'Junk': Not as Bad as Its Name Implies, Still Not M83's Best

There’s been an unspoken trend in pop that’s seen the genre separate into two distinct factions: morose, trippy bedroom beats, or '80s synth-pop nostalgia. One is unchartered territory that allows for its adopters to act as the pioneers of the genre subversions, while the latter requires deft mimicry that Flock of Seagulls and Soft Cell probably wouldn’t be able to replicate. Nevertheless, the '80s revival throne is as ready and willing as ever to be assumed by some intrepid sonic soul, someone looking to create the next “Take on Me,” or produce the Millennial era’s answer to Tears for Fears’ Songs From the Big Chair. No one has managed to stake a substantial claim as heir apparent to synth pop sovereignty, but when pressed to identify a frontrunner, you’d be hard pressed to find a better candidate than Anthony Gonzalez and M83.

The French electronica pseudonym for Gonzalez and company, M83 has been in operation for over a decade and a half, as an outlier in the French house music scene. While most French DJs and techno artists fall under the Ed Banger Records or Thomas Bagalter (Daft Punk) umbrellas, Gonzalez has managed to chart a path unlinked to the two French powerhouses. For a decade and a half, Gonzalez has developed M83’s nebulous sound - equal parts cinematic, ambient, and non-derivative – but commercial success was never met until Gonzalez released his first double album Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming, in 2011. The album has garnered extensive critical praise, as far as being heralded as one of the best albums of the decade. M83’s supporting gigs of The Killers and Kings of Leon, along with Gonzalez’s transatlantic move to Los Angeles, heavily influenced the album, as the optimistic and dreamlike freneticism helped propel M83 into further unforeseen synthpop adulation.

While M83 had originally started out as a conceptual and indistinct vehicle for Gonzalez to imbue his perspectives upon the world, Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming’s unprecedented success unfortunately cemented M83 as a synthpop group (at least in the public’s eye). It certainly didn’t help that the album’s most popular track was the most synth heavy track on the tracklist - the infectiously melodic “Midnight City.” In that moment, M83’s original mission statement was enveloped in flames, stoked by label money grubbing and public perception, Gonzalez was more or less forced to expel the next M83 record under the expectation of it being yet another a synthpop leviathan.

When 2015 rolled around, word got out that Gonzalez was indeed working on a follow-up to Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming (the Oblivion soundtrack doesn’t count), and eventually, it was announced that M83 would release its much anticipated 7th full length release, Junk. As part of the mandatory album release press circuit, Gonzalez gave insight into the process of creating his long awaited follow-up, stating that Junk was inspired by the cheesy pop and electronic music of the 80s, along with “old-fashioned shows” like Punky Brewster and Who’s the Boss?. For most, that answer was sufficient and fun description, nowhere remotely close to being a red flag, but for others, the nostalgia tie-in felt to be a little too strong.

Junk is M83’s first album without longtime vocalist and keyboardist Morgan Kibby, having been replaced by Kaela Sinclair, via a crowd sourced audition process. Sinclair’s addition isn’t necessary pertinent to the album in particular, but the departure of a Kibby presented a foreboding omen for how the LP itself doesn’t feel like an M83 album, to the point of which it almost feels like a joke.

Junk opens with the album’s first single, “Do It, Try It,” keeping up with the punctuated titling preferences Gonzalez made apparent on Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming. The track is, well, fun? It does sound reminiscent of “Midnight City,” and the intermittent synth explosions feel akin to another Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming track, “Reunion,” but something just feels off. It feels like Gonzalez placing M83 at a weird intersection of Daft Punk meets Neon Indian meets Giorgio Moroder.

Granted, M83 is a concept driven band, so the notion of adopting features of some titans of synth pop – along with some not so (sorry, Neon Indian) – but for the first time on Junk, M83 begins to sound a little too derivative. The album’s second track takes an interesting turn as the track maintains an anthemic group vocal personality with a grating guitar riff that would sadden the likes of Niles Rodgers (whom it seems Gonzalez was looking to emulate). “Walkaway Blues,” feels jarringly moody, which could more or less be inferred from the cringe worthy song title, but the track itself manages to sound too busy and too vacant at the same time. Effectively, there’s no conceivable substance to the track that has so much going on, as if to mask the fact.

