'The Colour in Anything' Expands James Blake's Emotional Spectrum

2016 is on a fast track for the most GOAT-worthy 365(ish) days of music this decade, from immortal icons passing on to musical Valhalla, to an inordinate number of “surprise” releases. First there was Rihanna, then Yeezy’s TLOP shenanigans, Beyonce putting Jay-Z on blast in cinemascope, and Drizzy Drake releasing an un-essentially long collection of Toronto woe-odes last week. Needless to say, there is a glaring trend amongst the artists who elected to forgo the mundane predictability that typically coincides with name brand artists – with many of them even going as far as debuting on the god-forsaken lost cause that is TIDAL – and it appears the taste for purposeful inconsistency has grown more pervasive outside of hip-hop and pop now as well.

James Blake, one quarter of the 2010’s indie Mt. Rushmore – Justin Vernon, Ezra Koenig, and Win Butler being the other of the four stone heads – released The Colour in Anything this past Friday, unannounced, but not totally unexpected – two singles were released leading up to the album’s release, creating a sort of pseudo promotional calendar.

The Colour in Anything, has been long overdue in the minds of critics and Blake fans alike. Blake had canceled extensive tours in order to capitalize upon creative whims and fancies, which in turn developed a capricious grapevine of rumors and hearsay regarding whether Blake was merely taking extended measures to forge LP3. In 2014, Blake originally announced that this new release would be titled Radio Silence and was slated for release in early 2015, but as you're now reading this over a year past that date, it's quite apparent something got in the way, and whatever it was, Blake’s reticent nature certainly did not lend itself to buoyant reverie amongst fans (though it did, ironically, lead to literal radio silence).

Blake had entered the Frank Ocean (a collaborator on the album) territory (but without the over zealous opining – WHERE ARE YOU FRANK?) in terms of hotly anticipated releases, and there was nothing but confusion and perplexity for some time. Apparently, during the interim that was Blake’s Radio Silence announcement and the eventual release of Colour, Blake had managed to write two tracks on Beyonce’s Lemonade (full circle!) – “Forward” and “Pray You Catch Me” – along with heading out to Shangri La Studios to finish the record with much needed vigor from Duck Dynasty doppelganger Rick Rubin.

Colour came out of nowhere, but it wasn’t without excitement. It’s an offertory record that showcases a side of Blake that has long been underdeveloped – the Enfielder’s most expressive and innermost musings – subsequently breathing new life in Blake’s career (not that it was ever really without it). Colour opens with a “what might have been” in “Radio Silence,” and the once eponymous track turned solitary lead off exudes a singular glance into the now defunct direction that was Radio Silence, instead enacting a startlingly apologetic new Blake.

The production is as tight as ever, but somehow feels more fragile and wavering than quietly confident, a la Overgrown. In comparison to Blake’s previous releases, many are likely to accuse the Londoner of wearing his heart on his sleeve, when in reality, it’s a more mature comfort with his songwriting process, unabashed, but polite, like the production on a track like “Points,” in which Blake warps his "No longer" hook over trap and dubstep afrobeats that build and swell with momentum in alarmingly smooth fashion. “Points” along with “Love Me in Whatever Way” establish Blake’s most singer-songwriter intentions with little to no pretense over the forthcoming nature of Colour as a whole, with lines like "Where you lead me I will go," and "Tell me when I have to go / And then love me there." It's gut wrenchingly frail, as if Blake has only just begun to come to grips with his emotional capacities, but just like that, he shuts himself off on “Timeless,” featuring wild “sound the alarm” synth wandering, as if to indicate to Blake that the time has come to shut oneself off from this strange new world of open opining. Interesting side-note about “Timeless”: Kanye West was originally slated to appear as a feature on the track, however, according to Blake, the verse from Mr. West “didn’t materialize.”

The record bounces back with the fully transparent “F.O.R.E.V.E.R,” a ballad that features only Blake and keys, as his voice infectiously wavers over simple chord structures speaking on his time alone while “you” were away. An interesting line in “F.O.R.E.V.E.R” – "I notice I can still ghost the streets" – a seemingly innocuous phrase, but when juxtaposing Blake’s reclusive tendencies with his abnormal level of public interest, it highlights an intriguing dynamic with which Blake (and those closest to him) undoubtedly struggles with. “Put That Away and Talk to Me” is the mandatory millennial musing over the use of phones and technology and the schism they cause, but the name itself provides more enjoyment than the creepy lullaby that is the track itself. Colour feels increasingly morose as the album progresses, all the while maintaining some mode of hope in the interim on tracks like “I Hope My Life” with opening refrains of, "I hope I’m right / When speaking my mind / I hope my life is not a sign of the times," as he struggles to distinguish and relate at the same time. “My Willing Heart” embodies such struggles by narrating a sort of out of body experience for Blake, a narrative that resembles – get ready for a stretch – an Icarus fell type of story, except Blake’s sun is love, which makes him altogether too vulnerable for his liking. It should be noted that “My Willing Heart” has a co-write feature with one Mr. Frank Ocean, who didn’t necessarily lend any lyrics, but certainly lent a spiritual boost for Blake when it came to "Making a record on your laptop…”

Halfway through the record at this point, Colour really comes into its own once “Choose Me” comes along, a production whirlwind that has clever nods to Blake songs passed – “A Case You” – all the while asserting a new domineering side to the fully transparent Blake that’s become so prevalent on Colour – "You don’t owe me anything / What could I want back from you?". To this point, “Choose Me” is the best standalone track; a nice confluence of Overgrown and Enough Thunder. Colour finds its footing on “I Need a Forest Fire,” the album’s second single featuring fellow indie-demigod, Justin Vernon. His influence is felt immediately, as the airy organ noises lead in a Vernon yell and a muffled loop. Vernon leads off the first verse, and in all reality, the track itself feels like a Bon Iver song a la Eaux Claires 2015 more than anything else, but hearing both Blake and Vernon trading verses and harmonizing over pastoral Ralph Waldo Emerson sentiments is a truly beguiling experience. According to Vernon, the track came from “wonderful accidents and good friendship,” which echoes the same warm sentiments Blake expressed about working with Vernon, that the two seemed like they were “separated somewhere down the line.”

Colour’s final third issues the close of a hesitant love manifesto from Blake, with “Noise Above Our Heads” expressing Blake’s desire to connect with an unidentified suitor – “I’ll find no peace until I know” – as Connan Mockasin’s wandering bass leads the meandering thoughts of Blake along. The eponymous track features a soliloquy with Blake addressing a significant other as a last ditch effort to preserve an already fast fading love; it's “classic” James Blake, with elegant vocals over keys, and elevated pitches thanks to his preferred double tracking takes. “Two Men Down” takes a left turn elementally, as Justin Vernon’s production injects a livelier demeanor to the track that centers on Blake’s prospective outlook over competing with another man in order to gain a lover’s hand. “Modern Soul,” the premier single for Colour back in February 2016, Blake expresses his disdain for being overwrought with social interaction – “What I didn’t see was I was talking to so many people at once / I had no idea…” – and the interminable confusion of whether one’s interest in Blake is over his personal being or “because of a few songs.” The penultimate track of the album, “Always” features one of the most devastating ideas on Colours, in which Blake enters a dreamlike state where he can control and manipulate every aspect of his world to mold it into its most ideal form. “Meet You In the Maze” closes Colours in a sanguine yet indeterminate state – Vernon’s influence can be felt heavily on the acapella (except for a vocoder) track, a la Bon Iver’s “Woods” – as Blake assures the subject of his rendezvous request that “music can’t be everything.”

The Colour In Anything is most definitely Blake’s best record to date, despite the album’s first half struggling greatly with the themes of transparency and love within Blake’s purview. The trials and tribulations of James Blake in love make for an apparently personalized record that’s all too unfamiliar to Blake’s previous modus operandi, but has subsequently bolstered his songbook and production tactics. The album receives a giant assist from Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon, whose production on a handful of tracks really manages to stretch Blake past his former boundaries. While the album did not feature the fated 20-minute track that he had once hinted at in the past, The Colour In Anything distributes his muted sensibilities and elicits a more forthcoming Blake that will hopefully continue to open up in the future. 

