Margo Price Catalyzes the Country Renaissance on 'Midwestern Farmer's Daughter'

If you don’t live in Nashville, then you may or may not be privy to the country music “resurgence” happening within the city. The critically condemned bro-country supposedly (I only say this because it's not like bro-country has been eradicated) has met its match at the hands of “throwback” country artists like Christ Stapleton, Sturgill Simpson, and for some reason, Jason Isbell - whose Americana stylings are lazily thrown into the mix.

That being said, there’s nothing wrong with bro-country if you enjoy a little dirt road chilling or whatever, that’s cool - sure, Florida Georgia Line sucks, but Luke Bryan seems like a pretty nice guy, and Sam Hunt is doing some cool stuff. Granted, I am grateful for some much-needed country-western escapism in music, but there in lies the problem – non-country connoisseurs consider it as nothing more than deft escapism that is slowly building into a trend.

While the emergence of Stapleton – a man who spent over a decade as the songwriting king of Nashville – and his recent run of headlining festival announcements has helped provide a more substantial stage for country artists of all creeds, there’s still a substantial underrepresentation of the number of exceptional female “throwback” country artists such as Kacey Musgraves, Nikki Lane, and Aubrie Sellers. Now, some of these kick-ass country queens have gotten their just share of media coverage – namely Musgraves – but their records still go largely unnoticed by the masses. I understand that music is a largely subjective field, and it would be unfair to try and shove artists down listeners’ throats, but artists like Musgraves and the criminally underrated Lane deserve to be heard.

My best guess as to why the new-school of old-school female country artists have yet to get their due recognition is the awful taste of country Taylor Swift and Big Machine left in the mouths, eyes, ears, and minds of listeners. We grew rightfully sick of her calculated precociousness, but an unfortunate casualty in the annoying nature of T-Swift’s modus operandi were the real women of country music. After years of genuinely talented artists being largely underappreciated, old school country music may have finally found its queen to properly rule along Stapleton –the hard-drinking, heavy-living country balladeer turned Jack White protégé – Ms. Margo Price.

Price is the first country artist signed to Jack White’s Third Man Records label, and such an ascription might finally be the big name endorsement necessary for a country artist to be taken seriously by the non-country masses. Chris Stapleton is a certainly a self-made man who has had his fair share of help along the way, but he received a “legitimizing” bump from his and Justin Timberlake’s duet performance of his song “Tennessee Whiskey” at the 2015 CMA Awards. Jack White is of course one of those musical entities that has achieved demigod status – a la JT – that offers a “can do no wrong” standing amongst many music aficionados and casuals alike.  It’s an unfortunate reality within country music – the political style endorsement needed to validate an artist’s cultural relevance – but such is the nature of those who are afraid to venture into new sonic realms (listeners, that is, not Stapleton or Price).

Order the "Hurtin' (On The Bottle)" 7" single with non-album B-Side "Desperate and Depressed" from Third Man Records HERE: http://thirdmanstore.com/margo-price-hurtin-on-the-bottle-7-vinyl "Hurtin' (on the Bottle)" is the first single from Margo Price & The Pricetags upcoming record MIDWEST FARMER'S DAUGHTER, coming March 2016 on Third Man Records.

Price has been picking up some considerable steam in relation to the release of her debut record, Midwestern Farmer’s Daughter, thanks in large part to a stellar SXSW run and a slew of fantastic television appearances – peek her killer Colbert debut – that have manifested into a fever pitch of anticipation for a consummate country record. In short, Midwestern Farmer’s Daughter is a country record through and through, but it features some new age sensibilities in regard to its lyricism and occasional non-country tonalities.

Midwestern Farmer’s Daughter opens with “Hands of Time,” a title that might possibly imply the much-ballyhooed nature of Price’s overall “sound,” a little bit Dolly Parton meets clichéd fictionalism, as the fun country sentiments of yesteryear – prosaic references of working hard at a young age, wanting to do right by her parents, busting her ass, etc. It seems a little too purposeful with its sentiments, almost as if to sucker in nostalgia addicts who bought into the heavy “throwback” country hype. It’s a lovely song, as a steady stream of percussive string hits and meandering banjo and steel guitar present a set lovely (but underutilized) scene.

Second track and one of two singles, “About to Find Out,” is a highlight. Price opines new age feminism through the lens of Southern cynicism, with some fantastic breaks for her stellar backing band to hit hard on licks and drive the unapologetic country girl vibe home. It's a sort of testosterone ridden woman’s rally cry to warn any man that might cross her. “Tennessee Song” feels like an obligatory addition to Midwestern Farmer’s Daughter - as she references both I-65 and 440 West – familiar country motifs that feel more like placeholders than personal signifiers. The chorus of “Let’s go back to Tennessee” feels like another latitudinarian sentiment that becomes a recurrent theme on the album; on one song Price might be a hard-nosed, kick-ass woman (when she’s at her best), while on the next song she’s love-addled and pining for her man (not quite her best).

Cleanup track “Since You Put Me Down” acts as an open letter to a former lover that left Price – or her unnamed narrator for the record, its never quite clear – wilting and dejected, as she “been trying to turn [her] broken heart to stone.” It’s a fun song that echoes the classic sentiments of Dolly or Emmylou Harris doing their damndest to stand upright while expressing petty sentiments with little remorse. “Since You Put Me Down,” is one of the smoothest tracks from a musical standpoint, as well, as the cool ballad turns into an ambling country manifesto for Price’s steel guitar player to display his immeasurable chops. Now that we’ve hit the meat of Midwestern Farmer’s Daughter, it seems fitting that Price would throw a curve ball in the form of “Four Years of Chances,” that resembles the strange country/disco era, as Price reminds the anonymous recipient of her ire that he’s been given more than enough time to atone for his shortcomings. Once again, the lyrics leave a little to be desired – mostly in regard to the modern woman with old school influences versus the modern woman trying to capitalize on nostalgia for a certain sound – which effectively means there’s not much lyrical depth, but damn does her band sound good. Like really good.

