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!
______________________________________________________
2020 | Conscious Hip-Hop | Listen
SCRIPTURES FROM A BOOK BEST FORGOTTEN
What a bizarre album. The mere existence of A Written Testimony is reason enough, with Jay Electronica breaching 43 years of age, certainly not the norm for a debut. Fitting then, given the prophetic language found within these scriptures, that A Written Testimony's release date coincided with a pandemic the likes of which the world hasn't seen in over a hundred years. Not due to religious strife mind you, as this record's overt Islamic worship might have you believe, but a virus that treats all humans as equal. Something the first voice we hear on the LP - that of outspoken antisemitic Louis Farrakhan - would never condone. Let's just say, to spend upwards of forty minutes rapping emphatically about Islam and material wealth, after receiving the assurance from someone who believes white people deserve to die, is quite the black mark to rid your LP of. Talent can only get you so far.
Then there's Jay-Z's constant, undocumented presence. Initially seen as an odd, but compelling hype man to Jay Electronica when he was first heard on 'Ghost Of Soulja Slim,' the stable reappearance of Jay-Z track after track after track essentially reduces A Written Testimony as a forced collaborative album, despite only one name donning the cover. Again, just a bizarre decision given the potential impact of a long-awaited Jay Electronica release. A decade-old song in 'Shiny Suit Theory,' the generic Trap courtesy of Travis Scott on 'The Blinding,' and an ingeminating sample of children cheering after machine gun noises and the discussion of the atomic bomb are just a few more examples of A Written Testimony's perplexing state.
However, though these moments - and there are plenty - are highly questionable, the bulk of the production, which strikes an enjoyable balance between throwback Boom Bap and spacious, Conscious Hip-Hop musings, helps listeners excuse, if only temporarily, Jay Electronica's high-flown mincing. 'Ghost Of Soulja Slim' packs quite the thematic punch, reminding me of how the Wu-Tang Clan visualize New York's slimy streets. 'The Blinding's' first half is so over-the-top, with a distorted bass and spiritualistic vocal sample, that it works. 'Universal Soldier' features exquisite pacing, using the extended melodic outro to its fullest extent. Lastly, 'Flux Capacitor's' final thirty seconds deserve a shoutout for a level of energy and vivacity that one would expect from Kanye West circa 2016, in the Life Of Pablo era. In fact, while Kanye's not present his immaterial spirit can be gleamed across a great majority of A Written Testimony's production.
How does one judge Jay Electronica's debut? I, for one, can't. The lyrics are overbearing and not at all relatable, from both Jay's. The samples dart between curious and borderline offensive. The pacing, at times too stilted ('Fruits Of The Spirit'), other times too exhausting ('Ezekiel's Wheel'). What is even the purpose? After thirteen long years since the legendary Eternal Sunshine it feels as though the Hip-Hop world moved on from expecting anything substantial from the once-renowned poet. And given the strange road he's been down since then, and the ensuing result we got here, it seems as though time has passed Jay Electronica by.
C
______________________________________________________
It happens with almost every Japanese album I've heard. There's a distinct and palpable disconnect, likely brought on by the jarring juxtaposition the Japanese language has in regards to English. Often times it makes something magical and singular, like Fishmans' best work (read: Long Season and Uchū Nippon Setagaya) or Cornelius' Fantasma, but in cases like tricot the opaque cultural barrier sours my perception of what could otherwise be a decent album. Math Rock has its origins in the United States, and while I'm obviously not opposed to - and will forever encourage - other cultures to invest time into contextualizing overseas genres, tricot's resulting use of Math Rock as seen on Makkuro is flaccid, discordant, and clunky. Couple that with the indecipherable lyrics brought on by Ikkyu Nakajima, and Makkuro, at times, becomes near-atonal. Not the description you want to hear from an album with a limb in the Pop sphere.
