Category: Music

Posted in Music

Phonetics On and On – album review

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Thursday, bibliophiles! Finally had time to do an album review…unprecedented…

I first fell in love with Horsegirl in my senior year of high school. Back then, they were afloat on a handful of singles and on the cusp of a debut album. By the time Versions of Modern Performance came out, it was the soundtrack to the summer before I went to college. Their clever, endlessly creative style, informed by the ’70s and the ’90s in equal measure, enchanted me—it felt like almost nothing like what many other musicians of their generation were putting out. Along came 2024, and the promise of something somehow even better was on the horizon: a new Horsegirl album, produced by Cate Le Bon and recorded in The Loft, the famous (at least to me) Chicago studio owned by Wilco. What could go wrong? Almost nothing, as it turns out—Phonetics On and On is proof that the playful, inventive spirit of Horsegirl lives on, and that it’s beginning to mature into something spectacular.

Enjoy this album review!

PHONETICS ON AND ON – HORSEGIRL

Release date: February 14, 2025 (Matador Records)

TRACK 1: “Where’d You Go?” – 8/10

Just shy of two minutes long, “Where’d You Go?” is a song that lives up to the band name—the propulsive beat has the urgency of a racehorse speeding down a track. Drenched in tight, Feelies-esque (crazy) rhythms, it kickstarts the album with a jolt of sparking energy. Gigi Reece’s drumming has the lightning-fast patter of rabbit’s feet against the dirt, while the dueling voices of Nora Cheng and Penelope Lowenstein tug the track in two directions, a short leash that snaps to allow for a crayon’s scribble of a guitar riff to burst in at the 1:12 mark. The frenetic energy is a remarkable bridge from their work on Versions of Modern Performance to this album—vestiges of their earlier compositions, but the beginnings of a divergence into musical maturity. That’s how you start an album.

TRACK 2: “Rock City” – 7.5/10

Reining in the freewheeling energy of “Where’d You Go?”, “Rock City” mellows the album into the pace that much of the rest of Phonetics On and On settles into. It’s odd to have a more transitional track by only track two, but that feels like the function of “Rock City” is to me—it’s one of the weaker songs on the album, but nonetheless great; it serves to weave together the fluctuations in energy from track one to many of the others. That being said, it’s not a bad song by any stretch of the imagination. With its pastoral imagery and catchy, upbeat stillness, it’s the perfect track to relax the unbridled momentum of the opener. Cheng’s lighter vocals give it a gentle levity, while the sudden jumpstart in structure at 3:16 ensures a recurring theme on the album—you can’t be lulled into a false sense of security, because Horsegirl always has something up their sleeves.

TRACK 3: “In Twos” – 8/10

Initially, “In Twos” wasn’t a standout track for me. The slow pace didn’t bother me, but it didn’t grab me like many of the other tracks did. Yet the more I listen to the lyrics, the better it gets. Horsegirl are masters of crafting emotion from simplicity; much of Phonetics On and On was inspired by their collective experience of uprooting from Chicago to New York City to go to school at NYU, and the isolation of coming of age and moving to a new city. You can feel that understated alienation all over “In Twos,” a slow, wistful recollection of how “every car that passes by drives to you” and “your footprints on the street, they walk in twos.” It’s almost resentment, but feels to me more like a familiar feeling: watching people live normal lives as an outsider. The Rolling Stones-like repetition of “and I try” reminds me of that aching, to want to be accepted and feel normal and live a traditional life, but knowing that you’ll never fully mesh with them, and that life has a different destiny for you, no matter how hard you try to fight it.

Oof. Definitely got me there. Horsegirl lures you in with the “dadadadadada”s and then boom. ALIENATION! Seriously, this is starting to become one of the more impactful tracks on the album.

TRACK 4: “2468” – 8/10

Reviewed on Sunday Songs, 12/1/24 – a fascinating first taste of the album—Feelies worship, weird violins, Wes Anderson quirks, and above all, weird talent.

TRACK 5: “Well I Know You’re Shy” – 8/10

Picking up the pace that “2468” jumpstarted, “Well I Know You’re Shy” is just about the most Velvet Underground love song I’ve heard since Lou Reed tapped Moe Tucker to sing “After Hours.” I realize it’s hyperbole, but I can’t help but see the DNA woven between the two. Composed of old-timey phone cords and shyly open windows, it presents a love song that could only happen between two sharply-dressed Wes Anderson characters. Punctuated by Nora Cheng’s clean guitar riffs, it talks of a romantic looking out their window wishing to “sing for you/I wanna sing like I do/out your window,” continually rueing the fact that “what happened out there/I wish it was me.” There’s no tormented confessions of love or on-your-knees begging for a kiss, but a precocious, simple wish: “What happened out there/Well I know you’re shy/If you’ll listen to me/You’ll know I want to say hi.” I hesitate to call it childlike, but it has a doe-eyed purity to it that makes it so charming.

TRACK 6: “Julie” – 8.5/10

Reviewed on Sunday Songs, 12/29/24 – a glimpse into Horsegirl’s emerging introspective side, proof of their untapped ability to tap into tender emotion.

TRACK 7: “Switch Over” – 9.5/10

Reviewed on Sunday Songs, 2/2/25 – still the brightest, catchiest, and really the best song on the whole album.

TRACK 8: “Information Content” – 8/10

This is one of the brightest songs on Phonetics On and On, and I don’t mean that in intelligence—listen and you’ll understand. “Information Content” glows with the blinking spirit of a glass lightbulb. The brightness comes in no small part from how jangly they go with the guitars on this one—in between Reece’s soft drumming and egg shakers, Cheng’s voice is allowed to be so cheerful and airy, even when the lyrics might as well be crossing items off a grocery list or striking a day from the calendar. That’s the power of Horsegirl to me (Horsepower?)—they dredge so much playful joy from the mundane and ordinary, making a trip to the kitchen into a spring-stepped skip. There’s something about “Information Content” that feels distinctly Wilco to me as well—it seems that the influence of The Loft rubbed off on them. (How could it not?) At 2:58, the guitar solo kicks in, but gets crumpled into tinfoil chaos just as quickly; it’s so prickly and collapses in the blink of an eye, and I can’t help but be reminded of Nels Cline’s improvisations and swift-fingered touch to his guitar playing, or even the way that Glenn Koche’s drumming descends into madness during “Via Chicago.” Of course, nobody can come close to that level of masterful insanity (especially on their second album), but I can hear the influence loud and clear—and I love it.

TRACK 9: “Frontrunner” – 8.5/10

The last single to be released before the entire album came out, “Frontrunner” lies in the same vein as “Julie”—a slow-paced, more instrospective side to Horsegirl that’s unafraid to strip down to more raw, spare elements. On the composition, the band said that this gentler track was born after “[I] had just had a really terrible, emotional day…and Nora and I were like, ‘OK, we should just play guitar today, you need to do something.’ And we wrote that song together.” It’s so simple, yet so heartwarming to me that such a tender song came out of ordinary moments that we’ve all shared with friends; Even before I knew the context behind it, “Frontrunner” rang proudly as such a distinctly friendship song to me, and I loved it for just that. For me, it embodies another kind of college feeling, the post-freshman feeling of realizing “oh my god, I’ve got friends?” and that realization powering you through the day that you have so many new, wonderful people to share your life with who are only an arm’s length away. The repetition of “I can’t wait/And I can’t wait/And I can’t wait” is filled with a wistful, anticipatory glee despite the slower tempo of the track, but the happiness on the horizon is what made it such a winner for me. A frontrunner, if you—[gets dragged off the stage by a comically large cane]

TRACK 10: “Sport Meets Sound” – 7/10

Horsegirl claimed that they’re mostly finished with the “joke titles” that composed most of Versions of Modern Performance (“Rock City” is allegedly the last of its kind), but…if this isn’t the most Versions of Modern Performance title I’ve ever laid eyes on…

Taking cues from the more laid-back tone of “Frontrunner,” “Sport Meets Sound,” contrary to the speed that the title implies, eases the album close to hitting the brakes. With a steady, marching band-like drumbeat from Reece and strings of “dadadadadada’s” aplenty, it doesn’t do a whole lot to distinguish itself from the other tracks, in the grand scheme of Phonetics On and On; like “In Twos” and “2468,” it’s lyrically twins with “Rock City” (see the “Young man sickened by the sight” refrain), but unlike those two, it doesn’t stand out as much as the former two do. But if that’s a weaker Horsegirl song…man, I’m so impressed with their output, because even at their weakest, they can make a truly catchy indie rock song, and that’s just what “Sport Meets Sound” is. It’s a transitional song to the end, and it works perfectly as such.

TRACK 11: “I Can’t Stand To See You” – 8/10

Sliding in to give Phonetics On and On a final spark of momentum, this track lifts the smile of the album at large, a peppy victory lap that unites all of the best aspects of the album at large. The jangle-o-meter has been calibrated so much that it’s broken, the spring in their metaphorical step is even springier, the “da-da-da-da-da’s” unfurl out before you like a promising scroll. The lyrics become playfully self-aware both of the song’s status as an album closer: “Do you want to go home now?/The night’s almost through.” Yet with a sly wink, they promise that they’ve got more up their sleeve: “Just another walk around the block now.” It feels more like a closing theme to a children’s TV show than a closing track to an album; It declares that there’s one more bout of carefree fun to have before Horsegirl has to say goodbye. In a way, it’s a thesis of the album’s spirit: so aware of itself that it becomes a blast, and so carefully constructed that the joy is an integral part of the process.

I averaged out all of the ratings for each track, and it came out to an 8.1! Without a doubt, Phonetics On and On is set to become one of my favorite albums of the year…and it’s only February. Horsegirl bring a welcome, much-needed dose of free-spirited yet tightly-constructed craft into their art and to the world, piling catchy melody after catchy melody for a record that sees them maturing into fledgling artists, yet never denies the play that is central to their ethos. I’d go so far as to say that we’re all better for the joy they bring to their music. I know I am.

Since this post consists entirely of songs, consider all of Phonetics On and On to be today’s song.

That’s it for this album review! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Music

All Born Screaming – album review

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Friday, bibliophiles!

2024 has proven to be momentous for my inner middle schooler. A new St. Vincent album, and the Apple TV+ adaptation of The Search for WondLa…exists. I may revert to my middle school self if everything else about the show is as terrible as the “reimagined” character designs. But that’s not what I’m reviewing today.

Those of you who have stuck around on this blog may remember me enthusiastically reviewing Daddy’s Home on the heels of surviving the hell that was junior year during COVID. Those who have stuck around longer still remember my middle-school rant about MASSEDUCTION. (I’d rather you…not remember the specifics of the latter, but I still count that album as her lowest point.) Her self-titled record was as much of a friend as an album can be when I was 12, struggling to reconcile being unapologetically myself and wanting the acceptance of my peers. Marry Me was the first album I ever bought with my own money, and Actor, Strange Mercy, and Love This Giant all saw me through high school. All that is to say that St. Vincent has been there for me in the best of times and the worst of times. So naturally, I did scream when I found out about All Born Screaming—not just a new album, but a supposed return to her harder sensibilities—was coming out this year. And while it wasn’t fully the rock album that was marketed—or as musically cohesive as she tends to be—All Born Screaming is, without a doubt, some of her best work in years.

