail to amaze in the litany of textures and sounds they've been able to produce, and 'Sugar' is no exception. There's even an unsteady Noir inflection to 'Sugar' that's reminiscent of Twin Peaks' iconic soundtrack. But then there's 'Pox,' a total anomaly that's perhaps the most in-tune with Quinnisa's definition of a skeleton dream. Right from the get-go with its oppressive accordion pinching, 'Pox' presents a unique side of Big Blood that's delirious, strange, and spectral. Here is where you'll find Mulkerin's only contributing vocals which, along with Kinsella, highlight a nightmarish Halloween atmosphere prompted by the chorus: "You are sleeping, you do not want to believe that you are sleeping." The style is entirely Big Blood, it's the approach that changes drastically.
Overall Skeleton Dream is yet another success in a discography overflowing with excellence. While it doesn't best Deep Maine, the change of pace and intriguing inclusion of Quinnisa helps to propel Big Blood into a new era with revived passion. Not like that was ever lacking. While there's no singular achievements like Deep Maine's golden trifecta of 'Hail The Happy Hourlings,' 'Time Is Coming,' and 'Serpent Skies,' the consistency in quality and puzzling variation throughout allows Skeleton Dream the replayability it deserves. Welcome to the band Quinnisa, even though it felt as though you've always been here.
B
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The prowess of Nicolas Jaar in the Electronic scene can't be understated. Even he, the oftentimes sheepish recluse, doesn't seem to comprehend the clout his releases hold. 2012 - 2017 was the turning point, an album with modest intentions that explicitly broke the mold of Deep House within the public consciousness. Now, Against All Logic is his preeminent pseudonym, and rather than retrace steps worn by 2018's best Electronic album, Jaar twists the needle and amps up the aggression, setting his sights on revamping the mechanical and noisy Tech House. While the consistency still warrants praise, 2017 - 2019 finds correspondence with a handful of House artists both current and past, souring the clandestine appeal of 2012 - 2017's genre reanimating just a little bit.
What I appreciate most about 2017 - 2019 is Jaar's exquisite use of pacing, as tonality doesn't remain stagnant and apparent like most albums and artists prime to reflect an acute niche. There's a distinct undulation, as low-key House cuts commence the album in 'Fantasy,' 'If Loving You Is Wrong,' and 'With An Addict.' These three set the foundation, as percussion takes center stage with an intricate splicing of layers scattered amidst dismembered vocal samples (the most prominent being that of Beyonce and Sean Paul on 2003's 'Baby Boy,' a confusing choice to say the least). However, it isn't until 'If You Can't Do It Good, Do It Hard' that 2017 - 2019's fever dream reaches its apex. Together with 'Alarm' and 'Deeeeeeefers,' the album's three best cuts in succession, Jaar derails the uniformity with bass-rattling bangers that know not the concept of a breather. This trifecta is relentless and sweat-inducing, made all the better by Lydia Lunch's appearance, hollering 'If You Can't Do It Good, Do It Hard's' title until one's motivation for triumph is at an all-time high. 'Alarm' is a madhouse of friction and rage, prompting an offensive combustion of sound design akin to The Knife's most volatile material, which bleeds into 'Deeeeeeefers' and its virtual homage to Chemical Brothers' high octane Acid House. Think 'Dig Your Own Hole' or 'Hoops.'
The comparisons don't stop there, as when 2017 - 2019 descends from the LSD trip captured within its middling portion, Against All Logic takes to a more mellow, nocturnal groove that relies on the aphotic recesses of a club letting out. Once 'Faith' settles the stretched, cathedral vocals invade the monochrome tempos much akin to Andy Stott's Dub Techno era; primarily Luxury Problems and Faith In Strangers. Follow-up cools the hostility even more so, representing the subway trip back home with gorgeous synthesizers and nimble percussion not unlike Burial or Four Tet's Microhouse. 'Penny' isn't 2017 - 2019's best, but the atmosphere and meticulousness land it as the LP's most sonically impressive. 'You (Forever)' closes things out with a bedtime elegy of sorts, failing to form coherency as a dream state of incongruity emerges.
