Pop 'stache

The Internet has turned our generation into one of instant gratification. The days of word-of-mouth are gone, traded in for the type-and-click blogosphere. Disputed facts can be answered in seconds with a few light touches on a smartphone screen and make all of us feel like veritable experts on anything we are remotely interested in.

So imagine devout music fans’ insecurity when an unknown band picture of four kids, fittingly shrouded by clouds of smoke and bandanas, surfaced and no one knew anything about them.

Months later, this band would drop their veils and step out as World Unite! Lucifer Youth Foundation—WU LYF. This Manchester group chose to stay out of the traditional pre-debut release spotlight, indicating disgust for self-promotion and, in particular, interviews. Indeed, the band seemed to be a breath of fresh air in a world where the banal thoughts and actions of celebrities are glorified and tweeted. The catch is, WU LYF’s careful press dodging was simply another marketing tactic based on the old-school principle, “Leave them wanting more.” This divisive anonymity left unconvinced masses so hungry for answers that when their debut album Go Tell Fire to the Mountain released, it left a muddled view of what the band really is.

Go Tell Fire to the Mountain is a striking debut. Behind lead singer Ellery Roberts’ sporadic yelp, the album is packed with emphatic, polished guitar work, tight drums and persistent bass lines. The band takes dramatic cues from Arcade Fire, sensibilities from straightforward alternative rock like Pixies, but still carries a sense of mystery, like every high school’s bitchy head cheerleader—showing a lot of leg but never letting anyone see everything. The walls WU LYF built around themselves with their cryptic, anti-marketing marketing left them with mounting pressure to deliver something great. Go Tell Fire sounds poised to do just that, but by the time the album is over the musical build-up, much like the hype, never developed to its full potential. The cathartic release never comes, leaving us dangling on the precipice.

The album is largely concentrated on keeping face with WU LYF’s prefabricated image, or lack thereof. It doesn’t seem like the band is quite sure what direction to take, shifting between British-guitar jangle and brooding rumblings that barely stand out behind Roberts’ distracting vocals, but regardless sounds like it is holding something back.

It seems the band is most effective when allowing more time to develop, as two of the longest tracks are shining moments of Go Tell Fire. “We Bros” shows WU LYF finally letting its guard down, and at the half-way point of the record it was about time. The song is expansive—it roams around and seems to fill in a lot of the unanswered questions about the band. The closer “Heavy Pop” has a similar effect—a nomadic, slow-building ballad that spans the length between minimalist piano chords and what has quickly become Roberts’ signature wailing.

WU LYF was more appealing with their smoke and mirrors. Maybe more intriguing than Go Tell Fire to the Mountain is the unharnessed potential the band has. The strain of mystery seems to have inhibited their ideas, putting them on defense. Until WU LYF can step away from the box they’ve created for themselves and relax into their music as they did for glimmering moments on Go Tell Fire, they will continue to leave audiences wanting more, but at this point it seems like something Wu Lyf is unprepared to give.

WU LYF – Go Tell Fire to the Mountain Tracklist:

1. “L Y F”
2. “Cave Song”
3. “Such a Sad Puppy Dog”
4. “Summas Bliss”
5. “We Bros”
6. “Spitting Blood”
7. “Dirt”
8. “Concrete Gold”
9. “14 Crowns for Me & Your Friends”
10. “Heavy Pop”

The Denmark post-punk act that doesn’t capitalize its name, iceage, made waves with its debut 7-inch of noisy post-punk. The group’s songwriting was a call back to the late ’70s British scene, something the EP’s production drove home. Now, the Danes return with its debut full-length, New Brigade, which sees the quartet prove its initial offering was no fluke.

New Brigade has gained a great deal of hype from tastemakers like Pitchfork, and even The New Yorker ran a small blurb. With claims that the band is rejuvenating punk rock, iceage has some gigantic expectations resting on its shoulders. While the album is solid, the hype machine that surrounds it has proven to be more of a disservice.

From start to finish, New Brigade blends into a reverb drenched slab of post-punk that blends the loose and neurotic style of ’70s punk with a slight noise feel of early Sonic Youth. It successfully melds several punk subgenres, but it never seems as if the band is saving the genre. Given that iceage is still has members in their teen years, it is hard to see this as anything other than an uplifting and energetic offering.

As the album progresses the group’s subtleties begin to make themselves known. “Count Me In” is a hardcore blast that recalls Southern California in the early ’80s. It is more closely related to Circle Jerks than Gang of Four, but vocalist Elias Ronnenfelt finds a way to keep his vocals from falling in line with the atypical style that hardcore has been synonymous. With guitars that cut through the noise and a rhythm section that is able to groove without subsidizing its intensity, “Count Me In” is perhaps the most refreshing track on New Brigade.