'Views' Reveals Drake is Just as Cold as The 6 Itself (In More Ways Than One)

Hide your exes, hide your tears, cause Drake’s making everyone feel up in here. Views has finally arrived, in an equally morose and grandiose fashion that’s come to be expected of Mr. OVOXO. Views continues 2016’s string of high octane hip-hop paragons releasing long awaited records – Yeezy, RiRi, Queen Bey – by “surprising” means, though the disarmingly pensive Champagne Papi manages to distinguish his opus from his hip-hop compatriots.

Outside of the obvious tonal differences – sullen, brooding rap from Drizzy versus empowered gotcha hip-hop from Beyonce – Francisco Mandarin is the only super-surprise release of 2016 not to debut on that godforsaken streaming service of the stars, TIDAL. Instead, Views’ exclusive release on iTunes acts as an analogue for Aubrey Graham’s atypical, enigmatic hip-hop presence – a rap demigod (supposedly) relegated to chasing reminiscent thoughts, rather than indulging in the more expressive pleasures of an ascribed deity of hip-hop.

It’s a magnificent modus operandi that Aubrey Graham has managed to carve out in the opulence applauded era of hip-hop – muted, restrained, atmospheric – all the while managing to remind hip-hop heads every once in a while that Wheelchair Jimmy can still beat the shit out of Meek Mill and turn around to consult the Toronto Raptors on their newest jersey design. I know DJ Khaled owns the airspace surrounding “Mogul Talk,” but mogul talk is something Shopping Bag Drizzy does better than the next wave – those following Ye, Jay, and Bey - of hip-hop. So keeping with the theme of atypical presences in hip-hop, music etc (and because the album is 20 tracks deep), I intend to take a slightly different approach to this review than reviews past (apologies to any devoted readers, and congratulations to the haters – you won). So without further ado, lets draw the blinds as we silently sip Moet from our Grammy award while wearing our favorite Prada robe and contemplate texting our exes – existent or not.

“Keep the Family Close”

Toronto is cold in the winter; meteorologically, that is a fact, but Drake wants you to know that its even chillier when you go from playing up on Degrassi to “Mr. He Ain’t Coppin That is He?”. The track is totally atmospheric, bringing the listener into a trance of undue disconnect that Drake has suffered amongst lovers. It’s a “blood runs thicker than water” concept by orchestral means – quivering strings, brash timpani and brass hits – all subverted by Young Frankie Geechi Liberace on his unabashed opener. “Keep the Family Close” takes the 50-60-person guest list to your birthday party and slices and dices it down to one.

“9”

This is one of those beats that hints at Heartbreak Drake’s ability to morph into The LeBron James of the Rap Game – it goes hard, but we only get glints of mixtape Drake; a Views Easter-Egg of sorts. Drake opines his only true purpose in life – as a bastion to Toronto – and how things in Toronto are beginning to get so out of hand. A rap game Robert Frost, he’s left at a benefactor’s crossroad – stop the handouts or give his entire self to the city. Guess which path the 6god chose… “Turned the 6 upside down / It’s a 9 now / I made a decision last night that I would die for it.” [INSERT TEARDROP EMOJI HERE] He truly is October’s Very Own.

“U With Me?”

A seamless transition from “9” into “U With Me?” shifts the third tracks predecessor into a sort of Toronto call to arms, for the best of the city – Daniel Caesar, The Weekend, Tory Lanez, Kardinal Offishall, and Roy Wood$ - to assume their place at the right hand of the 6god. Ironically enough, “U With Me?” was co-produced by Kanye West, despite the 6 related pride, but then again, when you get a chance to have Yeezy cut a track, why would anyone ever say no? Yeezy and 40 Shebib’s decision to sample DMX’s “How’s It Goin Down” is incredible when considering the muted call to action of the entire track from Mr. CTV himself.

“Feel No Ways”

Ah, well this is different, I suppose – a sensuous moody track that doesn’t go much of anywhere, wholly devoid of any and all rap bravado – in other words, a Drake track through and through. The production is spacey and saccharine, with the only startling standout being one of the most 80s-fi snares in recent Majid Jordan memory. Realistically, the song itself is as passive as the name implies - whether or not that works to Bottega Don’s benefit is less than likely. It feels like filler. Being as unassertive a track as it is, it might be within the listeners’ best interest to wait for the inevitable string of covers that will surely stem from such a distinctly un-6man track (I suggest listening to Vicktor Taiwo’s excellent rendition).

“Hype”

Hey! This might be a Meek Mill diss track – because the name says hype – oh man! This is what everyone was waiting for! Eh… not quite, just a general blanket statement diss, it appears. Throughout the track, the OVO Don Dada honors Rihanna, Michael Jackson, and (possibly) Goofy of Disney fame. The track hits the expected rap bravado as the Young Money Millionaire counts his money, assures his detractors that Views is already a classic, and that he’s done all he could possibly do as Hookah Papi, with effortless flow. The ominous beat sounds reminiscent of “Father Stretch My Hands, Pt.2,” and if you listen closely, you might hear Desiigner whisper "I’ve got broads in Atlanta…"

“Weston Road Flows”

Drizzy Drake Rogers is kind enough to inform the listener that “Weston Road Flows” is in fact "one of them ones," a true hip-hop throwback to the days of Biggie and Pac, looking back upon The Kid with the Motor Mouth’s body of work. The track is the first Easter Egg laden track when it comes to pop culture references, alluding to everyone’s favorite sneaker subversion meme, Eddie Murphy, TLC, Kevin Durant, Mo’Nique, and Vince Carter. The sample is straight '90s – literally – coming from Mary J. Blige’s “Mary’s Joint,” as we see Drakkardnoir at his most nostalgic while revisiting his 6-side hometown. Best line of the album thus far, "I’m happiest when I can buy what I want / Get high when I want" is so simple, and yet so indicative of Drake’s preferred economic standing.

“Redemption”

Judging from the song title, I would imagine this is going to be a slow burn. Luckily, it's more “Weston Road Flows” than it is “Feel No Ways,” with Frostbite Drizzy doing what he best when it comes to reassessing the past to win back some unnamed lover. He slips in and out of rapping and singing about the pettiness of ex-lovers moving on. Sometimes the track ventures into a creepily misogynistic possessor of women realm, and then proceeds to call out three women by name, geez, Drake, I know you’re super successful, but get over that shit dude. And before you know it, the track is poignant once more – "Who’s going to save me when I need saving? / Since Take Care, I’ve been caretaking." Okay, to this point, “Redemption” is by far and away the realest and most dynamic track of Views.

“With You (feat. PARTYNEXTDOOR)”

Oh no. Not PARTYNEXTDOOR. Everything about them is seemingly insufferable, ever since “Tuesday,” but as the track opens, things start out tastefully. Surprisingly tasteful, in fact. All of a sudden, OVO’s signing of PARTYNEXTDOOR doesn’t seem quite as ridiculous (outside of the homerism), though there are some truly cringeworthy lines – "Mixing vodka and emotions / Tapping into your emotions / Dry cause I’m hopeless." Ugh man, Young Papito, let’s steer clear of elementary metaphors about alcohol. Also, Jeremih sighting on the song’s hook.

“Faithful (feat. Pimp C & dvsn)”

Hold up, hold up, hold up – Pimp C!? This is something I can get behind. Talk about one of the more gloriously unexpected features on an OVO record. THE DIRTY SOUTH IS BACK BABY! Its really only a few bars from Pimp C, but he calls out to Bun B and thus I am content. The hook is a little, well, wimpy, as ’91 Dan Marino takes the cue from Pimp C and substantiates his love for whomever (RIHANNA, ITS RIHANNA) his muse is. The doting lyrics and sentiments further add to the Marvin’s Room vibes of the album. Except for "Let’s do the things that we say on texts" - I can’t decide if this is a great line or an awful one, but that’s The Chris Paul of this Fall for you.