We pass the halfway mark of the record and we finally get our first taste of Price’s Nashville story – or at least a story revolving around Nashville – “This Town Gets Around.” Judging from the song title, one might assume that the title personification might provide an allegorical subtext for the track, but not quite. That being said, it’s one of Price’s best tracks in terms of tongue in cheek word play like “Well as the saying goes / It's not who you know / But it's who you blow that’ll put you in the show.” It's by far and away the most endearing track, mostly for the smack-you-in-the-ass-then-give-you-a-wink writing paired with a classic country swing.

The next few tracks are more or less familiar reimagining’s of earlier tracks – highlights being the preeminent country western swing sound of “Weekender,” a habitual drunk tanker’s manifesto which leads into the track that started the Margo-mania, “Hurtin’ On the Bottle,” an early favorite for best song title of 2016 – but also begins to highlight one of the troubling realities of Margo Price: a far too familiar sound that’s more reminiscent than fresh. It almost feels like country music as desperate for their Chris Stapleton female analogue, and Kacey Musgraves and Nikki Lane were far too well established to shoulder the burden, so the onus was ascribed to Price. Its an interesting consideration when you consider that Price and Stapleton’s stories are somewhat parallel – Stapleton spent years as a member of The Steeldrivers, a formidable, but middling country group; in congruence, Price fronted Buffalo Clover, but took off once she went solo.

Midwestern Farmer’s Daughter goes out with a whimper, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing – “World’s Greatest Lover” is a well meaning ballad that expresses the sweetest country love sentiments, but its all too formulaic to invigorate the records grand finale, “Desperate and Depressed.” A song title that might elicit an eye roll from those who are familiar with the most recurrent country motifs, but “Desperate and Depressed,” actually works as a serviceable sendoff of Price’s first record. Midwestern Farmer’s Daughter is a damn good debut record, but a so-so country record – it doesn’t quite reach Kacey Musgraves’ Pageant Material and pales in comparison to Stapleton’s opus, Traveller, but it makes for an interesting experiment. Stapleton and Musgraves benefit from major label backing, while Price works independently, either as the pioneer of indie-country, or the eventual martyr who never quite found her “own” sound. Price means well on Midwestern Farmer’s Daughter - and she hits a lot of great notes - which certainly point to a tenured and exceptional career, but a part of me fears that she could end up falling victim to a recent nostalgia trend. She’s the type of girl to go her own way, and hopefully in the future, she begins to carve a more substantial path that builds upon Midwestern Farmer’s Daughter.

Iggy Pop Signals His Departure On 'Post Pop Depression'

Iggy Pop has got to be the single most overlooked “legend” in music (settle down, Mudhoney and Tears for Fears fans, it's just an opinion) – the guy has outlived contemporaries, pivoted with coming trends, more than stayed afloat following his departure from The Stooges, and never failed to impress with his frenetic style on stage despite being a spry 68 years old.

Pop is also the source of some of the finest tour diary anecdotes, including my personal favorite: Iggy Pop was once duped into opening for Flock of Seagulls in the 1980s. Understandably flummoxed by the disregard for his pedigree, Pop did what Pop does best – cause a scene. Enlisting the help of the tour’s production crew to craft a giant wooden cross, he painted his face green, and would drag the giant cross out on stage every night with the bewildering face paint only heightening his stage histrionics, which eventually got him kicked off the tour. It’s artists like Iggy that allow for present day “mavericks,” “renegades,” “free-spirits,” “weirdos,” etc. to perform in deranged manners minus any real career detriment.

A bastion of punk, proto-punk, art rock, and everything in between, Iggy has spent a lifetime of cavorting and writhing around on stage, and for 23 albums – including 5 Stooges records, one James Williamson collaboration, and 17 solo records (which includes a cover album recorded entirely in French, Apres) – he has managed to maintain his status as rock music’s most adept chameleon. His seamless transition from collaborator extraordinaire on his Skull Ring record in 2003 – featuring Green Day, The Stooges, The Trolls, Peaches, and Sum 41 – to his jazz record inspired by Michel Houllebecq’s novel La Possibilite d’une iˆle, Preliminaires in 2009; we’ve seen Iggy Pop cover just about every musical base a punk rocker from Ann Arbor, Michigan could conceive.

To that notion, anything that Iggy Pop puts out from this point on – be it a solo record, a compilation, b-sides, demos, or covers – should be celebrated as yet another fine accoutrement that adorns the already spectacular apparatus that is Iggy Pop’s discography. Unfortunately, when music legends release projects in the twilight of their careers, the efforts do necessarily ensure a maintenance of the gravitas that’s become synonymous with their name (looking at you, Bob Dylan’s Shadows In the Night). Fortunately, such a shortcoming is not the case with Iggy Pop’s most recent release, Post Pop Depression - a record so incomparable with past Iggy efforts, it could be argued that the former Stooges front man’s collaborative effort with Queens of the Stone Age front man-turned-super-producer Josh Homme could be the finest release of Iggy Pop’s career to date.

A nine-track sonic exploration of Iggy Pop’s Joshua Tree retreat – where Homme’s studio is located – Post Pop Depression features an unofficial “supergroup” as Iggy’s backing band – Josh Homme (Queens of the Stone Age, Them Crooked Vultures), Dean Fertita (QOTSA, The Dead Weather), and Matt Helders (Arctic Monkeys) – helping provide some of the fullest sounds ever featured on an Iggy Pop record. Post Pop Depression opens with “Break Into Your Heart,” a track that prominently features Iggy’s vocals asserting the affirmative recognition of Pop’s career, fueled by physical force and creeping persistence. The Homme production influence is practically instantaneous, as the warping synth and guitar sound akin to QOTSA’s Era Vulgaris tones, melded with the Arctic Monkeys’ Humbug style-rhythm and unobtrusive percussion (recorded at Joshua Tree by Homme), both of which provide the robust sonic anchor as the perfect inverse to Iggy Pop’s sinewy vocal proclivities.

