What What What – Shopping Is a Feeling

The Money Pit put out their self-titled debut in 2015, unleashing on the world eleven fun screeds against consumerism and political corruption. While it seems unlikely we’ll see a follow-up this year, guitarist Bobby Darling has graced us with the next best thing: his first record under the name What What What.

Similarly to The Money Pit, What What What’s debut Shopping Is a Feeling disguises its biting political message behind glossy hooks upon hooks. The opening title track is an slice of powerpop so sweet and infectious you might not pick up on its satirical edge at first; “I make that purchase, I feel purpose,” sings Darling in the song’s second verse. Probably the best song on the album is the driving “Outdated Mode,” which contains the catchiest chorus on the record, replete with “whoa-oh”s. None of the tracks on the record are less than stellar, though – which is good because, at only eight tracks, What What What leaves us wanting more instead of overstaying their welcome. Here’s hoping Shopping Is a Feeling wasn’t just a one-off.

Shopping Is a Feeling is out now.

Small Circle – Cyclical

Though three of the four members already play in the wildly-successful band Sorority Noise, Cyclical sees them trading in the soaring choruses and occasionally plodding climaxes of their primary band for a more restrained take on indie-pop. The addition of lead vocalist Marissa D’Elia immediately separates this new project from their other endeavor and, through ten compact and tightly-constructed songs, they establish an identity that is entirely their own.

Lyrically, the band candidly navigates the pitfalls and hopes of modern relationships. On the opener, D’Elia sings “It’s so easy to write about you/there’s just never enough words” which ultimately sounds charming and utterly wholesome. It’s only on the second track, “Vague Conensus”, that Boucher takes vocal duties and sings “If you could see inside my head/I’m sure you’d be a little disappointed”. The trade off between both the vocalists and the moods continues throughout the record, alternating between optimism and defeat. While D’Elia’s singing is at the forefront throughout the record, both voices get time in the spotlight, though most of the highlights come from their melodies playing off of each other. Boucher’s guitars are largely in the upper registers, sounding buoyant and sprightly, leaving the bass to compliment and color in the empty space. The way they weave together creates a surprising depth, elevating the songs from what could otherwise be simple to unsuspectingly complex. There are no misfires here.

Every track has a memorable hook, from the lead single and earworm “”Spinning” to the aptly titled “Morning” which has a drowsy quality that would pair well with a first cup of coffee. That isn’t to say there aren’t big moments – the end of “Futile” in particular shows the band at their most anthemic with a brilliant use of tension and well-earned release. While most of the record sounds light, the mood is not always so. On the deceptively cheery “Stuartess”, Boucher channels early Death Cab. Sounding breezy and wistful, it makes it all the more devastating when he sings “I don’t love you when I’m high/and I only love you when it’s just you and I”. It’s an incredibly vulnerable moment on a song that could seem otherwise innocuous, which is why it hits so hard when, directly afterwards, the lines that follow pledge a love devoid or condition. The song then slows to a crawl, the melody spilling out over viscous tones and spacious drums. It’s a truly beautiful moment, showcasing the variation on Cyclical. It runs the gamut from charging exuberance to bare introspection and covers most of the range in-between. In that moment though, it’s the sound of pulling the curtains back and letting the light flood in. Amidst all the highs and lows of love and living, we’re allowed into a brief moment of clarity – and the gentle hum in the background evokes the hope of trying to be better.

Cyclical is out now via Flower Girl Records

Julien Baker – Turn Out the Lights

When Joni Mitchell finished making Blue, one of her best albums, one of the responses she received was “Joni! Keep something of yourself!” It’s not surprising given that the album has a sincerity that hangs off every word. Julien Baker deals in a similar realm of songwriting on Turn Out the Lights, publicly airing out every demon she has with frightening abandon. She seems more alone here than she did on the sparse Sprained Ankle, despite more collaborators this time around. That might have something to do with the people populating her songs – everyone seems to be on their way out, with Baker doing her best to silence her predilections towards negativity with her own voice. While the songs typically stay in the vein of Sprained Ankle highlights “Something,” “Rejoice,” and “Go Home,” she eschews those songs self-deprecating climaxes for the implication of something more positive. She’s always had that undercurrent of positivity, and even at her lowest, her narratives have been shaped by hope. This time, she’s using hope to shape other people’s narratives as well.

