The whole format of mixtapes is certifiably insane. In preparation for an album or to announce their presence “in the game”, rappers release 25-song extended teasers for free. Rappers record albums to celebrate albums and arrivals. In Jon Connor’s case, this is his 2nd arrival. Apparently, this matters more than we know. He’s angry at labels for wanting him to be different, critics because they don’t like how different he is, and the world for being terrible to him. Connor is an outstanding rapper with an insane flow who does not get enough credit. On some other shit, we have to ban together and stop him from rapping until he picks better beats. To be critical is to hate, so here it is: I hate these beats.
Let’s put it this way: if you use Jon Connor in a mashup, you’d have to make a new, good beat and start from scratch. He’s basically rapping over mashup material, like, it’s a pre-mashup. “Inside of You” is possibly the creepiest hook ever. “Place on Earth” is literally– and I mean the literal interpretation of literally– The Bangles’ song “Heaven is a Place on Earth” with him rapping over it. Seriously. And Connor goes in. He’s killing every song even though some of these songs are killing him. It’s not only that he’s too good for this, not only that he suffers from “every song gets released” diseases, it’s that I feel like I can hear him wincing his way through these watercolor producers. Dude’s an artist, he needs a proper canvas. This shit is parchment, my man needs some walls for murals.
There would be no bad if it weren’t for the good, obviously. “No Apologies,” “No Thrillz,” “The Boom Bap Symphony,” “Gonna Make It” (f/ Freeway) and others show how good Connor is when he gets proper production work. It’s few and far between, but when Connor clicks, it’s magic. Busta says it after the opening track “Someone Like Me”: ‘Ya’ll better get ya’ll bars right.” Busta is wise and Busta is right. If Connor figures out the balance, he will crush the game. He’s hungry, angry and good. That’s a big deal. The best combination of soulful, talented and conditioned to destroy beats, Connor could stand out, but he may have to stand on a pile of rejected beats to get there. I’m waiting impatiently for the time to come.
Sharon Van Etten’s voice is one of the loveliest things in music right now, a bright October sunset with a teaspoon of grit. (It’s even better when she does harmonies too.) Her voice would feel right at home on a wobbly stool in an East Village cafe, or on stage at the Grand Ole Opry, or sprawled atop a grand piano like Michelle Pfeiffer in The Fabulous Baker Boys.
One thing Van Etten’s voice does really well is sigh, and I love that about it. I sigh a lot myself, mostly out of fist-clenching frustration, but also, of course, from fatigue, satisfaction, melancholy, and bemusement. Yet Van Etten’s latest album Tramp sighs way too much, even for me.
Continue reading ‘Sharon Van Etten: Tramp’
Every lyric’s a gruff whisper, like he’s uttering dying words. “I’ve got no future/ I know my days are few/ the present’s not that pleasant/ just a lot of things to do.” He carries each tune fine enough, though he needs his shooby-doop backup singers to show just how sublime those tunes really are. Like so many old men he can be happily stubborn, but unlike so many old men, he sounds legitimately virile. He lounges amid the kind of shamelessly artificial, occasionally cheap-sounding synth-pop and lite jazz backdrops that sounded dated even in the ’80s, and he instills them with dignity simply by being Leonard Fucking Cohen. “Old Ideas” indeed, but they still work wonders.
They work their wonders mostly because Cohen’s at the top of his game poetically, his words embodying every adjective we should all hope to be should we live that long: tender, crabby, romantic, dirty, mournful, grateful, spiritual, irreverent, humble, rugged, needy, ready-to-die, and willing-to-live. Wouldn’t be shocking if Old Ideas wins Cohen his “Time Out Of Mind” Grammy for Album Of The Year.
Continue reading ‘Leonard Cohen: Old Ideas’
There’s something uncanny about The Lion’s Roar from the very beginning, when there’s nothing more than minor-key acoustic guitar and a will-o’-the-wisp flickering between the trees. A tender yet hardened young woman sets the scene (”The pale morning sings/ of forgotten things”), and the air’s already thick with mythology. It’s the feeling you get when you look to the west- so beautiful it’s profoundly unsettling, and so profoundly unsettling it’s beautiful. There’s witchery afoot, and slavery, and plagues. Can’t blame us too much for being such goddamn cowards and fools, but God damn us anyway. And while God’s at it, God can damn itself for taking so much of our innocence before we could muster enough courage and wisdom to fill the void.