As Post Pop Depression ventures further, the Homme hand becomes more and more noticeable – but in the best of ways – as “Gardenia” sounds like QOTSA’s “The Blood is Love” meets “Make It Wit Chu;” playful with hints of indignation. The bellowing timbre of Iggy Pop’s voice makes the poppy chorus – “All I wanna do is tell Gardenia what to do tonight.” – sound purposefully comical.

Third track, “American Valhalla,” is an interesting congruence of Iggy Pop ideology mixed with fairly unconventional instrumentation – at least for Iggy Pop. A song that originated from a Homme instrumental demo title “Shitty Demo,” featuring vibraphone and steel drum “motifs.” Interestingly enough, the vibraphone is turned off the entire track, so the noise adds yet another peculiar facet to an already strange steel drum melody. The Valhalla – an afterlife destination for only the most indomitable of warriors - focus stems from Homme and Iggy Pop’s text dialogue oriented on whether or not there is in fact an American Valhalla. Iggy Pop then spent the following day singing along with the track, eventually settling on possible answers to his original question – “I’ve shot my gun / I’ve used my knife / This hasn’t been an easy life  /I’m hoping for American Valhalla.” The rest of the song is considerably moving for an artist best known for societal skewering and romping around on stage.

The middle portion of Post Pop Despression begins to groove in a more familiar Iggy Pop fashion. “In The Lobby” features some deft stick work from Arctic Monkeys drummer Matt Helders – a man whose involvement in his primary gig is already criminally under-acknowledged – helping provide a tight winnowing beat for Iggy Pop to prance around lyrically. Iggy Pop explores the realities of his inevitable age, and his shift from his peak to his his considerably more restrained present; death and disconnect becoming more and more apparent as album motifs.

Being a 68-year-old master of punk music, Iggy Pop could have accepted his peremptory status, continually speaking out against societal niceties and pitfalls (though “Sunday” explores Iggy Pop’s thoughts on corporatized living), but instead, he grapples with the banality of his eventual departure – well aware that his death is inevitable. It’s a perspective in music that has rarely been explored – someone totally comfortable with their life’s work, but still trying to feed the beast that is “purpose.” Songs like “Vulture” concern themselves with the unfortunate reality of being an aging public figure, running into people angling for some sort of financial reward for their end-of-life courtship; thus the songs title. “German Days” sees a return to the heavy-Homme’d soundscapes – thick base lines paired with airy guitar licks, as Homme even provides backing vocals that basically whittle German culture down into a four minute and forty eight second ode. “Chocolate” is an unexpected surprise for an album that has already established its rock-heavy trappings, featuring bells and chimes over a cool disco beat, it’s the first track on the album that really suggests this may be the last album we ever see from Iggy Pop.

If Post Pop Depression is in fact Iggy Pop’s definitive punctuating mark on his famously ungovernable career, it’s about as good a note he can go out on as any. Pre-meditated closing statements can be sad affairs – Glen Campbell’s Ghost on Canvas – and other times oddly premonitory – David Bowie's ★ – but this closing statement feels nothing like either of those sentiments. Post Pop Depression feels like the first of many further installments in Iggy Pop’s marathon-man career – forever indomitable in every aspect, and wry as ever – but then again, for a guy that’s been frolicking around shirtless on stage for the past 50 years, that may be the best way to go out.

The Magnetic North Explores Simon Tong's Transcendentalist Hometown in 'Prospect of Skelmersdale'

Bringing an album into existence is no small task. It’s the ultimate culmination of an artist’s expression and is - in most instances - an unceremoniously intimate endeavor. Maintaining that intimacy while orienting a collection of songs to become a living, breathing embodiment of a concept, memory, or place can be doubly as daunting.

Considering such notions, the prospect of creating a representative musical snapshot that combines the triumvirate of aforementioned sentiments almost inevitably runs the risk of falling flat – either by being too specific for those unfamiliar with the subject, or even worse, by not meeting the expectations of those most familiar. While regarding hypothetical listeners’ individual receptions of a conceptual or representative work is hopefully absent from the creative process, it is exactly what makes conceptual pieces a perilous undertaking.

Nevertheless, such hyperbolic scenarios have yet to reach the awareness of The Magnetic North – a conceptually fueled rock symphony outfit fronted by one of the UK's most ubiquitous guitarist/keyboardists, Simon Tong (blur, Gorillaz, The Verve, The Good, the Bad & the Queen, and Erland & the Carnival) – having created an altogether beguiling and transporting musical rendering of Skelmersdale, England, The Prospect of Skelmersdale.

Originally designated as a site for UK population redistribution in the 1960s, Skelmersdale floundered as a council estate village for almost two decades until the Transcendental Meditation (TM) movement unexpectedly revitalized the town in the early 1980s. The establishment of the town as the official UK capital for the TM movement injected new life in the struggling village, as families devoted to the teachings of the maharishi flocked to the Skelmersdale. Amongst those the zealous masses converging on Skelmersdale was the family of The Magnetic North’s Tong, whose past relation and experiences connected to the town acted as the primary inspirational force behind the LP.

To understand The Prospect of Skelmersdale, one must first understand how The Magnetic North operates and came into being. Tong, along with Erland Cooper (Erland and the Carnival) and Hannah Peel (John Foxx and the Maths), came together in 2012 to create an album based on a dream Cooper had in which an apparition told him to produce a record focusing on his home of Orkney, Scotland. Consisting of pastoral (and symphonic) depictions of features unique to Orkney, the trio released Orkney: Symphony of the Magnetic North, and thus The Magnetic North was born.