Battling her sincerity is a self-awareness that wasn’t always present on Sprained Ankle. Baker has an audience in mind now, so it makes sense that her songs have her reaching for bigger highs, musically speaking. Its new strengths are best exemplified by the first half of the album, where surprises like the distortion in the title track or the melancholy piano dirge of “Televangelist” lay in wait. The aggression, in deep contrast to the smoothness of her voice, is a welcome change from the washed out, beautiful stillness of Sprained Ankle, a transition that isn’t unlike the one Pedro the Lion made between It’s Hard to Find a Friend and Winners Never Quit. When she struggles through her chronicles with addiction on “Shadowboxing,” she allows the bleakness of the lyrics to float through ethereal harmonies and her underrated use of ghostly reverb, an updated take on one of her most distinctive and gorgeous Sprained Ankle songwriting techniques.

“Even,” one of the best songs on the album, is perhaps also the most striking. With the album so concerned with building up a world through adding more muscle to Baker’s Spartan arrangements and populating her songs with more people and clearer narratives than her more insular debut, it’s a surprise that it is the lone acoustic song that sounds so revelatory here. She has truly never sounded more alone on any of her songs previous, and lines like “So I could be cruel/Yeah, I could make you hate me/Would that make it easy?” hit with an emotional gut punch that lands almost as hard as her recurring fantasy of putting that same fist through “the plaster of a Motel 6.” Baker is never shy on this album, but the directness of “Even” acts as a mainline towards self-loathing, exploring some Fevers and Mirrors-level sadness that is particularly dark, even for her.

It’s songs like “Sour Breath,” utilizing Baker’s trademark deliberate, almost circular guitar lines, which explore Baker’s newfound emphasis on outsized, literary foils and best sum up the album. Lyrics like “You’re everything I want, and I’m all you dread” or the climactic “The harder I swim, the faster I sink” serve to further distance herself from the people she’s scared will leave. She expresses a bitterness that recalls the same sort of mindset that made Foxing so reluctant to make a living out of drowning on Dealer, an album that shares more than a few musical touchstones and similarities.

Parallels with her peers also highlight the larger conversation that Turn Out the Lights is inserting itself into; an album of such heavy, brutal honesty that is plenty emo, but is recognized in circles outside that scene for a sincerity that is becoming increasingly common in the music community in general. It illustrates the complex intersections that Baker is occupying with this album, and more than the music itself, the existence of an album like this aligns Baker with a wave of artists seeking to deconstruct the very worst of a closed off indie landscape, shifting the importance of Turn Out the Lights from personal to political along the way.

Turn Out the Lights is out now on Matador.

 

Mansions – Deserter

Mansions’ 2011 record Dig Up The Dead is one of the more intimate and mood setting indie rock records of the decade. Chris Browder moved away from the pop rock singalongs of his label debut New Best Friends and surrounded raw, emotional tunes with clouds of fuzzy guitar. However, once an artist masters the ability to bring a listener in close with their music, the only way to move forward is to push outward. Doom Loop was a move towards more production based music, but there were definitely signs that Browder and his bandmates hadn’t quite perfected some of the techniques they tried to do. The band’s new EP Deserter is a true studio record, pushing the band to its limit when it comes to the recording process and amplifying many aspects from their past discography.

Browder had experimented with synth loops on older songs such as “Shoes On, Pants Off,” but they have never taken as important a position on a release as they do Deserter. Opener “Heel Theme” immediately blows heavy, whirring beats right at a listener before building up into a spacey atmosphere. It’s easy to overdo the amount of layers in a shoegazey buildup, but the band controls the chaos masterfully. “I Feel Worse” and “No Shows” feel like updated takes on songs from New Best Friends, melodically and lyrically feeling like portals back to that era. Despite that, the instrumentation does things that 2009 Browder would never have even dreamed up, merging beats and crunchy guitars while adjusting the sounds all around.

“High Numbers” and “Brain Fog” are the most impressive uses of studio techniques on the record. The stuttering guitar on the intro of “High Numbers” leads into some of the most punishing tones on a Mansions song yet, and vocal distortion is used in much better ways than much of Doom Loop. “Brain Fog” is a clinic in sonic buildup, starting with just a repeated drum loop and slowly adding different layers of instruments before the song implodes into a giant whir of fuzz as the song falls apart. It’s an experiment in song structure that Mansions hasn’t approached until now.

