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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I know nothing about Auscultation, and I won't pretend to. So let's merely delve into the meat of III, an Outsider House record taken literally. Not in the sense of artistic austerity, but rather that feeling one gets walking by a club with the sensation of convivial claustrophobia not weighing down on you. Like many in Electronica nowadays, Auscultation functions in moody, ethereal beats providing a sense of gravity and peril. However, where one usually finds dejection with the likes of Clark, Andy Stott, or Demdike Stare, III maneuvers its way towards faint optimism. These songs are uplifting, via a secondary glance. It's like watching a music festival from outside the gates. Auscultation uses many formal tactics for eliciting such an ambiance, cascading between rigid Techno beats, aquatic tones, and even some clashing Synthpop-esque synths. Though the song itself isn't III's best, 'Flottant' flaunts all three of these laterally as the song progresses.
Which is likely III's greatest weakness; the predictable pacing. Though the depth in Auscultation's music is lavish and filled with texture, the structural contumacy clearly shows an artist comfortable in an environment, uninterested in branching out. Granted, that tends to be the folly of Techno as a whole. Though its pattern is likely the most formal, 'Turn Down These Voices' takes the cake as III's best, with a litany of tantalizing sounds flowing in and out of the ether. And though the vocal termagant by track's end isn't the high payoff one would expect, the journey getting there satisfies with irresistible divinity. Straying from the norm, 'Exit' also deserves mention as a solid, reflective closer that strips percussion in favor of a tranquil rising sun. I'm reminded of the temperament moments on Pantha du Prince's Conference Of Trees here.
C
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2020 | Pop Rock | Listen
BOOMBOX BY THE POOL, THE PERFECT SUMMER VACATION
Against all odds, at least those arbitrarily made up in my mind, HAIM pulled it off. Three upper-class, L.A. hybrids leeching off the creative prowess of 60's and 70's Pop Rock revitalize the dying hippy era during a year where revolt, not pacifism, is needed. It was a recipe for disaster. Yet Women In Music Pt. III flourishes in nearly every regard, reanimating a litany of trends through favorable rose-tinted glasses, at the cost of HAIM's own individuality. It should go without saying but originality is clearly the biggest fault here, as direct connections to a laundry list of musicians can be heard. Whether it's Lou Reed ('Summer Girl'), Waxahatchee ('The Steps'), Judee Sill ('Hallelujah'), or Wilco ('Up From A Dream'), a sigh of relief occurs in HAIM's ability to pull off each disparate avenue.
This is an album that excels off quality, not so much structure or coherency. One minute the trio's entrenched in 90's Contemporary Country ('Gasoline'), the next they're clumsily grooving over New Jack Swing ('3 AM,' the album's worst cut). Then there's uptempo Indietronica turned Arthur Russell concoction in 'I Know Alone,' disconnected Acoustic Rock on 'FUBT,' or even Savage Garden-inspired Synthpop courtesy of 'Now I'm In It.' Women In Music is less a reflection of HAIM and more a dissertation on their eclectic upbringing and knack for maintaining relevance in a modern era that doesn't care for kitschy trends of a bygone time. Quality is the one repeating factor, as even Women In Music's worst are nothing more than below average, half-formed ideas ('3 AM,' 'Leaning On You,' 'Man From The Magazine'). Their removal, and the formal conclusion of the superior bonus tracks to a condensed baker's dozen, would've resulted in a much more concise project.
But regardless, though they're separated ambiguously, greatness still exists. The rolling percussion and guttural bass of 'Up From A Dream' provides an excellent, gritty Western feel, whereas 'The Steps' provides a great anthem for the empowered female. The esteemed nature of 'Now I'm In It' and 'Summer Girl' have been discussed already, their formidable constitution hasn't changed whatsoever. 'Los Angeles' and 'Don't Wanna' inject Sophisti-Pop with some Dance-Pop buoyancy, with enough dynamic energy to force them away from the label Yacht Rock. 'I Know Alone's' curiously nocturnal production and 'All That Ever Mattered's' howling vocals help personify those cuts too. Honestly, there's a lot to like on Women In Music. It's an easy, breezy summer record, one that I wouldn't second guess returning to.
