I mean, let's face it.  The 90's were pretty awesome.  The economy was booming, His Airness was bringing championships to Chicago and The Simpsons were still funny.  And of course, various forms of alternative rock bands were taking over our ears as they turned the rock paradigm upside down.  While many of the captains of the alt-rock ship burned out, faded away or ascended into icons, a few of them just maintained...continuing to release quality music every few years, mainly on their own terms.  One of those bands who remained as quietly as they entered is Built To Spill, the Boise based rock outfit who has been casually keeping the 90's alive for the 21st century.  Their latest record, When The Wind Forgets Your Name, calls back to some of the greatest aspects of nineties rock, and strongest points of this intriguing and elusive band.  

Built To Spill is fronted by Doug Martsch, who is also the only permanent member of the band, with the rest of the crew changing between albums here and there.  He makes new Built To Spill records periodically, with fairly lengthy gaps between all their post millenia releases.  This level of autonomy makes Built To Spill albums feel like a true creative endeavor, rather than a work obligation; the songs and style curated to Martsch's tastes du jour.  

After a string of noodly records; I wouldn't call them jammy, but...wandering, When The Wind Forgets Your Name is a return to form for classic Built To Spill alternative sound.  The album highlights the classic indie rock recipe of punk rawness mixed with classic rock studio production.  The result is a bit of a sludgier sound:  Slyly psychedelic, too gritty to be atmospheric psych and too hazy and sprawling to be stoner rock. The ambiguity that is the cruz of the alternative rock genre.

The band Martsch hired for this record fits his style well.  They highlight the razors edge between melancholy and uplifting songwriting that has long been his staple.  All members work through the fuzz with a precise emotiveness that allows listeners to appreciate both the rawness of the songs and the nuanced production.

As with anything with Built To Spill, It is difficult to say where Martsch will take the project following When The Wind Forgets Your Name.  It may be another five years before we hear from him again, and the band and sound may be completely altered.  But, this record will go down as a nice signpost for Martsch's DIY success through the nineties rock landscape...like you know, whatever.

Just like art, music's only limitation is the size of the canvas, and the Bitchin' Bajas have taken this to heart.  Utilizing a minimalist technique, the experimental Chicago-based trio has employed dots and loops to create an endless horizon of sound rooted in space over melody. Their latest release, Bajascillitators, is a slightly more accessible continuation of their tested paradigm.  

Bascillatators certainly has Bitchin' Bajas trademark open-endedness.  It begins with sparse electronics, and glacially builds and swells to a repetitious denouement.  Each segment develops like a musical universe, culminating in an infinite starscape of symbiotic sounds:  Bajascillatators is an exceptionally delicate ecosystem of music, which each little blip playing a critical role in the final piece. Each track seems to subtly envelope the next, creating sonic waves. However, the overall sound is not linear, like a series of waves, but more expansive; fleshing outwardly in all directions...an audio fractal, if you will.  

At 47 minutes, Bajascillatators is a relatively concise album, at least for Bitchin' Bajas standards.  While the trio is still unhurried, they are able to get to their target area more quickly than their other efforts.  It is unclear as to whether this was a conscious decision or just natural development of the beats, but the brevity certainly allows for easier active listening.

Make no mistake, The Bajas, and Bajascillators is not for everyone.  Because of the band's focus on zone, rather than structure, the listening experience is more about mood than musicality.  Subsequently, there is a formlessness that is amazing to some, but leaves very little catchiness to chew on.  However, Bajascillitators makes for incredible passive listening, or even better, an atmospheric headphone experience.  Headphones go a long way with the record, as you are able to hone in on all the tiny pieces of sonic stars that create this twinkling galaxy of music.

The writing was on the wall for awhile, but specifically after Miles Davis' electric period, the jazz world exploded with new trajectories of the genre.  With funk music concurrently gaining steam, the late 60's and early 70's saw genres develop in leaps and bounds, using the freeform openness of the time to blend styles into ways unimagined less than a decade prior.  One of the many records to come from this period is the funky, albeit polarizing Moon Rappin' by Brother Jack McDuff.

