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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2012 | Experimental Hip-Hop | Listen
A FIVE-DAY BINGER AFTER TOO MANY PTSD FLASHBACKS
When it comes to appreciating alternative Hip-Hop, Coin Locker Kid's Traumnovelle checks off all the boxes. So why then am I not in love? Like much of the LP, I'm left dumbfounded for an answer. The combination of quirky Hip-Hop with grim undertones and historical Tape Music is fascinating, and could go a long way to eventually becoming a precursor to an era of avant-garde, sample-based dissection. Material Girl's Tangram introduced a fledgling new group of listeners to such ideas, with execution better and more pronounced. On Traumnovelle, the supposed trauma is overwhelmed with a spirit that's preoccupied by playful, Nerdcore-esque rhyme schemes ('Standing in the sun') and off-putting lasciviousness ('Syriana'). Whatever concept lingers underneath, that's clearly meant to be personal and austere, is miffed by such behavior. 'Syriana,' and at times 'Rollergrrrl,' nears the point of unlistenable with how Coin Locker Kid approaches sensuality.
The exotic moments help Traumnovelle maintain that interest though, whether it's the unorthodox percussion dance of 'Where the angels lie in wait,' the palpitating pace of 'The red king,' or the carousal of delirium brought on by antithetical sampling on 'The future, pt. 1.' No single song merges these ideas better than the opener; 'Here comes everybody.' It's a succinct summation of Traumnovelle's sparring ideas, featuring imaginative and lucid verses from Coin Locker Kid over rudimentary Tape Music stuck on a repeating loop. The demented interpolation of Neil Diamond's 'Sweet Caroline' heightens the archaic ambience, while the abrasive static, crackling racket of pots and pans, and arresting Musique concrète fulfill it. It's just a shame nothing else comes close to 'Here comes everybody,' though to not be moved in some artistic fashion by Traumnovelle overall would be an errant statement. For those who want it dark, seek out Material Girl's Tangram. Those who want the playfulness cranked up to eleven, Wise Blood's underrated gem id.
C
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Five years had passed between Rainer Veil's most recent EP, New Brutalism, and their debut LP Vanity. Needless to say, change is expected. But this? A reduction in every sense of the word, the duo that caught themselves on the tail-end of U.K.'s Future Garage hype moves on to its accessible cousin UK Bass. However, an awkward combination with Broken Beat prevents Vanity from actually achieving that accessibility. It's almost punishing to a consumer who merely wishes to dance, constantly being thrown off their axis by uncomfortable time signatures and sudden deviations into listless Ambient. Success is determined by how adherent beats can be to their overall goal, as seen on Vanity's promising middle run of 'Shallows,' 'Double Down,' and 'Gauze.' Mood-driven, late-night beats rise like steam out of gutters churning the city's systematic symbiosis forward. They're evocative, unsettling, and somewhat sensual in the spine-tingling sort of way.
The rest of Rainer Veil's debut struggles to engage over the laborious 51 minutes. Unlike most albums, which typically impart their best material first and save a gem or two for the end, Vanity works in contrarian ways. 'Sim Screen' ascends, slowly, like the rising sun with startling synthesizers dubbed into oblivion. It veers on the point of edging, in terms of receiving no substantial payoff. Follow-up 'Fm2' fairs even worse though, as overlapping 80's keyboards discharge a deluge of sappy bathos that would rarely work as a mid-album interlude, yet alone another coy nonstarter.
As for the back half, 'Third Sync's' sequestered demure gives way to 'Change Is Never Easy' and its out of step rhythms. It's a janky mess over discordant styles and tempos. As for 'Elements;' oof. The incoherent vocal samples - the only one of their kind on Vanity - present a derivative Chopped N' Screwed vibe, running in place without any momentum or traction to speak of. Thankfully, 'Digital Spit' returns matters to a semblance of familiarity, though much like the rest of Vanity pay-off is a massive issue. There's a distinct lack of necessity, which is highly problematic for a debut.
D-
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