Lucinda Williams – World’s Gone Wrong: I’ve never felt drawn to Lucinda Williams and World’s Gone Wrong doesn’t change that, but I heard a lot of good in the record while I was being reminded of why her music doesn’t grab me.
- Williams and her band sound fantastic. I don’t like basic, bluesy, swampy, barroom rock, but they unleash a ton of energy. (It pains me to say so, because I studied under one of these guys and he was a cocky jerk, but that was a long time ago and he nails it on this record.)
- Her vocals are perfect in the mix. I hate albums where the words are essential but buried. Not here, this mix is exceptionally good.
- Williams is a great storyteller. From the opening verse of “The World’s Gone Wrong,” I care about the characters, and I’m so happy when the nurse and the salesman dance to Miles.
- Williams is not a great poet. The album is filled with predictable A-A-A-A rhyme schemes that are a bore and make me snore and not want any more because they are poor.
- The Marley cover is questionable. “So Much Trouble in the World” fits the mood but I wish she’d performed it in her own style instead of doing a reggae-inspired interpretation. Bringing in Mavis Staples, however, was a stroke of brilliance.
The biggest thing about this record is the timeliness—and timelessness—of the lyrics. Virtually all these songs could be dropped into the civil rights movement of the ‘60s or Reagan’s ‘80s or the economic crisis of the late ‘00s. What is most interesting and impressive to me, though, is that Williams never explicitly names the devil, the teacher of hate, the buyer of souls. She leaves that to the audience, and in the divided state of our country, different listeners could name the devil in very different ways. I salute her for that decision. It takes enormous courage for an artist to trust her audience to hear the music the way she intends it, and Lucinda Williams is nothing on this album if not courageous.
August Ponthier – Everywhere Isn’t Texas: Everywhere Isn’t Texas is an album about the spaces in-between … between childhood and adulthood (“Ribbons and Taxes”), femininity and masculinity (“Handsome”), failure and success (“World Famous” and “Karaoke Queen”), and my favorite, the experience of being a Texan who is ostracized by Texans (“Everywhere Isn’t Texas” and its bookend on the last track). If this album becomes successful, I’m confident Ponthier’s marketing machine will turn it into a meme-ready record for a very specific audience, as with other Taylor Swift-inspired artists (e.g., Chappell, Sabrina, Gracie, Laufey). Hearing it on the week of its release, though, it’s a rich album by a young singer who is grappling with some difficult questions.
Madi Diaz – Enema of the Garden State: Diaz’ versions of the songs from Blink 182’s Enema of the State album (captured while she was recording Fatal Optimist in NJ) are unpolished, unfiltered, and unexpectedly enjoyable. I’m not a big fan of Blink but experiencing “What’s My Age Again?” in this way reveals a poignancy that I never heard in the original.
Khruangbin & Leon Bridges – Texas Sun: The first three songs are all about getting with girls, while maybe personifying the Texas sun as a girl too. Then Leon Bridges unexpectedly drops an awesome salvation song that is all about getting with God. Neither Khruangbin nor Bridges has grabbed me individually, but the two together are magic.
Immaterialize – Perfect: Both Paste and Bob called out Perfect as a must-hear January release. Objectively, I understand their enthusiasm. The music is strong, Lipsticism’s vocals are simultaneously ethereal and grounding, and the production has a chilly intimacy that is perfect at this time of year. Subjectively, however, jangly indie dream-pop rarely grabs me, and nothing here makes me want to listen a second time.
Turnstile – Never Enough: I haven’t listened to Never Enough since their amazing Tiny Desk Concert kind of ruined the album for me. Hearing it with fresh ears makes it so, so clear what an awesome record this is. Its energy and spirit remind me of Reggatta de Blanc, my favorite Police album.
Grails – Miracle Music: I listened to Miracle Music at least six times this week and I’m still wrapping my head around it. When I focus on one melody or chord progression or beat, I miss sixteen other things happening at the same time. This music is dense. Grails seem to get lumped in with Godspeed and Mono, but I think a more apt comparison is Tim Hecker or Ben Frost.
Tunde Adebimpe – Thee Black Boltz: This record contains a lot of joy, a lot of hope, a lot of courage and strength to stand up after getting knocked down. It’s not what I expected from a record dedicated to the memory of Adebimpe’s family members, including his sister, but it comes through in both the music and the lyrics. Although I was underwhelmed at first, Thee Black Beltz stands alongside anything by TV on the Radio.
Oklou – Choke Enough: The album is growing on me. “ICT” has a charming, carefree, summertime vibe. I’m floored that she referenced Richard Adams’ Plague Dogs and I’d love to know who she’s comparing to Snitter and Rowf. Overall, the lyrics seem to discuss the painful frustration of being ignored and unappreciated, but she writes a lot of lines that are either so nonsensical or so brilliant that I can’t comprehend them.
Nils Frahm – Night & Day: I found a deep sense of melancholy as I listened to the Night compositions while I walked the dog on a windy winter evening with snow covering the ground and light glowing from every window. None of the individual songs stood out to me but together, they created a beautiful soundtrack to a snowy February night.
Grateful Dead – Dick’s Picks Vol. Nine (Madison Square Garden, New York NY, 9/16/1990): This is one of the first shows where Bruce Hornsby stepped in to help Vince Welnick transition into the band after Brent Mydland’s death. The energy between Bruce and the band is palpable, as is the grief over Mydland’s death. This isn’t an essential show but it kept my interest from start to finish and “Standing on the Moon” is heartbreaking.
Old friends who made it into rotation this week: Sharon Van Etten: We’ve Been Going About This All Wrong; Laufey: A Matter of Time; Jay Som: Belong