Cleanup track “Bibi the Dog” reveals itself as Junk’s first francophilic crossover, as the familiar M83 trend of French spoken word paces the track over a bass heavy rhythm. After the first three tracks, “Bibi the Dog,” almost seems too cool for Junk, up until the odd vocoder manipulations that break any of the song’s concentration. “Moon Crystal” is a track title that might raise hopes of casual M83 listeners looking for Junk’s “Midnight City,” but instead, “Moon Crystal” is one of the finest elevator music interludes I have heard on a French pop-nostalgia record (i.e. – the only one).

On “For the Kids" vocalist Susanne Sundfør croons in a mix of Cher and Yumi Zouma, asking “when will I see your face again?” It is clichéd to feature such an exhausted lyric, yes, but on a track titled “For the Kids,” at least it comes as a surprise. Luckily, the song features another children’s voiceover a la “Racounte-Moi Histoire,” which drapes an oddly somber tone over the track, a total misdirect by Gonzalez resulting in arguably the most finessed track on the album. Then, in an instant, the listener is torn from the first truly dream-like moment of the record and placed back in the unsettled platform that is most of Junk. “Solitude” sounds like Gonzalez’s attempt at creating a brooding James Bond theme, and “The Wizard” sounds like Gonzalez’s failed Frank Ocean demo, only further confusing the Junk landscape.

“Laser Gun” gives a sneaking suspicion of being a possible “Midnight City,” replicant, with similar percussive piano, and dream allusions of grandeur – “A place where dreams are played like comic strips” – but it just doesn’t feel quite as playful, it just feels tired. The track ends with a series of cheerleader chants that sound like a straight rip from any The Go! Team album ever. “Road Blaster,” “Tension,” and “Atlantique Sud” once again sound like M83 trying out parallel sounds of a listeners’ choice of piano poppers – though “Atlantique Sud” is a lovely French ballad, just not in a M83 fashion.

“Time Wind” is likely to be Junk’s second single, namely because of the track’s high profile feature, the world’s “coolest” scientologist, Beck. It's filled with lyrical cliché’s – “The harder you try makes it harder to let go / I know enough to know it's wrong” type stuff – and the instrumental backing is almost too open to bring in any substantial conviction to the track. Junk closes with a very quiet end that would have been foreign to most M83 albums, but at this point in Junk, anything goes. Overall, Junk feels like Gonzalez trying to maintain the concept driven heart of M83 all the while creating a record that would continue to satiate the less “cultured” musical palates that made Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming such an unprecedented success. Whether or not such a notion is true or not is beside the point, Junk is not a concept album; instead, it’s a stepping stone record for Gonzalez and M83 to navigate the choppy waters that are follow-up records. Junk simply buys time for Gonzalez to right the M83 ship and continues to shift and expand upon the band’s sonic membrane.

Yeasayer Transcends Time and Space on 'Amen & Goodbye'

There are few bands that can evolve as effortlessly as trio of art rock Brooklynites, Yeasayer. On their fourth LP, Amen & Goodbye, they don’t just reconcile the worldbeat freak rock of All Hour Cymbals, psychedelic pop of Odd Blood, and brooding, dark electronica of Fragrant World, but manage to transcend time and space itself with a mélange of biblical allusions, futuristic sound, and countless other seemingly disparate stylistic and thematic juxtapositions.

Switching from their one figure per album cover tradition to a Sgt. Pepper’s-esque tableau immediately visualizes this idea of there being many influences (A&G is also, appropriately, the first time they enlisted an outside producer), but while The Beatles used their identity experiment to sever themselves from their past, in a way Yeasayer solidifies and combines theirs. Both groups took the chance to evolve, though, and Yeasayer evolve forwards, backwards, and sideways across boundaries in all directions simultaneously, exhibited especially in the interludes that punctuate A&G with a sort of time-traveled erraticism across “Computer Canticle 1”’s tech hymn of tribal space noise and “Child Prodigy”’s baroque celebration.

