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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Up until about five minutes ago I was under the impression New Order's Brotherhood was a substantial drop-off in quality, a submergence in redundancy. Well, the latter aspect is still true - save for 'Every Second Counts,' which is an adorable closer that drifts away from their Alternative Dance ruckus - but upon further inspection, when rating each song, I came to the understanding that I never gave Brotherhood its due. Yes, it struggles to isolate itself amongst New Order's discography - a criticism more so on their overarching and rudimentary sound than any singular album - but with quality running the gamut, a phrase that couldn't be uttered about Low-Life, Brotherhood rises above the tired saying: "The album with 'Bizarre Love Triangle' on it."
In fact, I'd rate the lead single second here to 'Way Of Life,' which bridges a lovely gap between New Wave and Jangle Pop. Unlike previous albums, which tend to have obtrusively-bad cuts ('Elegia,' 'Ecstasy,' 'Chosen Time'), Brotherhood features none. It's their most consistent album by far, with 'As It Is When It Was' and 'Broken Promise' being the only two I'd considered slightly below average. There really isn't more to say about it. Speechless in a bad way, some would say. New Order follow patterns based on success, with singles like 'Bizarre Love Triangle' being defined by such mechanism. Within confines, their artistry is rich and romantic. Outside of the box it suffers from evasion and erasure, limiting exposure to new ideas in the process. But alas, their talents - for now - can quell that criticism.
B-
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Usually, with an established artist vying for attention of a community, I start at the beginning. However, after seeing the genres and dipping my toes in 'It's Real,' assumptions were made that, like many in the field of Jangle Pop, if you've heard one Real Estate album you've heard them all. And why not make that their best; Days. While I can't say with certainty if their preceding or ensuing endeavors followed the same routines, educated guesses pin that towards likely. This, considering Days' ten songs follow a rigid, aesthetic-rich formula composed of melodic summertime warmth. There is no variation, apart from the one instrumental cut 'Kinder Blumen,' which invites one of Real Estate's primary influences; Fleet Foxes. More often than not, Days balances this propensity between ebullient Jangle Pop - which feels time-shifted to a 90's landscape alongside Polaris, R.E.M., and the like - and agricultural Indie Folk, spoon-feeding mouthfuls of Dream Pop into the mixture thanks to Martin Courtney's hazy, Victoria LeGrand-like vocals.
It is fine. Safe, innocuous, resistant to any harm or decay. Days prides itself on being an album strewn in laziness, providing a soporific mixture of psychedelic-tinged acoustics and suffocated vocals for that pristine, summer-by-the-lake beauty. At times, like 'Out Of Tune' and 'Three Blocks,' it's inoffensive to a fault. Background fodder as you chat amongst your friends, sure, but certainly not ear-grabbing cornucopias like standouts 'It's Real' and 'All The Same.' The distinction, to me, lies in effort. The majority of Days, however, falls into a middle ground of pleasing but not overwhelming. It's a fine album, but one I can't see myself returning to unless the ambience calls for it.
C
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An improvement over Leisure, that's to be sure. Though, frankly, that was a given. On Modern Life Is Rubbish, Blur ride Baggy's wave into the more popular and accessible Britpop. It's no surprise many consider this the start of their career, as the hooks tower with boiling apathy for rebellious, British youths not yet ready to take on America's Grunge scene. Despite the Britpop descriptor, there's quite a great deal of Alternative Rock on here, at times - as in the case of standouts 'Chemical World' and 'Oily Water' - bordering on Shoegaze's formidable wall of sound. Ultimately though, Modern Life is curtailed by one insurmountable fault; Its length. Even on the shorter version, which contains just 14 songs, Modern Life trudges with invariability that cheapens each ensuing track as they all vie for attention.
