Must Listen Tracks: "Hey, Are You Listening?," "Junk," "Young in My Head"
Review: Shoegaze indie rock is alive and well, at least in the mind and music of Jason Martin. While Young in My Head borrows from the tradition of Starflyer, it also continues to push forward into the new decade. Ironically, the push forward and continued addition of electronics sometimes make the songs sound like they came out of the synth-pop 80s, borrowing from the likes of Depeche Mode and The Church, particularly in the opening two songs of the album: "Hey, Are You Listening?" and "Young in My Head." The 80s sound is by no means an unwelcome change. Martin's baritone vocals have gravitated toward a deep bass. Guitars are still heavily featured and sound like the Starflyer of old. Lyrically, Martin revisits many of the places he has been before, particularly, getting older (see Starflyer 59's 2003 release, Old). This theme of aging seems to be a topic that is well-covered in 2019, a year that sees many bands from the late 90s/early 00s releasing their first records in years. The title track above all exudes a nostalgic tone that leans toward desperation for days gone by: "I’ll never be old/ So how did I get old?" answered by the chorus: "Now I’m just young in my head/ Where do I go to feel like I’m there again?/ Now I’m just young in my head/ No time for wasting mine." Age is a mindset, according to Martin, but the difficulties associated with getting back to that young feeling and "place" are growing more difficult as the years go by. The desperation for youth is even more pronounced in "Remind Me": "I wanna work with my kid/ Record all of his songs, cause mine are all gone," an acknowledgment of being "used up" with age. If you want to pull out your slacker rock attire, stare at the floor and sway back and forth, never fear, Starflyer 59 is still here.
Must Listen Tracks: "Forgotten Eyes," "Not," "Shoulders"
Review: Wait, you released two full-length albums this year? Big Thief answers this question with an emphatic yes. This album is pure lo-fi indie rock with a 70s-rock twist. Adrianne Lenker's unique vocal delivery wavers between childlike-utterings to raw and barely contained pleas, while the jangly, undistorted guitars resound through their amps. Perhaps what I love most is that you can hear each instrument like it, you know, sounds. Two Hands is not for those who like the overpolished, overproduced, studio-driven sounds that popular music can't seem to get away from. The result is an honest and impassioned follow-up to the ethereal and tonal U.F.O.F., which the band released in May (and is also worth an honorable mention here). In "Forgotten Eyes," a track where I hear the influence of Big Star, Lenker sets up a dark and mysterious background, devoid of roots, all the things and relationships that life forgets before the desperate chorus: "The wound has no direction/ Everybody needs a home and deserves protection." It is full of pain, yet leaves a feeling of warm and worthwhile. The song "Not" has perhaps been the band's biggest success of the year, making even President Obama's best-songs-of-the-year list. The parallel structure of the song is a string of non-answers to an unasked question, which might be something meager like "What is the meaning of life?" My only hitch about the album is why such a lengthy gap between tracks? The gaps seem to disconnect the songs from one another, causing a feeling that this is a collection of songs rather than a cohesive album, though I do find the album fits together nicely into a stripped-down modern masterpiece.
Must Listen Tracks: "Black Hole Town," "Barricades," "Stranded Satellite"
Review: Cursive has had an insanely productive year and a half, spending most of it on the road while finding time to compose and record the songs for the follow-up to last year's Vitriola. I saw them play twice in 2019: in February and in November. The vastness of their catalog and the release of the new album resulted in two very different shows, both equally amazing. Get Fixed provides timely commentary on our society and place in history. Tim Kasher spoke of this album as songs that he had to write, that they just came out of him. He addresses the issues of growing up in white middle America: the ignorance of racism and getting trapped in the unknowingness that isolation brings. It is a message that I connect to, having grown up in the only blip of population in a two-hour radius. Kasher noted when I saw them perform in Lubbock in February how the small city surrounded by, well, nothing reminded him of his hometown, Omaha. "Barricades" addresses the figurative and literal walls erected in society, noting that walls not only keep out what is on the other side but trap what is on the inside. What is trapped on the inside is perhaps the biggest threat of all. In "Black Hole Town," Kasher throws a gut-punch: "This town’s a black hole/ This town will steal your soul/ And before you know it, you’re 50 [and later, 60] years old." My initial reaction: "Damn, Tim." I connect with some of the dissatisfaction with place that Kasher seems to experience himself. The great tracks make the album, but are tugged down by the dead weight of songs like "I Am Goddamn" and the overwrought "Content Conman." I attribute these shortcomings to a lack of editing which is a danger of putting out records on your own label. These tracks and a few others are b-sides at best. Regardless, we need the creative force of Cursive's apropos message and art (which, yeah, is still hard).