The recording process too felt an odd situational paradox - recording live as a band for the first time in the wilderness of upstate New York, Yeasayer had to battle the audible hum of a nearby electric fence or wrangle escaped goats if they turned it off. With normally only about two and a half year breaks in between full-lengths, A&G required an atypically long four to procure, explained at least in part by a rainstorm leak damaging much of their tapes (such are the dangers of analogue recording). Not all was lost, however, with that same precipitation providing the rainfall background to “Gerson’s Whistle,” which appropriately concludes, “Troublemakers make the world go round.” 

It’s no mistake Yeasayer both references the similarly wet Genesis tale of the Great Deluge in album opener “Daughters of Cain” and shows a rotting, severed Trump dictator head in “I Am Chemistry”’s faux-claymation post-apocalyptic hellscape of a music video, saying, “Living in America, you're faced with presidential candidates talking about the end times, and everything is so God-laden. It became a theme for us when we were thinking about lyrics, reflecting on our culture and these big questions about religion." (Political forays are nothing new to the band after the stygian pulse of Fragrant World’s “Reagan’s Skeleton.”)

'I Am Chemistry' taken from the forthcoming Yeasayer album 'Amen & Goodbye' which will be released April Fools' Day, 2016. Directed by New Media Limited.

The track “I Am Chemistry” is a clever litany of poisonous substances set to a glorious, undulating synth rapture and Suzzy of The Roches adding vocal depth with a curious choral contribution. It’s quickly followed by the second official single and most unabashedly pop offering since Odd Blood, “Silly Me,” which opens with choppy acoustic stabs before sharply transforming into a full blown dance lament with the infectious refrain, “Silly me / Where’s my head / I can’t believe now it’s over / She would be here if it wasn’t for silly me.” With glittering admissions like "With crystal ball I now can see / That I'm a man of low degree," it's surely one of the most cheerfully upbeat confessions of guilt you'll ever have the pleasure of hearing.

“Half Asleep" pairs the gospel mantra of “Deliver me from evil” with Middle Eastern sitar-like tones before “Dead Sea Scrolls” breathes energetic groove into the ancient religious manuscripts that lend it their name, until climaxing and convulsing with a frantic primal scream of avant-garde robotic sax that I haven’t once been able to avoid turning up the volume for yet. It speaks to your primitive mind, but your primitive mind has long since been encased in a synthetic shell. With subsequent “Prophecy Gun” we get a gently frenetic beat and ominous bassline layered with vocals almost reminiscent of Paul Simon at his most soothing.

An ode to co-frontman Anand Wilder's daughter (whose birth, incidentally, postponed at last minute a Yeasayer gig I had crossed state lines to attend back in 2012), “Uma" provides their best slow dance since 2010's underrated “I Remember.” Complete with an instantly whistlable, quivering theremin melody played on a digital heartstring and heavy love letter lines of, “And in our overlapping lives / 30 years on either side / Never thought I’d be surprised that I’m alive when you’re alive,” and, “Hope I still can make you smile / When I get to be senile,” it's a piercing highlight that shows even adoration itself is firmly welded to the concept of time.

Amen & Goodbye is Yeasayer’s most heterogeneous body of work, both in terms of the patchwork of its sonic and textural peaks and valleys but also its blending of classic motifs with newly formed bizzarities in a way that never feels heavy handed or campy. Its mysticism and mythological character is scattered but strong like the fable of a universe that doesn’t exist yet, though the personal, poignant closer “Cold Night” grounds the LP with an honest attempt to come to terms with the loss of a close friend: “It’s been one year since you turned yourself back into dust / I guess this is life / You perish or you survive.” Some things never change no matter the context, chronology, or instrument used; life is finite whether ended in a biblical flood or fascist regime. “Was there something I could've told you?” Maybe not. Or maybe this is it exactly. Amen & Goodbye indeed.

