Future Islands Side-Project The Snails Makes Playfulness Cool Again on 'Songs From the Shoebox'

Though formed as early as 2008, Future Islands side project The Snails had graced us with little more than 2013’s killer Worth The Wait EP before their full-length debut dropped ahead of schedule this week. (Even if you had never heard of them until recently, you may be familiar with the mollusk motif from the adorable smiling snails adorning the envelopes from past ticket giveaways.) Initially tracked back in 2013, Songs from the Shoebox was slowly overdubbed and mixed over the years in between their main band’s tours since.

This slimy supergroup brings members of Future Islands, Lower Dens, Wume, Small Sur, Wing Dam, Nuclear Power Pants, and Showbiz all together within one shell, and is led largely by the FI duo as Snailliam (William Cashion)’s signature rumbling bass grooves lend pulse and platform to Sammy Snail (Samuel Herring)’s delightfully raucous howls as per usual.

For the most, Herring tends to leave his dripping, guttural growls behind for a full showcase of his upper registers with uplifting roars of positivity on “The Tight Side of Life” and beyond, and his ability to shift between brooding poignance to unabashed fun deftly displays the emotional and modal versatility of a man who also doubles as an occasional rapper.

Opening with the sound of a balloon blowing up, Songs from the Shoebox has all the playfulness of the class projects we built in those same containers as we first learned to appreciate the fun of art all those years ago. The energetic collaboration brings the best side projects have to offer with that added bit of flair such freedom allows, as the Baltimore post-punk rockers swap their sultry synth for sweet, sweet sax.

Appropriately decreeing “We’re gonna take it slow / Real slow / Real slow” in the first track, they then transition into the whimsical "Barnacle on a Surfboard (Barnacle Boogie)" that ends with impressively committed snail sound effects, before "Shoebox" opens up cheerfully with the curious “It's a brand new day / Bring me my socks / I want to show you how I play.”

It’s the sign of a truly great musician when each and every song they put forth is of undeniable quality, no matter how obscure it may be (give Future Islands’s loose collection of non-album deep cuts a visit sometime if you haven’t already, and you’ll discover lesser known tunes that pack more punch than many indie staples’ peak singles), and even at their most casual they prove to make no exception, never skimping on earnest heart and movability no matter how silly the vessel for that drive may be.

Ending with the previously-released highlight "Snails Christmas (I Want a New Shell)" we find ourselves with an offering infinitely better than the half-assed holiday repeat covers we’re normally subjected to each winter, however strange it may sound in mid February. It’s also, notably, the first time the words “caviar” and “Roomba” have ever been sung in the same sentence, at least to my knowledge.

For a man usually known for physically beating himself as he figuratively (and through miming, literally) tears his heart out onstage, it’s especially nice that Herring of all people can remind us to sometimes take a step back and just enjoy the music.

Check out where The Snails will be leaving trails during their tour:

• 3/4 - Philadelphia, PA @ Kungfu Necktie
• 3/5 - Burlington, VA @ Signal Kitchen
• 3/6 - Portland, ME @ Space
• 3/8 - Providence, RI @ AS220
• 3/9 - Brooklyn, NY @ Baby's All Right
• 3/10 - New York, NY @ Mercury Lounge
• 3/11 - Washington, DC @ Comet Pizza and Ping Pong
• 3/12 - Richmond, VA @ Strange Matter
• 3/13 - Asheville, NC @ The Mothlight
• 3/15 - Athens, GA @ Caledonia Lounge
• 3/16 - Charleston, SC @ Tin Roof
• 3/17 - Wilmington, NC @ Reggie's 42nd Street Tavern
• 3/18 - Raleigh, NC @ Kings
• 3/19 - Baltimore, MD @ The Ottobar

Basia Bulat Makes Star Turn on 'Good Advice'

Imagine if Emma Stone was a good singer – more honey lined than husky – with the slightest of Irish sean-nos virbatto, as well as a proclivity for musical styling amalgam of Florence Welch and Natalie Merchant – or better yet, just listen to Basia Bulat. Questionable musical juxtaposition aside, Basia Bulat possesses a voice totally devoid of any real affectation, with the exception of an occasional emotional waver that’s reminiscent of a female Michael Stipe.