As I’ve been excited about this album for months—and writing more about music than I have in past years—I’ve already reviewed 3/10 of the tracks from All Born Screaming, so I’ll link to each separate installment of Sunday Songs that I reviewed them in, so as not to sound like a feral, sobbing, broken record.

Let’s begin, shall we?

ALL BORN SCREAMING – ST. VINCENT

Release date: April 26, 2024 (Total Pleasure)

TRACK 1: “Hell Is Near” – 8/10

St. Vincent tying the aesthetic and merch in with images of marigolds is pure evil. Diabolical. Diabolical of them to pair one of my favorite artists of all time with my favorite flower…holding out until she announces a date near me until I buy that one marigold shirt, because it’s an inevitability. It’s only a matter of time.

“Hell Is Near” is an opener that creeps through the shadows on feet that you can barely see coming. With a thumping bass that thrums like a heartbeat witnessing horrors in the dark, it feels like the slithering transition between eras and personas, especially with the allusion to “The Nowhere Inn” (“Snubbed out smoke in a pack from the Nowhere Inn”). I can almost see Clark crawling out of some kind of giant shadow box as the song progresses, the heartbeat bass echoing off of every wall as her hands emerge from the darkness. I can’t help but think of the chord progression of “Prince Johnny”—this album is the most similar to the self-titled record since the record itself, and it’s clear that she’s cobbling this current aesthetic upon shadowier corners of that era, with guitar riffs that seem to interlock like strands of DNA. It’s a slow trickle of an opener, and as it dissolves into a flurry of high piano notes and fluttering synth, it leaves you guessing—where could she possibly be taking us to next?

TRACK 2: “Reckless” – 8.5/10

“Reckless” almost feels more like an opener than “Hell Is Near” does, even though the latter does a fantastic job of being an opener. After “Hell Is Near” dissolves, we return to sparse wasteland that the first track set up, but with a significantly darker tone—both speak of leaving the past behind, but “Reckless” turns “Hell Is Near”‘s willingness to move on to dwelling on it.

If there’s one thing about new music that I always live for, it’s those moments where you hear a lyric for the first time and physically have to stop in your tracks just to process how beautiful it is. Last year, I had that moment with Wilco’s stunning “Sunlight Ends”—”you dance/like the dust in the light” made all time stop around me. Jeff Tweedy just does that. And so does Annie Clark—it’s hard to think of a line on All Born Screaming more hard-hitting than this: “I’ve been mourning you since the day I met you.” Even if it precedes “Flea” and its tale of a love so predatory that it becomes parasitic, this feels like the fallout; it feels like a reconciliation, or just a realization of a feeling of destroying everything you touch, knowing that your actions will eventually drive away everyone that you will ever love. Whatever the narrator did has become so thoughtless and violent that it’s left them with nothing but “the smell of your hair on the curtains, babe,” and all that is left of them is a memory that they cling to with all that they can, knowing that what they did was enough to send them running for good. The sparkling synths that burst like faulty wiring at 2:38, around 2/3 of the way through, feel like the memory of the outburst that left them isolated, longing for something more, as Clark stares out the window like a widow remembering how her lover was slain in the war. This, unlike “Hell Is Near,” felt like a more certain sign of things to come—the wires have been cut, the dishes are shattered on the floor, and your heels are burnt and bleeding from stepping on them both.

TRACK 3: “Broken Man” – 10/10

Reviewed on 3/10—I haven’t stopped foaming at the mouth, thank you very much

TRACK 4: “Flea” – 10/10

Reviewed on 4/7—no, I still haven’t recovered from “I look at you and all I see is meat,” why do you ask?

TRACK 5: “Big Time Nothing” – 8.5/10

This is what MASSEDUCTION should have been.

All Born Screaming was what Clark called “post-plague pop,” and nothing exemplifies the “pop” aspect more than this song. Like the spandex she wore on the MASSEDUCTION tour, the skittering synths clamp the beat down enough so that it hardly even has room to squirm. There’s threads of Björk’s electronic catwalk-strutters and the obvious (to me, at least) nod to Peter Gabriel with the last utterance of “big time nothing” being cut off to a chorus of “big time”; a very fitting nod, since these two Big Times deal with the same Big Time in question: the allure—and detriment—of being under the magnifying glass of fame. Gabriel’s “Big Time” was his view on what fame turned people into—and what he feared that, as his own fame grew, he might become. (Of course he wasn’t going to, though. He’s too humble of a guy.) And even though Daddy’s Home was the first album post-MASSEDUCTION to deal with the litany of events Clark experienced, this one seems to address the scrutiny she felt under the microscope of paparazzi while she dated Cara Delevigne; she was already renowned in indie circles, but she’d never been exposed to that kind of relentless tabloid predation before, and, understandably, it’s done a number on her mental health.

Each lyric is a rapid-fire command, as though being dictated to a model while she’s spinning around for the camera: “Don’t blink, don’t wait/Don’t walk, you’re late/Don’t fall from grace, behave/Don’t trip, sashay.” Every misstep is tabloid fodder, and every move she makes is under heavy surveillance. The dead-eyed delivery of each spit lyric cements the soullessness of it all, other than an occasional vocal dip (“Don’t feel so sick”) where it turns from dead to sinister, a pseudo-coo that seems to come with a promise through red lips and an emotionless pat on the shoulder. It’s pop, but the kind of pop that’s delivered with Clark’s keen (and weary) observations on being in the celebrity spotlight—this is the natural evolution of “Los Ageless,” especially my favorite lyric from it: “girls in cages playing their guitars.” You can entertain, but you can’t move.

TRACK 6: “Violent Times” – 8.5/10

When the starts the All Born Screaming tour, she just has to transition this with “Marrow.” Or any track from Actor, come to think of it. “Violent Times” feels like a version of Actor that leans more into the boldness than the flighty, hiding-under-the-bed sensibilities. With a brass section powerful enough to flatten a forest, the dial is turned from observational pop back to the in-your-face force of “Broken Man,” but instead of the latter’s formal urges, it’s a leather jacket-clad beckoning back to a lover, sunglasses tilted down the nose and not a smear of lipstick out of place. As the brass blasts and the papery drumbeat thrums, Clark sultrily sings of the never-ending glow of kindness in the darkest hour—”I forgot people be so kind in these violent times.” Even though it’s made for Clark’s signature, birdlike dance moves, slick and smoky, it touches at some of the album’s tenderest moments. In the chaos of the modern world, it becomes more difficult day by day to remember that there’s still good left in it. But as Clark reminds us, what’s preserved from history’s great tragedies is always the innate, human quality of love: “When in the ashes of Pompeii/Lovers discovered in an embrace/For all eternity.” The subject matter and the musical atmosphere seem eons away, but in Clark’s hands, they’re all but twins, molded from the same warm clay into one of the most iconic tracks of the year.

TRACK 7: “The Power’s Out” – 9/10

Speaking of nods to other artists…

This one is the most obvious out of the many tributes to her musical inspirations, but for me, it’s the most emotional and poignant. “The Power’s Out” is, in essence, a four and a half minute long tribute to the iconic opener from David Bowie’s The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, “Five Years”—in my opinion, one of the greatest album openers of all time, given the artistry, fly-on-the-wall observations, and the overwhelm of emotion. The nods are practically everywhere. My brother pointed out how the drumbeat is almost identical, albeit with one beat more and significantly digitized. The parallels are everywhere:

“Came the message on the station/’The power’s out across the nation/And, Ladies and gentleman, it seems we got a problem’/The man on my screen said, just as somebody shot him.” (Clark)

“News guy wept and told us/Earth was really dying/Cried so much his face was wet/Then I knew he was not lying.” (Bowie)

–

“It was pouring like a movie/Every stranger looked like they knew me.” (Clark)

“And it was cold and it rained, so I felt like an actor.” (Bowie)

–

“And ‘Ladies and gentleman, do remember me smiling’/The queer on the train said as she jumped off the platform/And some blind folks held the police, crying/I swear to you I would not lie.” (Clark)

“A cop knelt and kissed the feet of a priest/And a queer threw up at the sight of that.” (Bowie)

I’ve got a whole Charlie Kelly conspiracy cork board laid out in my head. It’s all blatantly intentional, and it’s beautiful to me, coming from someone who has said that “there’s nobody who I would put above Bowie.” But what separates “Five Years” and “The Power’s Out” for me is the grounding. “Five Years” was the grand sweep of the beginning of his famous concept album, where Ziggy Stardust comes to Earth in its final five years to teach humanity the power of love and music before their time is expired. It’s more emotional than “The Power’s Out” for me (because, like Clark, there’s nobody I would put above Bowie…but she’s very close), but even with the barrage of anguish that Bowie pours out at the song’s climactic, chaotic flurry of an ending, you still know it’s part of something fictional. With “The Power’s Out,” there’s no pretense of total annihilation or alien saviors—it’s the horror of reality, the horror of contending with modern life. The world isn’t ending, but the disarray of the city and the fear being grown and harvested in barrels makes every day seem like a catastrophe. We’re assaulted with hate and fear from all corners of the world, now more than ever, and no one is exempt. With all of the horrific events flooding us, all we can do is try to move through it as best we can, yet still be expected to return to it and live through it all over again; all of the chaos, fear, and violence Clark describes is wrapped up in a whispery confession in the final line, as though to a partner: “That’s why I never came home.” It’s a beautiful conversation with Bowie, one that grounds its inspiration in the maelstrom of dystopian chaos that is 21st century living.

TRACK 8: “Sweetest Fruit” – 9/10

Reviewed on 4/28—good LORD, this is phenomenal

TRACK 9: “So Many Planets” – 6/10

Why does the thumbnail for this video look like I’m at a parent-teacher conference and St. Vincent’s about to pull up my math grade and tell me that my test scores have been slipping 😭

There have been various moments on this album that have made me go “huh?”—unexpected musical turns left and right. It’s an album that, if nothing else, has kept me on my toes. But this was the first on the album that was not a good “huh.” Most of the early reviews of the album called it the emotional centerpiece, so I was expecting something in line with “I Prefer Your Love,” “Live In The Dream,” or even “Slow Disco”—St. Vincent knows how to bring things down to Earth from the grandeur that she paints. But “So Many Planets” is just a jumble of confusing decisions. Here’s the thing: the lyrics are vulnerably beautiful, but the tonal dissonance between said lyrics and the music makes the aftertaste one that I don’t like all the way. It’s got this odd, synthy, bounce, and her delivery is oddly stiff and angular. Usually, Clark is one to mesh two oddly contrasting elements and make them work (see: “Violent Times”), but here, it just feels so tonally distant that it falls flat. Separately, these aspects are commendable, but they weren’t meant to be together. This is the low point of the album, without a doubt, but in the grand scheme of things, if this is the worst song, then it’s a fantastic album.

TRACK 10: “All Born Screaming” (fear. Cate Le Bon) – 7/10

All Born Screaming, as wonderful as it is, doesn’t stick the landing so well…until it does. Combined with “So Many Planets,” “All Born Screaming” is another tonally dissonant, pseudo-reggae ball of confusion that sits strangely in my mouth. It seems like the kind of thing to be paired with the kind of perky dance that Clark often did with her backup dancers on the Daddy’s Home tour, and for a song that’s meant to be the album’s closing thesis and its title track, it…doesn’t work. Most of my thoughts on this song parallel my thoughts on “So Many Planets.”