SBTRKT Steps Out of Familiar Sound On "SAVE YOURSELF"

If we’re still looking for nicknames to describe the musical year that’s been in 2016, might I suggest “The Year of the Surprise Release”? Granted, two of those “surprise” releases were at the hands of Doug from TIDAL (The Watch plug - hello Andy Greenwald and Chris Ryan), in which Rihanna and Kanye worked to assert their social over financial currency preferences. Then we saw Kendrick release untitled unmastered., a left field release that somehow operates on the level of To Pimp a Butterfly and somewhat dethroned Kanye from his throne atop the musical zeitgeist. Obviously, there’s a common denominator amongst all three of these giant releases (no, its not that they were all featured on The Life of Pablo, thought you’re headed in the right direction) – they’re all hip-hop based albums, even with Kanye’s constant assertions of TLOP being a gospel record.

Don’t worry, that’s all the Kanye talk this review has in store, but long-winded intro aside, there’s something to be said for hip-hop lending itself to being a disruptive force that would benefit from guerrilla style releases rather than the usual promotional cycle. Keeping with the recent slew of first quarter surprise releases, collaborator/producer extraordinaire SBTRKT has added his name to the heavy hitting list.

SBTRKT is a producer that I’ve come to become increasingly fond of with each subsequent release – not necessarily for his musical handiwork (though I do enjoy it), but rather his ability to get such fantastic features on his records. Early SBTRKT featured Jessie Ware, Little Dragon, and other releases included Raury and Ezra Koenig, making each of his records a stimulating exploration in collaborative coordination and SBTRKT’s understanding of musical cohesion.

Newest release to date, SAVE YOURSELF, is also his most cohesive – continuing the trend of steady and substantial maturity as a producer and creative mind. Outside of the aged development of the record, SAVE YOURSELF also touts itself as the most intrepid release by SBTRKT, with effectively one week’s worth of promotion leading up to the surprise release of the album.

Most of SBTRKT’s albums are at least ten tracks deep – the longest of his long-play efforts, Wonder Where We Land, featured a tracklist twenty-two songs long. SAVE YOURSELF is an interesting diversion from SBTRKT’s prior releases, as the record only contains nine tracks – making SAVE YOURSELF some strange convergence between an EP and LP. Furthermore, the production on SAVE YOURSELF is an interesting departure from the heavy-jungle rhythms of past – SAVE YOURSELF sounds like a heavy mixture of Chrome Sparks meets Madeon style house music. There are still the apparent hip-hop, R&B, and funk amalgamation that’s considered a SBTRKT touchstone, but SAVE YOURSELF also features more adventurous studies into trap music, as well.  

In terms of the house vs. trap music contention present in SAVE YOURSELF, the record opens with the aforementioned Madeon-esque bright beat driven opener “GEMINI,” reminiscent of a hopeful space odyssey as synth drive the song along with twinkling piano and tones with little to no percussion at all before fading into the album’s truly introductory track, “GOOD MORNING.” As mentioned before, SBTRKT is an artist/producer who is largely defined by those he collaborates with, and in terms of past collaborations, his collaboration with The-Dream on “GOOD MORNING” is arguably one of his best to date. The song focuses largely on celebrating the commitment to remaining steadfast in love; exploring marriage, child rearing ("Here’s to the baby that you’re going to carry”) and loyalty. It’s a stunningly mature and specific track for a SBTRKT song considering most of his songs in the past have focused largely on vague interactions or allegorical scenarios. The lyrical focus should be credited to The-Dream, who has found second life as a songwriter after his brief stint as a solo artist in the early to mid 2000s.

