We’re Moving!

Hi all,

We bought some big boy server space and moved our asses to stucklistining.com. Enjoy!

Stuck Listening Staff

Fresh off the press. A track review of Nova by Four Tet + Burial

I really did tell Chris at one point that I realize I need to mix up my reviews and write one on something bad, and maybe I will. Not today.

I just caught wind of a track Kieran Hebden (Four Tet) tweeted earlier yesterday afternoon, and, as I imagined, it’s a thing of beauty. For Nova, Four Tet once again teams up with the reclusive William Bevan, a dub master known as Burial, combining percussive motifs of both artists into what is undeniably one of the most refreshing, refined efforts the two have exhibited yet. Previous joint releases, including Moth, Ego and Mirror (both with guest Thom Yorke), and Wolf Cub offer extraordinary, multifaceted soundscapes that easily supplement most conscious brain activity (subconscious pending).

The track fades in with soft, jittery waves of female vocals (similar to what Burial did with Massive Attack’s Paradise Circus), which trails into a crisp beat rolling at a tempo wise and textured enough to carry us the majority of the way through our three minutes together. The melody introduces itself as a consistent syncopated progression on simple, muted piano chords. What sounds like harmonizing xylophone / glockenspiel and Burial’s signature airy reverb settle in throughout the latter half of the song like a fog, then decay just before the next set of samples gets the opportunity to muddy the sound. The result is an organic, driving tempo and an exhilarating theme to getting ready in the morning. To your drive to work. To anything inspired. Let this inspire.

Hebden and Bevan attended the Elliott School in London in the early 90’s, a school which, around the same time, churned out members of The XX, Hot Chip, Fridge, and hell, even Dragonforce.

If you haven’t jumped onboard with any of the above artists (hell, even Dragonforce), do so immediately. I don’t know what these guys are eating across the pond, but they’re constantly churning out music that advocates an honest, worthy proponent in the appeal to the IDM genre (except Dragonforce).

[3/3] Best while eating malt vinegar-soaked fish and chips, washed down with a pint of Bass.

This is gonna hurt me a lot more than it hurts you. A review of Attack on Memory by Cloud Nothings.

Listen on Spotify

Trevor Ikrath – Alright, full disclosure: I arrived kind of late to the Cloud Nothings party. In fact, this is actually the first album I’ve heard from the group. I first discovered them sometime around last December, after stumbling across an mp3 of “Stay Useless” somewhere on the internet that I can’t remember (which, in all honesty, is one of my favorite ways of discovering new tunes). But anyways, the band’s new LP, Attack on Memory is something of an anomaly for me. You see, usually if I want to review a record, I’ll put the thing on constant rotation, listening to it obsessively and giving myself time to really wrap my head around it. But when it comes to this album here I just can’t seem to do that. The reason being? Well, in his 2003 film Matchstick Men, Nicolas Cage poses the question, “Have you ever been dragged to the sidewalk and beaten until you – PISSED BLOOD!?” If faced with the query myself, I might now be able to answer it, “No. But I have listened to Attack on Memory.”

Quite frankly, listening to this record is the musical equivalent of having your ass kicked. Not only that, but as you’re lying on the ground, sobbing and hemorrhaging, frontman Dylan Baldi crouches down and starts telling you that you’re never going to amount to anything, no matter how hard you try, so just give up now.

Basically, it’s kind of a hard album to spend a lot of time with. Discussing the fact that the record only has eight tracks, Baldi even told Pitchfork that “adding another [depressing song] would be too much to take without feeling bad.” But if he really wanted to avoid bumming his listeners out, I’d suggest Baldi would’ve been better off cutting “Wasted Days”, an eight minute monster of a track that sounds like Wipers reborn and culminates with Baldi shredding his throat as he screams over and over again, “I THOUGHT. I COULD. BE MORE. THAN THIS.” Of course, excluding “Wasted Days” would have meant leaving out Attack‘s best track, but at least I’d still have my self-esteem. What a dilemma.