Part of a generational sundry of criminally underrated Canadian folk-singers, the Montreal-based Toronto native opted for a total overhaul of her usual bare bones, folk sound on her fourth full-length record, Good Advice. For someone who has spent 75% of her musical career working within the relatively restricting folk genre, Bulat has managed to incrementally progress the musicality of each subsequent release – though her narrative writing prowess remains her principal asset.

While carving out a unique role in an already over saturated market is admirable, there seemed to be an acknowledgement on Bulat’s third record, Tall Tall Shadow, that something more dynamic needed to happen.

Enlisting the direction of My Morning Jacket maestro Jim James, Bulat spent the better part of her recording time in Louisville, Kentucky; a far cry from her culturally urbane base in Montreal. Superficial metropolitan analysis notwithstanding, the change of scenery was a musically transcendent choice for Bulat.    

Good Advice continues the general trend of growth in Bulat, but with the assistance of James’ production finesse, the musical dynamism ushers in a new and exciting avenue for her to lay claim to.  The LP opens with the singular synth accordion heavy “La La Lie,” reminiscent of the opening of the Beach Boys’ opus, “God Only Knows,” only to break into a percussive drive as Bulat opines with great ambiguity, a hallmark of Bulat’s writing. Bulat’s lyrical preference is to skirt the line of desperation, hope, and despondence, shifting hook perspectives like “I la la lie, la la lie, keep lying to myself / While you la la lie, keep lying to yourself.” There’s an acknowledgement of apparent differences between the two protagonists within the song, with Bulat left to navigate the outcome on her terms.

“La La Lie” and its subsequent track, “Long Goodbye” are relatively similar in tone and pace. Both are slightly more developed than prior Bulat incarnations, her voice (both narrative and singing) is considerably more confident, asserting an understanding of expiring relationships. “ Furthermore, both exercise a fuller, more energetic sound, with heavy drums and synth work replacing the spacious folk sounds Bulat cut her teeth with.

Third track, “Let Me In,” steers Good Advice into more empowered territory, even despite the song’s theme of detachment. "Are you ever going to let me in without asking?" extends the sense of understanding that Bulat makes apparent in the first half of the album – coming to grips with that which is out of Bulat’s hands. “In The Name Of” is a search for purpose, an attempt to discern what influences one to continue moving forward instead of returning to what’s familiar and most comfortable.

James’ production is apparent throughout, but no more so than on the album’s strongest (and eponymous) track, “Good Advice.” James’ deft preference for glowing synth and strings sounds, building steadily on a singular bass tone while Bulat opines about her search for answers in terms of a relationship. The constant build is as constant and adroit, the eventual crescendo is almost instantaneous. The third verse is perhaps the most inventive moment in Bulat’s career musically, with her vocals not only leading the track, layering a response echo once unconsidered.

Following an almost incomprehensibly good track like “Good Advice,” it would be easy to place a less intrepid track in order to allow the listener to recover, but as this sentence conspicuously suggests, Bulat and James opted for the album’s single, “Infamous,” to follow. Placing a single in the seventh slot of a ten track record is certainly bold, but it fits the plucky, new demeanor of Bulat’s career trajectory. “Infamous” proclaims Bulat’s demands for a lover – current or past – to fully commit to coming back to her, though Bulat’s newfound confidence maintains she is not begging, stating "Don’t waste my time pretending love is somewhere else."

Through further examination, it becomes apparent that Good Advice is in fact a break-up album, though its arguably one of the most proudly valiant form of a tired concept. Lyrically, its quite apparent that there has been some degree of heartbreak, but the combination of Bulat’s inspired delivery of the lyrics and James’ impregnable production, it turns the form on its head. As an artist who has been criminally overlooked, Bulat has made a concerted effort to not only garner but also maintain the attention of many of new listener on one of the best albums released in 2016.  

'The Life of Pablo' Reaches Into the Backpack Days of the Life of Kanye

The genius of The Life of Pablo is indiscernible from the album’s opening tracks, which boast intellectual assertions of the following quality: “Now if I fuck this model / And she just bleached her asshole / And I get bleach on my T-shirt / Imma feel like an asshole.”

