It's going to take years to unpack the last few months of 2023. Whatever mental trauma is inflicted upon those removed from the situation in no way approximates the devastation and inhumanity occurring daily to millions. That the US is funding it all, and institutions and businesses domestically are punishing those who speak out about it, is sickening and terrifying. The latest Lulu's email newsletter wrote more eloquently about it all than I could, and plainly calls for empathy at the end: "Be good in a bad world."
And we do that, pretending things are normal for the sake of others, our kids, our partners. But things are not normal, and that pressure forces other changes, because while we can to some degree control what happens within our lives, there's no fix for seeing (let alone experiencing) dead, maimed children regularly on Instagram, victims of bombings without caution or consequence. A sense of powerlessness pervades. What we can do is keep talking, sharing and banding together. Being good in a bad world.
Some notes:
Lots more instrumental, or nearly instrumental, music than usual this year on my list, which tracks with the current climate. Music without words, or without discernible words, leaves space for thoughts to become untangled, sure; but a lot of what’s highlighted below felt more transcendent than meditative.
I still listen to rap quite a bit, but very few new songs I heard stuck around past a few days. Call it malaise from living in an era where every other song on the radio has a trap beat. Starlito dropped a clunker, which shouldn't have shocked me but did, and it personally felt significant. Maybe it’s indicative of the old guard’s demise, but hopefully it removes a wall and allows me to engage with newer rap music better. That being said: Veeze's Ganger was head and shoulders above everything else; billy woods' short verse on "As the Crow Flies" made me gasp the first time I heard it (and I also loved ELUCID's verse on "Baby Steps"); and I listened to The Jacka's The Jack Artist most of all.
Of all the books I read this year, two books by Fernanda Melchor, Hurricane Season and Paradais, stood out. Melchor’s prose is incredibly powerful, bleakly funny and vicious in equal measure. The sharp, frank assessments by characters in often ludicrous situations feel like a product of the contemporary but imbued with some ancient wisdom. Shout out to Julia S. for the new and notable South American literature tips.
In the midst of holiday/short day doldrums, amidst endless bleak news reports, it was difficult battling back cynicism to listen to anything, especially back to all of these records and tapes listed below. It ended up being oddly therapeutic, highly enjoyable and maybe necessary, the same as when I force myself out to shows when it's easier to stay home. That feeling chips away at the notion of this list-making exercise as futile, for me certainly, but hopefully also for you. Thank you for reading, and I hope you find something you like, too.
And so:
LP
Lewsberg, Out and About (12XU)
Equipment Pointed Ankh, From Inside the House (Bruit Direct Disques)
The Native Cats, The Way On Is the Way Off (Chapter Music)
Water Damage, 2 Songs (12XU)
VoidCeremony, Threads of Unknowing (20 Buck Spin)
Emily Robb, If I Am Misery Then Give Me Affection (Petty Bunco)
CIA Debutante, Down, Willow (Siltbreeze)
Olimpia Splendid, 2 (Fonal/Kraak)
Nusidm, The Last Temptation of Thrill (Bruit Direct Disques)
Incipientium, Undergång (Happiest Place)
Witness K, s/t (ever/never)
Leda, Neuter (Discreet Music)
12"/10"/7"/CS
Chrome Cell Torture, Laugh Then Lie 7" (Scarlet)
Joe Colley, Acting As If 10" (Substantia Innominata)
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A couple more for the road. A long overdue nod to the great Bruit Direct Disques, and Khanate's massive return to a world that befits their sound. Without further adieu:
Khanate, To Be Cruel (Sacred Bones)
After a double-digit years-long hiatus, Khanate orchestrated a surprise return to follow up Clean Hands Go Foul with To Be Cruel. I can't say I've listened to much Khanate in the interim, but To Be Cruel makes a strong case for revisiting the band's discography. Given the members' forays into other projects, I was expecting the sound to shift dramatically here, but that was incorrect: the band has doubled down on its glacial pace, heaving guitars and Alan Dubin's backed-into-a-corner vocals, at once human and feral. What's changed is only a greater attention to composition, allowing for some breaks in the drudgery to incorporate ideas from free jazz and improvisation. About two-thirds of the way through opener "Like a Poisoned Dog," the song is overwhelmed by feedback, the drums let loose and the bass holds the line; it's a brief, but thrilling moment, a break in the stark black atmosphere. Much of that atmosphere is owing to Stephen O'Malley's guitar and Alan Dubin's vocals, though I was glad to read an interview with James Plotkin where he agrees that some of the lyrics Dubin screams are patently absurd. That being said, the broader ideas behind the lyrics, coupled with their deadly serious delivery, induce chills throughout. Control is ceded to Dubin on the spare "It Wants to Fly," but his strongest performance is saved for the title track at the end. "To Be Cruel" is vintage Khanate, O'Malley and Plotkin squeezing every ounce from their chords, Tim Wyskida hammering the drums to punctuate each painfully slow movement. Rather than find release, the band chooses to return to the same structure at the beginning of the song, now teasing feedback out between strikes, slowly burying Dubin alive. To Be Cruel is the band's best work, as room-flattening, caustic and focused as ever, enough for me to consider making a trip if they tour behind it.