Don’t get me wrong; yeah, this record may make you want to kill yourself, but it’s only so affecting because it’s so damn awesome. And hey, some of it’s even catchy! “Fall In” has a great hook, and I wouldn’t even have picked Attack up in the first place had I managed to get “Stay Useless” out of my head. The band are fantastic too; while previous Cloud Nothings outings might have stuck to a more stripped-down sound, Baldi recently recruited his touring band as full-time members. As a result, he now finds himself fronting one hell of a rhythm section. They really add a lot of power and energy to these tracks, making especially “Wasted Days” absolutely unstoppable. The record was also produced by [in]famous alt-rock guy Steve Albini, so you know it sounds sharp.

Attack on Memory opens with what kind of sounds like a piano on life support, and ends with Baldi attributing his longing for someone solely to the fact that they just might be as damaged as he is. In between, be prepared to get covered in all kinds of emotional bruises, some of which you’ll no doubt be explaining to friends and coworkers for weeks. Hell, the only respite on the whole damn album comes in the form of “Separation”, a three minute instrumental that somehow still manages to sound like your life falling apart. But if it’s any consolation, it at least sounds like these songs were just as hard to record as they are to listen to. At least that’s the impression I get from the way Baldi’s vocals sound as if they were forcefully wrenched from his throat, dragged kicking and screaming as if reluctant and scared to come out and face our harsh, unforgiving world. So I guess it’s true what they say: misery loves company.

Review: [3/3] Because it just hurts so damn good.

It snaps and crackles, but it certainly doesn’t pop. A visual review of Breakfast by Chiddy Bang.

Rating: [1/3] Hungry for pretty much amazing? Look further down the aisle.

Mr. Loaf needs a hug for real. A review of Hell in A Handbasket by Meat Loaf

Listen on Spotify

Chris Hall – I had this roommate in college who swore up and down that the only way he’d have sex was if Meat Loaf’s Bat Out of Hell (I or II, he wasn’t picky) was playing at a reasonably loud volume. Meet a girl in class? Meat Loaf. Bar? Meat Loaf. I made a joke about it once in front of a few friends and they all looked at me like I broke some sort of unwritten man code. Apparently everyone has sex to Meat Loaf.

I don’t have sex to Meat Loaf, but I definitely know what’s going on when I hear “You Took The Words Right Out Of My Mouth” from behind a locked door.

Since his late-70’s, early-80’s heyday though, times have been tough for Mr. Meat. Sexytime was replaced  with unrelenting fear and rage (I mean, he did almost eat Gary Busey on Celebrity Apprentice), and his songs seem to have lost a bit of their oomph. Maybe two out of three really was bad, maybe heaven really couldn’t wait, or maybe he took a few too many blue pills and had it stay up for more than four hours – who knows? What I do know is that the 21st century, with all its hi-tech gizmos and two-way-talkie devices, has been tough on Meat Loaf albums.

But on his latest album, Hell in A Handbasket, Meat is more than just upset, he’s gone full-on bitter-grandpa. And it starts right away with the soulful “All Of Me,” an autobiographical track that puts the whole Loaf on the table. Insecurities, anger, shame, fear – it’s all there. And while Ben from the Bachelor would praise its vulnerability, I can’t help but miss the days of old. The days where Meat would passionately croon about nothing more than love and love lost.

Instead, we get crunchy guitars, self-depreciating lyrics and odd guest appearances from the likes of Chuck D and Lil’ Jon (with brilliant lines like “Naw/See I’m the best daddy/you just like the rest daddy/I’m sick like a meth addict”). There’s still some good passionate highs that you come to cherish, it’s just directed differently.

Like in “Party of One” where he pours, “It gets so lonely I don’t mind/I live alone but at least my roommate knows me/I’m a party of one.” Or “Fall From Grace” with the somber “One step forward, two back/You can’t run away from that empty space/You will find your place/When you lose your way/We all will fall/We all will fall.” The heart’s obviously still there, it’s just not making a B-line for the bedroom.