But.

About halfway through, the freakout starts. Distorted voices bubble through the wire, guitars whine and screech, and an accelerated, anxious heartbeat propels “All Born Screaming” into its final form. Joined by the cavernous voice of Cate Le Bon, Clark turns the album’s title into a clarion call, howling out to the masses: an affirmation that despite it all, we are still here. We were all born screaming, and we will continue to scream until our last breath. We are here, and we won’t go away. We went into the woods that Clark spoke of, scarred by brambles and wild animals, but in one piece, stronger for having pushed through the journey. In the background, the electronics accelerate like sleek cars down a racetrack, setting off sparks. This takes up half of “All Born Screaming”‘s nearly 7-minute length, but even if the first part had been cut away, it would still be one of the most poignant moments on the entire album. I almost get choked up at the sudden drop-off of the electronics and the shift to just the chorus of Clark and Le Bon. It gets to you. Gets you right through the ribs…I just wish the whole song got the memo.

It’s an ode to growth in all of its ugliness, knowing that whatever you have survived, you can and will survive it again.

going insane trying to choose just one photo from this photoshoot to use bc THEY’RE ALL SO GOOOOOOOOOOD

I averaged out the ratings for each track, and it came out at an 8.5! All Born Screaming, even if it does lean in a musically scatterbrained direction, is some of St. Vincent’s most vulnerable work to date. Self-produced and deeply personal, it seems to map her heart in ways that haven’t been done in her previous albums. All of that shows—it’s a bold, furious, and boundlessly creative ode to surviving—of crawling free of the darkness and finding your way home to the guiding light of love. The journey may turn you feral, but once you’re free of all of the vile parts, you’re free—to scream. And there is no one’s primal scream I’d rather hear more than that of Annie Clark.

Since this post consists entirely of songs, consider all of them to be today’s song.

That’s it for this album review! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Music

Album Review: “Wall of Eyes” – The Smile

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Sunday, bibliophiles!

Apologies for a lack of Sunday Songs this week. I’ve just been busy with schoolwork, and I didn’t have time to polish anything for this week. I was, however, already about halfway done with this post by the time Sunday rolled around, so hopefully I can throw you a bone here.

My high school love of Radiohead predictably went down the pipeline to The Smile back in 2022, when their first album, A Light for Attracting Attention, was released. (I was going to review it then, but it ended up getting sidetracked by several other albums that were coming out at the time. Sadly, the Arcade Fire only took a few months to age like milk. Believe survivors.) Either way, A Light was one of my favorite albums of 2022, and I even had the incredible privilege of seeing them on that tour—that was a concert where I definitely cried a little once I’d gotten into the car. It was a beacon after I’d gotten through my first semester of college. Thom Yorke’s music isn’t one that I usually categorize as uplifting, but I remember saying—and thinking—that seeing them live was the happiest I’d been in a long time. And I meant it. Something mended a part of my soul that night.

So of course I lost my mind when I figured out that they were releasing Wall of Eyes so soon! And even more so that “Read the Room” would be among the ranks, which I’d been eagerly waiting to hear since December of 2022. I was afraid that I’d overhyped the whole shebang for myself because of how rosy those memories of seeing them were, but, as they often do, they did not disappoint—in fact, Wall of Eyes feels like a more refined effort after A Light, sharp and distinct in ways that make a colorful but cohesive record.

Let’s begin, shall we?

WALL OF EYES – THE SMILE

Release date: January 26, 2024 (XL Records)

TRACK 1: “Wall of Eyes” – 8.5/10

After A Light for Attracting Attention, The Smile’s trademark became the jazz-rock acrobatics that they regularly performed: unique time signatures and rhythms that were ever so artfully off-kilter. That’s part of what separates them from most other Thom Yorke or Radiohead-related projects, but the title track of this album proves that not every track has to be this way. Sometimes, they can revel in quiet, almost-acoustic numbers and make it feel as innovative as anything they’ve put out. “Wall of Eyes” adds another landscape of alienation to the general…well, absolute menagerie of those kinds of landscapes that Yorke has put out over the years, but this time trades uneasy synths for the strumming of an acoustic guitar, spare orchestral notes, and faint, rumbling synths that ripple like water reflected onto an unpolished ceiling. It’s a track that easily lets you drift into the immaculate world that Yorke, Greenwood, and Skinner have concocted, full of fainting pulsating lights and shadowy figures drifting in and out of focus. And Yorke’s fading, sinister laughter puts the icing on the already decadent cake, pulling this track into a haze of uncertainty and unwilling vulnerability.

TRACK 2: “Teleharmonic” – 8/10

“Teleharmonic” (if there could ever be a more Smiley song title) is where Wall of Eyes breaks out of its shell and begins to bristle and hum. Crackling with static and vibration, you can almost see the delicate waves strung through it, the kind of physical sound that feels like would shy away from your touch if you tried to lay a finger on it. Yorke’s voice is made to echo like he’s trapped in a digital cavern, resonating like words through a canyon distorted by a wool sweater of synths. Skinner’s thin, precise drumbeats seem to speckle the melody like falling bits of hail, melting into the kaleidoscopic vision that “Teleharmonic” plunges us headfirst into. If “Wall of Eyes” was the steady hand that eased you into the album, then this track is when the hand is wrenched away, leaving you to fall face-first into truly alien territory.

TRACK 3: “Read the Room” – 10/10

That’s your opinion

That’s how the story goes,

A magic rain, a magic rainbow,

So big it bends the light…

The Smile, “Read the Room”

Mark my words, this will not be the last time you’ll hear about this song from me. I’ll try to keep it short so I don’t find myself sounding like a broken record, but I can’t resist. This was my most anticipated track from Wall of Eyes, and I am elated to say that it did not disappoint in the slightest. Continuing the general theme of unrest (political, personal, and otherwise) and surveillance, it falls in the vein of “A Hairdryer” with its commentary, with its mentions of “magic rainbow[s]/So big it bends the light” and “massive egos.” To that, there’s no poetic response that Yorke has defined himself with; it’s gone so far that all there is to say is “I am gonna count to three/Keep that shit away from me,” as though to chide a child. And…well, yeah, at this point, that’s the only way you can probably speak to some our world leaders today, but it’s potent either way. “Read the Room” also feels like the smoothest, sleekest track to come out of The Smile’s catalogue, chrome-shiny but with all the same bite that they usually have. The intro is genuinely intoxicating to me, instantly loopable and blooming. Just as captivating as it was live.

TRACK 4: “Under Our Pillows” – 9/10

Episodes wiped clean,

This is major league make-believe.

The Smile, “Under Our Pillows”

Like “Read the Room,” “Under Our Pillows” opens with plucky, off-kilter guitar notes that could masquerade as synths just as easily. It gives the whole track the feel of watching a candy ad from the 2000’s, like I should suddenly be surrounded by Dippin’ Dots raining from the sky—everything is round, smooth, and full of artificially vibrant color. With a similar frantic, skipping beat as “Thin Thing,” it radiates both enticing sweetness and pent-up, anxiety, but there’s no denying that “Under Our Pillows” is full of energy—and a sinister energy, of course. (What else would it be, it’s The Smile! The Smile was always full of rotting teeth!) And to match the candy-colored vibrance is the promise of handshakes cloaked in lies—”A slate wiped clean, a white loss of feeling If you’re ready and willing.” Somebody’s taking the current environment of real, necessary change being nearly impossible to make because every politician you can think of has sold their soul and shoved themselves deep in somebody’s linty, corporate pocket well, huh? Guess he’s taking it well as any of us can. The western world may be an absolute joke, but at least Thom Yorke is here to pen some absolutely glorious music.

TRACK 5: “Friend Of A Friend” – 8/10

cannot stop thinking about the fact that Jonny Greenwood plays piano like a Peanuts character

Oh, what was that I was saying about politician’s being in corporate pockets? Oh…oh! Oh. Yeah. Comin’ atcha with round two.

“Friend Of A Friend” continues not just the political theme, but the pairing of said theme with enticing instrumentals to drive the hypnotic lyrics home. No pun intended, but just like the allure of money and the easy descent into corruption, this track is about as friendly as a Smile song can get, with its gentle, bass-driven start and Thom Yorke’s thin, resonant vocals, almost unchanged since at least 1999. It’s amazing how little (by little? okay, I’ll shut up) his voice has changed over the years; I wouldn’t call it deepened, but there’s undoubtedly a fullness that wasn’t all there in the post-Bends days. The pool was already full of his soaring, gut-wrenching falsetto, but the pool has only continued to overflow with his talent. The combination of Greenwood’s gentle piano and the soft hiss of Skinner’s drums only adds to the feel of the song being the last thing you hear before slipping into the trance, like someone’s put you under a spell, and the last thing you see before you go under is their eager eyes staring down at your prone body.

TRACK 6: “I Quit” – 7/10

I try not to worship the ground that Yorke, Greenwood, and Skinner walk on, but don’t worry, I still have criticisms of both this album and A Light for Attracting Attention. The main issue of the latter was that many tracks, despite being well-crafted and atmospheric, had the tendency to blend into each other—the same (no pun intended…oh god, I need to stop) jazzy, low-key rumbles that bled into each other too easily, like watercolors left to spill and blend into a muddy mess; every color was beautiful on its own, but they faded far too much into each other. For a title like “I Quit,” I completely expected it to be in the Bends-callback style of “You Will Never Work in Television Again,” but in actuality, it’s the slowest track on Wall of Eyes—I suppose the title makes a different kind of sense if the quitting in question is more from exhaustion and giving up as opposed to towel-throwing anger—”This is my stop/This is the end of the trip.” Drenched in delay on every possible instrument, “I Quit” has a lethargic crawl that could fit right in with A Light, but on this album, provides a calm respite from some of the more skittering, uptempo tracks. I see why it’s the subject of many critics’ ire, but I’d argue that this sleepier track has its place.

TRACK 7: “Bending Hectic” – 8.5/10

“Bending Hectic” was the very first single to come out of Wall of Eyes, and I reviewed it when it was released back in July (why, why, WHY did none of you tell me THAT I SPELLED THE SONG WRONG IN THE GRAPHIC AND THE POST?? WHY???) In concert with the rest of the album, it feels just as seamless and cinematic as it did when it stood alone. Now, bridged between the rambling quiet of “I Quit” and the uneasy shoulder-tapping of “You Know Me!” (see below), it feels like an elongated cat’s stretch, reveling in the softer moments but crashing like a volcanic explosion and letting the fiery debris rain down upon our ears with reckless abandon. Like “Read the Room,” it remains as gene-altering in real time as it felt seeing it live without knowing anything else about it, a swirl of sharp colors. And god. I can’t shut up about Jonny Greenwood’s guitar work, can I? I won’t. It never ceases to amaze me just how many innovative ways that this man can manipulate the instrument into something truly colossal.

TRACK 8: “You Know Me!” – 8.5/10

You are standing in my light,

You have wound yourself around me

Like you know me…

The Smile, “You Know Me!”

