Pop 'stache

When Sofia Coppola wed Thomas Mars, lead singer of indie-pop heroes Phoenix, it seemed very much an indie moment. Of course the wealthy, somewhat pretentious filmmaker obsessed with fuzzy indie rock and French New Wave would hook up with the roguishly attractive frontman of a French indie pop band currently undergoing a supernova of hipster attention. What Zooey Deschanel and Ben Gibbard were to slightly overrated indie-folk, Coppola and Mars are to cosmopolitan indie-pop—a match made in comment section heaven.

The pair also neatly sum up the problem with Phoenix’s fifth LP, Bankrupt!. While the band have always maintained a bourgeois lyrical attitude in the same way Coppola’s films have centered around wealthy female ennui, there’s always a point of diminishing returns. For Coppola, that was the unbearably boring Chateau Marmont love letter Somewhere. For Phoenix, that point is sandwiched somewhere in the affectless synth-barrage of “The Real Thing” and the title track’s bizarre space-pop experimentation. Bankrupt! marks the point where piling glamour on top of song structures reaches its breaking point for Phoenix and their songwriting bell curve takes a slight step back.

Bankrupt! makes a precious, catchy mess of what made 2009’s Wolfgang Amadeus Pheonix such an unlikely world-beater. Side B anthems like “Big Sun,” “Rome” and “Armistice” become fuzzy, overcooked groove numbers like “Chloroform” or “Bourgeois.”  The album fits and starts trying to find its own rhythm, only to painfully end right as “Oblique City” seems to find a solution to their problem. The first single “Entertainment” is destructively catchy, sure, but for non-traditionally Phoenix reasons: instead of building massive hooks from intertwined guitar-vox-synth lines, “Entertainment” is one giant synth lead propping up a track that might otherwise be relegated to the latter half of the record. While Mars is slithering his voice over stories about romantic realities both public and private, the band is piling track on top of track in an effort to artificially induce grandiosity.

Mars harps on duplicity throughout Bankrupt! even as the band piles on harpsichord tracks while trying to recapture the Wolfgang magic. Mars’ impressionist romantic portraits were never the centerpiece of a great Phoenix song, but everything here matches the sonic sheen with an even more slight Americanization to the narrative than was found on Wolfgang. Propulsive standout “SOS in Bel Air” sets its scene squarely in the L.A. club scene, while “The Real Thing” drops repeated references to Crystal. The vapid socialite jargon suits Phoenix, but it doesn’t add any extra weight to an album that, outside of immense quantitative track heft, feels slightly featherweight on good ideas.  

Bankrupt! won’t ebb Phoenix’s ever increasing indie cache, simply because “Entertainment” walks and quacks like a proverbial Phoenix all-star single duck. But calling Bankrupt! anything but, at best, a lateral move for the French poppers would be incorrect. Both Bankrupt! and 2006’s It’s Never Been Like That feel like opposite ends of a spectrum that found bliss on Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix. Given the band’s constant sonic reinterpretation of itself, it might be folly to think that Phoenix will ever get back to what Wolfgang portended to be. Phoenix are still setting the pace for other indie-pop bands, and their complex melodies are not in short supply. But recapturing the magic of such a zeitgeist-defining release can be impossible. Just ask Sofia Coppola.

Phoenix – Bankrupt! Tracklist

1. “Entertainment”
2. “The Real Thing”
3. “SOS In Bel Air”
4. “Trying to Be Cool”
5. “Bankrupt”
6. “Drakkar Noir”
7. “Chloroform”
8. “Don’t”
9. “Bourgeois”
10. “Oblique City”

German producer DJ Koze (Stephan Kozalla) delivers an extraordinary self-reinvention with Amygdala, the March 2013 release named after the part of the brain where memory, learning, and fear develop. In Kozalla’s first solo release in nine years (2009’s compilation of remixes, Reincarnations, aside), he creates a quirky, melodious techno product. Most importantly, though, its positive reception stateside represents an important bridge in the gap between reputable, European techno and America’s younger, safer style.

DJ Koze’s exploratory ambiance can be likened to The Books, Caribou, or Prefuse 73.