No, Kanye West’s seventh album does not impress early on with auto-tuned vocals, mumble-rap contributions from unknown Future impersonators, or with the trap percussions upon which both parts of “Father Stretch My Hands” build. On the contrary, they show West indulging in the contemporary hip-hop trends that are dissolving into cliché, demonstrating fad as opposed to the zeitgeist which West’s more ambitious works so precisely captured. The beginning of The Life of Pablo appears to confirm fans’ worst fears about an album whose title was only finalized hours before the songs premiered. It suggests a lack of censorship, slipshod compilation, the work of an artist whose ego has been fed to the point of complacency – a food coma in which the artist is too bloated to move towards innovation.

What innovation there is on The Life of Pablo is subtle: impressive use synth-feedback on “Feedback,” various samples’ distorting spatial effects. It is the first album in which West does not overtly challenge norms of culture (The College Dropout), genre (My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy), or politics (Yeezus). But granting fairness to Kanye West in consideration of his past several releases beg the questions “How much more room for innovation (in music at least) is there for an artist who has already produced four albums in the seven years of the current decade?” “What reason is there to innovate when the most loyal sect of his fan base has fervently demanded the Kanye of old?” By the time the instrumental on “Famous” kicks in after Rihanna’s vocals, Kanye’s response to the predicament, along with his genius, becomes perfectly clear.

What validates Kanye West’s latest release is the effortlessness of its creation. The Life of Pablo is an album in which Kanye relies on his proven studio techniques and battle-tested ear for what captivates to produce an album that is easy to enjoy. The album is nostalgically reminiscent of Kanye’s rise in hip-hop, evidenced first by the resemblance between the instrumentals of “Famous” and “Get Em High” from The College Dropout. Everything from and between the percussion pattern, the vocal melody and cadence, and the arrogant bravado of the song’s opening line: “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex / Why? I made that bitch famous,” harken back to Kanye’s idiosyncratic presence in the bling-era of hip-hop.

This reminiscence is not short-lived. “Highlights”’ instrumental arrangement is similar to “I Wonder” (Graduation), “Real Friends” is carried by the cadence of “Big Brother” (Graduation), the various interludes on TLoP reemploy Kanye’s early contextual framing techniques, and even the soliloquy on “30 Hours” reminds us of a young Kanye with a burgeoning desire to engage his listeners in dialogue, no matter how one-sided that dialogue would be or would become. While remaining faithful to his own tradition, Kanye also draws from the fundamentals of his art form. “No More Parties in LA,” which features a guest verse from Kendrick Lamar, is a quintessential boom-bap track and the drums on “30 Hours” are undeniably influenced by the most revered and most sampled drum track in hip-hop: James Brown’s “The Funky Drummer.”

Though The Life of Pablo embodies the classic standard of Kanye West production, it does not achieve greatness by tracing its artist’s laurels. The album does indeed suffer from a lack of editing. Kanye’s choices on what songs to include on the album sometimes enhance its rap appeal (“No More Parties in LA,” “30 Hours”), but other times degrade the album’s intellectual premise (“Freestyle 4,” “Facts”). What we gain from this excessive over-inclusion are glimpses of the genre-defying, experimental Kanye West of Yeezus alongside the hit-maker of his first three albums.

While the forty-four second lament/gloat of “I Love Kanye” may not seem like the most stimulating track to be featured on The Life of Pablo, it offers the album’s most profound truths. Yes, we did miss the old Kanye. Yes, we hate the new, always rude Kanye. Yes, every rapper to come after Kanye in some way derives his or her art from Kanye’s advancements. It is ironic, unexpected, and fortunate that we are given an album in which the old Kanye remerges. However, in typical Kanye fashion, he ignores pleas for decency and self-control. As far as personality is concerned, he is still very much the new Kanye. But can we blame him? We never hold him accountable anyway. Our praise has enabled the flamboyance we’ve grown to despise. We have fed his ego enough to assure him that he can do absolutely anything. Fortunately, a return to his old style lies within the parameters of what we have empowered Kanye to do.  He is, and has been for a long time, that much empowered.