Must Listen Tracks: "I Was a Window," "Callous," "Pacify My Heart"
Review: Someone needed to inform Sasami Ashworth, formerly of Cherry Glazerr fame, that 2018 was the year of the fantastically produced, stripped-down, jangly-guitared indie albums behind the ludicrous song-writing ability of 20-somethings (who all also happen to be female (see last year's reviews of Snail Mail and Soccer Mommy)). It seems like we've entered a new era in indie rock (finally) where female, minority, and LGTBQ+ voices will not only be heard but will leave a long-missing and lasting mark on the art world of rock music. Sasami is also from a school that was . . . ummm . . . schooled in music, being a graduate of the Eastman School of Music (to go with Adrianne Lenker's (Big Thief) degree from Berklee). The multi-instrumentalist and former synth-goddess knows how to write guitar-driven rock music while integrating electronic instruments in subtle, ambient ways that enhance instead of detract from the content of the songs. "I Was a Window" is one of the best opening tracks on an album this year: a song all about perspective and truth and how the ugly truth often stems from others' perspectives: "I was a window into something you didn't like /So you blamed it on me/ And you thought it made you free/ But that's not how it works, my love." In "Pacify My Heart" and "Callous," the ambient noise is both beautiful and haunting. Sasami knows how to use silence and repetition in ways that I have never heard before. She is also probably my most interesting new Instagram follow of the year: her stage show looks wild, impassioned, and even spiritual. I can't wait for the chance to see her live one day.
Must Listen Tracks: "Waking Up Alone," "Your Ghost Is Gone," "Salina"
Review: TGUK put out an EP last year that left me afraid for the reunion of the band. I found the music watered-down, as I did with all of the music they released post Something to Write Home About leading up to their long hiatus. On first listen, I heard the opening track, "Satellite," and was hooked. It both sounded like the Get Up Kids of old and contained a new maturity. I spent a great amount of time this year exercising to and singing along with Problems (and have also come to the conclusion that "maybe the problem is me"). Any other year this decade, this album would have ended up in my top 5. There isn't a song that is a letdown for me. The heartbreaking realization reached in the chorus of my favorite from the record, "Waking Up Alone," is cathartic: "Now everything that's anything is fine/ No, it never gets easier waking up alone/ Now my sentimental heart is growing cold." With maturity comes the ideas that "I used to be outgoing and carefree" and "I used to be good once/ Used to be gorgeous." TGUK recognize there is a new generation and their prime has passed physically (though as far as their songwriting goes, they might just now be hitting their stride). The final track "Your Ghost Is Gone" is everything that "I'll Catch You" wanted to be nearly 20 years ago, but couldn't be yet. "I'll Catch You" was branded as so "emo" at the time, the whiny, over-emotional song about a relationship comes off as amateurish and naive when compared to "Ghost" which opens, "Is this house a home?/ The photographs lay on the floor/ Time goes by so slow/ Every day that I'm waiting/ I'm pleading and praying/ Just take it away/ Don't take it away," acknowledging the duplicitous nature of those who have left us in one way or another. The pain and joy is something we both long for and wish we could forget. The song concludes the metaphorical shattering of a heart: "I can't throw away/ The last pieces of you/ Because if I do/ You're really be gone." I, for one, am glad The Get Up Kids are back.
