on the pulse - 2020 - week 9: your life is eternally heavy

So the women pretty much ran the table this week - or at least they would have fully until a certain trap artist dropped his project from out of nowhere - but amidst widespread societal collapse let’s talk about some music and get back On The Pulse!

Worriers - You Or Someone You Know - We’re starting this off on Bandcamp again with a slice of punk-adjacent indie rock from Brooklyn - and yes, if you think you have an idea of what this sounds like, you’re probably right, but I found myself surprised by how much Lauren Denitzio’s throaty vocals support some solid sizzling tunes with good lead work and a fair number of hooks off the occasional splash of keys… even if I’m left with the frustrated feeling that they could really use a good producer to give the drums more punch and the guitars a bit more edge outside of the admittedly strong solos. As it is, there’s a muddiness in the mix that creeps into more than a few songs here, which does a disservice to Denitzio’s striking tone and pretty sharp writing, on what might seems be a breakup album but has a fair bit more going on when it comes to general feelings of existential dread, loneliness, anxiety, and maybe even asking the question if buying into ‘normalcy’ is really the punk rock choice. It’s not, and the arc to finding her voice to speak out and find closure is a great arc for the back half of the album, but I appreciated the nuance and asking those messy questions. As it is, though… look, this is not the sort of indie rock that’s going to reinvent the wheel, but the hooks are considerably above average and the writing is really solid, especially on ‘End of the World’, ‘Chicago Style Pizza Is Terrible’, and ‘Enough’, so if you’re curious, it’s worth hearing. 7/10

Caroline Rose - Superstar - Believe it or not, I try to keep an open mind when artists, especially those who don’t really have a clear genre preference or style, will switch things up from project to project. The problem is when these changes reflect shifts in stylism that don’t often compliment the skills of the artist, which takes us to Caroline Rose’s third album, given that she started in a retro-rock/country sound on her debut and now seems to be in an odd, vaporwave/old Hollywood noir singer-songwriter lane that doesn’t seem to flatter her literate, intensely self-aware brand of satire; it doesn’t really mirror her usual subtlety or fully nail the excess, and that’s the big reason this album doesn’t quite click as strongly, even if I can see the running musical metaphor of shallow aspirations to grandeur sliding towards delusion. This is also mirrored in the narrative of the album, a loose, broadly sketched story about a pop songstress chasing her dreams, sacrificing relationships and flying very close to the sun… before the pipe dream crashes down and she winds up back home. And this album is at its best when it dials into the deeply rooted insecurities surrounding this mercurial artistic genius and highlighting the detail in those vices - the kinky ‘Freak Like Me’ is the album highlight for a reason - and I like the thematic point hammered home at the end of how said delusions of grandeur and chasing love are framed different in society and treated with different weight coming from men or women. That said, by going broad Rose sacrifices some of the sharper detail and satirical flair that made her previous albums so strong, and without many standouts the album does wind up a little washed out, undercooked, and featuring a few too many overmixed, muddy synth choices that don’t quite match the shuddering grooves nor flatter a vocal delivery that reminds me a little too much of Kimbra; yes, imperfection was the point, but these are themes where lurid detail would elevate and intensify…. which leads to a pretty good and relevant story, but not quite a new nor great one. 6/10

U.S. Girls - Heavy Light - And speaking of genre pivots… U.S. Girls are one of those experimental acts in which I’ve heard in passing - especially as mastermind Meghan Remy operates out of Toronto - and have accrued a lot of critical acclaim in the past few years, mostly for 2015’s murky Half Free and 2018’s more refined and accessible In A Poem Unlimited, which takes a grabbag of archetypes and stylistic cues from previous eras of rock and grafts them around hard, feminist, and fiercely political. And it’s been really damn potent: Half Free I still hold has having Remy’s best songs to date with In a Poem Unlimited probably being the most robust project, and now on Heavy Light… I get the feeling I should like this project more than I do. I like a lot of the textures here, mostly rooted in a late-70s sound with touches of synthwave, disco, soul, post-punk, and even a smattering of yacht rock and no wave - which can push the mono edge of this album a little further than intended, but it nails the atmosphere. And on cuts that pick up momentum like ‘Overtime’, or some pretty striking ballads like ‘IOU’ and ‘Denise, Don’t Wait’, it gets to the roots of the anxious, exhausted neurosis of the project, a similar time where everything seemed to be spiraling out of control, with protest fires lit and a keen eye to issues of today like data-driven surveillance and climate change and relationship gaslighting and ‘State House (It’s A Man’s World)’ making a pretty horrifying subtextual statement about the retraction of women’s rights! But not only do some of the songs feel undercooked and lacking the same edge, the sense of urgency is really inconsistent, and if I’m bringing back my three P’s for great political art… it struggles to hit wide populist appeal given its sound and lack of strong hooks, it’s not as precise as it could be, and as a whole it lacks power, not helped by the diffuse sound collages that might be impressionistic but don’t really coalesce. And this is going to be a strange parallel, but it reminds me of modern PJ Harvey albums - potent artistic statements with the right targets, but feeling a lot safer than they should. 6/10

