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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Add Pink Siifu's Ensley to the list of albums that satisfy a curious sound burgeoning in the nether regions of Hip-Hop. With its murky production, self-effacing braggadocio, and contemplative lyrics, the curiosities are in place for a new sub-genre to emerge. Let's go with Lo-Fi Hip-Hop, shall we? Then again, I felt the underground movement of Busdriver, Milo, Open Mike Eagle, Serengeti, and the like should've been declared Art Rap years ago. Precisely, when Busdriver labelled it as such on 2009's 'World Agape,' and OME followed suit with 2010's Unapologetic Art Rap. Instead, everything continues to bloat the increasingly-nondescript Abstract Hip-Hop, despite variations straying greatly from that genre's onset.
But I digress, that's an argument for another day. In terms of Lo-Fi Hip-Hop, Ensley rides the cliches rather concretely. The distinction for Pink Siifu lies in his ability to meld Sound Collage into the mix, doing so similarly (as seen on 'Tht Bag,' 'No Mo Fux,' and others) to Yves Tumor's early work. The songs are purposely jarring, like sketchbook ideas thrust upon the listener without consideration for context. By and large, this works, as it does in almost all Lo-Fi Hip-Hop projects, because the aesthetic is delicate and concise. When compared to his contemporaries like MIKE, MAVI, Maxo (who all appear here on some of the best cuts), and Earl Sweatshirt, Pink Siifu has this continuity in artful ideality on lockdown. Problem being, there's far too much fluff. 25 tracks nearly breaking the hour mark is far too long for an album whose sound correlates best with the saying "less is more." It's a dilemma of Lo-Fi Hip-Hop, as the measures and narrow sound design don't allow for elaborate expression, something Ensley rarely elicits.
When it does however, Pink Siifu shows his potential. Tracks like 'Smile Made Of Gold,' 'Stay Sane,' 'Outlet,' and 'By Any Means' thrive under the time limit pressure, weaving emotive Jazz Rap around melodious Soul samples and lingering keys. Think: Standing On The Corner or Earl Sweatshirt's landmark Solace. These moments shake to attention like diamonds in the rough, as a litany of songs - Sound Collage and otherwise - struggle for relevancy. 'Pops Tired,' 'On God,' 'Ensley,' 'and 'Peace God' are just some examples of tracks that do nothing but inflate an already-bloated tracklist. This is Ensley's greatest problem; Quantity over quality in a genre that implores the exact opposite.
C-
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After seeing the sheer popularity and influence of Britpop I found it time to dissect further. And what better place to start than the origin of a founding Britpop band, Blur, back when Baggy / Madchester was still considered chic and swanky. Leisure is not. Perhaps it's my adoration of and acclimation to Gorillaz-era Damon Albarn, but the man who'd soon become a domineering force in Internet-based genre-blending couldn't feel more out of place on this hogwash amalgamation of Alternative Dance and Alternative Rock. I knew from the instant 'She's So High's' chorus rolled around that Leisure was not going to be for me. The lyrics profuse cheesiness, a sort of adolescent and naive view on romantics within songwriting. The production is cluttered beyond belief, confusing the sentiment of Shoegaze with an overpowering need for attention. And the failure to deviate for 50 minutes sours whatever momentum a string of decent Pop cuts midway through have for the second half.
Interestingly enough, the four best songs all land one after another on Leisure. 'Bang,' 'Slow Down,' 'Repetition,' and 'Bad Day' are all adequate, displaying modest melodies and playful hooks that, when combined, feel natural and not forced. I can't say the same for the rest of the LP, with outright duds in 'Sing,' 'Fool,' and 'Birthday' smash-cut against songs like 'Come Together,' 'High Cool,' and 'Wear Me Down' that insist on being instantly forgotten. From top to bottom, Leisure is dry and tasteless, siphoning the fun and joviality of Alternative Dance or Baggy with a rigid, narrow, and manufactured recreation. Though it existed halfway across the world, I'm finding similarities to Fishmans' early career of kitschy, inexperienced Dub, a style that appears occasionally on Leisure with cuts like 'There's No Other Way,' 'High Cool,' and 'Birthday.' Here's to hoping things improve for Blur, as I know they did for Albarn.
D-
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Well what do you know, turns out subjugating scattershot Sound Collage to a secondary position helps the emotional elasticity of The Books grow. Lost & Safe is my favorite project of theirs to date, best the renowned Lemon Of Pink by allowing their delicate portrayal of Folktronica to prosper. Samples are still a permanent fixture, don't be misconstrued, as songs like 'An Animated Description Of Mr. Maps' and 'Venice' exist to elicit a slice of life, but here Nick Zammuto takes a more prescient role vocally, interspersing his weary, melancholic temperance with Paul de Jong's grand cello work. This results in a more tame, organic Folktronica sound, one we were exposed to on Thought For Food's best works; 'Motherless Bastard' and 'Getting The Done Job.' This time around it's found on tracks like 'It Never Changes To Stop' and 'None But Shining Hours,' as the duo weave pastoral contemplation over crunchy, discordant percussion.
The result is, oddly enough, quite harmonious. The melodies are simple yet textured with a sense of the finer details, not unusual for The Books. 'Vogt Dig For Kloppervok' and 'An Owl With Knees' are great examples of this, with complex instrumentation offsetting a Folk background that typically prides itself on modest beauty. Lost & Safe is a tantalizing record, one that only slips in its bookended moments ('A Little Longing Goes Away,' 'Twelve Fold Chain') where Zammuto's role eclipses that of de Jong's, leaning heavily into famished acoustics without the lyrical importunity to back it up. On the whole, this is my favorite Books record, though like its predecessors, I'm not overly wowed. The docile tones, sheepish glamor, and antiquated restrictiveness prevent greatness from unfolding. But Lost & Safe is still beautiful in a small town America kind of way.
B-
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1984 | Noise Rock | Listen
THROWING FECES AROUND YOUR PADDED CELL ROOM
Welp, I lasted one EP and one album. A discography trek cut short. Why? There's nothing but misery beyond the walls of Psychic...Powerless...Another Man's Sac, Butthole Surfers' debut. Atonal dissonance, childish vulgarities, and restrictive, overly-redundant instrumentation is the extent of Butthole Surfers' style. There's no substance. None except for 'Negro Observer' of course, which is almost laughable in how instantaneously better it is than anything else off Psychic. The subdued, Post-Punk riff, janky horn arrangement, and relaxed presence of Gibby Haynes easily positions 'Negro Observer' as the best, and only, moment on the LP. It feels like an improvement over the Art Punk stylings of Pere Ubu or Contortions.
'Dum Dum's' galloping, guttural drawl and 'Cherub's' unwieldy, live performance feel are the only other positives I can gleam from Psychic. While the songs may be grander in scope, the improvements over their self-titled EP are negligible because that seven-track project has something this doesn't; Brevity. Oh, and 'Something,' which branches the discordance of No Wave out by using other instrumentation rather than your run-of-the-mill Noise Rock guitar. Which is lambasted across all of Psychic, diminishing the enjoyability even for those who can stand the strident provocation. I can not, and therefore find no long-lasting appeal to Butthole Surfers' sound. Grab 'Negro Observer' and run, there's nothing but desolation and destitution here. Though the album's artwork rocks.
F
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