While the album is certainly an enjoyable listen, there is little that distinguishes iceage from other post-punk bands that embrace indie rock production.

At the end of the day, iceage seems to be much akin to Nathan Williams’ Wavves. If Wavves was channeling garage and mixing it with pop-punk, then iceage is hardcore’s answer to that tactic. The group is one that could potentially take its abrasive style to a mainstream audience, much in the way that Off! and Fucked Up have been able to avoid compromising their riotous hearts.

Overall, New Brigade shows that iceage has a lot to offer the punk scene. They are in no way saviors, as there is a list of bands nearly a mile long that have kept the genre alive and interesting even in the face of waning interest. If iceage finds a way to make its next release more dynamic, it could prove to be the new face of indie-punk. Until then, they’ll be an enjoyable throwback to the genre’s early days.

iceage  – New Brigade Tracklist:

1. “Intro”
2. “White Rune”
3. “New Brigade”
4. “Remember”
5. “Teeth Crush”
6. “Total Drench”
7. “Broken Bone”
8. “Collapse”
9. “Eyes”
10. “Count Me In”
11. “Never Return”
12. “You’re Blessed”

Benny Benassi has been called “the Godfather of Electro,” staking claims in the clubs and charts of Europe as well as in his native Italy. It’s been eight years since his eponymous debut Hypnotica and now he’s making a gambit for the American pop charts with Electroman. He’s already gained a small victory with the success of trance dream, “Beautiful People” featuring Chris Brown—and the possibility arises that he might just have a case.

The album boosts an impressive list of guests (Brown, Kelis, T-Pain, with remixes from Skrillex and Ying-Yang Twins) a plethora of rave sentiments in peace, love, understanding, respect, ecstasy and of course, rump shaking. Not too long ago it might not have seemed impossible to get a “dance” album to the top of the American charts—but all of a sudden even Britney Spears has dubstep breakdowns and a glance at the top 10 tunes will show, if not verbatim, elements of club music in every one. Maybe by enlisting so many hip-hop artists to the album, the modus operandi of modern American charts, Benassi hopes to weasel his way into the hearts of a wider audience.

As for something new—Electroman is not. It’s not tired or cliché, it’s just not exactly pushing sounds forward.

Take the ascending riff in “Cinema,” a la Bodyrox’s “Yeah, Yeah”; it’s an old formula that works like a charm across the electro board. One of Britain’s rising pop men, Gary Go, lends a hand on the track, “You’re my favorite movie/A thousand endings.” Cute. And let’s face it, getting T-Pain on a track (“Electroman”) is just about as safe as wearing pastel wayfarers to a rave. The album is also strangely devoid of Benassi’s signature bass lines and meshed up drumwork, a la “Satisfaction.” Stricken of these signature elements, the result is at best a watered down, kinky raver—and nothing phenomenal at that.

Fans and haters alike have to wonder if part of the reason Benny sounds so quintessentially electro and, dare it be said, corny, is because he is quintessentially electro. (Which also excuses a totally lame album name.) Put four on the floor, waves of recurrent synthesizers over it, announce, “House Music,” and there you go, you’re Benny Benassi. And if that sounds easy it’s probably because of him. Opener “Good Girl” with its droll commands of “rollover,” “come here,” “shake,” and “bang,” keys listeners in immediately to the language of Electroman; a sound that doesn’t let up until it’s over. Danceable, sing-alongable, fun and easy, well, we’ll have to see how American DJs respond.

Benny Benassi – Electroman Tracklist:

1. “Good Girl”
2. “Rather Be”
3. “Spaceship”
4. “Beautiful People”
5. “My House”
6. “House Music”
7. “Cinema”
8. “Electroman”
9. “Automatic B”
10. “Control”
11. “Leave This Club Alone”
12. “Close To Me”
13. “Cinema [Skrillex Remix]
14. “All the Way”

To the casual listener, a band like Biosphere might seem redundant and their music might seem played out. No straightforward traditional melodic ideas? No vocals? Verses?  Choruses? Biosphere’s N-Plants is a half-boring, half-intriguing trip through ambient soundscapes mixed with traditional techno beats and eerie sampled sounds from old movies.

One could look at the song titles and album cover of Biosphere’s N-Plants and pick songs at random and say, “I bet this one has some repetitive drum beat and equally repetitive keyboards that go throughout the whole song” and be correct without taking a listen.