I wouldn’t have expected anything less from The Smile, but god, what a gloriously eery way to end the album. It has the feel of a latter-day Radiohead track, but with a much more modern sensibility—the lyrics are full of manipulation and trickery, which could just as easily be how it feels to be surrounded by advertising on social media in the corporate world, or just a sour relationship. Given Yorke’s history with this kind of thing (see: OK Computer), I’m gonna go with the former, but either way, the culmination is chilling, with echoing, distorted instrumentation and piano that sounds like it’s being transmitted from somewhere underwater. With the addition of the lyrics, “You Know Me!” feels like a boa constrictor slowly wrapping itself around your chest to suffocate you, but whispering in your ears that it’s for the best with every breath that it squeezes out of you: “None of this is mine/Always ‘you know me.'” Even the exclamation mark in the title feels like a corporate smile of misplaced trust, like a “we’re here for you!” as they lay off hundreds of their workforce. How’s that for an album closer, huh? Take notes.

I added up my scores for each track, and they came out to an 8.4! It’s really a shame that Wall of Eyes came out so early this year, because it’s going to be hard to compete with this album. (At least their competition is just as exciting—Chelsea Wolfe, IDLES, and…St. Vincent? Be still, my beating heart…) Now that they’ve slimmed down their track count and refined—and redefined—their sound, The Smile sounds as fully-realized as ever, brimming with sharp commentary and truly alien, expansive soundscapes full of vibrant colors. The talents of Yorke, Greenwood, and Skinner could never be called into question, but if they ever were, Wall of Eyes is a testament to their work as a truly powerful trio, cohesive and boundary-pushing in equal measure. (Why yes, I have had this on repeat for a solid week and a half, why do you ask?)

Since this is an album review, consider the whole album to be today’s song.

That’s it for this album review! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Music

Eye on the Bat – Palehound album review

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Wednesday, bibliophiles!

I haven’t even been into Palehound for a year; after loving Bachelor, her collaborative project with Jay Som, I decided to get a taste of her music last September, poring through her albums and EPs in a somewhat chronological order. There were hardly any misses that whole time—solid, guitar-driven indie rock the whole way through. So you can imagine my excitement when I found out that Palehound was releasing a new album this summer! And now, after playing it through many times, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s a perfect indie summer album, full of sharp lyricism and shredding.

Enjoy this album review!

EYE ON THE BAT – PALEHOUND (album review)

Release date: July 14, 2023 (Polyvinyl records)

TRACK 1: “Good Sex” – 7.5/10

“Good Sex” is the perfect intro to Eye on the Bat: short, funny, and self-awarely so. It seems to stumble around as it builds to a nonexistent crescendo, as El Kempner paints a scene of plans gone wrong, each note climbing as the situation mounts into more and more awkwardness. The laugh in her voice escapes as she describes “our cat licking his ass and looking confused,” backed by two, persistent guitar chords in this song’s 1:41 entirety. Not the best track, but a great bit of self-deprecating, awkward humor to start the album off.

TRACK 2: “Independence Day” – 8.5/10

I am living life like writing a first draft

Cuz there is nothing to it if I can’t edit the past,

And even if I could, it would kill me to look back

No I don’t wanna see the other path…

Palehound, “Independence Day”

“Good Sex” may have been track 1, but I feel like “Independence Day” is where Eye on the Bat really starts off. One of the undeniable highlights of the album, Kempner presents a tumultuous breakup in the middle of a holiday, woven through bright and spidery acoustic riffs. It’s one of those great songs that doesn’t just paint an image, but makes you visualize it so clearly that you might as well be watching a movie. With every detail, Kempner sets her breakup against the backdrop of “foaming sugar in our laps/sparkler in my throat, can we just take it all back?” And the chorus, with its driving guitars and musing on alternate paths, makes for an exceptionally catchy and witty indie rock track.

TRACK 3: “The Clutch” – 8.5/10

I’m glad that you know better now

And I’m glad that you found yourself

But you didn’t need my help…

Palehound, “The Clutch”

Whoever decided to release “The Clutch” as the very first single from this album needs a raise. What better song to build up excitement for the album than this one? Eye on the Bat is undeniably a breakup album, but it’s the shreddiest breakup album that I can think of—and “The Clutch” is proof. From the get-go, it launches into guitar work that pierces its way through your headphones and feels, just as the chorus says, like “a punch in the gut.” The shift from the quieter instrumentation of Black Friday to Kempner’s fiery riffs on this album never feel unnatural—in fact, it feels like a return to form, calling back to earlier tracks like “Molly” or “Drooler.” Punchy and vibrant, this is, without question, one of Eye on the Bat’s best tracks.

TRACK 4: “Eye on the Bat” – 8.5/10

Broken wing ails a standing bird
She sings a gravelly call,
But flightlessness is nothing new
For an ostrich after all…

Palehound, “Eye on the Bat”

Eye on the Bat’s title track may slow the pace right after “The Clutch,” but the quality stays just the same. With its tangled riffs and steady drumbeat, it’s a real showcase of the deadpan wit of Palehound that endeared me to them when I first started listening to Dry Food. There’s not a single lyric that doesn’t pass my notice—I listened to these first few singles so much that I gaslit myself into thinking that “eye on the bat” was the actual expression and not “eye on the ball,” but that’s the power of a hooky song/album title. Other than being as snappy as it is, I can almost piece it into some of the album’s themes of being in the present; could “suckers will all tell you to keep watching for the ball/but better than that/keep your eye on the bat” be a mantra to focus not on what’s coming at you, but to focus on what’s tangibly in your hands? I certainly need to take that to heart, if it’s true.

TRACK 5: “U Want It U Got It” – 7/10

With a clicking, pulsing drum machine that sounds more like an old arcade game than Palehound’s normal sound, “U Want It U Got It” is a brief departure from the album’s cohesiveness—and from their sound in general. Though not all of it’s successful, it’s certainly catchy; though Kempner’s attempt to lower her voice comes out unsure and wavering, the steady, pulsating beat makes the song almost as vibrant as the other tracks. I wouldn’t say that there are any bad songs on this album, but this was a very brief low point. Experimenting is always welcome from Palehound, but this one doesn’t feel quite as successful, even if it’s a good listen. I’d still call it a good song.

TRACK 6: “Route 22” – 8/10

An instant head-nodder, “Route 22” feels all at once like classic Palehound and something fresh and new. It could’ve been right at home on A Place I’ll Always Go or Black Friday, but the maturing of Kempner’s songwriting makes it stand on its own. With its steady, Wilco-reminiscent, twangy-at-the-edges instrumentation and Kempner’s light, dreamy harmonization with herself, it’s a track that feels baked in the summer sun, smelling of fresh-cut grass and thinning clouds. Another highlight of Eye on the Bat, no doubt!

TRACK 7: “My Evil” – 7/10

This second single to come out of Eye on the Bat was my least favorite, and although I still like it, “My Evil” still hasn’t really grown on me. The lyrics are just as witty as any other song on the album, telling a narrative of grappling with yourself and the problems you’ve caused. But every time I listen to it, something feels like it’s missing. I still can’t quite put my finger on it, but something about “My Evil” feels almost bare and restrained, and not necessarily in an intentional way. With how well-written the lyrics are, it’s as though the music is struggling to catch up. That’s not to say that it’s an enjoyable song, but for Palehound’s fourth effort, it feels like it’s holding itself back. Either way, there’s no denying how great the lyric video is—whoever had the idea to make it mirror the opening credits to The Sopranos was genius.

TRACK 8: “Head Like Soup” – 8.5/10

My head like a pot of thick soup,
Stirred and tasted
I live to fill you up,
And I burn unwatched…

Palehound, “Head Like Soup”

What I thought was going to be a song about burnout or sickness (we’ve all had that feeling of having soup for brains, right?) turned out to be a great song about sacrificing your well-being for somebody else. And it’s one of the best songs on the whole album—certainly the best non-single tracks. I genuinely can’t find anything bad about this song; the instrumentation is impeccable, from the Wilco-esque chorus to the electronics creeping into the second verse. It pounds one minute and crawls in the next, never once losing its consistency or momentum. And what better way to end it than cranking up the distortion and letting it ring? Fantastic.

TRACK 9: “Right About You” – 7.5/10

With a gentler, folk sensibility to ease the album into its final minutes, “Right About You” is a tender, orange-colored piece of introspection. Every lyric makes a collage of moments leading up to an inevitable implosion, but lingers in the space between them. It’s a song that makes a gentle impact, like Kempner’s first lyric of “cold water breaking at our feet.” It isn’t as punchy and powerful as the rest of the album, but there’s no need for it to be—the final bits of introspection and quiet on this album are a perfect rest stop.

TRACK 10: “Fadin'” – 7/10

The fading (no pun intended) that “Right About You” set up culminates perfectly in this soft, gentle end of the album. With its drifting, subtle electronics painting the backdrop, “Fadin'” lingers in its faint distortion, almost all acoustic guitar and Kempner’s whispery vocals. However, it comes across as a song that solely came into being to be an album closer. Although it fits neatly into the themes of the album at large, I think it would have trouble standing on its own, as opposed to almost eery other track on this record. Nevertheless, it’s still a delightfully woozy, sleepy song, gently tucking you into bed as you say goodbye to the album.

I averaged out my ratings, and they came out right at a 7.8! Definitely reflects my thoughts to a T: a short, punchy album with no shortage of witty lyrics and songs to nod your head to. A perfect summer album, and a great addition to Palehound’s catalog!

Since this post consists entirely of songs, consider all of them to be today’s song.

That’s it for this album review! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Music

the record – boygenius album review

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Monday, bibliophiles!

It’s finally here! The moment that I’ve been patiently waiting for…

After I discovered Phoebe Bridgers back in early 2020 (before it all went wrong), my boygenius revelation came soon after (right around when it really all went wrong). Not only was it my gateway to Julien Baker and Lucy Dacus, but it stood out as a representation of so many things—a critique of the pedestals we tend to reserve only for male artists, the way the music industry often lumps together “women in indie rock” simply because of their gender, and the magic that happens when three incredibly talented queer women get together and make music. Their self-titled EP, released in 2018, seemed to be the beginning and end of their relationship, but they secretly reformed and came together to release their first full-length album this March. And the results are simply magical, full of different highs and lows, but emotional and heartrending all the way through—in the best way.

boygenius’ Rolling Stone cover, an homage to Nirvana

Enjoy this album review!

