Deep Cuts. An idea spurred by those countless playlist drifters, jumping from single to single, without investigating albums further. Here you'll find the five best 2021 songs discovered by Dozens Of Donuts in the previous month, not given exposure via the duty of lead single. The only condition I've imposed upon myself is that no artist can have more than one song.
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Iosonouncane - prison
IRA | Darkwave
At a hulking 109 minutes, Iosonouncane's IRA is an imposing, inaccessible beast many wouldn't dare approach. The ominous Darkwave, fused with bits of apocalyptic Post-Industrial and sacrificial Ritual Ambient, doesn't help matters. Nor does the naked man adorning its cover. But deep within the cavernous recesses exists epic dirges like 'prison.' Through the Italian language intent for a non-speaker is lost to interpretation, one that's easy to decipher with a death song such as this. Drums ring off narrow halls, as haunting chants call out from beyond the shadows. However, it's 'prison's' twisting second half that separates itself from Iosonouncane's flock. Tormented yelps reminiscent of an exorcism cry out over farting carnival synthesizers and ricocheting percussion. It's delirious and all-consuming.
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Modest Mouse - Lace Your Shoes
Golden Casket | Indietronica
Modern day Modest Mouse are a doozy to solve. Based on certain beliefs made public - certified via tracks like 'Fuck Your Acid Trip' and 'Transmitting Receiving' - Isaac Brock's recent mental state has been concerning and depressing. But then there's tracks like 'Lace Your Shoes,' which retain a sense of heartfelt maturity that could only come from a place of stability. On it, Brock fantasizes about a future of growth and learning his kids will soon undergo. It's charming and quirky, with fidgety Indietronica fluctuations, much akin to Wilco circa their Star Wars era. The booming hook plays well off the quaint verses rife with Brock's patented lisp. A necessitative, down-to-earth moment for a band who often has their heads in the clouds.
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This is a match made in heaven. Tribal chanting, courtesy of the sangoma in Backxwash's home of Zambia, exorcised through her vicious torrent of Horrorcore. Industrial catastrophe wreaks havoc on these vocals, giving a theatrical presence to chants already indebted to embellished performance. A single verse, replete with religious imagery that conflates worship between God and the Devil, composes the bulk of '666 In Luxaxa.' However, it's the unexpected finale, where those aforementioned chants return, that seals '666 In Luxaxa's' fate. Grizzled and gnarled at first, the final 15 seconds give way to a beautiful choir, pure and pristine, that stands in stark contrast to the work displayed elsewhere on I Lie Here Buried In My Rings & My Dresses.
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Who would've guessed that the best cut off Call Me If You Get Lost wouldn't be due to Tyler, The Creator himself. In fact, 'Juggernaut's' likely the least conceptual of the lot, choosing instead to festoon Tyler's braggadocio with an assortment of affirmations. King of which, is Lil Uzi Vert's knotty verse, the best I've ever heard from him. The quirky, shifting beat which matches big Trap bombast with DIY experimentation compliments the Philadelphia emcee admirably. Pharrell's clean-up verse also carries weight in its ability to run with younger cats. The real beast of 'Juggernaut' though is the beat, destructive and monstrous, like a riot unfolding in real time.
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At just 23 minutes, Black Metal 2 never really finds a home for comfort. There's ideas, some more formulated than others, drifting off Dean Blunt's prosaic brand of Hypnagogic Pop, but nothing substantial or profound. That ends with 'the rot,' Black Metal 2's closing eulogy. Here, a relationship has deteriorated into a shell of what it once was. Lachrymose and derelict, Blunt's sedative Jangle Pop echoes off cold bodies passing dysphoria from one to another. Joanne Robertson's vocals pair well with Blunt's dejected nonchalance, with a varnish of desperation and hope, in spite of 'the rot's' clear certitude. The swirling strings, acoustic passivity, and tired drums all amount to an atmospheric experience that tears at the heartstrings.
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