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 he's not recognized as such, Nervous Young Man and the storied discography that precedes - and supersedes - it confirms this fact: Will Toledo is a living legend. A musical savant, fulfilling prodigy, ambitious dynamo. Whatever unattainable descriptor you want to throw at him, Toledo fits the bill. At a corpulent 129 minutes - or, in clearer terms, three full-length LP's - Nervous Young Man is a monumental statement. Leave it to Toledo to adorn it with a chintzy, awkward, and bland cover that personifies his bedroom DIY aesthetic, but gravely underestimates his superiority to any competing artists in the field. Bleh.
Look beyond the pale, wounded heartthrob and you'll discover a mind both poetic and earnest, capable of examining every incoherent nuance we humans endure, with relatable wit and sobering empathy. 20 songs, 19 of which eclipse the four-minute threshold, solely beholden to Toledo. An autobiography for the ages, one that I can't possibly contain within a single review. Exhaustive doesn't begin to describe how self-circumferential Nervous Young Man is. A proper listen will do far move to convince you then a review ever will. Lyrically, Toledo's idiosyncrasies shine, though I'm personally impartial to Car Seat Headrest's earlier, more adolescent material. Here, past encounters are cast back in dim, studied light rather than lived in and felt. Think cause and effect, as Toledo's past transgressions are used as references to current complications. Mature and pensive, with occasional bouts of monomania.
As was the case with Monomania or My Back Is Killing Me Baby, enjoyment arises in Car Seat Headrest's facilitating command of Lo-Fi Indie. For Toledo to express such a profuse of varying ideas within his niche, garage style is nothing short of incredible. For the most part, matters are maintained on Nervous Young Man, with the exceptions being 'Boxing Day' and 'The Gun Song;' two 15-minute behemoths that would give way to How To Leave Town's audacious, genre-spanning Space Rock. Featured elsewhere are snide Rock cuts; unhinged and unruly ('We Can't Afford,' 'Jerks,' 'Plane Crash Blues'), introspective Singer/Songwriter accompanied by melodic unspooling ('Don't Remind Me,' 'Broken Birds,' 'Dreams Fall Hard'), and bargain bin Indietronica that packs a incessantly-rhythmic punch ('Afterglow,' 'I Wanna Seat,' 'Burning Man').
As one would expect with 129 minutes of content, not all moments land. Typically this has more to do with reductive kinship than faults in musicianship, as tracks like 'Jerks,' 'I Can Play The Piano,' and 'Plane Crash Blues' find joint opponents who perform better or emote more clearly. Even 'The Gun Song,' ambitious as all hell, lingers in tedium more often than not. Same goes for 'Jus Tired,' saved by a rousing final minute that's one of Nervous Young Man's best. Offsetting these minor setbacks is a surplus of greatness, echoing sentiments I had about Teens Of Denial in regards to it feeling like a Greatest Hits record. At this rate, Car Seat Headrest's entire discography can be constituted as such. 'Boxing Day,' 'We Can't Afford,' 'Afterglow,' 'I Wanna Sweat,' 'Big Jacket,' 'Death At The Movies,' and 'Knife In The Coffee' all efforts I'd add to Toledo's must-listen canon. Lo-Fi Indie's single most-important mind. One that works like no other around it. Nervous Young Man, once again, proves Toledo's inseparability with illustriousness.
B+
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2010 | Ambient Dub | Listen
SMOLDERING RUBBLE UNDER THE GREAT WALL OF CHINA
Using restricted means, Forest Swords carves a path through dense, medieval woods as tormented sprites fuss and flutter about his presence. Dagger Paths is a curious album entrenched within Dub's unorthodox mannerisms, forgoing formulaic structures in favor of freedom of expression. It feels forlorn, like a village abandoned due to the raping and pillaging by foes on their path of destruction. There's a shiver in the air, an uneasiness, as if restless souls haunt the grounds in hopes of restoration. Each of the six songs supplement this narrow theme, cinematic in scope and daring in its austere execution. Given the languished pacing it's difficult for any song to stand against 'Miarches' and 'Hoylake Misst,' with their dithering vocal samples and militaristic drums. Dagger Paths is an EP best appreciated in one sitting, without a care for auxiliary listens.
C
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2003 | Downtempo | Listen
STARING WISTFULLY AT THE ENDLESS SEA AHEAD
Like many Electronica artists at the turn of the century, Ulrich Schnauss manufactured a sound, mastered its aesthetics, then proceeded to run it into the ground. Before that time came he approached greatness twice, each instance (Far Away Trains Passing By and A Strangely Isolated Place) diminishing the others' chance due to sheer similarity. There are evolutionary moments here, most notably 'On My Own' which provides striking contrast veering into uptempo Dream Pop akin to proto-M83. And while 'In All The Wrong Places' paces itself with the fervent rectitude of all Schnauss' works, it does so through twinkling Breakbeat that borders on múm's dainty Indietronica.
These two efforts excel, as does 'A Letter From Home,' which does nothing if not perfect Schnauss' ethereal waves, crashing in tandem with the moon's gravitational pull. Without a doubt, it's the most reminiscent of Far Away Trains' ramblin' man aesthetic, culminating in an unforgettable sendoff with droning synthesizers akin to Boards Of Canada. Speaking of which, 'Monday - Paracetamol' does come moderately close to the BoC promised land, though the indolent movement and predictability prevent that spark from truly arising. Still, A Strangely Isolated Place is a noble Downtempo record that borrows just enough from ancillary sources to accessorize Schnauss' familiar opulence. Beautiful, satisfying, and relaxing. What more could one ask for in a Downtempo record?
B-
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