Moon Rappin' may be a tough pill for jazzbos to swallow, as purists will notice a profound lack of jazz nuance.  The "four on the floor" beats are securely planted in rock and roll paradigms, something that many jazz traditionalists, especially back then, would find to be low-brow and watered down drivel.  And I suppose it is, in a very literal way.  Moon Rappin' doesn't have any of the transcendence of, say, a Coltrane record.  But, it isn't supposed to.  This record is rooted in funk; an album for dancing not dissection.   Songs like the opening "Flat Backin'" and the title track show McDuff and crew peppering jazz flutters over a funk bedrock.  So, I guess Moon Rappin' could be called low-level jazz, but it may just as easily be high-level funk. With it's heavy wah guitar and top shelf drumming, McDuff did an excellent job blending the current zeitgeist into an oft stuffy genre.  

We (most of the people familiar with this blog) have the luxury of only listening to Moon Rappin' retroactively.  What was once looked at as primitive can now be seen for the ambitious effort it really was.  Looking back now, we can understand the progressiveness and genuine fun embedded throughout the record.  Moon Rappin' is an unintentional precursor for a lot of funk and jam music that we have enjoyed in subsequent years.  There are even some spacey soundscapes that hint at the psychedelic funk soon to be finding its way to mainstream ears.  And as jazz, and it's purists continued to evolve, a new appreciation can be found for Moon Rappin' and the way it bridged the gap between a laundry list of musical styles.

In many ways, Radiohead's Herculean catalog is an albatross around their necks.  When the band released A Moon Shaped Pool, it was streamed via online parties on at least three different countries' public radio.  Radiohead albums have become a musical event like few others in the modern musical era.  To the extent that every note is picked so clean that there is almost nothing left to take in and digest.  Due to this immense pressure, it seems that Radiohead personnel have deferred to side-projects for experimentation; amassing varying degrees of critical and commercial success.   Their most recent project, The Smile, has just launched their debut album, A Light for Attracting Attention.  Spearheaded by Thom Yorke and Jonny Greenwood along with the Uber-accomplished Tom Skinner on percussion, A Light manifests the basics of Radiohead, but in their most relaxed form ever.  

Most of what we like about Radiohead can be found somewhere within A Light For Attracting Attention; classic haunting synth intertwined with Greenwood's fingerpicking is evident almost immediately. Thom Yorke is as cranky as everIn terms of sonic surprises, there probably aren't many.  The biggest point of differentiation for A Light For Attracting attention is the vibe; there is a tangible looseness throughout the record that hasn't been present since Radiohead was still in their come-up phase.  Gone is the authority of being apocalyptic fortunetellers and pushing the envelope into uncharted waters, now replaced with the ease of friends and contemporaries enjoying music together.  Songs like "You'll Never Work In Television Again" show Yorke and Greenwood sonically reminiscing about their old alt-rock roots, or perhaps their former selves circa Hail To The Thief, while their first single, "The Smoke" is so groovy it is downright slinky; perhaps the closest thing Thom Yorke has ever had to fun.  

Throughout A Light, the trio tends to touch upon several ubiquitous Radiohead sounds.  The album opens with "The Same" which could easily pass as a Kid-A outtake. "Skrting the Surface"  slowly flows in like a somber lo-fi haze, and "A hairdryer" hits hard with it's early 00's era beeps and boops.  While it may not be as progressive as a Radiohead album, it is intriguing to see Yorke and Greenwood revisit the sounds that worked so well for them; quite the contrast to Radiohead's allergy to doing the same thing twice.  The record goes on in this fashion; an encyclopedia of the band's career to this point.

While A Light for Attracting Attention sounds unquestionably, almost deceptively, like a Radiohead, it is missing the depth and thematics that make Radiohead such a mysterious and beguiling group.  The record can sometimes come across as a collection of tunes that might not have made the cut. But...if you take the albatross off their necks, and enjoy it devoid of relation to the dystopian elephant in the room, you will find an incredible record by a trio of prolific musicians.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown, and Kendrick Lamar's neck is hurtin'.  It's been five years since Lamar has released a follow-up to his Pulitzer winning Damn, and much of it has been shrouded in unintentional secrecy.  Lamar, who is sparse on appearances or social media presence, took those years to start a family, assess his mental health and career, deal with writers block, and weather the storm of Covid-19.  Eventually, the damn burst on the mysterious rapper's writers block, and with that came a 100-year flood of ideas in the form of Mr. Morale And The Big Steppers.