“Don’t Lose My Mind” touches on trip-hop riffs and foley-scattered sounds to build a melody into something much sexier than its individual components.

Tech-house layers are softened by guest vocals and tame repetitions. “Homesick” is an accessible mid-album track, as is the beautifully orchestrated, bass-mongering happy tune “Nices Wölkchen (feat. Apparat).”

Possibly the best track and most active fusion of style on the album is the opener, “Track ID Anyone?” Ramblings in the intro describe the onset of a drug, continuing into clean, curious, Caribou-produced sounds and vocals that induce a twisted sense of positivity. Its freshness makes for a successful, exciting introduction to Koze’s newest cross-Atlantic adventure. A whirlwind of guests—Caribou Matthew Dear, Apparat, Milosh—add warmth and relevance to the sound, affirming Koze’s stateside visibility.

A tumultuous relationship spurred the creation of Frances Cone’s debut album, Come Back, a study on second chances and the aches of trying to reunite with an old love.

What makes the album a sparkling affair lies in the nuanced and textured music, which seamlessly glides along delicate and charming vocals. Cone’s voice conjures up a strong resemblance to Ellie Goulding, Norah Jones with a slight Tracey Thorn aftertaste.

On the title track, Cone pleads, “come back and I will love you better than that” as a gentle piano and guitar riff trickles through and cuts an undercurrent through her meditation on regret. Soon a chorus of background vocals takes over as Cone pleads, “consider darling/what your heart will pardon/if we’re in love.”

Cone is the daughter of a Baptist preacher and her musical upbringing focused on a steady serving of gospel music. Check out “Mercy” as it bubbles with a sacred, confessional tone. Owen Beverly’s guitar gently supports Cone’s restrained delivery before a somber fusion of keyboards, voices and what sounds like a drum machine enter the fray and allows the song to really soar.

The rest of the album finds Cone striking the right balance between soft, sentimental songs (“Rattles Your Heart” and “Heartland”) and sugar-powered jaunts through her lyric book (“Soon and “Long Way Down”).

Frances Cone – Come Back tracklist:

1. “Come Back”
2. “Mission”
3. “Soon”
4. “Rattles Your Heart”
5. “Long Way Down”
6. “Mercy”
7. “Edith”
8. “Miles”
9. “Get to You”
10. “Heartland”

Brian Chippendale returns as one-man noise pop act, Black Pus. Chippendale is best known as the drummer for noise rock duo, Lightning Bolt, but this time around, the artist arms himself with a drum kit, a noise oscillator, and primal vocals. His newest release, All My Relations, is the first to be recorded in a studio, and is a follow up to a series of self-released EP’s recorded on a four-track player. The resulting album is blissfully chaotic, exposing listeners to new sounds and nauseating textures in every track.

The opener, “Marauder,” starts with Chippendale wildly beating the drums and drone singing into a reverb-induced mic. Enter the dive-bomb oscillator and meet it with ghostly vocals that hover above the music. Throw it all together and it makes for a washy, disorienting, strangely fulfilling mayhem. As expected from Chippendale, the music is always skirting the edge of insanity. Yet there seems to be a more coherent, melodic element to this music when compared to Lightning Bolt. It seems to focus more on songwriting rather than noisy energy.

Track three, “1000 Years” confirms this notion. The beat is a standard four-four, with minimal fills and messiness. Chippendale’s vocals are sing-songy, following a catchy melody. The oscillator fluctuates between fat bass tones and high-pitched screams. And the track as a whole comes off as accessible, danceable even, thrash dancing in a mosh pit perhaps, but always against a discernible beat.

Just when the album seems to be leaning mainstream, Chippendale launches rock-horror epic, “Word on the Street.” This time, the oscillator is at the forefront, drenching listeners with waves of feedback and dissonance. Tribal yelps pierce the chaos with unusual clarity, while the drumming is punchy and consistent. This track is possessed by an unyielding energy, but is also overly redundant. Listeners can only be pounded by high volumes and vulgar bass tones for so long before getting used to the patterns.