THE RECORD – BOYGENIUS (album review)

Release date: March 31, 2023 (Interscope records)

TRACK 1: “Without You Without Them” – 8.5/10

never underestimate the power of an intro 🥲

If the record encapsulates the friendship of Baker, Bridgers, and Dacus, then this song is the perfect summation of that thesis. boygenius have made me so emotional over a cappella, somehow—their harmonies, pioneered in this case by Lucy Dacus, rise in perfect tandem, as each one thanks their parents, and their parents before them (“who would I be/without you, without them?”)—for the opportunities that brought them together as friends, by a cosmic miracle, and relishing in the quiet moments opening up to one another. Already a hard-hitter, and we’re barely even a minute into the album…

TRACK 2: “$20” – 9/10

Mama told me that it don’t run on wishes, but that I should have fun,

Pushing the flowers that come up

Into the front of a shotgun…

boygenius, “$20”

Rocketing from the quiet moments to a supersonic pace, “$20” remains one of my favorite songs on the album, even after everything else came out. Every lyric is delivered like a punch while grinning, each member’s voice coalescing and pulling apart at just the right moments, fading in and out of sync in perfect deliberation. Everything erupts with Phoebe Bridgers’ final scream, which remains one of the highlights of this album, where all of the pent up energy in this song bubbles to the top and fades out just as quickly. HAAAAAAAGH I STILL CAN’T STOP LISTENING IT’S BEEN LIKE 2 MONTHS

TRACK 3: “Emily I’m Sorry” – 8/10

This was my least favorite of the singles, but it’s still a beautiful heartbreaker of a song—like much of Phoebe Bridgers’ work, the instrumentation (which I still love, especially when everything seems to dissolve at 1:46) takes a backseat to her air-light, heartstring-tugging voice, and lets her shine. It just feels less cohesive as a supergroup—I get that all of the members had their songs that they wrote on their own, but this feels more like a Phoebe Bridgers single that just happens to feature Baker and Dacus than a boygenius song. It’s worked with some of the other songs in that style, but I feel like this would’ve worked better as just Phoebe Bridgers.

TRACK 4: “True Blue” – 8.5/10

sidenote—the shots of them sleeping in the film remind me so much of Blur’s “No Distance Left to Run” music video…

And it feels good to be known so well

I can’t hide from you like I hide from myself…

boygenius, “True Blue”

Hooooooooowhee, we’re back to Lucy Dacus throwing her whole fist into my chest and tugging at the heartstrings, huh? Is that what we’re doing?

Although (almost) nothing compares to the meteoric ecstasy of “$20,” “True Blue” is still a steadfast favorite of mine on this album. It’s a case study of how perfect the harmonies of these three are for each other. The way that Baker and Bridgers chime in on the bridge always makes my heart sing, as though they were somehow predestined to have this pairing of differently gorgeous voices, all joining hands in another ode to their mutual friendship.

TRACK 5: “Cool About It” – 9.5/10

But we don’t have to talk about it,

I can walk you home and practice method acting,

I’ll pretend that being with you doesn’t feel like drowning…

boygenius, “Cool About It”

This one rapidly rose to become my favorite on the album, and I’ve had it on repeat ever since. boygenius is versatile in the way that they organize songs together—sometimes it works with all of them singing at once, as in “$20,” but neatly-sectioned songs like this one, where each of the members gets their time in the spotlight, works just as well as the other. And this one’s the shining highlight of the album, a Simon & Garfunkel-inspired, introspective reflection on the complicated feelings of confronting people who were once prominent in your life—not being able to deny their toxicity, but grappling with not being able to outwardly show it. Each facet of their lyricism shines—Baker’s ability to dig directly into the emotional core of these feelings and making it look easy, Dacus’ dry but solemn display of wit, and Bridgers’ vulnerable confessions steeped in glistening stars. I have nothing but love for this song.

TRACK 6: “Not Strong Enough” – 7/10

Strangely, this was one of my least favorites of the album—the lyrics remain incredible (and the music video is so sweet 🥲), but there’s a country-pop twang to this one that doesn’t quite hook me all the way. There’s no denying how wonderful the ending is as Lucy Dacus builds up the bridge—”always an angel/never a god,” which all comes crashing together as we get another fantastic Phoebe scream.

TRACK 7: “Revolution 0” – 7/10

Though this one doesn’t hit me as hard as some of the others, Phoebe’s soft introspection truly shines on this song. The barely audible strings and the fluttering, dissolving synths make for an atmospheric song that feels like the musical equivalent of watching the sunrise on a crisp, winter morning. I can practically feel my breath fogging out before me, just as all three of their voices seem to gently drift into the air.

TRACK 8: “Leonard Cohen” – 6.5/10

Though Lucy Dacus’ lyrics are still funny and tender at the same time, this song feels oddly disjointed to me. Dacus’ voice comes in at a sudden, weirdly-placed time, and it doesn’t seem like it’s no purpose. Again: lovely lyrics, but the song never quite picks itself up from that initial, rocky start. I hate to say it, but maybe it’s for the best that it’s so short.

TRACK 9: “Satanist” – 8.5/10

(do I get something for being the 666th like on the lyric video for a song called “Satanist”?)

(STOP TRYING TO AUTOCORRECT CRED TO CREDIT SHUT UP SHUT UP)

One of my favorites after the singles, “Satanist” is proof that the neatly-sectioned format of letting each member sing a verse is a perfect way to let them all shine through! With Julien Baker’s witty lyrics and punchy guitars all the way through, it’s just a lovely chunk of indie rock all the way through. The ending, though drastically different, is just as wonderful, with all of their harmonies rising up like bonfire smoke into the night sky.

TRACK 10: “We’re In Love” – 8.5/10

If you rewrite your life,

May I still play a part?

boygenius, “We’re In Love”

Ow, did Lucy Dacus just get saddled with all dealing all of the emotional damage on this album? Does she just have a huge paddle that she’s just musically whapping us with? If that’s the case, “We’re In Love” was what knocked me off my feet for good…ouchie

Nearly 5 minutes long, “We’re In Love” presents Lucy Dacus and company ruminating on the nature of their shared friendship once more, reflecting on inside jokes and quiet moments spent together, and loving every inch of each other despite their flaws. Even outside of their cosmically aligned harmonies, it’s clear that boygenius have struck something truly special with their friendship, a connection that has allowed them to grow and produce no shortage of beautiful, creative works, and get to know each other better through it. It’s gorgeous…get out the tissues.

TRACK 11: “Anti-Curse” – 8/10

Turning back to the more fast-paced side of “Satanist,” “Anti-Curse” has Julien Baker letting loose once more. Though I enjoyed some of Baker’s other tracks more, it still has that raw vulnerability that endeared her to me when I first became a fan, but with the expansion of her more vast, Little Oblivions sound that gives everything even more weight. It feels like the whole song is painted in the same colors as the album color, with sunsets, breaking waves, and the taste of salt in your mouth.

TRACK 12: “Letter To An Old Poet” – 8.5/10

I wanna be happy, I’m ready

To walk into my room without looking for you,

I’ll go up to the top of our building,

And I’ll think of my dog when I see the full moon.

I can’t feel it yet,

But I am waiting…

boygenius, “Letter To An Old Poet”

Oh, so I see they let Phoebe Bridgers have this one tearjerker, and she took the opportunity and RAN with it? YOW.

I can’t think of a more fitting closer for the record. The whole song acts as a sister song to “Me & My Dog,” off of their self-titled EP, a reconciliation not only with the complications of a past relationship, but of a desire to heal oneself, move on, grow, and confront the truth. It’s clearly personal to Phoebe, but it feels like a collective healing call for all of them, a promise that the past is the past, but that we are all different people than who we once were. Every re-worked lyric acts as proof of change, a renewed mindset, and of hope that the future will be better while stargazing. Gah. Beautiful end to a beautiful album…

THIS PHOTOSHOOT HAD NO BUSINESS BEING THIS FUNNY 💀 I CAN’T GET OVER JULIEN IN THAT FRILLY DRESS HAHAHAEHJKEFKFDKJ

I averaged out all of the ratings for each track, and it came out to about an 8.1! I’m so glad that they decided to make a whole album—through all of the highs and lows, it displays their talents as individual musicians and as a collective creative force, and I’ll never get sick of their heavenly harmonies. And above all, it stands as a tribute to queer friendship, and every kind of love that we share, no matter the feelings that we associate with it. I’m sure it’ll be one of my favorite records of this year, without contest.

Since this is an album review, consider the entirety of the record to be today’s song.

That’s it for this album review! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Music, Sunday Songs

Sunday Songs: 4/2/23

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Sunday, bibliophiles! I hope this week has treated you well. 💗

Not to worry, folks: the inevitable Boygenius Breakdown™️ is scheduled for next week to allow for some time for everything to sink in. As per the never-stated-but-generally-just-implied agreement, however, this week’s Sunday Songs meets the required Queer Quotient™️ that every Bookish Mutant post is required to pass before entering the blogosphere. I’m running a tight, gay ship over here, and I’ll see to it that it stays that way.

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 4/2/23

“Born on a Train” – The Magnetic Fields

In the span of about a week, “Born on a Train” sprung from just being downloaded to my third most listened-to song of this year, according to Apple Music. Maybe that says more about my penchant for wearing songs into the ground than it does about the song itself, but I swear there’s an infinite magic woven into every note of it. Snugly fit in The Charm of the Highway Strip, a loose concept album about traveling and roads, this third track gently chugs along like the train the chorus speaks of. (And another example of the band’s generally wry humor—I haven’t listen to Charm in full yet, but the fact that “Fear of Trains” is only four tracks away from this song always cracks me up. Duality of man.) The drums and muted, acoustic guitar strums throughout recall the machinery of a train, in contrast to the ringing chimes as Stephin Merritt finishes out each chorus. And as with most Magnetic Fields songs, it’s laced with bittersweetness to the core; there’s a sense of the narrator grappling with their own nature, knowing that they’re bound to leave everyone that they love, that same lonely, fleeting, twilight feel as the “ghost roads” that Merritt describes in the first verse. Merritt’s voice has the same resonance that you feel inside a cave, reverberating through your bones—it was easy to feel, hearing this song live at a smaller venue, which I still count myself incredibly lucky to have experienced.

On that habit of riding songs into the sunset, I think I get sick of only about half of them—”Born on a Train” feels like one of the ones that’ll stick.

“Drooler” – Palehound

At this point, all that’s keeping me from listening to more Palehound right now is the fact that A Place I’ll Always Go is too complicated of an album cover to draw on the door whiteboard on my dorm (wait, I forgot about posting those…maybe once school’s out? Don’t hold me to it), and for some reason, even though I can listen to any other artist’s discography out of order, I’ve stubbornly decided to do so with them. (With the albums, at least—I didn’t know this EP existed until recently…oops…) But…Dry Food was just so good. I couldn’t get enough of the whole album. Something about El Kempner’s talent for letting every instrument go loose and reining them back in just as quickly keeps me listening over and over again.

So I ended up finding and promptly listening to her very first musical outing as Palehound, 2013’s Bent Nail – EP. The decision to make “Drooler” the first track was a clearly calculated one—it lulls you in with Kempner’s brightly-toned guitar notes that seem to gently roll like a loose wagon wheel, but drops off just as quickly, breaking into a bluesy, catchy groove, strangely accented at times with the sounds of pots and pans clanging against each other. All the while, Kempner’s voice does similar gymnastics, slipping into lower tones and spiking airily high in the space of seconds. It’s hard to keep that balance—something that she frequently tests on songs like “Pet Carrot” (which works on the EP, and bafflingly maintains on her performance of it on her Tiny Desk Concert), but “Drooler” toes the line with ease. And just like that, everything that Kempner builds devolves into riotous fuzz at the end, a skidding, spark-flying crash to a perfect piece of guitar-driven indie-rock.