Combat this with Damon Albarn's unavoidable presence, one that comes with the same lingering problems from Leisure (his vapid lyrics and cheeky charisma), and Modern Life, despite a reinvigorated stance, still finds itself struggling to maintain interest. As with much of the 1990's popular music, nostalgia, I feel, factors a great deal into Blur's glorification. First listening to their career as a 27-year old is having a greatly reduced effect on me as it would, say, if I were ten years younger. All across this LP, but best seen on opener 'For Tomorrow,' Albarn engages in tremendous vocalise (that is, "la la la la la la"), which is, more often than not, a rather cheap way to approach Pop. It preys on the undemanding desires of mainstream listeners. At this stage in life, I expect more from Pop. Modern Life, while admirable and enjoyable at times (other decent songs come in the form of 'Villa Rosie' and 'Resigned'), hardly separates itself from derivation. Here's to hoping Parklife accomplishes more.
C-
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So I've been told, from reliable Car Seat Headrest enthusiasts, that Will Toledo's career didn't start with Twin Fantasy and that there's a deluge of hidden gems to be unearthed before and after it. "Just don't venture into 1 and 2," they said, as if it was a warning sign to weary travelers. So we land at 3, Toledo's first project that eschewed bedroom experimentalism for closeted Pop grandeur. I'm reminded of Phil Elverum and The Microphones' origin, slowly shedding their Lo-Fi experimental phase with flourishes of delight. See: 'Wires & Cords.' But I digress. Truthfully, I enjoy 3 a lot more than I expected. Here, Toledo is genuine and forthright, unconcerned with expectations or advancements. Considering this was before the fame, acknowledging that context really heightens the appeal of this DIY, bedroom musician using the static-ridden setbacks of Lo-Fi Indie to his advantage.
Take the opener and closer, 'No Starving' and 'Oh! Starving,' with their kaleidoscopic use of layering and slight Doo-Wop inclusion. Songs such as these - the former bearing similarity to Animal Collective's early career, the latter Tonstartssbandht's A cappella moments - wouldn't have the same effect if not for the poor quality in which they're presented. Oddly enough, I'm also reminded of Trance Famers' Dixie Crystals, though succeeded 3 by four years. Each contain that dusty, rusted radio sound popularized by Ariel Pink and the Hypnagogic Pop movement. 'Sun Hot' and 'Summer Bummer' are further evidence of that.
However, 3's best moments are those in which Car Seat Headrest's soon-to-be defining Indie Rock shoves itself through the hiss to the forefront. I'm talking 'Portrait Of The Artists As A Young Fag' and 'Beach Fagz.' One can't understate how declarative the former's chorus is, achieving peak Power Pop with such effortless polish, while the latter exemplifies Toledo's tarnished childhood lyrics and knack for excessive (though lovely) codas. These are the hidden gems many were heralding, and boy do they succeed. 'Ryan North By Northwest,' 'Beach Death,' and 'Beach Funeral' are all more than adequate contributions to 3, causing only 'Beach Weak' and 'Foreign Song' to falter in anonymity. Lastly, I need to mention 'Psst, Teenagers, Take Off Your Clo.' There's a very real chance, if it had been expanded upon the paltry one-minute shape it currently exists in, that would've been my favorite track here. Toledo's harmonies, the Surf Rock raucous, the addicting hook, all pieces I adore. Much like 3 as a whole.
B
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1976 | Proto-Punk | Listen
SAT BETWEEN A MANIC PREACHER AND STREET MUSICIAN
Arguments have arisen as to whether or not Patti Smith is Proto-Punk, an admission that would cement her role as a purveyor for an entire movement. Personally, I don't think her status should be drawn into question so much as Proto-Punk shouldn't exist circa 1975. Once the breakthrough happened around that time, Punk escalated in such invasive and incisive ways that the question needs to be begged: Can something be Proto for a genre defined in the ensuing year? Regardless, Smith came before many, and should be heralded as such. Much like Horses from the previous year, Radio Ethiopia balances on a tight wire of Art Rock, Glam Rock, and Poetry, culminating in a vicious demeanor many would describe as Punk. On songs like 'Pissing In A River' and 'Pumping' I'm reminded heavily of Television and their debut Marquee Moon. Considering that band also originates from New York City and their debut dropped in 1977 (a year after Radio Ethiopia), it's safe to say the influence was direct.