The biosphere on earth is considered all its organic beings and their inorganic surroundings. With this definition, it seems that the band’s music might be a combination of all genres, instruments and styles mixed with sound samples found in nature and our material world like car engines or waterfalls. Instead, N-Plants is a repetitive loop of sounds that aren’t as thought-provoking or mind-inducing when compared to other ambient projects.

The same production style and electronic keyboard instruments were used on each song. Maybe it isn’t fair to judge N-Plants as music and it is fairer to look at it for what it is: ambient music that is meant not so much to be listened to, but to function as background noise that you put on while studying or doing some house cleaning.

When you compare what Biosphere has done on N-Plants to any Bibio album to date, it falls very short. When you listen to the three or four samples on N-Plants, they are seemingly random clips of people talking in a foreign language and it doesn’t make you wonder anything more about the music. There isn’t any mystery to this music, even in the realm of ambient.

You can hear exactly what Biosphere is doing on each track. It is hard for you to forget that you’re listening to an album and get lost in it; you’re constantly aware that there is an electronic drum beat and some keys playing at all times. It is very apparent from the start that this music was not challenging for the artist to make.

N-Plants is the musical equivalent of creating squares, lines and circles in Photoshop, doing nothing more with it and calling it art.

If you are a fan of ambient music and looking for something to hold you over, this album might not do the trick. If you’re looking for something to put on while you’re reading because you’re getting a bit used to your favorite Album Leaf or Bibio album, this might make you appreciate them a bit more and see them for what they really are.

Biosphere – N-Plants Tracklist:

1. “Sendai-1”
2. “Shika-1”
3. “Joyo”
4. “Ikata-1”
5. “Monju-1”
6. “Genkai-1”
7. “Oi-1”
8. “Monju-2”
9. “Fujiko”

It’s been 40 years since Brian Eno first started releasing music with the glam rock outfit Roxy Music. Since then, Eno has been constantly exploring and experimenting with new approaches to his ambient style. On his latest, Drums Between The Bells, Eno couples his signature work with spoken word poetry courtesy of Rick Holland.

Eno’s never been one to repeat himself, and Drums Between The Bells is further proof of that. The combination of Eno’s ambience with Holland’s poems sounds interesting in theory, but in practice the album proves to be unintentionally hilarious.

Consider this: Eno has been known for his progressive work in both music and the visual arts. He’s created 41 albums of music, and is responsible for the film Mistaken Memories of Mediaeval Manhattan, a film that requires viewers to turn their televisions onto its side in order to be properly viewed. When analyzing Eno’s career, it becomes obvious that he’s got his head pretty far up his own ass, which is why Drums Between the Bells doesn’t sound as much like a Brian Eno record as it does an album created by someone to make fun of Brian Eno.

The instrumental tracks that Eno creates are full of electronic ambience, and overall, they do work fairly well. However, the inclusion of Holland’s poetry atop makes the entire album feel like an unintentional pseudo-commentary about high art. Drums Between the Bells does not acquire this feeling because Holland’s words come from a place of criticism, but they feel almost too satirical to be real.

A prime example of Holland’s pedantic poems ruining Eno’s ambience is “Dow.” Eno gives the track an almost primal groove, and it does progress naturally. Unfortunately, Holland finds a way to derail this momentum within its first 30 seconds. When the speaker, in his robotic tone, states, “Frequency steel/Adrenaline/Shift like a lizard’s skin/And the didgeridoo,” it is beyond pretentious and impossible to take seriously.

Perhaps Holland is being abstract with his words to prove a point. It is possible that Holland’s creation is serving to compliment Eno’s sparse movements, but whether or not that was the intent, it completely misses that mark.

It is worth noting that there is an edition of Drums Between the Bells that features both the proper album as well as just Eno’s instrumental tracks. These instrumental versions show how great Eno can be when he is the one accountable for creating the mood. Holland’s additions to Drums Between The Bells only derail Eno’s vision, leaving the listener wondering why Eno allowed such a thing to happen.

Brian Eno is certainly prolific, but Drums Between the Bells functions more like a self-parody than a genuine offering. After 40 years of work, not every album can be a winner, but they should at least have some level of care put into their creation.

Brian Eno – Drums Between The Bells Tracklist:

1. “Bless This Space”
2. “Glitch”
3. “Dreambirds”
4. “Pour It Out”
5. “Seedpods”
6. “The Real”
7. “The Airman”
8. “Fierce Aisles of Light”
9. “As If Your Eyes Were Partly Closed As If You Honed The Swirl Within Them And Offered Me … The World”
10. “A Title”
11. “Sounds Alien”
12. “Dow”
13. “Multimedia”
14. “Cloud 4″
15. “Silence”
16. “Breath of Crows”

Britney Spears said something that, when Britney Spears mattered, probably ticked off a large contingent of discerning music fans.