SAVE YOURSELF is SBTRKT’s best long-play release by a long shot – for starting out as a self-taught producer, the growth over three album’s time makes for an impressive coming of age record on SAVE YOURSELF. It also features SBTRKT’s finest collaboration with frequent collaborator, Sampha, on “TBD.” The track opens with 808 beats eerily reminiscent of Chrome Sparks as ominous guttural noises layered over chimey hits before Sampha begins to wail over the track at its first break. Having followed SBTRKT’s journey since his first EP, its safe to say that “TBD” sees SBTRKT and Sampha connecting in such a collaborative manner that the shifts from house to soul to trap in a single song issues no obstacle for the two.

Following Wonder Where We Land, it started to appear as though SBTRKT was an A&R gem that had begun to run out of creative juice, and a follow-up to the robust sophomore effort would need to see some substantial changes made, or at the least explored. SBTRKT had become an artist who needed to show some growth, with self-taught production only extended so far on the A&R plane. Luckily, SAVE YOURSELF allows SBTRKT to really grow and live within some unchartered territory that is so considerably divergent, its hard not to be impressed that such a gamble would be made in the first place. It almost feels as if SAVE YOURSELF was a representative manifesto of SBTRKT’s mindset in regard to continuing his young and verdant career.

Margo Price Catalyzes the Country Renaissance on 'Midwestern Farmer's Daughter'

If you don’t live in Nashville, then you may or may not be privy to the country music “resurgence” happening within the city. The critically condemned bro-country supposedly (I only say this because it's not like bro-country has been eradicated) has met its match at the hands of “throwback” country artists like Christ Stapleton, Sturgill Simpson, and for some reason, Jason Isbell - whose Americana stylings are lazily thrown into the mix.

That being said, there’s nothing wrong with bro-country if you enjoy a little dirt road chilling or whatever, that’s cool - sure, Florida Georgia Line sucks, but Luke Bryan seems like a pretty nice guy, and Sam Hunt is doing some cool stuff. Granted, I am grateful for some much-needed country-western escapism in music, but there in lies the problem – non-country connoisseurs consider it as nothing more than deft escapism that is slowly building into a trend.

While the emergence of Stapleton – a man who spent over a decade as the songwriting king of Nashville – and his recent run of headlining festival announcements has helped provide a more substantial stage for country artists of all creeds, there’s still a substantial underrepresentation of the number of exceptional female “throwback” country artists such as Kacey Musgraves, Nikki Lane, and Aubrie Sellers. Now, some of these kick-ass country queens have gotten their just share of media coverage – namely Musgraves – but their records still go largely unnoticed by the masses. I understand that music is a largely subjective field, and it would be unfair to try and shove artists down listeners’ throats, but artists like Musgraves and the criminally underrated Lane deserve to be heard.

My best guess as to why the new-school of old-school female country artists have yet to get their due recognition is the awful taste of country Taylor Swift and Big Machine left in the mouths, eyes, ears, and minds of listeners. We grew rightfully sick of her calculated precociousness, but an unfortunate casualty in the annoying nature of T-Swift’s modus operandi were the real women of country music. After years of genuinely talented artists being largely underappreciated, old school country music may have finally found its queen to properly rule along Stapleton –the hard-drinking, heavy-living country balladeer turned Jack White protégé – Ms. Margo Price.

Price is the first country artist signed to Jack White’s Third Man Records label, and such an ascription might finally be the big name endorsement necessary for a country artist to be taken seriously by the non-country masses. Chris Stapleton is a certainly a self-made man who has had his fair share of help along the way, but he received a “legitimizing” bump from his and Justin Timberlake’s duet performance of his song “Tennessee Whiskey” at the 2015 CMA Awards. Jack White is of course one of those musical entities that has achieved demigod status – a la JT – that offers a “can do no wrong” standing amongst many music aficionados and casuals alike.  It’s an unfortunate reality within country music – the political style endorsement needed to validate an artist’s cultural relevance – but such is the nature of those who are afraid to venture into new sonic realms (listeners, that is, not Stapleton or Price).

Order the "Hurtin' (On The Bottle)" 7" single with non-album B-Side "Desperate and Depressed" from Third Man Records HERE: http://thirdmanstore.com/margo-price-hurtin-on-the-bottle-7-vinyl "Hurtin' (on the Bottle)" is the first single from Margo Price & The Pricetags upcoming record MIDWEST FARMER'S DAUGHTER, coming March 2016 on Third Man Records.

