If you’ve been following Fleet Foxes frontman Robin Pecknold on Twitter, you may have noticed the 20-something going through some pretty serious early-adulthood existential crises since the band’s debut album. In “Helplessness Blues,” his tongue nowhere near his cheek, he does what artists do best: turn his worldly grappling into a tremendous song. It goes almost without saying that the music is flat-out gorgeous, the band harmonizing like a chorus of bearded cherubs over a yearning, Dylanesque melody as acoustic guitars rumble forward. At this point, Fleet Foxes could sing the phone book (or your Google Contacts) and it’d be the song of the year, but, as we know, Pecknold has other issues on his mind.
“I was raised up believing I was somehow unique,” he sings, addressing an issue applicable to anyone who grew up in the self-esteem-in-schools era (do they still have that?) — but unlike many in his entitled age group, he realizes his own smallness. “Instead, I’d rather be a functioning cog in some great machinery serving something beyond me,” he continues. But what would be worthy? “I don’t know what that would be / I’ll get back to you someday soon, you will see.” As the song breaks into its second-act outro, Pecknold considers the plain reward of a day’s work, the kind of sentiment toward a simpler time that drives Bella Union labelmates Midlake’s music, as well: “If I had an orchard, I’d work till I’m sore.” But he does not. Instead, he has his guitar, his voice and his band. So do we. That’ll have to be enough for now.
Amazing things about this video: 1) The novelty of a kids’ chorus singing an Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti jam 2) The song’s enormous, previously unexplored harmonic possibilities and best, 3) The way the kids’ committed, drug-free passion gives the song a previously unexplored urgency. It’s an anthem, even if Pink purposefully avoids trying to sing it that way.
Starting now, I’ll be doing a monthly wrap-up of the best albums and releases. I’ll shoot for five a month, but we’ll see how it goes.
Destroyer – Kaputt: Cantankerous singer-songwriter-genius Dan Bejar gets sexy and synth-y on the totally unexpected Some Girls of chillwave. [REVIEW | Buy from Merge] >> “Chinatown”: mp3
MINKS - By The Hedge: As much an ’80s 101 course as it is a stunning distillation of shoegaze, New Wave and C86 influences by a new band that already sounds deep into its career. [REVIEW | Buy from Captured Tracks] >>“Cemetery Rain”:stream
Geotic – Mend: Free guitar loop-centric ambient record from Baths’ Will Wiesenfeld. I’ve been falling asleep to it for days. [REVIEW | Download from Geotic] >> “Find Your Peace”:mp3
The Radio Dept. – Passive Aggressive: Singles 2002-2010: A strong, if incomplete, overview of the band’s extensive non-album discography. [NEWS POST | Buy from Labrador] >> “The One”:mp3
Apex Manor – The Year of Magical Drinking: Assured, ramshackle power-pop from members of defunct greats the Broken West. [REVIEW | Buy from Merge] >> “Under the Gun”:mp3
Also notable: Iron & Wine – Kiss Each Other Clean, Lia Ices – Grown Unknown, Dolorean - The Unfazed, John Vanderslice – White Wilderness, Foster the People - Foster the People EP.
I, like most people I know, like R. Kelly best when he’s being funny. On songs such as “Trapped in the Closet” or “The Same Girl,” the oft-troubled R&B veteran taps into the same vein of genius absurdity that keeps screenings of The Room full of spoon-throwing crowds. Kells, though, deserves credit for keeping a straight face while masterminding his sometimes baffling music. On Love Letter, his attentions turn serious, a switch he makes to general success.
From the sepia-toned album art to the throwback arrangements, it’s clear the singer wants to align himself with the greats — Marvin Gaye, Sam Cooke, Michael Jackson. The duet “Love Is” is a latter-day Gaye and Terrell homage, while “Radio Message” offers Cooke-like twinkling pianos. Some of it comes closer to Sade (or, for that matter, Billy Joel): the come-hither wah-wahs of “No. 1 Hit” or title track’s weirdly Joanna Newsom-esque harp, a slice of cheese in an album that admittedly has its moments of lactose intolerance. But mostly, it’s Kelly doing what he does second-best — singing — and keeping the slow jams mom-friendly without entirely sacrificing his way with words. He’s got the right idea: the club needs more of the classics. Love Letter brings them.
I passed on the Go! Team during the first go-round in 2004. Likewise, Rolling Blackouts, their (long-awaited?) comeback album, has more skippers than Gilligan’s Island: it’s all overstuffed bloat, ADD pop ideas in a cheerleading competition instead of in harmony. “Buy Nothing Day,” the set’s one unfuckwithable jam, is almost pulled apart by the same inclinations but has just enough cohesion to allow a jubilant Bethany Cosentino-sung power-pop core to shine through. At times, it sounds almost like a lost Figure 8-era Elliott Smith scorcher. It’s great. Listen to it. There’s one more good song on this album somewhere but I can’t remember which one and God forbid I have to ever listen to any of the other tracks again, so I guess we’ll never know.
I’m still absorbing the heady mixture that is Iron & Wine’s Kiss Each Other Clean, out today, but as this video proves, Sam Beam needs nothing more than a guitar and his voice to strike directly to the heart. Gorgeous.
I, like most people I know, like R. Kelly best when he’s being funny. On songs such as “Trapped in the Closet” or “The Same Girl,” the oft-troubled R&B veteran taps into the same vein of genius absurdity that keeps screenings of The Room full of spoon-throwing crowds. Kells, though, deserves credit for keeping a straight face while masterminding his sometimes baffling music. On Love Letter, his attentions turn serious, a switch he makes to general success.
I passed on the Go! Team during the first go-round in 2004. Likewise, Rolling Blackouts, their (long-awaited?) comeback album, has more skippers than Gilligan’s Island: it’s all overstuffed bloat, ADD pop ideas in a cheerleading competition instead of in harmony. “Buy Nothing Day,” the set’s one unfuckwithable jam, is almost pulled apart by the same inclinations but has just enough cohesion to allow a jubilant Bethany Cosentino-sung power-pop core to shine through. At times, it sounds almost like a lost Figure 8-era Elliott Smith scorcher. It’s great. Listen to it. There’s one more good song on this album somewhere but I can’t remember which one and God forbid I have to ever listen to any of the other tracks again, so I guess we’ll never know.