Originally intended as a one-off endeavor, The Prospect of Skelmersdale came into consideration - after some third party encouragement - when the trio gathered to determine what their next effort would look like. Somewhat influenced by the locational focus of their first album, it was Peel’s curiosity about Tong’s past life in Skelmersdale that oriented The Magnetic North to zero in on the once promising community.

Taken from the new album "Prospect Of Skelmersdale" out 18th March 2016. Pre-order CD / LP / DL here: http://fulltimehobby.sandbaghq.com/the-magnetic-north-prospect-of-skelmersdale.html

Prospect of Skelmersdale wastes no time in transporting the listener to a wholly tangible auditory analogue of Skelmersdale, opening with “Jai Guru Dev,” an introductory piece that features choral vocals and audio from the dedication of the TM movement’s “Golden Dome;” establishing an over-arching theme that is simultaneously hopeful and mysterious, along with the TM movement motifs. The Prospect of Skelmersdale operates in a series of musical vignettes that assist in setting the overall tone of the record, with tracks like “Pennylands” and “A Death in the Woods” maintaining the optimistic outlook so many people associated with the community. The compositional prowess of Peel rings true on “Pennylands,” (an actual location in Skelmersdale) as the combined vocals of the trio offer hopeful melodies spread over dubiously tense strings that ebb and flow over driving (yet discerning) percussion.

A perspective shift from its preceding track, “A Death in the Woods” maintains a more realistic assessment of Skelmersdale – a prospective paradise that never fully reaches its presumed potential. The track shifts from a relatively subdued narrative nature into a full-blown electro symphony, as the phrase “We only came by on our way to paradise” echo into the song’s frenzied end, and in turn officially bringing the listener to Skelmersdale. Clean up track, “Sandy Lane,” echoes the same bright sentiments expressed in “A Death in the Woods,” as the combined group vocals narrate the colorful sentiments “You are golden too…” presumably a reference to the Golden temple or some relation to the TM community as light woodwind lead the song out into the middle portion of the album.

Prospect of Skelmersdale consists of individual snapshots varying in their connection to the town itself, with the body of the album providing some of the most vivid depictions. The album’s initial single, “Signs,” features more archival audio promoting the town itself, while the song’s lyrics maintain a loving assertion of wanting what’s best for someone literally waiting for a sign. Follow up tracks “Little Jerusalem” and “Remains of Elmer” begin to diverge from the established tone of hope and optimism shift into more (at least sonically) ominous songs - talks of mediation and outright order and harmony being viewed in dream like lenses, as if to acknowledgment the fledgling prospects of Skelmersdale.

The final third of Prospect of Skelmersdale coincides with the beginning of a figurative (and literal: “Exit”) exit from the town, featuring some of the strongest connections to the TM community. “Exit” brings about a quiet instructional verse that directs an unidentified listener to say goodbye to something or someone (Skelmersdale perhaps?), while maintaining an acknowledgement of some higher purpose. “The Silver Birch” and “Northway Southway” provide more illuminating lyricism and hopeful musical perspectives speaking to future opportunities.

Prospect of Skelmersdale ends in a manner that resembles the albums’ inception – with a serendipitous cover of a George Harrison song, “Run of the Mill.” Harrison was a noted disciple of TM, and according to Tong the cover came about when Peel and her friend Laura Groves were playing the song. Coincidence aside, the rendition is a beautiful song to include on the album, and arguably the perfect track to go out on – with its TM adjacent relation, as well as its exeunt nature.

For as complex and atypical a context the town of Skelmersdale features, The Magnetic North managed to encapsulate aspects of the town that evoke lush pastoral scenes seemingly foreign to a town that has been all but forgotten. Despite Tong’s more than twenty years of being removed from the township, he manages to guide the trio in a particularly deft representation of a unique environment, creating a capsule that is suitable for all to experience both sonically and spiritually. If the expectations for a once auspicious community faded, the outlook is bound to shift thanks in large part to Tong, The Magnetic North, and The Prospect of Skelmersdale.

Taken from the new album "Prospect of Skelmersdale" out 18th March 2016 on Full Time Hobby. Pre-order CD / LP / DL here: http://bit.ly/1PiF3qp

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Read our interview with Simon Tong of The Magnetic North here.

'You and I’ Exhibits Jeff Buckley at His Most Candid

American ignorance withheld Jeff Buckley’s first appearance at the Billboard No. 1 position for 11 years after his untimely 1997 death. Through the lens of America’s gross underappreciation for an artist its people almost exclusively know through his cover of Leonard Cohen, a posthumous album comprised mostly of cover songs seems to be a miracle. Yet even through the European perspective which appropriately views Jeff Buckley as a guitar virtuoso and the true voice of a generation, the posthumous album of unreleased Buckley material entitled You and I still seems to be a miracle. 

Popular culture has deferred Buckley into the role of the wallflower amongst the greats of 90s rock. Scarcely referred to as a legend for his guitar playing ability, his touch and dexterity on the fretboard rival that of Jimmy Page. His voice, often criticized for its overt emotionalism, covers ground between Nina Simone and Robert Plant. Never had there been a more perfect archetype for music greatness and never had such a talented presence on earth been so brief. Though the years past prevent You and I from having the same satiating effect that Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk had the year following Buckley’s death, You and I revives an early image of the young and burgeoning talent by revisiting his artistic self-discovery. 

Buckley’s haunting aura is immediately felt in the negative space surrounding Buckley’s guitar trills on the opening Bob Dylan cover “Just Like a Woman.” His guitar playing is simultaneously inviting and distant, sparse but flawless. His gentle strumming yields the foreground to his voice until stingingly precise guitar solos command attention. His singing balances grit and levity while delivering Dylan’s lyrics, sounding tenderly affectionate at times and then seductively crass at others.  

