You're Messing With the Big Boys: A Review of Bloc Party's "The Nextwave Sessions"

My long listening history of Bloc Party begins with a babysitter.

In the lineage of all indie rock fans, is the cool babysitter. The one who comes over, and just changes your world. Destroys your whole view on contemporary music. In Spencer Owen's case, it's 1994, and the girl next door, who watched him on occasion, came over with Weezer's seminal (and brilliant) self-titled debut.

In my case, it's similar, but it's 2005 and I'm eight years old. My babysitter doesn't live in the apartment next to mine, but in one on Columbia Street, only a bloc(k) away. Days with this babysitter included trips to the Museum of Natural History, or hanging out at her workplace, the now defunct diner, the Red Rail.

But there was also music. At my tender age of eight, my ears hadn't been exposed to the glorious music that surrounds my life today. To me, music was the West Side Story original Broadway cast soundtrack, Foo Fighters, the Killers and whatever music my parents played in the car (to be fair it ranged from X to Bob Dylan to Dinosaur Jr. to Steely Dan to Marvin Gaye at times). My ears were then exposed, when my babysitter made me a CD. It's titled At Age 8, An Inspiration and it's still sitting in my desk drawer. Among other artists on the CD, were Interpol, the Strokes, the National, Cat Power, and Fat Boy Slim's (uncensored) "It's a Wonderful Night" (which my parents weren't happy about).

But there was one band that stood out to me. That band was Bloc Party. They had two songs on the disc, them being "Blue Light" and "This Modern Love", which are also both ballads. But, on these songs, Bloc Party still knew how to "rock". Quickly, these two songs led to an obsession over Bloc Party, to the point where I asked my babysitter for a CD of just Bloc Party music. Bloc Party had only one album in 2005, so what I got, was Silent Alarm.

And my story involving Bloc Party and my babysitter, unfortunately, ends there.

However, Bloc Party picks up again in 2011. I'm now a teenager, and the artists of choice are Titus Andronicus, My Chemical Romance, the Flatliners and Childish Gambino (that's a weird mix, right?). After several computer crashes and cleanings of the room, I lost Silent Alarm. But for some unknown reason, I re-purchased it on a whim, not even remembering any of the music on it.

What followed was a voracious re-obsession of Bloc Party, and I bought every album, single and EP they ever released. Imagine my sadness when I discovered that the band had gone on indefinite hiatus shortly after the release of their third full length, Intimacy.

But then the story picks up again (like I said, this is really long)! In 2012, Bloc Party came back with the release of Four, and it was... not good. It was clunky and uninspired, almost sounding like a Smashing Pumpkins rip off, and the only keepers were the ballads. I tried to convince myself that Four was good, considering the fact that I pre-ordered it. But it didn't work.

And finally, we arrive in the August of 2013, and two days after my birthday, Bloc Party release the EP, The Nextwave Sessions, before going on another indefinite hiatus. And it makes me both happy and sad to say... that it's pretty solid.

I'm happy that they've returned to what made them the best band in the world to thirteen year old me, but sad because they're leaving once again.

The EP has five songs, and only one of them isn't good. That title belongs to the opener, "Ratchet". I don't know how Bloc Party has gotten a whole audience to scream back a phrase like "we go ratchet" in 2013, but kudos to them for that. The song features the same boring guitar lines of Four and Kele (he legally dropped the Okereke from his name) tells me to get [my] bitch off his shit... which makes me feel uncomfortable.

However, what follows proves that Bloc Party can still be a good band. Some of the best Bloc Party songs are ballads, from "Blue Light" to "Plans" to "Tulips" to "Signs" to half the songs off A Weekend in the City. The second song on the album is titled "Obscene" and, it's a ballad. Over a bed of synths and delayed hand claps. The song is slinky, and it's no surprise it was produced by Dan Carey (Bat for Lashes, Chairlift). Kele has an effective voice, and where it may not seem the best for a ballad, it always works. His voice is supple and he makes an effort to make it sound "pretty". And like most Bloc Party ballads, "Obscene" is a break up song with Kele apologizing for everything he's done, claiming he's "been obscene to you".

"French Exit" is also a breakup song, but in a different manner. Kele paints himself to be, well, a dick. He confesses that the relationship was drab, and he's "hoping you could pick up the bill". The more angular, punk Bloc Party are exemplified through this song, with Matt Tong's triplet drumming, Gordon Moakes liquid bass (which still reminds me of Peter Hook) and Russell Lissack's serrated guitar lines, that can quickly switch to an Edge-esque solo.

The following song, "Montreal", again proves Bloc Party's ear for ballads, and turns out to be the EP's best song. It features a strong rhythm section and Kele's strong voice, and Lissack's guitar minimally cutting in at times. The song displays the same paranoid, yet sad storytelling from A Weekend in the City. Kele evokes excellent imagery with "the snow keeps falling, on St. Catherine". The story goes that Montreal is no longer Kele's home and he's forced to leave because "Tony keeps calling, says he wants his money".