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“Swedish Americana” makes a lot of sense. Sweden totally gets America when it comes to pop, at least more so than other countries where English is a second language. America may not always get what Swedish pop has to offer us, like Robyn for instance, but Swedish pop sure gets us, all right.
First Aid Kit (sisters Johanna and Klara Soderberg) highlights just how kindred our nation’s Country Western & Southern Gothic spirits are to the land of ABBA. It’s not surprising that Flannery O’Connor’s friends thought she’d enjoy the films of Ingmar Bergman. So how great would it be if Loretta Lynn covered “Knowing Me, Knowing You”? And wouldn’t it be cool if Linda Ronstadt did an album of Jens Lekman songs? “Swedish Americana” ought to be a slightly bigger sub-genre than it currently is, and The Lion’s Roar ought to be a cornerstone of that sub-genre.
Continue reading ‘First Aid Kit: The Lion’s Roar’
The year’s 1997, and the future’s just starting to sip its second cup of coffee. Rock’s still reverberating with the echoes of grunge, but its quantum mechanics are oscillating to a mind-blower called OK Computer. Pop’s gone back to bubblegum in a big way, thanks to The Spice Girls and The Backstreet Boys. Over in hip-hop, the zeitgeist has glided into a glammier style of gangsta. Meanwhile, tucked away in an underground Bay Area scene, rappers Lateef The Truthspeaker and Lyrics Born, collectively known as Latyrx, drop an amazing debut LP simply titled The Album, which manages to sound old-school and avant-garde, very much of its time and yet very much against its time.
The Album wastes little time showing off its progressive ambitions as Latyrx introduce themselves, fittingly, with a track called “Latyrx.” The smoky, sci-fi beat by album co-producer DJ Shadow is menacing and enticing, like a rabbit-hole that leads to an opium-fueled cyber-orgy. Then Lateef & Lyrics Born barge in and buck your brain like it’s probably never been bucked before.
Continue reading ‘Classic And Unappreciated: Latyrx’s The Album’
During my break from 10L, I didn’t stop listening to music. I didn’t stop caring. I just stopped writing about it. I laid in bed and ate fried chicken (more like friend chicken, youknowhatImean?) and read stories from the NBA Lockout. I tried to care more about college basketball. I drank some and didn’t drink a lot at the same time. Hell, I’m not sure that I did much of anything else. Milk and vegetables spoiled a lot more than I wanted them to because I overshot my mornings by a mile and spent the days lamenting.
If anything actually offered me solace, it was the occasional jam with Chris Bathgate’s Salt Year and trying to figure out if I really liked Richard Buckner’s Our Blood. My relationship with music isn’t always as complicated as it is with Buckner, as Bathgate’s catalog can attest. I am drawn to every Richard Buckner album with delirious haste. Listening and re-listening, I’m hooked by the opening riff. Then, I lose something each time I finish the record. Is Our Blood to be appreciated in small doses? Is the listener really to dismiss the catalog each time he/she hears a new song? The challenge of ignoring an artist’s past is really on trial here*. There’s nothing really different about this record as compared to the last few releases, but is that such a bad thing?
Continue reading ‘Of Bathgate and Buckner and I: Transitions from Personal to Impossible’
I’m not a genius by any means. I’m an average bro with a slanted opinion. I’m a half-wit, a writer’s writer, a stylist without a popular canvas. I know Girls and Watch the Throne and Wavves. I know Katy Perry and Lady Gaga. I know Kanye and Cudi. I know all the cool jamz people gravitate toward. I know them and I often like them. It’s just that, and I know I am not entirely alone, I tend to allay my hopes on the forgotten, misunderstood albums that receive little fanfare. For example, one of my favorite albums of all time, Jets To Brazil’s Orange Rhyming Dictionary is an audible eyesore– a series of strange canvases and literary intentionality. My love of later Superchunk albums (and early ones for that matter) isn’t necessarily wrong, it’s just doesn’t matter. Problem is, the unintentional consequence of seeking the destitute and unloved albums in American music drives away readers as quickly as it allows self-satisfaction.
