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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Whether a primary instigator or secondary presence, death permeates Neoclassical Darkwave. The two go hand-in-hand to the grave, a side effect of the Choral tendencies, sacrificial certitude, and potent religious gravity. Katie Gately's Loom is no stranger to this aesthetic, inundating itself with the grim, inevitable prospect of death through the eyes of her mother, who had passed on in the making of this album. That dissolution, anxiety, turbulence, provides the rocky foundation of Loom, like ocean waves crashing at unreliable intervals with volatile intensity. In one moment - or three, the interludes of 'Ritual,' 'Rite,' and 'Rest' - Gately wallows in the serenity everlasting slumber permeates. Ghostly vocals exist, unintelligible, in an ether of dissonant harmony, lost to the recesses of time, content washing to and fro for eternity. In other moments, the human aspect of rejection spits vigorously with impassioned cries for normalcy. That instability provides the crux of Loom, and while its influencers may be too apparent for ecumenical greatness, the pallid atmospherics and haunting beauty make it a worthy addition to 2020's must-listen catalogue.
Those influencers you ask? It's a range of brash, demanding female songwriters, who've all used confrontational lyrics and indiscreet production to elicit a reaction. Where Loom falters is Katie Gately's timidity whilst standing against these giants. It's Neoclassical Darkwave by nature, which immediately recalls Anna von Hausswolff, early Jenny Hval, and echos of Nico, two stern and intimidating forces Gately's quaint, Dream Pop-esque vocals fail to deride. This can best be seen towards the end of the LP with 'Tower' and the lingering, sprawling drone of 'Flow.' But then there's ominous, effulgent Post-Industrial, replacing mechanical precision with variable, pounding decimation. The ten-minute 'Bracer' is the go-to example, a gorgeous expedition through a litany of styles that recall the Musique concrète of Uboa's Origin Of My Depression or LINGUA IGNOTA, before twisting towards Björk's demented Icelandic folklore with a hint of The Knife's dictatorial invasiveness circa Silent Shout. 'Bracer' is a marvelous undertaking and easily Loom's best.
However, despite the beauty, intensity, and economical pacing, Katie Gately never reaches the size and impertinence of these aforementioned artists (and a few others, like Fever Ray and Kate Bush on the theatrical 'Waltz'). There's just something lacking, an original identity of sorts that allows Loom to stand apart from the lofty competition. That is not to say it's bad - quite the contrary given the track record of those Gately's inspired by - merely contrived with a relatable, but not entirely unique, means of expression. Still, come for the brooding atmosphere and intricate tapestry of sound. Stay for 'Bracer' when it all becomes one.
C+
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Childish Gambino's fourth LP - dropped unceremoniously with no complimentary promotion, cover, or song titles - has become, in short order, quite ominous and fatidic. Even the title, 3.15.20, presents itself as a time capsule for 2020 pre-pandemic, the effervescent swath of soon-to-be summer jams discarded by a community with more pressing matters at hand. Poor timing, combined with a general disdain towards austere exterior artsiness that errs on the side of pretension, and 3.15.20 entered the zeitgeist dead on arrival. A shame too, because all indications point to this being Childish Gambino's best, most comprehensive and resilient work to date.
You heard right. Consider me baffled as to the lukewarm response, something that can be largely attributed to the contextual factors laid out above. Think of the initial reaction to Bon Iver's 22, A Million in 2016, with its empty symbolic overload and deliberately uncouth titles, for a comparison. Much like that album, I foresee time being kind to 3.15.20, once COVID-19 subsides and normality may resume. When judged singularly and without bias, the music thrives under a summer sun people aren't afraid to party under. It borrows the best experimental assets of Because The Internet ('Algorhythm,' '32.22'), along with "Awaken, My Love!" strikingly sensual Funk ('Time,' '24.19'), combining the two with elegance and grace only a matured, versatile artist is capable of. Comparisons sweep the array of impactful Neo-Soul and Alternative R&B artists, as flourishes of D'Angelo ('24.19'), Andre 3000 and Erykah Badu ('12.38'), Anderson .Paak ('53.49'), and Beyonce ('19.10') invigorate the album with an abundance of flair and swagger. Even Kendrick Lamar circa To Pimp A Butterfly can be heard in 3.15.20's decisive closing moments with the tranquil, but all too grim '47.48' (complete with an extended outro professing one's love of oneself a la 'i') and '53.49's' braggadocios ardency that scales to the heavens. Given 3.15.20's weaving layout, '53.49' positions itself, much like 'Compton' on good kid, m.A.A.d. city, as the inspirited, closing credits heroes refrain. It's a euphoric finale that again, given the world state thrust upon it, won't achieve the level of hope and optimism Childish Gambino intended.