Prior to the release of Mr. Morale, Kendrick Lamar was raised to near mythical status.  He was the first rapper to be awarded a pulitzer, he was the only 'modern era' rapper to be part of the most recent, Hall-of-Fame caliber Super Bowl Half Time performance, and he has been a signpost for all people on the subject of race relations.  After his five year hiatus, Lamar takes off his mask to reveal a man who is as broken as the rest of us.  Instead of being the pied piper of social dilemma, and the entree for white people to understand black plight, Kendrick reaches deep into his own recesses to reveal his own.  He says on 'Savior,' "He is not your savior."  This is essentially the central theme through Mr. Morale.  The record is a testament to the humanity of the fabled Kendrick Lamar.  He speaks openly and candidly about his own mental health, and journey through therapy. He talks about Covid confusion, BLM and family with the same reticence that the rest of us do.  Songs like the sobering "Crown" show an exasperated man taking off his crown, and shedding the legend to show the man; the true King of hip-hop.

Mr. Morale dives into his relationship with his long-time girlfriend, with whom he has started a family.  Whitney (his girlfriend, presumably) makes several appearances throughout the record; indicative of their loving yet damaged relationship.  It comes to a head on the powerful "We Cry Together," where Kendrick and his partner, voiced by Taylour Paige, have an absolutely knock-down drag-out fight before coming to an inconclusive ending; so real it's scary, creating one of the most stirring moments ever put on a hip-hop record.

The result is a level of vulnerability that is unparalleled in the rap game.  Rap has always been a historically tough genre.  Whether it is the men flexing their masculinity, or women showing their ironclad strength, rap has always relied on the facade.  Lamar shatters this glass-house by putting all his earthly weaknesses on the forefront.  He still sounds strong, but in an open and honest way that allows people to connect with the record, and the hip-hop genre, in a way that was previously sometimes difficult. It is a messy record, but in the best way; we can all relate to it when looking back at our most confusing times.

Mr. Morale is an exceptionally dense record, and there are a lot of themes to unpack.  And, at almost an hour and fifteen minutes, there is a lot of information to sift through.  But, perhaps that is the beauty of Mr. Morale; the aspect that makes this record so compelling.  Are we supposed to make sense of it?  Has Kendrick even made sense of it?

It is difficult to determine where Mr. Morale And the Big Steppers will stand in the mighty catalog of Kendrick Lamar, but it is a worthy and impressive addition.

    It's one of the hardest decisions a band, athlete, writer, or worker will ever have to make.  That moment they decide they have said the things they need to say, or have done the things they needed done.  Earlier this year, Kikagaku Moyo, the premier psych band hailing from Tokyo, made the decision that they have achiever the mission statement of their project, and will be on indefinite hiatus after 2022.  However, before putting whatever punctuation mark they feel is needed for this, they decided to hit the road for a lengthy tour in support of their newly released, and thrilling conclusion of an album, Kumoyo Island.  

Plain and simple:  This record is fantastic.  It is a shame they are calling it quits, because this is easily the bands most accessible record to date.  All the quintessential Kikagaku Moyo psychedelia is fulling present throughout Kumoyo Island, but in a far more compact package; while a handful of songs are into the six minute territory, they don't linger in the abstract ether like some of their previous freakout jams.  Much of Kumoyo Island is a bit less...freaky...or at least it can be freaky to a more general population.  While Kikagaku Moyo can oft be a cerebral and meditative band, this record employs some funky riffs and hooks that are, dare I say....almost poppy.  

That's not to say that Kumoyo Island lacks depth. In fact it is quite the opposite.  The record has all the weirdness Kikagaku Moyo can wield through their sitar strangeness, as songs like the opening "Monaka" come to a dense and freaky psychedelic peak. But, the band explores other textures and territories throughout the record.  They flirt with traditional guitar-rock (or at least their own form thereof) on the brief segue-song "Field of Tiger Lillies " into "Yayoi Iyayoi," and some acoustic amiability in the incredibly beautiful "Nap Song."  There are also plenty of soundscape passages throughout all of Kumoyo Island to create the ethereal vibe that people seek out in Kikagaku Moyo; the records, and potentially the bands respective life, ends with "Maison Silk Road," and a beatific outro that is psychedelic in only the alluring and subtle way.  Absolutely stunning.

