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 | Lo-Fi Indie | Listen
APPEASING YOURSELF OUT OF THE DOLDRUMS
Starving While Living finds itself lost amongst Car Seat Headrest's greatest era, one endless with magnificent ideas redefining Lo-Fi Bedroom Pop. Needless to say, despite being a five-track EP of semi-discarded material, there's still essentiality captured pouring from Toledo's brain. You know how some b-sides released from artists at the head of their field often surpass that of their lesser contemporaries? That's evident here, as four of the five efforts (sorry 'Devil Moon') can be added Car Seat Headrest's rich canon, now teeming with indispensable examples of modern, Lo-Fi Indie.
My opinion hardly differs from the general consensus here. 'Devil Moon' proves Toledo's hardships when enforcing restriction, as the low tempo dirge stands stark against the rest of the EP. It's the worst, not because it's bad, but because it fails to standout. 'I Hate Living' and 'Oh! Starving' slot in, interchangeably, as third and forth best, as the former rifles around hypnotic choruses while the latter covers 3's closer with reinforced disquietude. Necessary? Maybe not, but it's ceremonious nonetheless.
Starving While Living's two statements come in the form of 'It's Only Sex' and 'Reuse The Cels,' both admonishing Toledo's two discordant perspectives on love. The lyrics to the former, provocative as ever, detail the anxiousness and terse impatience of a teenager coming to terms with their asexuality. However, it's the backbone, an addictive, Krautrock-esque bassline, which slides defiantly into my cranium via my earhole. It's one of Car Seat Headrest's catchiest nodes, and that's really saying something. As for 'Reuse The Cels,' Toledo finds himself more earnest and introspective, contemplating the veracity of a reimagined relationship. Serious and highly-rhythmic, this combo has worked wonders for Toledo in the past and continues to do so here. It's tough to discern which track, 'It's Only Sex' or 'Reuse The Cels,' is my favorite. Pick a mood and you'll receive a different answer. Which is really just a testament to Car Seat Headrest's variety, be it musically, emotionally, or conceptually. Starving While Living is a brief, but demonstrative example of that.
B
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Best New Order album? I'm inclined to think so. And yes, Substance is included amongst that group, for despite it being one of the world's most famous compilations, consistency and cheekiness proved to be its folly. On Technique, New Order manage the chintzy gaudiness of 80's Synthpop better than anyone during that era, essentially culminating that sound in 1989, before Baggy would take over, with one final coup de grâce. Equip with catchy material that recalls their early career ('All The Way,' 'Run'), while bouncing their finger on the pulse of House with tracks like 'Fine Time' and 'Mr Disco.' These are the risky endeavors, especially the alarming opener which works by adding color and vigor to 'Blue Monday's' repetitive dirge. With these coming out successful, standing starkly against failures that scuffed records like Low-Life and Brotherhood, it's easy to see how Technique is New Order's most consistent record.
There isn't much more to say. Enjoyable all-around, with the melodic melancholy of 'Dream Attack' being the only track I'd consider slightly below average. With its uplifting hook and Jangle Pop-esque acoustics, 'All The Way' soars to New Order's upper echelon, as 'Love Less' and 'Run' round out my top three by committing to Bernard Sumner's longing vocals, an inherent problem that's periodically plagued New Order, especially in their early days. It might have taken a decade of being on top, but Sumner finally feels confident with his romanticism here, rather than hiding behind a veil of unsureness. Perhaps the aggressive, Electronic backbone of Technique helped spur such declaration, as they officially capped their estrangement from Joy Division.
B
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Judging solely off the atrocious cover and each respective band member's fledgling careers, I doubt even Crying was expecting Beyond The Fleeting Gales to receive the praise it has. A tried-and-true amalgamation of Power Pop, AOR, and Twee Pop - including the fickle genres intersecting them all - Beyond The Fleeting Gales hits with a force of pressurized air, sending you on a tornado trip to euphoria. The Land Of Oz without the Wicked Witch? I'm inclined to think so. Set dead center is Elaiza Santos and her fatigued clamor, falling somewhere between the trifecta of Kero Kero Bonito's Sarah Bonito, Japanese Breakfast's Michelle Zauner, and Alvvays' Molly Rankin. If we're to take the Wizard Of Oz comparisons further, Santos really assumes the role of Dorothy, innocent and well-mannered, yet increasingly-impatient amidst a torrent of buffoonery. That torrent, as unhinged as you're bound to hear with music intrinsically related to Pop.
Despite the ruckus, Beyond The Fleeting Gales is a largely adorable affair, thanks mostly to Santos, but partly the Bitpop that scampers around eclectic synthesizers and Math Rock-esque technical wizardry. At times, the rush of jubilation draws comparisons to my beloved Go! Team (with a splash of Battles), seen especially on standout 'There Was A Door.' The pandemonium is a constant, though stopgaps in 'Well & Spring' and 'Children Of The Wind' do exist, though at the cost of pacing and mood stripping. They're the weakest efforts here, for their lethargic origination alone. The rest of Beyond The Fleeting Gales soars with emancipated vigor, crashing into one another like clowns at the circus. 'Premonitory Dream' to 'Origin' is a four-track run like none other, bustling through barriers like an LSD trip gone increasingly-awry. The brief, 34-minute duration is absolutely another plus here, as exhaustion enters just in time for 'The Curve,' where listeners break loose of Crying's sweating grasp as they rocket off to some other paradise.
B+
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