I truly think this album is fantastic from start to finish, with the only negating factors being the empty, piano-driven ballad of '39.28' (no doubt a reference, or sequel, to Because The Internet's 'Playing Around Before The Party Starts') and the ensuing track, known to most as 'Feels Like Summer,' which bores by taking a tropical edge off, resulting in a tedious five minutes devoid of the ferment and vigor found elsewhere on 3.15.20. Even '0.00' and '32.22,' two idea-driven tracks boasting their brickbat curiosity above substance (with the latter sounding like Zebra Katz on LESS IS MOOR), add to the motley palate of delectable treats Childish Gambino offers. And yes, much like 'California' - the laughing stock of "Awaken, My Love!" that I unabashedly enjoy - '35.31' achieves the same fate. This time it's borderline offensive Eurodance a la 'Cotton Eye Joe,' and once again every second is a joy. The whooping and hollering by song's end is the cherry on top of this awkward square dance.
Then there's the heavy hitters; namely 'Time,' '19.10,' '24.19,' and '53.49.' The hooks on all four are as astounding as the sensible use of chipmunk vocals, the rhythmically-animated drums, and the heated night of passion aesthetic present too. They're engrossing, elaborate, and most of all, enjoyable. Time and time again I catch myself humming one or the other. It's a shame they won't reach the mainstream ears they wholly deserve. Partly due to a nation on the rocks, partly due to Childish Gambino's careless mistreatment of their appearance (what radio station wants to play a song called '19.10?'), 3.15.20's hits - and the whole album, by extension - will have to wait for a cult-like brewing or die music's most painful death; being forgotten. I take solace in knowing it won't leave my headspace soon.
B+
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2020 | Tape Music | Listen
CAPTURING HUMANITY'S FRAILTY IN ITS PRIMORDIAL FORM
Upon first listen of Ian William Craig, it's quite clear how singular he is in the wave of hermit Ambient artists. Unlike the near-endless abundance of related projects, Red Sun Through Smoke doesn't rely on a single identity to manufacture its emotive release. Think Stars Of The Lid and their Drone, Tim Hecker and his static, or - even though I love him - The Caretaker's Tape Music which, until recently (with Everywhere At End Of Time's final three stages), never lurched beyond his niche, frozen in time aesthetic. Take these three distinctive pairings, add vocals which defies the soul-searching recluse, and you have Red Sun Through Smoke. It's a haunting, gorgeous listen that delicately details the fragility of man, and the inherent weakness of man's voice.
What allows Ian William Craig to achieve that sort of relatable status in an enigmatic genre is that voice, one that bears resemblance in tenor and tone to Son Lux's Ryan Lott. Songs like 'Comma' and 'Stories' evoke Son Lux pre-Lanterns era, at a time when the then-solo artist contemplated the minuscule nature of our lives, especially in comparison to the lording technology building around us. Craig doesn't feature that latter portion, instead rallying entirely around humanity's vulnerability to the elements. I'm reminded, oddly enough (not really, as I'm currently reading it), of War Of The Worlds and the diminishing, self-analyzing perspective humans faced when reared with a being far greater than its own. The intensifying static on songs like 'The Smokefallen' and 'Open Like A Loss' drive home this deafening insignificance, where even the most beautifully-human piano notes become drowned by eminence of something more significant. Those two songs find comparisons as well, as the Lo-Fi tendencies of the former remind me of Lilien Rosarian's A Day In Bel Bruit from 2019, while the latter's crushing and profuse Glitch parallels Tim Hecker's career post-Love Streams.
For Ambient purists, I can't find a reason to dislike Red Sun Through Smoke. The passages are precise and poignant, the vocals add a unique flair, and the organic moments (largely guided by the piano) are drenched in sobering sentimentality, much akin to Nils Frahm. Unfortunately, despite the seemingly endless praise I'm bestowing upon Craig's work here, Red Sun doesn't do enough to fully win me over. The middling portion from 'Condx QRN' to 'Far & Farther Then,' a six-track run on an album of twelve, dilly-dallies around unformed ideas, standing in stark contrast to the LP's best works; 'Weight,' 'Comma,' and 'Open Like A Loss.' The five, unmoving minutes of 'Last Of The Lantern Oil' doesn't help matters, with its purist atmospheric Ambient, as the surrounding vocal Choral interludes of 'Take' and 'Supper' strip Craig's interesting facets down to the bare necessities, removing the plurality that exists when his vocals are at play with external forces. Still, an artistically-gratifying album that any fan of Avant-Garde music should taste.
C
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