As with every foreign album I review, take this condemnation lightly. There are far better avenues for critical analyzation that I can't provide, given the language hurdle and general approach to music. At its worst, Makkuro skittishly plots around patterns, lacking a crisp understanding of how Math Rock enables uncommon time signatures rather than inhibits them. These can best be seen on 'Right Brain Left Brain,' 'One Season,' and 'Abunakunakunaimachie;' Tracks that feel indecisive and discordant. Now, that could be my lack of assimilation to the Japanese style of music, as I rarely find the language appealing in a vocalization sense (J-Pop being a prime example), or tricot's own inability to provide semblance of structure to each individual piece. All around, Makkuro is a clunky, largely unenjoyable affair. The best songs, like 'Watch' and 'Junpumanpan,' only marginally eclipse average thanks to some shining melodies and impassioned performances one can't help but take awe in. The rest? Well, can't say I'll be coming back anytime soon.
D
______________________________________________________
Praise abound, After Hours has effectively reestablished The Weeknd as R&B's preeminent figure that straddles mainstream consumption and critical success. However, while interest was at an all-time high heading into the first listen - given how much I enjoyed, against the general consensus, Starboy - The Weeknd's fourth studio LP left me dissatisfied and unfulfilled. While beautiful in style and grand in scope, After Hours leaves little to the imagination while simultaneously advancing The Weeknd's career at a snail's pace. Content with lavish histrionics and the adumbral woes of romance in the limelight, After Hours is yet another in a predictable, albeit talented, run of moody Alternative R&B that has gone to define an era. Let's hope, with the incoming critical success and imperative status The Weeknd withstands here, it can also be considered that inundated genre's capstone. A sonic statement that nothing can beat.
One thing can't be discredited; the production, which could easily make an argument for the greatest in all of modern Pop. It is After Hours' crème de la crème, and a captivating achievement with regards to polish, poise, and perfection. It is largely handled by a team of five dedicated producers, which is why a straight-line aesthetic glides effortlessly through the fourteen songs. Legendary producer Max Martin is joined by Illangelo, DaHeala, Metro Boomin, and Oscar Holter, all with a crystalline idea of the mood The Weeknd intends on setting. Whether it's the submerged 808's of 'Too Late,' the rumbling percussion like lights passing over a speeding car on 'Blinding Lights,' or the nocturnal vigilantism on 'After Hours,' there's rarely a moment where one won't sit in awe of the clarity and opulence featured.
This, inevitably, has an affixed negative however. With such a committed aesthetic, that's executed with laser focus, artistic expression falls by the wayside. This is exacerbated by The Weeknd's rather generic performances, choosing to play it safe by exhibiting limited twists and turns. Each and every song, apart from opener 'Alone Again,' interlude 'Repeat After Me,' and closer 'Until I Bleed Out,' aren't just destined for radio play, but essentially beg for the position given how accommodating the structures, hooks, and vocal affliction are. That's why, when it's all said and done, I have no problem handpicking After Hours as the keystone Alternative R&B record. It represents everything great about the genre - how it has progressed production techniques and mastery, while also successfully coalescing emerging Trap and mainstay Pop - while drawing attention to the apparent flaws; Perfectionism over expression, and a narrow lens on the topics at hand.
All this pro and con talk essentially boils down to this: After Hours features a plethora of strong Pop songs ('Too Late,' 'Hardest To Love,' 'Scared To Live,' 'Blinding Light,' 'In Your Eyes,' 'Save Your Tears') that anyone can enjoy with the most primitive of sensibilities, but lacks some much-needed variety for an album of this magnitude and length. The only track, apart from 'Faith's' final 90 seconds, that diverges from the patterns and foils of basic Pop structure is 'After Hours,' and what a treat that is acting as the LP's penultimate climax. A stunner that dabbles in intense, immensely-textured Future Garage, 'After Hours' flows effortlessly through sections and essentially wraps up a night on the town when one feels as though it's their last. If only The Weeknd removed the fluff and embraced that level of ambition, we'd then be looking at a Pop classic.
