Cory Bishop - Cory Bishop EP

It's past my bedtime, so I'll keep this short. But do you ever have an experience where you immediately write off music based on your first listen, when you link that music with something generic and disposable? And then, when you listen another time, and then another, you realize that there's something really special there?

That's exactly how I feel about Cory Bishop. I don't know who sent me this album (thanks person), but it was probably hidden in the small pocket of my car where I keep a stack of CDs that I eventually get around to, but in no rush. And then I popped it in today, and it sounded like a generic alt-country album that is like the definition of most boring music to me.

I have to admit, leading off with "You Can't Take Me" might not have been the wisest choice if you want to attract Danielle Sills' in the future. But I'm trying not to be so shallow to overlook an entire EP based on the over-compressed alt-country nugget that is this song. And, well, even this nugget grew on me.

But the more I listen to the five songs on this release, the more I find hints of things I like. Little melodies here and there, lyrics that are clever and concise, and then, the ultimate compliment, a song that reminds me of Josh Ritter, a man who I think has some of the best songcraft of modern times (not to mention the best lyrics).

I like the sad ones best. "Crown of Thorns" has great imagery -- they're sitting in the back of a beat up truck with the radio playing unmemorable songs and commercials about diamond rings... then this lyric happens: "when we wake I'm gonna take back everything I say/but you'll never get back what you're letting me steal away." It's the sad regret of a man who knows he shouldn't be doing what he's doing.

But it's not until the final track, "Honey I Ain't," that I really decided I supremely enjoy this little mini-album. It creeps forward, cascading easily like a good Josh Ritter song, building and backing off and building again each chorus. It gallops forward with a nice beat, and how could you not love picturing this lyric? "The city streets are filled with empty/except the fog that's slowly lifting," he croons, "the buildings try to scrape the sky/by this point i've memorized the shade of green encompassed by your eyes." Bishop does this nice thing with rhyming without you realizing that he's doing it, so it sounds paced, but not obvious. I really like that. I really like this song.

If you're a fan of Ritter or The Head and the Heart, check him out. He's in Nashville, and he's touring, and hopefully getting big soon.

Doe Eye - Television

It looks ordinary from the cover, but this Television is anything but. Doe Eye is Maryam Qudus, an Afghan American whose parents never really approved of her playing music. She began a pre-med program only to drop out and go instead to Berklee College of Music.

Her debut full-length starts off menacingly with a harsh, crunchy grit, a sound that immediately sounds familiar to fans of John Vanderslice. (The album was recorded at his Tiny Telephone studios... which is a place chock full of cool analog instruments -- enough reason to get excited about this album before you even listen.) I'm a big fan of the second track, "Diamond." "Momma always said I'm a diamond/cuz I'm rough," she croons understatedly, with a great melody and a really morbid vibe.

Where it starts to turn a corner for me is on the third song, "I Was Born on a Monday." It starts with the same intro melody as Robbie Williams' "Millenium" (remember that huge hit around the harrowing times of Y2K?), without all the woos and the good feelings. It has something of a St. Vincent feel. The longing sound of Qudus' voice, the miscellaneous piano twinkling, the strange, bass-like synthesizer. And that's where she loses me. On songs like these, Qudus gets a little too weird.

Weird like the kind of music I could no longer put on a mix CD for a friend who isn't into strange music. It goes past the line of normal song structure, and into some noise. Not noise like all out noise, but it's busy. It starts to make me feel chaotic, which may be the point, but I don't like that point.

The other gem on the album is "Untitled," an edgy number with a straight-up guitar line, punctured drums, which speed up in spurts, and a nice, looming piano laced throughout.  It's simple, feels cool, and shows a focus that some of this album can't seem to hold.

One last note for musicians. Can you please stop putting hidden tracks like 15 minutes into the last song? If I'm listening in a car or somewhere where I can't easily fast-forward, I really don't like waiting for that long to listen to more music. So, just have an 11th song. It's not that big of a deal, nor does it make you special. Actually, with the last Alt-J album, it prevented me from putting my favorite song on the album on all my mixes. You're ruining good mixtapes/CD's people!