Must Listen Tracks: "Quietest Friend," "Yellow Bike," "Circle K"
Review: Nostalgia is the word. As always with David Bazan's very crafted song and lyric work, he sets up a theme that pervades the entire album, giving it not only cohesion but drawing out a message about growing up (or perhaps not growing up) and how youth is not as different from adulthood as we would have it be. While not as pure a concept album as many of the previous PtL albums (see Winners Never Quit), the album exists as an entire work rather than a simple collection of songs. The symbol of the yellow bike set up in the first real track (following the introductory and archetypally-obvious "Sunrise") is one of the most perfectly-conceived metaphors I can think of in modern music. A symbol of innocence, hope, and freedom (that doesn't always seem to be as freeing as we think), the bike pays visits throughout the album. In "Yellow Bike," the speaker longs: "My kingdom for someone to ride with." The freedom to ride comes with foolishness as the rider, wanting to save up for a skateboard, a symbol of adolescence, but can't seem gather the maturity to save for the proverbial "long pants," as he blows all of his money at the local "Circle K." This song in particular reminded me of riding my bike to the local conveniences store and spending all of my money on cavity-inducing treats when I was 11 or 12. Finally, the speaker seems to have found those people "to ride with" in his life, but calls them "fickle friends" in the song "Quietest Friend," instead noting his introverted friend that, in retrospect, he should have been "riding with" instead of "hurting [him] again." After each Pedro album, I can't help but wonder if Bazan will continue to resurrect the moniker, but this time I feel secure that we haven't heard the last of Pedro the Lion. Fortunately, Bazan seems to need his electric rock vehicle in his career as a songwriter and performer.
Must Listen Tracks: "Strain Your Memory," "Anna," "London Drugs"
Review: Hands down, this is my favorite "punk" record of the decade, and I only discovered this album a few weeks ago. With that being said, when I reflect upon this list in a year or two, this album has the most wiggle room (both up and down). Hello Exile is my album of the moment, but I do believe it has staying power, which is why it comes in at #4 (with a bullet). The Menzingers have caught my attention here and there, most notably with their song "I Don't Wanna Be An Asshole Anymore." Hello Exile is a complete album, with rises and falls, dynamic in both instrumentation and emotion. I have always been a sucker for songs (particularly punk) titled simply with a female name. "Anna" satisfies my little punk-rock heart, begging the girl to come back because the speaker has "so much to tell [her]." "Hello Exile" is a slow "breather" amongst a collection of straight-up rock/punk, showing maturity as songwriters and a well-thought-out sequence for an album (perhaps the 2nd best sequence of the year to only Appleseed Cast's release). The vocal work in "Strain Your Memory" is probably my favorite of the year. It walks the tightrope of a scream while remaining balanced on a melodic highwire. The swelling bend upward in the chorus, "Can you strain your memory back to the times/ When trouble wasn’t always, always on our minds," is my favorite single moment on the Hello Exile. "London Drugs" is a straight-forward pop-punk ditty that reminds me of The Clash and the Pistols. Nostalgia and growing up being the theme of the year, so it seems, The Menzingers deliver with "good ol' days," especially in "High School Friend" and the final track of the album, "Farewell Youth," which laments "Farewell youth, I’m afraid I hardly got to know you/ I was always hanging out with the older kids/ Always in a rush, but I was never sure from what." For now, this is my clean-the-house, go-for-a-run, raise-my-spirits album.
Must Listen Tracks: "Asking the Fire for Medicine," "Reaching the Forest," "Collision"
Review: The first time I saw Appleseed Cast live, they were young, shy guys (so much so that they played with their backs to the audience) who had just released their first album End of Ring Wars. I think it was 1998, upstairs at a church here in Amarillo. There might have been 30 people there. Twenty years later they are still at it, innovating in the world of post-rock and post-indie. I had the chance to see them this year in Dallas, and they are unapologetic about their sound: the vocals turned down to the same level as the rest of the instruments, a small piece of the blend of guitar, bass, drums, distortion, feedback and now keys, loops, and electronic gobbedly gook. They continue to ignore traditional song structure: their songs have movements, intros, buildups, and breakdowns. I am very leary of electronic equipment, but Appleseed cast uses their varied instrumentation to fold into the math-rockish guitar licks and distortion. Appleseed Cast is simply put, the best band out there at layering instrumentation, adding slight changes to their loops and building to a final destination. While it is always hard to discuss the band in terms of the individual songs, as the composition of the album itself seems always to be their purpose, there are several standouts. Soup to nuts, my favorite track is "Asking the Fire for Medicine." As I listen to each movement of the song, I find myself anxiously awaiting the next section. The falling riff looped on vibraphone-type keys serve as the glue as the song escalates to the church organ droning beneath the guitars and drums at the end of the song. After the muted intro to the next track, "Reaching the Forest," the band hits heavy on their guitars and drums, proving that they can still sound like those young guys I saw 20 years ago. The post-intro section of this track reminds me of "Fishing the Sky" and "Steps and Numbers" in parts, while certainly belonging here with the new elements that have introduced to their sound. Appleseed Cast is one of the few bands that can evolve without changing who they are and alienating their fans (I'm looking at you, Sleater Kinney). I hope they are still making music in another 20 years.
