At Least It's Friday: The Best of 2015

Well, it's been a heck of a year.  Easily the most consistently frustrating and infuriating year of my professional (and at times personal) life, this has been a year about testing resolve and one's belief in the bigger picture.  That for every battle lost on a day to day basis -- which at times seemed to number in the dozens -- the broader expenditure of energy and investment (and pain suffered as a result) would not only pay off, but was worth it. For everything from how to stand up (and then run) an enormous new venture to far more simple things like basic communication and requests, this was a war with a thousand fronts and no seeming end to the hostilities.

It was the year of the dick punching machine -- a fabled contraption that came to be emblematic of the struggle -- and standing in front of its fury for 12-15 hrs a day, sometimes longer, to get the ever-loving piss knocked out of you. You did it because you had to, you did it because it was unavoidable, you did it because you were too stupid (or tired) to find any acceptable escapes.  The phrase referenced in the post's title was a tragicomic refrain initially uttered at the end of one's wits on the appropriate day, but then gradually uttered earlier and earlier in the week until you found yourself muttering it by 9AM on a Monday and disbelieving the fact you had five more days to go.  Yes, the DPM was legion, and there was (and still is) no identified cure. 

That said, there were still bright spots hidden in the muck (I wouldn't be Bobby Sunshine if I couldn't find em!) -- I took more days off than in previous years in an effort to avoid as much punishment as possible and don't forfeit any leave at year's end for a change.  I built retaining walls and ornamentally decorated others with tiles.  I hand placed and leveled eleventy billion patio bricks. I designed kitchens and watched hockey (world champs, baby!). I read books (discovering Harry Crews and his masterful A Feast of Snakes and diving deeper into Neil Gaiman never disappointed) and watched movies (Whiplash and Interstellar blew me away as I caught up from last year). I bought expensive drums and relaxed with Ladypants.

And above all I listened to music.   I got to two festivals, a ton of shows in between, and burned through even more albums at home, the best of which are detailed below.  Some you'll recognize as I wrote about them earlier in the year, others will be completely new and appear here for the first time.  There's 29 in all, which is up a bit from last year and potentially a good reason for me taking more time off so I can find even more next year.

Similar to last year the top slot features an offering from an all-time fave that was ten years in the making, and the list is also a little lighter than previous years on electro and rap again (there's only three of the former and NONE of the latter (though I listened to "Hotline Bling" almost enough to warrant an entry), which has only happened once before on these year-end reviews).  What remains, though, truly is the best of the best.  For while the extra free time gave me the opportunity to find a lot more music, it also allowed me to scrutinize what I found even more than usual.  So what shows up below has withstood some pretty withering scrutiny (exacerbated at times by a unabashedly crappy mood), which hopefully is an indicator of its quality.  So take a walk through the forest of the unfamiliar with me and see what calls out to you -- you may not like every thing suggested below, but I guarantee you'll be able to find something.

Until next time, my friends...enjoy! (And Merry Christmas!)
--BS
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1. Sleater-Kinney -- No Cities to Love: This one had the top spot from the first listen and never looked back. Similar to a few others in the top five, this came out nearly an entire year ago and has managed to stand up to an unbelievable amount of listening, which would have exposed flaws in far lesser fare.  That it hasn't after this much time and punishment speaks to its exceptional quality -- ten songs of undeniable, irresistible listening that will leave you a breathless, spent puddle by the end of it. There's the hammer blow of the opening "Price Tag," "Surface Envy," and "Bury Our Friends," the rollicking "Fangless," "New Wave," and "Hey Darling."  There's the growling thunder of the closing "Fade" and the mindfuck of the year, "No Anthems."  There isn't a bad one in the bunch -- hell, there's barely one that's not "outstanding" -- and the fact that they were away one year for every song here is amazing.  To be gone that long and come back this potent speaks to why this is one of the best rock bands out there -- period.

I listened to this album more than any others this year by far, and in a year that was as infuriating and frustrating as this one was, it was the perfect accompaniment -- to either blow off some steam and shred (as a firm believer in the merits of percussive therapy, Janet Weiss' work is one of the best to thrash along to) or to muster the resolve to pick myself up and keep punching back. No other album had as many mind melting "holy F#$K!" moments as this one, and none were even remotely of the same magnitude.  This will fry your neighbor's brains when you put it on, it's that powerful.  These ladies remain one of my overall faves and true titans of rock. I can't think of anything more to say about them than I did earlier this year, other than they continue to blow me away ten months later.  Put this one on again and turn it up -- WAY up.

2. Alabama Shakes -- Sound & Color: This one didn't miss the top spot by much, representing the most surprising, vibrant, and at times difficult album -- both to categorize and digest, based on the expectations set on the debut -- but also the most continuously rewarding.  It's an absolute masterpiece, one I turned to relentlessly over the year and was never disappointed.  As I wrote before, the band took a huge risk putting out an album so different from their first, but it pays off magnificently.  What we get in return is an album that hits harder, registers deeper, and stays with you longer, shifting effortlessly from vintage soul, R&B, and blues, to their brand of Southern-tinged rock.

It's difficult to capture just how good they are here.  The blissfully warm title track, the powerhouse lead single "Don't Wanna Fight" (which was a personal, if not also professional theme song this year), the unbelievable "Dunes" and its Stax-style siblings "Future People," "Gimme All Your Love," "Miss You, and "Guess Who."  They all continue to amaze after repeated listens, and they give the more contemplative, quiet numbers like "This Feeling" and "Over My Head" even more power. Seeing it performed live was an almost religious experience, one that actually brought a tear to my eye at one point.  Frontwoman Brittany Howard and the boys have gone WAY above and beyond here.  This is one for the ages...

3. Built to Spill -- Untethered Moon: This is another one I wrote about earlier in the year (this will be a trend, as you might already have noticed), and another that's more than held up to some heavy listening.  Idaho legends Doug Martsch and Co. charged back after a six year hiatus (their longest to date) with their eight album, and it's a seamless addition to their already impressive catalog.  There are some bands who you might want (or tolerate) changing their sound and pushing the boundaries of what they can do as a unit, just to see what comes back. (See the Shakes above for one example of how it can go really well.)

This isn't one of those bands.  BTS is SO good at what they do -- smart, thoughtful indie rock, full of incredibly intricate guitar parts and melodies, constantly shifting tempos, and an array of thoughts and moods -- that I don't want them to change a thing.  They already find so much variety within the lines of such high quality that I don't want them to color outside of them. (I'm sure it would be amazing, but I don't want a Doug Martsch R&B album anytime soon...) They're essentially the pigs of the music world -- the best, most delectable and versatile being that I want every time it's offered to me, and more of every time I'm done.

That they've been doing so at this level for 20 years is pretty remarkable, and they don't show any signs of slowing down now.  They throw down the gauntlet with the first song, "All Our Songs" (honestly, there's not a band out there that does tone-setting, monster openers better than these guys), and don't slow down much from there.  "Living Zoo" and "Another Day" are among the best things they've recorded (I must have listened to both of them nearly a hundred times this year), "So" and "Some Other Song" slowly build towards explosions, "C.R.E.B." is a shape-shifting juggernaut, and "Never the Same" and "Horizon to Cliff" show Martsch's softer, sweeter side.  There's nary a note out of place (I still think "When I'm Blind" could use a slight trim in the middle, but its bookends are great).  Add this one to the pantheon of greatness.

4. The Districts -- A Flourish and a Spoil: The sophomore album from the boys from Philly gets off to a sizzling start with "4th and Roebling" as an expectant bass line and kick drum thump along, building incrementally as singer/guitarist Rob Grote comes in with the verse, and then exploding in full flourish with the second verse.  (When Grote sings what was often a piece of inner dialogue this year, "Sunshine, I believe we're headed the right way, but then again I can't quite tell for sure...") It shows right away what the band does so well -- build songs to frantic explosions that're so fulfilling you'll find yourself circling the room punching the air or drumming along in tandem.

These guys are hands-down one of my favorite bands to come along in the last few years, and I worked the shit out of this album from the time it came out in February and it hasn't diminished an iota since. The payoffs in tracks like "Hounds" and "Bold" are still irresistible, the singalongs for tracks like "Peaches," "Sing the Song," and "Heavy Begs" are still exuberant, and even the two hushed solo moments on "Suburban Smell" and "6AM" work nicely. Grote's lyrics continue to improve, as well, with notes of bitterness and anxiety whose origins (or target) may not always be clear, but that feel honest and true, allowing you to take them as your own from song to song. (Not that I have anything to be bitter about...)

Whether you pay attention to the lyrics or not, though, these guys just flat out slay -- this is an album chock full of gems from a band that should be twenty times bigger than they are. They're even better live, and never moreso than when they play their ready-made encore epic, "Young Blood," which remains nine minutes of pure perfection. They closed both shows I saw them at this year with it, and it destroys every time (as it does every time it comes on in my car). The shouted refrain at the end felt like a mantra of mine many times this year -- "it's a long way back to the height from where I am" -- but you're pumped to go smash back into that wall every time after listening.  Another killer album from a band that hopefully has half a dozen more like it in them.