His cover of Sly & the Family Stone’s “Everyday People” builds upon a street busker aesthetic that is reminiscent of his live performances at Sin-é. The young Buckley’s voice reveals his eagerness for the spotlight, singing “Sometimes I’m right / Others I’m wrong” with a humble softness that allows his vocal projection to explode at the chorus. He whittles the song down to a light conga introduction, percussively strummed guitars, and quivering vocals, making a very wholesome performance out of a song that most would consider disastrously empty without the accompaniment of bass and horns. 

Buckley is his best on You and I’s most balladic moments. His cover of Jevetta Steele’s “Calling You” is bone-shavingly harrowing. When considered alongside his supremely confident performance of “Everyday People,” the Jevetta Steele cover legitimizes Buckley’s ease in navigating the soul/R&B genre from its most euphoric peaks to its most lonesome plateaus. He demonstrates that same variability across genres as well, expanding his range with blues standard covers of “Don’t Let the Sun Catch You Cryin’” and “Poor Boy Long Way from Home.” 

You and I challenges both Grace and Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk as Buckley’s most intimate studio release. His elaboration upon the dream which inspired the album’s title track adds a conversational quality to a deeply personal connection with listeners built throughout the album. The hold that Buckley’s performances takes on listeners is so compelling that we mourn the album’s close in almost the same way we mourn his death; we find it immensely difficult to let go of him. His acoustic rendition of The Smith’s “I Know It’s Over” ominously sings of life coming to a close; his air is angelic as he sings “I can feel the soil falling over my head.” The greatest credit that can be afforded to him for this performance is how he congests the emptiness left around Morrissey’s original vocals. The song carries much more fluidly than the original without sacrificing Morrissey’s desperate tone; rather, enhancing the lyrics’ desperation with heightened emotion and rawness. 

Those who cherish Jeff Buckley’s work tend to elevate his legacy to a mythological stature, to the point where the organic qualities of his artistry seem to evaporate. No other Jeff Buckley album takes on a greater mythological ambience, yet You and I features some of his most unembellished and candid work. You and I presents the fragile sounds of an impassioned artist prior to fame and the mythos which followed. It is a cuttingly reductive experience, unpretentious, emotionally stirring, and powerfully evocative. 

Kendrick Lamar’s 'untitled unmastered.' Masters the Art of Compilation

After a major label debut that was heralded as one of the greatest by any artist in music history, the question of how Kendrick Lamar would follow 2012’s good kid, m.A.A.d city lingered for three years until the release of To Pimp a Butterfly. Two ambitiously conceptual albums later, Kendrick Lamar has validated his status as “greatest rapper alive,” achieving both street credibility as the liquid-tongued antagonist on his infamous “Control” verse and institutional distinction as the second most-Grammy-nominated artist in a single year (behind Michael Jackson). But recent success found K. Dot occupying a familiar place beneath the pressure of elevated expectation for his future work. untitled unmastered. seems to add levity to his predicament. 

A compilation album seems to be the perfect response to the insurmountable opus of To Pimp a Butterfly. A collection of unreleased Kendrick Lamar material recorded prior to his sophomore release, untitled unmastered allows us to see how To Pimp a Butterfly took shape, documenting the uncertainty and reservation of Lamar’s foray into an overwhelmingly jazz soundscape while furthering appreciation for what TPaB came to be. What is arguably untitled unmastered.’s greatest attribute is how malleably it fits into the Kendrick Lamar catalogue: it is simultaneously an appetizer and palate cleanser for To Pimp a Butterfly with production that could be traced as far back as 2011’s Section.80 (released independently through Top Dawg Entertainment). It is fitting that these new songs can only be referenced by number and date, because collectively they adopt a seamless identity that blends into the patchwork of Lamar’s total output. 

untitled unmastered. explores themes that we expect to be dissected in a Kendrick Lamar album: institutional injustice, the formation of identity in the ghetto, Lamar’s status as a hip-hop icon, religious conviction, and self-awareness. Intellectually, the album does not contribute anything that hasn’t already been dealt with on either of Lamar’s major releases. What makes the album interesting is how Lamar tests his lyrical and vocal abilities on jazz platforms. “untitled 02” and “untitled 06” offer Kendrick Lamar at his most vocally eclectic. Like the other songs on the album, they present themselves as the sources of confidence through which songs like “For Free?” and “u” were realized. 

While most of the album sounds like a progression towards TPaB, the production of several songs from untitled unmastered. are glaringly retrospective. The ominous synth loop of “untitled 01” is reminiscent of Section.80’s most menacing instrumentals, while the trap instrumentals of “untitled 02” and “untitled 07” reflect the emerging popularity of trap music in the early decade and the chop-and-screwed aesthetic of the 2000s. Undoubtedly the highlight of the album, “untitled 05” builds upon a funky bass line with rich horns, piano accents, and lyrical contributions from Ab-Soul and Jay Rock. Kendrick delivers his first verse with a fiery presence, later mellowing to the introspectively analytic tone of his Top Dawg counterparts. The TDE presence is surprisingly the least impressive of the guest features included on the album. The tracklist is scattered with high-profile contributions from jazz and R&B music. Robert Glasper and Thundercat both provide instrumental work, while Bilal and Cee-Lo Green, who bewilderingly merges the inflection of Nina Simone with the melodic play of Chaka Khan on “untitled 06,” lend their voices. 

As a compilation album, untitled unmastered. should be received as such, and a very fine one in fact. At a time when B-side collections have either altogether disappeared or been dismissed because of their stigmatic classification as “filler,” Kendrick Lamar has managed to hold the attention of those who crave riveting instrumental performances, complex lyrical structures, and socio-politically conscious contemplations.

