Soundscapes of Spring: 2016
As the rain mist gently cools the air outside the creaky windows of my home here in Fresno, the world slows down a bit and I am afforded the perfect opportunity to listen to some new music. It is, after all, Friday*, and as we herald the weekend, let's reflect on some of the best new tunes to cross our airwaves. There are many candidates to consider, but for now I'll focus on three artists and their latest releases. So far 2016 has been a great year for new music, and there seems to be more to come on the horizon. I am, of course, giddy with excitement over the new Radiohead release on Sunday, and although I lament that I could not come close to getting tickets for their summer tour, I can enjoy a new video release in anticipation of their imminent album drop. That album will have to wait for a review of its own, but for now I'll dive into the three featured albums that have stayed with me over the past few weeks.
To begin, I travel sonically to the land of my birth, the Bay Area, specifically the stretch of water between Oakland and San Francisco, over which my mother would commute during the earliest years of my life, and now which is covered by a huge, gleaming, new suspension bridge that replaces the homely cantilever span that buckled in the 1989 earthquake. I still consider those cities to be among my favorite places in the world; I've had many good memories with family and friends against the backdrop of the lighted cables of the Bay Bridge. Enter Virginia native Thao Nguyen, who plays with her band The Get Down Stay Down on the album A Man Alive, released early in March this year. At first blush the frenetic beats of the opener "Astonished Man" sound wholly unique, a new direction taken by an artist that has been forging new ground between the experimental rock realm and, oddly, spoken-word poetry and hip hop MC'ing. Nguyen's vocals are chopped and spliced in "Fool Forever," with phase-shifted percussion providing an eerie foundation for her railing against the unnamed antagonist of the story, a character that is revealed to be her father in the tragic but beautiful "Millionaire." "Daddy I broke in a million pieces/that makes you a millionaire" she sings in a rare moment of tenderness on an album otherwise brimming with righteous anger. I respect Thao and the Get Down Stay Down for their progressive take on internal family politics, one that does not shy away from the ghosts of the past, but not allowing them to metastasize into clichés or sappy piano ballads. No, here you'll find beats owing more to funk than anything else ("Hand to God", "Meticulous Bird"), downtempo meditations ("Millionaire", "Guts"), and great combos of melody and choral background vocals ("Slash/Burn"). This album actually became a gateway for me into T&GDSD's catalogue, which includes the brilliant 2013 release We the Common. Because these two albums in particular include so many moods and emotions to unpack, I'll be listening to them for a good while.
The second album that has excited me this Spring has had no shortage of press. Kendrick Lamar released the titanic album To Pimp A Butterfly early last year to universal acclaim, unleashing bombs of truth in the context of the Black Lives Matter movement and an array of police shootings that rocked the nation and shattered our collective psyche. I can remember weeping over the anniversary of Michael Brown's death in Ferguson in August of 2015, and standing with some of my neighbors and community members at a vigil in protest of gun violence that rocked our own neighborhood. In this release, Lamar's flows fly over the most progressive free jazz and soul hooks that LA's music scene has to offer, with the virtuoso bassist Thundercat and saxophonist Kamasi Washington carrying the music into exciting new territory. The album dropped as a surprise offering in early March, and immediately attracted a flurry of attention from journalists eager to understand yet another layer of Lamar's narrative. For me, this is both a hopeful and heartbreaking collection of songs. Lamar raps about a world with "no more running from wars" and "running in place trying to make it to church," two images that inspire hope and hopelessness at the same time. This juxtaposition is at the center of his experience as a black man in America, and in particular as one in Compton, California. The repetitive motif of "hip-hip, hooray" seems to underscore an uneasy relationship with his own success. I enjoy this music not just for its creative beats or the content of his flows, but because in many cases Lamar explicitly name-checks his faith and honestly grapples with it, the songs becoming a prayer of sorts, attempting to include God's presence in a world that vigorously denies him. I cannot know what it is like to exist as a black man in America, but I know how much the current political rhetoric dismantles the humanity of my brothers and sisters, and, as a person of color myself, my own. My Latino and Indian blood cries out as I hear the undercurrent of what these songs decry, lamenting the systems that oppress and subjugate millions for the sake of the few. I've written on this subject before, and know that it'll be an ongoing journey. For now, there will be some music that stands on the vanguard of artistic innovation, and surely Lamar is working in that space for all of us to enjoy and reflect on.
It seems that the feeling of dread pervades the last album that I'll highlight for today, the brilliant Painting of a Panic Attack by Scottish outfit Frightened Rabbit. " On the opener "Death Dream," moody piano chords herald singer Scott Hutchison's voice as he croons with obvious emotion "An open mouth screams and makes no sound/apart from the ring of the tinnitus of silence." Before you run away shaking your head at my morbid suggestion for listening, I urge you to consider the music itself: beautiful synth textures, clear-cut and strong guitar chord progressions, and arrangements that are interesting enough to keep the label "indie rock" buoyant without sounding like a bad joke. One of the album's stronger moments comes on "Get Out," the uptempo second song that showcases an interesting guitar part that echoes the gliding textures of Kevin Shields on My Bloody Valentine's Loveless. Shoegaze is a clear point of reference for Frightened Rabbit, but their work never feels contrived on this release. The circular arpeggios of "The Wreck" provide a fitting outro for the album, using the metaphor of a sinking ship to describe the futility of saving a failed relationship. Sure, I've had my share of heartache (and have, admittedly, done some of the heartbreaking myself), and so this album doesn't feel out of place for me. It isn't joyful music, but it is powerful, and if you're in the mood for an introspective afternoon drive or an evening in, I recommend this one.