5. Father John Misty -- I Love You, Honeybear: This is another one that came out really early in the year and that has spent more than a few spins on repeat on the stereo since.  Similar to the above, it's the second album for Misty, but unlike the Districts' follow-up effort that kills you with its climaxes, what kills you here is Misty's withering lyrics.  (His amazing voice and the lovely melodies don't hurt either.) As I wrote earlier this year, every song has at least a couple lines that are sharp enough to pierce stone, and that's what makes his stuff special -- how he juxtaposes that honey-laden croon with his snarky, at times wickedly funny lyrics. 

The potency hasn't been diluted at all in the intervening months -- lead single "Chateau Lobby #4 (in C for Two Virgins)," "Nothing Good Ever Happens at the Goddamn Thirsty Crow," and "Strange Encounter" still kill, while more subdued tracks like the opener and the last three on the album only got better with more listens. (I still hate the dancy "True Affection," which just sounds out of place, and skip it every time it comes on.) The album ages really well and rewards repeated listens, particularly on those last few songs.  When this first came out my brain was fried by the time I reached the halfway point of "Crow" and I'd just go back and listen to those opening tracks again, to see "did he just say that?" or to immerse myself in the brilliance of tracks like "Chateau" or "The Night Josh Tillman Came to Our Apt.," which remains my favorite song on the album and the best song that came out this year.

As the year went on, though, and I got to sit with some of those quieter numbers -- particularly the last three -- I saw that they were every bit as good as the early obsessions. I especially love "Bored in the USA," which is both hilarious and so perfectly representative of the bitter cynicism and malaise that Misty radiates (and I sometimes share) it should be a national anthem. (The opening line is "How many people rise and say, 'My brain's so awfully glad to be here for yet another mindless day?'" -- and it only gets better after that.) It's a hell of an album and worth every ounce of effort to sit down and just listen to it (and nothing else).

6. Shakey Graves -- And the War Came; Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats -- Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats; Black Pistol Fire -- Hush or Howl: This slot's for my Southern soul and a couple albums that kept it going this year.  First up is Shakey's sophomore outing, which marks a dramatic leap forward from his uneven debut, Roll the Bones.  This one's borderline perfection, with songs so winning and melodies so infectious you're all but powerless to sing along.  He doesn't change the recipe -- it's still primarily him on guitar with his suitcase kickdrum and tamb -- but the songs that pair him with a full band (or better yet, his knee-buckling harmonies with Esme Patterson) give the songs an extra oomph that was often missing on the debut.  There's nary a bad track to be found -- "The Perfect Parts," "Dearly Departed," and "Big Time Nashville Star" all are rollicking, big-hearted singles, while "Only Son," "Hard Wired," "Pansy Waltz," and "House of Winston" all hit the softer, more sentimental side.  The effect overall is an unqualified success -- a little bit of heart and a little country swagger, like ole Sunshine after a couple sazeracs.  Fantastic album.

Next comes one of my accidental, but probably most prized, discoveries this year, the outstanding debut from Rateliff and his band of merry men.  Rateliff has been doing the solo singer-songwriter thing for several years now, but was struggling to break through (which is a shame because his solo stuff has some beauties tucked away), so he decided to take one more swing at it, this time ditching the melancholic man on stage and replacing him with a raucous gang of ruffians to see if that resonated.  The result was nothing short of a bomb blast, as the band offered up some of the most ebullient, uplifting music of the year -- part Mardi Gras second line, part tobacco fields spirituals, this is revival music at its finest, food for your heart and soul.  Both sides will go away more than nourished here, the former from tracks like "Howling at Nothing," "Wasting Time," and "Mellow Out," the latter from booming tracks like "I Need Never Get Old," "Trying so Hard Not to Know," "Look it Here," and the irresistible "S.O.B.," which is a close second for my favorite track of the year.  It's an infectious blend, one that'll get you moving early and often, no matter how many times you listen to it.

Last up is one that came out late last year and got lost in the shuffle of prepping for the holidays and processing the year's worth of music that came before it, but luckily wasn't lost completely.  That's because once I got around to it, it completely knocked me on my ass -- I put it on regular repeat and haven't stopped since. This is only the second album for the Austin-based blues duo, yet they sound as confident and self-assured as a band with three times as much output.  The album's brisk 30-odd minutes are chock full with some monster songs (at 9:2 it's a lot more "Howl" than "Hush") -- the opening trio of "Alabama Coldcock," "Dimestore Heartthrob," and "Baby Ruthless" are an irresistible onslaught that pauses only momentarily before thundering through another sterling triple -- "Hipster Shakes," "Run Rabbit Run," and "Honeydripper."  "Show Pony" is the album's final major assault, and it's every bit as good as its predecessors, with breaks that could smash concrete.

The band (and album) are reminiscent of the Black Keys/White Stripes with glimmers of Zeppelin (who they weave into their mixtape-like live sets, along with Marley, Springsteen, and others) as guitarist Kevin McKeown and drummer Eric Owen thrash away, but don't write them off as derivative.  This is a fantastic album, one that somehow manages to sound even better live. I've caught the guys twice this year and it didn't matter whether I was in a field with hundreds of people or a living room with a few dozen, they absolutely shredded the place.  Pop this one in and crank it up to eleven -- it's about to get swampy.

7. Astral Swans -- All my Favorite Singers are Willie Nelson; Foals -- What Went Down: This slot's for strange bedfellows -- one a strange, hypnotic debut, the other a much awaited return from a recent fave -- but a duo that worked in tandem to keep the Sunshine Express moving this year.  For the former, in a year that was a brutalizing as this past year was, little pools of solace were often all I had to keep going.  So like a shimmering pond and palm tree in the desert, I found myself pulling my bloodied husk towards the refuge and relief of things like this album time and again.  Calgary native Matthew Swann's hushed voice, fractal lyrics, and the resulting foggy, fuzzy atmosphere formed the sonic representation of my emotional resolve this year.  When he sings "it's a teeeeeeeeerrible state" over and over on "Please Don't Leave me Strange" or things like "I will never forget, even when my mind is gone" on "Holly Drive" in scarcely more than a whisper, you can picture him lying there battered on the floor, croaking out the lines that way because a whisper's all he could muster. (And that may or may not be how/where I would be listening to it, in a very similar state.)

It's a great, strange album -- part 60s folk and psychedelic, part 90s grunge -- that's tough to categorize and even tougher to turn off. The album's twelve songs fit together perfectly to create this warm, intoxicating haze, as Swann's voice and his catchy melodies reach out from the speakers and envelop you.  High points remain the opening "There are Ways to get What you Want," the punky "Let Their Faces All Blur Out," and the plaintive "What Calms you Down, Freaks me Out." And for the busted up listener on the mat, the versatility of Swann's cryptic lyrics will keep you coming back for more, as they at times seem like fragments of your own thoughts. ("Let's have the weekend, until the beginning of the end" from "Beginning of the End" or "when my mind broke to the point of not feeling" on "Grass Girl.") A strong debut, which hopefully has a near-term follow on.

The back half picks up where the former leaves off, getting me moving once I've finally gotten off the floor, completing a ritual I performed hundreds of times this year. It's the fourth album from the British five piece and it finds them sounding better than ever after a couple years off, continuing the momentum from that strong last outing. (2013's Holy Fire) It's their fullest assault to date, showcasing the band's numerous strengths -- the knotty, jaunty guitar parts that crisscross and swirl like dive-bombing birds ("Birch Tree," "Albatross," "Night Swimmers"); the insurgent rockers that trample forward like charging bulls (the title track, "Snake Oil"); the blissed out, downtempo numbers that stretch out into the black ("Give it All," "London Thunder").

All of them are propelled by frontman Yannis Philippakis, whose intensity helps lend a number of the songs a grandeur and urgency not previously seen.  The band's always had a raw, buoyant energy, but it's tended to tip more towards the cerebral side in years past.  Here Philippakis and Co. seem to be aiming more for the heart, with more unadorned lyrics and his plaintive wail, which gives the album an anthemic feel at times. It translates well live, too, with lead guitarist Jimmy Smith gleefully singing along mike free to each of the album's tracks while drummer Jack Bevan uncorks some utterly head-scratching rhythms. (I was intently watching him and still don't know how his movements match up to the sound on some tracks.)  It's a potent mix, and the band does a nice job shifting between the moods and colors to keep you off-balance.  It gives the album a rich, varied feel that keeps you coming back for more.

