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Review: Run The Jewels – Run The Jewels 2

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“Run the Jewels” is the answer, your question is “What’s Poppin’?”

Since the announcement in late October that they had leaked the much-anticipated sequel to their thrilling debut album, Run The Jewels has been the talk of the music world.  And it’s with good reason: Run The Jewels 2 is even better than the original collaboration between El-P and Killer Mike.  Their self-titled debut was among the best-reviewed albums of last year, and found a spot on most year-end lists, including our own.  The sequel does an even better job of mining and improving upon the best trends in hip-hop from the past twenty years, and finds the connection between the duo stronger than ever.

So while the quoted lyric above is certainly not the most acerbic or clever line on the record, the closing line of opener “Jeopardy” does sum up RTJ’s place in music right now.  If you need a better sampler of the album, you should listen to the banging “Oh My Darling Don’t Cry”, which will fully abuse your car stereo’s subwoofers with its pulsing bass.  The two MC’s trade verses fast and furious, picking up their speed and intensity with each round as the music grows more chaotic around them.  Another highlight is “Close Your Eyes (And Count to Fuck) which builds a bouncy, stuttering beat off a guest appearance from Zach de la Rocha, recalling the era when turntablism reigned.

Run The Jewels 2 is a treasure-trove of brilliant beats and production from El-P, switching up styles and moods on the fly that accommodates the desire for variety while never sacrificing flow.  Grimy, serious material like “Angel Duster” and “Blockbuster Night Part 1” fits in easily with more fun tracks like “All Due Respect”, which takes the fun elements of rap-rock without the negative connotations that term has taken in more recent years, thanks to some excellent drumming from Travis Barker.  It’s a lean and efficient album too, clocking in at less than forty minutes, so it never wears out its welcome–but it’s likely that you’ll be putting the whole thing on repeat.

Note: there seems to be a difference between the free download version and the physical copy you can buy, with the former including an extra verse from Gangsta Boo to provide the female counter to the duo’s claims on “Love Again (Akinyele Back)” that’s missing from the purchased disc.

Review: Tweedy – Sukierae

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Sukierae is quite the family affair, and while some may snicker and say that it represents the apotheosis of “dad rock”, it’s a pleasant but affecting listen.  Much of the debut album from “Tweedy” will remind fans of what they love about dad Jeff’s day job with Wilco, but the more personal nature of the material mirrors the stripped-down approach of the record and necessitates a separation from the main act.  It’s an intimate affair, but a welcome one.

Opener “Please Don’t Let Me Be Understood” recalls Telephono-era Spoon with its distorted repetitive riff, but that’s a bit of a misdirection, as Sukierae mainly consists of ballads or otherwise pleasant diversions.  The album is for the most part delicate and subdued, often just Jeff on vocals and guitar with son Spencer accompanying on drums, with the latter careful not to overwhelm the fragile nature of each song.  Acoustic guitar is the dominant sound, with electric guitar leads dancing in and out to provide emphasis and contrast as necessary, with the occasional sprinkle of piano providing hints of color.  Spencer’s drumming ventures occasionally into intriguing new territories for Jeff, as in the King of Limbs-like stuttering beat of “Diamond Light Pt. 1” (which ends with a bit that recalls an earlier period of Radiohead, specifically “The Gloaming”), but for the most part sticks to keeping it in the pocket and augmenting the music with subtle fills on a spare kit.  It’s all a bit “low key”, if you could excuse the pun (note: you are under no obligation to do so).

At seventy-one minutes long, some fans may wonder whether it was necessary for the album to be split into two discs, as Jeff insisted.  While the two discs themselves are not necessarily distinct from one another (though the second disc is a bit more subdued), but each disc does have its own shape; for instance, “I’ll Sing It” and “I’ll Never Know” each bring a sense of finality and work as closers.  One disc doesn’t stand out from the other, but splitting the album into two does benefit the listener by breaking it up into more manageable sizes.  Some may argue that there’s a 12-14 song, 50 minute album hidden in the two discs, but there are not any songs that are asking to be culled from the tracklist.  They may not all be standouts, but there are several quality songs and gorgeous moments spread throughout.