Must Listen Tracks: "Uncomfortably Numb," "Silhouettes," "Mine to Miss"
Review: When I saw the number of tracks on LP3 that "featured" another artist, I cringed, thinking of how the pop world today can't seem to refrain from an album full of collaborations. I shouldn't have feared as Kinsella's signature sound is here and he chose collaborators who are stalwart figures in the indie scene, mostly amazing female vocalists who add a layer to the Footballers deep layers of math rock. The first track, "Silhouettes," hypnotized me with the opening xylophone licks before the instruments enter, that undistorted movement of ethereal guitar that is unique to Mike Kinsella's inimitable style. Hands down, the single best track of the year is "Uncomfortably Numb," which features Hayley Williams from Paramore backing Kinsella on vocals and singing a verse solo. While I have never been that big a fan of Paramore, I have always been vastly impressed by her voice. The song itself is an intensely cathartic realization, very emotional in its lyrics and dynamic song writing, about the realization of being emotionally out-of-touch. Harmonic rings from the lead guitar guide us into the first verse. Like much of the music from all of these musicians in their late 30s and early 40s this year, the song also reflects upon youth versus growing old: "Sensitivity deprived/ I can't feel a thing inside/ I blamed my father in my youth/ Now as a father, I blame the booze/ I have become uncomfortably numb." The lyrics, reading like poetry are heartbreaking: a grown man, a father, struggling against tendencies of isolationism and emotional immaturity and insensitivity. The song doesn't end with much hope: "How will I exist?/ I don't want to know/ Blacked out, redacted/ I just want you home/ I'll make new friends in the ambulance." There is beauty in this ugliness. The album is what you would expect from American Football, chiming and driving guitar riffs and syncopated rhythms that would make most drummers insane. I'll never doubt again. In Kinsella we trust.
Must Listen Tracks: "Chesapeake," "I Didn't Know What I Was in For," "Sleepwalkin'"
Review: Okay, it's probably true that anything Conor Oberst touches turns to gold in my mind, but I may have underestimated what a new collaboration could mean prior to listening to the debut self-titled album from Better Oblivion Community Center. To put it in the words of the first song: "I didn't know what I was in for." This is, without a doubt, the best collaboration of the past decade. I had heard of Phoebe Bridgers, but was unfamiliar with her music (which I have quickly and apologetically remedied). The opener sets the tone for the album, complete with beautifully crafted turns of phrase ("I know a girl who owns a boutique in the city/ Selling clothes to the fashionably late"), purposeful sound devices ("When they're on their backs/ In a bloody bath/ Full of Sarin gas/ On a screen"), and jibes at the establishment ("They told me I'd gone crazy/ My arms are strapped in a straight jacket/ So I couldn't save those TV refugees"). These are what we expect from Oberst, but I find them greatly enhanced by the work and presence of Bridgers. A pair of musical soulmates has discovered one another. Oh yeah, did I mention that Bridgers is 25 years old and has received acclaim very reminiscent of a guy named Conor Oberst when he burst onto the scene over 20 years ago? My favorite, "Chesapeake," is a gorgeous narrative poem, the story of a couple at a music festival, listening to music that will long go unremembered, despite its beauty and the innate talent of the unknown musicians playing there. In the story, the speaker puts his female companion on his shoulders "so [she] can see" at which point they "were the tallest person watching in Chesapeake." The second verse contributes the most to the song's message: "It was hot in the arena/ Good men die like dogs/ My hero plays to no one, in a parking lot/ Even though there's no one around/ He broke a leg and the house came down/ A smattering of applause/ A sliver moon and a cover song." There is so much great art and talent in the world that will go unrecognized. Without a doubt, Bridgers and Oberst realize they have been fortunate in their successes with charting albums, stellar reviews, and gold records. In "Chesapeake," there is an implied plea to seek out those artists and find those talents and to love them regardless of the venues in which they play and the audiences to whom they play. While I certainly didn't have to go far to find Better Oblivion Community Center, I am glad that I did. The future of the band is unclear, as it appears that is how both artists like things: mysterious. I am simply grateful for the opportunity to experience a record like this at least once in my life.
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