8. Cold War Kids -- Hold my Home;  Modest Mouse -- Strangers to Ourselves: This slot's for the bald, bearded guys who work as quality control technicians for the DPM, and a return to form for two of their favorite bands (though not necessarily their ladies'). First up are the Cold War Kids whose fifth album finds them continuing the resurgence they found on their last, Dear Miss Lonelyhearts, and stepping ever further from the overwrought mess of a middle album.  It's a welcome sight -- I'd all but written them off after that album, and it wasn't until the swing for the fences earnestness on "Miracle Mile" that I decided to give them another shot.  And I'm glad I did -- Lonelyhearts was a solid return to form, if a bit meek at times, almost like the band itself was testing the waters and seeing how it felt. This album shakes off all the shyness and is far more self-assured, as evident on songs like "Drive Desperate," "Hotel Anywhere," the title track, and "Flower Drum Song," which crackle with energy.  They shift seamlessly to slower songs as well, tracks like "First," "Nights & Weekends," and "Harold Bloom," where lead singer Nathan Willett breaks into a convincing croon. It's an eclectic mix, which is what the band has always offered at its best, and this marches them a whole lot closer to the greatness of their debut.

Speaking of eclectic mix, next is the return of Modest Mouse, six years since their last EP (the middling No One's First, and You're Next) and eight since their last studio album (the masterful We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank).  Thankfully it tips far closer to the latter, a characteristic smorgasbord of weirdness and charm as only frontman Isaac Brock could offer up. There's straightforward winners like lead single "Lampshades on Fire," "The Ground Walks, With Time in a Box," "Be Brave," and "The Best Room," slower fare like the lovely "Coyotes" and the lurching "Shit in Your Cut" and "The Tortoise and the Tourist."  And then there's the vintage Isaac weirdness -- the carnival soundtrack of "Sugar Boats," the indecipherable fragment "God is an Indian and You're an Asshole," and the serial killer on the phone vocals of "Pistol (A. Cunanan, Miami, FL 1996)," which is infectious insanity and what I imagine a clown's inner monologue sounds like. Somehow it all hangs together, though, and what would sound like an unholy mess in less skilled hands sounds like a carefully crafted monument in Isaac's. Here's to him not taking the better part of the decade off again and coming back soon.

9. Bear's Den -- Islands; James Bay -- Chaos and the Calm; The Hunts -- Those Younger Days:  This slot's for pure prettiness, with a couple of bands whose debut albums offered some of the year's lovelier tracks.  I found all of them at festivals -- the first two at my annual pilgrimage home to Lolla, the last one at the party in my backyard that was Landmark -- and each of them has stayed with me in the months since.  On paper there are a couple stark differences -- the Lolla ones are comprised of four unrelated lads from London, the Landmark one seven siblings from Maryland; the first two are mid/late twenty year olds singing of love and loss, the last one kids in their late teens/early twenties singing with the unvarnished optimism to which their relative youth typically subscribes -- but each aims for the heart and routinely finds their target.

Wielding a mess of acoustic guitars and supplementary strings, the bands offer up albums full of top notch melodies that'll weaken the knees and wound the ticker -- for Bear's Den it's tracks like "Agape," "Isaac," "Bad Blood," and "Above the Clouds of Pompeii," which still draws blood half a year later; for the Hunts it's ones like "Valentina," "Illuminate," "Douse the Flame" and "Make this Leap," which still borders on pure jubilation with every listen. 

And then there's Bay, whose album (and age) walks the line between the two, as the title implies  -- full-throated pop songs like "Craving," "If You Ever Want to be in Love," "When we Were on Fire," and "Get Out While You Still Can," each of which will have you belting the words out alongside him. He mixes these with slower gems like "Hold Back the River," "Let it Go," "Move Together," and "Need the Sun to Break," which smolder with Bay's voice and honest lyrics. In a year that was filled with frustration and fury, I often found myself turning to these for solace, to bask in the warmth of their hearths and find quarter from the unrelenting storm.


10. Chemical Brothers -- Born in the Echoes; Skrillex and Diplo -- Skrillex and Diplo Present: Jack U; Major Lazer -- Peace is the Mission: This slot's for the electroheads, and despite not being in the mood to boogie much this year thanks to my relentless friend the DPM, there were a few selections that managed to punch through the punishment and get things moving.  First up is the latest from the veteran Chems, their first studio album in five years and their eighth overall, and as I wrote earlier it's a perfect summation of their previous offerings.  There's the hard charging "Sometimes I Feel so Deserted" and "EML Ritual," the hypnotic "Under Neon Lights" and title track, the big beats of "Go" and "I'll See you There," and the spacy "Reflexion" and "Taste of Honey." It's a wide ranging affair, one that culminates with the buoyant "Wide Open," which serves as the equivalent of daybreak after the album's soundtrack to a night in the club.

Next comes the ballyhooed pairing of two of electro's biggest names, the EDM equivalent of Kanye and Jay-Z teaming up a few years back.  And similar to that offering (which also ended up on the year end list) it lives up to the hype, showcasing the strengths of each of the participants without sounding dissonant or disjointed.  Which is saying something, as I'm normally not the biggest fan of Skrillex -- his monsters-fucking-a-space-station sound can be grating at times, but here it blends nicely with Diplo's more motley assortment of tones and influences, sometimes seamlessly as on tracks like "Beats Knocking" and "Febreze."  Other tracks tip more towards Diplo's style, and actually call to mind his work on the Major Lazer album that would come out several months later (more on that in a second).  Tracks like "To U," "Mind," and "Take U" (particularly the mind-fryingly good version with Missy's verses) all soar and wouldn't sound out of place on that album. Even the track with Justin Bieber ("Where Are You Now") works well. (Bieber hands to the sky!)

It's a perfect companion to the third Lazer album, which as I wrote earlier shows Diplo and Co slowing things down a bit to powerful effect. Similar to those last few tracks on Jack U, the best moments here are the half steppers, the ones that glide along on the backs of some killer female vocals and even better beats.  Tracks like the opening "Be Together," the closing "All my Love," and the monster duo of "Lean On" and "Powerful" in between outshine almost everything around it. The uptempo tracks still sizzle, though -- maybe a little more so for the juxtaposition -- "Blaze up the Fire" and "Roll the Bass" are pure dancehall grime, while "Too Original" is the track that would burn the dancehall to the ground; an absolute fucking monster. Diplo keeps his title as electro's Midas with two more notches in the win column here.  Crank it up.

11. Catfish and the Bottlemen -- The Balcony; Hippo Campus -- Bashful Creatures/South; Atlas Genius -- Inanimate Objects: These three represent the poppier side of things, a mix of big hooks, bigger choruses, and more synth than I usually allow myself close to, but it works so I'm not going to fight it (or apologize).  First up are a couple of debuts from bands I found back at Lolla -- Catfish and company come our way from across the pond, Hippo and the kids from Minnesota -- and both were instant faves at the festival.  They've held up well in the intervening months, Catfish on the backs of their insanely catchy tunes (the opening trio of "Homesick," "Kathleen," and "Cocoon" are absolute whoppers, followed by equally winning tracks like "Pacifier" and "Business"), while Hippo does so on their pure effervescence.  (Songs like "Sophie So," "Little Grace," and the seal barking "Suicide Saturday" are pure sunshine, as are later releases "Dollar Bill" and "South.") Pop either on to put a kick in your step -- you'll be dancing around and singing in no time.

Last up is the follow-on album from Aussie synth pop dynamos Atlas, whose first album was an infectious blend of jangly guitars, shimmery keys, and big pop choruses, and this one's no different.  From the opening one-two of "The Stone Mill" and lead single "Molecules," to latter gems "Stockholm," "A Perfect End," and "The City we Grow," the band shows they can still wallop a pop hit like the best of 'em. They show some respectable range as well, on tracks like the smoldering "Where I Belong" and the lovely duo of "Balladino" and "Levitate," the latter of which closes the album on a blissful, serene note.  It's a solid showing for a band trying to stand up to some serious pressure thanks to their hit maker of a debut.  They handle it nicely, though, and keep us interested in what round III will hold.

12. The Arcs -- Yours, Dreamily; Avers -- Empty Light: This slot's for the throwbacks and a couple of albums that winningly conjure up sounds from decades past.  First up it's Black Keys frontman Dan Auerbach's side project debut, a mix of 60s psychedelia and 70s soul that for some reason calls to mind spaghetti westerns and 70s cop movies to me. A number of songs/riffs seem tailor made for movie soundtracks of that era -- "Put a Flower in Your Pocket," "Pistol Made of Bone," "Cold Companion" -- they all crackle with that vintage feel that's part scuzzy fuzz, part shimmering sunlight. Tracks like "Velvet Ditch" (which switches from a Sergio Leone style whistle to a classic funk riff before the song even starts) and "Come & Go" (which sounds like the movie it's backing is already playing in the background) only deepen the effect.  More straightforward tracks keep things from going too far into the ether -- lead single "Outta my Mind" and "The Arc" are busting with energy rockers, while "Stay in my Corner" and "Rosie (Ooh La La)" are pure soul.  Auerbach's got a hell of an ear for melody, and as with his regular gig (and solo stuff) he doesn't disappoint here.