Review: Aphex Twin – Syro

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It was worth the wait.  It had been over a decade since we last had a proper Aphex Twin release, but Richard James has rewarded us with the challenging but beautiful Syro.  It’s not a revolutionary new work, but more of a distillation of the best parts of Drukqs with flashes of the brilliance of his 90’s output that put him at the vanguard of the electronic music movement.

The liner notes that inventively catalogs the use of every bit of musical equipment on SYRO

The liner notes that inventively catalogs the use of every bit of musical equipment on SYRO

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not a huge fan of electronica, and not particularly an expert of the genre (though I’m sure I upset at least a few people by using the catch-all term “electronica).  I haven’t been a regular purchaser of electronic music since the Big Beat era; any forays into the area are usually based on the insistent recommendations of friends (Darkside) or from research into musicians with a penchant for experimentation (Tim Hecker).  The rise of EDM in the past few years has only been a source of confusion and frustration, as the entire movement seems to be merely a repackaging of sounds and ideas that Richard James perfected back in the 90’s.  Mix in the abrasiveness and breakbeats of “Come to Daddy” with the acid-jazz grooviness and distorted finish of “Windowlicker”, and you have 95% of the formula that’s racking up the big bucks at these raves.  Just toss in a trick as old as music itself (“the drop” of the bass has always been a trick in a band’s arsenal), apply it in a haphazard fashion, ignore any semblance of rhythm or conception of songcraft in general, and you’ve got yourself EDM.

The album artwork is a list of all the expenses that went into the production of the record

The album artwork is a list of all the expenses that went into the production of the record

But Richard James sets himself apart from his successors, because it’s clear to even the lay individual that has a much better understanding of the fundamentals of music itself.  Even when he’s trafficking in beats that are lined-up with pinpoint precision based on computer formulas and arranged in odd meters, you can still feel a beat.  It may be odd, it may be unfamiliar, but it’s not arrhythmic–there’s a method to the madness.  James also has an excellent grasp of songwriting, providing careful shape to each song and the album as a whole.  The album draws you in with a subtle and trippy beginning, before pumping up the energy with a frenetic middle, before drawing back down and ending with a beautiful, Satie-inspired epilogue (meaning a delicate, spare piano with the barest hints of chord progression and melody, but still capable of evoking immense beauty).

The entire list of expenses, which can be read after unfolding the album cover.

The entire list of expenses, which can be read after unfolding the album cover.

Whether you’re listening to Syro as background music or with intense concentration through headphones, it’s clearly apparent that each sound was created and applied with the greatest of care and precision.  Fans will recall many similar tones from the Richard D. James Album, but he also tosses in several new variations as well, with each perfectly calibrated to elicit a particular emotion.  It’s difficult to go into more detail, not simply because it’s practically impossible to refer to specific tracks without employing a significant amount of cutting and pasting (James really emphasizes the pointlessness in some respects of distinguishing certain tracks by employing random letters and signifying particular “mixes” for each song, as if we have access to alternative mixes and they’re not just holed up on his hard drive somewhere, though noting the BPM for each track is a nice touch), but also because of the sheer amount of notes and styles in each particular track.  Hence, the resort to generalities.

It should be clear then this is an electronic album that casual fans will appreciate.  And since the more specialized press seems to be in agreement that his is a great record, I can take comfort in the fact that my inexperienced perspective has at least some solid footing.  It won’t be the Kind of Blue of the genre, but definitely a worthy addition to Aphex Twin’s illustrious discography.