But you know what, even with the disheartening lack of libido, Meat Loaf is still far more entertaining than most of the monotone drivel I hear on a daily basis. He’s broken, he’s raw,  he’s damaged, but he’s nothing if not entertaining.

Review: [2/3] Because Meat minus seasoning is still better than soy.

Dream Pop you won’t want to sleep on. A review of Interstellar by Frankie Rose.

Listen on Spotify

Trevor Ikrath – With Grimes receiving all kinds of hype and acclaim for her excellent new LP Visions and even Sleigh Bells exploring their more ethereal side, 2012 is set to be a banner year for dream pop. But while it might be tempting to spend all your time with these high profile releases, perhaps the most solid record of the year so far has just dropped courtesy of Brooklyn musician Frankie Rose. Rose has previously worked with bands such as Vivian Girls and Dum Dum Girls (whose 2010 debut deserved like twice the attention that Best Coast’s bore of a record saw), so it should come as no surprise to anybody that she knows her way around a good 60’s girl group melody. In fact, her first record, 2010’s Frankie Rose and the Outs specialized in that kind of stuff. On her new LP, however, her influences seemingly switch from the Shangri-Las to Siouxsie and the Banshees, making Interstellar less of a lo-fi garage rock affair and more of a sweet, dreamy swim through the deepest layers of your subconscious.

Interstellar’s opening title-track unfurls gently but quickly, peacefully welcoming you into the album’s dreamy haze. You’re surrounded by drifting synth pads, Rose coos some heavily-reverbed lines about some kind of interstellar highway and then your journey begins. The drums kick in hard and all of a sudden you’re rushing along that dreamy road, with some fuzzed-out guitar at your back and lunar wind blowing through your hair as you travel at five million miles an hour. Everything about the song is positively immersive, it really draws you in and sets the tone for the rest of the album. Tracks like first single “Know Me” and definite highlight “Had We Had It” feature infectious choruses, lovely guitar tones and an excellent sense of jangle that recalls Johnny Marr at his finest, all while never rousing you from the hazy state that Rose manages to envelop you in so well.

However, it’s not until about halfway through its brief runtime that the album really hits its peak. During the LP’s dreamy centerpiece “Pair of Wings”, Rose longs for flight against a backdrop of soft keyboards and ticking percussion. “Show me your scars, I’ll show you mine,” she offers, perched high above what sounds like perhaps the same city M83 gave us a tour of last year. It’s tracks like these that make the record so dreamy, so beautiful, so good.  It may only be two months into the year, but stuff like this sets the bar pretty high for the rest of 2012; I know I’d have to be pretty hopeful to think that anyone else this year might manage to release something as lovely as the kind of stuff Rose has here.

Review: [3/3] Because Frankie Rose can show me her scars anytime.

Oh the intoxicating sounds. A review of Plumb by Field Music

Listen on Spotify

Chris Hall – Wide-eyed, I stared at my desk and listened as Field Music did something I simultaneously had never heard before and had heard so many times in the past. Ten minutes in and they’d already recreated the sounds of Paul McCartney, Brian Wilson, YES and Of Montreal – and blending it together into this perfect pot (pun intended) of manic psychedelia. It was good like a good grilled cheese.

But something was amiss. Hidden amongst the silky smooth choruses and perfectly manufactured layers was this profound lack of crazy. It’s hard to spot, but after pouring over “Good Vibrations” outtakes from the Smile Sessions, you start to get the feeling that things in Plumb just came too easy. There’s no epic story of the history of the US going from east to west in chronological order and no feeling of real, tangible doom in the air – what I’m getting at is that Field Music seems sober.