“Still Here”

Alright, things are beginning to feel a little more musically malevolent, and when the bounce comes in, Aubz’s perverse intentions become apparent, but aren’t necessarily felt. He continues the (occasional) narrative braggadocio of the 6’s devotion to him and only him, as well as the astounding wealth of his compatriots. Oh to be friends with Drake, it must be lovely.

“Controlla”

If there’s one recurrent theme that I (or anyone) manages to gleam from Views, it's that when Drake is not good at expressing his admiration for women. In fact, I’m not really certain whether or not he even likes women. “Controlla” expresses not only in name but demeanor as well – Voodoo Child opens the track with "My eye just changed," only to revert his vindictive and menacing purview towards women, all under the guise of smooth bedroom talk ("I made plans with you / And I won’t let them fall through). Ack, Drake, let’s stop reminding women how much “control” your music affords you. Also, Popcaan is noticeably absent from the leaked version of the track that dropped a couple weeks ago – Caribbean musicians shed a tear.

“One Dance”

 Looks like Drake is really into this Afropop trend, and will likely pay off for him in some form, but the slow build to “One Dance” almost discounts other afropop tracks from earlier in the album. The hook samples Kyla’s “Do You Mind” pretty heavily, but nothing really seems to grab the listener’s attention other than the continued quiet cooing of Young Sweet Jones, altogether continuing the dilution and confusion that is Drake’s intention on Views.

“Grammys (feat. Future)”

With the half-assed bedroom afropop that Drake seems hell-bent on pulling off, it sure would be nice to hear a classic rap braggadocio track, and if ever there was an instance to inject some life into a snooze inducing string of petty bedroom romps, now would be the time. Well lookie here, will Future rescue the listener from the yawn causing bedroom yarns to this point? Sort of? Drake’s verse feels like a sleepwalking microcosm of his standing in the hierarchy of rap entities – "OVO we a goldmine," and "Top five, no debating" – but it all just feels… empty. Future’s verse is preceded by his scoffing at the track’s unnamed subject of collective ire, and then proceeds to repeat “They think we done won a Grammy,” or something to that effect – as we all know, the gentleman from Atlanta is virtually indecipherable.

“Child’s Play”

The track opens with an intriguing PSA for all men about their women – "If your girlfriend is watching any season opening basketball game, best believe she’s fucking [someone] on the team…" - is it paranoid and misogynistic? Of course it is! Is it absurdly comedic? Yes! Should one condone such chauvinistic conspiracies? Probably not! Outside of the sad paranoia of the intro, the Little Nicky (To the Devils of Rap) manages to call out three corporate brands – Disney, Camry, and most humorously, Cheesecake Factory – "Why you got to fight with me at Cheesecake? / You know I love the gold here…" and "This a place for families / That go to Disney / And drive Camrys.” Oh man, oh man, Drake unwittingly let us in on his secret to extreme wealth – corporate name drops! Fun New Orleans Bounce sample if you listen close enough.

“Pop Style”

Nice! This was one of the singles – the one with Yeezy and a sliver of a Jay Z verse! Oh wait… The Throne got nixed from Views just like Popcaan. All of a sudden, Pimp C’s feature is becoming more and more impressive – Drake is not only the God of the 6, but a H-Town connoisseur it seems. Its exactly like the single, with the exception of the sans-Throne feature, so as protest, that’s all I have to say about the track.

“Too Good (feat. Rihanna)”

Here we go, this is the track where everyone finally learns the nature of Drake and Rihanna’s personal relationship! Are they lovers or just an uber-rich hip-hop hookup? Speaking of hooks, don’t expect an infectious, ensnaring, or hot one here, because there isn’t one, period. The track does continue the trend of RiRi/Light Skin Keith Sweat collabos that center on a fictional (or not-so) warring couple as Drake reminds Trinidad’s prodigal daughter that he is, in fact "way too good for you." Despite Drake’s purported assertions, it is Rihanna who is in fact too good for him, as her lovely vocals relegate the Drizzmaster to the friend zone.

“Summers Over Interlude”

It's an interlude that tries to act like The Roots meets Andra Day meets “not only is Drake a fine rapper, but he has great taste in compositions, too.” Unfortunately, it misses its mark, and just sort of agitates the winter-to summer-back to winter again transitions The King of 1st Quarter suggested as a heavy handed thematic element of Views.

“Fire & Desire”  

The track title sounds like George R.R. Martin’s next novel – who are we kidding, it's never coming (Silicon Valley is better anyway; come at me) – but it turns out it’s a Brandy-sampling, triplet laden hi hat slow jam to the nth degree. This sounds like Aubrey Graham making a heartfelt apology to Nicki Minaj – their relationship has spoiled considerably, per Drake – "They throwing dirt on my old name / You don’t see the perks of this whole thing." He expresses his admiration for Nicki being a "real ass woman" as he openly questions her commitment to her current fellow. Are you trying to appeal to Nicki or further irritate her, Drake?

“Views”

Oh Lord, there’s a Winan sample, and it IS BEAUTIFUL. The former tour intro for many a VIETBRAH tour, “Question Is” makes “Views” one of the first hard hitting tracks on Views – seems ironic it’s the penultimate track. Drakestrodommus offers a thought provoking line in the first couple bars – "A lot of pent up aggression coming out of my section" – yeah, I don’t know about that, Drake. Pent up, sure. But, "aggression," not so much, more like pettiness. It's basically one final glory to the OVO track with allusions to days in The 6, and shouts out to Kobe; all in all, this should have been Views’ eponymous closer, but alas, the hubris of the Cash Money Running Back seems to have gotten the best of him.

“Hotline Bling”

Yeah, not reviewing this one. No need to. If you want my opinion on the track, just listen to Bill Burr’s take on the song:

Good gracious, Views is a long album, and at times, a monotonous one, to be perfectly honest. For all the uncertainties surrounding The Reason That We All Getting Faded’s future, and overall legacy, Views should have been the first cornerstone body of work in solidifying the 6God’s standing. Instead, it winds up revealing his truest insecurities, and own insufferable pettiness when it comes to any and everyone that crosses him. There are certainly some standout tracks on Views – “Keep the Family Close,” “Weston Road Flows,” “Faithful,” “Views” – but when the number of self-ascribed nicknames outnumbers the amount of solid tracks on your album, its certainly going to be difficult to secure one’s place amongst the gods of rap, no matter how many assertions of being the 6God incarnate one makes.

Sturgill Simpson Trades Psychedelics for the Sea on 'A Sailor's Guide to Earth'

In the midst of a cultural renaissance, country music is in as good a spot as any genre (if not more so). At this point, we’ve all been beaten over the head of how incomparable Chris Stapleton is (which realistically is still an disservice to the man), how cool it is that Margo Price was christened Jack White’s prodigal country daughter, and how “bro-country” has finally succumbed to its own interminable existence.

That’s all well and good, but for country music’s resurgence to extend its tenure and avoid falling out of the zeitgeist, the genre needs an indomitable force of innovation, conceptualism, and metamorphosis. Enter Sturgill Simpson - whose 2014 sophomore effort Metamodern Sounds in Country Music was effectively a Waylon Jennings record on six tabs of acid – the country artist most poised to venture out into the furthest weird reaches of country music’s sonic dimensions.

Simpson’s first record, High Top Mountain, was his foray into the crowded country scene, an effort that was arguably released before its time. Metamodern Sounds’ release saw Simpson (with the help of Dave Cobb, country music’s present day King Midas) shove a bag full of mushrooms down the throat of country music, creating a psychedelic haze of country wax poetics and a sound wave of intergalactic exploration. The record was a bonafide success, as Simpson saw himself assume the mantle of country music’s resident “outlaw,” spitting in the face of conformity all the while showing the utmost reverence toward those that preceded him in the genre.   