It’s important to question how different the music of Black Pus is when compared to Lightning bolt. Chippendale fills the space of bassist Brian Gibson with his oscillator, and the sounds heard from the oscillator are often quite similar to those created by Gibson’s bass. One marked difference is that the layered, harmonized vocals in Black Pus play a more prominent role in defining the music, while Chippendale’s vocals in Lightning Bolt are often distant, distorted, even humorous. But is Black Pus different enough to function as a separate entity?

Track six, “Hear no Evil,” proves Black Pus as unique enough to stand on its own. Multi-layered vocals clash and harmonize with no recognizable pattern. The oscillator covers only basic bass tones needed to drive the song. While the drumming is poppy and straightforward, it gains a clearer voice, fills space with well-measured beats within a coherent time signature. This combination of musical elements is refreshing and unique for the normally messy Chippendale, revealing that the artist can restrain and solidify his energies when he chooses to do so.

The closer “A Better Man,” is a ten-minute noise apocalypse, and while this is initially intimidating (especially considering the promised onslaught of volume and repetition) this track manages to remain engaging throughout. It has distinct sections revolving around varying oscillator patterns and purposely sloppy drumming. The oscillator is used to its full extent, snarling and shifting pitch with nauseating frequency. At a certain point, the music diverts from any semblance of order and burns up in a pit harsh noise. The track rehashes into a sludge metal breakdown, eventually drowning in its own swampy mess.

All My Relations is an album not easily forgotten. Chippendale’s drumming is furious as ever, but acts on a certain restraint when needed. The vocals are dense and expressive, and establish a unique element not often heard in Chippendale’s other work. The oscillator has its moments of greatness, but its tones are not diverse or expressive enough to act as a driving force. In many ways, Brian Gibson’s bass playing is needed to establish melody, or at the very least, a sense of musical conversation. Much of the time, Black Pus turns into something that isn’t quite music. Rather, it’s an alienating mess of noise and volume. And this is great, but placing Black Pus next to Lightning Bolt, the former is lacking in structure and voice. One the whole however, when this music does come together, it’s some of the most colorful and creative music to be heard in a while, and it’s worth returning to in the days to come.

Black Pus – All My Relations tracklist:

1. “Marauder”
2. “Fly on the Wall”
3. “1000 Years”
4. “Word on the Street”
5. “All Out of Sorts”
6. “Hear no Evil”
7. “Nowhere to Run”
8. “A Better Man”

Alabama native gone Brooklyn, Mathew Houck, returns as Phosphorescent for his fifth studio release, Muchacho, this March via Dead Oceans. This album is a follow up to 2010’s Here’s to Taking it Easy and was supposedly written from a beachside hut in Mexico over the course of a week. The finished product draws on traditional folk and country, depicting awe-inspired landscapes bathed in a nostalgic glow.

The opener, “Sun, Arise!” enters with waves of synth glockenspiel and Houck’s vocals layered in lush harmonies. Dramatic pauses and airy climaxes evoke images of open plains and bright blue skies. The music swells and dips, then fades and is met by the ghostly violin intro to “Song for Zula.” Ambient synths color the background while drums mark tempo below. Houck sings, “I know love as a fading thing/just as fickle as a feather in a stream.” The structure is a standard verse-chorus-verse, but the music isn’t going for unpredictability. The focus lies on Houck’s lyrics and the poetry embedded within.

Track three, “Ride On/Right On,” is more upbeat, driven by light drumming and the rhythmic rattling of chains. In the corners of the stereo plane are crunchy wah-wah guitars strumming vaguely discernible rhythms. Houck’s bouncy vocals reflect a contented mood, but the lyrics are less powerful as a result, relying heavily on the repetition of, “You took me right on.”

“A Charm/A Blade” is another track steeped in self-reflection. The lyrics examining the value of a New York musician’s life, “Dress me down in New York crown/lay me down and pull me up/tell me everything’s been sold/tell me anything, I’ll go.” The musicianship is stepped up as well, with blaring horns at the chorus and a wandering piano line throughout the verses. This track is one of the strongest on the album, thanks to its instrumental diversity and the honesty of its lyrics.