Witness Låpsley's Impassioned Debut 'Long Way Home'

Debuts in music can be daunting and altogether treacherous endeavors. Artist development requires a deft touch – some artists succeed and capitalize fully on their first foray (see - Courtney Barnett), others simply burn out (see - JEFF the Brotherhood), or even worse, sometimes extensive anticipation can remove a promising artist from the public consciousness altogether (see – Sampha). Nevertheless, the point of the matter in debuting an artist consists of concerted effort and at times, unadulterated luck; all that to be said, of the handful of hotly anticipated debutants (Shura, Kehlani, Conrad Sewell) in 2016, few have summited the mountain of hype coinciding with their respective debuts as gracefully as XL gem, Låpsley.

At 19, Holly Lapsley Fletcher emanates a wizened perspective in her music that feels most akin to being the secret love child of Adele and James Blake. Since 2013, under the name Låpsley, she has been putting out dreamy minimalist electro pop – Monday EP independently and Understudy EP through XL – that connects with the listener in a visceral manner that’s its almost bewildering to consider the creator’s age. Her breakout track in 2014 (and third track on her debut), “Falling Short” is an austere song filled with tasteful production and self-aware lyrics – “Its been a long time coming, but I’m falling short” – that imbues a feeling of Låpsley’s jilted perspective in regard to a relationship long gone, or considering her age, maybe recent.

Låpsley’s debut album, Long Way Home, extends the mature tones present in her EPs to fully introduce a rare occurrence amongst debuting artist – full faith that she will not fall short of expectation. Opening track “Heartless” is one of the record’s fuller tracks – the slightest of departures from the minimal approach of prior Låpsley efforts – but it only enhances Låpsley’s prospects. Rather than stick to creating analogues of tracks that garnered her early notoriety, she expands her sonic spectrum with a single track on her debut.

A former single, “Hurt Me,” follows “Heartless,” and it once again showcases Låpsley’s versatility within her musical realm. The track is effectively the album’s outright anthem – coming to grips with a relationship gone awry – with Låpsley’s voice effortlessly shifting from soft murmurs into lung filled crescendos. All the while, the production is bigger, more vibrant than the tasteful minimalism of a “Falling Short,” but all the while feels unique to Låpsley.

Two more pre-release singles follow “Hurt Me;” “Falling Short” and “Cliff.” Of the first half of the album, “Cliff” is by far and away the strongest track. It runs the gauntlet of Låpsley’s sonic spectrum – echoing backing vocals, observational lyricism, minimalist production that explodes in a Jamie xx-esque club beat. The accompanying video for “Cliff” even fits the uniform mold of Låpsley minimalism; with Låpsley standing in the snow and simple camera zooms in and out on her face.

Where “Cliff” is the all around best track on Long Way Home, subsequent “Operator (He Doesn’t Call Me)” is the most empowered. With a sample at the onset, and a disco heavy beat to follow, the track also exhibits some of Låpsley’s strongest vocal work, with bellowing “My baby doesn’t call me / So tell me shit I needed to,” that give water to the occasional Adele comparisons.

The next four offerings on Long Way Home – “Painter,” “Tell Me The Truth,” “Station,” “Love Is Blind” – are more lyrically driven tracks that explore more of Låpsley’s perspectives of love, attraction, and relationships. Granted, some tracks are centered on less than fresh concepts – “love is blind with the lights out” – but others (“Station”) reveal seasoned perspectives of a skillful written voice – “Two for the taking, you can have it all at once if it makes you sane” – that’s unafraid to speak from personal experience.

The closing fourth of Long Way Home is comprised of “Silverlake,” an all-knowing narrative journey of a jaded perspective of a relationship somehow associated with the Los Angeles neighborhood of the same name – “Beautiful now, but soon you’ll be gone / By Silverlake I left a stake in the sun.” Closer, “Seven Months,” seems to be the most offertory – “Seven months I gave myself / Every night I’d say how I had my doubt” – and rounds out as one of the most finessed tracks on the record, blending Låpsley’s familiar minimalist sound with a meandering melody. Arguably the most amorphic of tracks on Long Way Home, it offers a glimpse into the future bevy of avenues Låpsley could choose to take on LP #2.

Long Way Home is altogether a triumphant introduction to an artist whose potential exceeds that of most acts in similar points of their careers. She approaches her production with a deft touch that seamlessly engages the listener with each facet of the music. Her lyricism is strong, but at times can leave more to be desired, but that’s almost certainly because of her age. As far as debuts are concerned, Låpsley’s is arguably the best this year to date, and is undoubtedly the first of many exceptional future records to come.  

Spend Some Time on Dear Blanca's 'I Don't Mean to Dwell'

Hailing from Columbia, South Carolina, Dear Blanca is of a much different yolk than Post-Echo labelmates Gláss and Art Contest; on their new EP I Don’t Mean To Dwell, the trio swings through barreling passages that are at once steady and coherent bursts of energy very reminiscent of Springsteen yet still in its own way.  

Dylan Dickerson's raspy and emotive vocals are both sardonic and somber in character, which makes for a good dichotomy considering the range of dynamics on the album.  Songs like “Joint Effort” have lines as funny as “Look at me I’m demanding your attention,” but at the same time there is a sense of deep sadness and existential crisis. On “Temporary Solution,” the vocals take on a slightly less jagged quality, but still resound with a deep sense of longing.

Dear Blanca's sound is deeply tied to classic rock, but does so much on its own terms. I Don't Mean to Dwell brings a fervent energy to this somewhat overwrought style as they manage to make it their own with what seems to be surprising ease and finesse, putting forward yet another solid release of their own blissfully potent brand of rock.  