As Simpson’s near two year long tour run in support of Metamodern Sounds came to a close, he and his wife experienced the birth of their first child, and Simpson gained perspective on his newfound life as country music renegade and newly minted father. Viewing life through a different lens – one that featured the dependency of a now full-fledged family – Simpson’s third record maintained Simpson’s continual sonic exploration, this time taking to the sea in A Sailor’s Guide to Earth.

In short, the record is one of the (at least to my knowledge) few concept albums in country music – if not the best – as A Sailor’s Guide to Earth sees Simpson navigate his new life as a father and touring musician in the form of a Motown/R&B/country amalgamation of the finest ilk. Furthermore, the majority of the album is dedicated solely to Simpson’s wife and son, as the former Navy man navigates his life on the road and at home, creating an impassioned narrative of love and trepidation atop the bounding mains of existence.

"In Bloom" off Sturgill's new album - A Sailor's Guide To Earth // Available Now Download Now - http://smarturl.it/DownloadSturgill Stream Now - http://smarturl.it/StreamSturgill Limited Edition "A Sailor's Guide To Earth" Bundles Available here: http://atlr.ec/ASGTED2CYT "In Bloom" Official Music Video Directed By: Matt Mahurin Follow Sturgill Simpson https://www.facebook.com/sturgillsimp... http://www.twitter.com/SturgillSimpson https://www.instagram.com/sturgillsim... https://soundcloud.com/high-top-mountain

A Sailor’s Guide to Earth wastes no time establishing itself as a distinctly different Sturgill Simpson record in both theme and scope, as “Welcome to Earth (Pollywog)” sees Simpson come down from the interdimensional travels of Metamodern Sounds and settle (not by much) down as a loving ode to his newborn son – “Hello my son / Welcome to Earth." The track features emotional conviction that pulls at the heart strings of the listener almost instantly – “I’ve been told you measure a man by how much he loves” – as he speaks directly to his son – “You may not be my last / But you’ll always be my first” – utilizing the sea-faring metaphors as the analogue to his life on the road in support of his music. The song rips into a Motown groove that was unbeknownst to Simpson’s music prior to A Sailor’s Guide to Earth. “Breakers Roar” reneges the initial tonal promises from Metamodern Sounds, as Simspon sticks to soft acoustic picking over orchestral strings and slide guitar imitating the cries of a far off whale, all before cajoling the listener into a roundabout boogie jumping right into “Keep It Between the Lines;” Simpson’s do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do life instructional. The track incorporates heavy brass horns and chorus backing vocals that seem alien to Simpson’s music on paper, but on the actual record, good gracious its incredible. If anything, A Sailor’s Guide to Earth is beginning to feel like Simpson’s genre bending answer to his disco-country predecessor Conway Twitty’s varietal discography.

At the beginning of the album’s middle third, “Sea Stories” see Simpson return to the sweet psychedelic country rock as he revisits his time spent stationed in Japan as a Unite States naval man. Ever the humble man, Simpson pretty much recounts his entire life to date in the span of a three minute and seventeen second country song that features lyrics like ‘From Kawasaki to Ebisu/Yokosuka, Yokohama, Shinjuku…’ the track is easily one of the most amusing features on the record.

Following “Sea Stories” comes one of Sturgill Simpson’s finest moments – his magnificent cover of Nirvana’s “In Bloom.” Simpson is a deceptively – or in current terms, “low key” – profound cover artist, as Metamodern Sounds saw him cover When in Rome’s 80s hit, “The Promise,” one of the finest covers of the decade, if not the new Millennium. Anyway, “In Bloom” sees Simpson rework the brooding Cobain piece into a convergence of smooth soul and cooing country, before the track explodes into a crescendo of wailing horns and pedal steel. As Simpson returns to his original tracks – though the “In Bloom” cover is about as original as a cover can get – the album’s single “Brace for Impact (Live a Little)” rounds out the heavy hitting middle portion of A Sailor’s Guide To Earth.

The closing third of A Sailor’s Guide to Earth sees Simpson turn to his more sensitive side, with tracks like “All Around You,” acting as Simpson’s bellowing soul ballad while saxophones and brass instruments run wild in the songs latter half, rounding out Simpson’s exceptional sonic exploration of soul and country music. “Oh Sarah,” the album’s penultimate track, as well as the record’s sweetest. While most of the album had been directed to Simpson’s son, “Oh Sarah” is a loving promise to Sturgill’s wife – as an assurance that the continued life on the road is bound to place a modicum of strain upon their family’s life, but it will never create anything detrimental. After creating a warm and loving lull in the album’s final third, “Call to Arms” sees Simpson step onto dry land with a country-soul jam that celebrates the fullest combination of Motown/gospel/country/soul in a jam that would make Charlie Daniels blush.

With A Sailor’s Guide to Earth completed and circulating throughout the airwaves and streams of online musical content, it rests in choppier waters than most of Simpson’s other “classically” country compatriots. Still lauded as a country artist (and justifiably so), Simpson has truly separated himself from the country renaissance that he helped usher into the musical zeitgeist. Instead, Simpson has elevated himself from pioneer to innovator, within multiple genres that opens up the musical floodgates for his next project. Its an interesting notion that an artist of Sturgill Simpson’s ilk may have put out the year’s finest country album (not to mention one of the best in general) on a record that has more unbridled satin soul than country twang. 

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros Eulogize Their Eponymous Leader on 'PersonA'

It seems PersonA is the end of the ephemeral Edward Sharpe as we’ve known him; just the cover alone implies that the all-father of New Millennium folk-pop, Alex Ebert, has chosen to end his warbling messianic stage sobriquet in martyrdom. During a conversation with Transverso preceding the album’s release, Ebert explained, "There was no character to begin with, so why not kill him? He never really was there. If anything, and at most, Edward Sharpe was a vehicle for me to get to slough off whatever I had become up until that point, and to get back to or sort of allow my pure self to come forth into sort of a clean slate." This reinvention is paralleled with a disillusionment with the impact particular whistle stomp clap laden tracks from his catalogue have made on the current music landscape; "As an artist that cares about moving things forward, it makes me not want to do that music anymore," he told us.

PersonA, ostensibly a sort of portmanteau of "persona" and "Person A," aligns almost narratively with Ebert’s desire to jettison himself from the moniker altogether, as the album acts as a revelatory eulogy for Edward Sharpe, with his vocals - and thus persona - clearer and more focused than usual along the way without the back-and-forth dynamism brought by former bandmate Jade Castrinos for the first time.

Within all of his musical endeavors, Ebert has remained inherently spiritual, with melodies ranging from gospel chorus odes to fear-of-god folk confessionals. PersonA leadoff “Hot Coals” intertwines both musical provinces, dancing from brooding folk ballad to bouncing gospel pop doo-wop as Ebert’s harsh “Get the fuck out my sight” ushers in distressed feelings of incendiary love turning into nothing more than memorable embers. One could argue that the “hot coals" could act as metaphorical introduction to Edward Sharpe’s musical exeunt, but whether or not that is the case remains unseen.

“Uncomfortable” elicits feelings of forced unease in order for Ebert to progress – “Uncomfortable / You got be uncomfortable” repeating throughout the track before shrieks and a piano crash bring it to a jarring close. Only the second song on PersonA, it’s seemingly the gospel confessional Ebert needs to atone for the constant that Edward Sharpe has inevitably become. “Somewhere” returns to Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros’ natural proclivities, as the “Here Comes the Sun”-esque folk picking tenderly prods lyrics of “She’s got a belly full of baby” and “Now we’ve come together and we’re wandering home.” For the usual cacophonous nature of The Magnetic Zeros, “Somewhere” is a softhearted, sort-of throwback to early Edward Sharpe love letters, but eschews the delightfully campy Jade days past with seemingly more honest anecdotes of current real-life relationship and child.