Track eight, “The Quotidian Beasts,” brings about a much-needed shift in songwriting. Slide guitar and violin play a prominent role, and while Houck’s vocals are still at the forefront, they’re seemingly content sharing center stage.

On the other hand, the track is seven minutes long, two of which are an uninspired jam session, and the music quickly grows tired.

The album’s closer, “Sun’s Arising,” revisits lyrics and harmonies heard in the album’s intro. Instead of using synth to establish atmosphere, Houck uses acoustic guitars, tambourine, and a number of hand drums. The resulting music lulls listeners into a revelatory trance, and ends with a warm vocal chord  that fades into silence.

Exploring Muchacho by Phosphorescent can be a refreshing challenge, as it encourages its audience to listen from a lyrical standpoint. Much of the album’s depth is gleaned from analyzing the lyrics and appreciating how they’re woven into the music. On the other hand, the music by itself  is often boring and predictable. It consistently relies on standard verse chorus verse, and rarely diverts from its languid, nostalgic moods. In short, it gets old. On the whole, the album is a success if spacious, reflective folk music is of interest, but if craving an album that challenges the ear, don’t bother with this one.

Phosphorescent – Muchacho tracklisting:

1. “Sun, Arise! (An Invocation, An Introduction)”
2. “Song for Zula”
3. “Ride On/Right On”
4. “Terror in the Canyons (The Wounded Master)”
5. “A Charm/ A Blade”
6. “Muchacho’s Tune”
7. “A New Anhedonia”
8. “The Quotidian Beasts”
9. “Down to Go”
10. “Sun’s Arising (A Koan, An Exit)”

Chicago’s own, Camera, has been playing music together for over 10 years. The band is comprised of Justin C. Scro on guitar and vocals, Ryan Aylward on bass and synth, and Joseph Scro on drums. Its first album, Fire and Science, was released in 2008 and was coined “Pop-Noir” by the Chicago Reader. Their long awaited second album, The Panic and the Permanence, was released earlier this month. The album has a polished and mature sound, reflecting a band looking to make a statement, but what that statement is exactly still remains unclear.

Track one, “Grazed By Bullets,” has a samba groove heard in the bass and hand drums. A quiet guitar melody haunts the upper registers and is lost in a wail of police sirens. The vocals are strained and urgent, turned high in the mix. The overall sound is reminiscent of The Police, poppy and danceable while concealing attention paid toward technical musicianship.

“Pop Radio 101” is more heavily focused on vocals. The track revolves around a monologue in which Scro states, “We are here to address matters that certainly need addressing,” and, “It smells like something that certainly isn’t spirit.” The music is bass heavy with druggy guitars floating between headphones. The effect is hazy and disorienting, while remaining catchy and accessible.

Track four, “Nuclear,” opens with an ambient synth soundscape that collides with a choppy guitar line. The drums kick in with a subdued dance beat as synthesizers color the background.  The vocals are very present with reverb buzzing around their edges. This track draws quite heavily from ’80s New Wave, but rarely diverts from its poppy structures or glossy sounds.

This is something of a statement on the band. Camera likes to reference other genres of music and incorporate it into its own. However, the band has yet to demonstrate a unique voice that not only draws from a plethora of genres, but also manipulates them to create a new sound. This isn’t to say the music isn’t enjoyable, as it’s often catchy by design.

“Buried Alive” is a lonely track headed by shimmering guitars and tom-heavy drumming. The vocals are layered and harmonized, singing in a sad, yet triumphant tone. The chorus sings, “When you make big plans with me/when you make big plans you’ll see.” The song drowns in ambiance and fades away. It is a catchy tune and has a pop punk edge to it, but is strangely empty of its own character, a theme found throughout the album.

The closer, “The Gathering Storm,” fades in from an airy, wind-like ambiance. The guitar lines are dreamy and pleasant, while the bass is pulsing and hypnotic. At the bridge, a light piano line paints the atmosphere, while a soft vocal line grooves contentedly through the music. The track gathers energy and peaks with the vocals screaming, “Can you feel it now?” then disassembles into the ethereal ambiance from which it came.