Similarly, The Life of Pablo is music to feel empowered by, for the sake of self-esteem, self-exploration, or mere enjoyment. Its palate satisfies in nearly every way a Kanye West album should, in modes of both old and new. Reflect fondly on the pink polo you bought once upon a 2004, which is by now stashed somewhere deep in an old dresser or donated to a local thrift store. This album will offer you bittersweet memories. 

---

You can read "Kanye's Original The Life of Pablo Tracklist Analyzed in Three Acts by @NathanZed & @jonnysun" here and "Closing Remarks of a Reformed Kanye Apologist" here.

DIIV Reaches New Depths in Emotion and Complexity on 'Is the Is Are'

The mosh pits ignited at DIIV shows have always been enigmatic, yet oddly fulfilling, phenomena – out of place for a shoegaze concert, but inherently necessary. There are few better ways than a mosh to enjoy DIIV’s music. The dream-inducing guitars, best described as the sound of chasing life, obtain a near outer-body texture when you close your eyes, and so it is without effort that audiences lose control of their senses at DIIV performances.

On their debut Oshin they communicated emotions through guitar melodies in ways that were impossible for Zachary Cole Smith’s lyrics, which were drenched in reverb and delay to the point of incoherence. But where Smith’s lyrics could not be accessed, his band’s shimmering guitars provided clarity through the invocation of a simple thought: “Yes, this is a sound for this specific emotion and this is how I feel when I listen to this music.” 

Three and a half years after Oshin, DIIV’s material has now been complicated by clearly perceptible dilemmas informed by Smith’s past drug ordeals and by the artistic development that has made the band’s sophomore album Is the Is Are more accessible and stimulating than their debut. It is simultaneously the old DIIV and a newly complex DIIV. Signature guitars have not been lost where vocal reverb has been expended and Smith’s musings on love and sobriety substantiate a message that is disarmingly transparent and purposeful. 

Rarely does a lead single truly stand as an album’s most emotional moment, yet Smith’s depiction of helplessness and futility on “Dopamine” gives us a harrowing sense of mortality. “Would you give your 84th year / For a glimpse of heaven, now and here?” Smith asks, then reissuing the question in decreasing increments until the unimpressionable age of thirty-four seems sacred. With clearer vocals, we are now vulnerable to the dismantling effects of the honesty in Smith’s songwriting. Here and elsewhere, he deals with the loss of function and identity resulting from addiction in a manner that would be cliché outside the context of DIIV’s sound. Yet the authenticity of these sentiments, qualified by personal experience and those of characters to which certain songs are dedicated, adds credibility to his unglamorous portrayal of drug use. “Got so high I finally felt like myself,” he sings.

Is the Is Are is markedly more explorative than Oshin, crossing post-punk terrain and even emo on “Healthy Moon,” which sounds as if it has a place on the American Football LP. Smith drew inspiration from Sonic Youth’s Bad Moon Rising, telling the Urban Outfitters Blog: “I really wanted to capture the mood or ambiance that they were able to get. It's an insane-sounding record, and it sounds really dark. So that was a record that I wanted to – not replicate – but work in that same idiom.” Is the Is Are is replete with semblances to Bad Moon Rising, the most obvious being Sky Ferreira’s Kim Gordon-esque non-vocalist contribution on “Blue Boredom.” 

The desired darkness that Smith has accomplished on Is the Is Are is achieved by its vivid depiction of inner turmoil and then realized by discordant feedback. The integration of bleaker sounds and images into DIIV’s bright and vigorous acoustic palate makes the album a more emotive experience. The energy of the album varies in tempo, but each song determinedly driven and forceful, sometimes dream-like, and other times nightmarish. 

DIIV broke free from the Brooklyn DIY scene with their debut on Captured Tracks, but their sophomore effort bears less definitive implications for just how big this band can become. While considerations of Cole Smith and his girlfriend Sky Ferreira becoming the new Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love are as laughable as they are irrelevant, there is credence to be found in one aspect of the comparison. Is the Is Are demonstrates a progression from Oshin that is arguably as impressive as the difference between Nirvana’s Bleach and Nevermind.