From the album PersonA - Available 4.15.16 LP & CD - smarturl.it/PersonAMerch iTunes - smarturl.it/PersonAiTunes Amazon: smarturl.it/personaPreOrder Spotify: smarturl.it/NoLoveSpotify Tidal: smarturl.it/NoLoveTidal Director - Olivia Wilde Production Company - Anonymous Content Executive Producers - Eric Stern, Nina Soriano Producer - Saul Germaine Producer - Barbara Burchfield Co-Executive Producer - Bryan Ling Directory of Photography / Camera Operator - Reed Morano, A.S.C.

It seems fitting that “No Love Like Yours” would be the heavy hitting cleanup track on PersonA, primarily because of the song’s well intentioned demands of “Show me love” throughout. Combined with its video, the track extends the proclamation to all who may have listened to Edward Sharpe as a sort of humble request to be happy with what Edward Sharpe became, and know that his purpose as been fully realized and fulfilled - as he willingly enters his own coffin. “Wake Up the Sun” almost feels like a Fela Kuti track mixed with big band jazz/rumba from Dave Brubeck, while the classic Ebert vocal warbling is in full force on the track, as it echoes familiar sentiments and features of Edward Sharpe songs passed. It's here he also further severs himself from the spirituality firmly wrought to his character: "I'm tired of Buddha / So bored of Abraham / I'm tired of Krishna / Feels good to say I am" he admits, soberingly stripping away yet another fabled layer.

“Free Stuff” is one of the sweetest sounding diss/beef/callout tracks in recent memory, as Ebert spends the majority of the song mocking the folk pop styling that his songs “Home” and “40 Day Dream” brought to the mainstream way back when, with Of Monsters and Men and The Lumineers even being mentioned by name during the track's live debut. Ebert has spoken out against the continual imitation that was flattering initially, but eventually wore upon his creative process, telling Transverso, "To my mind, it’s more palatable than eras of sort of alternative pop that I’ve lived through. But if something’s already happening and I’m just gonna reiterate that all I’m doing is participating in a commercial venture." For those introduced to the bearded figure via Volkswagen advertisements, be glad you got on board when you did.

PersonA then begins to build a head of steam with a capricious repurposing of hope into reverence for the Edward Sharpe of old, as “Let It Down” speaks of allowing “it” to turn into a memory, running as far and as fast as possible to escape the ensuing perpetuity of the act, before evolving into a rapturous tribal breakdown. “Perfect Time” is a loving recounting of past exploration for purpose in a world that is unequivocally fucked up, with Ebert literally asking for guidance from a higher power, questioning the need and timing for a love injection into the world paired with hopeful brass melodies. Despite - or in spite of - rampant misfortune in the world, the hippie archetype rears its head again; it's always time for love. As he sat on the edge of stage during this song's first performance he mentioned resisting the artistic urge to be vague and "poetic," saying the subject at matter at hand deserved to be conveyed bluntly for a change. And that's exactly what you get.

As PersonA comes closer and closer to its end, songs like “Lullaby” feel increasingly comforted by the fact that the album is issuing Edward Sharpe’s death, juxtaposing it with the new beginnings of his three year old daughter. Thoughts of incredible struggle, immovable stubbornness, and painful education map the narrative for Ebert’s loving letter to his child, before “The Ballad of Yaya” presents the exuberant “end” of his PersonA with glowing affirmation: “The movie’s over / Lay that dirt on me.” The cinematic reference is an appropriate metaphor, alluding to Ebert’s extensive film scoring work in the bands off-seasons. Where other tracks on the LP only marginally felt like issuance of Edward Sharpe’s curtain call, “The Ballad of Yaya” is the culmination of his collective body of work, as it ends with a frenetic chorus and cheerful barrage of horns while Ebert sings of resurrection and not fearing death, only looking to the future. 

Read our interview with Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros here.

Gallant's Debut 'Ology' Is a Study Of His Diverse R&B Abilities

It's hard to believe that the ever pensive and introspected musical styling of Sufjan Stevens would some how be involved in launching the public facing career of a full blown R&B debut, but such is the case when it comes to Los Angeles/Columbia, MD transplant Gallant. Christopher Gallant, better known solely by his surname, supported Detroit’s favorite songwriting son on Stevens’ Carrie & Lowell tour in 2015, which featured the most Snapchat-able moment of Stevens’ career – a collaborative cover of Drake’s “Hotline Bling,” with Stevens and Gallant exchanging verses. The pairing of Gallant, a slick dancing, falsetto pitched R&B singer as Stevens’ opener felt oddly appropriate, mostly due to Gallant’s vivacious stage presence, prohibiting anyone in attendance to question his right to the opening slot.

Cross-genre pollination can work to an artist’s benefit or detriment, and in the case of Gallant, it's safe to assume that his time spent on the road with Stevens paid off in spades. Gallant’s long overdue debut record, Ology, recalls the most beloved R&B truisms while invigorating the overall landscape for a cornerstone genre that grown predominantly stagnant. The new school of R&B features futuristic samples warped through auto tune and Serato, something uniformly absent from the crisp organic sounds of Gallant’s sound. Furthermore, the lyricism in Ology is distinctly different from the coke-lined confessions of The Weeknd or trap music lyrical passiveness of Bryson Tiller; Gallant opts for the more vivid and warmer waters than his subdued contemporaries. In short, Ology is the R&B album no one knew they were missing.

Gallant has the honey-resin vocal tendencies that feel like melodic allusions to Usher and MJ, but his avant-garde leaning intricacies help him avoid any direct creative connections. Ology opens with single note echoes as they usher in a fever dream entry into the album’s first full length track, “Talking to Myself,” which wastes no time showcasing Gallant’s exceptional falsetto range amongst a shifting soundscape of R&B 808s, dubstep leaning drops, and coarse baritone saxophone; where Gallant’s melodies are wholly R&B, his instrumentals are other-worldly. “Shotgun” is an early album contender for best track of the record, as it stretches the genre confines of soul and R&B in a more modern mold. Gallant’s lyricism is a refreshing apologia from the cynicism of other contemporary R&B artists – “my God forsaken weakened pulse / I knew I have to admit this / I never was a force to be reckoned” – who would rather imbue stubborn self-righteousness. “Bourbon” is a pop R&B throwback with an injection of space age mysticism, harkening back to late '90s and early 2000s shimmery pop R&B tracks from the likes of Boyz II Men and Anthony Maxwell.

Gallant’s Ology presents an interesting movement within R&B, where he and fellow R&B disciples like Daniel Caesar further the genre bounds with gospel-esque runs mixed with heavy pop R&B production. Where Caesar straddles the line of Gallant and Bryson Tiller, Gallant operates in a realm of Usher-esque confidence that is propelled by his vocal chops. Songs like “Bone + Tissue” and “Weight in Gold” are Gallant’s vocal breakouts in the album’s first half, as if his capabilities (which are indeed more than capable) were so immense that he could no longer take holding such epic runs for later in the album.

As the record continues into its latter portion, the songs begin to explore other sonic realms, as “Episodes” flirts with surf rock, glam rock and '80s synthpop top-lined with effusive lyrical questioning of a relationship gone awry. Following “Episodes” comes “Miyazaki” – presumably named after the famed Studio Ghibli animator – a proverbial 180 from its predecessor, as a cool jazz rhythm allows Gallant to make short vocal runs before hopping into a The-Dream-esque vocal whisper. The lyrics of “Miyazaki” aren’t the most inspired – “If you want, I can make your body tremble” – but it somehow makes the song feel like an earnest mid-90s R&B panty-dropping ballad. “Miyazaki” fades into “Counting,” one of those obligatory R&B love lost nostalgia trips, but the track is revamped with light afro-beats over inspired lyrical vignettes – “I lost my pride in the crater / In ancient coal mines” – that suggest a truly thoughtful writer.