Dear Blanca I Don't Mean to Dwell (03/04/2016) http://Post-Echo.com http://DearBlanca.com Available to purchase via: iTunes - http://apple.co/1QvCaaG Bandcamp - http://bit.ly/1nfZFsD Post-Echo Music Store - http://bit.ly/1ZJvM06 Find Dear Blanca on Facebook - on.fb.me/1Pgyb1n Spotify - http://bit.ly/21btwj7

Mount Moriah Pays Homage to Home on 'How to Dance'

Mount Moriah has all the trappings of a band that should be more popular than it is – an unapologetic front woman with lyrical chops that would make Bob Dylan blush, and a combination jazz/country/soul that’s remarkably smooth – but somehow, the North Carolina trio has yet to receive proper recognition. Despite such career hurdles, the band has remained indomitable, tirelessly touring in support of their critically acclaimed second record, Miracle Temple for the better part of a three year span.

Even with the rave reviews that coincided with the promotion of Miracle Temple, Front woman Heather McEntire struggled with the depressive sophomore slump that seems to inevitably strike artists as their careers begin to take form. Career existentialism has been known to derail promising young act like Mount Moriah before ever reaching the zeitgeist, but the Merge signees remained ever vigilant, eventually reconvening to start LP 3.

Mount Moriah’s perseverance grew a head of steam, building momentum that swelled into a sumptuous collection of alt-country rock tracks worthy of the utmost praise. Where Mount Moriah’s prior discography tended to meander every which way sonically, their third record, How to Dance, has an invigorated sense that felt unwittingly absent in their previous efforts.

How to Dance opens smoothly with “Calvander,” a narrative ballad of sweet Southern wanderlust, presumably set in the eponymous town – Jenks’ boogie guitar sounds ambling along as McEntire waveringly asserts her feminine independence, “I swear to God, tonight those Jackson boys ain’t gonna find sweet company.” Follow-up track, “Precita,” continues McEntire’s narrative rambles, as the album begins to take a more autobiographical form - apocryphal or not. The track chugs along, as McEntire builds a lush lyrical landscape with her voice serving as a vocal analog to Dolly Parton or Stevie Nicks.

Sonically, How to Dance serves as Mount Moriah’s most precise album to date, with unfettered Southern twang help the album maintain its purposefully aimless wandering, illuminating key North Carolina motifs that Mount Moriah have grown so proud to champion. “Baby Blue,” feels particularly keen on uplifting the band’s civic pride (for those who aren’t familiar, the University of North Carolina – Chapel Hill’s primary color is baby blue), creating a wonderfully idiomatic love ballad thanks in large part to McEntire’s lyrics – “Bright eyes at sunrise/It’s a haunting privilege”– and soft loping percussion.

One of the defining features of How to Dance is the record’s earnest devotion to true country, all the while expressing the collective genre appreciation in the most modern way possible without going full “throwback” (think Margo Price, Nikki Lane). Granted, that’s not a knock against Price or Lane, but How to Dance feels like an album you could play to anybody with Antebellum sensibilities and not complain about direct imitation or “watering down” of the country genre. It’s a clever angle on a genre whose most innovative successes of the past decade have come in the form of iconoclasts (once more, not a knock; Chris Stapleton and Sturgill Simpson are true deserving of their praise). Some tracks deviate ever so slightly from the genre– take “Fox in the City,” is a new-age country ballad that celebrates the same ethereal mysticism of the South, but feels more like a blues-y The Verve track, with McEntire’s vocals layered on top of each other while strings occupy the bridge.

The album as a whole acts as an innocuously unapologetic anthology of Mount Moriah’s allegorical association with their native North Carolina and the South in general. It asserts a sort of indignance that assures the listener that having some less than flattering things in one’s past don’t necessarily mean a connection should be totally eliminated. Instead, the album is a confirmation that associating with a place is more than just atoning for a checkered past, rather focusing on the personal connection within oneself.

Future Islands Side-Project The Snails Makes Playfulness Cool Again on 'Songs From the Shoebox'

Though formed as early as 2008, Future Islands side project The Snails had graced us with little more than 2013’s killer Worth The Wait EP before their full-length debut dropped ahead of schedule this week. (Even if you had never heard of them until recently, you may be familiar with the mollusk motif from the adorable smiling snails adorning the envelopes from past ticket giveaways.) Initially tracked back in 2013, Songs from the Shoebox was slowly overdubbed and mixed over the years in between their main band’s tours since.

This slimy supergroup brings members of Future Islands, Lower Dens, Wume, Small Sur, Wing Dam, Nuclear Power Pants, and Showbiz all together within one shell, and is led largely by the FI duo as Snailliam (William Cashion)’s signature rumbling bass grooves lend pulse and platform to Sammy Snail (Samuel Herring)’s delightfully raucous howls as per usual.

For the most, Herring tends to leave his dripping, guttural growls behind for a full showcase of his upper registers with uplifting roars of positivity on “The Tight Side of Life” and beyond, and his ability to shift between brooding poignance to unabashed fun deftly displays the emotional and modal versatility of a man who also doubles as an occasional rapper.

Opening with the sound of a balloon blowing up, Songs from the Shoebox has all the playfulness of the class projects we built in those same containers as we first learned to appreciate the fun of art all those years ago. The energetic collaboration brings the best side projects have to offer with that added bit of flair such freedom allows, as the Baltimore post-punk rockers swap their sultry synth for sweet, sweet sax.

Appropriately decreeing “We’re gonna take it slow / Real slow / Real slow” in the first track, they then transition into the whimsical "Barnacle on a Surfboard (Barnacle Boogie)" that ends with impressively committed snail sound effects, before "Shoebox" opens up cheerfully with the curious “It's a brand new day / Bring me my socks / I want to show you how I play.”

It’s the sign of a truly great musician when each and every song they put forth is of undeniable quality, no matter how obscure it may be (give Future Islands’s loose collection of non-album deep cuts a visit sometime if you haven’t already, and you’ll discover lesser known tunes that pack more punch than many indie staples’ peak singles), and even at their most casual they prove to make no exception, never skimping on earnest heart and movability no matter how silly the vessel for that drive may be.