Ok rant over. Bottom line here is: check this woman out. She's got something really good going, and I only see it getting better with time.

Generationals - Alix

 If there was an overriding theme of Alix, it would be falsetto. Not Bee Gees falsetto. Because this isn't exactly disco. Sure, it's peppy and you could argue it's danceable, but this synthesizer-driven collection is more pop than dance music.  And on the songs with falsetto, you just wish this male duo would get an awesome female to hit the same notes without such an airy, weak delivery.

But not everything is coated in gooey crooning. “Charlemagne” brings out the best in the Louisiana band, from glitchy beats to easygoing harmonies. They know how to make cute little catchy numbers, but they’re just not ear-catching enough to stay in your head for very long after they end. Stronger vocals might just do the trick.

Michaela Anne - Ease My Mind

It's been a while since I've done this, so let's see if I can remember.

I'm not much of a country fan in general. I find most of the new country repulsive, although I've found a little soft spot lately for Kasey Musgraves (although the spot isn't that soft because I still had to google her name to remember it). But this release feels more folksy with a country twang.

The songs each have really pretty melodies, and some of the ache you hear in Jessica Lea Mayfield's music. After repeated listens, this is one you're probably going to want to sing along to.

I'm not giving it a ringing endorsement, but a "maybe check it out" for us borderline folk/alternative country fans.

Tokyo Police Club - Forcefield

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Take a time machine back ten years. Tokyo Police Club’s Forcefield would have fit right in. Pop music fiends would stick the lead single, “Hot Tonight,” on their mix CDs, right between the Plain White T’s’ “Hey There Delilah” and The Strokes’ “12:51.” It’s like we’ve traveled to 2004, we’re still using mp3 CD players and some of the cool kids even have iPods.

So, at first listen, this album sounds pretty unoriginal. You’ll want to cast it off as an average set of songs with a few clever lyrics and a handful of horrible ones (“Drinking in the park/staring at the stars like a satellite dish/I had a good time/and I’m ready to die” is particularly cringeworthy.)

But then, something miraculous happens. A spell comes over the brain, and all of the sudden, these songs are the catchiest, most joyful few minutes of jagged guitar-driven pop mastery you’ve heard all year. A couple more listens in, you’ve memorized all the lyrics and your brain is trained to sing along, loudly.

There’s variety, too. “Tunnel Vision” begins with dark, gurgling riffs that sound like something crooked Trent Reznor might have maneuvered. But as soon as David Monks’ vocals kick in, it turns into a spree of melodic goodness that just happens to weave in a slightly eerie undertone. “Argentina, Parts I, II, III” is nearly nine minutes of fun, the closest this Ontario foursome has ever come to a magnum opus.

The band closes Forcefield with “Feel the Effect,” a mellow, beautiful piece of simplicity. Regret and reflection ripple throughout, a reminder that as straightforward and easy as these songs seem, they’re full of heart. They’re also timeless, irresistible, and a testament to simplicity.

Lyla Foy - Mirrors the Sky

When I first listened to Mirrors the Sky, I worried this would be another sleeper album that would just bore more to death. "Honeymoon" begins the album with hushed tones, a fairly pretty melody, and a slow chug. But Lyla Foy, who used to go by WALL, ditched the morose tones quickly. The next song, actually, has a sorta funky electronic beat to it, and the best is yet to come toward the middle of the album. "Easy" reminds me of a less dramatic Lana Del Rey, with a high-pitched, lilting chorus. "Only Human" is another charming, subtle song that hits you gently and reminds you that not every pop song needs to be overcompressed and shouted right in your face. This album is sweet. I'd put it on at a dinner party if I knew how to cook real meals and host nice people. But I might try now that I have the right music for it, anyway.

Phantogram - Voices

It's winter. Cleveland isn't letting us forget. I'm hearing it's like that all across the U.S. All I know is that it's constantly dark, and my hands go numb every time I walk outside. My day job is to monitor the news. This winter we've had two stories that make up every newscast. Snow/cold and Sports. The Browns are firing all their coaches and CEOs and GMs and, oh yeah, if we spend a few minutes outside without gloves, we'll lose a finger.