As Ology progresses, the vocal analogue for Gallant becomes more and more apparent – Gallant sounds startlingly similar to a young Seal that happens to have more vocal range and better taste is instrumentation. “Jupiter” kind of moves like a galaxical version of a Seal song, but Gallant deftly maintains his unique falsetto timbre as Moogs and shimmery percussion glimmer and glow. With Ology’s end in sight, we see the album’s first feature artist – new age hip-hop and R&B collaborator extraordinaire, Jhene Aiko - on “Skipping Stones.” It’s a nice R&B noir that sees light production, clean sounding drums and guitar, along with Motown adjacent horns that allow for Gallant to make some of his most impressive vocal arrangements. Aiko’s unique and affectation-less voice make for a nice addition on the duet portions of the track, but when she leads into her feature, the hip-hop singer as a lounge singer comes off as a bit of a stretch. Nevertheless, “Skipping Stones” is a true standout on the album, and a nice penultimate track. Ology closes with its most hopeful track, “Chandra,” where we hear Gallant opine, "Maybe there’s a home behind these eyes," which make for sweet sentiments within an emotionally confounding song that ranges from hope, to faith, to despondency, to attraction; all over a spacious orchestral arrangement.

Ology operates on a plane, which most debut records should aspire to achieve – it presents a cohesive sonic presence for Gallant, all the while allowing him to explore other musical pathways for future endeavors. Gallant is certainly not an avant-garde artist, but his willingness to consider other musical realms implies that his creative output could resemble something of a conceptually based artist. Gallant has entered an R&B arena that is already saturated by “new” and “groundbreaking” artists staking their claim to unforeseen R&B adaptations, but Gallant remains unfettered. His nouveau riche take on classic R&B is less of a gamble, and his diverse talent makes Gallant seems poised to experience a long standing career in and out of the genre. 

'Junk': Not as Bad as Its Name Implies, Still Not M83's Best

There’s been an unspoken trend in pop that’s seen the genre separate into two distinct factions: morose, trippy bedroom beats, or '80s synth-pop nostalgia. One is unchartered territory that allows for its adopters to act as the pioneers of the genre subversions, while the latter requires deft mimicry that Flock of Seagulls and Soft Cell probably wouldn’t be able to replicate. Nevertheless, the '80s revival throne is as ready and willing as ever to be assumed by some intrepid sonic soul, someone looking to create the next “Take on Me,” or produce the Millennial era’s answer to Tears for Fears’ Songs From the Big Chair. No one has managed to stake a substantial claim as heir apparent to synth pop sovereignty, but when pressed to identify a frontrunner, you’d be hard pressed to find a better candidate than Anthony Gonzalez and M83.

The French electronica pseudonym for Gonzalez and company, M83 has been in operation for over a decade and a half, as an outlier in the French house music scene. While most French DJs and techno artists fall under the Ed Banger Records or Thomas Bagalter (Daft Punk) umbrellas, Gonzalez has managed to chart a path unlinked to the two French powerhouses. For a decade and a half, Gonzalez has developed M83’s nebulous sound - equal parts cinematic, ambient, and non-derivative – but commercial success was never met until Gonzalez released his first double album Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming, in 2011. The album has garnered extensive critical praise, as far as being heralded as one of the best albums of the decade. M83’s supporting gigs of The Killers and Kings of Leon, along with Gonzalez’s transatlantic move to Los Angeles, heavily influenced the album, as the optimistic and dreamlike freneticism helped propel M83 into further unforeseen synthpop adulation.

While M83 had originally started out as a conceptual and indistinct vehicle for Gonzalez to imbue his perspectives upon the world, Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming’s unprecedented success unfortunately cemented M83 as a synthpop group (at least in the public’s eye). It certainly didn’t help that the album’s most popular track was the most synth heavy track on the tracklist - the infectiously melodic “Midnight City.” In that moment, M83’s original mission statement was enveloped in flames, stoked by label money grubbing and public perception, Gonzalez was more or less forced to expel the next M83 record under the expectation of it being yet another a synthpop leviathan.

When 2015 rolled around, word got out that Gonzalez was indeed working on a follow-up to Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming (the Oblivion soundtrack doesn’t count), and eventually, it was announced that M83 would release its much anticipated 7th full length release, Junk. As part of the mandatory album release press circuit, Gonzalez gave insight into the process of creating his long awaited follow-up, stating that Junk was inspired by the cheesy pop and electronic music of the 80s, along with “old-fashioned shows” like Punky Brewster and Who’s the Boss?. For most, that answer was sufficient and fun description, nowhere remotely close to being a red flag, but for others, the nostalgia tie-in felt to be a little too strong.

Junk is M83’s first album without longtime vocalist and keyboardist Morgan Kibby, having been replaced by Kaela Sinclair, via a crowd sourced audition process. Sinclair’s addition isn’t necessary pertinent to the album in particular, but the departure of a Kibby presented a foreboding omen for how the LP itself doesn’t feel like an M83 album, to the point of which it almost feels like a joke.

Junk opens with the album’s first single, “Do It, Try It,” keeping up with the punctuated titling preferences Gonzalez made apparent on Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming. The track is, well, fun? It does sound reminiscent of “Midnight City,” and the intermittent synth explosions feel akin to another Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming track, “Reunion,” but something just feels off. It feels like Gonzalez placing M83 at a weird intersection of Daft Punk meets Neon Indian meets Giorgio Moroder.

Granted, M83 is a concept driven band, so the notion of adopting features of some titans of synth pop – along with some not so (sorry, Neon Indian) – but for the first time on Junk, M83 begins to sound a little too derivative. The album’s second track takes an interesting turn as the track maintains an anthemic group vocal personality with a grating guitar riff that would sadden the likes of Niles Rodgers (whom it seems Gonzalez was looking to emulate). “Walkaway Blues,” feels jarringly moody, which could more or less be inferred from the cringe worthy song title, but the track itself manages to sound too busy and too vacant at the same time. Effectively, there’s no conceivable substance to the track that has so much going on, as if to mask the fact.

Cleanup track “Bibi the Dog” reveals itself as Junk’s first francophilic crossover, as the familiar M83 trend of French spoken word paces the track over a bass heavy rhythm. After the first three tracks, “Bibi the Dog,” almost seems too cool for Junk, up until the odd vocoder manipulations that break any of the song’s concentration. “Moon Crystal” is a track title that might raise hopes of casual M83 listeners looking for Junk’s “Midnight City,” but instead, “Moon Crystal” is one of the finest elevator music interludes I have heard on a French pop-nostalgia record (i.e. – the only one).

On “For the Kids" vocalist Susanne Sundfør croons in a mix of Cher and Yumi Zouma, asking “when will I see your face again?” It is clichéd to feature such an exhausted lyric, yes, but on a track titled “For the Kids,” at least it comes as a surprise. Luckily, the song features another children’s voiceover a la “Racounte-Moi Histoire,” which drapes an oddly somber tone over the track, a total misdirect by Gonzalez resulting in arguably the most finessed track on the album. Then, in an instant, the listener is torn from the first truly dream-like moment of the record and placed back in the unsettled platform that is most of Junk. “Solitude” sounds like Gonzalez’s attempt at creating a brooding James Bond theme, and “The Wizard” sounds like Gonzalez’s failed Frank Ocean demo, only further confusing the Junk landscape.

“Laser Gun” gives a sneaking suspicion of being a possible “Midnight City,” replicant, with similar percussive piano, and dream allusions of grandeur – “A place where dreams are played like comic strips” – but it just doesn’t feel quite as playful, it just feels tired. The track ends with a series of cheerleader chants that sound like a straight rip from any The Go! Team album ever. “Road Blaster,” “Tension,” and “Atlantique Sud” once again sound like M83 trying out parallel sounds of a listeners’ choice of piano poppers – though “Atlantique Sud” is a lovely French ballad, just not in a M83 fashion.