In large typeface, Rolling Stone pulled her quote saying (more or less) that writing abstract, experimental stuff was easy; writing catchy pop songs was the hard part. After the initial indignation a Top 40-shunning listener probably felt, it started to ring true as the Internet’s dominance encouraged participation without the cover charge of artistic vision; you only had to wear your influences to meet dress code. For every Kid A, there are 20 sub-King of Limbs farts currently clogging up the blogosphere. For his Memory Tapes project, chill executive officer Dayve Hawk splits the difference between art and ABBA but doesn’t succeed either way. His new music (call it run-of-the-millwave) sounds like it was made with minimal effort, and not in a good way.

To Hawk’s credit, the media buzz may just make him want to withdraw. “Why don’t you crawl into bed/Turn out the light, get away from it all,” he suggests on “Wait in the Dark.” Vocals are the best part of his average new album, Player Piano, where every word is a surpremely unaffected nasal croon that sounds at once condescending and empathetic. “And if you touch, I turn away,” he sings in that Neil-Young-via-Ben-Gibbard voice, a reluctant representative from a fluid genre for which analysis always feels just out of reach.

Player Piano fails to grab, too, as it’s mostly pseudo-artistic slop short on hooks. Those things that turned Britney into Britney, bitch aren’t always necessary and yet successful songs without hooks usually find another sharpened device to sink into the skin. Not these.

This subgenre–we all know the name–succeeds because of its strong connotation of memory as a lustful object. Hawk, of all the laptop artistes, doesn’t conjure a single one with his music, though he’s set the bar to do so. His moniker isn’t just less Spinal Tap than his real name; it directly addresses indie rock’s fascination for the past in both intangible and tangible forms.

Cerebral escape is the raison d’être for the genre, but here, it’s tempting for the brain to simply drift away in a Homer Simpson-esque manner. Player Piano is rarely compelling, if ever.

One if ever is “Yes I Know,” whose basement rustlings and bedside drama keyboards recall ’80s pop’s worst moments that actually sound endearing in 2011. Hawk’s vocals are muddied but nonetheless intelligible, if only because he gives listeners enough time to grasp what he’s on about–he’ll drive a phrase like “this is it, don’t make me wait” into your skull like a nail into a plank of balsa wood. He appears to have the proactive mindset expected of someone with a song called “Today Is Our Life,” which is oddly incongruous with the album’s middling tone. On “Worries,” he sings “heaven is waiting outside your door.” Many of Player Piano‘s songs find him in this kind of advice-guy mode, giving an encouraging word to a confused or troubled person.

If you think Hawk should turn the counseling toward himself, he’s ahead of you. “When we wake up with a compromise/I’ll be crying with my eyes closed,” he says on “Sun Hits,” “I don’t think you really understand we can make it/It’s all right.” Time’s turnaround from present to memory is quickest in morning-after disappointments, longing for the possibility of the night before.

Likewise, Player Piano pales to 2009’s Seek Magic so much you’ll wonder if it was solely that EP’s initial freshness that made Memory Tapes so good.

“Lower your expectations of me,” he begs on “Offers.” Consider it done.

Memory Tapes – Player Piano Tracklist:

1. “Musicbox (In)”
2. “Wait In the Dark”
3. “Today Is Our Life”
4. “Yes I Know”
5. “Offers”
6. “Humming”
7. “Sunhits”
8. “Worries”
9. “Fell Thru Ice”
10. “Fell Thru Ice II)”
11. “Trance Sisters”
12. “Musicbox (Out)”

At this point in her career, Beyoncé must feel like she can get away with anything. Maybe she was really thinking it would be cool to feature a marching band in a few of her songs. It’s possible that she felt it would be smart to put a new spin on recycled dance beats and hint at vintage sounds in the rest of her songs.

In the execution of her latest album, 4, only a few of Beyoncé’s ideas worked.

Because of this woman’s continuous success, it’s become obvious that her visions can easily become realities. She sparked a trend in alter egos following the creation of sassy-fabulous “Sasha Fierce,” landed her own “bootylicious” word in the dictionary, and inspired millions of people to imitate her.

Perhaps Beyoncé got a bit ahead of herself. 4 is a confusing mix of styles and genres that has no proper integration or flow to it. A fan would be lucky to connect with everything on the album.

Each polar style on the record has its own respective highs and lows. Beyoncé’s ode to older styles, particularly ’80s pop-inspired, is exciting when she swings to “Love On Top,” which is like “Crazy In Love” set 30 years ago (without hubby Jay-Z). Contrarily, her other throwback anthem “Rather Die Young” sounds like it was taken from a cheap R&B cassette compilation circa Boys II Men.