The assholes made a psychedelic record in 2012 without being drugged into chemical terrors. There’s ample use of piano, violin and “alternative instruments,” but I have this gut feeling that neither of the Brewis brothers are afraid of their right arm eating the left. And that’s too bad.

Even still, it’s hard not to love the opening trio of “Start The Day Right,” “It’s Okay To Change” and “Sorry Again, Mate” with their manic tempo changes and lovable lyrics. And gosh, songs like “Guillotine” and “Who’ll Pay The Bills” are just really good. Hell, it’s even got the prerequisite creepy harmonic interlude in “How Many More Times.” Except for the lack of a really inspiring (maybe I’m looking for a different word here) drug-feuled backstory, it’s got everything I could ever want in an album.

[3/3] So yeah, fine, I guess I can’t fault the guys for not having an extremely public drug addiction. But a guy can pretend, right?

Gotye is Making Mirrors (And Good Music.)

Listen on Spotify

Stephanie Sparer – When Kevin told me I should listen Gotye’s album Making Mirrors, he prompted me with this, “I can’t review it because I’ll just say I love it and I already liked Nada Surf.”

Kevin has pretty good taste in music so now I too was worried. “Dude,” I say, “I already liked Tennis.”
“That’s different,” he assures me, but I don’t see how.

To cut things short, I fell for this Australian dude, Walter De Backer, his crazy teeth, and his four-piece band (sometimes featuring Kimbra! Who’s basically Katy Perry!) as soon as “Somebody That I Used to Know” started playing. Like, oh fuck, great. I can’t even be an asshole about this because this is his second album (where was I in 2006?) and Pitchfork picked up Making Mirrors in September. And I ignored it. (In September, I was really busy panicking about graduating college. No time for new music!)

His sound varies from ‘hipster chamber’ to 80s pop ballad to synth, which sometimes makes me wonder what the inside of his head looks like. Or at the very least, his apartment. Are his vinyls all over the place? Is Peter Gabriel laying on top of Talking Heads on his IKEA coffee table? Is Art Garfunkel wedged between Phil Collins and Chromeo on a shelf? Does he own Taylor Swift? Would this surprise her? (At least one of those answers is “yes.”)

The music varies. He bounces from that 80s Peter Gabriel sound I mentioned in “Somebody That I Used to Know” and “Eyes Wide Open,” to (Dare I say it!) Elton John’s “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” duet with Kiki Dee (sorry!) on “I Feel Better.” (If it makes you feel better, I can say he sounds like The Four Tops on that song instead? Which is also kind of true-ish.)

“In Your Light” keeps up the pace with a George Michael-y (the singer. Not the Arrested Development character) light, bouncy sound that doesn’t seem like it would be out of place during the beginning credits for a 90s romantic comedy where the guy is some yuppie living in San Francisco and the woman probably works at a diner. (Spoiler: they would find love!)

Just when you think you have Gotye all figured out, he gets ya again. (Side note: it is actually pronounced “go-tee-yay.” Go impress your friends.)

“State of the Art” is heavy with the synths, heavy with the Brave New World, and sounds like it came from a completely different album than “Somebody That I Used to Know,” which is impressive, if not daunting. Like a techno version of Arcade Fire’s “We Used to Wait,” (message-wise, not sound) it has the task of making you stop to think about how ri-god-damn-diculous all the consumerism and materialism is today.

Says the girl who works at the ad agency.

Meanwhile, “Save Me,” brings us back to the 80s and somewhere, Phil Collins smiles proudly, knowing he’s influenced a brand new generation of artists with his own heartbreaks.

But I shouldn’t be talking about the other artists right now because Gotye is great on his own. He’s like the Disneyland of music; you have your Tomorrow Land with “State of the Art,” your Adventure Land with the sexy track, “Smoke and Mirrors.” “I Feel Better,” reads as Storybook Land because he sings so cheerfully. All that’s missing is like, some dude dressed as Aladdin and a teacups ride I’m too scared to go on.