Review: Death From Above 1979 – The Physical World

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If we are to take Death From Above 1979’s claims at face value and believe that they are indeed machines, then fans should be glad to hear that they are at least constructed from materials incapable of rust.  You would be hard-pressed to believe that it’s been a decade since You’re a Woman, I’m a Machine, because DFA1979’s long-awaited follow-up doesn’t miss a beat.  The Physical World does everything you would ask following a landmark debut–it maintains the spirit and essence of what made the original so brilliant (perhaps with an edge or two smoothed over), while at the same time attempting new tricks that keep the new music sounding like a mere rehash of previous ideas.  In other words, all previous devotees should be fully satisfied, and perhaps the band will pick up some new fans as well.

Death From Above 1979 proves that their formula of stripped-down rock reliant on bass and drums (but not drum and bass) still works, filling the album with plenty of riffs that are both fast and furious.  “Right On, Frankenstein!” and “Gemini” would fit right in with some of the more blistering tracks from their debut, like “Little Girl” or “Romantic Rights”.  “Gemini” has several catchy parts that will certainly stick in the minds of the listener (the pre-chorus of “she cries on her birthday” and the chorus of “24/7–still believes in heaven” will definitely be parts that the audience will be shouting along with at their concerts) and “Right On, Frankenstein!”  features a terrific outro, with the band stopping on a dime before slipping into a furiously-picked rapid-fire 32nd-note bass riff that ends with a bang.

The band also stretches out a bit with great success, dipping into sludge-rock territory with the “Virgins” and getting damn near close to writing a ballad with “White Is Red”.  The latter features an inventive bass part that utilizes a gorgeous unique tone that shows that simply because the band uses a limited set of instruments, it doesn’t mean that their sonic palette is in any way constricted.  The lyrics are also some of their best work to date; DFA1979 always were able to come up with an incisive line or individual memorable lyrics, but the heartbreaking story of a spurned lover and an unplanned teenage pregnancy in “White Is Red” shows that the duo can craft a complete song and are capable of invoking previously unknown subtle emotions in the listener.  It also ends up being the perfect setup to the lead single “Trainwreck 1979”, which sounds as terrific and energetic on the album as it does when it’s livening up rock radio’s otherwise generally moribund playlist.  (It also may bear an interesting connection to the previous track, as the track begins with the details of the protagonist’s birth.)

The album ends with the epic title track, a song that shifts from a goofy 8-bit melody into a frenetic punk rocker before ending on a throwback 80’s metal coda, which fades seamlessly into a classical piano outro that mirrors the previous melody, processed through a filter that evokes the soundtrack of a classic horror film from the Silent Era.  With the coda, Jesse Keeler comes as close to a bass “solo” as you’re likely to hear from the duo, and Sebastien Grainger shows off some of the drum tricks he’s picked up in the decade since their debut.  Once you hear that, you gain a new appreciation for Grainger’s rhythmic support throughout the album, noticing how he’s not only driving the beat but also engaging intriguing melodic support as well by effortlessly shifting styles and patterns.  But most importantly, the radical shift at the end shows fans that the band is capable of exploring even more styles, and that the band won’t be running out of ideas anytime soon.

You’re a Woman, I’m a Machine still is in my regular rotation ten years later, and at this point I’m willing to predict that The Physical World will follow the same path as well.  It’s already been stuck in my car’s stereo for the past week, and the good news is that I’m not even beginning to get tired of the album.  In other words, it’ll be definitely making an appearance on our Best Of list for 2014.

Review: Interpol – El Pintor

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For the first time in Interpol’s career, we can honestly say that their newest album is better than their previous work.  While we argued last week that Interpol’s “decline” was not nearly as sharp as some may contend, the band still had issues matching the success of their previous works.  The band reached its nadir with Interpol, an album that while striving to push their music into new directions suffered from a clear lack of inspiration, with many songs seemingly the aural manifestation of creative gears spinning without any tangible result.  After some time off, the band has regrouped and seemingly found its mojo once again, as for the first time since Antics Interpol seems to be having at least a bit of fun making music again.

