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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Though everything is relative, The New Abnormal is easily the least Strokes album The Strokes have made. Undoubtedly due, in large part, to Julian Casablancas' restructuring under The Voidz, the band's sixth album ventures out from compact Post-Punk revival to expansile Indie Rock. The change is minor, but noticeable, as the arrangements are more grand, challenging, and lachrymose. It's an elegant and admirable transition, but one that rarely impresses for Casablancas stature hasn't changed one bit. Better than Comedown Machine? Absolutely. Angles? By all accounts, yes. Anything earlier than that? I can confidently say no.
Once again, the issue arises in consistency. Or, as we know with The Strokes, lack thereof. Unlike past albums where clear-cut hits were prescribed as singles, before the inevitable letdown of deep cuts, The New Abnormal's bag is more mixed. After a seven-year hiatus, 'At The Door's' introductory sound presented something clunky and unattractive, with cold Progressive Electronic keyboard loops and a sparse background that compliments naught with that overt fart of a noise. If not for a rather auspicious finale, 'At The Door' would've been no better than any misguided, Synthpop deep cut on their aforementioned duds. It's arguably the worst song here, though 'Eternal Summer' (for the same reasons) and 'Not The Same Anymore' (for others) each have a say in the matter. Even 'Brooklyn Bridge To Chorus,' New Abnormal's third single, doesn't strike a chord, though the upbeat synthesizers and Casablancas' impassioned hook help stave off repression. Like 'At The Door,' the final moments are its best.
Speaking of best, The New Abnormal does have merit in regards to its praise. Two moments in particular, 'The Adults Are Talking' and 'Bad Decisions,' are legitimately great. As an opening scene-setter, 'Adults Are Talking' does an excellent job nimbly maneuvering The Strokes' new sound without going overboard. It's subtle, features some of Casablancas' best lyrics to date, and never dawdles despite the five-minute duration. An eternity for The Strokes, circa any year before 2020. Then there's 'Bad Decisions,' which is by far the best, though I struggle to cede sole credit to The Strokes as it's clearly a New Order knockoff. They've done it before but essentially perfected the mold here, as the teenage sentimentality pours from 'Bad Decisions'' guitar riff and Casablancas' sappy (in a good way) lyrics. Unlike much of New Abnormal, which saved satisfaction for each song's respective credit sequence, 'Bad Decisions' relished in such acute fanfare. To say I'm disappointed with the LP overall would be an overstatement, as I've never expected anything more from The Strokes. Their hit machines, and here that show that to be true.
C
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2020 | Gangsta Rap | Listen
SILENCE WEEPS AFTER A DRUG DEAL GONE WRONG
I'm always apprehensive when listening to a new Gangsta Rap album. Excluding Trap and its various off-shoots, I don't think there's a sub-genre of Hip-Hop I'm less enamored with. Problems both rife and systematic prevent such acclaim, as the genre breeds traditionalists rooted firmly in their tumultuous, street-level upbringing. Rarely does artistic ingenuity enter. clipping's CLPPNG executed this subversion flawlessly, criticizing gang culture while intruding true strain and discomfort through their schizophrenic, Industrial-laced production. Boldy James & Sterling Toles' Manger On McNichols doesn't get close, however the unbalanced neurosis in Toles' production and James' gruff persona elicit inner-city restlessness and hardship better than almost anyone in modern day Gangsta Rap. Yes, I'm looking at you Freddie Gibbs.
Much of Manger On McNichols' success derives from Toles' daring production, which compounds scattershot samples and discordant Jazz in an effort to visualize the knotted fear and encroaching agitation of their troubled home; Detroit. Though Danny Brown has showcased that city with more chaotic fervor, comparisons to the agro-rapper can still be felt in the choice of off-kilter production techniques. Take Paul White's stellar performance on Atrocity Exhibition, or Brown's own audition through unnatural means with The Avalanches, BADBADNOTGOOD, and Gorillaz. These leaps off the beaten path help destabilize expectation, allowing unpredictability to enter a Gangsta Rap atmosphere that, despite the volatility and vulnerability of inner-city life, has become awfully calculable and placid over the years. Though James' rhyme schemes, vocals, and lyrical content rarely stray from norms long since established, the combination between his stout demeanor and Toles' topsy-turvy squall really help to bring out Detroit's crumbling infrastructure.
Unfortunately so, the best examples of this are all found at the beginning of the record. 'Welcome To 76,' 'Detroit River Rock,' and 'B.B. Butcher' are filthy and desolate, like alleyways abandoned to all but ghosted crackheads. Litter scraps against walls as gusts of wind throw lone, winter coat-clad pedestrians off their center of gravity. These tracks are not only the best Manger On McNichols has to offer, but some of the most evocative to arise out of Gangsta Rap in quite some time. Though James rarely impresses through ingenuity, his lyrical imagery never slouches, painting portraits of devastation and ruin. It's all fascinatingly internal, as clipping. once exposed, to issues within the streets, created by the streets, and nothing more. At times, like the break and caliginous 'Mommy Dearest,' James expands out to obstacles experienced by many, doing so with a weighted pen and sobering level of solemnity. Manger On McNichols is a dark, unforgiving record. One that may find limited run on return listens, but won't soon be forgotten, unlike those James often speaks of.
B-
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2020 | Dream Pop | Listen
FALLING GENTLY, LIKE A LEAF, AFTER A RELAXING ACID TRIP
American Head is my first Flaming Lips record after having visited their entire discography. As we know, the 90's were unassailable. Half of the 2000's were too, but ever since LSD began rotting their brain and consuming their brand, Flaming Lips have been but a shell of their former selves. We saw that clearly on 2017's Oczy Mlody, a mess of overly-theatrical inanity. To everyone's delight, American Head reels matters back in with slow-moving Dream Pop, though the annoying, out-of-touch preoccupation with drug consumption never left.
It's here where my interest in American Head quickly dissipates, as Wayne Coyne's meaningless drivel on tracks like 'Dinosaurs On The Mountain,' 'At The Movies With Quaaludes,' and 'Mother I've Taken LSD' expose a man whose said it all and has nothing left to contribute. Previously, on records like Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots and At War With The Mystics, Flaming Lips' reality-bending hysteria always had relevance. There was a method to the madness, an overarching plot or style that provided substance in lyrics that were otherwise devoid of such meaning. Here, it's not only lost amongst rather generic Dream Pop, the plodding nature of such tracks like 'Watching The Lightbugs Glow,' 'Assassins Of Youth,' and 'God & The Policeman,' don't acclimate well to an environment that's meant to exist on the precipice. It feels so draining, like a scorcher where the outside humidity saps exertion from being an option.
There are good moments though, which all fall on The Flaming Lips' ability to expand their sound with resonating orchestral arrangements. Opener 'Will You Return / When You Come Down' is easily the best track, moving through a litany of movements that find Coyne not as the centerpiece, but as a passerby caught in the spiraling trip. It's likely their most complete work in two decades. Despite trending into Psychedelic Folk, 'Flowers Of Neptune 6' paces itself exquisitely, introducing thunderous drums and layered vocals to offset the slower tempos. 'You N' Me Sellin' Weed' and 'Mother Please Don't Be Sad' are two more examples of successful compositions, for the same reasons of the former: Their arrangements are lush, elaborate, and quite heterogeneous. But still, there's something missing from American Head. Flaming Lips' psychedelics have always felt more akin to the kickstarted ascension, and not the relaxing trip down to earth.
D
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