C+
______________________________________________________
One can think of Stray, Bambara's third LP, as a melting pot of American music's underbelly. It is my first listen of the band, and my first thought was that, despite the depravity and compulsory nature brought on by the Punk Blues and Noise Rock backbone, a striking level of polish weaves its way through Stray's ten modest songs. As a result, consistency reigns supreme but Bambara struggle to eclipse the mold set forth by contemporaries and past influencers alike. Take a crossroads, preferably one abandoned by modernity as dust conceals the dirt road and a lone tumbleweed ignores a stop sign, and introduce four vintage, menacing muscle cars featuring The Birthday Party, The Twilight Sad, Daughters, and Swans circa 1990, and you have Stray. It's not as discordant as Prayers On Fire or Junkyard, nor as crestfallen as The Twilight Sad's best work, nor as paralyzing as You Won't Get What You Want, nor as conflicted as Michael Gira ditching No Wave for Gothic Country, but what Bambara achieve is a prudent and girdling assimilation of them all.
One more point of reference can be included as well, especially when misty background vocalist Anina Ivry-Block joins lead Reid Bateh as the delicate, but decidedly mischievous damsel in distress. And that's Twin Peaks. Or more precisely, the infamous Roadhouse which arouses evil with what lurks in the shadows. The Noir-tinged 'Sing Me To The Street,' 'Death Croons,' and 'Stay Cruel' all feature Ivry-Block doing her best Julee Cruise impression, and the result helps offset the brooding masculinity brought on by Bateh and Bambara's testosterone-driven production. Specifics beyond that are hard to come by, as Stray lacks variety which could either spell doom for those not onboard by 'Miracle's' foggy unholiness, or promise for those that dive headfirst into that world, fearing not the retribution of sin. No noticeable standouts, but if I had to pick a few with my allotted time on the worn-down jukebox, 'Serafina,' 'Made For Me,' and 'Machete' would be the trifecta.
B-
______________________________________________________
Consider me intrigued by a purebred Totalism album in 2020. Wherever his final resting place is, Glenn Branca is smiling. Especially after hearing 'Against Gravity,' as the Horse Lords somehow manage to invert Ascension's triumphal endlessness with stratified brass, rather than Branca's four electric guitar approach. It's eclectic, funky, and nauseatingly fun, and certainly the best Common Task has to offer. That's not to say the rest of the LP sputters, as opener 'Fanfare For Effective Freedom' manages its time well, dipping further into Battles' dissonant brand of Math Rock with numerous sections, some of which even use African polyrhythms much akin to Talking Heads' Remain In Light era. Much like those two bands, Horse Lords attempt to make 'Fanfare' a playful endeavor, succeeding in style but not so much approach as the song is still, despite the constant rhythms and head-pounding vigor, incredibly inaccessible and, at times, totally atonal. Still fun though, especially for the seasoned vet of cacophonous music.
Regrettably, Common Task falls off following its first two tracks. 'The Radiant City' can be forgiven, because it's clearly an interlude or epilogue of 'Against Gravity,' an unquestionably interesting one at that with its cruel obsession over bagpipes. Artistically-endowed, let's call it. 'People's Park' is likely the most accessible track here, but struggles to make a name for itself when every song around it hones in on a specified gimmick. Lastly, we have the 18-minute 'Integral Accident,' and those who know me won't be surprised in hearing that a track of this magnitude overstays its welcome. The build-up is too empty and meandering -lasting nearly half the duration - leaving a decent moment of euphoric climax that, again, draws parallels to Glenn Branca with a Krautrock blend. Despite the payoff, the 18 minutes are still unwarranted. Thank the heavens it closes the album out. Common Task does a lot of things well, and will undoubtedly incite reaction both positive and negative, but the clunkiness and blatant push for inaccessibility cause even the most amusing passages to be riddled in frustration.
C
______________________________________________________
No comments:
Post a Comment