The EP closes with "Children of the Future". It sounds like the song could've come from Silent Alarm with it's jerky guitars and Kele's vocal patterns. A song about "the children of the future" and how "time is on our side" can seem outrageously cheesy, but Kele's voice delivers these lyrics with such sincerity, that it's hard not to agree with him. Especially when his voice cracks, and it sounds as if he's crying when he delivers the line, "be all that you can be, be all we never were".

In the years that Bloc Party were gone, we saw a whole new legion of British artists emerge, all with something to say. From King Krule, to James Blake to the xx, to Yuck/Hebronix, all who are aiming their musical sights elsewhere, than what used to be the British indie landscape of the mid-2000s. What's strange, is that Bloc Party seemed to poised to succeed, when the Futureheads and Franz Ferdinand didn't, and yet they fell into the disarray that all stereotypical rock bands fall into. So the ending of "Children of the Future" can also be viewed as a warning, to not make the same mistakes that a once brilliant band like Bloc Party did.

Bloc Party - The Nextwave Sessions
8/10
Recommended Tracks - "Obscene", "French Exit", "Montreal", "Children of the Future"

Why I Love Perfume Genius

With darkness their's always light. These two things simply exist because of each other. Darkness is dark, because light is light.

If that makes any sense...

What I'm trying to get across, is that if an artist is going to make "dark" music, there is always going to be some light countering it, because if not, the feelings don't feel genuine. This doesn't mean a song about suicide has to include some cheesy respite to make the listener "feel better". And there doesn't always have to be a happy ending to an album. But if the whole collection of songs is emotionally stark, it can become a slog to get through.

This is where the music of Perfume Genius comes in. Mike Hadreas is the sole member of Perfume Genius, the moniker that he performs emotionally harrowing piano ballads under. When it comes down to it, Hadreas has been through a lot of shit.

The Seattle native, has had a hard time over the years, struggling with addiction and other problems. As he phrases it "I replaced alcohol with coke, then with meth, because meth is cheaper and a lot more fun. But toward the end... it was tragic". Hadreas was attending NYU for film, but then dropped out, leading to what he describes as "a Chinese buffet" of drugs. After this, he also had a hard time with friends and family. "I'd go to family dinners and no one knew what to talk to me about" Hadreas confesses. "Like what were they going to say: 'Hey Mike, how's being a gay drug addict going?"

Four years ago, Hadreas went back to Seattle and moved in with his mother. He did this to detox and regroup, and played a lot of video games (he was in a gay World of Warcraft Guild called Taint). During this time, he began to write music, and recorded with a cheap microphone headset and on the piano in his mother's living room.

What resulted, was his debut album, Learning, released in 2010. The album was eviscerating and also naked, and to the listener, heartbreaking. Hadreas sings in a breathy, androgynous voice, that sometimes turns into a slight warble. Many times, he sounds as if he's on the verge of tears.

Hadreas has cited Liz Phair as an influence, and through his lyrics, her influence looms. Phair sang about things that women in indie rock didn't typically sing about (along with Fiona Apple and PJ Harvey). Hadreas does the same thing, but from a gay male's point of view. The album's best song, "Mr. Peterson", reflects this. It's the story of a relationship between Hadreas, age sixteen, and his high school teacher. "He let me smoke weed in his truck", Hadreas intones, "if I could convince him I loved him enough". Then there's a twist, after Mr. Peterson gives Hadreas a Joy Division tape, and then jumps off a building. In being one of the most complicated goodbyes, Hadreas sings "I knew you weren't ready to go / I hope there's room for you up above / or down below". The song is heartbreaking, and truly unique at the same time.

The lo-fi recording also reflects Phair's early days as a musician. Hadreas' music is lo-fi, but reasonably so. There's no tape hiss covering his music, it's just him and his mother's piano. Where most lo-fi musicians in 2010 found themselves becoming less relatable with the listener because of the recording quality, it works in Hadreas' case. Many times on Learning, you an actually hear Hadreas' feet hit the piano pedals, and sometimes you can hear his mother's dogs in the background. This adds a whole new layer of intimacy.

As a piano player, Hadreas isn't showy or aggressive. Instead, he plays simple piano lines and simple chord progressions that you'll find working their way into your head. "Learning" starts sounding like the soundtrack of an indie movie, before Hadreas comes in singing "No one will answer your prayers, until you take off that dress".

As a lyricist, Hadreas always tells a story, with details, but also leaves many spaces, allowing the listener to fill in the blanks. The details that Hadreas chooses to share are always interesting. On "Lookout Lookout", there's Mary Belle, "with an upercase M", who's mother is a drug dealer. To carve out a name for herself, Mary Belle kills Brian, "who didn't have a family to begin with". There's the paycheck in the hands of Perry on "Perry" and the line of trees lining the drive on "When". Just like the recording quality, the details add to the intimacy of Learning.

Learning had "Gay Angels" and "No Problem", both which were pieces of smeary ambient organ and ethereal vocals, showing a more ambitious Hadreas. Those hoping for more, were rewarded with the release of 2012's Put Your Back N 2 It, Hadreas' second offering as Perfume Genius.