Price has been picking up some considerable steam in relation to the release of her debut record, Midwestern Farmer’s Daughter, thanks in large part to a stellar SXSW run and a slew of fantastic television appearances – peek her killer Colbert debut – that have manifested into a fever pitch of anticipation for a consummate country record. In short, Midwestern Farmer’s Daughter is a country record through and through, but it features some new age sensibilities in regard to its lyricism and occasional non-country tonalities.

Midwestern Farmer’s Daughter opens with “Hands of Time,” a title that might possibly imply the much-ballyhooed nature of Price’s overall “sound,” a little bit Dolly Parton meets clichéd fictionalism, as the fun country sentiments of yesteryear – prosaic references of working hard at a young age, wanting to do right by her parents, busting her ass, etc. It seems a little too purposeful with its sentiments, almost as if to sucker in nostalgia addicts who bought into the heavy “throwback” country hype. It’s a lovely song, as a steady stream of percussive string hits and meandering banjo and steel guitar present a set lovely (but underutilized) scene.

Second track and one of two singles, “About to Find Out,” is a highlight. Price opines new age feminism through the lens of Southern cynicism, with some fantastic breaks for her stellar backing band to hit hard on licks and drive the unapologetic country girl vibe home. It's a sort of testosterone ridden woman’s rally cry to warn any man that might cross her. “Tennessee Song” feels like an obligatory addition to Midwestern Farmer’s Daughter - as she references both I-65 and 440 West – familiar country motifs that feel more like placeholders than personal signifiers. The chorus of “Let’s go back to Tennessee” feels like another latitudinarian sentiment that becomes a recurrent theme on the album; on one song Price might be a hard-nosed, kick-ass woman (when she’s at her best), while on the next song she’s love-addled and pining for her man (not quite her best).

Cleanup track “Since You Put Me Down” acts as an open letter to a former lover that left Price – or her unnamed narrator for the record, its never quite clear – wilting and dejected, as she “been trying to turn [her] broken heart to stone.” It’s a fun song that echoes the classic sentiments of Dolly or Emmylou Harris doing their damndest to stand upright while expressing petty sentiments with little remorse. “Since You Put Me Down,” is one of the smoothest tracks from a musical standpoint, as well, as the cool ballad turns into an ambling country manifesto for Price’s steel guitar player to display his immeasurable chops. Now that we’ve hit the meat of Midwestern Farmer’s Daughter, it seems fitting that Price would throw a curve ball in the form of “Four Years of Chances,” that resembles the strange country/disco era, as Price reminds the anonymous recipient of her ire that he’s been given more than enough time to atone for his shortcomings. Once again, the lyrics leave a little to be desired – mostly in regard to the modern woman with old school influences versus the modern woman trying to capitalize on nostalgia for a certain sound – which effectively means there’s not much lyrical depth, but damn does her band sound good. Like really good.

We pass the halfway mark of the record and we finally get our first taste of Price’s Nashville story – or at least a story revolving around Nashville – “This Town Gets Around.” Judging from the song title, one might assume that the title personification might provide an allegorical subtext for the track, but not quite. That being said, it’s one of Price’s best tracks in terms of tongue in cheek word play like “Well as the saying goes / It's not who you know / But it's who you blow that’ll put you in the show.” It's by far and away the most endearing track, mostly for the smack-you-in-the-ass-then-give-you-a-wink writing paired with a classic country swing.

The next few tracks are more or less familiar reimagining’s of earlier tracks – highlights being the preeminent country western swing sound of “Weekender,” a habitual drunk tanker’s manifesto which leads into the track that started the Margo-mania, “Hurtin’ On the Bottle,” an early favorite for best song title of 2016 – but also begins to highlight one of the troubling realities of Margo Price: a far too familiar sound that’s more reminiscent than fresh. It almost feels like country music as desperate for their Chris Stapleton female analogue, and Kacey Musgraves and Nikki Lane were far too well established to shoulder the burden, so the onus was ascribed to Price. Its an interesting consideration when you consider that Price and Stapleton’s stories are somewhat parallel – Stapleton spent years as a member of The Steeldrivers, a formidable, but middling country group; in congruence, Price fronted Buffalo Clover, but took off once she went solo.

