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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2018 | Indie Pop | Listen
SERENADING BY THE WINDOWSILL, QUILL IN HAND
Though the charm's been lost, TV Girl's unique brand of Indie Pop still emerges on Death Of A Party Girl. They'll be no surprises for returning listeners here, as Joel Williams continues to obsess over feminine beauty and relational woes, re-contextualizing each in a sort of art form one-upmanship. His lyrical candor still dry and vapid as always, but earnest in a sort of amateur way, offsetting setbacks with brutal honesty. He recounts stories like a voyeur who obsesses over damsels in distress would. It's weirdly fetishized, but again, can't knock the man for that nonconformist audacity.
If Death Of A Party Girl is to have an identity apart from the rest of TV Girl's discography, it would spotlight the pacing. Unlike their Alternative Dance or Plunderphonics background, many songs here ('Drift Down,' 'Cynical One,' 'Every Stupid Actress,' 'Death Of A Party Girl') linger over mid-tempo serenades that evoke TV Girl's filmic aesthetic while, disappointingly, shunning the spunk that made French Exit or The Wild, The Innocent, The TV Shuffle killer records. That playful revelry does emerge on '7 Days Til Sunday' and 'King Of Echo Park,' which percolate above the rest with tantalizing rhythms and swank hooks. Though aesthetically-relevant, even these fail to compare to the best TV Girl has to offer.
C
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Total tonal shift alert. Apart from a general understanding of atmospherics, Chance Of Rain sounds nothing like Quarantine, an album that glided across an ethereal plane with lush, vibrating soundscapes. Though I'm now not a fan of either, one can appreciate Laurel Halo's temerity, engaging in contextual deviations resulting in placemat Techno replacing languished Ambient Pop. Mechanical by nature, Chance Of Rain delves into Detroit's rigid locomotion of reverberations, thrusting forward as steam plums from gas caps and sweat satiates the industrious laborer. Add in Halo's futuristic fandom, this time taking a darker look at humanities production line rush towards capitalistic dominion, and you once again have a record whose greatest asset is the aura in which it's framed. Sonorous, basement beats provide the backbone for fast-paced automation, as fractures in the stringent patterns attempt to impede the continuum to no avail. Each song, apart from the opener 'Dr. Echt,' interlude 'Melt,' and closer 'Out,' abide by this formula.
Like any textbook Techno record, entering a trance-like state is essential. This is the case on Chance Of Rain, though Halo rarely breaks down barriers to provide unsuspecting entries. This is truly an austere record; cold, calculating, and brutalist by design. Though enjoyability is there, at times it feels as though it's not meant to be. Halo is dogged and persistent, like a backbreaking supervisor meant to depreciate their workers into submissive compliance. The light of day is never reached until 'Out,' which by then is far too late. Favorites are hard to come by, though the schizophrenic vocal distortions on 'Still / Dromos' and the systematic patterns coming in and out of vision on 'Thrax' are certain highlights. Overall, Chance Of Rain is an impressive record that's truly difficult to enjoy. A testament to Halo's pitiless absolutism.
C-
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If there's one thing Sun Giant taught me, after hearing Fleet Foxes' storied discography, it's that they haven't actually evolved all that much. Perhaps that's the natural way of Folk music though, enamored with tradition and purity. Sun Giant has a simple premise, as the opening title track and closing 'Innocent Son' ease in and out of pastoral chastity with Robin Pecknold assuming the role of hypnotist. Then comes the three-track punch of 'Drops In The River,' 'English House,' and 'Mykonos' where Fleet Foxes' true bread and butter shine. Warm, brimming with idyllic whimsy, enraptured by the natural beauty surrounding early American settlers. To accomplish such a rich sound with something that's not far removed from ordinary, mid-2000's Indie Rock is impressive. Having just heard Richard Dawson's Peasant not long ago, I sense apt comparisons there. Managing a primitive aura with modern instrumentation is a delicate, finely-tuned process that Fleet Foxes handle exceptionally well.
'Mykonos' receives all the love, and while arguments won't be made there, I don't feel as though the gap between their breakout single and 'English House' are all that significant. Each elicit that typical Fleet Foxes sound, refined and revered over the years. To hear this in 2008, before their "schtick" had been sealed, must've been borderline historic. Right from the get-go, all the way through Shore, they've knocked their aesthetic out of the park. With archaic sticks and stones in hand.
B
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