Nusidm, The Last Temptation of Thrill (Bruit Direct Disques)
Ah, Glen Schenau's inimitable Nusidm returns on one of my favorite labels, Bruit Direct Disques. We must enjoy these moments of kismet, no? The Last Temptation of Thrill fleshes out a refined version of Nusidm found on Hatred of Pain: less vocals, less crowded, and reimagining the dirge as something miasmatic and smothering. Largely gone are the clean, tromolo-picked guitars, but the drums carry the weight, something made perfectly clear on "Katy und Abel" and the beginning of the fully dystopian "Run to the Shops." There seems to be a lot more electronic layering in these tracks, songs built up not by clenched muscles but by feedback, pitch-shifted vocals, pedals and maybe even tape loops. This approach makes "Sit and Watch the Sunrise" come across as a threat, and reaches a logical, thrilling endpoint on "Arm Unemployed" and "Melody Moody - The Re-incision." The slow build of noise in the latter cancels out the jazzy bass line reprised from Hatred of Pain's "Vapid" and covers itself in thick mud, vocals escaping through the air vent and desperate for a response. The record builds up in fits and starts, interspersed with instrumental tracks, the best of which are on the B-side: "Tagging My Friends" brings back the frantic clenched-teeth acoustic playing, and "Talking to Animals" is all feedback and woodwind shrieking, taken home by the downtuned bass. The album's elements coalesce on the chaotic "Arm Unemployed," previously released but finding its home as the penultimate track here, which kinda sounds like Glen's take on rap-metal, if they ever made room for a xylophone solo. It must be heard to be believed, but you'll be nodding along for its five-and-a-half minute duration. The Last Temptation of Thrill is Nusidm as confounding as ever, but as potent as ever, too; the artist-label pairing here greater than the sum of its parts. Three hundo copies to go around, and sharply outfitted in Glen's own artwork and font to further confuse the issue. Come join me on his planet.
Terrine, Standing Abs (Bruit Direct Disques)
Terrine's last album Les Problèmes Urbains was described in the press release as "certainly one of the most demanding (comical) in the world." I'm unsure if my familiarity with the work of Claire Gapenne as Terrine is such that I understand her intentions more clearly, or if I've just accepted being wholly outside the joke. Whatever the case, her latest album Standing Abs is checking all the boxes for me. It opens with "She's So Kind De Ouf," full of harsh electronics and rhythms popping up and disappearing, all of the different elements building to a blaring climax. If you know Terrine, you know that these moments are fleeting, and the song is shortly followed up with acoustic piano and what sounds like a beat made by basketballs. The piano has been a strong part of Terrine's sound, but now it is woven into the album's fabric rather than included solely as a jarring shift in instrumentation. The rest of the album is a really interesting push-pull between modern electronic composition, with a nod to EDM, and these shorter pieces featuring spare, empty-room piano. It's hard not to think of ZNR's Barricade 3 when confronted with the dichotomy of electronic and acoustic sounds, presented to emphasize their contrast; but I will also echo Matt K.'s comparison to Lolina in his review of the album. Like Lolina's best work, there is a logic here, albeit coy and evasive, that still captivates. The stretch of songs from "Carrageenan Do Dad Jokes" through "Nuage De Nuls" features some of the same elements, but it's as if the beats and piano merge, split, or disappear altogether throughout. Far from being a purely academic exercise, there's plenty that just knocks here, too: "Les Moucherons à Oranges" sounds like the rhythm is being played on the piano strings, a kick drum coming in to intermittently stabilize the situation. "La Nimpro" unceremoniously kicks you out of the loft at the album's end, and the cycle is complete. It's a blast, shedding any sense of sabotage (hello, "L'anniversaire") and stepping confidently into their Sambas.
What a freakishly dark year. Amidst our dystopian descent, one where D-beat and grindcore record covers seem particularly apt, independent record labels and artists keep providing and grinding, delays and inflation be damned. What the fuck else are ya gonna do? I wince reading headlines - the world is dying, tribalism reigns, someone just burned down the Planned Parenthood blocks from where I live - but music remains a constant source of elation, solace, rejuvenation and invigoration for me. It's helped me through a lot this year, and turned into a form of self-care in a way, given that increasingly rare free time was almost always accompanied by immersion into music. When I survey the past 12 months, these are the records that resonated. Grown man photographs his precious belongings, 2021. Take care of yourselves and each other, support the music venues and artists suffering through the pandemic's never-ending coda, and I hope this list can introduce you to something new even if I gave away the top dog months ago. Damn, what an amazing time for new music - happy digging.
