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 | Art Rock | Listen
SWEAT DRIPS AND BLOOD SPILLS AT A ROMAN ORGY
There's something to be said - positive or negative, I'm not sure - about an artist who exhibits free will of expression, only to reduce themselves over the course of time for the sake of accessibility and popularity. It's rare nowadays for artists to get weirder with experience, instead attempting to prove themselves in familiar genres they once neglected. Do not mistake this for criticism mind you, as for Yves Tumor, and plenty of artists embarking on that same path - U.S. Girls, Julia Holter, Arca, etc. - quality remains the necessary ingredient. It's just, long gone are the days of When Man Fails You and Experiencing The Deposit Of Faith, which finely wove social commentaries into sensual Sound Collage (see: 'Limerence' and 'My Nose My Lips Your Head Shape'), advancing a normally dry style of music for the age of emotive expression. Then there was Safe In The Hands Of Love, the perfect metamorphosis between artistic ingenuity, political firepower, and demanding alternative Pop, which resulted in one of 2018's best, most surprising LP's.
Heaven To A Tortured Mind doesn't achieve that same fate. Rather, it finds Yves Tumor progressing steadily away from his origins by embracing a sensual, seductive, potent style of Art Rock that, while not mainstream in the least, still rarely entertains the creative wit and circumferential dexterity Safe In The Hands Of Love flaunted. Sonically, Yves Tumor relies on heightened Glam Rock ('Gospel For A New Century,' 'Folie Imposée') and orgasmic Psychedelic Soul ('Kerosene!,' 'Super Stars') that would present intimidating competition for the likes of Prince, Jimi Hendrix, and D'Angelo. An evolved "Awaken, My Love!", if you will. A few of the noisier tracks ('Medicine Burn,' 'Dream Palette') help intensify this sweaty form of lust and passion, though in the age of domineering provocation coinciding with BDSM (SOPHIE, Arca, Shygirl, etc.) the result comes across as tame and rather subdued. Heaven To A Tortured Mind is a love-making album through and through, hardly deviating from that plot and even diving further with Downtempo, coddling affairs like 'Hasdallen Lights' and 'Romanticist' that become one with the consummate emotive release one experiences post-coitous.
While I can appreciate much of what Yves Tumor lays down, only a few moments land with impact. 'Medicine Burn' and 'Kerosene!' are fierce, as the former bears closest resemblance to Safe In The Hands Of Love's best, while the latter stuns with electric guitars and a show-stealing performance from Diana Gordon. However, my personal favorite can be found amidst the aftermath rubble of Heaven's somewhat disillusioned second half. With its cavernous drums, libidinous vocals, and sugar-spiked hook, 'Strawberry Privilege' titillates with a morning-after air of liberation that's accentuated heavily by the undeniably simple, yet adorably effective background chants. Sadly, Heaven To A Tortured Mind lingers tediously after that, with the forgettable 'Asteroid Blues' and lukewarm finale 'A Greater Love.' Yves Tumor's talents are certainly still on full display, it just feels as though the artistic direction has become too safe. Especially with affiliated genres defiantly moving sensuality forward.
C
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Postcards' The Good Soldier came about a decade too late. Maybe more. From the uninspired cover to the drawling vocals to the stale production, predictability runs the gamut on The Good Soldier. Julia Sabra's vocals are pretty, but too much so. The same could be said for Marwan Tohme's guitars or Pascal Semerdjian's drums. Throw every Dream Pop cliche into an album, and what one would formerly criticize Beach House for, Postcards happily take on that derision. Drowsy passages of droningly-pleasant vocals, crystalline dips into Shoegaze that desperately attempt to insert an edge, and a devout reliance on patterns and uniformity spell The Good Solider's doom.
Beyond Beach House, whose comparisons are apparent even beyond Julia Sabra's analogous vocals, one can also hear the momentous Shoegaze of Kitchens Of Distinction in 'Dead End' and 'Fossilized,' the cutesy Jangle Pop of Alvvays on 'Spiderwebs,' and the formal complacency of Mellow Gang, Pinkshinyultrablast, or Turnover on 'Lights Out' and 'Hunting Season.' There are few moments I genuinely enjoy on The Good Soldier, for it's impossible to appreciate on any creative merits. Again, Sabra's vocals mixed in with the hazy, dreamlike production is beautiful and handled appropriately. It's just also sterile, calculable, and unmemorable. 'Freediving' is perhaps the best composition, providing tranquil space for Sabra to exude serenity, culminating in a lovely chorus that I find myself echoing from time to time. In my eyes, in my ears, in my brain, that hook will be the only thing I'll remember from The Good Soldier.
D
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2020 | Flamenco nuevo | Listen
SHARDS OF CRYSTAL, WIELDED BY AN ICY PRINCESS
Being unperturbed by a language barrier is a rarity for me. It's a shame, for a whole throng of music has been lost on my ears due to this unfamiliarity, as the mere lyrical nescience detaches myself from any form of relatability. Not always mind you, last year Ana Frango Elétrico wowed through sheer Portuguese on Little Electric Chicken Heart. The same isn't true for María José Llergo's debut Sanación. Worse yet, I fear, had an English language insertion been the only change, we'd still be discussing the same tedious, steely, dull project. Sanación lacks any moments of accreditation - outside of Llergo's sparkling, pellucid vocals - made worse by the fact that it's greatest asset is its brief, 27-minute duration.
Obviously, criticism on my behalf is to be taken lightly as I'm largely unfamiliar with Flamenco nuevo, though I am its surrounding genres. I can't say whether or not Sanación falters in the lyrical department, of course, but it most certainly does sonically-speaking, with passages of drab, bromidic empty space. The tempo is irritatingly slow, as Llergo only dares to moderately excite come Sanación's final two tracks; 'El Péndulo' and 'Me Miras Pero No Me Ves.' The former I could see playing on Latin radios, with an Alternative R&B feel akin to Kali Uchis. The latter, Sanación's only interesting moments, incorporates an invasive bass and unorthodox percussion in a similar style to FKA twigs. It doesn't reach far enough though, ending abruptly, and really conjuring up more questions than answers. As in, where was this on the previous six tracks? I struggle to find any redeeming qualities on Sanación, unless you're a sucker for good, run-of-the-mill torch singing.
D-
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