Cage the Elephant's 'Tell Me I'm Pretty' Earns the Request

What does a band do when their most successful album to date generates just as much inner turmoil as it does critical acclaim? In the case of Cage the Elephant and their 2013 release, Melophobia, the answer is simple – blow things up. After a run of three insatiably frenetic exercises in pseudo-punk rock anxiety, a spectacular reputation as live performers, major label ascension with RCA, and an eventual Grammy nomination for Melophobia, Cage the Elephant had reached an impasse.

The extensive touring and massively unanticipated (yet much deserved) reception of Melophobia led to friction within the band. Guitarist Brad Schultz called the experience "a living hell,” so much so, that it culminated with lead guitarist Lincoln Parrish’s eventual departure in December of 2013. Parrish, who had been a part of Cage the Elephant since age 16 in 2006, had not foreseen the rapid growth and success of the group, stating that his ultimate goal was to “be a producer before anything else.” Nick Bockarth, filled Parrish’s void for the remaining Melophobia tour stops supporting The Black Keys and Foals, which stretched well into 2014.

During the Kentucky rockers’ run with The Black Keys, Schultz and Black Keys lead man/Nashville super-producer Dan Auerbach tossed around ideas for some new Cage songs, and long story short, the rock n’ roll salons led to a collaborative relationship between the two which ultimately led to the creation of this fourth studio record, Tell Me I’m Pretty.  

Opener “Cry Baby” is a jolt to the system; cleaner and brighter than former Cage openers, the twinges of Brit-pop throw TMIP into uncharted territory. "Trouble" is a deceptively wistful tale of woe spun over breezy woos just begging to be sung along to, complete with a lyrical nod to their magnum opus with "You know what they say / Yeah the wicked get no rest," while the other single “Mess Around” pairs fuzzy riffs with infectious poppy hooks, perfectly wrapping up the band's dirtier feel in a tight 3 minute package. Auerbach himself even provides the guitar solo, though it would be unfair to automatically dismiss this effort as Black Keys fodder.

While Auerbach’s association with TMIP may trigger an automatic assumption that the album as a whole would be filled with Black Keys-isms, that assumption overlooks how Cage the Elephant’s greatest mores and themes are present throughout the album, though ever-evolving. From Matt Schultz’s familiar wailing on “Sweetie Little Jean" to the stark Rolling Stones-esque rollercoaster that is “Cold Cold Cold," it heavily mixes their brand of manic bravado with sixties rock n’ roll pop whimsy. 

TMIP artfully toes the line between alternative and radio-ready, being much more direct and polished than records past, though this is more a testament to the maturation of Matt Schultz’s lyrical and melodic presence, rather than the involvement of a ubiquitous rock personality. Where previous Auerbach collaborations did fall victim to this (Lana Del Rey), TMIP comes off as entirely a product of the group’s effort.

Tell Me I’m Pretty is also arguably Cage the Elephant’s best recorded album to date, and though it does have variances from what’s become their “sound,” there’s really no reason to fault the band for wanting to expand their sonic catalog. Should they not want to alter the sound and design of previous efforts that left the group frictional and dejected? What Cage the Elephant has created on Tell Me I'm Pretty is an album that will inevitably strengthen the group’s future efforts, rather than being shackled to a particular vibe or genre. It may not shatter with the same chaotic dynamism along the way, but it does manage to be, well, pretty.

King Krule No More, Meet Archy Marshall on 'A New Place 2 Drown'

Zoo Kid, DJ JD Sports, Edgar the Beatmaker, King Krule – all pseudonyms of one Archy Ivan Marshall, who chose to spurn his most recent moniker (King Krule) in exchange for his given name on his most recent release, A New Place 2 Drown.

Before delving into Marshall’s most recent, eponymous effort, it may serve to understand the journey that culminated with ANP2D. A peculiar character, Marshall grew up in a divided working class home in Peckham, England. Marshall attests that he was subjected to “a lot of weird shit during his [childhood].” The combination of divorced parents, “weird shit,” and sleepless nights spent listening to Pixies and the Libertines eventually inspired Marshall to create these “soundscapes.” 