The title El Pintor goes beyond being simply an example of clever wordplay by being an anagram of the band’s name and previous album, but also serves as a signal of the creative reshuffling that went on behind the scenes.  Even dipping into Spanish was a nice touch, considering how the previous album ended with “The Undoing” and its verse in Spanish, providing an additional connective tissue with this creative reinvention.  There were some interesting superficial touches (the cover art adds a bit of blue to the traditional red-and-black Interpol color scheme, the band published a lyric booklet for the first time with the album) that mirrored some of the internal structural changes the band underwent in recording the album.  With Carlos D’s departure once Interpol was completed, the band decided that instead of searching for a new bassist that they’d power through as a three-piece, with Paul Banks laying down the bass in the studio (for the record, the band hired a touring bassist, so we won’t be seeing Paul trying to figure out how to play old songs on the bass and sing at the same time).  Considering the importance of bass to the Interpol sound, fans were rightly concerned; the good news is that Banks proves himself a more than capable replacement on El Pintor.  There aren’t any show-stopping riffs like in “Obstacle 1” or “The New”, but Banks often provides a great groove and a quality counterpoint to the melody in songs like “Anywhere” and “Tidal Wave”.

Traditionally, Interpol albums have begun with a stately, deliberate opener, and for the first 50 seconds, “All The Rage Back Home” seems to follow that pattern, before it pulls a left turn and abruptly shifts into a full-blown rocker.  I initially expressed skepticism when the song was first released, mainly for a lead-guitar line that seemed out of place, but the song has grown on me since then and I’ve fallen under its spell and now eagerly anticipate the hell that will break loose when its performed live.  Instead, I should have paid attention to more promising aspects of the song, like Sam Fogarino’s subtle touches, like his hits on the crown of the ride cymbal (noticeable around the 3 minute mark) or his work on the toms to help provide some added power to the final chorus.  Fogarino has long been the secret weapon in Interpol’s arsenal, and for the first time in years the band has figured out how to take advantage of his gifts.  Whereas the group had trouble with avoiding turning their start-stop rhythmic songs into slogs, Fogarino’s nifty hi-hat work on “My Blue Supreme” helps push the song forward and keep the listener’s attention, and his part in “Ancient Ways” is some of his liveliest playing in years.

There just seems to be a spark that runs through El Pintor, which helps give it a consistency that the band has lacked since Antics.  The album may not have peaks as high as those on Our Love To Admire, but it doesn’t have any out-and-out duds either.  El Pintor is a record that’s also worth exploring in a variety of settings–I’ve picked up several different nuances listening to the album on disc, on the computer, and through headphones, and in each instance the album as a whole has sounded excellent (which is reassuring, considering that the initial stream that I heard compressed the music so much that it was difficult to determine if dynamic contrast existed at all on the record).  Some critics have claimed that El Pintor is an attempt to recapture Interpol’s earlier sound, but I would argue that it’s more of a reinterpretation of their more recent direction.  There’s nothing that immediately recalls Turn on the Bright Lights or Antics directly, but this album seems to be a natural progression from those records than Our Love To Admire and Interpol were in hindsight.  There is the movement towards incorporating more strings and keyboards (courtesy of former Secret Machines member Brandon Curtis) that marked their recent output, though their not at the forefront of their songs; Daniel Kessler’s guitar once again is prominently featured, but he’s armed with better riffs this time and a careful sense of restraint.  This helps the songs breathe, and not make it seem like everything has to live or die based purely on the quality of Kessler’s guitar parts.  Once again, just as in their best work, the unit is functioning more like a “band” once again with each member fulfilling their role.

The main takeaway for fans is that the band isn’t rehashing tired old ideas, and most importantly, El Pintor signals for the first time in years that there is still a bright future ahead for Interpol.