[3/3] Because it has a song for whatever mood you just happen to be in. And whatever era.

Rise, ye neophobes. A review of The Stars are Indifferent to Astronomy by Nada Surf

Listen on Spotify

Kevin Layshock — It’s almost unfair.

When I  sat down to absorb Nada Surf’s The Stars are Indifferent to Astronomy, I was, of course, eager to crank this album on a repetitive loop. Yet, writing a review about these alt veterans’ most current lap around the block is a challenge only because their twenty year career has granted them a distinct familiarity with their own sound, and they’ve grown into it well.

Nada Surf is one of the safest bands I know of, and I utilize this factoid when I feel like arguing the topic of music evolution with my pugnacious High-Fidelity-Cusack friends.

Hold on, what does this asshat mean by safe? Let me disambiguate. Lead singer Matthew Caws’ vocals are hardly able to sound any further matured than they have in the preceding three albums (remember Let Go?); hearing new Nada Surf is like grabbing a drink at a bar with an old friend, talking about meaningless things soaked in sentiment. While I’m unraveling the bar scene metaphor, Nada Surf is a band you’d likely see at a bar or nondescript club in New York, or perhaps even at a bar or nondescript New York club in a mainstream romantic comedy. If they were any safer, their entire discography would be included in panic room installations.

What you can expect in Astronomy is beautiful, old-fashioned freshness. Clear Eye Clouded Mind and The Future carry the true-spirited Nada Surf pace, while Let the Fight Do the Fighting gently compels the crestfallen to rise back up and have a little faith. None of it pushes any musical boundaries, but it doesn’t need to. Put this album on, lace up your Chucks, and go catch up with a familiar face.

Enjoy, droogs.

Review: [3/3] Because if it ain’t broke, don’t fucking touch it.

Ok, yeah, setting the world on fire sounds great. A review of Some Nights by Fun.

Listen on Spotify

Chris Hall — It’s hard to explain it when you hear it, but there’s this unmistakable New York sound that exudes from so many indie bands in the area (even indie bands fronted by native Arizonans). It’s this weird sound of hope against all odds, the sound of Brooklyn kids wearily sucking down $5 Gorilla Coffee while struggling to make it. It’s the sound I imagine blaring from the offices of Etsy and the countless 20-somethings who work all day, drink all night and rarely find time to eat.

What’s really odd about this grueling-yet-ever-so-inspiring existence is that it seems so satisfying. Seriously, I just want to go Fight Club on the world (without all the fighting) and throw out all my Ikea furniture and expensive kitchen utensils. Except this New York subculture isn’t about being minimalist, it’s about having a completely social existence while somehow finding the energy to bust your ass to afford designer labels nobody has ever heard of. It’s maddening!

And thriving in that organized chaos is Fun., the latest band to make me long for the New York experience. Like the city, Fun. is brash, theatrical and very deliberate. Beats are all of the stomp stomp, clap clap variety, and just about every song leads to some kind of buildup for added flair. Sure, it’s as formulaic as a cheap horror movie scare, but it works for me.

There are some odd quirks that bothered me though, and none are more persistent than the layered background vocals that litter far too many songs. They made sense in some instances for dramatic effect, but most of the time it was use like it was on the single, “We Are Young.” I’m not going to give the entire song a play-by-play, but ending the song with a heavy dose of layered na na na’s probably wasn’t the best choice.

Even with its glitches, Some Nights is a lovable album with a level of excitement and honesty that much of the indie field is lacking. Say what you will about the predictable formula (used in just about every song) – at least it’s not monotonous and boring. And in some bizarre way, you get this feeling you’re sharing the ever-so-elusive New York experience with the band. Just swig some overpriced scotch, turn off the lights and pretend you’re living in a 400-square-foot studio in the city. One with a washer and dryer though… I’m far too west coast to deal with the laundromat.

Review: [3/3] It has its flaws, but it’s honest and dramatic in all the right ways.