The Panic and the Permanence is an album with many great ideas, but few of them are original. The band certainly draws from a colorful musical background, including everything from ’80s New Wave to Latin pop, but the overall effect has a way to go. On the whole, Camera is trying too hard to be a band that appeals to a wide audience, and while the music is catchy, danceable and worth the listen, it isn’t memorable yet.

Camera – The Panic and the Permanence tracklist:

1. “Grazed by Bullets”
2. “Pop Radio 101”
3. “A Place I Know”
4. “Nuclear”
5. “Debris”
6. “The Negotiator”
7. “Buried Alive”
8. “On a Night Like This”
9. “Heir Apparent”
10. “The Gathering Storm”

Spoken word is perhaps the most human medium of expression. Everyone has story to tell, a message to share, or an idea to explain. In Cardboard Castles, George Watsky demonstrates his perfection of the art of the  spoken word and his ability to pontificate to society through the art as old as culture; storytelling.

He cuts deep, but nothing less should be expected from a spoken word poet turned rapper. He seamlessly weaves a tapestry that covers most every major moral dilemma and social aspect of this generation. Watsky is a force to be reckoned with. He is a rapper, a poet, a lyricist, a musician, a storyteller, and a truth-teller who can draw blood with a witty quip comprised of no more than 10 syllables.

Watsky has a message to share, and he doesn’t waste any time heralding good tidings. “Fireworks” is a thrilling roller-coaster of rhymes with a positive message set to the beat of that endorphin rushing noise—the bang of the firework. “Strong as an Oak” tells the age old story of the poor man’s happiness. Although Watsky may be “hella broke” he still finds good in the bad, or as he puts it, “Everything’s A-O-K, cuz I’m strong as an O-A-K.”

Of course, a rap album wouldn’t be complete without the obligatory anthem of success. “Moral of the Story” is Watsky’s way of telling haters to sit down and his fans to stand up. The moral of Watsky’s story is, “WORK!” The struggle and the ascension are what we all live for, and Watsky knows it. “Ugly Faces” takes a page out of Slim Shady’s book with odd voices and stand-offish lyrics . It’s quirky in its own way, but it is the lowest point of the record.

“Skit #1” is an adorable dialogue between Watsky and an 8-year old boy. It’s eye-opening and invaluable to Watsky’s design. He wants to show us the hard truth and the eyes of a child are often the best lens.

Watsky shows his sense of humor in “Kill a Hipster (feat. Chinaka Hodge).” It’s a story about how the authenticity of a neighborhood is subversively destroyed by an exodus of hipsters. Authenticity is lost when Starbucks rolls in, the skate rinks fall down and covers of famous raps flood cyberspace, according to Watsky. It’s charming, musically riveting, and funny!

“Hey, Asshole (feat. Kate Nash)” is one of the most memorable ballads created. Nash’s bright, yet bitter voice lends itself perfectly to Watsky’s “don’t give a shit” attitude. “All I Need Is One” is a clot on the record.  Watsky has moved on from optimism to eye-opening hard hits and this is still apparent, but the previous felt momentum towards a climax seems to suddenly roll off the proverbial cliff.

“Tiny Glowing Screens, Part 1” and “Tiny Glowing Screens, Part 2” are the thematic climax of the album, despite a slight slow Watsky lands his biggest KOs in these candid lyrics.  “When the sun burns out, we’ll light the world with tiny glowing screens.” The message is morbid and matter-of-fact. The “Modem Age” is presented as a world where individuals struggle desperately to set themselves apart, but fail to realize how insignificant their actions really are.

“Sloppy Seconds” is a track to blast out your car window. It’s energetic, lively, and real. It tackles the issue of authenticity once again, and how the people Watsky likes are the ones that live in the moment, and live that moment to the fullest. This is authenticity. This is life. But what goes up must come down, and “Dedicated to Christina Li” is a sobering, heart-throbbing piece of poetry that tells a story from Watsky’s high-school days. It’s sad, but beautiful.

In “Skit #2” we hear another dialogue between George and the 8-year old. They discuss the importance of story telling and growing up. Our stories are what build a culture and each individual inside that culture. It’s an art that must be preserved.