In a perfect world, we would all end on a high note.  It is not often we recognize we achieved the zenith, and fold away with the utmost respect.  The members of Kikagaku Moyo were able to make this happen with Kumoyo Island, and as they move on to different pastures, we are very lucky to have this slyly psychedelic masterpiece as their swan-song.  MUST LISTEN!

The year is 2006, and the Psych-Rock Renaissance is still almost a decade away.  However, out in Germany, a stoner-rock power trio named Colour Haze are making waves with their fuzzy release, Tempel.  

Tempel was released in an era when stoner-rock was making its own big comeback.  Influenced by 90's California pioneers like Sleep and Kyuss, the early aughts found US bands like Queens of the Stone Age and Mastodon filling venues with ominous curtains of distorted guitar.  Across the pond, bands and fans quickly adopted the new(ish) genre as well.  

One of those bands was Colour Haze, whose trajectory changed in 2006 with the release of Tempel.  Tempel was not only influenced by the stoner rock that the band was founded upon but the bourgeoning indie and psychedelic trends as well.  Tempel still has plenty of the sludginess for stoner rock fans to sink their teeth into, but there is a nuance within the record that much of the genre lacks; a certain soft refinement.  The record opens with the languid journey of "Aquamaria," a clear statement of the sound of their record, and new direction of the band.  The fuzz is definitely there, but there is an element of pleasant noodling that gives the tune a little extra textural dynamism. The rest of the record follows this same approach, where instead of a curtain of sound, there are waves and swells between periods of sparseness. Songs like "Fire" begin with a haunting and ominous emptiness before building to a high-octane riffy peak, highlight Colour Haze's ability find a groove through the grit:  Stoner Rock with melody!

Where as distortion is the primary tool for many stoner rock bands, Colour Haze utilizes lot of reverb and phase throughout Tempel; something that may not seem like a big deal now, but it is a primary tenet of the ne0-psychedelic sound that hit the scene soon after Tempel's release.  Songs like the drifting and warmly meditative "Ozean" explore vast terrains that just can't be seen through the opaqueness of a wall-of-sound.

While Colour Haze seems to be leading the charge in regards to progressive genre-bending, they certainly have no issues paying homage to the stoner rock pioneers. Songs like the laid back rocker "Gold and Silver" would comfortably fit in blaring out of a shag-carpet van or a party at the moon-tower.

Between Colour Haze's lack of commercial viability, and that they never distributed their records in the US, much of their work is largely unexplored.  Shame, because these psychonaut pioneers are covertly critical to a scene that has since flourished.  Hopefully, between the availability via streaming services and the increasing number of crate-diggers, Colour Haze and their landmark Tempel will get the psychedelic accolades they deserve.

In the trendy and principally progressive world of indie rock, familiarity often breeds contempt.  Then, there is Spiritualized.

For over thirty years, Jason Pierce (AKA:  J. Spaceman.  AKA:  Spiritualized) has been essentially writing the same song. He has drawn his timeless blueprint on the shoegaze paradigm of hazy and hushed guitars, lush textural swells, and stoney formlessness; fusing it with his fondness for rock, drone, jazz and some spaghetti western to fabricate his own post rock sub-genre.  Spiritualized (of whom Pierce is the only sole member) is the conductor his own astronautical orchestra.   While the ethos of each of the nine Spiritualized albums remain constant, some are more judiciously arranged and produced than others... with that Pierce put forth an excellent effort and execution with his latest release Everything Was Beautiful.

Everything Was Beautiful is a clear counterpart to its predecessor And Nothing Hurt (Note the wink towards Vonnegut).  There aren't many surprises on the record, all the same desired tenets of the Spiritualized catalog come through handily.  Everything Was Beautiful incorporates the medicated drones and swells of sound; an army of instruments, not so much mashing as as delicately linking together into a singular polyphonic unit. The record opens with "Always Together With You."  Opaquely blanketed with instruments ( I think about sixteen) and various lead and backing vocals, the  perfectly captures Pierce and Co's maximalist glory.  The albums proceeds in this vein, with big vocals and rock instruments, propelled by curtains of brass instruments.  The inclusion of audiophile noises add a post-rock industrial quality, as well as further push the textures that jut out from the overall wall-of-sound.  