LP
Nusidm, Hatred of Pain (self-released)
Cube, Drug of Choice (Alter)
Monokultur, Ormens Väg (ever/never / Mammas Mysteriska Jukebox)
Nightshift, Zöe (Trouble In Mind)
Quarantine, Agony (Damage United 82 / La Vida Es Un Mus)
Heimat, Zwei (Teenage Menopause)
Mortiferum, Preserved In Torment (Profound Lore)
Lea Bertucci, A Visible Length of Light (Cibachrome Editions)
The Body, I've Seen All I Need To See (Thrill Jockey)
N0V3L, NON-FICTION (Flemish Eye)
Six more:
Cerebral Rot, Excretion of Mortality (20 Buck Spin)
CIA Debutante, Dust (Siltbreeze)
Jean-Luc Guionnet & Will Guthrie, Electric Rag (Ali Buh Baeh / Editions Memoire)
Maraudeur, Puissance 4 (self-released)
Emily Robb, How To Moonwalk (Petty Bunco)
Waste Man, One Day It'll All Be You (Feel It)
12" / 7" / cassette
CIA Debutante, Music For Small Rooms 12" (ever/never)
CIA Debutante, Pier 7" (SDZ)
Earwig Deluxe, It's An Emergency To Them CS (Striped Light)
The Fulmars, The Lost Ones 7" (Hüüpnootsche Platen Un Kassetten)
Horrendous 3D, The Gov. and Corps. Are Using Psycho-Electronic Weaponry To Manipulate You and Me... 7" (Whisper In Darkness)
Sial, Zaman Edan 7" (La Vida Es Un Mus)
Suffocating Madness, s/t 7" (Active-8 / Roachleg)
Stomachache, Good Machine CS (self-released)
Taphos, Blood Plethora 7" (Night Shroud)
Treasury of Puppies, Lollos Dagbok 7" (I Dischi Del Barone)
Rap
Separate category because I'm a tourist at best. Here's what I was listening to that hit a nerve.
Armand Hammer feat. Earl Sweatshirt, "Falling Out the Sky"
Flint & Detroit Rap 2021 mix by the best @thehotboxsocial
MIKE, "Disco!" (10K)
Pooh Sheisty feat. Lil Durk, "Back In Blood"
R.A.P. Ferreira, the Light Emitting Diamond Cutter Scriptures (self-released)
Starlito, Funerals & Court Dates and Insomnia Addict (Grind Hard) Not new, but it's never a bad time to revisit my favorite rapper's discography. The two albums I listened to most this year in any genre or form.
Young Nudy, Rich Shooter (RCA)
Young Slo-Be, Red Mamba and Slo-Be Bryant 3 (KoldGreedy / Thizzler on the Roof) - thx @raygarraty
Hardly new, but four releases from 2021 well-suited for the cooler seasons - including the best record I've heard this year. This is what you want; go get 'em.
Cerebral Rot, Excretion of Mortality (20 Buck Spin)
Hard to out-camp death metal obsessed with trying to come up with the grossest bodily failures and decomposition, but I'll happily put up with song titles like "Retching Innards" when the riffs are this fuckin' good. Besides, we've all been there. My innards, retching. Excretion of Mortality pretty much picks up where Odious Descent Into Decay left off, except the band is a full-on force now. The opening title track is a textbook lesson on grimy death metal, suffocatingly dense, full of bone-crushing riffs and winding radioactive solos, finding fresh rot in each new movement. That same ridiculous formula is sharpened and reused to stunning effect again and again over the album's first six tracks; I'd call "Bowels of Decrepitude" out for it's particularly bruising attack and that sick bass solo part (there's another one on "Drowned in Malodor"), but ya can't go wrong with any of 'em. My only qualm with the record is that it maybe should've ended after six songs, and not with the 11-minute closer "Crowning the Disgustulent (Breed of Repugnance)," which just feels like an exhausting, self-referencing recap after the rest of the record. Six outta seven is a ridiculous batting average, and I'll take too much of a good thing even if I have to whine about it. Not sure that going Cro-Magnon in these times is the answer but it sure as hell is a fun distraction. Good times for death metal in the States: new records from Mortiferum and Apparition out now or soon.