In 2010, Marshall revealed himself to the world as Zoo Kid, with his beguiling baritone and doom jazz guitar riffs on the track “Out Getting Ribs.” Almost immediately, Marshall was (uninspiringly) heralded as an artist far beyond his years, with additional fuel coming under his new moniker, King Krule, and a similarly titled EP in 2011. Shortly thereafter, Marshall released his first official full-length record, 6 Feet Beneath the Moon, in 2013 through XL. The album was met with critical acclaim, as well as lauded by Beyonce and Willow Smith (who covered “Easy Easy” in 2014), then Marshall (and King Krule) effectively disappeared, with the exception the occasional video here and there (“A Lizard State” in 2014).

Keeping with the disparate nature of his music, Marshall’s music and subsequent radio silence were unfamiliar, uncharted, and uncomfortable. Had early success frightened the divergent talent? Or was Marshall’s solitary and uncommunicative nature caused music media to purposefully ignore him?

All theories of Marshall’s activities and practices were ultimately laid to rest in late 2015, when Archy Marshall’s newest effort under his own name, A New Place 2 Drown was (fittingly) announced with little to no enthusiasm from Marshall himself, as well as the an accompanying media book and short film. News trickled out that not only had Marshall begun to explore new art forms, but he had done so with his brother no less, indicating that ANP2D was ultimately a collaborative effort.

In short, ANP2D is an endeavor unfamiliar to typical Archy Marshall/King Krule process – the focus is not necessarily on the music, but rather the literary companion. 208 pages long, the book features artwork, poems, and photographs curated by Marshall’s brother, Jack. Archy attests that the book “is a scrapbook of [his relationship with his brother] and how we see the world.” The film illuminates the aforementioned relationship between the two Marshalls, exploring their creative processes in a bleak slice of life, surrealist lens.

The multi media explorations in the mundane may be Marshall breaking new ground, but the 37 minutes of musical accompaniment is a continuation of King Krule. Marshall’s music has always explored the mundane and the desolate, in service of creating his previously mentioned soundscapes, which ANP2D certainly achieves. Marshall harnesses the lonesome nature of King Krule tracks past, and layers it atop the despondence that from 90’s hip hop.

ANP2D opens with “Any God of Yours,” an instrumental dirge that allows Marshall to impress his honed production growth upon the listener. The growth is a departure from 6 Feet Beneath the Moon, with Marshall altogether spurning the doom jazz/stark-hop sound of Krule for more pure hip-hop. Tracks like “Swell” and “Arise Dear Brother” are almost indiscernible at certain points when it comes to Marhsall’s lyrical presentation, though the mumbled delivery only heightens the soundscape immersion.

The cleanup track “Ammi Ammi” is a melodramatic expression of Marshall’s life in the dingy sides of town, with cool crooning from Jamie Isaac supplanting Marshall on the hooks. “Ammi Ammi” and “Buffed Sky” elevate ANP2D into more distinctive territory, giving glimmers of an overarching theme – something that was obfuscated in previous efforts.

ANP2D serves as the most direct platform of the multi-media myriad into Marshall’s personal exploration and subsequent growth over the past two years, vaguely referencing lessons learned (“Sex With Nobody”) and new production practices (the sleepy 808s on “Eye’s Drift” and “New Builds”), but at certain moments, Marshall gets lost in the soundscape mentality. Closing track “Thames Water” falls victim to the occasional cliché ("girl this place is evil") and some rather curious multi-layered vocal work, eventually segueing into an almost entirely new track. 

It would be a disservice to say that the music of ANP2D is an afterthought, though the accompanying book and short film may indicate that somewhere down the line music may take a back seat to Marshall’s artistic process. Luckily, A New Place 2 Drown offers enough of the genre bending familiarity of King Krule and the new working class grit and grind of Archy Marshall who finds beauty in the mundane, specifically the purposefully mundane work of his brother. ANP2D offers a glimpse into Marshall’s more contemporary perspective and creative outlook, which may prove to be more transcendent as Archy Marshall than King Krule could have ever been.