"The Mainline Song" is probably the best overall descriptor of the Everything Was Beautiful. Filled to the brim with bells, brass and choral hymns, it ascends quickly and doesn't let up until it reaches a sprawling catharsis.  The song's power and poignancy perfectly encapsulates the entire mission statement of Spiritualized.  The album concludes in grand fashion with "I'm Coming Home Again,"  (Note: Link is a live version) a song that perfectly bridges jangly guitars, electrical fuzz and flowing jazz to create a haunting and beatific bookend to Everything Was Beautiful.

Again there is nothing on this record that is particularly unexpected or tangential to the band's stamp.  And with a different band, and a different sound, Everything Was Beautiful would likely be considered a repetitive flop, but for Jason Pierce and Spiritualize, it it feels like a welcome homecoming; an antiquity brought back to us from his latest voyage into the ether.

    Death.  Taxes.  New King Gizzard records.  Though all three are guaranteed, only two have any degree of experiential expectation or consistency.  However, unlike taxes, or even death, there is no preparation or rites that can be administered to make ready for a new KGLW record.  This past week, with little hype or anticipation, the indie psych world was treated to another out-of-body experience with the Aussie outfit's latest record, Omnium Gatherum.

Omnium Gatherum is KGLW's 'official' post-pandemic record; the first record recorded together in a studio after two years of (successfully) piecemealing their releases from separate quarters.  While the pandemic records were extremely well done, specifically their electronic experiment, Butterfly 3000, Omnium Gatherum possesses a primality that can only occur in a group setting, and can be noticeably missed in their previous three records.  

One of the band members (I believe Stu Mackenzie) referred to this album as "jammier." While there are certainly plenty of jam signposts parsed throughout the album, such as the white-boy funk of "Presumptuous," or "The Evilest Man" which grazes on jamtronica, most of this description lays within the bands 18 minute commencement opus, "The Dripping Tap;" one of the finest and most forceful King Gizzy songs in several years.  

The rest of Omnium Gatherum follows in the thematic style of "KG" and "LW," in that it is an encyclopedia of all of King Gizzard's styles, rather than a deep-dive into a specific one.  Songs like "Gaia" highlight the bands beloved thrash metal, while "The Garden Goblin" show them continuing to flesh out their synth capabilities.  The Psychsters even row even further out into uncharted waters by implementing rap and hip-hop style break-beats.  There are a lot of things happening on Omnium Gatherum, but the band does an excellent job maintaining cohesion throughout the thirteen song sojourn.  Coming in at 80 minutes, Omnium Gatherum is a long record, and probably could have been pared down a bit, but this may not be of much consequence to the band's dedicated fanbase.

While much of this album explores their sonic history, Omnium Gatherum is far from stale or derivative.  Rather, it possesses an imagination that they haven't had in the past several albums.  Especially with the increased utilization of synthesizers, there is a freshness that is on par with the heaviest hitters in the bands robust catalog.

It's really hard to conclude a King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard review, because each record is a symbol on a large, well drawn, and ever-growing map.  While rankings don't really work with a band or resume' such as King Gizzard, Omnium Gatherum represents another fantastic release for this exceptionally prolific group, and a welcome addition in the pantheon of the band's releases as well as on the shelf of any psych-rock aficionado.  Welcome (fully) back King Gizz!

There are few things more 2022 than Wet Leg. The band started as a joke while on top of a ferris wheel at a music festival. From that fateful cabin conversation, Rhian Teasdale and Hester Chambers came out of nowhere with their cheeky hit "Chaise Longue," an outright earworm of synth pop style and dry British irreverence.  The British duo's meteoric rise, including selling out Brooklyn Steel without ever recording an album, immediately without a record led to a fair amount of critical cynicism, but all naysayers were silenced this past week with the release of their addictively catchy self-titled release.

Wet Leg is infectious in a way that few other albums are; impossible to listen to without bobbing your head.  Chambers and Teasdale's production captures their youthful energy and 21st century wit.  One of the catchiest albums in literal years, every track on the album has the potential to be a single.  Don't be fooled by their social-media based rise, the songs are expertly crafted; blending new wave and pop sensibilities that bubbling over with joyous fun and irreverence.  And at a pleasant 36 minutes, Wet Leg is engaging without getting too sugary to listen to in full.