Right from the opening song, "AWOL Marine". "AWOL Marine" still deals in ambient smears like "Gay Angels", but there's actual, heartbreaking lyrics in it. Hadreas says the song was inspired by a clip of homemade porn he watched, where a man admitted that he was only trying to get medication for his wife. The backstory gives the lyrics, "if you want your medicine, show me... AWOL Marine, turn to the camera, slowly", a certain weight.

Put Your Back N 2 It is also considerably less lo-fi than it's predecessor. Some would think that this would lead to the loss of intimacy surrounding Hadreas' music, but now his voice is pushed to the forefront, and you can hear everything that Hadreas sings.


Put Your Back N 2 It, is even more personal than Learning, with Hadreas addressing things like his family to homosexuality. "Dark Parts" features a simple chord progression backed by a cajon and guitar, with Hadreas weaving a story about the abuse his mother suffered at the hands of her father. "The hands of God were bigger than Grandpa's eyes / but still he broke the elastic from your waist", Hadreas sings, showing his eye for detail. The song is almost life affirming with Hadreas following that lyric with, "but he will never break you baby".

"All Waters" is a love song to Hadreas' boyfriend, but it has a much darker shade to it. Hadreas sings about how when "flowers grow on every hillside" that he'll finally be able to hold his hand. The topic of homosexuality comes again on "17", possibly the album's most heartbreaking song. It's described as a gay teen's suicide letter, and the imagery of a body stuffed in a violin, strung on a fence and covered in semen is heartbreaking.

On this release, Hadreas has also become more ambitious with instrumentation. "Normal Song" actually puts a lightly strummed acoustic guitar at the forefront, instead of a piano. On "Hood" (where Hadreas feels he doesn't deserve love) the song explodes into a full band exposition, with even drums. "No Tear" features pitched down vocals. "Floating Spit" is lo-fi, harking back to Learning, but it features delayed drums and a bed of synths.

Where it may seem that Hadreas is being consumed by the darkness, Put Your Back N 2 It features cracks of light shining through. At the end of "No Tear", Hadreas professes that he will "carry on with grace". Even though the final song, "Sister Song" ends uncertainly, with the character heading off to rehab, there's something affirming about their friends keeping their house clean while they're gone.

On "Take Me Home" from Put Your Back... Hadreas sings "I run my mouth like a fool". Now, some would say that as the truth, with Hadreas not censoring any of his ideas. But that's what lies in the genius of Perfume Genius. Hadreas' music isn't for everybody, but even the non-listener would commend him for being brave enough to strip himself naked across his songs, leaving him vulnerable.

Simply put, the music of Perfume Genius is beautiful.

Technicolor Emotions: A Review of Minks' "Tides End"

The Brooklyn label, Captured Tracks, turns five this year. The label's roster, as a whole, leans towards a very specific sound with a few exceptions. New-wave indie dream-pop is what the bands of Captured Tracks seem to specialize in. However, even with a uniform sound, the bands of the label each operate their own unique niche. Wild Nothing are the perfectionists, with them yet to release a bad single, EP or album. Beach Fossils are the comeback kids, after releasing an average dream-pop record in 2010, they returned this year with the kick-ass Clash the Truth. Mac DeMarco is the resident weirdo. Holograms are the resident punks. Craft Spells are the loners, all the way in Seattle, specializing in emotional new-wave which was perfectly exemplified on Idle Labor. Heavenly Beat is the underdog, ex-Beach Fossils bassist John Peña now makes funky bedroom pop, yet he's still relatively unknown (check him out!). Alex Calder, is also a weirdo, and it's no coincidence he used to play with Mac DeMarco. DIIV is the overnight success, after playing 3.4 billion shows throughout New York and only releasing one album, the group's affinity with Nirvana is seemingly realized more and more in the passing years.

But where does Minks, the project of Sonny Kilfoyle, fit in? What space does he occupy on Captured Tracks? At first, he seemed to be the resident goth, with the sound emanating from his first LP, By the Hedge. The music quickly garnered comparisons to The Cure and other new-wave bands. But, Kilfoyle has cited The Cure as "a distant influence".

By the Hedge, was no doubt, a spotty record. Highlights like "Funeral Song" and "Ophelia" made up for the meandering songs like "Bruises" and "Boys Run Wild". Upon By the Hedge's initial release, it was quickly penned as lo-fi. For Tides End, Minks' great sophomore LP, Kilfoyle expressed a desire to move away from the "wall of sound" on his first album, and he's mostly successful with this release.

The title Tides End comes from a beachfront estate that Kilfoyle stumbled upon in East End Long Island, moving out there to cure some writer's block. The estate was owned by one family for generations, but they are suddenly forced to sell it for financial reasons. Kilfoyle took inspiration from this situation, seeing the rich sitting in the dunes, surrounded by their excess, awaiting their imminent doom. This mood portrayed fits the music on Tides End. Bright, electro-pop instrumentation is the backbone of the album, with Kilfoyle lamenting about lost love among other things. The financial situation of Tides End, comes through the song titles of Tides End. "Margot" is a Rococo painting, one song's called "Romans" and another's actually called "Playboys of the Western World".

