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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2001 | Psychedelic Pop | Listen
COMPENSATING EFFORTS FROM A FLOUNDERING PLAY
Ugh. What happened between The Gay Parade and this? of Montreal had it down. Quirky, jovial, and coherent with a side of pandemonium. Coquelicot Asleep in the Poppies doesn't just take things up a notch, it breaks the nob. This has to be the most physically-exhausting, mentally-draining album I've ever heard, and it's one that predicates their career for years to come. Coquelicot features the worst aspect of both halves; the gaudy extravagance of their early material along with the sporadic incertitude of their latter. Few songs - of which there's a whopping 22 - adhere to a linear trajectory, instead darting haphazardly between erratic ideas like the desultory nature of child's play. Unsurprisingly, those able to stay concentrated for their duration are typically the best: 'Good Morning Mr. Edminton,' 'Penelope,' 'The Frozen Island,' and Coquelicot only legitimately great song; 'Let's Do Everything For The First Time Forever.'
Everything else is a mess. Senseless, meandering, absurdly theatrical to the point of nauseam. This, of course, culminates in the grating 18-minute piano improvisation 'The Hopeless Opus Or The Great Battle Of The Unfriendly Ridiculous,' wherein the goal is to, seemingly, vex to the point of exasperation. Smaller moments accomplish the same goal, be it the absurdist, Spoken Word storytelling diversions of 'The Events Leading Up To The Collapse Of Detective Dullight' and 'Lecithin's Tale Of A DNA Experiment That Went Horribly Awry,' or the comatose transformations found on 'Look At The Bell' and 'Mimi Merlot.' There's just no overarching sense of enjoyment, because it seems as though Kevin Barnes and company stole all the fun for themselves, laughing at the idea of sharing it.
After all this, I struggle to see what exactly separates Coquelicot from of Montreal's previous affairs. The styles are the same, the approach and tone are too. There's just something here, and it likely has to do with melody - simple and effortless on their previous LP's like Cherry Peel and Bedside Drama - being relegated to an afterthought. Barnes paints a surrealistic landscape with his lyrics, but rarely finds the platform to back it up. The constant, whimsical abstractions doesn't help implant the memory of any one song, since the most patterns begin to emerge they're curtailed and shifted. It really is all over the place, in the least artistic way possible. I'm reminded of Captain Beefheart's Trout Mask Replica, or anything lacking conception from The Residents of Mothers Of Invention. In other words, pretentious hippie nonsense.
D-
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Chances were strong that The Blaze were a one-trick pony, emboldening a niche aesthetic that emulsified emotion with Electronica. Their six-track EP Territory contained such sounds, highlighted by the wonderfully-monumental 'Virile,' shying listeners away from the fact that versatility wasn't The Blaze's strong suit. DANCEHALL bears no such convenience, as patterns, tones, and moods spoil the riches with redundancies that treat liberating release as a manufactured construct. Certain songs, like lead single 'Heaven' and 'Queens,' contain the necessary Blaze ingredients; That is, pitch-shifted vocals and a building sense of urgency. Think Young Fathers without the need, or desire, to experiment. Those moments of exculpation can be found, decades deep, in the lineage of music, and for good reason: It works. As humans, we desire the underdog, the success story, the uplifting moment of triumph, and tracks like 'Heaven,' 'Queens,' and even 'Places' - though the lyrics leave a lot to be desired - achieve that through affectionate Dance rhythms and romantic synthesizers.
DANCEHALL's major problem is just how safe it considers that emancipation. I just find it odd that they express, or mean to express, emotions tied to imperative events in one's life without the inclination to actually go to the extremes one would experience. Almost every song, apart from 'Mount,' plays out similarly. Humble origins give way to rousing climaxes. But how does the former warrant the latter when each and every song, without so much as a fight, can achieve such exultation? The predictability becomes draining, though The Blaze's idiosyncratic sound hardly wears thin. It's still appealing, though not overwhelmingly lustrous. Interesting enough, 'Faces' is likely my favorite due to its seamless combination of simplicity and complexity; The innate objective of Tech House. Plus, the bounce is out of this world thanks to those Chopped N' Screwed vocals.
C
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Be warned: Norwegians are invading the American, Neo-Psychedelia scene, and doing a damn fine job blending in. The Glow presents itself as a continuation of the ambitious, bedroom psychedelic tendencies brought on by groups like MGMT, Tame Impala, Candy Claws, and Youth Lagoon. Simen Hallset's vocals fall into that frail, dainty male falsetto popularized by Jonathan Donahue (of Mercury Rev) and Wayne Coyne (of The Flaming Lips). All this lends itself to an extremely psychedelic, knotty, head-spinning Pop record that strives for greatness, and occasionally achieves it. The Glow's major setback is its lack of identity amidst the crowded scene its acclimating itself to, falling on tropes and riding the line of predictability. In spite of this, Gold Celeste's talent, more often than not, upholds the pristine summer beauty and kaleidoscopic energy with marvelous set pieces that will burn your eyes if you stare to longingly at them.