Lyrically, Wet Leg is hilarious, and would be bordering on comedy if it wasn't so sharply executed.   Wet Leg is a signpost for mid/late twenties urban life.  Chambers and Teasdale wax about getting "Big D(egree) and partying.  A lot of the record deals with the sexual landscape of the millennial world, and Wet Leg deftly celebrates the successes and failures of the terrain; be it taking a guy home to fuck after a Vincent Gallo film in "Wet Dream" or the ending of a toxic relationship of "Ur Mum."  

One aspect that makes Wet Leg such a refreshing record is that Chambers and Teasdale are not trying to hide their age.  They don't speak in esoteric ambiguities, but rather zoomer vernacular that is painfully relatable.  They muse on hypnotic late-night scrolling and getting high at the supermarket before meeting with their parents in a way that is fun and charming and innocent without coming off as childish.  The lyrics accentuate the overall fun-loving and self-deprecating vibe of the the album.  

Again, make no mistake, this isn't a TikTok record.  Chambers and Teasdale signed on the highly sought after record producer Dan Carey, who led the charge on some of Europe's most recent critically acclaimed records (notably Schlagenheim by Black Midi and Dogrel by Fontaines DC) as their producer, and the record was mixed by shoegaze (my favorite!) veteran Alan Moulder.  The result is Wet Leg being a meticulously crafted record; a lot of work was put in the record's carefree aura.  All parties fully realized the record's potential as they tactfully knew when to add sound, and when to add space. There is plenty of hard driving guitars, but could turn to sparse drum and bass when the time felt right.  The result is a full on female rock record that shows all the potential of the next Debbie Harry, as Chambers and Teasdale take the pop rock paradigm and make it something completely and absolutely knew.  Just a a phenomenal pop record.

Dan Bejar is equally prolific as he is enigmatic.  His kind of solo, kind of band project, Destroyer, has been around for ages, but really started gaining steam with his 2011 release, Kaputt, wherein he found himself writing synthy art-pop songs.  While each record has been slightly different, this has been his shimmery motif for the past decade. Labyrnthitis, Destroyers latest album, shows Bejar and crew continue to gracefully dance on the line between genius and pompous.  

Bejar's lyrics have always been something of a chore.  They range from brilliant and esoteric to pretty darned pretentious; often depending on the listeners mood. Lengthy soliloquies that may be poetic, or may be rambling...we aren't quite sure.  Like their other records, Labrynthitis has beautiful and reflective couplets buried under a bed of grandiosity. Also like other Destroyer records, the overarching lyrics are inconsequential, as Bejar's delivery is what packs the biggest punch.  

Musically, this definitely Destroyer's most atmospheric record to date. Labrynthitis is submerged in lush washes of synths and guitar; twilight soundscapes when paired with Bejar's accented monotones.  Labrynthitis is a deluge of 80's nostalgia, but with more soothing energy than danceable intensity.  A very tranquil effort on Bejar's part, and sonically the easiest Destroyer record to crawl inside for warmth.

There are a couple of juxtaposing moods on Labrynthitis, but they both help create the overall aesthetic.  Some of the songs are snappy and upbeat, with synthy drops that surge with new-day optimism.   There are also (slightly) slower and more cerebral numbers that really part the clouds.  These songs aren't necessarily more somber, but just have a little more room to breathe. Obviously the more dialed-down songs are more expansive, but both styles contribute to Labrynthitis's loungy haze and overall album theme.  

Within the artsy world of indie pop, few have had the critical success of Dan Bejar and Destroyer on this ten year wave.  Labrynthitis is another home run for the Vancouver songwriter, and a hopeful premonition that there is plenty more in the tank.  While it may not be the 'best' record in the Destroyer catalog, it may be the most fun to repeatedly explore.  As Bejar leaves us to decipher the cryptic meaning of his songs, we must ask if we really care.  The true reward on Labrynthitis is getting lost in its ether.

In many ways, at least in regards to the music I listen to, Rock and Roll is a lost art.  By Rock and Roll, I mean Rock and FUCKING Roll!  In an era where the best music seems to lead with the head or the heart, it is sometimes refreshing to hear someone lead with their balls.  Released just a couple of months before the ashes of the World Trade Center irrevocably changed the musical zeitgeist, Libertyville, IL's very own Ike Reilly released his debut LP that salutes the simple joy of the grit, sweat and celebration of rock.  

