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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Stumbling upon Laraaji's Vision Songs on a website devoted to rating music in 2020 has to be just as perplexing as those who saw the street preacher playing his modified zither in person circa late 70's New York City. Most came to know of Laraaji through Brian Eno, who gifted the spiritual improvisationalist with Ambient 3: Day Of Radiance. Not me though, as the mystery and befuddlement of Vision Songs was enough to arose suspicion. As a bonafide atheist who sees no power in spirituality or mysticism, religious works of art rarely have a substantial effect on me, outside of records like Pastor T.L. Barrett's Like A Ship that embellishes the euphoric theatrics Gospel music always tends to hyperbolize. The latter rings palpably true for Vision Songs, as it's rambling aphorisms and forged enlightenment nears the point of sardonicism.
Numerous times throughout Vision Songs I couldn't help but chuckle, for Laraaji's rabbit hole of reality detachment grew extensively warped with each self-aggrandizing sermon. It's quite the apt representation of your crackpot street preacher, indebted to peace at such extreme levels that the constant vitriol spewed in response, nor the dire circumstances of their squalor, nor the grim prospects of humanity as a whole, seem to affect them. In a way, I envy that endurable vow of ignorance, for at the very least, the self-actualizing purpose of the individual is fulfilled. As much as Vision Songs seems like a pamphlet handed out to cynics in hopes of converting lost souls, it also acts like Laraaji's own manuscript or meditative cassette to achieve a singular higher being. I can respect that. For while I don't particularly enjoy Vision Songs, and its bumbling New Age mumbo jumbo that sounds like discount Arthur Russell, it's hard to abhor such humble aspirations.
D-
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I must say, my first experience with Car Seat Headrest's 4 was abysmal. Fret not Will Toledo, it had nothing to do with you. Well, partially, for the intense Lo-Fi aesthetic - which reaches a breaking point on 4, as the guitars become increasingly tuneless, discordant, and parched - obliterated my eardrums as I went on a spur-of-the-moment nighttime jog in the rain. Because why not. 4's bedroom amateurism, mixed with my headphones' amplifying disagreement with falling water intruding on their electrical being, forced me to question Car Seat Headrest's sanity. A second listen under more uncluttered circumstances negated such concern. Much like the numbered albums that came before, 4 peers into the mind of a lost adolescent through existential sonic release. Toledo's ability to resonate sensations of invisibility in the age of interconnectivity is truly something to admire. However, more often than not, the ataxia of 4 (seen most prominently on 'Even The Who Knows' and 'Dickless Heart') seems to prioritize reaction over engagement. Aesthetic shrouds content, if you will.
When it doesn't, 4 hits like a wrecking ball. There are moments on here, primarily the album's obvious peaks, which seem to set the stage for Twin Fantasy's frantic grandeur. Opener 'A Good Bridge' is a solid example, but 4 doesn't truly shine until 'The Ghost Of Bob Saget' and 'Around,' two stunners each with their own identity shrink-wrapped in a plethora of passages. 'Around's' endless guitar edging, eventually succumbing to a triumphant trumpet release, is wonderfully-orchestrated, and Car Seat Headrest's first magnificent song. Nothing else on 4 achieves that level of turbulent release, and though Toledo's lyrical content is fine throughout (sans the questionable homage to Daniel Johnston, a song marred by a putrid chorus), one can't help but question what an entire album of epics would sound like. Next year, in 2011, Twin Fantasy would have that answer.
B-
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Perhaps the most popular record from history's most popular band. Abbey Road carries quite the resounding weight with it, and with due reason. Not because of the over-analyzed cover, or the hit singles, but rather the consummate summation of The Beatles' entire discography. It doesn't take dashes leaps like Sgt. Pepper's, though arguments could be made - with the second half's pattern and 'I Want You's' searing climax - that Progressive Rock's insurgence in the U.K. scene snuck its way into The Beatles' final hooray. It was likely for the best that The Beatles called it quits, for torchbearers transitioning to coattail-riders usually doesn't bode well for legacy. Abbey Road is a statement, one that proved The Beatles were capable of greatness, be it in the creative or popular sense, amidst peace-wielding turmoil.
For the most part, I agree with the consensus on Abbey Road's best songs. 'Come Together,' 'Something,' 'I Want You,' 'Here Comes The Sun,' 'Carry That Weight,' and 'The End.' Nothing surprising there, these are all lovely songs with harmonious vocals, sunshine psychedelics, and one, my favorite, that invades such serenity with a vicious bite. One could criticize Abbey Road for lack of evolution though, as regurgitated ideas - though splendid and divine - run rampant. It seems like an amalgamation of all the good that came from The Beatles' past, be it the Baroque Pop of Help! or Rubber Soul in 'Here Comes The Sun' or 'Because,' the off-brand kookiness of Sgt. Pepper's or Magical Mystery Tour in 'Maxwell's Silver Hammer' or 'Octopus' Garden,' or the stimulating Pop Rock of White Album with 'Come Together' or 'You Never Give Me Your Money.' Every prominent Beatles incarnation appears here, which makes the coherency of the first half quite grim. Quality trumps that though, as does the second's half peculiar string that, while mildly inferior given the half-formed ideas, still maintains interest due to its curious stride.
With one album to go, Let It Be, I, like most, will struggle to declare a Beatles favorite. Their string since Revolver has been truly unprecedented, and to know all that happened in the span of three years is a fascinating achievement that, given the nature of music nowadays, may never be touched.
A-
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