As the heat of summer begins to wax here in the Valley, I look forward to more time listening to great music to distract myself from the oppression of the sun, which tends to sap the energy from me fairly quickly. As I reach for another cup of coffee, I'll put the headphones on and adjust the volume to that perfect level. Keep listening, and feel free to share with me any music you feel has touched you recently.
*This post was originally written on Friday, May 6.
To begin, I travel sonically to the land of my birth, the Bay Area, specifically the stretch of water between Oakland and San Francisco, over which my mother would commute during the earliest years of my life, and now which is covered by a huge, gleaming, new suspension bridge that replaces the homely cantilever span that buckled in the 1989 earthquake. I still consider those cities to be among my favorite places in the world; I've had many good memories with family and friends against the backdrop of the lighted cables of the Bay Bridge. Enter Virginia native Thao Nguyen, who plays with her band The Get Down Stay Down on the album A Man Alive, released early in March this year. At first blush the frenetic beats of the opener "Astonished Man" sound wholly unique, a new direction taken by an artist that has been forging new ground between the experimental rock realm and, oddly, spoken-word poetry and hip hop MC'ing. Nguyen's vocals are chopped and spliced in "Fool Forever," with phase-shifted percussion providing an eerie foundation for her railing against the unnamed antagonist of the story, a character that is revealed to be her father in the tragic but beautiful "Millionaire." "Daddy I broke in a million pieces/that makes you a millionaire" she sings in a rare moment of tenderness on an album otherwise brimming with righteous anger. I respect Thao and the Get Down Stay Down for their progressive take on internal family politics, one that does not shy away from the ghosts of the past, but not allowing them to metastasize into clichés or sappy piano ballads. No, here you'll find beats owing more to funk than anything else ("Hand to God", "Meticulous Bird"), downtempo meditations ("Millionaire", "Guts"), and great combos of melody and choral background vocals ("Slash/Burn"). This album actually became a gateway for me into T&GDSD's catalogue, which includes the brilliant 2013 release We the Common. Because these two albums in particular include so many moods and emotions to unpack, I'll be listening to them for a good while.
The second album that has excited me this Spring has had no shortage of press. Kendrick Lamar released the titanic album To Pimp A Butterfly early last year to universal acclaim, unleashing bombs of truth in the context of the Black Lives Matter movement and an array of police shootings that rocked the nation and shattered our collective psyche. I can remember weeping over the anniversary of Michael Brown's death in Ferguson in August of 2015, and standing with some of my neighbors and community members at a vigil in protest of gun violence that rocked our own neighborhood. In this release, Lamar's flows fly over the most progressive free jazz and soul hooks that LA's music scene has to offer, with the virtuoso bassist Thundercat and saxophonist Kamasi Washington carrying the music into exciting new territory. The album dropped as a surprise offering in early March, and immediately attracted a flurry of attention from journalists eager to understand yet another layer of Lamar's narrative. For me, this is both a hopeful and heartbreaking collection of songs. Lamar raps about a world with "no more running from wars" and "running in place trying to make it to church," two images that inspire hope and hopelessness at the same time. This juxtaposition is at the center of his experience as a black man in America, and in particular as one in Compton, California. The repetitive motif of "hip-hip, hooray" seems to underscore an uneasy relationship with his own success. I enjoy this music not just for its creative beats or the content of his flows, but because in many cases Lamar explicitly name-checks his faith and honestly grapples with it, the songs becoming a prayer of sorts, attempting to include God's presence in a world that vigorously denies him. I cannot know what it is like to exist as a black man in America, but I know how much the current political rhetoric dismantles the humanity of my brothers and sisters, and, as a person of color myself, my own. My Latino and Indian blood cries out as I hear the undercurrent of what these songs decry, lamenting the systems that oppress and subjugate millions for the sake of the few. I've written on this subject before, and know that it'll be an ongoing journey. For now, there will be some music that stands on the vanguard of artistic innovation, and surely Lamar is working in that space for all of us to enjoy and reflect on.
It seems that the feeling of dread pervades the last album that I'll highlight for today, the brilliant Painting of a Panic Attack by Scottish outfit Frightened Rabbit. " On the opener "Death Dream," moody piano chords herald singer Scott Hutchison's voice as he croons with obvious emotion "An open mouth screams and makes no sound/apart from the ring of the tinnitus of silence." Before you run away shaking your head at my morbid suggestion for listening, I urge you to consider the music itself: beautiful synth textures, clear-cut and strong guitar chord progressions, and arrangements that are interesting enough to keep the label "indie rock" buoyant without sounding like a bad joke. One of the album's stronger moments comes on "Get Out," the uptempo second song that showcases an interesting guitar part that echoes the gliding textures of Kevin Shields on My Bloody Valentine's Loveless. Shoegaze is a clear point of reference for Frightened Rabbit, but their work never feels contrived on this release. The circular arpeggios of "The Wreck" provide a fitting outro for the album, using the metaphor of a sinking ship to describe the futility of saving a failed relationship. Sure, I've had my share of heartache (and have, admittedly, done some of the heartbreaking myself), and so this album doesn't feel out of place for me. It isn't joyful music, but it is powerful, and if you're in the mood for an introspective afternoon drive or an evening in, I recommend this one.
As the heat of summer begins to wax here in the Valley, I look forward to more time listening to great music to distract myself from the oppression of the sun, which tends to sap the energy from me fairly quickly. As I reach for another cup of coffee, I'll put the headphones on and adjust the volume to that perfect level. Keep listening, and feel free to share with me any music you feel has touched you recently.
*This post was originally written on Friday, May 6.
Comments
Post a Comment