The first seconds of the opening "Last Time" sets the tone for Salesmen and Racists.  Reilly's gnarly howl and fuzzed out riff commences fifty minutes of a time forgotten by some generations, and a time never experienced by others. The next handful of songs follow suit;  big time rock bangers that, in another era, would fit neatly between the classic rock stalwarts on the FM dial...homages to Mick, Keith and the boys, right down to the occasional sax breaks.

Salesmen and Racists shows Reilly still developing his lyrical style; witty and cynical, but noticeably scattered.    His songwriting ranges from tavern sentimentality veiled by lyrics about cars, girls, drinks and songs (often in the same song), to rhymes just for the sake of rhymes.  Outside of some easily digestible couplets and general good intentions, Reilly is less impactful when he slows down his songs; his meaning lies within the aesthetic, not the words.  However...his seemingly elementary lyrics actually carry more weight than if he would have released sprawling poetry.  The record sounds like the inside jokes and tangential banter of a low-lit barroom.  Reilly is a working-class hero whose songs would seem ill-fit with esoteric lyrics.  Meant to be enjoyed rather than dissected, he is a philosopher whose pulpit is underneath the neon lights near last call.  

The magic of Salesmen and Racists, and Reilly in general, lays within the vibe.  The album is the soundtrack to the Chicago suburbs, in all its middle-class glory and the perpetual love and hate of 'coming home.'  Just like all the great artists, and all of us, really, Reilly has a tenuous warts-and-all love of where he grew up; a relationship we all reconcile at some point in our lives.  He might be physically or mentally eons away from his high school parking lot, but Libertyville, IL will always be a part of him, the way our own respective towns will always be a part of us.  His lyrics, good or bad, bring up the halfway unique and halfway fun time of getting in trouble in a boring old town, right up to his anthemic belts of "Remember those..." , the ones we all have with those kids we see under the lights at that industrial suburban watering hole.

When we have a party at the Moon Tower, I'm putting on Ike Reilly.

Band of Horses stole a lot of hearts in the early aughts.  They wrote songs with big emotional peaks; dreamy falsettos and ethereal guitars eventually crashed by crunchy distortion.  Following their first few records, the band veered further from their foggy coastal sound, and into a more country aesthetic, more than likely due to their move from Washington to South Carolina.  As the years wore on, Band of Horses faded into the indie rock amalgam, releasing a couple of records that, although pretty good, felt like inconsequential afterthoughts of their first three records (two if you are one of the people who don't like their major label debut, Infinite Arms.  Personally, I enjoy it). Perhaps the band leaned too sharply into commercial hooks under the pressure of major label provocation, losing some of the uniqueness that got them there in the first place.  

Fortunately, Things Are Great is a very nice revisiting of the Band of Horses that made us fall in love with the cloudy poignancy of the Pacific Northwest indie rock world. Frontman Ben Bridwell's songwriting and uber-distinctive vocals continue to tickle that delightfully sensitive spot of the brain; that little area that makes you wistfully reflect on life.  The album's first single, "Crutch," carries the well-worn melodies and bombastic guitar that made Band of Horses such a distinguishable band in their salad days.  Sonically, Things are Great moves along leisurely and lushly, with enough atmospheric and crunchy guitars to satisfy that ever-ticklish brain-space.  

The title is a bit tongue-in-cheek; there is a definite bit of lyrical darkness on Things Are Great, enhanced by some pretty overt lyrics.  Bridwell waxes over anxieties, isolation, hard days and physical harm.  Some pretty heavy stuff, indeed, however, Bridwell and his band do a textbook of adding just enough airiness to not be suffocated by its weight.  Band of Horses' ragged glory creates an optimism that lurks just beyond the harshness.  

One issue that may befall Things Are Great; a common pitfall of many bands, is that artist consistency can sometimes pave the way for listener ambivalence.  The record is great, their best in years, but it still kind of sounds a lot like the other Band of Horses albums, and sometimes the record's high points might drown in the falsetto folk-rock ocean that is their catalog.  This is all very forgivable with Band of Horses, though, who's patented sound is damn good; it would be criminal to inorganically change it.    Perhaps it is better for us to take a comfort in the steadiness of the band, and look at Things Are Great as a wave crest in a sea of good song and sound.