“Eye Patch” – De La Soul

So I’ve got another De La Soul album to add to my never ending album list, huh? I’m not complaining. Anything for another experience of wonderful, creative music, that Pos, Dove, and Mase seem to exude from their very pores, or something…

Two albums after their breakout Three Feet High and Rising, De La Soul had made a point to shed the sunshine-colored, mislabeled hippie image that had followed them everywhere, but even though that image was a major point of resentment for Plugs 1, 2, and 3 after the album’s release, listening to songs like “Eye Patch” leads me to believe that, at least musically, that spirit never quite left. Backed by the endlessly catchy samples of Jimmy Reed, the Outlaw Blues Band, and the same French language learning program that they sampled for Three Feet High and Rising, it’s another earwormy patchwork that, even from my limited experience with the band, feels like their trademark. It’s smooth, rolling like waves over your skin, the perfect walking soundtrack for a movie, or just walking to class and feeling the sun on your skin. And despite the more serious undercurrent that emerged in everything post-De La Soul is Dead, there’s still samples of sheep and children laughing—there’s no denying of the original, three fresh-out-of-high school friends making music in the basement ethos that have made De La Soul so lasting.

“Crocodile Tears and the Velvet Cosh” – David J.

Part of what I love about this song is that there will never be another song called “Crocodile Tears and the Velvet Cosh.” If there is, I can guarantee that it’ll be ripping this title off.

I can never claim to be fully goth (even though I can and will go overboard with the black eyeliner, without hesitation) partly because both Bauhaus and Love & Rockets (a.k.a Bauhaus – Peter Murphy) have historically been hit or miss for me. I’ve still found some of the latter that are already classics for me (“Holy Fool,” “Bad for You,”…why do I keep putting off listening to Lift?); the solo careers have been similarly hit or miss, though I’ve been hoarding a small handful of songs from Murphy, Ash, and David J., respectively as of late. Strangely, even though I’ve only heard two songs of his (the other being “I’ll Be Your Chauffeur”) David J. has been the one that I’ve liked the most consistently. As much as I love and respect the eclectic spirt of Love & Rockets (okay, scratch that: I can’t forgive them for “The Purest Blue,” there’s NO excuse for that nightmare fuel), sometimes you have to sit back and linger on the gentle side of things. That’s exactly what “Crocodile Tears and the Velvet Cosh” feels like for me: it slings a reassuring arm over your shoulder, and lets you relax while the breeze tugs at your hair. Filled with tiny packets of clever wordplay (“I read you like a book/Seeing through/without ever losing my place”), it’s an unassuming, acoustic piece with hidden bits that glisten in the dark.

“VBS” – Lucy Dacus

I finally got around to listening to Home Video last week, and although I wasn’t as wowed as I was with her sophomore album, Historian, it still exists as an insect trapped in amber. The album chronicles Dacus’ childhood and adolescence in Virginia, grappling with her latent queerness in contrast to her Christian upbringing, as evidenced in “VBS,” a slice-of-life recounting of church camp. Musically, Home Video wasn’t as expansive and vast as its predecessor, but Dacus’ lyricism throughout the entire album is as strong as ever—I can’t stop thinking about the lines “Sedentary secrets like peach pits in your gut/locked away like jam jars in the cellar of your heart.” For such an unassuming-sounding song (in the beginning), there are so many tiny layers to peel back, from the underlying seeds of questioning everything she’s known to the explosive burst of guitars as Dacus describes, “There’s nothing you can do, but the only thing you’ve found/playing Slayer at full volume helps to drown it out.” The latter makes me wish for more of the guitar work that Dacus displayed on songs like “Timefighter,” but that moment as a self-contained piece, like the glass butterfly boxes that form each song, makes the storytelling even clearer and cleverer than ever.

Since this post consists entirely of songs, consider all of them to be today’s song.

That’s it for this week’s Sunday Songs! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Music, Sunday Songs

Sunday Songs: 3/26/23

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Sunday, bibliophiles! I hope this week has treated you well.

It’s finally spring. Sprouts are crawling out of the crumbly earth, the fog is lifting, and I have a depressingly gray color scheme to show for it. My overexcitement for getting Peter Gabriel tickets (HUUUAUAAAAAAAAAAAAGGHGHGH BIG THANK YOU TO MY PARENTS) trumps any hope of a springtime aesthetic for this post.

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 3/26/23

“Darkness” – Peter Gabriel

Picture this. It’s early in the morning. You have a 9 AM class you have to get ready for. You’ve decided to listen to Up, so you put it on while you start putting your makeup on. Track 1. You turn the volume up, because nothing much seems to be happening. 0:29 hits. All hell breaks loose.

And yet, even though I do my SPD jumpscare dance every time it rolls around, I find myself listening to this song like an adrenaline junkie. Peter Gabriel knows how to open an album—lulling you into near-silence, then hitting you with a concentrated, almost industrial opening that probably keeps Trent Reznor up at night wondering how he could top it. More than that, “Darkness” is another song I’ve added to my internal list of reasons why Gabriel is such a uniquely talented musician—he makes creating a musical atmosphere that mirrors the lyrical story look so easy. As he speaks of being consumed by fear, the instrumentals crash in, enveloping all else as his voice grinds to a gravel-edged plea for solace. It was enough to give me a heart attack, and, if I’m going by the YouTube comments, enough to give people nightmares. Gabriel whispers of fearing “swimming in the sea/dark shapes moving under me/every fear I swallow makes me small,” and in the edges of the near-silence, a strained moan sounds, like a distant whale call or the grinding of a boat. The imagery is startling in its clarity—if I had the patience, I’d jump at the chance to make some kind of stop-motion or claymation music video. Unlike other artists, Gabriel’s instrumentally darker, more abrasive side doesn’t surprise me—after the first listen, all I could think of is that it was the next natural evolution of “Intruder.”

But over two decades after the release of “Intruder,” (which, unlike this song, was enough to keep me up at night—on the first night alone in my dorm, no less…good times) Gabriel has a deeply nuanced understanding of fear. Even as these fears swallow him like the whale in Pinnochio, he finds a way through the tangled woods, knowing that fear will pass—”I have my fears/but they do not have me.” Well. I needed to hear that. Sometimes it’s hard to hear these things when we’re swallowed up so easily—which I can relate to a little too well, with my experience with general fear over various things, as well as the truckload of anxiety that came along with making the move to college—but as the song ebbs and flows from monstrous crescendos to something more bare and gentle, so too do our fears. It’s all too easy for me to think that there’s no light at the end of the tunnel when I get in a place like this, but fear, like everything else, is impermanent. And when we look back, like Gabriel, we can “cry until [we] laugh.” Maybe that’s why I find myself seeking out this song so much—I love when I can give myself a musical mantra. It has no control over me.

“Nobody’s Fool” – Shakey Graves

I’ve been meaning to listen to Shakey Graves and the Horse he Rode In On solely because of how much I love that name, but I’ve got more motivation (not that I didn’t have any—the eternal album bucket list waits for no man) after hearing this one in my brother’s girlfriend’s car. Shakey Graves can make anything seem natural, be it the more experimental wanderings of Can’t Wake Up to the classic folkiness of this song. And like a classic folk song, there’s something inherently haunting about it—even without the lines about drinking and deep-seated regret, there’s an off-kilter waver to “Nobody’s Fool,” a shadow creature that’s emerged from under the bed, hanging over Alejandro Rose-Garcia’s shoulder. If that’s the case, he’s probably given said creature a banjo or something since this song, but here, it lingers. “Nobody’s Fool” is a song so atmospheric that it feels like there’s a tangible coat of dust over it—again, the lingering eeriness about it, but something of a good kind of dust, given this song’s bizarre pull.

“Love Goes Home to Paris in the Spring” – The Magnetic Fields

I love the irony in the fact that I just got an ad claiming that “99.9% of women will chase you when you do this” above the search results for this song. At that point, you can’t even say that YouTube has bad gaydar—it just doesn’t have any gaydar whatsoever…

There’s a solid chance that I’ll be blabbing about The Magnetic Fields for the next week or two afterwards, but I had the incredible privilege of seeing them last Friday night! At a small venue, too—no annoying drunk people, no jostling for a good view, just cellos, sad gay breakup songs, and Stephin Merritt’s three mugs of tea. And other than the pure genius of playing “The Book of Love,” getting everbody sobbing (it’s me I’m everybody), and then launching into “The Biggest Tits in History” (IT’S ABOUT THE BIRD IT’S ABOUT THE BIRD I SWEAR GUYS GUYS) directly after, this show made me remember how many pockets of Merritt and co.’s genius that I hadn’t heard of, or just forgotten about. Take this song; with the amount of wry, folky breakup songs that they’ve produced, you’d expect for there to be an eventual formula. Bitterness is a constant, but it’s delivered in such a clever, creative way that I can’t help but smile and nod along as if Stephin Merritt is singing about rainbows and kittens. He’ll never outright say “you broke my heart” or “I can’t forgive you for what you did”—like clay, he pulls that core emotion into “don’t you know love/goes home to Paris in the spring?” That’s the kind of wry, tongue-in-cheek magic that draws me to The Magnetic Fields again and again—Stephin Merritt never has any boring ways of interpreting love and heartbreak. Still, it’s been a few decades since they’ve started the band—I just hope he isn’t in for any “I Don’t Believe in the Sun” relationships anymore. Dude deserves a break.

“Playing for Time” – Peter Gabriel

Before I get into the song itself…another reason why I admire Peter Gabriel so much—skip to 1:00 in the video and you’ll see him performing an early, unfinished version of “Playing for Time” without any lyrics. The prospect of performing…well, anything is already nerve-wracking enough for me, but playing something that you haven’t even finished live? That’s a feat, but I guess you can just do that when you’re Peter Gabriel. I can barely even make myself share in-progress bits of writing with friends.

Onto the song itself…I’m not gonna survive this album. I barely survived this song. Gabriel’s ability to dig into our most base emotions has never faded away, and “Playing For Time” is no exception. It’s a meditation on aging, on time, and on the memories we share between loved ones. He envisions a planet comprised of the memories made by a couple— “any moment that we bring to life/will never fade away.” It’s a song that came tragically late for Arrival, but maybe that’s the way it should’ve been—the movie, and the message that mirrors this song, already made me ugly cry three separate times. I could barely hold it together after listening to this twice. But along with this song and this movie, it’s something that I’ve been thinking about a lot; I’ve always treasured moments with my loved ones, but moving to college and being alone and independent for the first time has made me realize how precious it really is. But it’s also made me realize that these memories really do never quite go away, as long as we keep them close. Don’t let these things pass you by.

Okay, I need to stop. I think one sitting is the only time frame that I can listen to this song without curling up in a ball.

I need a minute…

“Pencils in the Wind” – Flight of the Conchords

“And people are like paper dolls/paper dolls and people, they are a similar shape…”

“Hey Jude” who? Paul McCartney wishes he could’ve come up with a line as raw as that. The voices of a generation, truly peerless.

Since this post consists entirely of songs, consider all of them to be today’s song.

That’s it for this week’s Sunday Songs! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Music, Sunday Songs

Sunday Songs: 3/12/23

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Sunday, bibliophiles! I hope this week has treated you well.

It’s finally starting to feel like spring again. The birds are singing, the grass looks much less dead, the sky is bright and decidedly un-cloudy, and Those Dudes™️ are still wearing nothing but tank tops, shorts, and flip flops in 30 degree weather. Which, I should clarify, is an outfit choice that has not changed from a few weeks ago, when it was cold enough for ice to form in my water bottle. I wish I was kidding.