The back half's for the debut from the Richmond six piece Avers who I managed to catch at Landmark festival and was blown away -- in part by the volume (which with a five vocalist, four guitar attack was epic), but mostly by the killer mix of psychedelic haze and garage rock they conjure up.  As I wrote then, they shift effortlessly between British invasion style rock ("The Only One," "Girls With Headaches") and fuzzed up noir ("White Horses," "Harvest," "Evil") and the overall effect is a knockout.  Even slower, more ethereal songs like the title track, "Barrel to Mouth," or "Top of the Stairs" work with their smoldering moodiness.  With so many vocalists taking the lead throughout the album, each with a unique sensibility and tone, it leads to a wide range of textures and depth that's continuously fulfilling.  This is another debut that leaves you longing for a quick follow-on.

13. Ex Hex -- Rips; Honeyblood -- Honeyblood: This slot's for the lady killers -- not hunky slabs of man meat who'll melt your heart and captivate your dreams such as myself, but rather a gang of ladies who will knock those guys, and everyone around them, on their butts.  First up is DC-native Mary Timona's latest project, a three piece I discovered at Landmark and immediately dug as they whipped the crowd up with their Joan Jett-style rockers. As I wrote then, the lyrics may not knock you over, but the attitude and hooks will, and they've got ample helpings of both to do the job.  Tracks like "Don't Wanna Lose," "Beast," "You Fell Apart," and "Waterfall" all continue to invoke the album title and rip, while songs like "Waste Your Time," "How You Got That Girl," and "Outro" smother the sneer and show a little vulnerability.  It's just a flat out fun album, chock full of energy and hooks.  Pop it in and start pogoing.

Next is the Scottish duo Honeyblood, who I sort of stumbled into by accident.  Their lead single "Bud" came out a couple years ago and I'd really enjoyed it, but hadn't heard anything more from them.  Until, that is, I bought tickets for the wrong show and ended up catching their tour for their full length debut earlier this year.  (As with everything this year, reading was apparently too taxing for me so when I thought I saw "Houndmouth" was playing and bouth tickets, this was who actually showed up...)  It turned out to be a happy accident, though, because lead singer/guitarist Stina Marie Claire Tweeddale and drummer Shona McVicar offer up a bunch of catchy, punky songs that'll get stuck in your head. From tracks like "Fall Forever" and "Super Rat" to "Killer Bangs" and "All Dragged Up," the album is chock full of brash, pissed off songs about breakups and love that are as catchy as they are unguarded.  Slower tracks like "(I'd Rather Be) Anywhere But Here," "No Spare Key," and "Joey" round things out nicely, and Tweeddale's Glaswegian accent makes everything sound more alluring throughout.  Here's to intermittent literacy and strokes of fortune (and all things Scottish!)...

14. Two Gallants -- We Are Undone; Benjamin Booker -- Benjamin Booker: This slot's for some good old fashioned blues, the first by the San Francisco twosome on their sixth full length album, the latter a solo affair by the New Orleans-based newcomer on his first.  The Gallants offer more of what we expect here -- a hearty mix of uptempo stompers (the title track, "Incidental," "Fools Like Us"), smoldering gems ("Invitation to the Funeral," "Some Trouble"), and heartfelt, winning shufflers ("My Man Go," "Katy Kruelly," "There's so Much I Don't Know").  It's even better live, as lead singer/guitarist Adam Stephens and drummer Tyson Vogel fill the room with an unexpected amount of earnest noise for a twin bill.

Booker is even more unabashed and raw on his brash, unbridled debut.  From the punky opener of "Violent Shiver" to fellow thunderpunches "Have You Seen my Son" and "Old Hearts," there's very few missteps for the 26-year old.  Add to the aforementioned the hard charging "Always Waiting," "Wicked Waters," and "Kids Never Grow Older" and you've got an album whose winners more than outpace the minor detractions.  This one came out late last year and similar to BPF's latest got caught in the end of the year frenzy that kept me from discovering it until the snow was past the roof.  I'm glad I finally dug into it, though. Even the slower tracks work well -- "Slow Coming," "I Thought I Heard you Screaming," and "By the Evening" showcase Booker's raspy voice and unvarnished heart nicely.  It's a winning affair, rough edges and all.

15. Houndmouth -- Little Neon Limelight; Thunderbitch -- Thunderbitch: This slot's another one for my backwater leanings and two more fragments from my Southern soul. First up is the follow-up from the Louisville foursome I wrote about earlier this year. As I wrote then, it's an album that showcases the band's fantastic four-part harmonies and winning melodies, but what kept it from fully resonating with me (then as now) is a mix of false bravado and insincere (or overly contrived) lyrics. That still stands -- on the songs where it's most flagrant it still sticks out like the chick throwing her hair around and dancing like a pole dancer in a crowded club -- but in the intervening months my annoyance with those aberrations has diminished.

That's probably in part to seeing them live at Landmark this summer.  What came across as cloying and slightly annoying on the album seemed more sincere in person when the four bandmates seemed to honestly be enjoying themselves and the songs; it came across as more playful and earnest than artificial and engineered. I still maintain they're at their best when they ditch the posturing and sing what they know -- tracks like "Sedona," "Honey Slider," "Gasoline," and "Darlin'" still shine this many months later -- so you hope they find that sweet spot on their third outing and really take it to the next level.

If the knock on the first one is limited sincerity in the lyrics, the knock on the second one could be limited depth there.  In its brief ten song, thirty-odd minute duration well over half the songs make references to rock and roll, guitars, parties, and a leather jacket. If you take the album for what it is, though -- Alabama Shakes frontwoman Brittany Howard's unbridled id -- it's a more excusable offense.  Impulses of the id aren't supposed to be deep, they're supposed to be raw, primal, and fun.  And these are (or to steal a line from the song on the aforementioned jacket, "totally fuckin' awesome") -- said song of bovine backwear, "I Don't Care," "I Wanna Rock and Roll," "Eastside Party," "Wild Child," "My Baby is my Guitar," "Let Me Do What I Do Best" -- these tracks are loud, rough eruptions of Howard's reptilian part of the brain (or her ample pair of she-balls). It actually calls to mind what I picture the Shakes' early days sounded like, banging away in the back room of a bar, the crowd packed in, drunk, and sweaty, but loving every minute of it.

Howard balances these songs nicely with three key emanations from her softer side, the side displayed more nakedly (and to masterful effect) on the Shakes' follow on, as noted above. Tracks like "Very Best Friend," "Heavenly Feeling," and the sledgehammer of a song, "Closer," are all perfectly positioned to break up the blitzkreig pace of the songs around it.  They're the equivalent of a tall glass of water in the midst of a night-long bender. (Shot! Shot! Shot! Water. Shot! Shot! Water.) Overall it's a fun sidestep from her day job and the soundtrack to a solid evening on the tiles for you and yours.

Soul Food and Secrets: A Day at the Beach

Thought I'd pop in after having my heart dashed against the rocks again this week with the latest installment of my Cubs' trademark collapses to offer up two happy accidents.  Both were found completely by chance in unlikely locales -- one the gas station at Costco, the other some hipster giftshop at the beach -- but both have been heavy in the rotation ever since.  First up is the reincarnation of singer-songwriter Nathaniel Rateliff as a bonafide soul man after years of offering delicate, lovelorn acoustic numbers as a solo act. (Check out "I Am" for one of his best.)  This time he's come to town with a posse, the Night Sweats, a gang of six equipped with horns, strings, and a boatload of swagger, that're hellbent on making you move -- and move you shall.

For while Rateliff's songs have always been easy on the ears (if not on the heart, due to his poignant lyrics), thanks to his lovely voice and melodies, this takes those strengths to a whole new level, channeling them through the vintage soul and gospel of acts like Sam Cooke and Otis Redding (who Rateliff sounds uncannily like at times).  Fittingly enough, Rateliff and Co. are signed to the legendary Stax, who know a little something about those forebears and the art of getting you to move, and they've captured the fabled lightning once again.  This is a Sunday morning revival captured when the crowd is at full lather, and you will be powerless to resist.  From the opening slam of "I Need Never Get Old," to fellow barnburners "Trying So Hard Not to Know," "Look it Here," and the juggernaut of "S.O.B.," these guys can conjure up pure, unadulterated joy in no time flat.  They do a nice job balancing the fervor with slower, more soulful tunes like "Howling at Nothing," "I've Been Failing," "Wasting Time," and the blissful closer "Mellow Out," which really call to mind the Cooke references and his sweeter, simpler vibe.