But if you're OK with that being your reality, and in fact, you feel like embracing it, turn on this Phantogram album. Their sound is pure ice. It's nighttime, insomnia, mood, dark, and cold.

Still. It's not cold like "cold dance music." I listened to the most recent Rapture album and wanted to cut my ears off. It was cold -- as in sterile. As in screw you, we don't feel like fleshing this out all the way, so live with the half silence.

The chill that rushes through Voices is more of a warm freeze. It has heart and emotions, but it's masquerading as badass basslines and sexy vocals. It feels right, and it especially feels right at night after a long day of BS. It's not quite in the category of bedtime music. It's a little too "pump you up" for that, but I'd suggest it on drives home from work/class, on your way to whatever plans you have, or maybe to psych you up about dragging your gigantic trashcan through a 7-foot-high pile of snow because it's not getting warm enough to melt it down even a centimeter. Because even the most dreaded moments in life need a soundtrack. And if a jittery synthesizer can do that for you, then why not?

Voices is a solid piece of work, but top-heavy if anything. "Nothing But Trouble" starts off the album with a fizz of feedback and (didn't think I'd say this about a Phantogram song, but...) melodies you just want to sing along with. "Black Out Days" has a nice slow groove. Then, you hit the first single, "Fall in Love," which definitely earns the claim to earworm status most quickly by sampling soul and hitting you with one hell of a chorus. I'm not saying Phantogram's second full-length goes downhill from there -- I mean, I'm already singing along to almost every song after a handful of listens -- but it slows down and throws fewer punches from that point on.

Get your hands on this. It comes out a week from today, and we still have like 4 more months of winter (at least in Cleveland) to bask in its inky glory. (Can my friends in LA tell me if it sounds good in 70 degree weather, too?) One last point I want to make. I feel like there's a sharp dissection in music today: dance/electronic and rock/pop. And I really enjoy how Phantogram combines the great melodies I look for in pop and the glitchy/harsh textures and mood of dance music. We all win here.

Real Estate - Atlas

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If only the easy listening genre wasn’t already dedicated to orchestras and big bands and voices made famous decades ago. If only it was accepting new albums into its category. Because Atlas would absolutely define it. Here’s an album dedicated to the kind of sweet, streamlined guitar pop that, in a better world, could bring us world peace. It’s easy and free, sailing along serene waves and stealing all our bad feelings to bury them at the bottom of the ocean.

It’s nostalgic and reflective, regretful and romantic. But underneath the lyrics, what really shines is the gooey guitar that Real Estate has been using to bring us in since its 2009 self-titled debut. But the more hi-fi this New Jersey-based fivesome ventures, the better we can hear each perfect reverb-soaked riff. With each album, they grow something even more expansive and warm.
 

The first single, “Talking Backwards” is peppy and charming, but it’s not until the heart of the album when Real Estate unleashes the real meat. “Primitive” just so wonderfully encompasses the power of harmonies coupled with a great melody. Pure sap, the lyrics scoop listeners into that ideal romance. “Don’t know where I want to be/But I’m glad that you’re with me/And all I know is it’d be easy to me.” And, knowing when to stop the mush, the band ends the song with a minute and a half of noodling guitar jams. Those instrumental interludes are interspersed through Atlas, giving the songs room to breath, and reminding us that music is about a feeling.

That’s not to downplay the moments when the band catches you with its hooks. It’s truly exhilarating to hear a chorus so sticky that your heart beats faster each time it returns. “Had to Hear,” the opening track, feeds some sort of pop obsession with simple, perhaps nonsensical rhymes. “I had to hear you/Just to feel near you/I know it’s not true/But it’s been so long/I know it’s wrong.” Real Estate is just really good at crafting songs that feel easy and natural. And if we can’t squeeze them into the easy listening genre, and do it in a complimentary fashion, we’ll just have to invent an entirely new, equally accurate term to describe this little spot in heaven.

Big Black Delta - S/T

So I failed to write in this blog every day like I said I would.