Beyoncé’s dance tracks also trail along the lines of hit or miss. Her collaboration with André 3000, “Party,” is misleading: it’s really not a party song at all. It’s slow and boring. “End Of Time” and “Countdown,” however, carry the same fire that will bring crowds to their feet when they are graced by the wonder of the inspiring beats.

It’s like we, as listeners, have signed up for a lesson in feminism and empowerment just by playing her CD. Her decision to implement marching band-style sounds brings us to that place where it’s like we’ve been thrown into a standard classroom desk and slapped with rules for living.

Lead single “Run The World (Girls)” is the greatest example of that attitude. The speedy dance beats rush into the song as Beyoncé chants with passion and sincerity. Her intention with this song was clearly to empower all women and let them know that they are strong team players. As listeners are slammed with a marching snare drum and strong hip-hop, they’re sure to be motivated in their own way.

Nevertheless, Beyoncé still delivers solid gold in scattered jams throughout the album. “I Was Here” and “Start Over” bring forth the emotionally striking memories that bring the record to a peak and bring out a special tone we love out of Beyoncé’s unmistakable voice. These hits sound similar to previous tunes like “Halo” and “Irreplaceable,” the most exciting and gorgeous notes to ever come from the powerhouse.

The initial motivation behind 4’s album title came from the simple fact that it is her lucky number. She got married on the fourth day of April, and a number of her friends have birthdays on the 4th of a month. Can we gather that not a lot of sense went into the making of this album?

4 isn’t nearly as strong as past successes B’Day and I Am… Sasha Fierce. A disappointing amount of the tracks aren’t right for pop radio, unlike in her past, where virtually every song could become a hit. If her favorite number works for her, maybe she’ll earn a few hits. If not, Beyoncé might have to let go of her ego and settle for more humble, agreeable ways.

Beyoncé – 4 Tracklist:

1. “1+1”
2. “I Care”
3. “I Miss You”
4. “Best Thing I Never Had”
5. “Party”
6. “Rather Die Young”
7. “Start Over”
8. “Love On Top”
9. “Countdown”
10. “End of Time”
11. “I Was Here”
12. “Run This World (Girls)”

Cross-pollination in the electronica world is no new thing, and Taragana Pyjarama’s latest installment of tunes comes by way of a self-titled EP. On this EP, he combines forces with Brooklyn collaborators Teengirl Fantasy and South American DJ/dance master Ricardo Tobar. On both occasions, their remixed versions of “Girls,” showcasing Tobar’s talents, and “Ocean,” highlighted by Teengirl, are exceptional in every way. Their contributions take Taragana Pyjarama’s talents behind his equipment to a higher level and provide a melodic flow of musical events fit for any house party, basement rave or chill time in the yard next to the pool.

Taragana Pyjarama, aka Eim Ick, aka Nick Kold Eriksen, molded this EP into musical poetry. Eim Ick makes wistful electronica, with an outrageous soundscape. The best part of his work is it doesn’t get you snoozing when you should be out of your seat. His delivery is enriching and exultant on this record with a multitude of punching beats surrounded by caressing strains. There is a certain air of change between his music and his monikers. Song length, tempo and profoundness of sound are some major differences. As Eim Ick, his music has a disjointed, almost sporadic meter to it. His tunes take on a futuristic appeal and still make room for proper beats following casiotone excitement. As Eriksen, his sound is near-techno and touts a vibe that blends a hip-hop beat and the soundtrack for the movie Bladerunner.

His magic is felt as Taragana Pyjarama. The first song on his EP is “Sundanese Blonde,” which starts with a twinkling keyboard, echoing like metal rain that falls from the sky of the future. It starts out all over the place but quickly morphs into a dreamscape of melodies and backing vocals. The echo is its appeal and really drives through at a slow and determined pace. This song is a metallurgic boat ride and with every crash of the cymbal in the backing; it’s as though water is crashing against the hull, giving it an ever-so-gentle push.

Taragana Pyjarama has two more original tracks on the album, “Girls” and “Ocean,” which both showcase this electrical emperor’s talents in full force. “Girls” starts out mega-funky and brings a shallow but firm house appeal to the table. It blasts a slightly African beat with time warp-sounding keyboard hits, and would fit in with a late night laser light show. “Ocean” is slightly longer and starts in slowly with waves crashing in the background. There is a wave theme continuing throughout and with the cover art, there is the idea that Targana Pyjarama is harnessing the appeal of creating life through music. The song has a sped-up beat lingering in the distance as though the tide is quickly coming in. When it arrives, the tide is met with a space station appeal that would have Daft Punk creaming in their moon man suits.