Overall, 2017 - 2019 doesn't best 2012 - 2017, but the fact it's even in the ballpark is a testament to Nicolas Jaar's status as Electronic virtuoso. One of 2020's best albums thus far, and a rollercoaster ride that'll surely stimulate.
B
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Music this emotive shouldn't fall this flat. Yet here we are, on Algiers' third LP There Is No Year. After the impulsive one-off single 'Can The Sub_Bass Speak?,' wherein lead singer Franklin James Fisher lambasts critics, racists, and cultural stereotypes over delirious and modern Free Jazz, expectations were in place for an Algiers epiphany. Instead, laurels have been rested upon as There Is No Year amounts to Algiers' most predictable, safe, and stodgy to date. Perhaps the ship once curious and provocative has sailed, as the brand of Punk Blues and Industrial Gospel prevalent in Algiers' first two LP's, and rampant here as well, fails to elucidate artistry and retool a niche aesthetic with shortsighted vision. On 2015's Algiers, the sound was invigorating and impassioned. On The Underside Of Power, it was expansive and catchy. On There Is No Year, it's become prosaic and drained.
I'm reminded of a band that straddles numerous sub-genres with Algiers, most prominently Post-Punk; The Twilight Sad. The two U.K. groups not only share a fascination with melodramatic thrusts of power, they also manage to make such a compelling conundrum as docile as possible. While Algiers show moderate variation in their emotional strafing, as tracks like 'Losing Is Ours' and 'Wait For The Sound' destabilize the pent-up dissatisfaction with cold and contemplative inner-thought, nothing on There Is No Year warrants repeated listens as we savored on The Underside Of Power. 'Dispossession' and 'Void,' unsurprisingly the two lead singles, are the only tracks to match Algiers' combustible spirit with a necessary punch to the gut that rewards listeners who endure. The latter, likely being the most accessible for its brief and spontaneous Punk. It's the one spark of life, and it comes far, far too late. To some, it doesn't come at all since it sits as nothing more than a digital bonus track, one that the physical album lacks.
D
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On their previous album One Eye Sees Red, Lonker See set a course for the stars with Space Rock that drifted through the asteroid belt, collisions with breakneck rocks signaling constant doom. It was a successful amalgamation of Psychedelic Rock and Avant-Garde Jazz, though the timing may have been fifty years too late. With Hamza, Lonker See pair down the excessive flightiness by enforcing a restriction on double-digit track lengths, allowing for a more tenable, wide-spread appeal. The strengths arise in this coerced limitation, as Lonker See ratchet down the free-flowing, Jam Band-like grooves for structural adaptability. The pacing is Hamza's calling card, though the steadfast similarity between songs and anticipated undulating tactics prevent greatness from unfolding.
Back on the subject of pacing though, Hamza truly feels like an expedition through our galaxy. Like a safari or jungle cruise through each planet's concealed mysteries. Some, like opener 'Infinite Garden' and 'Hamza,' are sobering and dormant, relying on Slowcore and Dream Pop (without the Pop) to experience a surrealistic meditation. Or a foreign seance, take your pick. These are usually the weaker moments, as their atmospheric inertia can't surpass the need for such extended lengths, causing them to drift with no satisfying payoff. That isn't the case for some of Hamza's best though, like 'Gdynia80,' 'Open & Close,' and 'Earth I Flat.' These tracks are mammoths, like Jupiter, Saturn, and Uranus. They produce tumultuous storms, whipping dust around plumes of smoke at hundreds of miles an hour. Death to anyone who comes in contact, each beastly configuration scales to apocalyptic levels, especially standout 'Open & Close' with its barbarous and abhorrent second half. Take King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard's immense Psychedelic Rock experiments, remove the frivolous human element, and you have Hamza.
C+
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