Phantogram - Ceremony - Maybe it’s just me, but I have to say it at this point: Phantogram is now four albums in and they seem to be getting worse - and when it’s been four years between albums, I stop making excuses. Granted, I don’t think any of their albums have been great, per se, but at this point we’re in a decade in and there’s no strong crossover single to save or redeem this mess, which throws skittering trap elements and programmed percussion against increasingly claustrophobic squonking synths trying to evoke fractured grandeur, samples that don’t match with anything due to muddy and inconsistent fidelities, and overmixed guitar fragments fighting within the murk with the faint hope a hook might materialize that Sarah Barthel’s singing might struggle free… and the prayer that Josh Carter’s voice doesn’t. What’s frustrating is that this compressed monogenre pileup where the edges are as much of the point was increasingly played out three years ago and here still can’t bother to coalesce around a good low-end groove; it’s the same issue as Three, Phantogram albums have the tonal weight and swell to explode or surge, but are missing the foundation and blended focus to do so… and that’s before we get the atonal mess of songs across the midsection that might be trying for apocalyptic atmosphere but are nowhere sharp enough to deliver it. This is where I'd hope the writing would step up as it did on Three… and let me give the duo too much credit and say that if they’re trying to imply in an increasingly dystopian world, the ‘ceremonies’ and social norms fracture and become fragile and that can lead to drama in human relationships or extreme behavior, that’s an intriguing idea. But that’s a thin concept at best to stretch over a lot of bad production and the lyrical ideas are rarely given the thought to make them more unique or potent, especially given the spectre of Sarah Barthel’s sister’s death lingers over a few songs that tonally hit flat notes, and that’s before we get thudding splatter-painting writing style of cuts like ‘Gaunt Kids’ that think playing word association passes for depth. In other words… even with no expectations, this is a real disappointment. 4/10, not good.

Brandy Clark - Your Life Is A Record - on the flip side, if we’re talking about artists who took four years to deliver actual excellence, there’s a new album from Brandy Clark, one of the mainstream-adjacent country singer-songwriters who has consistently made fantastic albums, from the landmark 2013 debut 12 Stories - that’s still not pressed on vinyl and really should be - to 2016’s Big Day In A Small Town. She tends to get bucketed into in the indie country crowd because she’s a fantastic writer and has never gotten radio support, but she’s still on Warner and like her last album has Jay Joyce on production, although unlike the broader, viciously incisive scope of her previous project, she’s dialing more into personal drama here coming after the breakup of a fifteen-year relationship, along with a sound picking up more strings and brass that almost reminds me a bit of that last Mike and the Moonpies album from last year, along with the spare, rickety acoustics that prove Jay Joyce can be a subtler producer when he’s built familiarity with the artist and actually cares. That said, there’s an odd tension on this album between the broader, flashier instrumentals and Brandy Clark’s style of writing and delivery that’s more low-key and clever and pulling in subtler emotive territory - when a relationship that long falls apart there’s history and deeply rooted complications where nobody is fully in the right and folks have changed over years and years, and Clark is introspective and detailed enough to dig into that messy territory, especially when feelings are still complicated. And on the one hand, that can work for slightly more stately instruments so long as the groove is a little textured and unstable, and whenever Clark goes more acoustic or dream country, it’s her comfort zone and she does well. But then there are moments that feel a little broad or off-message, the most jarring being the country-soul cut ‘Love Is A Fire’ and then a Randy Newman duet ‘Bigger Boat’, which has a great hook but kind of feels too goofy to match with the tone. And while there’s a part of me that kind of wishes for a little more anger to temper the theatricality - ‘Girl Next Door’ proved Clark could knock that out of the park - she’s still emotive and subtle enough everywhere else to put forward a lot of great songs. So yeah, still a winner - solid 8/10, absolutely worth your time.

Megan Thee Stallion - SUGA - So I’ve watched the Megan Thee Stallion label drama the past few weeks and I’m not the only one whose had the suspicion it’s less public beef than disguised rollout and Roc Nation power play on the side. And while I wish I could have said I called this - turned out my suspicions were more tied to 300 than her Houston label 1501 Entertainment - the larger question becomes ‘why’, because while you can argue any publicity is good publicity, Megan is a rising star and this sort of label controversy early has derailed very talented artists - I still remember Eve in the early 2000s. Of course, I’ve also heard whispers that this was done to garner positive press ahead of a weaker than expected project to strike while the iron’s hot… and yet after listening to SUGA, why do I somehow have the sinking feeling that might be true, at least from the label’s point of view? What’s frustrating is that not only does SUGA feel rushed, it has the sound of trying to address some criticisms of Fever but without full consideration of how to do them well. Yes, the sound is more diverse, but songs sound incomplete, underproduced and often sloppily blended, or sometimes just outright missing hooks to end out the song. Yes, Megan is trying to show a little more versatility as a performer and her rhymes do connect more consistently… but she’s also singing, that’s not her strong suit, as she sound utterly drained of energy and presence, and the autotune only makes it worse! It kills the final third of the album, which makes it all the more alarming when you discover that the underwhelming production was served by Timbaland and The Neptunes! And while I understand that lyrically Megan’s trying to show more diversity in her writing and a little more vulnerability in her ‘Suga’ persona - hell, it’s how she opens the album - but it’s pretty barebones and could have afforded to cut deeper. As a whole… it just feels undercooked, folks, I expected more. 5/10