But to be fair, I was out of town for four days, and spending all my time creating my best of 2013 list. I had to meet a deadline, so I'm not too happy with my list right now, but I'll post and updated version by the end of the year when I have more time to listen and make sure I have everything in the right place.

I'm still getting through a list of albums that came out this year. Today's is Big Black Delta.

I knew nothing about this project before Wikapediaing it just now. It looks like the solo project of a member of Mellowdrone, which I also don't know.

This album is great in its complexity and variety. I wouldn't know that the same artist was creating all these songs. And while I usually like albums that are cohesive, at least this is an interesting soundtrack for my morning, checking emails and catching up on some odds and ends.

The title of "Ifuckingloveyou" is much better than the actual song itself, but I give this guy major props for naming his song that. So far, my absolute favorite song is "Side of the Road." It's track two, and if the whole album was this good, I'd be completely taken by Big Black Delta. It's got a glitchy, techy side that makes me think of the giddy electro joy of The Apples in Stereo. Plus, it's robotic in a way that actually sounds warm and melodic, which is something I always complain is lacking in electronic music. I hate when music seems cold and impersonal, and this is far from.

"Dreary Moon" on the other hand is a slow-moving number, plush with synthesizers that would help you drift off to sleep into a magical world of no stress and no fear of sleeping through your alarm clock. Like I said, variety.

As Bryan Adams would say, so far so good.

The Blow - Self-titled

Punchy and direct, “Make it Up” starts off The Blow’s self-titled album brightly, with the kind of gusto that made 2005’s Paper Television gobs and gobs of fun. Glitchy samples, a chorus full of joyful harmonies, and an uptempo beat make for an infectious pop masterpiece.

But that energy is harder to find on the rest of the collection. Musing about unfulfilling relationships, unrequited love, and mortality, Khaela Maricich and Melissa Dyne tone down the rest of the album to less of a fever pitch. It’s reflective and expressive, but at times lacks the immediate power and hooky qualities of The Blow’s best songs. 

The pair worked together to sample acoustic instruments, turning them into robotic bleeps and synthy waves. These clips of sound are a backdrop to thoughtful lyrics and candid stories. Best is the conversational “I Tell Myself Everything,” where Maricich rambles about heartbreak being good for artist inspiration. She opens up with a revealing portrait of self-awareness, singing, “Here we come in a slow motion strut/It’s all four of me/The cool one, two more and the one careless whore of me.”

The Blow closes with a gorgeous ballad laced up with sweet guitar humming and a gentle melody. Using light and darkness as symbols for the fear involved in falling headfirst into love, “You’re My Light” is another example that this album not just about passion, but the thoughtful beauty behind it. Love and life are fragile, and these minimalistic songs reflect the delicate balance we must maintain to preserve both of them.

Blitzen Trapper - VII

VII gives you no indication that it was created after 1975. Blitzen Trapper’s seventh full-length continues in the band’s tradition of offering listeners a timeless blend of folk, rock, roots, gospel, country, and everything in between. Songwriter Eric Earley picked up his first string instrument when he was 6, and about 30 years later, he’s still paying tribute to the songs his father taught him, from John Denver to Creedence Clearwater Revival.

Some are good old-fashioned, twangy fun, like album opener, “Feel the Chill,” which tells the tale of the old neighborhood haunted house that Earley and his friends were afraid to approach as kids.  “Ever Loved Once” and “Don’t Be A Stranger” are folksy ballads that that slow the pace, reminiscing about love gone wrong. The former includes harmonies that would make CSNY proud.

Everything about VII is classic, from the stuck-in-a-desert feel of “Earth (Fever Called Love)” where you can all but feel the dried out sand crack beneath your feet, to the lively groove of the southern gospel of “Shine On.”

“I’ve been running so long/I can’t recall what it means to stay,” croons Earley in “Thirsty Man.” The frontman is no stranger to running. He has spent chunks of his life without a real home, traveling from place to place. That wandering quality is evident on these songs, filled with tales inspired by his own wayward adventures. It makes it just that much more fun to join Blitzen Trapper’s journey on VII.