N0V3L, NON-FICTION (Flemish Eye)
I gotta admit that I felt a little bit burned by Crack Cloud's last album, what with its tendency toward these corny ornate Arcade Fire-esque gestures (still, "Tunnel Vision" though), so I was a little hesitant to check out the debut from sister band N0V3L, L33T-speak band name and all. Happy to report that NON-FICTION is much more successful than PAIN OLYMPICS while treading the same grounds. Lyrically N0V3L touches on the opioid epidemic ("Pushers") and the diet activism fads spawned in every corner of social media in the past year ("Interest Free," "Status") while continuing to rail against our corporate overlords (the seemingly neverending "Falling In Line," long enough to bluntly drive the point home) and modern politics ("En Masse"). The band strips the definition of "post-punk" down to its core across the record, guitars and synth reduced to window dressing for the amazing rhythm section, vocals speak-sung in a low register and only given any urgency in spare doses. "Stranger," with its horn section, sounds like prime A Minute to Pray-era Flesh Eaters, and the frantic drumming on "Pushers" drives the bleak lyrics "We're all junkies just weeks from a habit" into your skull. For all the nearly danceable and dark successes across most of NON-FICTION, it's the instrumental outro of "Status" leading into mild closer "Notice of Foreclosure" that stands as my favorite part of the record. The repeated guitar line and the mumbled, defeated vocal delivery on "Notice of Foreclosure" serve as a final sigh of a people reluctantly accepting that there is nowhere else to go. So by all means, dance to the likes of "Group Disease" while you can, because the end of this record is a real bummer. Ignore this band's inexcusable choice of a name, because NON-FICTION is the real deal, a mirror held up to show all the imperfections. While they can offer only to name the problems while standing in solidarity, it feels important and it feels like enough most days.
Nusidm, Hatred of Pain (self-released)
Record of the fuckin' year right here. Not sure what planet Glen Schenau is on but more artists could take a cue from Hatred of Pain's reckless, insular experimentation. Glen's solo output thus far has been singular, to say the least, and his first LP pushes him much further out to sea. Opener "I Took Off Your Ring" is an endurance test, Schenau throwing backward carnival organ and ear-piercing flute into the mix at points where the listener might have settled in. "The mix," by the way, is this amazing black metal guitar tremolo picking, sans effects, and plodding, woozy drumming with Glen's clenched jaw intonations serving as the vocals for it all. Nothing really approaches the extremes of "I Took Off Your Ring" in length or sonics on the album again, but that same aggressively insular approach continues. "Lit a Little Fire" is a highlight, Glen sounding like he's in a submarine that's slowly going under but holding onto hope that "she'll be right back," enunciating the latter as fast as he can while his head's above water. The most aggressive track, "Frowntown," has the most animated vocals that almost refer back to his earlier solo work, barking "This is a venue I was banned from!" over a gnarled bed of descending guitar and rolling drums. It's not all sandpaper and scrap metal on Hatred of Pain, though: "Vapid" rides a jazzy bassline for its duration, "A Thankless Crime" is a hard-plucked acoustic loner, and "Hammer Smashed Phone" (yes) with its muffled robotic vocals and piercing melodica sounds like a warped collaboration with the Native Cats. The record reaches its logical conclusion on "So Dark," a deep and moving trip that turns black metal inside out, with lyrics that are basically the title and Glen crooning "I'm not blam-ing YOU-OOH" from the bottom of the well. When this record first arrived, it came with a handwritten note from Glen explaining how he thought maybe the record was a little too personal but he made the choice to put it all out there, basically blowing up his life to make something from all of the pieces in some sort of cleansing act, and that framing makes a lot of sense. I think it's a brilliant piece of work, bleak and sharp and funny and desperate in equal measure, and the physical package reflects the care and probable over-analysis of the whole project. I haven't heard anything this inwardly focused and completely unaware of musical and societal norms since Courtesy and Good Will Toward Men. Amazing stuff. If you trust me, trust Hatred of Pain more.
V/A, and felt like... (Knekelhuis)
The compilation album, at its core, seems designed for diminishing returns in most cases, but recent offerings by labels like Kashual Plastik seem hellbent on changing that narrative. The recent and felt like... compilation by Dutch label Knekelhuis is another excellent addition to newfound compilation success stories, steeped in fragile new age experiments that sound like sunlight filtering into a damp house. Of the artists on and felt like..., only Gothenburg's Treasury of Puppies were familiar to me, and that lack of familiarity probably only aids my enjoyment of the record. Ike Zwanikken's "Bianca," which provides the title of the record, is this lush, patient bed of electronics for Brooklyn Mellar's voice, reminding me of Martina Lussi's Diffusion Is a Force in execution. All of the tracks seem to meditate on one motif, be it the ambience of Avsluta's "Mono No Aware" or the warped, lonely "E.T." by Michel Banabila, gossamer threads captured and repurposed. The whole record is uniform in its approach and delivery, even when dipping a toe into rap on the closing track (which is maybe my favorite track). It's an arresting whole; breathe or move too much and it will disappear.
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