Even though Kilfoyle was subjected to listening to early Chicago house by producer Mark Verbos, the new-wave inspirations are still prominent throughout the album. "Hold Me Now" is a gem of a pop song, with fuzzy guitars and synths, that Robert Smith would be proud of. And now that Kilfoyle's voice isn't obscured in noise, he's proved to be an adept singer, sounding like a mix between Orchestral Manoeuvres In the Dark's Andy McCluskey and Talk Talk's Mark Hollis.

Of course, with the stripping of the noise, Tides End reveals some lyrical blunders from Kilfoyle. There's the cringe inducing "don't worry about weekdays in 2022" and something about the purchasing of breast milk on "Romans".

But those are outweighed by the positives of Tides End. Kilfoyle has proved to be an effecting singer. From the venom tinged "happy birthday to the worst friend in the world" or how he aims the line "and now you're talking about some book I probably lent you" to an ex. On "Everything's Fine", Kilfoyle perfectly captures the feeling of self doubt on anxiety by declaring "everything's fine in my mind, when I'm far away".

Kilfoyle has also become a better storyteller through his lyrics. "Doomed and Cool" finds Kilfoyle following a former lover and her friends to the local park, and then commenting on how her new boyfriend's shaved his head. The song works as a double meaning, both of jealousy and the residents of Tides End, who are in fact "Doomed and Cool". There's also little details throughout the songs, like the borrowed book and boardwalk on "Painted Indian" or the spinning records of "Everything's Fine".

The final song, "Tides End", remains at a steady pace, never exploding into a much expected release for it being the closing song. Yet, the mood fits the narrative arc of Tides End along with the background story. After Kilfoyle's left by "Margot", finds himself trying to convince her to return on "Weekenders", stalks her on "Doomed and Cool", "Tides End" is where he finally (tries) to move on, wondering what's beyond "Tides End".

Hopefully there's something for him.

Minks - Tides End
8.5/10
Recommended Tracks - "Everything's Fine", "Margot", "Painted Indian", "Hold Me Now", "Doomed and Cool", "Tides End"

Why I Love How to Dress Well

(Note: Why I Love... will be a new column expressing love of an individual artist who I suddenly feel compelled to write about. This week, it's the ghostly R&B project of Tom Krell, How to Dress Well. Next week will be Perfume Genius.)

There's certain music you can't play in front of certain people.

For instance, I'm not going to let my dad hear Danny Brown give an ode to oral sex ("I Will"). Or, you wouldn't let your male friends know that every now and then that you listen to Third Eye Blind when you're alone.

But how does this apply to Tom Krell, aka How to Dress Well? Because if I were to listen to How to Dress Well, I'd be afraid that I would start to cry.

For a good reason though. Krell has a lovely falsetto and when it's translated to lyrics about love and loss, it feels like an emotional gut punch. His music demands your attention. It picks you up, slaps you around and sets you back down, feeling weary. However, it's not that the music is an emotional slog, with the artist submitting you to all the pain that they have felt (i.e. EMA, Iceage). The music itself, creates a personal (and personable) link between the listener and artist. Throughout the music, Krell lets you glimpse at the pain he's experienced, yet he identifies with your pain as well. The music is as much of a catharsis for him as it is for you.

How to Dress Well began as an anonymous project, seven free EPs of cracked, beautiful R&B showing up on the blogosphere. No one knew who he was, or his frequent collaborator, cokc dokc, for that matter (turns out, he was also cokc dokc). However, the music was soon linked back to Tom Krell a philosophy student who doesn't just reside in Brooklyn (like every single musician) but Cologne, Germany as well.

The EPs demonstrated a knowledge of R&B's past (surprising for a skinny, white Jewish guy), but it was on Krell's "debut", Love Remains, which collected the best songs from the EPs and some new ones, all coming together into one satisfying whole. From the beginning sample of the movie Safe on "You Hold the Water" to the ethereal closer, "Suicide Dream 1", Krell made a breakthrough in bedroom pop music. Krell mines the ignored parts of R&B, similar to the way Ariel Pink mines forgotten pop music of decades past.

What also made Krell such a polarizing figure in the R&B universe of 2010 was the absence of lyrical content concerning drugs and sex in his music. He's later explained his thoughts on this ("I have no problem with sex and drugs, I think they're both great"). Krell's said that the inspiration for his lyrics come from truncated scenes, or dream-like sequences. And Love Remains feels like a dream. But at other times, it feels if you're peeking through a hole in your wall, seeing the person behind crying over some emotional event. This affect is most prevalent on album highlights "Ready for the World" and "Decisions", but also on growers like "Suicide Dream 2" and "Suicide Dream 1" (dedicated to a friend who passed away).

The majority of the lyrics on Love Remains are obscured, with snatches coming through the musical fog ("don't forget to your cellphone", "I was hoping for the rain, I was hoping for you", "you don't ever have to worry"). This happens, because the music is decidedly lo-fi. However, where this can be frustrating in regards to other musicians, the instrumental decisions of Love Remains are just as impressive as Krell's falsetto. "Endless Rain" and "Lover's Start" sound like your favorite hip-hop songs. In the middle of "Ready for the World", all the music drops out, and a high pitched frequency comes in and it gets me every time.

After the success of Love Remains (it held spot 19 on Pitchfork's top 50 albums of 2010), some speculation arose about what Krell would do next as How to Dress Well. There was the EP released, Just Once which contained orchestral re-workings of the "Suicide Dream" tracks and "Decisions". So when his excellent sophomore effort, Total Loss, was announced many expected a much more "melodramatic Krell". Turns out, Krell tricked everyone again.

The instrumentation of Total Loss is much more fleshed out than it's predecessor, yet the music is sparse. Relying more on negative space, which is filled by Krell's voice, it sounds like something that The xx would be proud of. "Running Back" and "& It Was U" rely on little to no instruments apart from finger snaps. Yet "Cold Nites" and "Say My Name or Say Whatever" feature elegant, emotional piano lines.

As a whole, Total Loss is much more cohesive than Love Remains, possibly due to Krell recording the record all at once. "Struggle" reprises the lyrics of the opener "When I Was in Trouble", but this time, it's aimed at a lover and not his mother. Highlight "Talking to You" uses the instrumental that appears earlier in the album, "World I Need You, Won't Be Without You (Proem)" and he even manages to insert the instrumental's title in the lyrics of "Talking to You".

That brings up the topic of the lyrics on Total Loss. My goodness, the lyrics. On Total Loss, Krell's voice isn't obscured by static and other lo-fi trappings, and the listener won't have trouble discerning his lyrics. "Struggle" has the lyrical gut-punch of "I remember drinking with you in your bed... but in the morning we'd go and start again". On "When I Was in Trouble", Krell sings the line "Dear Mama, didn't you try to tell me everything would be safe" in his falsetto, and then repeats in mid-vocal range, giving it a chilling effect. "Cold Nites" is about all of Krell's shortcomings. "Ocean Floor for Everything" closes the album, with Krell declaring "I have my future". It may be the happiest moment on the album, yet it's still delivered with Krell sounding on the verge of tears.

But the second to last song, "Set It Right" blows everything Krell has done out of the water. It mixes the blown out reverb of Love Remains and desperate lyrics of Total Loss. The song begins with moaning vocal samples. Krell sings along with them, but his voice is mostly obscured. That is, until about two minutes, when the music crumbles around him and comes down to a haunting piano and Krell singing "Jamie I miss you, Mama I miss you..." and continuing down the list of people in his life. Krell recorded that portion of the song in one take, on the one year anniversary of the death of his best friend. Krell describes his singing on that bridge as "naked" but it's also beautiful. Then, the moans kick back in, but this time Krell is singing as loud as he can over them. He offers one of the album's best lyrics: "as far as love goes, it's one step at a time... be true to me, I'll be true to me too".

Based on just that one line, Krell's music is true. It's true to him and to the listener. It's a feeling, that "peers" The Weeknd and Frank Ocean can't pull off, simply because they're not as passionate. Krell's music is passionate as well, as exemplified throughout his entire discography. It's hard to describe the emotion and feeling conveyed through Krell's music. Be true to him, all you have to do is listen...

Where Is It Going: A Review of Weekend's "Jinx"

Weekend's debut (not to be confused with the Weeknd) album, Sports, came at a time when noise-rock wasn't noise-rock. Noise-rock was more like "pop songs buried in tape hiss and artificial distortion", thanks to the popularity of bands like Wavves and Times New Viking at the time. But Sports was a respite, with fuzzed out, sickly sounding guitars and a pounding rhythm section, in the vein of classic noise-rock albums, such as My Bloody Valentine's Loveless, The Jesus and Mary Chain's Psychocandy and even The Velvet Underground's White Light/White Heat (which many would cite as the birth of noise rock).

But all of this was back in 2010, and now it's 2013. On Weekend's sophomore record, Jinx, the band sets their focuses more on post-punk and new wave. This decision can make it harder for bands to stand out of the pack of groups aiming for this similar sound. In the past two years we've had bands like Craft Spells, Wild Nothing, DIIV, Frankie Rose, Dum Dum Girls, Merchandise and even this year, Beach Fossils released the excellent Clash the Truth which focused more on post-punk than indie pop.

So needless to say, Weekend were going to have to pull something amazing to sound as refreshing as they did back in 2010, with the release of Sports. And luckily, Jinx is able to achieve that.

Weekend has always been a dark band. The snatches of lyrics that you could actually make out from the distortion on Sports were self lacerating and creepy ("something deep inside of me turned off", "I awoke from a coma summer"). With the listener able to understand the lyrics on Jinx, the band's darkness has grown (or consumed them even more). This darkness isn't forced though, after hearing about front man and bassist Shaun Durkan discuss recent events in his life. The passing of a loved one, a mental breakdown and six months spent in therapy has all built up to the cathartic music that is found on Jinx.

The band as a whole, has also found a change of scenery, by moving from San Francisco to Brooklyn. Truth be told, their sound didn't fit in with the sunny pop of Girls and psychedelia of Thee Oh Sees and Ty Segall.