It's an impressive debut, and one I hope Rateliff is able to replicate again soon, if for no other reason than these ten songs aren't going to last long at the rate I've been listening to them.  None moreso than the aforementioned juggernaut, the tune that got things going that day at the gas station.  It's a monster song -- the once in a lifetime type song I always talk about here -- and is as good the 50th time as it is the first.  Part plantation spiritual, with nothing more than Rateliff, hums, and handclaps on the verses, and pure New Orleans on the chorus, with horns blazing and drinks flying, it's an amazing track, easily the best thing on an equally impressive album.  Check it out here:



The second discovery was unearthed from the background music of that hipster shop at the beach and it turns out it's from an album that's eight years old and a band that's been defunct for nearly half that, Voxhaul Broadcast.  The band hailed from Orange County, CA when it was still intact and what caught my ear was how much they reminded me of the Features (a personal fave, as long-timers here know) on that first listen -- both are four pieces deploying a mix of keys, guitars, and big chorused winners (keyboardist Anthony Aguilar and bassist Phillip Munset II form the backbone here), both have deceptively skillful drummers (Kurt Allen is the wildman on cans), and both have an incredible yeller at the mike who will have you howling along at the top of your lungs whether you know the words or not (David Dennis is said frontman/instigator).

It's uncanny as you move through their debut EP, Rotten Apples -- from the title track to equally excellent "Flickering Sparks," "Why Not," and "Too Much Thinking" -- it sounds like a lost album from the boys from Tennessee it's so familiar.   Which speaks to its quality, as those boys routinely end up on the year-end list here.  This album is chock full of winners, too, that makes it all the more lamentable the band's no longer around.  (And that I didn't discover them until four years after they'd broken up!) They only put out a single full length after this, in addition to a couple more EPs (including one recorded at my beloved Elliott Smith's studio), that had some winning stuff on it, but nothing compares to this debut, which is an instant fave.  The best remains the first tune that hooked my ear that day in the shop, the effervescent "Why Not." Check it out here:



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We'll close with a buoyant little single from Vampire Weekend bassist Chris Baio (under the penname of his surname), "Sister of Pearl."  It bears some of the characteristics of his alma mater in its lightness and zip, while calling to mind 80s era Talking Heads and Bowie at times, too.  The jingling riff that runs throughout honestly calls to mind Wes Anderson who could (and hopefully will) use this to the climax for any of his movies.  (You can almost picture Gene Hackman chasing Owen Wilson on a velocipede while Bill Murray peers down at them from stilts...) It's catchy stuff that's worth a listen -- check it out here:

Summer's Solstice: Landmark Festival

Thought I'd take a minute on a glorious little mental health day to pop in and offer up some discoveries from the recent Landmark Festival that took place right in my backyard. It was a pretty great little two day affair, the lineup a good balance of smaller regional bands getting an opportunity to shine next to some household names like headliners Drake and the Strokes.  (Neither of which disappointed.) Similar to my beloved Lolla (it was run by the same promoters), the BMI stage offered up some of the concert's best moments, from the lush glow of some vintage soul with The Suffers, to the howling fuzzbomb of the London Souls (whose technical prowess was almost as impressive as the amount of noise the two generated), or conjuring Mardi Gras in the park with the Rebirth Brass Band. And then there was the multicultural mayhem that was Red Baraat, with its primal Indian drums, New Orleans style brass band, and lunatic punk spirit (they had a rapping sousaphone player, among other things, whose instrument was distorted like a deranged barge horn) that whipped the crowd into an absolute lather. It was the place to be, offering shelter from the cold and rain by way of shaking your ass with fifty of your frothy friends.

Some other noteworthy performances came from TV on the Radio, who dusted off several of their older tracks and reminded people that they weren't always a pretentious art rock band, but one of the cooler gang of misfits around, and the Southern-tinged twin bill of Houndmouth and Band of Horses, who offered up warm, inviting goodness like a pot of your grandma's grits.  Overall festival champion was easily Alt-J, who were absolutely -- and somewhat unexpectedly, due to their precious, precise studio offerings -- mindblowing live.  Forget the state of the art light display that accompanied their performance, the band sounded amazing and the combined effect of the two was utterly mesmerizing.  No kidding, people after their performance were shuffling around the field as if they had just woken up from total hypnosis.

It was a great weekend, made all the moreso by picking up a few new discoveries, including these three local offerings -- Ex Hex, the Hunts, and Avers.  First up is Ex Hex, an all-lady threesome helmed by DC-native Mary Timony  Similar to her last band of lasses Wild Flag, Timony specializes in channeling the snarled lip sneer of Joan Jett at her finest.  The lyrics may not knock you over, but the attitude and hooks will, and Timony throws out some pretty nifty solos to top everything off. From the opening "Don't Want to Lose" to barnburners like "Beast," "You Fell Apart," and "Waterfall," it's an upbeat, raucous affair.  Cars-style "How You Got that Girl" and "Hot & Cold" round things out nicely on what is all in all a fun little listen.  "Waste Your Time" captures the band's strengths -- Timony's aforementioned talents, with drummer Laura Harris and bassist Betsy Wright thundering alongside.  Give it a listen here:



Next up is the seven-piece brother and sister combo from Chesapeake, MD, The Hunts (actual last name, Lavendopoulos* -- go figure!), whose combined age may barely clear triple digits, but similar to Lolla young'ins Hippo Campus they sound far more polished than bands twice their age.  These guys evoke a Head and the Heart, Of Monsters and Men type sound, full of rich, swelling harmonies and big booming emotions, and they do their predecessors proud.  The songs are all winners -- from exuberant gems like "Valentina" and "Just for a While" to more melancholic beauties "Illuminate" and "This is Love" -- the kids cut to the heart of the matter, playing everything from violins and guitars to bongos and chairs, and hit yours in the process. ("Douse the Flame" is an absolute stunner.) Nothing tops "Make this Leap," though, which is one of those once in a lifetime songs for a band -- pure, unadulterated joy.  Check it out here:



Last up is the Richmond six-pack Avers, who march in with a wall of sound onslaught that -- similar to kindred sounding Jesus and Mary Chain or BRMC -- sounds good on their album, but sounded absolutely amazing live.  They blew the 150 or so of us that managed to stagger out of bed early Sunday away with a five vocalist, four guitar attack that had even the peewees in the audience rocking around. Similar to the aforementioned forebears, this one's best digested in total for the fuzzed out haze it fills the room with rather than tiny nibbles and bites.  The band seesaws nicely between British invasion ("The Only One," "Girls with Headaches," "Hangman") and the shimmery noir of their psychedelic offspring ("White Horses," "Mercy"), the latter of which really calls to mind those former bands.  None moreso than "Harvest," which they build to a nice crescendo before slinking out the back.  Crank the volume and kill the lights before giving it a whirl here:



(*Actual last name not Lavendopoulos - I just like the idea of these kids coming from a clan of Greek importer/exporters, singing their heads off below deck on some giant cargo ship with their swarthy, mustachioed patriarch refusing to give them approval, over the din of engine and the clanking of wrenches)

Postcards from the Pilgrimage: Lolla 2015

It's been a few weeks since the annual trip home and I've had time to process the glories and digest the slew of new tunes that I brought back with me, so wanted to stop in and share some of the highlights.  Unsurprisingly it lived up to all the anticipation, remaining my favorite weekend of the year for ten years running now. And while in previous years the excitement came from lineups that seemed like I handpicked them myself, this year was a little different as it was largely a bunch of newer bands, ones whose catalogs often weren't much larger than the number of years most of the concertgoers had been out of high school.  For every Metallica or Paul McCartney with decades under their belts, there were twice as many bands working off their debut or sophomore albums, which made this year all about discovering the next wave, with more hopscotching between stages than ever.

And all the hustling paid off -- I got to catch some or all of the sets for forty-odd bands, with high notes including hearing one of the two living Beatles sing Blackbird under a full moon by the lake, seeing Austin's Black Pistol Fire absolutely detonate the stage in the mid-afternoon heat, and seeing acts I wouldn't normally pay to see (like Sam Smith and Florence + the Machine) and being truly impressed with their sincerity and showmanship.  Overall, though, the weekend came down to the number three -- three sets from bands I knew all about and was excited to see (in some cases for the fifth or sixth time), three sets from newbies that instantly won me over, all shared with three folks who tagged along and made the weekend even more enjoyable.

For the oldies, they shook out nicely, with one mindblowing performance per day.  Day One winner (and maybe overall weekend champion) were the Alabama Shakes.  This was their second time on the Lolla bill, but their first time actually performing, thanks to the monsoon that shut the festival down three years ago and wiped out their set.  Brittany and the boys came ready to wow this time, though, and wow they did.  The band's new material sounded fantastic live, like a Stax-style revue of old with Brittany she-cocking across the stage and whipping the crowd into a lather with her bright, flowing burgundy and orange getup and electric yellow mohawk. For a minute it looked like the band might be cursed, as the power blew out midway through and it looked like they might not get to finish the set they'd been building so steadily to a climax.  Thankfully, though, they got things squared away and unleashed an amazing finish, including a version of "You Ain't Alone" that brought tears to the eye.  Unbelievable stuff for a band only on their second album.