Tim Kasher - Adult Film

Consumed with mortality, infidelity, and coming to terms with expectations and their unparalleled realities, you may expect Tim Kasher’s latest solo album to be full of morose, droning songs. The subject matter may be dark and thoughtful, but this is no Cass McCombs. Tim Kasher, who also fronts both Cursive and The Good Life, has a knack here for turning murky subjects into full-on bombastic rockers.

Kasher’s talent lies in how he uses everyday concerns to tell unbelievably detailed stories, turning two- or three-line phrases into revelatory slices of insight. “Truly Freaking Out” regards the transience of life succinctly with lines like, “I was six years old, learning how to swim/Then I was 36, wondering how I sunk/Oh, it’s as if the record jumped.”

He tells a story of mistrust and relationship anxiety in “The Willing Cuckold” that’s so relatable and real that it makes the heart jump. With percussion that skips like the hooves of a racing horse, Kasher admits to feigning ignorance when his woman cheats. He cries out with such pain in the bridge that it’s as if you’re sitting in his shoes, wondering how the relationship lost its luster. There’s also pure fun in “Life in Limbo,” a song about all life’s possibilities wrapped in a circus-like organ.

But unlike Kasher’s first solo album, The Game of Monogamy, Adult Film is full of songs that stand alone. They are immediately accessible, and while the album flows from one song to another, each tale paints a clear, separate picture. He keeps it cohesive by incorporating similar musical elements; the opening and closing songs begin and end with a sort of backwards sigh, just tempting you to make it to the end of the album only to start it over again. “The future is a fiction we never wrote,” sings Kasher. After hearing Adult Film, you’ll be waiting for the next chapter.

Dr. Dog - B-Room

Dr. Dog has gotten to the point where its songs sound effortless. It’s not about intricate construction – although there’s nothing sloppy or flawed about any of these songs – but rather a mood. Scott McMicken, the lead guitarist and vocalist, explains it like this: “[…} the sound creates a feeling that is intuitive rather than intellectual.”

And that’s how Dr. Dog songs work. They don’t make your think. They make you feel. In a world where every small wrinkle in plans can become a preoccupation, this Philadelphia crew has given us a refuge from the pains of everyday life.

You turn on B-Room and the problems melt away. Life is instantly sunnier. The songs here swing by, sometimes with an old soul vibe, other times more upbeat, but always with the easygoing attitude that feels like the perfect summer day on a hammock.

The band recorded the album in a brand new studio they built from the ground up in an old silversmith mill. Perhaps leaving behind the studio they’d recorded in for eight years is what gave them the freedom that’s reflected in the spontaneous nature of B-Room.

The country twang of “Phenomenon” is coated with an effervescent chorus. Between fiddle solos, layered harmonies streak across an unforgettable chorus. “You’re always leaving,” McMicken sings, “But you’re never gone/You’re everywhere at once/Like a true phenomenon.” It’s simple, it’s relatable, and it’s everything we’ve come to expect from a band that seems to churn out endless songs that reminisce about the ’60s, but remain rooted in modern times.

Dr. Dog gets funky in “Love,” reprising some of the sharp, jangly pop music they perfected in 2012’s Be the Void. But the band also displays a much more mellow side in the ballad, “Too Weak to Ramble” and the trippy “Twilight,” a very twisted lullaby.
 
The first single, “The Truth,” is a slow-burning soul song, rooted in the very basics, from the languorous beat to the classic piano tune and synthesizers that seem to hover in the background. It’s one beautiful song on an album full of them. These tunes are ripe and ready for picking, the fruitful results of a band that grows infectious melodies by watering them with good instincts.

Washed Out - Paracosm

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It’s easy to fall in love with Paracosm, and nearly impossible to quit it. Ernest Greene, the man behind Washed Out, is back with his second record of escapist romantic grooves that enter a parallel universe where every month is summer and the even the chirping crickets are charming. Here, Greene sticks with the samples that made his debut gorgeous, but also adds vintage electronic keyboards. Resultantly, the mood is as chill but also more expansive than ever. Each song floats into the next seamlessly, equal parts beach dance party and lounge fest. Ambient bird calls and party people make up the background of “It All Feels Right,” a song filled with enough dreamy melodies and shimmering keyboard bits to power a thousand fairy tales. This is the kind of music where you tune in, drop out, and just revel in getting lost in the middle. 