'Can Of Worms' opens up The Glow, and concurrently Gold Celeste's career, with a triumphant choral arrangement that spans millennia by using pastoral landscapes and offset acoustics with impassioned deliverance. The chorus, though repetitive, is boundless and hypnotic in all the best ways. Other songs, like 'Grand New Spin' and 'Is This What You Can Not Do?,' aspire to that same delirium, creating choruses to get lost in. So much so that it feels as though the verses take a backseat. There are copious levels of comparison to Youth Lagoon's Wondrous Bughouse here, another under-appreciated Neo-Psychedelia epic. With maximalist production, structural fluidity, a vulnerable male leader, and striking hooks that land with everlasting ease, Youth Lagoon's second album (following his Lo-Fi Indie masterpiece Year Of Hibernation) can be seen as a direct influence to Gold Celeste's mind-expanding approach. That, and Candy Claws without the oppressive Noise Pop elements. Songs like 'Open Your Eyes' and 'Time Of Your Life' sound like stripped down demos from Ceres & Calypso In The Deep. Unsurprisingly those two albums released in 2013. The Gold? 2015. Coincidence, I think not.
That being said, while Gold Celeste may not have a sound all their own, that doesn't make The Glow any less appealing. At times, it strays from the path of sugary Pop, with messy endeavors like 'The Dreamers' and 'You & I,' but by and large the goal of The Glow remains crystal clear. Ending on 'The Start Of Something Beautiful,' another six-minute expedition to counter 'Can Of Worms'' opening, is just icing on the cake as the delectable transformation it undergoes truly defines the genre of Neo-Psychedelia and its psychoactive tendencies.
B-
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If there's one genre I despise, it's Country. Or, perhaps, more accurately, it's bastardized Pop cousin that rose to prominence in the 90's and ensuing 2000's. Insipid, tasteless, hypocritical, and representative of traits I typically dislike in humans, Country has always remained out of eyesight for me, ever since I was forced - like a POW enduring Chinese water torture - to hear it play endlessly during 12-hour shifts working on the farm at the age of 15. Never again. Except when it comes to purist Country with a conceptual blend. That, as is the case with Terry Allen's debut Juarez, I'll gladly give a go. And while the result hasn't improved my opinion on the genre, an indication more so of Singer/Songwriter's dragging stodginess, Allen's creativity and curious, life-on-the-run storytelling helps Juarez remain moderately enjoyable. Though I can't say I'll be returning anytime soon.
Readers of mine know how much I adore concept albums, and it's true. Their baffling rarity in music, whilst compared to related entertainment mediums such as books, plays, movies, and the like, has never made sense to me. Especially when, for the most part, lyrics amount to 50% of an artist's interest. On Juarez, Allen takes the concept album literally, stringing together a story of betrayal, crime, and sin with such conviction that it almost, almost, becomes cheesy and overbearing. There are interludes like 'The Characters (A Simple Story)' and 'The Run South' where he explicitly, through blunt Spoken Word, states the direction the narration will move henceforth. Thankfully, unlike a plethora of albums that features such skits, these moments have purpose and meaning. The songs never deviate from Juarez's story, evolving in a wholly linear fashion, much akin to a stage play with various acts. It's commendable, though without the accompaniment of much stimulation, not entirely interesting. Allen's vocals, his acoustic guitar and dawdling piano, account for 90% of this record, with no variables thrown in to further vitalize the plot.
Standouts include 'The Radio ... And Real Life' which utilizes playful, back-and-forth tonal shifts, 'There Oughta Be A Law Against Sunny Southern California' which is essentially Juarez's moment of imperative impasse, and closer 'La Despedida' which rounds things off nicely with a culturally-bridging border sound. Overall, I appreciate the effort put forth, and most certainly the commitment to the craft, but Juarez lacks in excitability and divergence; Two necessities for a story with this sense of action.
C
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I've said it before but it bears repeating; Few artists, if any, have aged more gracefully than Yo La Tengo. Right from its very onset, with the hypnotic, Krautrock thrusting of 'Ohm,' Fade plays out like a band in their mid-30's confident with their outward appearance. Yet for Ira Kaplan, Georgia Hubley, and James McNew you have to tack on another twenty years, staring in the face of retirement with a mocking sneer. A band becoming washed up is less an intermittent occurrence to utilize the phrase, and more a form of acceptance for any artist venturing past forty. Yet here we are. With Fade, their 13th studio LP, Yo La Tengo sound as bold, assured, and salient as ever.
It's not their best by any means, what with I Can Hear the Heart Beating as One and I Am Not Afraid of You and I Will Beat Your Ass existing, but Fade's satisfaction arrives in the form of tenacity, consistency, and a compression of ambition. The two beacons, standing at odds with one another, 'Ohm' and 'Before We Run,' represent the creme of Fade's crop. The former, a Krautrock exodus that ties itself fervently to some of Yo La Tengo's best works, the latter, a dazzling orchestral blowout predicating the evolution of Belle & Sebastian had they not entertained the idea of Alternative Dance. Contained between these two behemoths are a cohesive, yet mutable bunch that effectively reflect Yo La Tengo's career up to this point. There's the claustrophobic Noise Pop of 'Paddle Forward,' the adorable Indie Pop of 'Is That Enough,' and most prominently, the subdued Ambient Pop of tracks like 'I'll Be Around,' 'Cornelia & Jane,' and 'Two Trains' which recall Summer Sun; an album Fade bears most resemblance to. Though it's striking to say at this point in their career, it seems as though Yo La Tengo are incapable of making anything below pure satisfaction.
B
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