Day Two's winner was one of my overall faves, the juggernaut that is Death From Above 1979, who I actually ended up seeing twice over the weekend.  Between the two sets, the boys played pretty much every song they've recorded over their ten year (and two disc) existence, and it left the main stage at the south side of the park a smoldering ruin.  There's nothing complicated to what they do -- drums, a distorted bass, and Sebastian's strangled wail (the latter piece being what usually determines instantly whether you love or hate them) -- but once they get going, they are unstoppable.  They are so loud, the grooves so irresistible, I can see them (or listen to them) a hundred times and never tire of them.  And they surely didn't disappoint here -- I think they made more than a few new fans in the scorching heat this year.

And speaking of not disappointing (or not tiring of a band no matter how many times you've seen them), that brings us to Day Three's winner, the Lolla stalwart of Eugene's band of merrymen, Gogol Bordello.  I've seen these guys probably a dozen times (half of them here at Lolla) and they are always a blast, but this year was one of their best.  They unleashed their usual brand of Gypsy-infused punk and got people into a frenzy, but it wasn't until the end of the set when they surprised even me.  That was when Eugene threw a bass drum into the crowd, paused for a moment, and then pounced like a Ukrainian panther on top of it, where he stood and sang the remainder of the song -- on top of a drum held up by the crowd. ?!?@?!##! Holy. Crap. Seeing the band live remains one of the things every human should do before they die, and this just proves another reason why.  Incredible.

The three new discoveries may not have had the jaw-dropping impact of the previous three's performances, but they make up for that with plenty of potential.  All three are debut bands, both at Lolla and in their broader recording count, and all three have been on constant shuffle in the month since the show.  First up is Catfish and the Bottlemen, a UK-based band of Welshmen, Englishmen, and an Aussie, whose debut, The Balcony, (and their Lolla set) are crammed full of belt it to the rafters indie pop.  Lead singer Van McCann (whose name sounds like a cartoon villain or porn star) has one of those great rock voices that can go from melodic croon to gravelly yell without breaking a sweat, as he shows off routinely in songs like "Homesick," "Pacifier," and "Cocoon."  The songs are catchy as hell, none moreso than "Kathleen," which will have you yelling along in tandem as it blazes from your stereo.  Check it out here:


Newbie #2 comes from a St Paul four-pack of kids who aren't old enough to drink from said beverage caddy, the delightful lads of Hippo Campus.  And while these kids may have just graduated high school, they sound more polished and confident than bands twice their age.  They've only released a six-song EP thus far, but it (and their Lolla set) are chock full of jaunty, bright little tunes that evoke an island vibe similar to Vampire Weekend (without all the esoteric literary or grammatical references...) At times lead singer Jake Luppen sounds so much like Vampire's Ezra Koenig it's uncanny, but these boys aren't a knockoff of VW, more like inspired proteges.  Songs like "Sophie So," "Souls," and "Suicide Saturday" are all winners, as is "Little Grace," which was an instant favorite during the show.  The band was pogoing up and down at the release, as was the crowd, and the effect still works on repeated listens.  Check it out here:


The final discovery of the weekend came in the middle of the unrelenting heat on Day Two when I shuffled over to the refuge of the BMI stage (which remains the best stage at the concert year after year, both for its lovely shaded view of the lake and the number of bands I've discovered there) and caught a magical set from the London trio Bear's Den.  It was a deja vu experience to when I first heard Boy & Bear a few years back, both because of where they were playing and how similar they sound (as well as the animal in their names and the beautiful harmonies they set free). From tracks like "The Love we Stole" and "Isaac" to "Magdalene" and "Agape," the band wins you over from the minute you hear them.  They're beautiful tunes, and their debut Islands is full of them, none better than the knee-buckling beauty of "Above the Clouds of Pompeii," which builds to a lovely three-part harmony at the end.  Check it out here:

Electric Daisy Carnival -- Around the World in 180BPM

Figured I'd sneak one more in before the annual pilgrimage home for Lolla and since the dance tent there is routinely one of the best parts of the weekend, thought I'd throw one down for the electroheads and offer a medley of stuff from that side of the aisle.  My daily fourteen hour shifts at the dick punching machine have been taking their toll lately, so I could use a dance party like no one's business, and these have helped gin one up, even if it's just from the confines of Sunshine palace.

First up is a track from French DJ Gesaffelstein who I'd gotten into the last few years based on a bunch of his remixes.  I hadn't realized he'd released a full-length so recently stumbled upon his debut, Aleph, and it's a solid mix of slinky, heavy tracks.  Similar to Cuba and its cigars or Russia and its shirtless, bear-riding emirs, some countries are indisuputably better at producing certain things, and for whatever reason French DJs are always the epitome of this genre.  Gesaffelstein upholds the mantle of fellow countrymen Daft and Justice well, producing a effortlessly cool and invigorating batch of tracks that showcase his sound, which melds equal parts 80s video game bleeps and thudding beats.

Similar to Kavinsky and Crystal Castles, his stuff could form the soundtrack to almost any movie of that era and sometimes sounds like your Nintendo took over the DJ booth, but what sets him apart is how he funnels that signature French slinkiness to the beats, which he girds with steel they hit so hard.  Tracks like "Obsession," "Duel," "Hate or Glory," and "Trans" are all bangers, and "Out of Line" and "Destinations" both crackle with vocalist Chloe Raunet's matter of fact spoken lyrics.  Nothing tops "Pursuit" for me, though.  The beat is a sledgehammer once it drops in behind the "moo cow" sounding chant, and he then ping pongs it back and forth over the next four minutes.  This one's a high speed chase through the night as you fly from the law in a stolen car -- check it out here:



Next is the latest release from UK legends The Chemical Brothers, Born in the Echoes, their first in five years and a pretty solid return to form from the unevenness of that outing, Further.  The Chems have always been able to get things going, almost single-handedly ushering in the age of the big beat nearly twenty years ago with their classic debut, Exit Planet Dust (for the second post in a row, I feel like a fucking dinosaur for statements like that), and those skills haven't rusted at all in the intervening span.  This one gets off to a fast start as the first five songs blast away, and the album does a good job of hitting the notes of the duo's previous offerings.  Tracks like the opening of "Sometimes I Feel So Deserted" and "Under Neon Lights" wouldn't sound out of place on their debut or Dig Your Own Hole, the Q-Tip driven "Go" calls to mind Push the Button, and "I'll See You There" would be right at home on Surrender.  Several of the latter tracks evoke Further or We Are the Night, and not coincidentally that's where the album loses a little steam, but overall it's a solid effort that showcases how varied an attack these two wield.  Top note goes to "EML Ritual," another one that wouldn't be out of place on that debut, and another that just builds to a freak out at the end on the heels of another killer beat.  Check it out here:





Third spot is a trip to Jamaica courtesy of Diplo, who continues his Sherman's march across the landscape, demolishing everything in his path including your ability to stand still.  His insane hot streak rolls on unabated, and he's already thrown out two albums this year that are sure to make the year end list -- one with the usually uninspiring Skrillex (the aptly named Skrillex and Diplo Present Jack U) and the other with his coterie of island Rastafarians as Major Lazer.  Taken together, they highlight Diplo's knack for collaboration and his seemingly endless sources of inspiration, as both albums are chock full of guest stars and genres, cramming everything from hip hop, dancehall, moombahton, and crazy revenge of the robots style tracks together with appearances by Ellie Goulding, 2 Chainz, Pusha T, and even the Bieber for a rowdy good time. (Missy's verses on the remix version of "Take U There" are bananas and make you desperately miss the M I Double S Y E.)

What he also does -- primarily on the latter album, the third Lazer offering, Peace is the Mission, but also occasionally on Jack U -- is show his mastery of the downtempo track.  Not known for slowing things down, as anyone who's gone and had their face blown off at his wild DJ sets can attest, Diplo shows the power of taking things down a notch and letting your heart rate slow below triple digits here.  A far less rambunctious affair than normal, this one is nearly half top notch half steppers -- from the opening "Be Together" to the closing "All My Love," with the monster twin bill of "Lean On" and "Powerful" propping up the middle, this one's built on a foundation of these four tracks.  And it works -- each of those tracks smolder under the four female vocalists and their lyrics of love, and they make the uptempo tracks in between hit all the harder for the juxtaposition.  None moreso than "Too Original," which is three and a half minutes of mayhem and a gonzo encapsulation of everything that makes this guy so irresistible.  Check it out here:


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We'll close with one more single, a track off the latest Boys Noize album, and one more plug, for the killer documentary Shut Up and Play the Hits.  For the former, it's a trip to Germany for the high point off the uneven, Boys Noize Presents Strictly Raw, Vol. 1, which is unfortunately characteristic of DJ Alexsander Ridha's previous offerings.  For every stellar turn (Oi Oi Oi or his Fabriclive DJ set) there's an erratic mixed bag (this, Power).  It can be vexing because of how good he can be -- hopefully he's got another ace up his sleeve soon.  In the interim, enjoy this track, "Cerebral," which rolls into town on a thudding buzz and keeps going on the staccato ride and Pilo's vocals.  Check it out here:



For the latter, I happened to catch a showing of the aforementioned documentary last week, which captures the final concert of the great LCD Soundsystem, and I was surprised how enjoyable it was.  Part behind the scenes conversations with frontman James Murphy in the days before/immediately after the show and part selections from that final night's setlist, it captures his quiet thoughts and reflections, as well as the raucous scene inside Madison Square Garden that night.  LCD always maintained an arm's length distance from things, channeling a diffident cool or snarky judgment to their lyrics and performances, and it made them tough to embrace.  When they dropped the NY attitude, though, and focused on getting the party started, they could be amazing (the climax of "All My Friends" remains one of the greatest payoffs in song) and they were in rare form here. It's a fantastic watch, chock full of guest stars Last Waltz style (Arcade Fire shows up and actually gives the film its title) and great songs, and it will get you moving on the couch.  They play all the ones you want, as well as a few surprises, including this one from their 45:33 EP -- it proved they could do no wrong that night, with comedian Reggie Watts showing up and crushing his half of the duet.  Check it out (before you immediately go watch the whole movie) here:

Country Jamboree: The Importance of Being Earnest

Thought I'd take a moment while wifey's away prepping for her regional rap battle tonight to jump in with another couple recommendations.  First one's for the Louisville foursome Houndmouth who recently put out their sophomore album, Little Neon Limelight. Similar to their debut, From the Hills Below the City, the album showcases the band's fantastic four-part harmonies and winning melodies, filtering them through the band's "little bit country, little bit indie band" recipe maker. And that's part of the problem -- it's what made me leave the debut off the annual "best of" list, having completely forgotten about it as an option, and it's what's kept me from writing about these guys until now -- the songs often feel too polished and artificial, more the result of  engineering than emotion, and that keeps them from fully resonating and sticking with you.

It's a known problem for these holler back/retro/revivalist bands -- how do you hearken back to the sounds and sights of earlier times and bands without sounding derivative, unoriginal, or insincere?  It's why for every winning success (The Decemberists' Her Majesty or The King is Dead, Fitz & the Tantrums' debut) there are plenty of others that are vacuous, terrible messes (The Decemberists' Hazards of Love, Fitz & the Tantrum's follow up album).  What sets the winners from the losers is the ability to draw on those elements of yesteryear and connect them with the modern heart; to spark a feeling of nostalgia or loss for those things, rather than a bland, cerebral recitation of them.  It's the difference between memory and missing; heartfelt and history lesson.

Similar to their debut, this album is filled with the requisite mentions of devils and preachers, stagecoaches and whiskey, gold and guns, as well as references to cocaine and "shove it up your ass" rebelliousness, but the effect often feels forced and insincere. The latter smacks of false bravado, like a popped collar Georgetowner getting tattoos and a motorcycle, while the former feels like borrowing someone else's wedding vows -- the words work, but it feels fake because there's no real emotion behind them.

The Lumineers' debut (to pick another contemporary) resonated so strongly for that reason -- it was a big, bleeding heart that used similar imagery to the stuff here, but stands in stark contrast to this result. And it's why those other bands are so uneven -- do I really believe Colin Meloy gives a shit about his pirate ships, architects, and engine drivers or that Michael Fitzpatrick cares as deeply about 80s synth pop as he does soul music? No, I do not.  But sometimes, they convince you -- when they drop the pop artifice and Mad Libs style songwriting formulas ("I need another word for 'pistol' and an old-timey conveyance: have we tried 'donkey caravan' yet?"), they can be great.

And so can these guys.  The harmonies are truly exceptional -- tracks like the opening "Sedona," "Black Gold," and the stately gem "Honey Slider" show how well guitarist Matt Myers, bass man Zak Appleby, keyboardist Katie Toupin, and cans man Shane Cody's voices meld together. And the melodies are equally winning. (The slow-burning "Otis" and "Darlin'" shine, in addition to the above.)  What prevents it from fully resonating is that unguarded heart.  So hopefully the band takes their own words to heart, as they shout on the penultimate song -- "SAY IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT! SAY IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT! TIL YA BELIEVE! TIL YA BELIEVE!"  Here's to hoping they do, because both their albums are full of songs you'll find yourself singing along to or pleasantly listening to in the background.  If they can dial in that last element, as they do on the following song, "Gasoline," they might be truly great.

Check out that unqualified winner here -- naked emotion, hushed harmonies, and simple lyrics that feel like confessions. It resonates like a howl in the woods, despite the muted volume.  Here's to more like this in the future:



The other one that I keep coming back to and finding myself unable to fully embrace is the amalgam that is The New Basement Tapes and the album, Lost on the River.  Part of that is undoubtedly due to the process -- find a cache of unrecorded Dylan lyrics, assemble a group of musicians with rather different sounds (Elvis Costello, Jim James from My Morning Jacket, Marcus Mumford from Mumford and Sons, among others), and see what happens when you hit record. And what you get, by and large, is a really good set of songs that keeps the country/throwback vibe going.

The biggest critique here is the need for an editor -- at 20 songs long, there are a handful of tracks that probably didn't need to make the cut (for me, that means most of Costello's and Rhiannon Gidden's tracks, which seem arch and schmaltzy at times, in comparison to the others -- "Married to my Hack," the title track and "Hidee Ho" ones, "Six Months in Kansas City," etc) and their presence takes away from this being an outstanding album.  James' and Mumford's songs are the unequivocal highlights -- the former's "Down on the Bottom" and "Nothing To It" and the latter's "Kansas City" and "When I Get My Hands On You" are all fantastic.  Great vocals, great melodies, great songs that probably work better in their hands than in Dylan's.  Dawes' Taylor Goldsmith's songs round out the affair nicely ("Liberty Street," "Florida Key" among them) and are worth a listen.  Plenty to like here, just use the scissors when downloading.

Check out Mumford's "Kansas City" here -- vintage Mumford vocals, all bruised emotion and soaring heart, and a great melody to boot.  Enjoy!



We'll break the country vibe and go out with a funky little pop song from electro producer Big Data to get the blood flowing again, the ultra catchy ear worm "Dangerous."  There's nothing fancy going on -- just Joywave singer Daniel Armbruster's cooed lyrics and a simple four note bass line -- but those two elements are enough to get you moving, and that bass line will be stuck in your head for hours.  Pop music at its best, check it out here:

Southern Comfort: Shaken, Surely Stirred

Thought I'd take a moment between monsoons and my ongoing hunt for the rodent stowaway in my kitchen to come up for air with a quick recommendation. This go-round it's the latest from the Alabama Shakes, Sound & Color. It's been three years since the Shakes burst onto the scene and became indie darlings with 2012's Boys & Girls, largely on the backs of its monster single "Hold On." The temptation on the follow-up must have been significant to stay within the lines established there, indie with clear Southern flourishes, inviting without offending, with nary a note or strand out of place. Lead singer Brittany Howard was the wildcard, the one element with the ability to ruffle some feathers with her primordial wail and charming lack of polish, but even she was largely well-behaved on the debut.

You can tell from the opening notes here, though, with the vibraphone entree of the title track how resoundingly they were going to fight that urge on their sophomore effort.  The band takes a series of big risks by doing so, burying the closest replicas of their debut in the last third of the album, but what they give us in return is an exceptional, chameleonic album that plumbs the wells of vintage soul, R&B, and blues, and mixes it with their brand of Southern-tinged rock.  The band paints with the title, creating an album that is an endless shift of moods and hues, at times funky and muscular as on "Don't Wanna Fight" and "Shoegaze," others sultry and sedate as on "This Feeling" and "Over my Head."

You can hear the myriad influences throughout -- Otis Redding and his Stax-era soul ("Miss You"), Janis Joplin and her unbridled blues ("Gimme All Your Love"), Isaac Hayes/D'angelo style R&B with its off tempo, sensual throb ("Gemini").  They're all here and channeled through the prism of Howard's exuberant, seemingly unfiltered thoughts and emotions. And it works -- songs of yearning, songs of love, songs of hurt feelings and flippant disregard.  Howard and the band damn the decorum and fire freely this time and it makes all the difference, between this and the debut, like the Enchantment Under the Sea band after Marty McFly shows up.  This album hits harder, registers deeper, and stays with you longer, and I can't wait to see it performed live.  Songs like "Future People" and "Dunes" (or "Gimme All Your Love" once it snaps into high gear at the end) are pure Southern revue, and were meant for the open air.  They and their brethren will be glorious to see next month at Lolla, spinning out over the masses and edging towards the lake.