Review: Cymbals Eat Guitars – LOSE

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There were several new albums released last week that I had been waiting to grab for months, so it should come as no surprise that this week I’m recommending something from that lineup.  However, in the days prior to last Tuesday, my preliminary research (listening to a whole bunch of old albums/reading the occasional interview) was focused on a different new release in anticipation of a potential future review, an album different than the one mentioned in the above title; considering the other band’s track record, it was a safe assumption that it would have been the “album of the week”.  But it’s the newest release from Cymbals Eat Guitars that has pushed its way into heavy rotation in my music library, and it’s LOSE that is currently climbing up my ever-shifting list of top albums of the year.

LOSE stands out as a guitar-focused, indie rock album at a time when the approach seems almost anachronistic.  Musically it often works as a throwback to a more refined version of emo from early in the last decade (especially in regards to the vocals, which can often be a bit abrasive when it comes to hitting certain notes), though I hesitate to use the term because of its negative connotations these days.  Though the album’s lyrical inspiration was the loss of a close childhood friend during the early years of the band, it’s a mature response that never comes off as pouty or whiny, a characteristic that puts the group above many of the more famous emo acts.

LOSE kicks things off with the stellar “Jackson”, a contender for album opener of the year along with Lost In The Dream‘s “Under the Pressure” and Turn Blue‘s “The Weight of Love”.  “Jackson” is a song that doesn’t telegraph its intentions from the outset, declaring to the listener that “this is going to be one of those epic songs, and you’ll know it from the second we start playing”*; instead, it begins gradually, adding layers of instruments and emotion over the course of its running time.  The build is so natural that it comes as a complete surprise that you start air-drumming and singing along at the top of your longs 3/4 of the way through the song.  By the end though, when reflecting on what you just heard, you can say “oh, I see how they got there.”

*Not that this is necessarily a bad thing, because I love several “epic” songs whose scope is obvious from the outset, but I think it’s more difficult to successfully accomplish the feat in this manner

The album keeps the momentum going with the next two tracks, “Warning” and “XR”.  The former offers an intriguing variation of a traditional punk/emo motif, riding an uptempo riff with a slight tweak in the connecting notes between the chords that is jarring to hear on first listen, but makes sense in context.  “XR” is a harmonica-driven blast of whip-fast earnest punk rock, that makes it seem like the band had been listening to a lot of The Monitor by Titus Andronicus, without actually ripping them off.

The other major highlight of the album is “Laramie”, a big sweeping ballad that pushes and pulls the listener with an abrupt back-and-forth start-stop rhythm, that then switches gears and shifts into a rowdy driving rocker halfway through.  It’s not style-mixing for the sake of it, however; the combination feels organic in the band’s hands.  LOSE ends with “2 Hip Soul”, which follows a similar template, but when it shifts it calls back to the opener “Jackson”, eventually devolving back into the solo piano that began that song, in effect making the album an infinite loop.

LOSE is an incredible accomplishment for Cymbals Eat Guitars, who in some sense lost their way a bit with Lenses Alien after their catchy debut Why There Are Mountains.  However, when looking back it’s easy to see that Lenses Alien was a necessary step in their development, as the band developed their chops a bit more and experimented with different ideas, but simply failing to recall their knack for the memorable melodies that marked their debut.  LOSE combines the best of their previous work, and even then the sum is greater than its parts.

Review: Alvvays – Alvvays

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Summer may be winding down, but luckily it’s not over quite yet; there are still a couple more weekends for you to enjoy some sunshine and relaxation before the horrors of autumn begin.  However, you might be getting a little annoyed with listening to the same Summer Mix playlist on your iTunes–a perfectly understandable concern.  To that end, it is worth checking out the self-titled debut of the sunny beach-pop band Alvvays.

(Ed. note: from what I’ve read about the band, despite the odd spelling, the name is still pronounced “Always”)

There have been several bands that have mined this vein of indie rock in recent years, most notably DIIV and Real Estate; the trademarked trebly guitars laced with reverb, the simplistic percussion, and the general laid-back vibe are all present on the album.  Even though there are many strong similarities between these groups, the upbeat disposition of many of the songs as well as the unique vocals of Molly Rankin help distinguish the group from its peers.  Whereas Real Estate would be perfect for spending the day relaxing by the ocean, Alvvays fits better as the soundtrack to help get you amped on the car ride to the beach.