While the first five songs on Deserter might be tonal shifts from Dig Up The Dead, closer “One of Three” takes Mansions full circle. “One of Three” is maybe the most stripped down and raw song Browder has released, a stark difference from the production-based focus of the rest of the EP. Browder sings over a soft strumming acoustic guitar, only adding a tiny distorted guitar strum and overdubbed harmonies for the bridge. Browder even quotes lyrics from Dig Up The Dead standout “Close That Door,” only changing the final line from “Alright I get it” to “I’ve finally got it.” This subtle change packs a powerful blow, and is one of the defining moments of Mansions’ discography.

It’s clear that the four year break between releases was due to a very calculated recording process. The attention to detail on Deserter is far more thorough than on any other Mansions release to date. Even with the extra flourishes and studio magic, it still feels like the logical step in the progression of the band’s lifespan. Deserter might not be a continuous emotional gut punch, but it sure is an impressively built release.

Deserter is out now on Bad Timing Records.

Live Impressions: King Krule and Show Me The Body @ The Danforth Music Hall (10/29/2017)

On October 29th, King Krule made a triumphant return to Toronto. After nearly 4 years away, Archy Marshall finally made his way back to Toronto, this time filling a room with three times the capacity of his 2013 Lee’s Palace show. The Danforth Music Hall was bursting with anticipation for King Krule’s return, his first Toronto show to debut tracks from his recent opus, The OOZ, for the city.

Before Marshall and his band took the stage, NYC punks Show Me The Body were charged with warming the crowd up. Opening with their bombastic new track “K-9,” the band’s exceedingly aggressive sound quickly woke the crowd up as they were waiting to hear King Krule’s more heady tunes. After twenty minutes of enthusiastic but docile reception from the audience, the crowd randomly burst with energy for the last ten minutes. The once still crowd turned into a pool of raging bodies. Show Me The Body frontman Julian Cashwan Pratt was sure to remind the crowd that their music is an expression of love and not about hurting each other, but this didn’t slow the growing pit down. For an opening band that playing wildly aggressive music in contrast to King Krule, Show Me the Body captivated the audience.

A mere thirty minutes after Show Me the Body left the stage, King Krule came out and immediately burst into 6 Feet Beneath The Moon cut “Has This Hit?” Marshall’s set was an even blend of 6 Feet and The OOZ tracks, satisfying existing fans while also offering a prime opportunity to test out the new material. Given the isolated nature of King Krule’s latest album, it’s not surprising that some of their impact was lost in a room of 1500 people. Marshall and his band injected the tracks with an insane boost of energy and angst, as well as a brilliant use of saxophone, but the new tracks often fell short of the fan favorites from 6 Feet Beneath the Moon. It’s not surprising though, given the severity and complexity of The OOZ.

It was the last two tracks of King Krule’s set that really blew the crowd up. Set closer “Easy Easy” drew a myriad of voices in sing along, and even more smartphones out to capture the performance. Following a short departure from the stage, Marshall returned to perform “Out Getting Ribs,” arguably the fan favorite. It was a triumphant finish to a set that felt sometimes lost in translation. Marshall and his band put together an incredible show, but the disparate nature of the venue vs. the vibe of the music hung over the performance.

King Krule’s tour continues through North America until November 9th before heading to Europe from November 20th to December 15th.

Souvenirs – Posture of Apology

Something’s different with Souvenirs, and that’s clear from the opening track on Posture of Apology. Their debut LP, 2014’s You, Fear, and Me, showed off a budding rock band with a fondness for ’90s emo giants like Mineral and Penfold; they’ve done away with that sound almost entirely on Posture of Apology, trading distorted guitars for buzzing synths and cathartic shouts for plaintive croons. Where You, Fear, and Me began with the post-hardcore-adjacent “Repetition,” this time around, the opener is a more subdued, midtempo ballad.

“Proof,” that subdued, midtempo ballad, sets the tone for the record. Its chorus of “I can’t believe that you can’t believe anything that you still haven’t seen” manages to be one of the more memorable refrains in the band’s catalog. Indeed, despite being far more toned down than any of the band’s prior releases, this record manages to be the catchiest. Even “Net Worth,” an anti-war ballad, manages to be an earworm; “I wake up to all my bad dreams on TV,” sings Tim Riley over buzzing keys. What it lacks in grit it makes up for in lyrical acuity.

Some fans may miss the intensity of earlier Souvenirs material, but for most, the change should be a welcome one. Although Riley sings on the closing track that “the more you love someone, the more they will let you down,” Souvenirs haven’t let me down yet – and they’ve given me no reason to believe they ever will.