“The Legend of Hardhead Ned (feat. Dylan Saunders)” is another humorous track, but is also the purest form of storytelling on the whole album. “Cardboard Castles” cannot be forgotten. It brings the album full circle, setting the penultimate track as a foil to the second track, saying that when life kicks you down you just build your own cardboard castles back up. Finally, “Send in the Sun” brings back the optimism with a steady tempo and the colorful accents of back-up vocals. “Dent In the Moon” ends the story with the final message that pain may bring joy in the end.

Watsky uplifts and invigorates the listener with his truth-filled slap in the face. He shares happiness and teaches listeners not to let themselves regret anything in life. Just build your castle and let people in. That is what life is all about.

Watsky – Cardboard Castles tracklist:

1. “Firework”
2. “Strong as an Oak”
3. “Moral of the Story”
4. “Ugly Faces”
5. “Skit #1
6. “Kill a Hipster (feat. Chinaka Hodge)”
7. “Hey, Asshole (feat. Kate Nash)”
8. “All I Need Is One”
9. “Tiny Glowing Screens, Part 1”
10. “Tiny Glowing Screens, Part 2”
11. “Sloppy Seconds”
12. “Dedicated to Christina Li”
13. “Skit #2”
14. “The Legend of Hardhead Ned (feat. Dylan Saunders)”
15. “Cardboard Castles”
16. “Send In the Sun”
17. “Dent In the Moon”

Take a quick peek at the cover of the new Josh Rouse album to see how he’s adjusted to middle age and family life.

Rouse is locked into a quiet stare as gray colors his temples. A few-days-old scruff frames his closed lips, and his blue eyes seem muted with a quiet resignation.

“Now that we’re getting older/and the sun hides the grey in our hair/we look for things to remember/that there is light out there,” Rouse sings over a swirl of flutes, saxophones, and background voices on “Our Love.”

With his 10th studio album, The Happiness Waltz, Rouse looks inward to reflect on the challenge of raising a family and maintaining a sense of home. He reunites with Brad Jones, who produced the stellar 1972 and Nashville, and that means a welcomed return to Rouse’s classic 1970s AM-radio sound. Rouse flaunts his penchant for writing pop hooks with a heavy heaping of mellotron strings, Hammond organs, horns and bass grooves.

On “A Lot Like Magic,” he sings, “It’s all in the air/it’s a lot like magic/we make due with the best that we have,” as the chorus is awash with saxophones and a sunny guitar riff. “Simple Pleasure” is one of the strongest examples of a classic Rouse single with its charming, effortless vocals peppered with a buoyant melody. With its Vince Guaraldi-like piano theme and a touch of harmonica, the title track sounds like a daydream beauty.

Location still serves as a trusted personal muse and influence for Rouse. He chronicled a crumbling marriage and bid adieu to Tennessee with Nashville. El Turista echoed daily life in his adopted country, Spain, and marked an expansion of his songwriting to include bossa nova and Latin pop.

The Happiness Waltz continues with this exploration of place, and in the case of “This Movie’s Way Too Long,” how to balance a career within a marriage. “I’m flying out to London baby/got a little number to do/come Monday I’ll be feeling alright/and we can start anew,” Rouse sings over a track powered by bouncy guitars and a rising chorus.

Married life and parenthood may be a challenge and growing older may not make you wiser, but Rouse is embracing change. And in the process, he has settled into his own middle-aged groove.

Josh Rouse – The Happiness Waltz tracklist:

1. “Julie (Come Out of the Rain)”
2. “Simple Pleasure”
3. “It’s Good to Have You”
4. “City People, City Things”
5. “This Movie’s Way Too Long”
6. “Our Love”
7. “A Lot Like Magic”
8. “Start Up a Family”
9. “The Western Isles”
10. “Purple and Beige”
11. “The Ocean”
12. “The Happiness Waltz”

On If You Leave, the debut album by London-based trio Daughter, vocalist Elena Tonra sings of setting her bones on the road, swimming with the fishes, and being dead behind the eyes.

“I was thinking that I should see someone/just to find out I’m alright,” Tonra intones on the second to last track, “Amsterdam.”

On If You Leave, Tonra and her band mates are in love with their own sadness, and they’ve created a monochromatic collection of ghostly songs focused on unrequited love, anger, and loss to prove it.