The album begins with a 1-2 punch of “Adult Diversion” and “Archie, Marry Me”, and it’s easy to see why these two songs were the first singles.  “Adult Diversion” is propelled by a bouncy arpeggiated guitar part and airy vocals, a combination where one can note the apt comparisons to DIIV, but the true engine is the driving bassline, which provides both momentum and a great counterpoint.  “Archie, Marry Me” is a a great pop song with a big chorus, with a style that recalls the Dum Dum Girls and their attempts to capture that 60’s nostalgia haze.  While it’s easy to get caught up in the big sweeping hooks, the best part of the song is actually the feedback-drenched lead guitar in the second verse that provides a necessary subtle edge to the gauzy production.

The album is not without its problems, as the momentum begins to sag around the middle with “The Agency Group” and “Dives”.  The latter is actually a well-done ballad with enough unique touches that are promising for the future, but within the context of the album it just ends up being a drag.  Alvvays is able to avoid falling off the rails with the energetic “Atop A Cake” and its extremely catchy chorus, which should have you singing “How can I lose control when you’re driving from the backseat” long after you’ve finished listening to the album.  Other highlights include “Ones Who Love You”, a great slow number that gradually builds into a shocking climax of “You can’t feel your fucking face” before breaking back down once again, and the midtempo song “Party Police”, which is built around an intriguing minor-key guitar lick and finds Rankin hitting an unexpected high note like Dolores O’Riordan of The Cranberries or Sinéad O’Connor.

When Alvvays is hitting on all cylinders, it’s a fun ride; unfortunately, there are a few too many moments when it stalls.  That said, it’s a solid debut that can easily find a place in any future Summer Mix, and the band displays enough talent that it’s worth watching what they do in the future.

Review: Spoon – They Want My Soul

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We’ll just get this out of the way early: They Want My Soul is a fantastic album, and is a worthy addition to the Spoon canon.  Once again, the band pulls off the incredibly difficult trick of writing a record that is true to their song, without sounding as if they’re recycling the same old ideas.  Each track that reminds the listener of an older Spoon song doesn’t come off as a retread but instead forges new territory, and then the other songs finds Spoon branching off into new and exciting territories while still maintaining their identity for articulate, incisive music.

Each Spoon album reveals itself over time to have certain musical themes–Girls Can Tell focused on quiet, somber reflections, Kill The Moonlight found an edge through its use of piano, Gimme Fiction pulled back with its use of guitar, Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga was straight pop music, and Transference deconstructed pop music.  If I were to pinpoint a musical theme with They Want My Soul, it’d be something along the lines of seeking to revive one’s inner spirit.  It seems self-evident if one looks at the album title itself, and the fact that for the first time in their career have a song and album share the same title seems to underline this.  The song itself brings to mind a similar sentiment expressed in Wilco’s classic “Theologians”, but done this time with a bit more aggression and rebelliousness–not just in the lyrics, but in the attack of the guitars.  There similar strains of this sentiment throughout, such as in the swagger of a song like “Rainy Taxi”, or in the defiance of “Inside Out”, with its aversion to “holy rollers”.

Spoon even is able to accomplish something that most rock bands at the turn of the century could only hope to pull off, and that’s to incorporate dance and electronic elements without coming off as gimmicky.  “Outlier” is what Better Than Ezra was trying to accomplish with their album How Does Your Garden Grow? (and that’s coming from a rare fan of that album), in that the electronic percussion and dance beat seem to be an organic part of the song, and the processed guitars and keyboards actually enhance the song by providing both neat-sounding noises and actual melodies.  “New York Kiss”, a collaboration with Semisonic’s former leader Dan Wilson (and the writer who helped Adele into a sensation, most notably with “Someone Like You”; a collaboration that’s hardly been mentioned in most reviews for the record) is an even deeper foray into dance territory, and is an irresistible pleasure to boot.  My only issue is that I can’t think of the specific early-2000’s rock act that it reminds me of, but that in and of itself does not detract from the joy that naturally comes through when bouncing around to its beat.

