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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2020 | Indietronica | Listen
STRETCHING FOR HEAVEN, FEET ANCHORED EARTHBOUND
Ever since discovering Sufjan Stevens in 2013 I've always felt, under my breath, that his level of importance was greatly exacerbated. By both himself, with laboriously-ambitious records like Michigan and Illinois, and his adoring flock of fans. Perhaps it's my general aversion towards Singer/Songwriter, or perhaps it's Stevens' lyrics failing to land in the life-affirming ways many revere. There's songs I'll venerate till the day I die, like 'Vito's Ordination Song,' 'The Man Of Metropolis Steals Our Hearts,' 'Chicago,' and 'Impossible Soul,' but a trove more lost in the annuls of his seemingly-eternal discography. Even the occasional crossover into Glitch Pop that always titillated the senses, with Age Of Adz and Sisyphus being my two favorite Stevens-related projects, has arguably become antiquated with how much the genre has evolved since the primitive days of the decade we've just put to rest.
Which is why Ascension comes at a precarious time. Comparisons to Age Of Adz are inevitable and de rigueur, but rather than expand concepts (a difficult proposition, given Age Of Adz's oracular vision), Stevens stomachs decay. Here, matters are aged, and not like a fine wine. Over an exhaustive 80 minutes, filled with an expected level of highs and lows, Stevens seems to tread down familiar paths, like a high school starlet reliving their past glory at a ten-year reunion. It just doesn't fit the mold of 2020, with kitschy synthesizers that sport too much polish, and tender vocals that ultimately lead nowhere. Cut in half Ascension's spoils would've been more easily managed, as each endeavor languishes in torpidity, some far too long ('Die Happy,' 'Ativan,' 'Sugar').
This review is, perhaps critically so, abstaining from specifics. To me, examining Stevens' paramountcy doesn't outweigh the pros of letting it wash over. You can rifle off examples of genius lyrics interspersed on the tacky 'Video Game,' or comment on a scant concept connecting Ascension on a higher being. None of it seems substantial nowadays, when others are doing far more interesting things with music. Denunciations abound, I don't inherently dislike Ascension, just the plateau it seems to exist on. 'Make Me An Offer I Cannot Refuse' is an exemplary illustration of Stevens' Glitch Pop theatrics entwined with romantic flightiness, while 'Ursa Major' and personal standout 'Goodbye To All That' flaunt Stevens' understated ability to manifest new melodies from reimagined patterns courtesy of Indietronica. And, though at the onset of Ascension they're nothing more than a mirage fictionalized in the distance, 'Ascension' and 'America' end the album with emotional recalcitrance; the former hopefully, the latter desperately. A talent defined for nigh on two decades, Stevens was bound to find success in 80 minutes of cornucopian Glitch Pop. To warrant that duration from the get-go? Certainly not.
C
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2020 | Ambient | Listen
WEEPING GHOSTS, ONCE FORMERLY CHAINED PRISONERS
This is no Dead Magic, that's for sure. Besides the obvious reasons why - Ambient, Drone, Minimalism - All Thoughts Fly tends to lack atmospheric substance; a necessity for Dark Ambient, a calling card for Dead Magic. On Anna Von Hausswolff's first foray into the nonverbal, patterns emerge that fail to defiantly pick a side. It's supernatural, yet plodding and repetitive. Disturbed, yet all too optimistic. This hesitating pliancy causes All Thoughts Fly to drift rather than settle, combing over tones and moods without embodying any single ideology. Only 'Sacro Bosco,' the album's best, dreads the moment. It preys on that hesitation, moving with deliberate steps, like an ancient troglodyte haunting through the night. The others sway, shiftily and wearily, without committing to a single direction. Tracks like 'Dolore Di Orsini' and 'Persefone' - which parallel each other with the same dolorous organ notes - stand at a crossroads, biting nails and tapping feet. It's anxious only in the sense of stilted intermediacy, like an actor petrified by the spotlight on stage.
This theatrical parallel emerges elsewhere, with 'Theatre Of Nature' and 'All Thoughts Fly.' Here, movement is noted, even if only during suspended animation. Loops are cemented still, but unnatural in execution, as the former embellishes gargled breaths through a palpitating heart, while the latter swims unburdened around Progressive Electronic cascades. These are done with passion and purpose, though the end result struggles to ferment a lasting grip. All things considered, All Thoughts Fly manages modest Ambient ideas that separate Hausswolff from her newfound contemporaries, but struggles with commitment issues. Especially in regards to the album's unnerving cover, which rarely matches tonality.
C-
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There's something dishearteningly safe about Ultra Mono, in spite of the general angst, aggression, and pandemonium sported by IDLES this go-around. For newcomers, the anxious tendencies found on tracks like 'War' and 'A Hymn,' mixed with the catalytic insurrection boasted on 'Mr. Motivator' and 'Reigns,' would draw certain questions as to how that's even possible. The problem lies in branding, as Ultra Mono feels like a mimicry of IDLES' sterling provocation and progressive messaging. By and large, Joe Talbot is the primary culprit, though criticism on behalf of others isn't as damning as one should believe. His crucifying demeanor, anti-tradition agenda, and outrageous personality are on full display. But three songs, and three songs only, did him in: 'Kill Them With Kindness,' 'Ne Touche Pas Moi,' and 'The Lover.' On each, IDLES' liberal acceptance teeters into near-sardonicism, as lyrics both blunt and crude siphon Talbot's previously quick-witted sagaciousness with child's play interpretations of masculinity, consent, and pacifism. I can make excuses for the former and latter, but 'Ne Touche Pas Moi' is particularly vacuous and insipid, easily descending the ranks as IDLES' worst.
Here's the thing about snowballing, negative perception though; It typically negates prevalence and preponderance. Three songs caused a visceral rebuke of IDLES, despite Ultra Mono's eleven-track duration. Hell, there's four certified greats here, single-handedly outnumbering the gaffes. As a three-track EP, 'War,' 'Grounds,' and 'Mr. Motivator' would've drawn boundless praise I'm sure. Each unique in approach, yet disruptively-cohesive. Tack 'Reigns' onto the bunch, with its squelching horns and unrelenting hook that would tear buttresses from the rafters, and full-on disdain for Ultra Mono becomes increasingly difficult. Insufficiency lies primarily in Talbot's inability to combine such lyrical grace, as he did on Brutalism and Joy As An Act Of Resistance's best tracks; 'Mother,' 'Danny Nedelko,' and 'Samaritans.' Ultra Mono's merit doesn't fall far from the production, which doubles down on IDLES' Punk biases with brief, punchy, incisive rhythms and riffs. It's easily the album's calling card, maintaining vigor unmatched in Art Punk nowadays. It's just a shame Talbot has lost sight of his ingenuity.
B-
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