Ending with the previously-released highlight "Snails Christmas (I Want a New Shell)" we find ourselves with an offering infinitely better than the half-assed holiday repeat covers we’re normally subjected to each winter, however strange it may sound in mid February. It’s also, notably, the first time the words “caviar” and “Roomba” have ever been sung in the same sentence, at least to my knowledge.

For a man usually known for physically beating himself as he figuratively (and through miming, literally) tears his heart out onstage, it’s especially nice that Herring of all people can remind us to sometimes take a step back and just enjoy the music.

Check out where The Snails will be leaving trails during their tour:

• 3/4 - Philadelphia, PA @ Kungfu Necktie
• 3/5 - Burlington, VA @ Signal Kitchen
• 3/6 - Portland, ME @ Space
• 3/8 - Providence, RI @ AS220
• 3/9 - Brooklyn, NY @ Baby's All Right
• 3/10 - New York, NY @ Mercury Lounge
• 3/11 - Washington, DC @ Comet Pizza and Ping Pong
• 3/12 - Richmond, VA @ Strange Matter
• 3/13 - Asheville, NC @ The Mothlight
• 3/15 - Athens, GA @ Caledonia Lounge
• 3/16 - Charleston, SC @ Tin Roof
• 3/17 - Wilmington, NC @ Reggie's 42nd Street Tavern
• 3/18 - Raleigh, NC @ Kings
• 3/19 - Baltimore, MD @ The Ottobar

Basia Bulat Makes Star Turn on 'Good Advice'

Imagine if Emma Stone was a good singer – more honey lined than husky – with the slightest of Irish sean-nos virbatto, as well as a proclivity for musical styling amalgam of Florence Welch and Natalie Merchant – or better yet, just listen to Basia Bulat. Questionable musical juxtaposition aside, Basia Bulat possesses a voice totally devoid of any real affectation, with the exception of an occasional emotional waver that’s reminiscent of a female Michael Stipe.

Part of a generational sundry of criminally underrated Canadian folk-singers, the Montreal-based Toronto native opted for a total overhaul of her usual bare bones, folk sound on her fourth full-length record, Good Advice. For someone who has spent 75% of her musical career working within the relatively restricting folk genre, Bulat has managed to incrementally progress the musicality of each subsequent release – though her narrative writing prowess remains her principal asset.

While carving out a unique role in an already over saturated market is admirable, there seemed to be an acknowledgement on Bulat’s third record, Tall Tall Shadow, that something more dynamic needed to happen.

Enlisting the direction of My Morning Jacket maestro Jim James, Bulat spent the better part of her recording time in Louisville, Kentucky; a far cry from her culturally urbane base in Montreal. Superficial metropolitan analysis notwithstanding, the change of scenery was a musically transcendent choice for Bulat.    

Good Advice continues the general trend of growth in Bulat, but with the assistance of James’ production finesse, the musical dynamism ushers in a new and exciting avenue for her to lay claim to.  The LP opens with the singular synth accordion heavy “La La Lie,” reminiscent of the opening of the Beach Boys’ opus, “God Only Knows,” only to break into a percussive drive as Bulat opines with great ambiguity, a hallmark of Bulat’s writing. Bulat’s lyrical preference is to skirt the line of desperation, hope, and despondence, shifting hook perspectives like “I la la lie, la la lie, keep lying to myself / While you la la lie, keep lying to yourself.” There’s an acknowledgement of apparent differences between the two protagonists within the song, with Bulat left to navigate the outcome on her terms.

“La La Lie” and its subsequent track, “Long Goodbye” are relatively similar in tone and pace. Both are slightly more developed than prior Bulat incarnations, her voice (both narrative and singing) is considerably more confident, asserting an understanding of expiring relationships. “ Furthermore, both exercise a fuller, more energetic sound, with heavy drums and synth work replacing the spacious folk sounds Bulat cut her teeth with.

Third track, “Let Me In,” steers Good Advice into more empowered territory, even despite the song’s theme of detachment. "Are you ever going to let me in without asking?" extends the sense of understanding that Bulat makes apparent in the first half of the album – coming to grips with that which is out of Bulat’s hands. “In The Name Of” is a search for purpose, an attempt to discern what influences one to continue moving forward instead of returning to what’s familiar and most comfortable.

James’ production is apparent throughout, but no more so than on the album’s strongest (and eponymous) track, “Good Advice.” James’ deft preference for glowing synth and strings sounds, building steadily on a singular bass tone while Bulat opines about her search for answers in terms of a relationship. The constant build is as constant and adroit, the eventual crescendo is almost instantaneous. The third verse is perhaps the most inventive moment in Bulat’s career musically, with her vocals not only leading the track, layering a response echo once unconsidered.

Following an almost incomprehensibly good track like “Good Advice,” it would be easy to place a less intrepid track in order to allow the listener to recover, but as this sentence conspicuously suggests, Bulat and James opted for the album’s single, “Infamous,” to follow. Placing a single in the seventh slot of a ten track record is certainly bold, but it fits the plucky, new demeanor of Bulat’s career trajectory. “Infamous” proclaims Bulat’s demands for a lover – current or past – to fully commit to coming back to her, though Bulat’s newfound confidence maintains she is not begging, stating "Don’t waste my time pretending love is somewhere else."

Through further examination, it becomes apparent that Good Advice is in fact a break-up album, though its arguably one of the most proudly valiant form of a tired concept. Lyrically, its quite apparent that there has been some degree of heartbreak, but the combination of Bulat’s inspired delivery of the lyrics and James’ impregnable production, it turns the form on its head. As an artist who has been criminally overlooked, Bulat has made a concerted effort to not only garner but also maintain the attention of many of new listener on one of the best albums released in 2016.