Considering those two songs, it then becomes extremely irritating when you find critics complain that TWMS sounds like a typical Spoon record; go back and listen to those two songs, and then remind me again where Spoon delved into those styles previously.  And these are people that are actually paid to write about music and presumably have ears.  That said, when Spoon goes into their wheelhouse, they can still pack a punch.  There’s their usual excellent cover, this time a version of Ann-Margret’s “I Just Don’t Understand”, where the band once again adopts that smokey and dark jazzy swing that they do so well, as well as their own brilliant original “Do You”.  I’m glad that radio has switched over to this single instead of “The Rent I Pay” (a song where the previous criticism of repetition was more valid, but a song whose quality is strengthened when placed within the album as a whole than as a stand-alone track), since it’s hard to get enough of that deep groove and those ooh-ooh-ooh-oohs.  Careful listens eventually reveal nifty little details, like the delicate layering of subtle background synth parts or the parabolic nature of the ooh-ooh parts, all while maintaining an infectious melody throughout.

That pretty much encapsulates the album as a whole as well–it’s been playing constantly in my car, on my stereo, and on my iPod since its release, and like all the Spoon albums before it, it’s unlikely to wear out its welcome anytime soon.

Review: Peter Matthew Bauer – Liberation!

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We’ve professed our love for The Walkmen on Rust Is Just Right on several occasions, but even we’re surprised at how much we’re enjoying all the new albums that have been released in the wake of the band’s recent hiatus.  A couple of weeks ago, we reviewed the stellar solo debut of frontman Hamilton Leithauser, and now we’re doing the same for bassist/organist/guitarist/etc Peter Matthew Bauer.  We had never heard Bauer sing before, but we were at least familiar with his presence–his bouncing form was a trademark sight at any Walkmen show, and his instrumental parts were the key components to several of the band’s best songs.  There were high hopes in anticipation of Liberation!, but it was difficult to imagine what the final product would be.

There are still some elements of Bauer’s previous band to be found, most notably the distinctive trebly guitars and the basic but powerful drumbeats (the latter of which can probably be attributed to the presence of Walkmen co-member Matthew Barrick on percussion).  These touches don’t overwhelm the song, but fans of the band should be able to pick them out and appreciate them.  The shambolic solo guitar intro to “Irish Wake In Varanasi (For Big Pete Devlin)” recalls the great hit “The Rat” before switching gears into solid, driving rocker, and first single “Latin American Ficciones” seemingly could have evolved from a lost Walkmen track, an experiment where the band decided to switch vocal duties along with instrumental ones.

But Bauer mixes in a wide variety of unexpected influences into that basic template, including field recordings, latin touches, and most notably a stream of Eastern Indian instrumentation that runs throughout the album.  The integration of these musical influences also mirrors many of the lyrics and narrative themes of the album, as Bauer recounts his unique experiences and encounters stemming from a variety of religious backgrounds, including Hinduism, Christianity, and Scientology.  The album doesn’t look only to the past, however; after its delicate instrumental intro, “Philadelphia Raga” shifts into a slightly bouncy but breezy folk, echoing some of the recent work of contemporaries Real Estate and Kurt Vile.

The title Liberation! does seem to fit the album well, even without consulting the lyrics; there is a definite road-trip feel to the album, as if it were a soundtrack to an aimless but fruitful wandering across the country (and not a direct reference to releasing a solo album, considering the presence of Barrick and musical callbacks).  Bauer acquits himself just fine as a vocalist, carefully not exceeding his range, and makes use of his flat style to deliver his tales of the road in a convincing manner.  Though there are few moments that match the highlights of his previous band, Liberation! is still a nice surprise that’s worth repeated listens.