Posture of Apology is out now on Other People.

Common Holly – Playing House

There’s a good chance you haven’t heard the name Common Holly yet. After all, Playing House is Brigitte Naggar’s debut album under the Common Holly moniker. You would surely be surprised to hear this fact after running through Playing House. Common Holly’s debut album sounds as fully formed and self-assured as any other album released this year.

The bulk of Playing House‘s success comes in its musical diversity. While the record fits under an umbrella of folk-adjacent music, each track sees Naggar experimenting in different directions. Album opener “If After All” begins with slinky, processed guitars before breaking down into a full blown indie rock jam that bears similarities to 2017’s reigning force in DIY Vagabon. Elsewhere on the album, Naggar circles around to more traditional singer/songwriter structure, on tracks such as “In My Heart” the album’s title track.

The pinnacle moment of Playing House comes in the form of the album’s centerpiece, “Lullaby.” The aching, fragile track has Naggar performing at her best, both musically and lyrically. Over delicate acoustic picking and piano courtesy of Jean-Michel Blais, Naggar thoughtfully details watching depression take over someone from the outside. It’s a comforting and reassure ode to anyone who has dealt with mental illness, a reminder that someone is always there for you through the darkness.

Playing House explores a wealth of insecurities and pain through Naggar’s lyrics. On “The Rose,” one of many standouts, Naggar confesses that her her “foundation isn’t solid,” while on “Nothing” she approaches regret over pain caused to another. In spite of the deep, sometimes severe nature of Playing House, album closer “New Bed” points to a more optimistic ending. Naggar muses that “this situation will work out just fine,” leaving listeners with a window to the outside, an escape from the darkness that pervades the rest of the album.

In a year teeming with incredible debut records, Common Holly’s Playing House stands out above most. The record is bolstered by brilliant songwriting, a keen sense of diversity, and brutally honest lyricism. In just 30 minutes, Brigitte Naggar has presented herself as one of the strongest new voices of 2017. With an incredible record under her belt, as well as recent and upcoming slots opening up for Julien Baker and The Hotelier, Common Holly shouldn’t remain a secret for much longer.

Playing House is out now on Solitaire Recordings

Partner – In Search Of Lost Time

In a year as bleak as 2017, it’s a blessing that we’ve gotten so many incredibly fun powerpop records. Charly Bliss’s sugar-filled Guppy was a peppy highlight of the first half of the year, while the greatest rock band in America Rozwell Kid released their world dominating SideOneDummy debut Precious Art to plenty of acclaim. Canadian band Partner’s brand new record In Search Of Lost Time creates a trilogy of necessary powerpop releases for this year, but while the albums all have their similarities, all three bands come at the sound from different directions.

Partner approaches powerpop as a way to show off their immense of love of the 90s and an easy way to to make their music sound as fun as the words they have to say. Luce Niles and Josée Caron use a rap like delivery on opening track “Everybody Knows,” and their obvious love and respect of the genre’s history shows even more with humorous skits between tracks. The skits are mostly voicemails about the release of this record, talking about topics as the band’s obsession with Melissa Etheridge and provocative album art. Sports metaphors dominate single and highlight “Play The Field,” a queer love anthem that is the perfect representation of everything Partner has to offer. The band’s lightheartedness and humor penetrate the whole album, reflecting in both the lyrics and mood, forming a product impossible to not smile and hum along to in its entire running time.

In Search Of Lost Time is out now on You’ve Changed Records.

Young Jesus – Young Jesus

Young Jesus have always been a thoughtful and ambitious band. From their early days channeling their skittish and claustrophobic story songs to their more recent tendency to sprawl out on their records, they’ve never been easy to pin down. The most consistent thing about them has been John Rossiter’s empathy for everyone in his songs – which wouldn’t mean much except most of them aren’t really about him. He’s there, maybe a participant or observer, but he’s not typically at the center of these songs. Considering this strength, it’s telling that Young Jesus have chosen to leave behind the most consistent thing about them, and even more interesting that they’re all the more compelling for that decision.