“Time Wind” is likely to be Junk’s second single, namely because of the track’s high profile feature, the world’s “coolest” scientologist, Beck. It's filled with lyrical cliché’s – “The harder you try makes it harder to let go / I know enough to know it's wrong” type stuff – and the instrumental backing is almost too open to bring in any substantial conviction to the track. Junk closes with a very quiet end that would have been foreign to most M83 albums, but at this point in Junk, anything goes. Overall, Junk feels like Gonzalez trying to maintain the concept driven heart of M83 all the while creating a record that would continue to satiate the less “cultured” musical palates that made Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming such an unprecedented success. Whether or not such a notion is true or not is beside the point, Junk is not a concept album; instead, it’s a stepping stone record for Gonzalez and M83 to navigate the choppy waters that are follow-up records. Junk simply buys time for Gonzalez to right the M83 ship and continues to shift and expand upon the band’s sonic membrane.

Frankie Cosmos Embraces Her Youthful Past for a Thoughtful Future on 'Next Thing'

“Everybody understands me / But I wish no one understood me,” coos Frankie Cosmos mastermind Greta Kline on Next Thing. Through the swift but profound 28 minute runtime of her newest album she intimately sings of her relationship with others, her age, and herself, opening up her inner thoughts to the world. Generally, with songwriting this personal, artists risk their own vulnerability and judgment from listeners, but with Next Thing Kline manages to ride the line between private song making and a greater summation of the coming-of-age experience. Her poetic lyrics, although subjective and intimate, still carry some universal effect, and her simplicity evokes powerful empathy from the listener.

After a staggering catalogue of over 40 albums and EPs released on Bandcamp, Frankie Cosmos was finally thrown into success after her highly praised first official album, Zentropy. Leading lady Kline has always been the brains behind the operation - with her boyfriend Aaron Maine of Porches on drums - as she uses a natural inclination towards empathy to achieve painstaking emotional rawness. This ability to tap into subtle emotions could come from being raised by two actors, Phoebe Cates and Kevin Kline; her innocent introspection is ironic and humorous, but maintains a serious relatability. Inspired by poet Frank O'Hara, Kline uses everyday phrases that could be straight out of her diary to create minimal pop goodness, and her anti-folk writing that emphasizes lyricism over instrumental polish is original enough to conjure up nostalgia and emotion from the listener as her everyday experiences convey a pure honesty that, when attempted by other songwriters, can end up muddled.

Next Thing is aptly named; while 2014’s Zentropy focused more on playful, nostalgic musings of growing up, Next Thing has a heavier feel of more mature, intricate emotion that comes with shedding the “teen” at the end of your age. Kline is now 22 years old, and her new music shows it. Sure, this recent album still has the same pairing of upbeat, pleasing electric guitar and tinny percussion, but it takes on a whole new range of emotions that Kline might not have possessed at 19. Zentropy had ironically emphasized sadness from her cliched declaration that she was, “The kind of girl that buses splash with rain,” or the line, “I am so clumsy / I think how repulsive I am to you.” It was fun and light-hearted, but often over-exaggerated her self-deprecating nature, while Next Thing’s emotional sentiments are more varied. Tracks like “Self Doubt” and “Too Dark” are still laced with youthful insecurity, but the album’s overarching tone of sadness contributes an increased depth. This new form of melancholy plays with concepts that feel a lot more like 22; confusion about the future and its expectations that come with age, insecurity about being a fulfilling friend or lover, and realizing that sadness isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Three years after Zentropy, Kline still has feelings, but those feelings are finally felt confidently as she moves on to the next thing: self-assurance.

With poeticism that evokes rich imagery and a voice that meanders along the anchoring crispness of her instrumentation, Kline manages to differentiate herself from the hoards of lo-fi indie-pop artists of today’s scene. In the sharp album opener, “Floated In,” she uses her liquid vocals to captivate the listener, emphasizing the question, “What are you doing?” coupling it with echoing keyboard synths that balance her low melodramatic voice to create an overall gauzy melody.

“Fool” has timed crescendos that frame Kline’s wooziness in between contrastingly precise snare drum. “I’m 20” holds contrasting staccato picked guitar with floating background "Oo"s. “What If” has driving bass that keeps it upbeat, while “Interlude” and the album closer “O Dreaded C Town” have synths reminiscent of other bedroom pop artist, Florist, who she nods to in “Embody,” as Frankie Cosmos’s instrumentation continues to compliment the simplicity of her message.

“On the Lips” details watching David Blaine, when really it’s a song about falling in love with the idea of someone, while “I'm 20” sings, “I’d sell my soul for a free pen / On it the name of your corporation,” summarizing the overwhelming temptation to just sell out. “Embody” then offers sweet shoutouts to friends (including Eskimeaux’s Gabby Smith and Florist’s Emily Sprague) that represent the sweetness of friendship in your 20s, the type of friendship where you can see the “grace and lightness” of others, but recognize the personal goal to grow into and recognize yourself independently. Because of this it sometimes feels as if the listener is eavesdropping on a piece Kline wrote for herself and her close friends rather than an audience. She is quoted in Pitchfork as saying, “I’m gonna make [Next Thing] the most me thing ever, and scare off anyone who isn’t gonna like that. It was an exercise in staying true to myself," and she followed through, creating what is essentially is an intimate letter to herself with private meaning and inside jokes. Although the songs clock in at under two minutes, they each take on a presence of their own, making quite an impact with so little words in such little time.

The personal touches make this album Kline’s original narrative, but that does not prevent the listener from applying their own experiences to her music. In fact, hearing such personal experiences offers an insight into the tumult of someone else’s life, which, in a way, helps to reconcile the tumult of your own. She beautifully articulates the discomfort and newfound independence that lies in the transition between teenagedom and adulthood. These personable experiences of personal development are present throughout the album, and these bittersweet coming-of-age realizations only exemplify the widespread connection Kline feels towards her outside world.

In relation to Kline’s large portfolio of released work, Next Thing has a more direct and thought out message about what it means to be a young person. Even the seemingly unfinished lyrics of “Outside with the Cuties” was a conscious, matured decision by Kline. Her emotions face towards the future, and although she wishes that nobody understood her, she creates music that is universally relatable.

Yeasayer Transcends Time and Space on 'Amen & Goodbye'

There are few bands that can evolve as effortlessly as trio of art rock Brooklynites, Yeasayer. On their fourth LP, Amen & Goodbye, they don’t just reconcile the worldbeat freak rock of All Hour Cymbals, psychedelic pop of Odd Blood, and brooding, dark electronica of Fragrant World, but manage to transcend time and space itself with a mélange of biblical allusions, futuristic sound, and countless other seemingly disparate stylistic and thematic juxtapositions.

Switching from their one figure per album cover tradition to a Sgt. Pepper’s-esque tableau immediately visualizes this idea of there being many influences (A&G is also, appropriately, the first time they enlisted an outside producer), but while The Beatles used their identity experiment to sever themselves from their past, in a way Yeasayer solidifies and combines theirs. Both groups took the chance to evolve, though, and Yeasayer evolve forwards, backwards, and sideways across boundaries in all directions simultaneously, exhibited especially in the interludes that punctuate A&G with a sort of time-traveled erraticism across “Computer Canticle 1”’s tech hymn of tribal space noise and “Child Prodigy”’s baroque celebration.

The recording process too felt an odd situational paradox - recording live as a band for the first time in the wilderness of upstate New York, Yeasayer had to battle the audible hum of a nearby electric fence or wrangle escaped goats if they turned it off. With normally only about two and a half year breaks in between full-lengths, A&G required an atypically long four to procure, explained at least in part by a rainstorm leak damaging much of their tapes (such are the dangers of analogue recording). Not all was lost, however, with that same precipitation providing the rainfall background to “Gerson’s Whistle,” which appropriately concludes, “Troublemakers make the world go round.” 