B
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2020 | West Coast Hip-Hop | Listen
GROWN ON A LIFE LIVED, A FATHER REFLECTS FOR HIS SON
Miles is a miracle. Miles is a masterpiece. Never in my life would I have imagined a 95-minute opus to rise from the ashes of Blu's tumultuous career. In 2020, no less. After a whirlwind of average to below-average albums and EPs that elongated Blu's position as an L.A. underground legend, nothing could've prepared me for this. It's a collaborative reunion that, on paper, screamed inevitable disappointment. Exile, the man who spearheaded Blu's trajectory with 2007's sterling debut Below The Heavens, returns after a nine-year absence with only one album to his name in the interim. Miles is peanut butter being reunited with jelly, salt offsetting pepper, butter gracing bread. Though one can't expect Blu to lay down his mic, there would be no better culmination to his career than reconciling with Exile for an unofficial sequel that excels in nearly every regard.
There is a lot to unpack here. Miles is overflowing with content, from Blu's heavy-handed, laundry list style rapping, to Soul samples galore, to features both new and old, one can't help but feel overwhelmed with the breadth of material. A problem that wouldn't occur if the quality - a delicate commodity in Blu's discography - didn't maintain. But boy does it ever. In fact, the greatest streak on the whole album can be found from track 12 ('Roots Of Blue') to track 17 ('To The Fall, But Not Forgotten'), as Exile's uplifting Soul gleams across reanimated Boom Bap in ways that can best be described as impassioned. Truth be told, I grimaced at the idea of enduring Blu for 95 minutes, but when the album suddenly ended and my interest hadn't waned, I was blown away. Despite the baker's dozen distance from their origin, direct comparisons to Below The Heavens can be felt, whether it's the playful sprouting soil of 'African Dream,' the inspirative consciousness of 'American Dream' (Miguel's return appearance helps a great deal),' or the irrational idealism of 'Dear Lord.' Miles really feels like a return to those ideas, merging Blu's honest yet hopeful narration with Exile's graceful production that ascends to a purists paradise.
No song achieves this better than 'Requiem Of Blue.' If those aforementioned tracks (and others, like 'True & Livin,' 'Music Is My Everything,' and 'Bright As Stars') reflected and reinterpreted the maturity of Blu & Exile circa 2007, 'Requiem Of Blue' did so with Boy Meets World; Exile's equally as successful debut team-up with Fashawn. The song brings the two emcees together, much like the fabled 'Samsonite Man,' for another go. With languished vocals, nostalgic flows, and topsy-turvy production, it never quells on the fluctuant success of all those involved. It's songs like these that cement Exile's status as West Coast visionary, a Soul sampler like no other, able to conjure feelings of hope and prosperity during an era of raging unrest. 'The Feeling' and 'To The Fall, But Not Forgotten' are other examples of Exile's persistence and perfectionism, held back slightly by Blu's overindulgent, credit scroll-like ode to past heroes. The shoutouts get old, believe me.
Despite all this, there's still plenty left to discuss on Miles. Like how the album itself is less an ode to Miles Davis, despite the numerous callbacks and constant allusions to the Blues, and more an extended life lesson being taught to his son; named Miles, as told on 'All The Blues,' after the Jazz legend. Songs like 'Roots Of Blue' and 'African Dream,' quite literally, cycle through black history with quiz-like focus, as others like 'Blue As I Can Be' and 'Troubled Water' discuss an inner-city upbringing to prepare for. 'Music Is My Everything' and 'To The Fall' babble over daddy's artistic passion, while 'Dear Lord' and 'Spread Sunshine' preach peace and forgiveness like a class of CCD. Therein lies the beauty of Miles when compared to Below The Heavens. The latter felt like an adolescent attempting to understand the world without a father figure, while the former instills that gained knowledge with over-the-shoulder care. To have Miles in 2020 is powerful. To have it exist at all is a special thing.
A
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