After last year’s Void as Lob single showed massive growth from the band, it’s surprising to see that they’ve grown further still. That release showed them experimenting with recording the sprawl of a live show, shifting between crystalline clean guitars and clanging, noisy chaos. It was evocative of the muscular textures of a Cymbals Eat Guitars song at their most direct, and on Young Jesus the band leans harder in that direction. Showcasing the seamless transition that Cymbals employed throughout much of Lenses Alien, Young Jesus flows like a living organism, with its peaks and valleys simulating the tumultuous nature of communication. It matches the lyrical content perfectly; “I am this thought and I am not myself and that’s okay,” he sings on opener “Green.” Rossiter crosses into headier territory this time around, somewhere between not trusting words that can be so easily misinterpreted and acknowledging the myriad of possibilities that his words possess.
With such a light focus on words, Rossiter has found this is a new way to make the words that do appear even more hard hitting. The exception is on the spare, acoustic “Under,” which stops for a moment of peace in the center of the album. All dead calm and beauty, Rossiter takes some time to examine identity in the intersection of past and future, not fully immersed in the roiling waves of his band mates’ present sound. It comes at a perfect time, saving the album from becoming too one note in its willingness to indulge in soundscapes. It’s a relatively soft moment on loan from Young Jesus’ quieter moments on Grow/Decompose or Rossiter’s own solo recordings, and serves as a poignant bridge between the bands past and present.

Not coincidentally, it also kicks off the album’s more abstract, borderline drone inspired second half, giving way to nature themed ambiance that isn’t far off from the Transcendentalist awe of The Glow Pt. 2. The rhythm section, as it has been doing consistently throughout the album, form the canvas, with Eric Shervin’s keys forming as eerie punctuation to the interplay of Marcel Borbon and Kern Haug on “Feeling.” It’s here that the album reveals it’s most succinct summation of the theme: “Spend a lot of time thinking about the feelings I felt/Can’t recall whether I felt that in the first place.”

However, it’s on the stunning closer “Storm” that it feels like Young Jesus have perfectly encapsulated the album. The song gains much of its power from alternating between free jazz inspired discord that serves to hold the song together in between borderline suites and more driving and insistent songcraft. The band moves deftly between every idea they’ve presented on the album thus far, going from “every little landscape breaks apart!” to “is this existing? I’m gonna make it work.” It’s this transition that their self-titled album explores, ultimately presenting them with a clear, positive framework for moving forward and just existing.

Young Jesus had been self-released, but was taken down temporarily while the band signs to a new record label.

Kevin Devine – We Are Who We’ve Always Been

Last year, Kevin Devine released Instigator, his ninth full-length record. Last week, Devine released We Are Who We’ve Always Been, his tenth – and, if he is to be believed, final – full-length. It’s an acoustic re-working of Instigator featuring several guest collaborators on a couple of songs. As Devine began his solo career as an acoustic indie-oriented act, this stripped down counterpart to perhaps his most rock-influenced record is an appropriate bookend to his career.

The sonic change changes the meanings of the songs, too. “Both Ways” changes from a pissed-off screed on political corruption, xenophobia, and imperialism to a folk protest dirge. The anger in Devine’s voice is replaced with something like resignation. The bouncy Instigator version “Daydrunk” was an oddity, juxtaposing bright riffs and a singalong hook with defeatist lyrics. We Are Who We’ve Always Been‘s reinterpretation is decidedly less jovial-sounding, making for a more straightforward track.

The most different, though, are “Freddie Gray Blues” and “No One Says You Have To,” featuring, respectively, Swivs and The Mynabirds. “Blues” trades in the original’s acoustic guitar for a soft piano. It makes the song feel a little bit less intimate, admittedly, but it feels more unique in the Devine canon; I believe that makes this the first solo piano song he’s ever released. Piano also features prominently on the lovely “No One Says You Have To.” The Mynabirds take the vocal reigns on this song, and Devine provides harmonies and the second verse. Their voices blend beautifully together – it makes me wish Devine had done more duets in the past.

If there’s one song that’s barely changed from its Instigator appearance it’s “I Was Alive Back Then.” Now, I’ve written about that one before, but I think what I said there bears repeating; if it’s appropriate that Devine’s last record is an acoustic one, it’s appropriate that this song appears, mostly unchanged, as the last song on the record. It’s the most personal song he’s ever written, and Half Waif’s vocal appearance only helps emphasize key lyrics. For an artist whose oeuvre has been so dominated by addiction, depression, and the fear of perpetual war, it’s heartening to hear Devine admit he can still “be crazy in love.” He’s come a long time from being just “a kid with his guitar, so drunk and anxious” and if this is the last we’ll hear of him, I can’t think of a better farewell.

We Are Who We’ve Always Been is out now via Bad Timing Records.