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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2004 | Psychedelic Pop | Listen
A FLAMBOYANT DRAG QUEEN, SPREAD-EAGLE IN CAMP
Once again, of Montreal knock it out of the park. To watch their transition from quirky, demented vaudevillian votaries to vicarious, Psychedelic Pop eccentrics has been nothing short of fabulous. With but one errant misstep - in the gaudy pretentiousness of Coquelicot Asleep in the Poppies - no of Montreal record to date has been a disappointment. Further coming into their own, after the endearing, dry-wit, and underrated Aldhils Arboretum, Satanic Panic In The Attic unleashes a flurry of lovely Pop medleys that promote of Montreal's notorious knack for subverting norms with splashy extravagance.
With not a care for undulating pace (sans the album's weakest moment, The Beatles-inspired 'City Bird'), Satanic Panic shoves listeners into the pandemonium, trapped to a gurney like Alex in Clockwork Orange, forced to endure a barrage of color, confetti, and drug-induced delirium. Except, rather than used as torture for revenge purposes, it's conversion to accept a belief that one's essence lies best in euphoria. There are so many mesmeric Pop moments here that one couldn't blame the listener for taking them for granted. 'Dis-Connect The Dots,' deservedly so, receives a great wealth of acclaim with its hypnotic rhythm section and manic amour. But then there's 'Rapture Rapes The Muses,' 'Your Magic Is Working,' and 'Spike The Senses,' which all excel due to irresistible hooks that are loud, unhinged, and insistent on alluring repetition. Others, like 'Will You Come & Fetch Me,' 'How Lester Lost His Wife,' and especially the grand, ceremonious finale of 'Vegan In Furs,' implant themselves amongst the most memorable thanks to unpredictable structuring that's both swift and decisive. The final minute of Satanic Panic is its best.
What I find most inviting about Satanic Panic is its spewing deference and obeisance to a cult classic that forever shaped the face of alternative modes of expression, certainly affecting Kevin Barnes and all of of Montreal; The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It is the perfect aesthetic comparison, especially the album's second half, which veers into ludicrous territory much like that film does over the course of its 100 minutes. Explosive, unusual, beatnik, all the terminology is there. And with Barnes assuming the role of Dr. Frank-N-Furter, of Montreal's band members playing the maniacal deviants parading around his incalculable demands, you'll find no better sequel to Rocky Horror Picture Show than on Satanic Panic itself.
A-
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2012 | Noise Pop | Listen
AN UNFORGETTABLE NIGHT FOR AN AWKWARD ANTI-SOCIALITE
It demoralizes myself every time I think about it, but the reason Car Seat Headrest's music resonates so emotively with me falls squarely on the similarities I find between myself and Will Toledo. He is the quintessential representation of white, middle class Millennials, handed a fortunate upbringing yet still groused by injustices, both in suburbia and at large, that remain out of their control. Like a wallflower, ghosted by society as neither a mover nor shaker, existing as but one of a myriad of individuals whose personal strife will forever be subjugated by those who face more dire challenges. It's the reward of having pre-existing privilege based on skin color, class, and culture. Monomania, like the CSH albums that came before, weathers first world problems by contorting them into existential cries for help. The emotion that pours from Toledo on tracks like 'Romantic Theory' or 'Anchorite' aren't a result of a contentious relationship, as the album chronicles, but rather the triviality of such inconsequential feuds. On Monomania, that displaced anger, that need for something to matter, spews out in searing flames.
Throughout Monomania, but especially on the centerpiece 'Souls,' comparisons to LCD Soundsystem can be felt. And I find that apt, for James Murphy applied much of that same recycled emotion to his galvanized centerpieces, like 'Someone Great' and 'All My Friends.' It's hard to explain, but upon reflection, the beauty in those efforts - apart from the expansive, ascending Indietronica - comes as a result of presumed, leisure liberty. To find such rapturous emotion out of age-old friendships in LCD Soundystem's case, or an awkward party affair in Toledo's, means there's a sense of security elsewhere. Otherwise there's no reason to glorify such priggish normality. 'Souls' does this exceptionally-well, culminating in the blunt sexual frustration of a chivalric nice guy ("I just want to have sex with you, I just want to fuck you!"). Though I usually abstain from using the word incel, Toledo perfectly expresses the misplaced vexation of those who've internally come to expect sex as a reward for geniality. A first-world grievance, if there ever was one.
However, Monomania wouldn't leave half the impact it did if not for the musical theater vitalizing Toledo's angst and anguish behind him. And much like My Back Is Killing Me Baby, which won me over with its nostalgic, teenage overload, Monomania accomplishes the same. Here, the Lo-Fi aesthetic is less soothing and more piercing, as certain moments on tracks like 'Overexposed' and 'Souls' throw expectation off its axis, as the latter's nine-minute opus is the first to fully embrace Car Seat Headrest's Electronic proclivities, something we'd see far more of on How To Leave Town. To its detriment, 'Los Borrachos' goes so far overboard on the claustrophobic Noise Pop that it's likely the weakest cut of this CSH era, though its commitment to the indignation is commendable.
Apart from 'Souls,' three other songs will undoubtedly stand the test of time on Monomania. 'Times To Die' kicks itself into gear with unquestionable Krautrock flair, not just in the funky percussive rhythms, but Toledo's continuous upending of catchiness. The entire seven-minute affair just feels like one hook after another. At 14 minutes, the closer 'Anchorite' goes in every Car Seat Headrest direction, beginning with acoustic intimacy before growing with codas, callbacks, and demanding escalation. It's a bit self-indulgent, but that's to be expected when Toledo's given free rein to summarize his thematic concepts. And then there's 'Sleeping With Strangers.' Though I'm hesitant to award it such a lofty title, the fact it's a five-star in my iTunes catalogue proves it must be true: This is my favorite Car Seat Headrest song. It has everything I could ever want in Noise Pop. Crunchy instrumentation, a sensational hook, provocative lyrics that are equally sobering and silly, and an impenetrable 90's aesthetic that teleports me to an age of blissful ignorance. It just feels paramount. By that measure, Monomania does too.
A
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