"Dunes" is the one I'll be waiting for, as it highlights both the band's range and the broad palette it used on this offering.  It's got a little bit of everything in its four minute span -- quiet sentiment, plaintive wails, Southern funk and muscle -- that serve as nods to each of their disparate influences.  It's one of many gems on this album and worth a look.  Check it out here:

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We'll throw in a freebie for the road, a track off Two Gallant's latest, We are Undone. Keeping with the Southern vibe (by way of San Francisco) this bluesy twosome checks back in on their sixth full length, another solid mix of Black Keys style ditties that melds well with the rest of their catalog.  Lead singer/guitarist Adam Stephens' voice carries things along nicely as it, like the album, is equal parts melody and grit. Tracks like "Some Trouble," the title track, and "Katy Kruelly" all shine, but my personal fave is the rebellious mini anthem "Fools Like Us." Drummer Tyson Vogel's thrashing, Stephens' crunchy riffs, and the thumb in the eye lyrics all resonate with my inner pissant.  Maybe it will yours, too.  Test the waters here:

Greetings and Salutations: A Winning Debut, A Stellar Return

Fresh on the heels of the revelation yesterday that people outside my house actually read this (#$%@!), I figured I'd get on my horse while Ladypants is on hers (training for the Preakness!) and dip in to offer up a couple recommendations.  First up is courtesy of Dodos drummer Logan Kroeber who mentioned the debut album of Astral Swans in one of his recent interviews, which got me curious to check it out.  And I'm glad I did -- the album, All my Favorite Singers are Willie Nelson, is a dreamy, shimmery affair from Calgaryian Matthew Swann.  It's a beguiling mixture, part 60s folk and psychedelic, part 90s grunge (it keeps making me think of the Ass Ponys without really sounding much like them) that conjures an intoxicating haze for its scant 30 minute duration.  Swann has an inviting voice, one that he soaks in reverb nicely to magnify the sound, while his lyrics are cryptic elisions, teasing you with their glimmers of a broader meaning. ("We're like smoke, we're like blackouts..." "I never let go, even when there's nothing to hold..." "Maybe some rope, maybe an escape route...")

It's an album that's meant to be digested whole, with each track reinforcing the boozy warmth of its predecessor -- from the quiet violence of the opening "There are Ways to get What you Want" to the closing enigma "Grass Girl," there's not a clunker in the bunch. Standouts include "Let Their Faces All Blur Out" with its punkish energy and growling guitar, and its fraternal twin "My Conscience Doesn't Work in the New World," as well as the languid "What Calms you Down, Freaks me Out."  My favorite remains the jaunty lead single, "Beginning of the End," though.  It captures everything I've mentioned above -- mysterious lyrics, a buoyant energy, and a warmth that radiates from Swann's shimmering voice.  It's a great track on an equally great debut; like a riddle you can't quite solve, but can't get out of your head. Definitely worth keeping tabs on him in the coming years.  Check it out here:



 Next up is the return of a long-time fave, the Idaho heroes Built to Spill, who charge back from a six year hiatus (their longest to date) with their eight album, Untethered Moon.  What's remarkable about these guys is how relentlessly solid they are -- from song to song and album to album, they almost never miss a step. The same goes here -- from the opening assault of "All Our Songs" to the closing epic "When I'm Blind," the band offers another near flawless set of songs to add to their already considerable arsenal. There's the smoldering burn of "Some Other Song" and "Another Day;" the headbomb of "C.R.E.B.," which is loaded with the band's patented riffs and tempo shifts; and the double shot of "Never Be the Same" and "Horizon to Cliff," which capture the band's softer side and the sweetness of frontman Doug Martsch's voice.  Honestly the worst thing I could think to say is that the closing track could use a slight trim, as the noodling in the middle occasionally seems aimless. (Though I'm sure will sound incredible live as it gives Martsch and Co some space to show off their considerable guitar licks and is vintage BTS, meandering off on some strange side paths before coming back to the main road like magic, so I'm reluctant to even levy that minor critique.)

It's pretty remarkable when you come to think of it. Played side by side with their previous albums, you'd be hard pressed not only to tell which was recorded in 2015 and which was recorded 20 years ago, you'd also be hard pressed to pick a favorite (or say which is "weakest," to take the opposite perspective, if such a condition exists for these guys).  To be that consistent for that long (over two decades! Countries have fallen apart faster than that) is something to behold, and speaks to their overall excellence. Nobody is quite like these guys, and we're lucky they keep coming back for more.  Check out the high point of this outing (which is sort of akin to picking the smartest person at a MENSA convention, but whatever), the boiling frenzy of "Living Zoo," which builds momentum like a runaway freight train before smashing your brain to pieces.


We'll close with a "just cuz" bit and a link to a classic from the legendary Replacements.  These guys were one of the first bands that were mine alone -- not an inheritance from Moms' or Pops' considerable catalog of rock or soul records -- and something I listened to relentlessly as a kid.  I still remember when the strange new girl at school Sarah gave me a cassette with my name on it (not realizing it was the album title and not a "To:" label) while we were sitting in home room one day.  I walked home that night, popped it on, and haven't stopped listening since.  Westerberg and Co always walked the line between brash, snotty punk and big hearted pop, and they formed a significant part of the soundtrack for my youth. (Along with The Smiths, the other band I discovered that year, after swiping a cassette of Louder than Bombs from my cousin.) I got a chance to see them this weekend (for a measly twelve bucks!?!?) and felt lucky to close out some unfinished business by finally seeing them live.  They were, are, and forever will be fantastic, so revel in one of their classics from that cassette that changed my childhood, "Little Mascara."

Until next time, my friends... -- Bobby

Reader's Choice: Fan Mail

Thought I'd take advantage of Lolla ticket day to pop in with some recommendations not from the fabled chaos of Bobby Sunshine's brain for a change, but from a few of you -- the three non-familial readers of this site. From time to time the three of you are kind enough to shoot me feedback ("Hey dummy, you're way off base about [Band X] -- they suck almost as much as your semi-millennial posts!"), and sometimes they soften their shots with a touch of sugar and a band they think is worth the attention I'm currently squandering elsewhere.  So the below represent three of their best suggestions from recent months -- the indie trio Good Old War, the duo Blind Pilot, and solo artist Gregory Alan Isakov.

The first offering comes from my buddy Mr. 50 (per) Cent, a lover of terrible metal and some bands like these guys who are actually quite nice.  Good Old War -- a mix of Philly-based Keith Goodwin, Tim Arnold, and Daniel Schwartz's names and notes -- conjure a mellow vibe on this, their eponymous sophomore effort. Full of songs about life ("Sneaky Louise"), love ("My Own Sinking Ship"), and the pursuit of happiness ("My Name's Sorrow") the band rides along on Goodwin's bright vocals and Schwartz's fingerpicked guitar.  It works well -- the band manages to thread the needle on songs whose tone or lyrics easily could tip towards schmaltz, but they maintain an earnest, sincere tenor throughout.  It's a lovely Sunday afternoon album, and none shines brighter (or combines the aforementioned three pots better) than "That's Some Dream," which you can check out here:


Next comes an offering from a total stranger, so courtesy of Silent Observer, meet Blind Pilot. Comprised of singer/guitarist Israel Nebeker and drummer Ryan Dobrowski this Portland, OR duo arrive with another Sunday morning special on their debut, 3 Rounds and a Sound.  Similar to Good Old War, this one exudes a warmth and sweetness that works nicely across the album's eleven songs. Nebeker's voice is a little deeper and fuller than Goodwin's, and he adds a few more notes of melancholy to the proceedings to round things out, but the effect (and enjoyment) is largely the same.

A languid, almost stately feel abounds -- from "Paint or Pollen" and "Poor Boy" to "Two Towns from Me" and "I Buried a Bone" -- each stretches lazily like a cat in the sun alongside Nebeker's classical fingerpicking and hushed croon.  His lyrics are more obtuse than Goodwin's ("make music with the chatter in here, and whisper all the notes in my ear" from the lush opener "Oviedo"), which keeps you coming back to parse the mystery while the melodies usher you along.  The closing title track shoots a little more clear, with lyrics on love in the hard times and a quiet resolve, which resonated lately -- check it out here:


Last up comes one from the reason for that resolve, the unstoppable hype machine that is my Commando.  She found this one and put it on during one of our roadtrips a few months ago and it stood out, so wanted to share the discovery.  Hatched from the talent of another Philadelphian (by way of South Africa and Colorado), Gregory Alan Isakov's latest The Weatherman, may be a first heard to me/you, but actually is his fifth disc. (And it came out two years ago, so we're late there too!) Despite being slow on the uptake, the minute you hear the opening strains of the regal "Amsterdam," you'll understand what others have likely known for years.

Isakov has a wonderful voice -- similar to the other bands noted today, he at times calls to mind Paul Simon, while others acts like Clem Snide, Bon Iver, or Jose Gonzalez -- and it lulls you into the warm stupor of a fireside nap.  If Good Old War sketch the sunnier notes and Blind Pilot the melancholic mid-tones, Isakov fills in the weary shadows to the same painting. (The fatigue on "Honey, It's Alright" is almost palpable, while the narrator of "Second Chances" sounds like a man who's handed out more than his fair share.) Perhaps that's why the brighter moments shine all the more -- "Living Proof" and "Suitcase Full of Sparks" provide some animated juxtaposition to the gutshot hush, but none top the lovely "Saint Valentine." A lush little narrative infused with Isakov's patented weariness marbling the lyrics. Check it out here: