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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Considering the slow descent, this is easily the least interested I've been in a new Son Lux project. Which is a shame, given how cherished Lanterns still remains to my catalogue. Triply so, as Tomorrow I begins a trilogy of ideas that stem from the world's fragile imbalance, and those whose egos are so unstable because of it. For those questioning if this calls for a new reinvention, much like how Bones did when Ian Chang and Rafiq Bhatia arrived as co-members; Nope. Not only are the stylings present on Tomorrows I emblematic of Son Lux's quivering stature and delicate duality of man versus machine, it's likely the most akin to their earlier material, when Ryan Lott was the sole member. Promising for those who drew wearily near his despondent truths, the terminal result is one that, while beautiful in its striking nakedness, rarely achieves the grand and crushing feats present on We Are Rising or Lanterns. A trilogy of material could change that, but not just yet.
As for Lott himself, variability seems limited. Re-skin the momentous declaration all you want, Lott's grim fragility has remained stagnant since Son Lux's inception. The not-so subtle combination of Electronic and Modern Classical, which at first was a breathe of fresh air, especially when commentary was made to divide the ever-synthesizing merger of humanity and technology, has now worn dry due to lack of evolution. Ironic, considering the edicts expelled by Lott stipulated such progression. Nonetheless, it's a dynamic that's intriguing for first-time listeners, and Tomorrows I is no slouch in this regard. Even the interludes like 'Dissolve' and 'Days Past' are brimming with reductive beauty, as Chang and Bhatia seemingly take a backseat, incorporated only when militant energy is required. That does occur on late-album standouts 'Last Light' and 'Undertow,' both of which remind me of Son Lux's days of yore. On the former, an uneasy tension rises in the mist, as discordantly-plucked strings give way to freakish vocals and deafening drums. The pacing is intense and unpredictable, an excellent climatic peak that's head and shoulders above anything that came before. As for 'Undertow,' grace is found in the brittle, breaking bones of Lott and the peeling instrumentation found behind him. An alarming siren call ends 'Undertow,' merging significant piano strings with Son Lux's glitchiest moment to date.
At just 35 minutes though, the content of Tomorrows I isn't as demanding as one would expect with such a short duration. A criticism I'll hold lightly, for the trilogy promises something more ambitious. For now though, the perspective emptiness is noted, found often in the crevices of mediocre tracks like 'Plans We Made' and 'Only.' Neither are bad, just lacking in artistic fortitude. And while I'm a fan of the brief, Modern Classical interludes, the four-minute instrumental outro 'Involution' misses the mark, if only for reasons of wasting time. Drawn-out string arrangements signaling impending change is good for albums eclipsing the hour much. Not so much for ones half that length.
C
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2020 | Singer/Songwriter | Listen
RECOUNTING MEMORIES BEFORE FUTILITY CONSUMES ALL
Let's get the implied out of the way; Microphones In 2020 is a difficult album to review. The words you'll soon read won't do it justice. That's not necessarily due to content, as Phil Elverum's return to his long-defunct pseudonym is nothing more than an autobiography wrapped in self-reflecting vanity, but rather the distribution of said material, wholly original and artistically bold. Think about it, most written autobiographies borrow far more than 45 minutes of your time, many of which disguise their salience in abstract minutiae only relevant to the individual and those closest to them. The same goes for Microphones In 2020, as Elverum's wrapping paper is two undulating chords, forever tracked slightly out of phase, meant to symbolize perpetuity and the daunting symbolism found scattered across all of The Microphones and Mount Eerie; "There is no end." Ever the cynic, such a belief diminishes the value of the individual. When one passes on, the world continues to spin unperturbed. Even Elverum senses this with his music, despite the lasting impact it's already had this millennium. Microphones In 2020 seems to be a mental recount of events surrounding transformation, both big and small, centered on the irrational divide he himself bestowed between The Microphones and Mount Eerie. It's meaning doesn't expand far beyond that, for Elverum leaves nothing to the imagination with his 2,325 spoken words. That alone separates it from the rest of his discography; a mystery, real life can't be.
From here henceforth I'm going to stop talking in grandiose lingo, for the music's inherent pretentiousness is forcing my hand in doing so. One can't escape such description when you're seriously analyzing a single, 45-minute song that's carried by acoustic staccato and verbal ennui. So, to put it in clearer terms, here's what I like and don't like. Though the majority of Microphones In 2020 focuses on his earlier material, there isn't a smearing of Mount Eerie's morose Singer/Songwriter, allowing the two halves to merge together in harmony, bolstering Elverum's obsession with fracturing Noise against tranquil placidity. It was his goal after all, to rid himself of the errant decision to split two needless halves when steadfast eternity never does as much. That is handled exquisitely, captured in the enveloping fold that draws comparisons to records such as Don't Wake Me Up and It Was Hot, We Stayed In The Water. Plastering importance on late-night drives, moon-gazing affairs, swims beyond intended depths, and dollar theater matinees was Elverum's bread and butter at that age, and his decision to incorporate such obtuse static interference here works both as a reconnection with his past, and a treat for fans of yore. Beyond that, distinct sonic similarities can be felt with two tracks on those records; 'Here With Summer' and 'The Pull.' The former's euphoric static overload appears midway through Microphones In 2020, while the latter's opening chords find a paramount home as the record's foundation.
As someone who'll forever prefer The Microphones to Mount Eerie, hearing the guttural crunch of burdened Noise mixed with unpredictable tribal drums sent me to a world of heightened adolescence. Summer's drained out by the screeching sound of cicadas, or the slapping wind outside a car window on a road trip, or an outworn stereo enlivening a party off in the distance. It's the sound of memories scraping against memories, as listeners of The Caretaker know all too well. Those are my favorite moments on Microphones In 2020. My least? The debilitating, seven-minute intro, as should be a surprise to no one. From a contextual perspective, I totally get it. But the invariability and vow to constancy fails to create an evocative atmosphere, something Elverum is chiefly known for. The acoustic bedrock is quite bland, existing as though it feels it must, not because it wants to. Couple that with Elverum's rambling turgidity, which at times is endlessly imaginative, others needlessly cavalier, and it's no wonder I can't fully hop on board the Microphones In 2020 praise train. Believe me, I'm awfully close. It is a special project, that much can't be discredited. Considering it's meant to leave a lasting impact, ironically, only time will tell.
B
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