King Krule - 6 Feet Beneath the Moon

What does an 18-going-on-19 year old have to do to get his voice to sound like the deepest, darkest cauldron of secrets? King Krule is but one man, but that doesn’t stop Archy Marshall from finding a way to sound like he has the weight of this complex, tumultuous world on his shoulders. Harsh and unharnessed, Marshall expresses so much emotion that it doesn’t matter when some of the songs here are merely peppered with instrumentation – like shrubbery in a desert.

Small atmospheric synthesizers float through “Foreign,” creeping under Marshall’s lyrics. You can hear trip-hop influences on the sparse “Ceiling” and album closer “What Is There To Say.” Both are the kind of incredibly chill numbers that rattle languidly, floating into the background.

But 6 Feet Beneath the Moon is also often raucous – even abrasive at times. “Has This His” isn’t an exercise in conventional beauty, and the minor key tonality never lets on to an ounce of hope. The same antagonizing tone rings through “Lizard State,” but the latter is much more playful, with jazzy horns and a racing fit of percussive bass.

“Out Getting Ribs” is starkly different from an earlier version, released under Marshall’s previous moniker, Zoo Kid. Where the early version coated his vocals with reverb and echo, and the guitar riff reigns supreme, the final version is less forgiving. Marshall’s throat sounds rubbed raw, and his anxiety heightened.

This album gives you a taste of Marshall’s many moods, but even the more upbeat songs have an undertone of misery. It’s a harsh listen, but it sounds fresh because it’s also unique. What will really blow your mind is seeing a picture of Marshall after listening. That voice – coming from his babyface – is really something of a miracle.

Pond - Hobo Rocket

Pond’s Hobo Rocket is an exercise in organized chaos. When the band organizes its classic rock tendencies, hammering down power chords and feeding a hunger for severe fuzzy guitar freakouts, it makes for a perfect storm. The seventies merge with today, creating timeless songs that get inside your head.

“Xanman” sees Pond reaching that pinnacle, riffing hard and building a strong melody and chorus that’s clever and hooky. As the song develops, the Perth, Australia band stretches into a hushed bridge before bursting back into the familiar riff and a balls-out finale.

We hear the similarities between Pond and Tame Impala, who share a few band members, on the psychedelic rumblings of “Giant Tortoise” and “O Dharma,” a gentle trip into the spacey ether that Tame Impala perfected on their last album.

But that sense of calm evaporates as the album progresses, when the band leans toward the chaotic end of the spectrum. “Aloneaflameaflowe” erupts into a nonsensical burst of fuzz and drudgy guitars. Album closer “Midnight Mass (At the Market Street Payphone)” is hardest to follow. It follows no linear pattern, getting lost into a cacophonous sound for minutes at a time.

Parts of the album feel too sloppy, too wayward and too unfocused to really encourage repeated listens. When Pond tightens their sound, the cutting grooves are hard to ignore. It’s those times in between, the chaos, that allow room for growth.

Dent May - Warm Blanket

Who knew disco beats and syrupy-sweet choruses could sound so forlorn? With gooey harmonies and enough falsetto crooning to fill the back of a semi-truck, Dent May is bringing back more of the sticky pop songs he introduced on Do Things. But on his third full-length, we’re getting a sense of the lonely undertones of such sunny music.

You can surmise the plot of “Do I Cross Your Mind?” by the title alone. The lyrics aren’t awfully complex. We’ve all been there, wondering when that unrequited love will notice we’re alive. “Don’t worry darling/I’m coming home,” he repeats, with a sad shred of hope that the object of his affection will anticipate his arrival.

The summer sipping-on-margaritas vibe of “Born Too Late” snakes around with a Bee Gees-esque bass groove, bursting at the seams with enough synthesizer magic to power a small army of flamboyant Oompa Loompas. It’s pure fun, much like “Let Them Talk” where May gives the middle finger to anyone who doesn’t approve of his relationship.