Guitars sway and drums bob and weave through the songs. The tempo plods along, and the lyrics teeter from self-loathing (“Setting fire to our insides for fun,”) to macabre imagery (“When the sun comes out, we’ll be nothing but dust.”)

It all starts with Tonra, who casts herself as a forlorn character on the album’s narratives. She possesses an achingly beautiful voice, much like Beth Orton, but she carries on with a bruised romanticism that stumbles into wallowing.

“I’m flooding out and more I’m too washed out to see/drifting away this time/you’ll regret you’ve conceived it,” Tonra sings over atmospheric guitar noodling on “Lifeforms.”

The song is in step with Daughter’s well-received EPs, His Young Heart and The Wild Youth. Those collections are melancholic to the core, but unlike If You Leave, the band at least flavored the music with hints of keyboards and varied percussive rhythms.

That’s the issue with this album. The songs, while cathartic for Tonra, are simply monotonous for most—outside of the album’s best track, “Human,” which rises with driving acoustic guitars and D.J. Fontana-style drumming.

When Tonra sings, “Despite everything I’m still human/but I think I’m dying here,” you hope she finds some solace in time for the second album.

Daughter – If You Leave tracklist:

1. “Winter”
2. “Smother”
3. “Youth”
4. “Still”
5. “Lifeforms”
6. “Tommorrow”
7. “Human”
8. “Touch”
9. “Amsterdam”
10. “Shallows”

Mala (Nonesuch Records) expresses an entire career of learning a highly sought after skill: smooth, easy intricacy; natural-sounding beauty. How can an album sound so simple and be so moving? Effectual elements are a breed of their own in every musical circumstance. From start to finish the album sounds wholistic, deep, uncontaminated and mature. Ridding the extremist outliers, Mala centers on soft effects and warm tones to create a chorus of old and fresh sounds. In a recent Interview with Pitchfork’s Ryan Dombal, Devendra Banhart states “I don’t know if I like the music I make, but I certainly love making it.” This illustrates a very sensible conclusion- joy from process rather than presentation is one of the keys to an unpretentious sound- an ambiguous but worthy characteristic that begs to be noticed of Mala.

Commonly dubbed as freak folk- a genre defined by immoderate, wavering voices and unconventional folk tangents- Devendra has always written music with rougher edges. Although his chord progressions and strumming style are often simple or plain, his music is anything but. Lyrics are characteristically trippy and poetic, abstract and fully credible for ‘New Weird America’ tags. Mala’s high production value is not unlike 2009’s What Will We Be, however it clearly differentiates from his five releases prior.

He began his career as a busker in San Francisco and continued to travel and perform, opening for Sonic Youth’s 2000 European tour shortly after. A glance at Devendra’s artistic repertoire shows he embraces travel and cultural immersion. Most apparent in Mala is the exploration of his Venezuelan ethnicity, heard both in his occasional Spanish lyrics and acoustic-salsa additions. “Mi Negrita” is an alluringly sultry and subdued sonnet featuring the beloved vocal authenticity heard on his earliest recordings. The intermission-esque title track appears halfway through the album, featuring a short Spanish verse over minimal electric guitar distortions.

Mala explores a more dynamic level of soothing with a few standout tracks. “Won’t You Come Over” has Bob Marley goodness inside it. Innocently poppy, positive rhythms and a throwback to 2006’s Islands indie-pop era connect it to a promising audience of nostalgic twenty-something romantics. Gentle and dense, the hazily recorded “Daniel” is brimming with thick base and a slow rhythm. It feels sad, which doesn’t necessarily mean it is- a bonus realization for listeners of every caliber.

Sharp strings and “freak folk” dissonance give “A Gain” a human improvisational sound akin to Oh Me Oh My (2002) fan favorites “Michigan State” and “Pumpkin Seeds”: “Lover’s gonna tell me love don’t last, Mama’s gonna tell me I ain’t high class. Mama’s gonna tell me the world I thought was the world is not the world; Love is gonna make me a hungry man.” “Won’t You Come Home” is another example of Devendra’s clever bite lyrics, androgynous and verbose and creatively dark: “I miss my sweet bag of bones, drunk and tender. Why don’t you want to stay here, suspended in the dead arms of a year that has ended?”