Jhene Aiko - Chilombo - Am I the only one a bit perplexed by how much actual buzz Jhene Aiko has received for this new project? I’d like to chalk it up to the organic growth of her following and the slow acceptance that Souled Out is one of the best R&B albums of the 2010s, but there’s a part of me with the sinking feeling that she’s becoming more well-known for a specific archetype in a now more popular understated brand of R&B… because yeah, she absolutely did blaze the way for SZA and Summer Walker and so many others, but that’s also meant her own quiet brilliance has not always been highlighted as strongly. And that’s even getting into the artistic and personal kinship she’s found with Big Sean of all people - and yes, I’m giving her all the credit for his slow maturity into becoming a better artist. Which means when I’m now discussing her newest album… well, I’m not sure it gives me nearly as much to say as Souled Out and Trip did, both of which were highly conceptual projects. That’s not saying it’s bad or even not great, as Jhene still has buckets of charisma and when she locks into her dewy, sensuous vibe on the project’s back half, I really enjoyed it - although I really do wish she had stuck with more organic percussion than all the overweight trap beats, it doesn’t flatter her - but it doesn’t feel as layered and introspective as previous projects, even if the arc of the love story is very true, starting by tearing into him and then the extended, messy arc of healing and reconcilliation. Part of that is her frustrating inconsistency in getting the guest stars to work - Nas’ verse on ‘10k Hours’ will likely make that one of my favourite songs of the year, and she even got quality work out of Future and Miguel together remaking one of her old cuts from 2011, but Big Sean, Ab-Soul, H.E.R., and John Legend just sound a little out of pocket - part of it is how the album doesn’t exactly maintain momentum on the back half, which is a vibe I love but can feel drawn out like Trip if you can’t click with a more hopeful or optimistic Jhene. But even then, by the end you can tell she’s still second-guessing even the right decisions, which is exactly the sort of sober maturity that Jhene always sneaks into the background. It ain’t perfect, but it’s beautiful now… so yeah, 8/10, great stuff.

Lil Uzi Vert - Eternal Atake - This album got added to my schedule last time it was open - in 2018. Same patron who did it too, so thanks for your patience, but it got me thinking about Lil Uzi Vert’s baffling and consistent popularity, so I went back and relistened to the entire bloated mess that was Luv Is Rage 2… and I think I get his appeal. At his best, the comparison that came to mind was Playboi Carti: utterly empty, sugary trap bangers with way more style than substance, and it was basically a crapshoot if the song clicked due to his utter inability to maintain a consistent tone in delivery or content; that’s arguably the reason ‘XO Tour Llif3’ has never worked for me, because while it’s a pitch-black moment of existential horror in the party in the same way ‘Just Dance’ by Lady Gaga is, it never fully nails the balance. It’s also a formula that’s not built to last, so when Eternal Atake fell into development hell, I never expected it to get released, especially when singles kept flopping. But here we are and… you know, I’d probably sound a lot more impressed if Uzi’s content or sound had evolved significantly beyond piling on the spacey synths and the thinnest possible ‘alien abduction’ framing device against your standard although bizarrely underweight trap percussion, but those are really token changes for a project that in the streaming economy other artists churn out within six months. And when you open your album with a cut that might as well be a Future ripoff and then spend your album delivering Lil Wayne riffs with less wordplay and more brand names, I’m left considerably underwhelmed - and that’s before the album proper ends with ‘P2’, a flagrant attempt to remix the success of ‘XO Tour Llif3’ and highlight just how empty of new ideas this album is. And since this album doesn’t have much variation in concept or really sound, all the excess and flash gets really one-dimensional really fast… which doesn’t have to be a bad thing, look at Lil Jon and Andrew W.K.. But the common lesson that none of these acts have learned is that you need brevity to provide focus - ergo this album should be a half hour at most - and it’s not like Lil Uzi Vert is a great rapper to even be the best in this one thing. He slides off the beat, his flows are unoriginal, his vocal inflections are really flat and overexposed in the mix, he’s not a likable presence given his attitudes to everyone, especially women - not even touching the lines about turning gay girls straight on a song right after Syd guest-starred! And as there’s SO many embarrassing lines… Look, he really is the definition of someone who has kept cultural longevity on scarcity of product and image rather than actual content, and maybe I’m just not enough of a hypebeast to get onboard now… but I’m not that impressed by this. 4/10