Elsewhere, the mood softens long enough for May to wax poetic about aging. “I think the future will feel much better than I feel now,” he croons. It’s an interesting sentiment amidst the thousands of his generation with a live fast, die young mentality. But for now, May seems content illuminating his loneliness in waves of pop mastery, allowing bold, bright notes to light the end of his dark tunnel.

The Dodos - Carrier

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The Dodos know something about push and pull. They come at you viciously, screaming guitars and rushed pacing, tying your heart in knots. Then they withdraw, gently floating into acoustic wonderment, a fragile and vulnerable state. It’s tension, it’s unease, it’s bliss, it’s joy.

Carrier is a transitional album for the band, who lost guitarist Chris Reimer last year when he unexpectedly passed away from a heart condition. The two remaining members, Meric Long (vocals, guitar) and Logan Kroeber (percussion), carry on his legacy by making a bold album that takes you places.

The best songs are slightly off. “The Carrier” begins with two guitar parts playing in unison, slightly discordant. But then, in comes the percussion and a third guitar part, and this imperfect collision of sounds is just right. The result is menacing, intense, and the kind of rare piece of music that is still mysterious after several listens.

The Majik Majik Orchestra, who you may have heard on past John Vanderslice recordings, contributes to several songs on Carrier, further fleshing out the band’s sound. A horn section rounds out the climax of “Substance,” making it something truly grand. Lucky for us, the Dodos then let the song wander off into a hazy acoustic retreat for one final minute of guitar picking so sweet it rivals German chocolate cake.

“Death,” perhaps a tribute to Reimer, is a gorgeous ballad, among the most tender of the Dodos’ songs. It’s followed by the album’s grand finale, “The Ocean,” which picks up in the middle with tribal percussion and a background of string instruments. It’s yet another example of how strong the band can be when they build their songs like small universes, starting slow and racing upward until they’re high above the clouds. It ends on the refrain, “Why won’t you be where I want you to be?” A common question, a familiar feeling, but wrangled by tension and conflict, the end of this album stops just short of relieving the unease. Better, it leaves you wanting more. 

John Vanderslice - Dagger Beach

 
 Stepping inside a John Vanderslice album is like touring a factory where every room is filled with a new texture. Popping and crackling on one track, then smoothly polishing a haunting melody on the next, this master of unique effects makes his listeners think. Sometimes, it feels overwrought. On album opener “Raw Wood,” miscellaneous guitar tones can distract from the lyrics. Better are songs like “Sonogram,” where the many moving pieces work together to create beauty that sounds less busy. Vanderslice worked out most the songs on Dagger Beach post-breakup, while walking through about 200 miles of trails. It’s a confusing world he captures here, but a spectacular opportunity to soak up the diverse paths he carves on his wild adventure.

CSS - Planta

At the end of a really long day, sometimes we settle for a Big Mac at the drive-thru. And most of us have, at some point, dated a dud because it takes a lot of work to find a winner. We’re only human. But why settle for vapid party songs when they’re not even catchy enough to make a single toe tap? We all like sleeping, but not right in the middle of the party. Usually, bedtime music and club jams fall on opposite ends of the spectrum. But if CSS is accomplishing anything, it’s the creation of a new hybrid: party songs so dull and insipid they kill the buzz before it even starts.

Some of the songs on Planta begin as dark as the worst in Interpol’s catalog. It’s really no fun, and the tone makes it a lot harder to choke down the lyrics. In the predictable “Too Hot,” we hear details of a god-like sex partner whose “hair is like a lion/blowing with delight.” It might come off as whimsical and playful in different circumstances.

If the album could be redeemed, it would do so by heavily leaning on “Hangover.” It has a semblance of heart with zesty horn blasts and a hefty dose of syncopation. For once, the band seems to let loose, so much so that we can forgive it for lines like, “let’s get happy, drinking bloody mary/I don’t want to be your sour cherry.”

Elsewhere, listeners have to deal with grating synthesizer and dirty speak-singing. You can only order so many fast food burgers, and spend so many nights bored of the person sitting across you at the table. It’s time to get off your butt and leave the mediocrity where it belongs – alone.