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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2002 | Folktronica | Listen
JUMBLING PUZZLE PIECES, REDUCING HARD WORK TO ART
The Books' debut Thought For Food is an undoubtedly intriguing project, one that takes the generally-safe, human genre of Folk and inverts it in zero gravity. Or, at least, that's what The Books intended by smashing oddball samples, juxtaposing tonal shifts, and cranky Electronics over the unperturbed template. But, ironically enough given The Books' rapt attention to provoke, the best aspects of Thought For Food are all those in which amicable, pastoral Folk takes shape. So, in essence, it wasn't the antithetical Sound Collage or incoherent experimentalism that assuages Thought For Food's grander purpose, but rather how elemental the human fabric is - through Folk - to pontificating on such pretentious grounds.
This causes Thought For Food to hit incredible highs reminiscent of a deconstructive Múm; Namely 'All Our Base Are Belong To Them,' 'Motherless Bastard,' and 'Getting The Done Job,' while conceding to futile lows like 'Contempt,' 'Thankyoubranch,' and 'Mikey Bass.' The rich haven of Chamber Folk that emerges on 'Motherless Bastard,' giving off an unsettling familial vibe despite the song's sample topic, drives The Books' need for butting heads ideologies. When that's amiss, a cruciality is lost, leaving efforts like 'Thankyoubranch' and 'Mikey Bass' to meander around ugly Electronics, akin to Dan Deacon's early (early) career. While Thought For Food is assuredly pretentious by nature, unlike most artists aspiring to such goals, I wouldn't call The Books haughty or conceited. They never lose sight of the playful, even trivial aspects of Thought For Food, and when such a self-awareness is achieved one can appreciate their workmanship more.
C
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2009 | Midwest Emo | Listen
DISINTEGRATING MEMORIES CLOUDED BY THE PRESENT
This is quite the debut. One can't criticize The Brave Little Abacus - largely a passion project by then 16-year-old Adam Demirjian - for lacking ambition. Or drive. Heart. Passion. You name it, Masked Dancers has it in spades. A quintessential Midwest Emo record, one that dabbles in every emotion known to man. However, arguments could be made that the influence Brave Little Abacus undoubtedly had on a generation of angsty, agitated, anxiety-ridden bedroom musicians impacts more than the songs actually do. From the squeaky, grating vocals of Demirjian, to the maximalist production that welcomes any sound that achieves a sensation, to even the lengthy and oppressive track titles, Masked Dancers' reach outweighs that of its own cult-like affection. Car Seat Headrest, Weatherday, Bedbug, The World Is A Beautiful Place, Glass Beach, just to name a few.
There are moments. Boy, are there moments. Masked Dancers is an album of extremes, no doubt instigated by Demirjian's own struggles. Unlike most Emo-affiliated albums, dour pessimism doesn't sully the air at every turn. In fact, I'd argue hopefulness and a desire to achieve greatness sit at the heart of Masked Dancers. Tracks like '(Through Hallways)' and 'Remember To Wave' parade around euphoric release, be it the irresistible synthetic background vocals of the former or the swelling horn arrangements of the latter. It honestly draws parallels to Sufjan Stevens, just replace Heaven with Hell but keep the passion intact. These are my favorite moments here, when Brave Little Abacus stray from termagant Math Rock hellbent on treating every moment like a matter of life and death, and enter a world of spirit and stimulation. Essentially, filling in that outline of a human on the cover.
Masked Dancers falters when Demirjian tries to wow the world. This, unfortunately so, becomes more apparent after the excellent opener 'I See It Too.' Beginning with one of the few melodic moments on the album, 'I See It Too' eventually grows with a litany of byzantine guitar riffs that astound in complexity and sheer dexterity. So much so that nothing after comes close. That includes the ten-minute 'Born Again So Many Times You Forget You Are' and the eight-minute '(Underground)' that each try to reach that same level of exaltation, falling short due to a calamity of combative ideas, skirting any momentum for the incongruous dilemma of uncommon time signatures. And don't get me started on '"He Never Even Existed In The First Place",' which is borderline unlistenable. Highs abound, lows prevalent too, Masked Dancers is a necessary listening experience for fans of Midwest Emo that settles for adequacy after trying to reinvent the wheel.
C+
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Here begins my journey through Genesis and Peter Gabriel. Where we'll get off - because I see the pitiful state after Gabriel's departure off in the distance - who knows. You might ask, "why Trespass and not From Genesis To Revelation, the group's true debut?" Have you seen the reception? I don't want a lousy Beatles imitation, soon thereafter abandoned, to sour my perception of a legendary Progressive Rock outfit. In that regard, Trespass is a lovely origin. Rife with pastoral flavor and serpentine conniving, Trespass adeptly elaborates upon the early 70's Progressive Rock fascination with medieval disparity that exalted both tortuous, dark age traditions and idealism acquired by nature's refined beauty. The distinction on the LP is effortless and distinct.