Both songs are produced and performed well in their own right, but Taragana Pyjarama brings in collaborators for the two tracks and they are both blended magically from different perspectives.

Ricardo Tobar twists the beat for “Girls” ever so slightly and manages to turn the song into a low-key samba beat at the beginning. The song stays true to TP’s taste, but is akin to adding salt to a salt-less meal­—it’s just the right flavoring. As Teengirl Fantasy takes on “Ocean,” they bring with them a subtle bass chord in the background. Around a minute in, it shifts gears and creaks into a sci-fi thriller motif.

As a man of many faces, Taragana Pyjarama is a hard target to draw a bead on, but his music is simply tasty. Whether he’s parading around under one pen name or another, he’s got the gift to get the party started. The EP is excellently produced and has that touch of magic that can only be described through dance.

Taragana Pyjarama – s/t Tracklist:

1. “Sundanese Blonde”
2. “Girls”
3. “Ocean”

Beach. Wave. Bedroom. Nostalgia.

Now that the requisite signifiers are out of the way, Washed Out’s new album can be celebrated for what it is: nine songs of glowing, smeared harmony, with more replay value than the peers to whom they will inevitably be compared (see below!).

Within and Without is meant to be listened to on its own terms, distanced from stale scene associations.

It’s difficult to believe this is Ernest Greene’s first full-length under the name Washed Out, following a smattering of singles and last year’s Life of Leisure EP. For his official debut, Within and Without is the type of vague, wispy title befitting a release with few clear lyrics and a sustained mood of cotton-balled euphoria. Look at the song titles: “Echoes,” “Soft,” “Far Away.” Here, nothing is concrete or direct; rough edges have been buffed out, and those buffs get another wax coating. Greene gives his words a similar whitewash treatment; lyrically, he’s got his cards tattooed to his chest. In an age where everyone quotes everything (repeatedly), Washed Out opts out. Ambiguity is the MO of Within and Without, and it’s refreshing now more than ever, when everything is spelled out lest the hunched-over masses tune out.

Greene is more subdued here than he was on Life of Leisure. Compare album covers: Life was all beach and no bummers, while the often-slower Within and Without is more focused on fostering a bedsheet-level personal connection in an increasingly impersonal world. It’s perhaps no coincidence that the few discernable words on Within and Without are second-person pronouns.

A lot of pop music is written about every you, me and us possible, so what makes Greene’s creations so different? For one, he stands out from his contemporaries – contrast and compare to the earthy funk leanings of recent Toro Y Moi, for example. His one-man-band peers are invariably placed in the context of a bedroom, on top of an old mattress and in front of a laptop, but their music usually conveys a sort of nonspecific communal feel. Within and Without, on the other hand, feels almost completely isolated.

This is music for long drives with everything to think about, for meditation through big headphones, or after the door closes on a hard goodbye.

These songs also feel instantly comfortable and familiar, capable of triggering feelings and memories as disparate as an episode of Pee-Wee’s Playhouse to the leather-and-ink smell of your dad’s office from when you were a kid. This is powerful stuff, meant to be played through expensive headphones with lots of time and little distraction.

There are musical memories, too. Check the fluid, pulsating beat of the album’s throat-clearer “Eyes Be Closed,” where tumbling drums right out of Phil Collins playbook accent jarring synth washes and Greene’s unintelligible lyrics. “Soft” has a remote bloodline to Talking Heads’ “Once in a Lifetime,” the nauseous spinning keyboards underscoring the music’s airy, weightless quality.

Follow-up “Echoes” works a two-note keyboard line straight out of Ibiza, but the blunted electro belies muffled lyrics that could likely happen anywhere, from Oakland to Oslo. Letting on more than the album’s other tracks, “Amor Fati” finds Greene moaning impressionistic phrases like “Your face/These eyes/The world’s your door to find” before breaking down into waves of ghostly ohhs.

If Within and Without evokes any dominant memory, it’s one from the not-so-distant past. The album drags slightly in the second half, like many 2010 indie releases, but it’s not all a wash on Side Two. “Far Away” is the chillest moment here, a temporary breather of a midpoint after the loaded head trip of what preceded it. Within and Without ends with “A Dedication,” a time-stopping ballad – or at least the basswave equivalent of one – built on dusty piano and a loping trip-hop beat.

Even with few discernable lyrics, it feels as if the album grapples with existentialism instead of reveling in it. Was the past (namely, your past) really that great? Does time heal wounds or merely fog them? Within and Without offers no easy answers, suggesting there aren’t any. And maybe that’s OK for once.