Similar to what many Brooklyn (and lo-fi bands in general) have been doing on their sophomore records, has been to strip away the noise. This change is apparent on the album's first track and single, "Mirror". It begins with disembodied vocals and piercing flickers of static before the bass kicks in, much more audible than it was on Sports. The guitars sound like something that The Cure would appreciate. On "Mirror", Durkan seems to be painting a picture of a Jekyll and Hyde like story with lyrics like "he only comes in the night, someone just like me".

With the stripping of the noise, the band's musical palette has expanded as well. Songs like "Sirens" and "Rosaries" sound like Radio Dept. b-sides. The way the bass and guitars ring out on "Celebration, FL" sounds like the funky swing that Depeche Mode sometimes carry with them.

The one downfall of the album, is that it can feel very front loaded at times. The highlights like "July" (a chronicle of love in the month) and "Oubliette" (which contains some of the darkest lyrics, "dogs gave up rib thin gaunt") come in the first 15 minutes of the 45 minute long album. But after multiple listens, every track reveals it's necessity to be included in this album. "Rosaries" and "Sirens" may seem like meandering interludes, but work in the context of the rest of the album. The closer, "Just Drive" sounds unremarkable by itself, but by being the last thing we hear on Jinx, it seems fitting.

So, Jinx is much more subtle than Sports but it slowly reveals it's brilliance to the listener after repeated listens, something that The National employed on this year's excellent Trouble Will Find Me. On Sports, Weekend were trying to prove something. Now that they've done that, they have the opportunity to become more subtle and expand their musical palette. Some may be upset that the ear killing noise is gone, but Jinx adds a whole new layer to Weekend.

Weekend - Jinx
8/10
Recommended Tracks: "Mirror", "July", "Oubliette", "Scream Queen", "Just Drive"

The Open Road: A Review of Daughn Gibson's "Me Moan"

A fixation of the open road is nothing new to indie rock. The 90's had Modest Mouse, with albums such as This Is a Long Drive for Someone With Nothing to Think About and The Lonesome Crowded West. The latter featured a 10 minute long song called "Trucker Atlas" which was about, well, a trucker's atlas. Through the lens of Isaac Brock's dark worldview we got a view of a darker, crumbling America. Deserts rivaled by shopping malls. 

Even the 2000's have had artists who use the road as an inspiration. In 2011, The War On Drugs made the great Slave Ambient, a record which successfully blended rootsy-Americana with shoegaze. And even this year, Dirty Beaches released the brilliant Drifters/Love Is the Devil a record in which the main protagonist was wandering the world, a man without a home (from Berlin to the Danube River).

It seems logical to put Daughn Gibson's excellent new record, Me Moan in the ranks of these records. After all, Gibson was a trucker for a decade, trekking across America with an 18-wheeler. So compared to Dirty Beaches, Gibson works on a much smaller scale. The characters who populate Gibson's songs aren't lost, wandering strange European cities at night. They're meeting each other in roadside motel rooms, getting drinks at the Rio Bar and Grill or saying goodbye to Lynn Falls.

Daughn Gibson himself may seem just like a character as well. He's handsome enough to be an Ambercombie & Fitch model, yet he's driven a truck while playing in the stoner metal band Pearls and Brass. He's currently residing in Pennsylvania where his best friend lives. His best friend happens to be Matt Korvette of sludge punkers Pissed Jeans. Oh yeah, and his real name's not Daughn Gibson.

But when he released his 2012 debut, All Hell it became clear that Gibson was a musician worth watching. It was a record that was largely sample based, but with Gibson singing in his (now) signature baritone which recalls Johnny Cash, Tom Waits and Scott Walker. He proved to be an adept story teller as well. A perfect example of that is "Tiffany Lou", about a daughter who keeps seeing her father getting arrested on the TV show "Cops".

Because of the uniqueness of All Hell, but also because of it's short length (only half an hour), it wouldn't be surprising to be thinking hard of what Gibson would do next. Not to mention that he was signed to indie behemoth Sub Pop. So the questions were raised. What would Gibson do with a higher studio budget? What would he do with an actual backing band?

Daughn Gibson's Me Moan

When it comes down to it, the only logical answer is that he would make Me Moan. With his higher studio budget he's been able to feature more instruments (ranging from trombone to cello) and invite distinguished musicians to play with him (John Baizley of Baroness, Jim Elkington of Brokeback). He hasn't lost his style of forming samples, electronic and country music into one blurry, but satisfying whole.

This subtle change of pace is perfectly exemplified on the album's first song (coincidentally the first single as well), "The Sound of Law". The bass sounds funky, and the guitars and drums chug along, just like a truck. Gibson chronicles his birth, which, according to him was on the side of a highway. He also paints a dark picture of his "father", who just doesn't kill a man, but "[blows] that fucker off to hell". What makes this line so shocking and maybe even heart breaking, is that it follows the lyric, "he laid a kiss in my little hand".