Preference, for me, teeters towards Progressive Folk - which is heavily featured during Trespass' 'eye-of-the-storm' middling passages - rather than the Progressive Rock dominating the before and after. Similar to Pink Floyd's Atom Heart Mother, as I greatly prefer that rustic peace over the blitzkrieg of, let's say, Meddle. Each, undoubtedly, showcase a band with mighty talent and affinity towards a heroes saga, with crescendoing palates of grandeur mixed with reflective bouts of tranquility. At the helm is Gabriel, a sort of revisionist poet who morphs the distant past into epic fantasy best suited for a ten-part novella series. His romance spills with life or death prose, as if the events of Trespass will not soon be forgotten. Naturally, it's quite kitschy, but is offset by the production which helps drive home the sincerity and impetus.
The idyllic Folk of 'Visions Of Angels' and 'Stagnation' are my favorites, as 'Looking For Someone' - while paced brilliantly - and 'White Mountain' are dragged down by the quirky hyperactivity of Psychedelic Rock's keyboards, a la The Crazy World Of Arthur Brown. 'The Knife' features this style of jaunty place prominently as well, but rather than stick out like a sore thumb as it did on the previous tracks, 'The Knife' and Gabriel build around that skittish pandemonium. Plus it eventually develops into something unabashedly Hard Rock, for a rousing closer that spells doom for the euphoric uprising. Trespass is a solid LP for Progressive Folk and Progressive Rock fans alike, merging the two to create an engrossing atmospheric impact on the chimerical nobility of medieval's lost past.
B-
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1990 | Singer/Songwriter | Listen
BORN AGAIN AFTER BEING FREED FROM SIN
Up to this point, Nick Cave never shied away from reinventing himself. Kicking Against The Pricks confronted Gospel, of all avenues for the deranged transgressor, when Punk Blues and No Wave used to be his calling card during The Birthday Party era. But The Good Son ascends even further, embracing a light Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds have rarely seen, or even entertained. The result is quite pedantic and dry, easily making for the band's worst album yet.
While Cave's vocals hold up against the stark background worn thin by a largely piano-driven palate, the cacophony The Bad Seeds generated that enraged his demons always felt more apt. It's difficult, but may grow with time, to take Cave's born-again do-gooder attitude seriously. Tracks like 'Foi Na Cruz' and 'Lucy' are so inoffensive, evoking the worst of late 80's, early 90's songwriters with weeping valor brought on by a broken soul. Speaking of weeping, 'The Weeping Song' has to be the worst effort here, with Cave's uninspired lyrics that add no depth or specificity to the topic at hand. The Dark Cabaret aspect, one that comes emboldened elsewhere on tracks like 'Sorrow's Child' and 'Lament,' doesn't help matters either due to a clear datedness and trifling notion of mystification.
The Good Son has a few redeemable moments though, namely the title track and 'The Witness Song.' Each use The Bad Seeds to their fullest extent, relatively speaking, recalling past eras Your Funeral ... My Trial and Kicking Against The Pricks respectively. Here, in classic Gothic Rock ideology that twists religious purification through a perverted sense, is where Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds thrive. It's unfortunate then, that moments like these (we can include 'The Ship Song' slightly too) are so few and far between. A regrettable phase that shoehorns The Good Son into an unfavorable early 90's cliched lens.
D
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1989 | Baggy / Madchester | Listen
YOUNG UPSTARTS CARRYING THE 80'S INTO THE 90'S
After hitting lightning in the bottle I questioned whether The Stone Roses' b-side content could keep up with their illustrious debut. The answer? Not so much. By and large, What The World Is Waiting For contains the extent of their limited excess material, acting as a dumping grounds with no real pattern or looming sonic blanket. Styles jumps drastically, from the plain and uninspired Jangle Pop of 'Going Down' to the docile Trance of 'Fool's Gold.' The latter, one of The Stone Roses' most popular tracks, doesn't instill the impact on me as it does with most. Forward-thinking, you betcha, predicating the Big Beat era soon to dominate the 90's. But the ten minutes, which rarely evolve or deviate from a rigid path, is clunky around the edges like much of Alternative Dance in the late 80's. It attempts a rave aesthetic without the ethereal means to do so.
As for the other tracks, 'What The World Is Waiting For' is likely the best and most similar to the general sound of The Stone Roses. In other words, it's essentially the only straight up Baggy song here, as even 'Elephant Stone' leans closer to Jesus & The Mary Chain-esque Noise Pop. As for 'Guernica,' well let's just say The Stone Roses had a fascination with reversing sounds to conjure their Neo-Psychedelia. It works to a certain extent, but certainly not at the level of 'Don't Stop.' Which, friendly reminder, is the best song on their debut.
C-
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