Review: The Antlers – Familiars

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It’s probably hard to discuss an album from The Antlers without comparing it to their previous work at this point, at least for me.  Familiars is an absolutely gorgeous album, one that’s well worth exploring for hours on end with headphones cranked as high as you can stomach, which should be enough to recommend it on its own merits.  But from a critical perspective, it begs to be analyzed in comparison with the band’s previous work.  Fortunately, in my opinion, that only enhances the excellence of the album, though I wonder how useful this perspective is for the novice.

The good news is that this should be easy to fix.  To those of you who are new to The Antlers, I recommend that you stop whatever it is that you’re doing and you immediately go and purchase a copy of Hospice, their breakthrough album (at least among the music critic intelligentsia; while it made several Top 10 lists in 2009, I would highly doubt that it sold more than a hundred thousand copies, much less went Gold or above).  I would prefer that you get in the car and drive to your closest independent record store, but I understand that may be a significant demand of some of our readers, so I will let a quick purchase online slide…this time.  It’s not a difficult listen, like most critics’ faves are; in fact, it’s filled with huge melodic hooks and incredibly moving instrumentals, all hanging on an easily digestible allegorical storyline of a disintegrating relationship between a nurse and a terminally ill cancer patient.  Though the subject matter is bleak (and the lyrics often make this abundantly clear–if you don’t feel at least the beginning of tears when listening to the bridge of “Two” or the end of “Wake”, then it is possibly that you are an android), The Antlers are able to provide enough hope through their music that the listener knows that just because these are the worst emotions you can deal with, that does not mean that this is the end; there is still the possibility of triumph, the chance that redemption is still possible.

Burst Apart dealt with similar emotions, this time substituting the dying patient narrative with a more conventional analysis of the end of a romantic relationship, while also expanding the band’s sonic palette.  Hospice often relied on toy instruments or thin sounds, but Burst Apart was built on expanding the sonic depth of each instrument.  It’s this path that The Antlers continue on with Familiars.  The musical exploration is not necessarily with chord progressions or melodies, but instead on textures and deepening the general sound.  Think of playing a piano, where instead of relying on three notes to determine the shape of a chord, instead the entirety of both hands is used to give the maximum amount of color with each chord.  It’s in this regard where we see the evolution of the band’s sound.  For example, the single “Hotels” in many ways would sound like it could easily fit on Burst Apart (in fact, it shares many melodic similarities with “I Don’t Want Love”), but there are enough nuances in the song that distinguish it from its predecessors.

There are numerous slight subtle musical touches that reveal themselves after multiple listens, especially on the second half of the album.  The upright bass on “Revisited” is a particularly striking example: the particular tone of the upright as opposed to the typical electrical bass provides an excellent counterpoint to the melodies occurring simultaneously over the top.  This is typical of the areas where The Antlers are content with exploring throughout Familiars, and rarely does the band attempt the big hooks found in either Hospice or Burst Apart.  All the choruses and climaxes are the result of slow burning builds instead of sudden explosions; that is to say there are no counterparts to say the fiery refrain of “Bear” or the catchy jangle of “Every Night My Teeth Are Falling Out”.  This can make it a disappointing listen at first, but hopefully it’s apparent that there is more lurking below the surface that’s worth exploring.  The band takes its time with each track, furthering the process the band began with the stop-gap Undersea EP, with nearly every track clocking in above the five-minute mark (with the two below it coming in at 4:59 and 4:56).  That said, the songs rarely lose focus and should hold the listener’s attention throughout.

I haven’t been able to deduce whether there is a coherent story or theme throughout Familiars, but it’s probably worth noting that the lyric sheet has alternating lyrics in italicized and normal print, indicating multiple viewpoints at the very least.  The good news is that the music underneath seems to be worthy enough of continued exploration that it’s still probably a productive use of time to determine the overarching story.  It’s hard for a band to continue to impress after an artistic triumph like Hospice, but The Antlers are providing a good roadmap on how it can be done.