A handful of songs are still sample driven, just like Gibson's earlier work. "Mad Ocean" samples militaristic bagpipes rivaled by driving drums. The disembodied vocal samples of "You Don't Fade" sound like the beginning of a Clams Casino beat, and the tick tocking of the drum machine of "The Right Signs" sounds like Chromatics' "A Matter of Time".

But where Gibson really shines are on the tracks that feature more daring and live instrumentation. These songs just happen to be the ones with the best lyrics as well. "Won't You Climb" features swooping violins and choir vocals as Gibson recalls a teenage love in his boring town. "Kissin on the Blacktop" starts off sounding like a joke with it's twangy, honky tonk guitars before Gibson reveals the adventures he's had in the Rio Bar and Grill. He's been ditched in the parking lot by his grandfather and did a little something with a female patron in the restroom.

Much of the lyrical content falls back to doomed relationships on Me Moan. Gibson and his girlfriend recall Bobby and Helen of James Mills' novel, The Panic in Needle Park on "The Pisgee Nest". They steal money from parked cars to pay rent. But she just happens to be the sheriff's daughter and a prostitute. On the album's excellent closer, "Into the Sea", Gibson succumbs to the bottle after a relationship ended the night before ("I don't want to drink the day away / but it's so unfair the way it went last night"). He discloses this all to us over shimmering piano arpeggios.

But it's the album's centerpiece, "Franco", that really hits you straight in the gut. Instrumentally wise, it's sparse. A lone guitar strikes some piercing notes and sometimes they're assisted by a drum beat and piano. On "Franco", Gibson knows the relationship's over, but he's trying to come up with different ways to preserve it. "You and  I can say goodbye to Lynn Falls / a better view of the city life / we could make it a paradise" is one of the many pleading lines that Gibson offers. He says he'll try to take a job and he'll wait for her even though "time can only bend". But the emotional climax is when Gibson sings the line "I wish we had a kid / who never wanted to die".

When it comes down to it, the characters in Daughn Gibson's songs aren't like characters found throughout the ages of rock music, but more literary characters. The characters of "Phantom Rider" who are hiding in hotel rooms with the doors locked recalls the paranoia and violence of Cormac McCarthy's No Country for Old Men. Gibson's Nick Shay of Don DeLilo's Underworld speeding down a desert road, only to encounter a former lover. On the mundane life studying "All My Days Off", he's the drug addled characters of Denis Johnson's Jesus' Son, roaming the small towns in which they live in. Daughn Gibson is all of these compelling characters, but he remains his own as well. And he's just as compelling.

Daughn Gibson - Me Moan
9/10
Recommended Tracks - "The Sound of Law", "The Pisgee Nest", "You Don't Fade", "Franco", "Won't You Climb", "All My Days Off", "Into the Sea"

Why I Love Mac DeMarco

In music, there's something I like to refer to as the "click". The "click" is really just when the music clicks with the listener. When the listener realizes the genius of whatever they're listening to. It's great when you realize how great the music is upon first listen, but it's the music that burns slowly that's even better. It'll slowly unfurl, revealing it's brilliance to you.

Some examples of a "click": waiting for my best friend outside the Dunkin Donuts on Court Street, three days before Christmas while listening to Pavement's Slanted and Enchanted. Listening to Merchandise's Children of Desire on a flight back from London to New York. Walking through Dumbo, post Hurricane Sandy listening to El-P's Cancer 4 Cure. On an empty Q train at six in the morning, listening to Willis Earl Beal's Acousmatic Sorcery. 

But a couple days ago, I think I had the most important "click" yet (most likely to be replaced by something else soon, but who cares?). I was walking on the Brooklyn waterfront, while the sun was setting at 9:00 pm. There had just been a thunderstorm and the air smelled like wet pavement. The good ol' iPod Classic was on shuffle, and King Tuff's "Just Strut" had just finished. Following the Mighty Tuff, were some cheap sounding guitars, almost sounding like Parquet Courts, but much more gentle and wistful. Then, the voice came in, crooning "viceroy, early in the morning". What did I realize? I realized it was Mac DeMarco's "Ode to Viceroy". Quickly fumbling to grab my iPod from my pocket, I scrolled quickly to Mac DeMarco's 2. I listened to the half hour duration of 2 while wandering around Brooklyn as the sun set.

Mac DeMarco's Canadian. A couple of years ago, that wouldn't have meant anything unless you were Feist or part of Broken Social Scene (or as Sub Pop stated, "there was a time when you needed 18 members to be a band in Canada"). But now with a bevy of new musicians emerging from Canada, DeMarco is a welcome presence along with Metz, White Lung, Doldrums, Grimes, Fucked Up and some band who I don't talk about much, Japandroids.

Mac DeMarco is sleazy, slimy and a genius. With Alex Calder he was Makeout Videotape and made scuzzy, fuzzy garage pop that was recorded in a garage in Vancouver. He then struck out on his own at age 21, releasing Rock and Roll Nightclub on the Brooklyn label, Captured Tracks. The album was creepy and sometimes felt like a parody, with DeMarco singing in quiet baritone, glam rock impersonations, or having skits of him playing a demonic radio DJ. The lyrical content was downright weird. On "Baby's Wearin' Blue Jeans", DeMarco lusted after a woman because of the jeans she was wearing.

