I dressed up as Totoro for Halloween and someone thought I was "that cat from Facebook." It took me a few weeks to realize that was the cat they were thinking of. Because that's something people dress up as for Halloween.
This album is simply song after song after song of ringing guitars and melodies so anthemic I want to put my hand over my heart as I sing along. If these guys would have had the sense to be born 30 years earlier, by my estimation they could have had 3 massive hits, at least 2 live favorite lighter wavers, and blockbuster sales.
Mr. Craig is an operatically trained singer who uses his voice in combination with experimental tape recording methods to produce his music. That may be what this record is, but what is sounds like is far more complex. There are songs that sound like folk music as performed by a songbird. There are other songs that sound like beautiful chasms opening up in the ground. Sometimes you can make out some words; other times it's just beautiful, wordless high notes. Sometimes the sound comes through clearly, but at other times the tape hiss threatens to consume it completely, and that struggle between beauty and noise makes the compositions feel that much sadder and that much more triumphant.
This record is just piano. That's it! Nothing but piano. Just beautiful, simply arranged and simply recorded piano music. No displays of virtuosity get in the way of delivering exactly the notes you need, no more, no fewer. And as a bonus, you get the whole piano - you can hear the keys being depressed throughout - and some bonus atmospheric sounds: one time, you can hear a bird caw outside! What more could you possibly want?
Spoon is one of those rare bands that hasn't put a foot wrong in over a decade. While at this point a greatest hits package would probably serve the new listener best, since nobody's compiled one of those yet, I'd suggest you try this one first. It's indie rock with all the things that make indie rock awesome turned up and all the things that make it cringeworthy trimmed away.
If you have been wondering where the anger or the political awareness in hip hop went to, El-P and Killer Mike have been wondering the same thing. This record attacks everyone from the military to the police, from Donald Sterling to Donald Sterling's boss's boss's boss's boss, and saves plenty of vitriol for fuckboys* everywhere, while still having time for plenty of rapping for the joy of it. This record is a blast, both in the fun sense and the explosion sense, and you shouldn't miss it.
Scritti Politti started off as a punk band with leftist leanings and a shit ton of books on philosophy in its library in the late 70s. By the time 1985 rolled around, they were making chart-busting hyper-processed 80s pop. The ghosts of their previous life manifested in their clever lyrics, and indeed there's a bit of a thrill in hearing a song that sounds to the casual ear like a sappy love song, but reveals itself to be a critique of the use of the nonspecific "girl" addressed in typical pop music.
But really, who gives a fuck about all that? The music is fucking awesome! With songs like these, the too-clever-by-half lyrics are just a bonus. Scritti is the most convincing argument possible that the sounds of 80s pop music are only cheesy if used in the service of cheesy songs.
Or wait, maybe this is the best argument? This record doesn't just limit itself to cheese from one era; it encompasses all, from trap to dubstep to rave, and then for good measure it samples Navi from Ocarina of Time. Through careful construction, Rustie piles on enough elements to sink two or three lesser records, breaking the laws of physics to deliver an experience that should be the definition of too much of a good thing but is instead simply too good.
This album is like dance music with the part you can dance to taken out. This album is like a Rothko painting: get close enough and the textures appear infinite. This album is like your 17th straight hour of partying on only 5 hours of sleep. This album is like a good prank: you can appreciate the joke even as you realize it's on you. This album is proof that less is more. This album is both infuriating and infuriatingly good, and no matter whether you do or don't like it, there is no middle ground, and I suspect Madteo planned it that way.
DJ Sprinkles - Midtown 120 Blues/Where Dancefloors Stand Still
DJ Sprinkles is a DJ and musician whose work is influenced by her experience as a veteran of New York's house music scene and by her transgender identity. Her album Midtown 120 Blues is explicitly about reclaiming the identity of deep house as a genre that is inextricably intertwined with the disadvantaged minority communities that gave birth to it. She makes her most convincing argument not in the short spoken interludes about identity politics but in the undeniable strength of the music, which will make you wonder why more dance music can't groove this hard** and feel this deeply at the same time. Where Dancefloors Stand Still, on the other hand, is simply a fantastic DJ mix CD, full stop.
*Caveat: while being ahead of most of the rap game in terms of personal and political enlightenment, this album still has several of the same issues that turn a lot of people off of hip hop; I could write a whole post about the casually homophobic implications of the use of insults like "fuckboy". They are, however, aware of how their frequent boasts of sexual prowess may come off, and pre-empt those concerns by inviting a female MC to boast just as well as they do, for what it's worth.
**Caveat: if you typically think dance music is too repetitive, Midtown 120 Blues will do little to change your mind. The progressions are subtle, but the grooves are undeniable.