A musing Devendra draws attention to the 11^th Century German Catholic composer and philosopher Für Hildegard von Bingen with a song of her same title, inviting a thoughtful and light jam that fades away before it even seems to begin. “Your Fine Petting Duck” is a transitory track- changing forms within- acting almost as a reflection of Devendra’s evolving music styles. It’s about a man receiving a call from a former love in desperation of more, and him letting her go, reminding her of his flaws. It’s about being a selfless man. The second half continues into an electronic drive with a more enthusiastic form of the same vocals, tallying to be the most critiqued track on the album for this surprising stray.

Perhaps this surprise acts to separate those who support artist growth from those who only wish for more of what they know- a powerful, tough chunk of meat to chew on next time you ponder the many ways to appreciate a musician and their work.

Devendra Banhart –  Mala tracklist:

1. “Golden Girls”
2. “Daniel”
3. “Für Hildegard von Bingen”
4. “Never Seen Such Good Things”
5. “Mi Negrita”
6. “Your Fine Petting Duck”
7. “The Ballad of Keenan Milton”
8. “A Gain”
9. “Won’t You Come Over”
10. “Cristobal Risquez”
11. “Hatchet Wound”
12. “Mala”
13. “Won’t You Come Home”
14. “Taurobolium”

There are times when music reaches beneath the surface, and paints a picture in our minds. Thomas Meluch has been releasing material since he was 17 under the moniker Benoît Pioulard, and developing a sound that brings the willing to vivid places he has created. His latest album Hymnal is one that feels like an old tale. One where Meluch takes the listener through desolate lands and over ghostly mountains, and all accompanied by his acoustic guitar and textured outcrops of beautiful sound that reach into vastness.

“Mercy,” brings the album in with a joyous electric accordion sound that might as well have come from an old Casiotone. Meluch’s tender vocals hang over this as the sound builds into a glowing bright wall. “Mercy” tapers off and gives way to a damaged sample of distant piano, leading a listener by the hand into “Hawkeye.” The piano remains on “Hawkeye,” following quietly behind, like some sort of curious carrion; one who continues to follow throughout Hymnal.

The whole album has a feel like an old Western film, where eerie songs turn into grey, jagged peaks of mountains and tracks of only dreamy ambience are fog clinging to the mountain and rolling along the countryside.

The dark and lofty cowboy tune “Reliquary” would be a morose march up that gravel mountain road and colorful swells of cymbals are apprehensive looks from behind Meluch’s down-tipped hat before his guitar sings and waves with tremolo.

“Homily” enters the album with sounds of water rushing and distant and looming piano comes back, this time slowly dancing with a standup bass over the water. As ones ears drink from the water, the album continues to head toward the precipice, the carrion circles overhead.

This album was given as a hymnal and “Gospel” is its central hymn. A beautiful electric drone hums in the distance while violins patiently come in, and the mountain peak is revealed as fog drifts by. As the calming richness of “Gospel” also drifts away, a ringing silence is left.

In “Litiya,” rich violins cut through lo-fi guitar, and a chamber-like tone makes everything reverberate. Violins and the purr of a reed organ rise at the end of “Litiya,” and slide away into “Knell” with the sound of steeple bells ringing.

The journey seems to end here, at the top of the blue and grey mountain that is Hymnal, and distant voices seem to be softly speaking behind crackling that begins to resemble a campfire.

Our epilogue would then be “Foxtail,” which lays the album to rest as gloriously as it began: with flittering, degraded tones and Meluchs’ gentle vocals sharing the last thoughts. Hymnal is organic and whole, and Meluch as Pioulard’s work has shown this.

Benoît Pioulard – Hymnal tracklist:

1. “Mercy”
2. “Hawkeye”
3. “Reliquary”
4. “Homily”
5. “Excave”
6. “Gospel”
7. ”Florid”
8. “Margin”
9. “Censer”
10. “Litiya”
11. “Knell”
12. “Foxtail”