A true American troubadour, guitarist and multi-instrumentalist Jack Adkins set sail in the early 80's to various small venues as sort never-ending tour.  This would go on through the early 90's, when he hopped off the road to take a real job in the tech industry. He was already part of the professional music world, but on the far peripheries.  Never destined to be a rockstar, there was nothing glamorous about his tours, as Adkins didn't advance too much further than the bar and restaurant scene.  He did, however, learned the delightful art of conversation, entertaining, and becoming the quintessential ramblin' man.  Dedicated to the barroom hustle, Adkins sets were often comprised of cliche cover songs, but prior to his trip he was able to record some of his own songs.  Not knowing when this album would come to fruition, he took the tapes with him to be pressed and sold on the road.  The result is American Sunset, some of the best surf-folk that the world has never heard.

It is unclear, to me at least, if these recordings were expressly made for public consumption, or more of a demo for himself and his career.  The music is pretty raw, and the lyrics are well-thought, but perhaps not quite 'there' yet.  However, this uncooked sound and style not help the record, but create its principal artistic statement.

American Sunset is very structurally loose, as Adkins exchanged traditional rock/pop composition for vibe.  There is a lot of reverb laden surf guitar, and some nice synths, with varying degrees of intensity. There is plenty of acoustic guitar work.  For a barroom crooner, Adkins is quite adroit at his craft.   The synthy bedrock offers a lot to American Sunset, as it creates a lot of funky playfulness.

A lot of the songs are Adkins musings over his loops.  They aren't the most complex pieces around, but they aren't supposed to be.  In fact, complexity would take away from the album's spirit.  His words are both fun and poignant, perfect for the clement southern bars he made his home.  And Adkins loops, well, they are just perfect.  The music is not exactly carefree; it's better than that.  It is a presentation of easygoingness through fatalism.  The sounds of the road-weary cosmic country wanderer.  American Sunset is the soundtrack to watching the world go by, and the sweet relief of staring at an orange sky knowing you can only control what you can.

Beach House have always had an uncanny knack for using mood to create a warm space; a vaporous fortress of atmospheric feelings.  The Baltimore duo are certainly great songwriters, but their real prowess lays in creating the vibe. And, boy, did they ever with their most recent double LP, Once Twice Melody.

Victoria LeGrand and Alex Scally, the two members of Beach House, decided to take on the not-so-easy task of producing a record themselves.  Over the arduous multi year process, they found themselves with more songs than they knew what to do with.  However, they found the songs not only worthy, but imperative to their visualized narrative.

Subsequently, Once Twice Melody was released in pieces over time, to be fully realized last week.  I am not certain this was the best approach, but the final product is one of their most wondrous works to date; probably the most prolific Beach House album Bloom.  Continuously cementing their place on the dreampop Rushmore, specifically since their landmark release, Teen Dream, Once Twice Melody picks up where Beach House left off with their 2018 release, 7, filled with echoing space, this time further enhanced and cocooned by a string section.  

Tranquil and serene, Once Twice Melody approaches and envelops like a slow moving fog.  Each chapter of the record slightly different moods, but with razor-sharp continuity, truly narrative in it's unfolding.  It winds through swells of dreampop and various synthy passages to unify all four chapters; an unbelievably cohesive record despite its length.  Once Twice Melody also uses the aforementioned strings and baroque reverbs to carve out that patented Beach House 'space.'

Throughout Once Twice Melody, Beach House was still able to achieve variety while still maintaining theme; something kind of difficult to do with a double LP. There are moments of spaciness that segue beautifully into softer resting areas.  The four separate albums help create both real and sonic distinctions, both in sound and mood.  It also helps create engagement, as the album doesn't lag much through its 18 song story, and gives listeners a vintage feel in a digital age.  

There aren't many surprises on Once Twice Melody.  You get the great things you get with almost every Beach House record.  The album is subtly psychedelic; shimmering but not 'trippy.' There are also the blooming swells of synth choruses, a Beach House's bucolic trademark.  The biggest surprise, and the most lasting impression is the journey the duo is able to take through four separate records.  Once you reconcile (and appreciate) the length of the album, the enjoyment becomes the ebbing and flowing along with it.  In fact, perhaps the most psychedelic aspect of Once Twice Melody is the ineffable way it uncoils and reveals itself once the listener surrenders to it.