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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2017 | Progressive Folk | Listen
A BARD TRAVELING THROUGH FIELDS OF ABJECT BOORS
Everything Nothing Important did wrong, Peasant does right. Richard Dawson, likely in an effort to garner more attention for his curious brand of revisionist Neo-Medieval Folk, does away with pretentious visions of elusive grandeur while heightening the majesty found in music's long-buried past. Apart from the unnecessarily atonal intro 'Herald,' nothing descends to as dreadful depths as Nothing Important's three-fourths failures. Only 'The Vile Stuff' promised a Dawson capable of synthesizing incoherent bard tales with irrepressible accord. On Peasant, we get that in abundance, thanks in large part to a wealthy assortment of frothing musicians eager to elicit England folklore, majesty, and despair circa the Middle Ages. This is head and shoulders, leaps and bounds, insert positive adage, above Nothing Important.
Don't be misconstrued, there is a fair bit of self-indulgence on Dawson's behalf here. Namely when melody dissolves and elegance does too, as seen on 'Prostitute' and 'Hob.' For the sake of this review, we'll ignore those ventures, for Dawson's lyrical idiosyncrasies appear on every song, so reducing said hogwash to fretful Singer/Songwriter bares no ripe fruit. Where Peasant shines is through communal convergence, fantasizing of a distant history none have bore witness to, finding common ground in the demented, cult neurosis of films like The Wicker Man and Midsommar. We first see this on the lovely 'Ogre,' wherein whimsical, flowery Avant-Folk gives way to hysterical camaraderie that transcends individual impulses for the sake of fellowship. The extended coda is loud, euphoric, yet instills a sense of continuous suspicion. To gather what my favorite songs off Peasant are, one merely needs to look for these moments. Those like 'Scientist' and 'Masseuse,' where plumes of smoke uncover ritualistic liturgies, sacrificial traditions, and costumed folly. The straight fever dream of 'Scientist,' while undoubtedly entrenched in some England tall tale, instantly reminds me of something closer to home; the Salem witch trails. The sounds are just so panicked, so relentless, so out for blood.
However, Dawson also excels by himself, though I struggle to praise his lyrical shrewdness too much. More often than not, it's merely aesthetic fodder. Half the time he's inciting goading imagery of the savage divide between the proletariat class and that of the nobles, the other half he's totally unintelligible. These help enliven two tracks that don't rely on his harem clan, 'Shapeshifter' and 'Beggar,' the former providing a causal jaunt with energized acoustic strangulation and unpredictable chorus emanations, while the latter transcends solely due to a mesmeric cascade of Progressive Folk instrumentation. Defined as the hook, the peaceful relapse tumbles across rolling hills as calm streams carve out the landscape. 'Beggar' is easily Dawson's most melodic piece to date, and a lovely example of incorporating Folk's inherent beauty to a land most descriptively freakish.
B
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2003 | Ethereal Wave | Listen
STOWED AWAY IN A RECORD STORE BIN, A GEM AWAITS
Manifested ideas as unusual as this always seem to attract my attention. What caused a group of unknown North Carolinians to stray from any modern convention, releasing a single eight-track LP on painted CD's, indebted to the long-forgotten stylings of 80's Ethereal Wave? No movement was arising in 2003, apart from the scantily-connected Post-Punk revivalists. Certainly not in Greensboro, the great pond away from where Ashrae Fax's true influences - Cocteau Twins, Siouxsie & The Banshees, and This Mortal Coil - dwelled, as grief-stricken, supernatural romanticists. For this alone, and the enduring cult-like legacy of Ashrae Fax, it seems irrefutable to label Static Crash! as outsider music. At a brisk 27 minutes, with a distinct Pop lean, it's one most can appreciate too.
Rich in aesthetic, Static Crash! transports itself to the mid-80's, devolving even its prettiest moments behind a mire of hissing steam and compressed static. Here, those aforementioned influences are not taken lightly. They are direct and, at times, sardonically overt. This causes Ashrae Fax to remove any unique identity they once had, which heightens the aura, feeling more like a lost compilation tape than a full-fledged homage. Take 'Dynamic Dust,' the LP's worst track, which is so beholden to Cocteau Twins circa Head Over Heels that Elizabeth Fraser and company would have legitimate legal recourse in suing for imitation. It feels as though, on this song only, Renee Mendoza purposely sings unintelligibly, with the same cadence and striking zeal as Fraser.
Without 'Dynamic Dust,' Static Crash! is a much more refreshing affair. The three-track run of 'Daddystitch,' 'Pointbreak,' and 'Ultravaca' never falters, instantly engaging listeners with melodic tempos, howling vocals, and primitive synthesizers. The mirage is truly something to get lost in. Each song's hook is soaring and ambitious in scope, despite the soft-pedal form Ashrae Fox abide by. It's like Pandora's box; plain and meager on the outside, eager to unleash disguised marvels within. The second half, following the unnecessary 'Uprlxrq,' can't compete, though 'Ectomé' regains the brief, lost momentum with understated grooves and perilous passion to close things out. Any fans of 80's Ethereal Wave, Dream Pop, Gothic Rock, or Synthpop should undoubtedly give Static Crash! a spin or three.
B
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