Washed Out – Within and Without Tracklist:

1. “Eyes Be Closed”
2. “Echoes”
3. “Amor Fati”
4. “Soft”
5. “Far Away”
6. “Before”
7. “You and I”
8. “Within and Without”
9. “A Dedication”

The UK’s hip-hop grime scene is one that many attribute back to one individual’s work. Wiley – the London based producer and rapper – was instrumental in producing, and subsequently popularizing, grime. His seventh studio album, 100% Publishing, displays that Wiley can pair his silky smooth flow with the grime in his heart

Although Wiley’s sound has yet to be fully embraced stateside, he makes a strong case as to why it should. 100% Publishing has no frills over the course of its 13 tracks. It’s a straightforward effort that serves more as a declaration of Wiley’s love for the genre he helped father than anything else.

The album’s titular track features a hook that declares Wiley’s allegiance to being DIY, but also that his music may not be far-reaching “I know some don’t care about the grime scene/But I’m gonna until I die.” It seems as if Wiley has something to prove to his comrades in grime, and he kind of does. His departure from grime in 2008 saw his track “Wearing My Rolex” find mainstream acceptance, and he caught some major flak because of it… What does all of this mean for 100% Publishing?

If anything, it’s that Wiley is using this record as yet another attempt to regain his shaken street cred.

Everything about the album is signature Wiley, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Having a refined approach is always commendable, but grime feels entirely too incestuous, and seems to lack the progression of many other styles of hip-hop. The beats are raw, the tracks are short and Wiley’s flow and lyricism is certainly impressive, but after an album of songs with little-to-no diversity it loses its impact.

To say that 100% Publishing is anything other than pure would be to misconstrue what it is that Wiley has done. The album doesn’t feel as if he is merely trying to preach to the converted, as there is a genuine feel throughout that he believes he can take grime to a new plateau. Even beyond his ambition, it is obvious that he’s having fun, as evinced by the energetic, albeit a bit flawed, “Boom Boom Da Na.”

So what’s the problem with 100% Publishing? Not only is it far too congruous throughout, but it just feels incredibly average. It’s not as aggressive as Wiley’s American counterparts, and it’s not as hooky as those occupying the mainstream’s consciousness. Wiley exists within a niche that is microscopic stateside, and appears that he has no desire to push himself down new avenues.

100% Publishing is by no means bad, but there’s nothing that makes it stand-out either. In the hip-hop genre, people are always pushing forward with production and style, but Wiley seems to think as long as he has a solid flow he’ll survive. Unfortunately, that’s just not enough to make this record relevant or demand much replay.

Wiley – 100% Publishing Tracklist:

1. “Information Age”
2. “100% Publishing”
3. “Numbers in Action”
4. “Boom Boom Da Na”
5. “Your Institution”
6. “I Just Woke Up”
7. “Wise Man and His Words”
8. “Talk About Life”
9. “Yonge Street (1,178 Miles Long)”
10. “Pink Lady”
11. “Up There”
12. “One Hit Wonder”
13. “To Be Continued”

Liturgy’s Aesthetica kicks off with a few clangs before unleashing its full-on banshee-howling fury. Immersing one’s self in this record is like witnessing the natural extension of the dry industrial hammering of Big Black, the chaotic maelstrom of J.G. Thirlwell’s Scraping Foetus Off The Wheel, the pummeling vamping of . . . And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead (without the occasionally precious artsiness) and the strobe-lit, washboard grindcore rhythms reminiscent of their forefathers Napalm Death and Agoraphobic Nosebleed.

Perhaps those accustomed to subjecting their tympanic membranes to this “black metal” can cope with the wailing screaming used to deliver these unintelligible lyrics that pierces most of these lengthy compositions. If so, patience is rewarded with the dizzying speed with which the musicians jump from one melodic plateau to the next. This is headbanging music for the whiplash boy-child generation, and each track brings a new freneticism to the fore, like it’s a series of experiments in one-up manship that is continuing to climb to the peak of . . . the threshold of . . . the brink of . . . well, it’s never clear “of what” exactly, but the urgency with which the music is delivered cannot be denied.

The Brooklyn-based quartet is composed of Hunter Hunt Hendrix, Greg Fox, Tyler Dusenbury and Bernard Gann. This is their second album, and their first for indie label Thrill Jockey. According to the bio on the label’s website: “The band used every instrument, literal or figurative, to produce meaning and intensity, disregarding the genre boundaries of black metal, hardcore and experimental music.” There’s no question this release bridges multiple genres, but to what end?  There’s no question that this is intense—it’s almost impossible to take a breath during any of these cuts, and the space between them comes as a welcome relief.