But we are filled with springtime warmth and joy this week! The sun is shining! For once! Joyous whimsy prevails!

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 3/12/23

“A Little Bit of Soap” – De La Soul

Like a many other music nerds out there, I celebrated last Friday (March 3) by listening to De La Soul’s 3 Feet High and Rising, finally back on streaming, along with their other first 5 albums, after decades of legal troubles. I’d been hearing tracks like “The Magic Number” and “Me Myself and I” from early childhood, and I got worried that I’d hyped myself up far too much, but this album is as groundbreaking is as everybody says it is. Despite the years of misinterpretation and the record label’s hippie branding of the group (and “Me Myself and I” becoming their equivalent of “Creep,” so much so that all of their non-televised performances of it are always introduced by them telling the crowd to chant “we hate this song!”), it’s been taken all the way to the Library of Congress as a pivotal piece of music history. I’m not up to date on my hip-hop history, but even without that context, it’s easy to see what a sea change this was for a genre—it’s the work of three friends, barely out of high school, with the goal of having fun and playing with samples. And it’s a masterpiece.

This spirit is something that the delightfully goofy “A Little Bit of Soap” embodies. It’s not even a minute long (part of which is still taken up by a piece of the game show skit that continues through the album), it samples an obscure 60’s pop song of the same name, and the lyrics are just about B.O. And it’s GREAT. It proves that those middle school boys who barely showered and used AXE body spray to cover up the shame have existed since time immemorial. There’s something to be said about shorter songs like this, ones that clearly exist just for fun—creativity, for me at least, is primarily to amuse myself before it turns into something else. And that seems like exactly what Posdnuos, Trugoy, and Maseo were trying to do—having fun with each other, and making something innovative in the process. Happiness and genuine joy and fun should never be dismissed as low art just because it’s not “deep”—that mentality is the enemy of creativity.

And it’s been a month now since we’ve lost Trugoy the Dove. One the one hand, it’s deeply tragic that he never got to live to see his music return to the world, but I’m comforted by the fact that he at least could rest easier knowing that the years of legal battles had come to an end, and that De La Soul would finally be able to reach the wider audience that it always deserved. You will be missed. 💗

“Mutha’uckas” – Flight of the Conchords

When Bret said “Then ************ Granny Smith ******** ******** ** an avocado ********mango ********” ? Man, I felt that. I really did. “He’s gonna wake up in a smoothie”? Never before has such an assertive display of power and dominance been made in music history. Bret McKenzie is the ultimate alpha male. Sigma, even. Take notes. Fear him. It’s gonna get vicious and malicious. (He wants his Red Delicious.)

“Captain Chicken” (feat. Del the Funky Homo Sapien) – Gorillaz

I already talked about this song briefly in my review for Cracker Island, but I can’t praise this song enough. Never in my very brief years of Earth would I predict that I would have a song with looped chicken clucking sound effects on repeat, but life is full of surprises, and Gorillaz is here to deliver. I thought the days of Gorillaz collaborating with Del the Funky Homo Sapien (as Del the Ghost Rapper) were gone before my time, and whether or not this is a nostalgia grab, the 20+ years of waiting has paid off. Just like every track they made together on Gorillaz, Albarn and Del have created another pop masterpiece, just under two minutes but packing a punch than most of Cracker Island itself. Some songs are too long or too short for their own good, but like “A Little Bit of Soap,” “Captain Chicken” is the perfect, short-and-sweet time capsule of two exceptional musicians sounding like they’re both having the time of their lives. This is the fun, pure Gorillaz spark that most of Cracker Island was missing for me, but this song is out now, and I don’t think it’s a reach to say that we’re all grateful for this little gem.

“Girl” – The Beatles

I’ve got a confession—I love all of the Beatles in their own way to some extent, but I’d put John Lennon as my least favorite, as much as I love his voice. Probably heresy, and who wouldn’t love his message of peace, but after watching Get Back recently, he just seemed kind of insufferable? There’s no denying his musical genius, but every joke he made there just felt more like trying to be funny than actually being funny. And I haven’t even gotten to the wife-beating aspect. Yech. Don’t go deep-diving into 50% of singers from the 50’s to the 90’s, kids. Disappointment awaits.

None of that is excused, but it’s songs like this that make me go back on the obvious musical prowess of people like John Lennon. I think Rubber Soul is the only Beatles album left on my list that I want to listen to, and it’s songs like “Girl” that make me want to listen to it. In this day and age, it’s hard to see how groundbreaking it was, but at the time, it was rare for a pop band as big as they were in 1966 to make a love song quite like this. It’s not the (undoubtedly catchy) sunshine and rainbows of their first few albums; it’s more than a little folksy, and it starts to dig into a melancholia that the genre had barely touched with a ten-foot pole at that point. Every detail makes it such a strange, wonderful pop song—John Lennon’s hissing inhalations in the chorus, the eerily beautiful harmonies of Lennon, McCartney and Harrison (which I can never praise enough), and the guitar work, which was apparently played with the capo extra high on the neck to make the sound resemble a bouzouki. From what I’ve heard, Rubber Soul served as the Beatles’ gateway into their truly innovative work, delving into pure psychedelia on Revolver, which came out later that same year, and to this day, “Girl” and many of the album’s other track are a time capsule to the Beatles just before they leapt off the precipice and into the musical unknown.

“Life’s a Happy Song” (from The Muppets) – Amy Adams, Jason Segel, & Walter

Nothing like the realization that Amy Adams was in this movie hitting you like a train directly on the heels of ugly crying to Arrival, amirite? That’s some whiplash. Needless to say, that’s some impressive range.

And if you take one thing away from both this song and this post, it’s that Bret McKenzie did NOT have to go that hard with the Muppets soundtrack. I’m just picturing the guy just coming into the studio with a notepad, eyes glowing red and levitating, and laying the lyrics to this and/or “Man Or Muppet” down on the table, and everybody just refusing to question it. I can still remember having this as the first song on a scratchy CD, and only ending up hearing it and “Eight Days a Week” because it conked out on me after track 2. I have many fond memories of sunny afternoons listening to this song while organizing the Calico Critters house that I got for my birthday that year. The voice of a generation. What can I say? Life’s a fillet of fish.

Since this post consists of all songs, consider all of them to be today’s song.

That’s it for this week’s Sunday Songs! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Music

Cracker Island – Gorillaz album review

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Thursday, bibliophiles!

Ever since the announcement was made, Cracker Island became one of my most anticipated albums of 2023. I’ve been a fan of Gorillaz for years; their cast of cartoon characters and consistently innovative and downright fun music has made them a mainstay favorite for me. I even had the immense privilege of seeing them last September, and I can say with certainty that it was one of the best concerts I’ve ever been to.

After 2020’s Song Machine: Season 1, I tried to be hesitant about Cracker Island, but I was excited that they didn’t lean on collaborators quite as much as the former. However, Cracker Island turned out to be a mixed bag for me, but still had a few gems—and no shortage of instantly catchy tracks.

Enjoy this album review!

CRACKER ISLAND – GORILLAZ (album review)

Release date: February 24, 2023 (Parlophone/Warner records)

TRACK 1: “Cracker Island (feat. Thundercat)” – 7/10

the day has finally come…….2D is 3D…..

This is exactly what I meant about the instantly catchy tracks—in the grand scheme of things, it’s not the most inventive or emotional piece of music that Gorillaz has ever created, but man, it’s fun. I have a moral obligation for headbanging whenever it comes on—with the funky bassline, Thundercat’s backing vocals, and Damon Albarn’s hypnotic voice, this is as solid of an album opener as any, a song that I’ll permanently associate with summer.

TRACK 2: “Oil (feat. Stevie Nicks)” – 7/10

“…I need to sit down.” – one of my best friends, upon finding out that Stevie Nicks was on this album

“Oil” is a decent track, but there’s something strange about it that comes up on the rest of the album; normally, Gorillaz collaboration tracks give at least a moderate amount of attention, be it audible backing vocals or separate verses, to their collaborators. But on this track, and several others on the album, I’m struggling to hear Stevie Nicks clearly. It’s a little better on YouTube than Apple Music, weirdly enough, but it still feels like Stevie Nicks isn’t in the spotlight in the same way as Thundercat, Tame Impala, and others on the album are. Huh. Still an alright song—again, nothing life-changing.

TRACK 3: “The Tired Influencer” – 7/10

It seems like this is one of the first Gorillaz songs without any collaborations in years, and the results are…alright. It’s a nice, slow comedown from “Cracker Island,” a soft, electronic lull like trees swaying in the wind. I like the little Siri soundbites seamlessly integrated throughout—there’s some wonderful production going on here and on the rest of the album. Again, not a favorite, but it’s a solid calming song.

TRACK 4: “Silent Running (feat. Adeleye Omotayo)” – 6.5/10

…Murdoc bathwater to the rescue?

The last single to come out of Cracker Island, “Silent Running” is catchy, but there’s not a whole lot about it that’s terribly compelling. It’s a nice pop song, but compared not only to Gorillaz’s past catalogue and the album as a whole, it seems somehow blander, which for Gorillaz, is a word that I wouldn’t normally use with them under any circumstance. I do like Adeleye Omotayo’s backing vocals though—his rich voice really propels the song in the chorus and beyond.

TRACK 5: “New Gold (feat. Tame Impala and Bootie Brown)” – 8.5/10

Now THIS is more like it! The second single and an instant highlight of the album, “New Gold” is brimming with brightness, the talents of both Tame Impala and Bootie Brown coalescing into a near-perfect pop song. With its pulsating beat and Brown’s hypnotic verses, it’s an example of what Gorillaz can do with collaborators if they really try—make a truly seamless final product and a classic added to the catalogue. I almost don’t even mind Damon Albarn’s autotune here. Normally I’m opposed, but it strangely works.

TRACK 6: “Baby Queen” – 6.5/10

Cracker Island’s third single is still decent, but nothing groundbreaking. It just feels like it’s…there. It’s sitting there and not doing a whole lot musically—very little experimentation or even change in general in the music. Gorillaz can pull off a simpler pop song like nobody’s business, and although I’m all for a slow song, “Baby Queen” is alright, but overall, it doesn’t serve much of a purpose other than calming the album down.

TRACK 7: “Tarantula” – 7.5/10

Aside from the singles and some of the bonus tracks (more on those later), “Tarantula” was more refreshing than some of the album. It’s more interesting musically, and there’s no shortage of electronic brightness brimming from every note. Great to dance to and a high point on the original version of the album, I won’t just value it because it fits nicely into my playlist of songs with animals in the titles (spent way too much time on that…it includes “Shock the Monkey,” “Needles in the Camel’s Eye,” “Pig,” and at least four separate songs on this album, among others), but because it’s just a great song as well.

TRACK 8: “Tormenta (feat. Bad Bunny)” – 3/10

I’m sorry, this is just…nope. Can’t get on board with it. This song perfectly represents the other side of the spectrum of Gorillaz collaborations—the point where it becomes another artist’s song instead of a Gorillaz song. Even the parts where Damon Albarn comes in, he’s horribly autotuned, and sidelined as well. I don’t claim to know anything about Bad Bunny, but it just feels like a Bad Bunny song with extra steps. It barely fits with anything else in the album, and it seems pointless in the scheme of everything else. Yikes.