Mac DeMarco walked a line between a creepy crooner and a straightforward singer/songwriter on Rock and Roll Nightclub which was the album's downfall. Mac didn't exactly know who he wanted to be on his first album. On 2 (released only nine months after Rock and Roll), Mac DeMarco perfected his craft to make a career defining, perfect album.

It's hard to throw around the term "perfect" these days. Because then, musical purists will claim there hasn't been a perfect album since Who's Next. So, let me rephrase what I said. 2 has all intentions of being a perfect album, it's just barely out of reach (if that makes any sense). The aspiration is there, it's just not achieved throughout the entire album. But, hey, that's fine. Nobody's perfect.

In regards to discussing the genius of Mac DeMarco, and how it's reflected through 2 requires discussing the 11 songs of 2. So here we go.

The genius begins with "Cooking Up Something Good", which opens with some loose guitars before falling into an almost mechanical pattern with the drums. But the lyrics are where Mac shines, with him painting a mundane picture of family life in the first verse. His daddy's the pride of the neighborhood, his mommy's cooking up something good, his brother's in the ballet ("it seems he's got it set") and then there's Mac, up at midnight smoking his cigarette. After the chorus ("oh when life moves this slowly / just try and let it go") we learn his dad's the pride of the hood, because he's cooking meth in the basement and getting one of his sons to sell it for him. Our expectations of what the song would be are completely flipped, and the most heartbreaking moment is when we learn what Mac is doing through all of this. He's still up at midnight, but this time, he's chewing nicorette.

The album slides into "Dreaming", featuring languid guitar tones and Mac singing in a tired voice. Again, the genius of Mac shows, because he flips our expectations of the song again. We think it's a love song, with him finding the perfect woman but then in the chorus we hear "dreaming / I'm only dreaming". "Freaking Out the Neighborhood" is next, and it almost feels like a sequel of "Cooking Up Something Good". The main protagonist returns home and realizes how nothing's changed since he's left. The song also acts as an apology to his mother, while at the same time referencing how strange Mac is. "It's no fun / when your first son / gets up to no good / starts freaking out the neighborhood!"

There's album highlight "Ode to Viceroy", but first there's one of the album's many love songs, "Annie". It's one of the album's many love songs, with jerky guitars and Mac pleading to "Annie" wanting her to sit next to him before revealing "daddy won't let me". "Ode to Viceroy" features shimmering guitar arpeggios, but at the same time, they are kind of unsettling. It's a love song in the least traditional sense. It's an ode to a brand of cigarettes ("ohhh honey / I'll smoke you 'till I'm dying"), notoriously the worst tasting cigarettes as well. The song fades into dueling guitar solos, which both feature precision.

What follows is a trio of love songs, "Robson Girl", "The Stars Keep On Calling My Name" and "My Kind of Woman". On "Robson Girl", Mac sings in a pained voice asking if him and his lover can try this again when they're older (guess it's not working out). Mac doesn't exactly "shred" but he makes an attempt on "Robson Girl". Mac bought his guitar for $30 when he was 16. It sounds it. "The Stars Keep On Calling My Name" acts both as a love song and a song about escape. He's trying to convince the girl he loves to skip town with him, even though they don't know what exists in the outside world. Another album highlight follows, "My Kind of Woman". It features guitar arpeggios similar to "Ode to Viceroy". The guitars are wistful and Mac declares that you're "[his] kind of woman" ("my oh my, what a girl").

The instrumental "Boe Zaah" precedes the final two songs, "Sherrill" and "Still Together". "Sherrill" is another love song, possibly being the least original of the album (but it's no big deal). What makes the song interesting, is that through Mac's laconic lyrics, there's references to him being fired from multiple jobs. Mac made a move to Montreal once, but because he couldn't speak French he had to take strange and sometimes demeaning jobs. He signed up for multiple human science experiments and held a job at an animal morgue.

The album ends with the beautiful and mellow "Still Together". Accompanied by only a lightly strummed acoustic guitar, Mac gives us his biggest surprise yet. A beautiful falsetto in the chorus, that is unwavering and doesn't break once. After an album, where love has gone wrong for Mac, it's nice to see that him and his significant other are "Still Together". Maybe it's the same girl from "The Stars Keep On Calling My Name" and "My Kind of Woman". The song is dedicated to his girlfriend, Kira, who's living in the apartment her and Mac share in Montreal while he's on tour. The song ends with hushed dialogue: Mac wakes Kira up, tells her it's time to bed, tells her he has to leave at the moment, tells her he loves her, and then we hear a door close.

And 2 is over.

Critics like to relate Mac DeMarco to modern folkies like Cass McCombs and Kurt Vile. Despite how brilliant these two are, Mac isn't one of them. Mac is a complete weirdo and Vile and McCombs aren't. Mac belongs in the ranks of King Tuff, Sam France and Jonathan Rado of Foxygen and Alex Coxen and the rest of our boys from Milk Music.

In regards to weirdo wannabes Alt-J/∆, Pitchfork asked "where'd all the real weirdos go"?

They're right here.