Kirk Does Pitchfork

Thanks, and hope you enjoy. 

An excellent collection of live performances between the elder jazz saxophonist and his relatively young pianist counterpart. The arrangements of jazz standards and traditional tunes are sublime, and really highlight how two instruments can have a conversation.

I guess people take this British rapper seriously? I really don’t see how, but the record inexplicably has big name (some of them quite good) artists on it. It’s also split up as if it is a double album even though the full run time is 35 minutes. This is apparently to throw out some sort of loose concept of shouting ALL CAPS bravado in the first half vs. all lower case introspection in the second. This seems really silly to me. In any case, the slower second half is the better half, but this guy might have the most annoying voice/flow of any rapper I’ve heard in a while. The production is quite good in places, particularly on second half high point, “i ttried.”

God, I want to like this record, and it is certainly aimed right at me. There are hints of everything from Camper Van Beethoven to The Fall here. But I’ll be damned if I can’t get past the fact that this sounds like Bill Murray’s character from Caddyshack talk-singing over Parquet Courts songs. When he’s not present, such as in the sublime instrumental break in “Bots!”, I dig this a ton.

The guitars, as mentioned in Pitchfork’s review, are the standout here. Any “pretty” undertones present are drowned out by the buzzsaw guitars present throughout. While I wouldn’t call this kind of playing “shredding” in the traditional sense, they do feel like they could rip you into gnarly slices. It’s fun to listen to someone just wreak havoc with an instrument, and that definitely happens for the full half-hour of this record.

Admittedly, I don’t know how to rate club music or tell much of it apart from one song to the next. But I do know if something sounds good or if it just seems generic. This is the latter. 

So, if you release an album called “Unf*ckwitable” and use an asterisk to hide the letter in a naughty word, I’m going to assume you are, in fact, fuckwithable. Seems like an odd choice from a guy who previously put out a mix tape with two middle fingers pointed directly at a Parental Advisory symbol. The beats on this record are fairly generic but enjoyable. The rap cliches are strong with Babyface Ray, but there’s some funny lines thrown in (including one about Ruth’s Chris). If you’re into this kind a thing (or if you know who any of the guests are -- Kash Doll’s verse is worth the price of admission alone), this is worth a listen. It’s not my bag, but it’s good enough for what it is.

There must be something about living in Texas that makes bands want to play weird folk music. It’s not exactly psychedelic, although I could see how a good dose of mescaline could play a role. And it’s definitely not traditional, although I get the feeling a lot of these bands have spent some time at a Renaissance fair. I sometimes love the music bands like this make (particularly Denton’s Midlake who developed the benchmark with their first two records). Merlynn Belle are fine musicians; there are just other bands out there doing this same thing and doing it better.

When I see that a band is from Manchester, I immediately think the music is going to be self-important indie rock with stadium sensibilities. I have no idea if that is rooted in reality or just one of those weird notions I have (like the one that you can either be a Tom Waits person or a Nick Cave person, but not both). Virginia Wing is definitely not my image of a Manchester band. They’re a quirky two piece (recently expanded to add some saxophone), playing pop songs with instrumentation that jumps and jangles seemingly in tribute to 70s rhythmic art punk. This is a fun little record that is a little too all over the place to really get the rating Pitchfork gives it. 

I’ve always found reggaeton to be best in small doses, and at 23 minutes, this Columbia meets Jamaica concept scratches an itch without leaving a mark that will scab over later.

I will admit that I struggled to get past the fact that this is a record from the frontwoman for the emo pop band, Paramore. That whole whiny radio rock thing just doesn't do it for me. This record, however, has more in common with confessional indie folk than anything you’d hear on pop punk radio. The Pitchfork review says Williams has struggled to find her own voice in her solo work; while I don’t think this is a great record, I think her voice is pretty well established. Her literal voice is beautiful and if we’re speaking in figurative terms, this is a well fleshed out record lyrically and musically.

There’s more atmosphere than music here. For an album put out by a pedal steel player, I’d expect to hear more, you know, pedal steel. The whole thing feels like 42 minutes of the film Drive’s end sequence.

This is the 36 minute live space jam you need in your life right now. 

The Starbucks playing this record is gonna be so LIT.

Memphis rap is usually better than this. Unlike Pitchfork, I don't think Pooh Shiesty is headed toward the top tier of rap acts, nor do I think he "rarely leans on tired cliches, overused bars, and callbacks for writing material." That exactly describes this record to me. There are hundreds of records released each year that sound just like this. 

I know that sometimes you can't really separate the politics from the art, particularly when the artist comes from a musical collective protesting Israel's occupation of the West Bank. But Pitchfork extrapolates that by just making glitchy electronic music with no vocals, Manqus is actually being more political than in his previous releases where he used his voice extensively. I don’t really see that in this. The music is most interesting when it incorporates traditional sounds of the region into the electronic soundscapes, such as on the opener, “Quboor Mamila” and the final track, “Ikmal.” Unfortunately, these tracks are the tasty bread surrounding an otherwise boring sandwich.

This is certainly a fine record of indie pop with electronic underpinnings. It is, however, completely disjointed. It’s more like a maxi-single than a mini-record. There’s nothing holding it together from song to song. But all of the songs are good, if not overly exciting.