So the intensity is there, granted. But the meaning? It’s hard to tell what any of this means.

“Helix Skull” sounds like E.T.’s Speak and Spell possessed by a Poltergeist and could put even a Brian Eno completist on the fast track to headachesville, but on “Glory Bronze” it’s back to the Trail of Dead-style instrumental grandiosity and the blood-curdling shrieks that come off as old hat by the time the listener gets to this, the eighth track.

Aside from “Helix Skull,” and the occasional odd madrigal or barbershop vocal flourish, very little distinguishes these compositions from each other. After 12 cuts of this, it gets a bit old. Not that it doesn’t rock, but when every track is played with the same “it goes to 11” intensity, and there’s not a lot of dynamic variation. The nice thing about Trail Of Dead is the peaks and valleys, but when the music is always at a peak, and there’s no “up” to get to, and no majestic valley to view and swoop down into, boredom soon follows.

Aesthetica is worthwhile for its musicianship, and energetically frenzied in its delivery, but when breakneck speed is the only constant, whiplash is a real and lasting threat. It’s entertaining and enjoyable at first blush, especially the instrumental tracks without the distracting high-pitched screaming, but it’s not worth more than a few spins unless one is participating in a neck or brain injury study.

Liturgy – Aesthetic Tracklist:

1. “High Gold”
2. “True Will”
3. “Returner”
4. “Generation”
5. “Tragic Laurel”
6. “Sun of Light”
7. “Helix Skull”
8. “Glory Bronze”
9. “Veins of Gold”
10. “Red Crown”
11. “Glass Earth”
12. “Harmonia”

The Harrow & the Harvest is appropriately reflective of Gillian Welch’s creative dearth. It is her first release in eight years, but her return is indeed a harvest. This 10-track yield may not be quantitatively much, but each track is a warm, intimate and ultimately affecting experience for the listener. Returning to the roots folk of her earlier works, the album (aside from occasional banjo and knee-slaps) comprises two guitars and two voices: one for each of hers and the other David Rawlings, her longtime musical partner. Forget about The King Is Dead, this is some real folk.

The music is, as always, steeped in early country and bluegrass with hints of bluesy rock in the mix. Quite a similar mix to her brilliant 2001 release, Time (The Revelator), but that one leaned a little more on the rock influence. Opener “Scarlet Town” immediately showcases impressive and tasteful guitar work and interplay between the two musicians. Welch and Rawlings clearly know how to play with each other. Despite the presence of only two guitars, they fill up plenty of space, leaving just enough for atmosphere. The wonderfully uptempo opener stands in contrast to the second track, “Dark Turn of Mind.” This love ballad is so achingly painful—the guitars feel like they’re weeping.

And it goes like this for all 10 tracks: The lyrics tell a story and the instruments express it. The results are downright gorgeous.

Welch’s voice can be appropriately stoic, but it is often melancholic and frail, donning the comportment of the characters in her stories who are often desperately clinging to shreds of hope or completely resigned to misfortune and heartbreak. Rawlings guitar is unlike any contemporary and he is equally dexterous in the fast and slow songs. Though the lines can be complex, they always work with and for the mood. Furthermore, he helps shape a unique identity for Welch’s tunes.

The lyrics, in keeping with the sound, take on a rustic cloak, but at the heart of the songs are themes many can connect with. On “Tennessee,” in which Welch struggles with traditional, learned morals vs. instinctive desires, she declares “Of all the ways I’ve found to hurt myself, you may be my favorite one of all…” The emotion drips from the voice and guitars, easily projecting onto the listener.

Always worth mentioning is the stunning artwork by John Dyer Baizley. A unique piece for him, utilizing only black and a sort of off-white color giving it that aged paper appearance, perfectly reflects the content of the album.

Time (The Revelator) was, and is, an incredible album, which up to this point has been the clear standout in Welch’s catalogue. But, 10 years later, The Harrow & the Harvest is as good and perhaps better. Stylistically, hardly anything new is happening here, but it’s too expressive not to stand out. Music fans and musicians alike will undoubtedly find something to appreciate with this record.

Gillian Welch – The Harrow & the Harvest Tracklist:

1. “Scarlet Town”
2. “Dark Turn of Mind”
3. “The Way It Will Be”
4. “The Way It Goes”
5. “Tennessee”
6. “Down Along the Dixie Line”
7. “Six White Horses”
8. “Hard Times”
9. “Silver Dagger”
10. “The Way the Whole Thing Ends”