TRACK 9: “Skinny Ape” – 8.5/10

THERE WE GO, THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!!! For me, it’s tied with “New Gold” as the best song on the album (not counting the bonus tracks; it’s the solo Gorillaz song that I really missed, filled with a pulsating atmosphere that seamlessly shifts between moods, content to languish in the quiet but just as read to bring it up to a monumental, jump-up-and-down worthy chorus. It’s proof that even though the last two albums haven’t been as impactful for me, they’re still capable of a song as wonderful as this over 20 years on from their first album. They played this when I saw them back in September, and it’s just as fun now as it was then.

TRACK 10: “Possession Island (feat. Beck)” – 7.5/10

As the closer to Cracker Island and Gorillaz’s second collaboration with Beck, “Possession Island” is a soft, gentle close of the curtains for this album. Even with all of their spectacle, Damon Albarn and company can garner almost as much emotion in their more vulnerable moments, and this song is proof. It’s a sweet song that almost gives the feeling of being rocked to sleep. All I wish is that, like Stevie Nicks on “Oil,” I could hear Beck’s beautiful voice more; even if his role is just backing vocals, I just find myself wanting to hear his voice more clearly.

BONUS TRACKS

NOTE: “Silent Running (feat. Adeleye Omotayo) [2D Piano Version]” and “New Gold (feat. Tame Impala and Bootie Brown) [Dom Dolla remix]” are not included here since they are just different versions/remixes.

BONUS TRACK 1: “Captain Chicken (feat. Del the Funky Homo Sapien)” – 9.5/10

DEL AND GORILLAZ ARE TOGETHER AGAIN!!! I CANNOT GET OVER HOW GOOD THIS SONG IS. SERIOUSLY.

In theory, I can see why “Captain Chicken” was separated from the rest of the album—it doesn’t quite fit the vibe of Cracker Island as a whole, but on its own, it’s easily the best song on the whole album. Maybe it’s nostalgia bait since Del the Funky Homo Sapien hasn’t appeared on a Gorillaz track in over two decades, but if we’re extending this metaphor, I’ve taken a massive bit of said bait, because I just LOVE this song—it embodies the infectious, fun-filled joy that defined Gorillaz for so long. I’m back and forth on whether I want this song to be longer, but somehow, at just under two minutes long, it feels just the right amount. Can’t have too much of a good thing…or can we? I’ve had this song on repeat for several days now…

BONUS TRACK 2: “Controllah (feat. MC Bin Laden)” – 7/10

Any track after “Captain Chicken” has giant-sized shoes to fill, but “Controllah” is a great song all the same. With Damon Albarn’s autotune in moderation and the steady, pulsating beat throughout, it’s the perfect way to keep the momentum of the album running after the abrupt break of “Captain Chicken.” If you’re not nodding your head, you’re lying.

BONUS TRACK 3: “Crocadillaz (feat. De La Soul and Dawn Penn)” – 8/10

DE LA SOUL AND GORILLAZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH DE LA SOUL AND GORILLAZ AGAIN DE LA SOUL AND GORILLAZ HHAHHAHHEHEHFHFEHEFHFEJFSHJHKJDFSKHDF

And speaking of big shoes to fill, it’s hard to top both “Feel Good Inc.” and “Momentz,” but like “Controllah,” this song is the perfect way to keep the beat going, but also to provide a more laid-back transition to the album. Plus, there’s something to be said for the prospect that every time Gorillaz and De La Soul collaborate, the Earth heals a little bit. Nature is healing; Del the Funky Homo Sapien and De La Soul and Gorillaz are doing stuff together again. All is right in the world. Sort of. Not really. Sure feels like it when you’re listening to this.

I’ve averaged my track ratings both with and without the bonus tracks; I’d give the original album a 6.9, which I’ll round up to a 7, and the deluxe edition a 7.2. The deluxe edition brings up the quality of the album as a whole, for sure, but after a few listens, I like Cracker Island slightly more than I did on the first go-around. It grew with time, but not by much; though it wasn’t nearly as innovative as Gorillaz at their best, it had moments of fun and a few tracks that I can see sticking with me. Better than Song Machine, but nothing that will change my life as a whole. Other than how unbelievably good “Captain Chicken” is.

…can’t believe I’m saying that about a song called Captain Chicken, of all things…that’s the power of Gorillaz

And for kicks and giggles, I’ll bring back this wonderful homemade sign from when I saw Gorillaz to end this post:

Since this is an album review, consider the whole album today’s song.

That’s it for this album review! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Music, Sunday Songs

Sunday Songs: 2/26/23

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Sunday, bibliophiles! Hope this week has treated you all well.

Here we are at the end of the shortest month of the year, and we’ve got a bit of a…chaotic mishmash of songs for the occasion this week. I suppose it always is, but even though the album covers are somewhat coordinated, the songs were strung together like angry children reluctantly getting shoved into a family photo. I like them all, though, and I hope you do too. Climb aboard the (emotional) rollercoaster, you never know what’ll hit you. Hopefully not whiplash.

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 2/26/23

“The Court (Dark-Side Mix)” – Peter Gabriel

“Justice is a luxury for the rich” HERE KING YOU DROPPED THIS 👑

I end up sacrificing color schemes for chronology in these posts more than not, but in the end, it’s more about talking about the music I’m generally liking, so I’ve abandoned the guilt at this point, even though we’re closer to the next full moon to when “The Court” actually came out. Anyway.

I talked a bit about “Panopticom” last month, and I liked it, but it felt like there was something missing. Turns out that this song was what was missing—I was already excited for i/o, but “The Court” is getting my hopes up. From the barely audible, slowed-down laughter hidden in the intro, there’s a creeping, sinister feel to the whole song; you can almost feel a shadow being cast across your body when the chorus echoes with “And the court/Will rise/While the pillars all fall.” It’s a slow build, but unlike “Panopticom,” which left a sort of void that I was waiting for the entire time, “The Court” weaves into an ominous spectacle, that, regardless of the Dark-Side or Bright-Side mix, wraps you up in a cloud of smoke. A bit of theatricality, almost reminiscent of some of Gabriel’s orchestral reimaginings of his earlier songs, creeps into the bridge as his voice (still just as rich even when he’s in his 70’s…oh, happy belated birthday, by the way!), making for a song that functions as an individual piece, but has the feeling of a great album opener. I’m not even sure. I think it would be a good opening, but we won’t have any semblance of order for i/o until the end of the year, so we’ll see…

“MFSOTSOTR” – Sidney Gish

As of now, it’s been a few weeks since the actual announcement, but Sidney Gish is back!! She’s been teasing a new album that was originally set to be released in January, but as of now, is still being worked on. But for now, she’s released two singles as part of the Sub Pop Singles Club—this song and “Filming School,” which is just as great. On the process of writing “MFSOTSOTR,” Gish said that “the lyrics were freestyled while staring at a meme of a buff man wearing high-waisted jeans. No edits were ever made to ‘MFSOTSOTR.’ It has haunted my hard drive for three years.” And if that doesn’t sum up the wonderfully oddball spirit of Sidney Gish both in her songwriting and personality, then I don’t know what does. Even though it’s barely a minute long, this song is packed with everything that endeared Gish to me back in 2019—it’s the definition of carefree, building off of freestyle riffing without any worry about meaning. From the deliberate mispronunciation of “question” to the delicate layering of Gish’s harmonies, it’s made me so excited for what the future has in store for her—let’s hope that album comes out soon (whenever she feels like it’s ready, of course), but for now, we have some bite-sized, joyful weirdness to enjoy for the time being.

“Enter One” – Sol Seppy

And now we’re at the polar opposite of the spectrum of sadness. Whoops. Apologies for the emotional whiplash.

I can thank my mom for this one after she found it in the soundtrack of Dark (which I still haven’t seen, oops), and all I can say is that it’s heartbreakingly beautiful. This is my first exposure to Sol Seppy (a stage name for Sophie Michalitsianos), but knowing that she was part of Sparklehorse’s backing band for several years (most notably on their 2001 album It’s a Wonderful Life) makes the sound of this song make even more sense. It has the same bare, melancholic sparseness, with a delicate piano as the only instrumentation for most of the song. That should be enough to signal how rough of a ride this song is, but I digress. Seppy’s voice does no small amount of heavy lifting as its layered over each other, rising like an impending tidal wave that casts a long, creeping shadow over the beach. And given that, from what I can sort of glean from the lyrics, it seems to be about letting go and welcoming/coming to terms with death (“Fear not this light/We are on this light divine/Welcome/Enter one”), the atmosphere is palpable—it’s a painfully beautiful song, and it’s difficult to listen to, but nonetheless a gorgeously written piece of music. I guess that’s why at least 3 different death (or somehow emotional) scenes from several different movies or TV shows came up when I searched it on YouTube…

“Rotten Ol’ me” – Shakey Graves

Alright, here we go. Back to happy times again. The dark clouds have parted, and in the sunshine comes Shakey Graves.

I haven’t had the time to listen to Deadstock – A Shakey Graves Day Anthology in its entirety, but I decided that I’d listen to the iTunes previews of the songs that sounded promising to me. I sifted a handful out of that initial listen, but “Rotten Ol’ me” has quickly risen to my favorite of the bunch. The opening riff perfectly captures the feel of this song—darkly mischievous and playful, with the feeling of a tiny devil with a pointy goatee sitting on your shoulder with a guitar. (Or maybe the giant, hovering skull on the album cover instead? Either one fits the vibe, really.) Alejandro Rose-Garcia is, without a doubt, one of the more innovative alternative/folk musicians to come out of the past few decades, and that’s not even talking about some of his drum techniques, but “Rotten Ol’ me” is proof of his sheer guitar prowess. With its multilayered melodies and a rapid plucking style that makes my fingers hurt just think about it, each note feels like a thread in a giant tapestry, each one knotted to the other to create a lively folk song full of hooks.

“D.I.Y.” – Peter Gabriel

I thought I was done doubling up after two weeks ago, but Peter Gabriel will always be just that good. This one’s worlds away from the feel of “The Court,” and it comes off of his second album, Peter Gabriel 2: Scratch (you know, the one where he’s got the frighteningly long acrylics—oh, those are scratches, you say?). My first thought upon listening to this was that it reeked of Berlin Trilogy-era David Bowie (Low, “Heroes,” and Lodger, for reference). Scratch was released just a year after both Low and “Heroes,” so there’s no doubt that this guy was leaning over Bowie’s shoulder and taking notes and hoping that he wouldn’t notice. Robert Fripp produced this album and worked with Bowie around the same time as well, so I guess there weren’t any hard feelings. Still a few years fresh off of Genesis, “D.I.Y.” is full of art-rock defiance, jangling and bright but ready to spit in the face with it’s pre-chorus: “Come up to me with your ‘What did you say?’/And I’ll tell you, straight in the eye, hey!/D.I.Y.” With its climbing instrumentation and Gabriel’s simultaneously bright and rich vocals, it’s instantly catchy, proof of his versatility even that early on in his career.

Since today’s post consists entirely of songs, consider all of them to be today’s song.

That’s it for this week’s Sunday Songs! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!