It’s no mistake Yeasayer both references the similarly wet Genesis tale of the Great Deluge in album opener “Daughters of Cain” and shows a rotting, severed Trump dictator head in “I Am Chemistry”’s faux-claymation post-apocalyptic hellscape of a music video, saying, “Living in America, you're faced with presidential candidates talking about the end times, and everything is so God-laden. It became a theme for us when we were thinking about lyrics, reflecting on our culture and these big questions about religion." (Political forays are nothing new to the band after the stygian pulse of Fragrant World’s “Reagan’s Skeleton.”)

'I Am Chemistry' taken from the forthcoming Yeasayer album 'Amen & Goodbye' which will be released April Fools' Day, 2016. Directed by New Media Limited.

The track “I Am Chemistry” is a clever litany of poisonous substances set to a glorious, undulating synth rapture and Suzzy of The Roches adding vocal depth with a curious choral contribution. It’s quickly followed by the second official single and most unabashedly pop offering since Odd Blood, “Silly Me,” which opens with choppy acoustic stabs before sharply transforming into a full blown dance lament with the infectious refrain, “Silly me / Where’s my head / I can’t believe now it’s over / She would be here if it wasn’t for silly me.” With glittering admissions like "With crystal ball I now can see / That I'm a man of low degree," it's surely one of the most cheerfully upbeat confessions of guilt you'll ever have the pleasure of hearing.

“Half Asleep" pairs the gospel mantra of “Deliver me from evil” with Middle Eastern sitar-like tones before “Dead Sea Scrolls” breathes energetic groove into the ancient religious manuscripts that lend it their name, until climaxing and convulsing with a frantic primal scream of avant-garde robotic sax that I haven’t once been able to avoid turning up the volume for yet. It speaks to your primitive mind, but your primitive mind has long since been encased in a synthetic shell. With subsequent “Prophecy Gun” we get a gently frenetic beat and ominous bassline layered with vocals almost reminiscent of Paul Simon at his most soothing.

An ode to co-frontman Anand Wilder's daughter (whose birth, incidentally, postponed at last minute a Yeasayer gig I had crossed state lines to attend back in 2012), “Uma" provides their best slow dance since 2010's underrated “I Remember.” Complete with an instantly whistlable, quivering theremin melody played on a digital heartstring and heavy love letter lines of, “And in our overlapping lives / 30 years on either side / Never thought I’d be surprised that I’m alive when you’re alive,” and, “Hope I still can make you smile / When I get to be senile,” it's a piercing highlight that shows even adoration itself is firmly welded to the concept of time.

Amen & Goodbye is Yeasayer’s most heterogeneous body of work, both in terms of the patchwork of its sonic and textural peaks and valleys but also its blending of classic motifs with newly formed bizzarities in a way that never feels heavy handed or campy. Its mysticism and mythological character is scattered but strong like the fable of a universe that doesn’t exist yet, though the personal, poignant closer “Cold Night” grounds the LP with an honest attempt to come to terms with the loss of a close friend: “It’s been one year since you turned yourself back into dust / I guess this is life / You perish or you survive.” Some things never change no matter the context, chronology, or instrument used; life is finite whether ended in a biblical flood or fascist regime. “Was there something I could've told you?” Maybe not. Or maybe this is it exactly. Amen & Goodbye indeed.

SBTRKT Steps Out of Familiar Sound On "SAVE YOURSELF"

If we’re still looking for nicknames to describe the musical year that’s been in 2016, might I suggest “The Year of the Surprise Release”? Granted, two of those “surprise” releases were at the hands of Doug from TIDAL (The Watch plug - hello Andy Greenwald and Chris Ryan), in which Rihanna and Kanye worked to assert their social over financial currency preferences. Then we saw Kendrick release untitled unmastered., a left field release that somehow operates on the level of To Pimp a Butterfly and somewhat dethroned Kanye from his throne atop the musical zeitgeist. Obviously, there’s a common denominator amongst all three of these giant releases (no, its not that they were all featured on The Life of Pablo, thought you’re headed in the right direction) – they’re all hip-hop based albums, even with Kanye’s constant assertions of TLOP being a gospel record.

Don’t worry, that’s all the Kanye talk this review has in store, but long-winded intro aside, there’s something to be said for hip-hop lending itself to being a disruptive force that would benefit from guerrilla style releases rather than the usual promotional cycle. Keeping with the recent slew of first quarter surprise releases, collaborator/producer extraordinaire SBTRKT has added his name to the heavy hitting list.

SBTRKT is a producer that I’ve come to become increasingly fond of with each subsequent release – not necessarily for his musical handiwork (though I do enjoy it), but rather his ability to get such fantastic features on his records. Early SBTRKT featured Jessie Ware, Little Dragon, and other releases included Raury and Ezra Koenig, making each of his records a stimulating exploration in collaborative coordination and SBTRKT’s understanding of musical cohesion.

Newest release to date, SAVE YOURSELF, is also his most cohesive – continuing the trend of steady and substantial maturity as a producer and creative mind. Outside of the aged development of the record, SAVE YOURSELF also touts itself as the most intrepid release by SBTRKT, with effectively one week’s worth of promotion leading up to the surprise release of the album.

Most of SBTRKT’s albums are at least ten tracks deep – the longest of his long-play efforts, Wonder Where We Land, featured a tracklist twenty-two songs long. SAVE YOURSELF is an interesting diversion from SBTRKT’s prior releases, as the record only contains nine tracks – making SAVE YOURSELF some strange convergence between an EP and LP. Furthermore, the production on SAVE YOURSELF is an interesting departure from the heavy-jungle rhythms of past – SAVE YOURSELF sounds like a heavy mixture of Chrome Sparks meets Madeon style house music. There are still the apparent hip-hop, R&B, and funk amalgamation that’s considered a SBTRKT touchstone, but SAVE YOURSELF also features more adventurous studies into trap music, as well.  

In terms of the house vs. trap music contention present in SAVE YOURSELF, the record opens with the aforementioned Madeon-esque bright beat driven opener “GEMINI,” reminiscent of a hopeful space odyssey as synth drive the song along with twinkling piano and tones with little to no percussion at all before fading into the album’s truly introductory track, “GOOD MORNING.” As mentioned before, SBTRKT is an artist/producer who is largely defined by those he collaborates with, and in terms of past collaborations, his collaboration with The-Dream on “GOOD MORNING” is arguably one of his best to date. The song focuses largely on celebrating the commitment to remaining steadfast in love; exploring marriage, child rearing ("Here’s to the baby that you’re going to carry”) and loyalty. It’s a stunningly mature and specific track for a SBTRKT song considering most of his songs in the past have focused largely on vague interactions or allegorical scenarios. The lyrical focus should be credited to The-Dream, who has found second life as a songwriter after his brief stint as a solo artist in the early to mid 2000s.

SAVE YOURSELF is SBTRKT’s best long-play release by a long shot – for starting out as a self-taught producer, the growth over three album’s time makes for an impressive coming of age record on SAVE YOURSELF. It also features SBTRKT’s finest collaboration with frequent collaborator, Sampha, on “TBD.” The track opens with 808 beats eerily reminiscent of Chrome Sparks as ominous guttural noises layered over chimey hits before Sampha begins to wail over the track at its first break. Having followed SBTRKT’s journey since his first EP, its safe to say that “TBD” sees SBTRKT and Sampha connecting in such a collaborative manner that the shifts from house to soul to trap in a single song issues no obstacle for the two.

Following Wonder Where We Land, it started to appear as though SBTRKT was an A&R gem that had begun to run out of creative juice, and a follow-up to the robust sophomore effort would need to see some substantial changes made, or at the least explored. SBTRKT had become an artist who needed to show some growth, with self-taught production only extended so far on the A&R plane. Luckily, SAVE YOURSELF allows SBTRKT to really grow and live within some unchartered territory that is so considerably divergent, its hard not to be impressed that such a gamble would be made in the first place. It almost feels as if SAVE YOURSELF was a representative manifesto of SBTRKT’s mindset in regard to continuing his young and verdant career.