So what was different about 2011? The music was, but that’s to be expected. My attitude toward life? Not really. I changed locales, came to grips with some personal issues, etc. I didn’t change tastes, though. There wasn’t even a subtle shift. I like the same records now as I did then, just more of them. That said, I really do believe that three records absolutely stood out for me in 2011 for their styles, their movements, their irrepressible charisma, their difference engines in creating artistic masterworks. These albums bent genres, created new walls and unburdened a strange year for music as a whole. Think about it, 2011s most popular rap album may well have been made by one of the best producers in the world and he didn’t make the beats. Skrillex is nominated for grammys. Tom Waits put out an at-best mediocre album. Bon Iver became Bonnie Raitt (not a knock, that album rips in spots). All the while, Storms, Grails and Cymbals Eat Guitars created intimidating, challenging, beautiful records to little response.
Continue reading ‘Why My Opinion Doesn’t Matter: The Best Three Records I Heard in 2011′
From guest lecturer Laurence Bass, this morsel on Common:
If we’re talking production over lyrics, this album would be the new benchmark of what it means to create a masterpiece. The boom-bap is resurrected and wears the garb of this generation’s sonics. However, a smarter listener judges on the inverse. Most of the songs are hook heavy, watering down the potency of his lyrics (keeping with the tread of every album since the 2002’s “Electric Circus,” a mixed bag of unnerving genius).
“In The Sky” and “Celebrate” offer more gristle than meat. The former speaks to the ever-changing definition of blackness under God’s eye and the latter is party anthem with the token dine at his side. Besides that, Common plays his own publicist—killing the Hollywood persona, evoking the dusty pen from his Chicago days. He falls short on attaining that lofty goal. “So Sweet” and “Raw” depict him bitchifying a naysayer and taking a bottle to the side of a drunk patron’s head. Carnage’s not your thing? Don’t worry, the romantic warrior cometh. “Lovin’ I Lost” is another song that gives him the leeway to supplant LL COOL J as the ladies’ MC. If there is a gleaming summit to this unlit valley, it’s “Gold”. The man is streamline with his verses and calculated with his theme. Songs like these are annoying because it offers a glimpse into Common’s effortless skill—but you have to sit through a sea of filler. For all you fiends of collaborations, Nas helps to make “Ghetto Dreams” a banger. Dark and vengeful, its Cottage Grove meets Queensbridge with no inkling of Madison Avenue or the Sunset Strip in the prose. The only knock against this track is that is follows the album’s opening, “The Dreamer,” which showcases Maya Angelou’s poem of people in bondage and dire straits surviving in the country. It’s tough hearing Common call a woman a ‘bitch’ in the next verse.
Though he makes up for shortcoming with a track like the over-orchestrated, John Legend-crooned “The Believer,” his album isn’t horrible, but the good shit is few and far between.
In an attempt to hit the big-time, I’m gonna start writing for 10L again. In and of itself, that’s exciting, right?
Plus:
– A new Life and Times record is coming in a few days.
– Drake’s supposed comeback to Common might solidify him as my least favorite rapper in history.
– ATDI reunion.
– New Cloud Nothings in February.
– The Freeway/Jacka Collabo.
– THIS.
And, on top of it, REVIEWS of these things. I’m sorry I got depressed and laid around and watched basketball and stopped writing and left you cold and dead and without love and then started like nine reviews but never finished them. There will be some “Shit we missed in 2011″ reviews. And some just plain “blog” posts to keep the site going stronger than before. Best records of 2011? Storms “Lay Your Sea Coat Aside,” Cymbals Eat Guitars “Lenses Alien,” Jon Connor “Season 2 Mixtape,” Random Axe “Random Axe” and other shit I will get around to talking about. So, yeah, I’m sorry we left. But we are sort-of back. It’s somewhat on.