As per usual, Patti Smith puts her own unique spin on things. Yes, primarily because she's a woman in a masculine genre dominated by men, but secondarily because of her spastic mood shifts and delicate treatment of poetics, something those other Art Punk bands lack. 'Ain't It Strange' and 'Radio Ethiopia' are solid examples of this, though their dawdling incoherency doesn't help elevate their status. At times the latter rears its head into the ugly genre of Free Improvisation. Radio Ethiopia's two undeniable standouts are 'Ask The Angels' and 'Pissing In A River,' the former for its whooping, strident Rock that's sorta like John Cale at his most manic, the latter because of its tempered pacing and weeping piano number. Radio Ethiopia is a slight downgrade from Horses, largely thanks to its insistence on repeating many of the same patterns and ideas.
C+
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2012 | Indie Pop | Listen
SURFING THROUGH SATURDAY MORNING CARTOONS
Boy am I glad The Wild, The Innocent, The TV Shuffle didn't pass me by. While preference still lies on French Exit, TV Girl's hidden little mixtape - delineated as such because of a plethora of samples that would cost a fortune to secure - excels by expounding on the joyous renaissance TV Girl manage with Plunderphonics. Rather than slyly incorporate chopped bits of samples as they do on their albums, here TV Girl relish in freedom, overindulging to incur a sweetness overload. The Wild is their most exuberant, free-wheeling, upbeat project, bouncing between ideas at a swift pace that never quells interest. Whether it's the one-two Doo-Wop punch of 'Misery' and 'It Evaporates,' the buoyant saturation of 'Loud & Clear' and 'All A Dream' that plays like The Go! Team-lite, or the melody-rich summer hymns of 'I Wonder Who She's Kissing Now' and 'On The Fence,' The Wild never sours on the prospect of exuberance. A blast from start to finish. And it's free, what more could you want?
B
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Should art solely be judged on the merits of the piece, or should extraneous elements contribute or detract from the resulting reaction? It's a dilemma that has plagued art historians for centuries, and one that'll never have a definitive answer. Me personally, I fall towards the former in almost all circumstances. Facts reveal a vile artist committing indecency, a sudden death, or a particularly pretentious album cover and rollout? All examples of things that shouldn't, in my opinion, affect the actual value of art contained within. Panchiko's D>E>A>T>H>M>E>T>A>L is different. There's something about greatness hiding in plain sight, previously unknown to all but those who created it, that tickles my fancy. While plenty instances of this exist in hole-in-the-wall record stores, few contain the peculiarities of Panchiko's sole EP. With only 30, self-issued copies circulated to journalists and record labels - only to be customarily ignored - the four-track EP, ridden with disc rot, was discovered, uploaded, and spread across Internet communities. The titling, unorthodox anime cover, aesthetic-rich Lo-Fi bedroom Indie, and astounding quality all pointed at this being a modern hoax. Except, Panchiko is real and D>E>A>T>H>M>E>T>A>L predates it all by ten or so years.
The story is fascinating, but it wouldn't mean anything, or muster this level of intrigue, if not for the quality displayed within. Borrowing from Radiohead, The Flaming Lips, and Blur, Panchiko's own stylings emerge in the penniless aspiration towards Art Rock stardom. The differentiation lies not in the music, but the means in which they had to create it. Resulting efforts, best seen on standout 'D>E>A>T>H>M>E>T>A>L,' which is a stunning achievement in genre-blending whose melodic sampling acts as a precursor to The Brave Little Abacus and Sweet Trip, relish in DIY production techniques despite Panchiko's knack for swelling arrangements, subtle nuance, and layered intensity. It's sad to know of their fate, consigned to oblivion, given the sheer talent on display. There's no doubt in my mind, had a record label actually played the CD prior to rot kicking in, they would've been signed. For kids inspired by their idols, whose only outlet was knock-off instrumentation kicking up dust in a bedroom closet, D>E>A>T>H>M>E>T>A>L is a sterling success. The postscript story and decade-defying A E S T H E T I C will only spur its longevity.
A-
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