Midwestern Farmer’s Daughter goes out with a whimper, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing – “World’s Greatest Lover” is a well meaning ballad that expresses the sweetest country love sentiments, but its all too formulaic to invigorate the records grand finale, “Desperate and Depressed.” A song title that might elicit an eye roll from those who are familiar with the most recurrent country motifs, but “Desperate and Depressed,” actually works as a serviceable sendoff of Price’s first record. Midwestern Farmer’s Daughter is a damn good debut record, but a so-so country record – it doesn’t quite reach Kacey Musgraves’ Pageant Material and pales in comparison to Stapleton’s opus, Traveller, but it makes for an interesting experiment. Stapleton and Musgraves benefit from major label backing, while Price works independently, either as the pioneer of indie-country, or the eventual martyr who never quite found her “own” sound. Price means well on Midwestern Farmer’s Daughter - and she hits a lot of great notes - which certainly point to a tenured and exceptional career, but a part of me fears that she could end up falling victim to a recent nostalgia trend. She’s the type of girl to go her own way, and hopefully in the future, she begins to carve a more substantial path that builds upon Midwestern Farmer’s Daughter.

Iggy Pop Signals His Departure On 'Post Pop Depression'

Iggy Pop has got to be the single most overlooked “legend” in music (settle down, Mudhoney and Tears for Fears fans, it's just an opinion) – the guy has outlived contemporaries, pivoted with coming trends, more than stayed afloat following his departure from The Stooges, and never failed to impress with his frenetic style on stage despite being a spry 68 years old.

Pop is also the source of some of the finest tour diary anecdotes, including my personal favorite: Iggy Pop was once duped into opening for Flock of Seagulls in the 1980s. Understandably flummoxed by the disregard for his pedigree, Pop did what Pop does best – cause a scene. Enlisting the help of the tour’s production crew to craft a giant wooden cross, he painted his face green, and would drag the giant cross out on stage every night with the bewildering face paint only heightening his stage histrionics, which eventually got him kicked off the tour. It’s artists like Iggy that allow for present day “mavericks,” “renegades,” “free-spirits,” “weirdos,” etc. to perform in deranged manners minus any real career detriment.

A bastion of punk, proto-punk, art rock, and everything in between, Iggy has spent a lifetime of cavorting and writhing around on stage, and for 23 albums – including 5 Stooges records, one James Williamson collaboration, and 17 solo records (which includes a cover album recorded entirely in French, Apres) – he has managed to maintain his status as rock music’s most adept chameleon. His seamless transition from collaborator extraordinaire on his Skull Ring record in 2003 – featuring Green Day, The Stooges, The Trolls, Peaches, and Sum 41 – to his jazz record inspired by Michel Houllebecq’s novel La Possibilite d’une iˆle, Preliminaires in 2009; we’ve seen Iggy Pop cover just about every musical base a punk rocker from Ann Arbor, Michigan could conceive.

To that notion, anything that Iggy Pop puts out from this point on – be it a solo record, a compilation, b-sides, demos, or covers – should be celebrated as yet another fine accoutrement that adorns the already spectacular apparatus that is Iggy Pop’s discography. Unfortunately, when music legends release projects in the twilight of their careers, the efforts do necessarily ensure a maintenance of the gravitas that’s become synonymous with their name (looking at you, Bob Dylan’s Shadows In the Night). Fortunately, such a shortcoming is not the case with Iggy Pop’s most recent release, Post Pop Depression - a record so incomparable with past Iggy efforts, it could be argued that the former Stooges front man’s collaborative effort with Queens of the Stone Age front man-turned-super-producer Josh Homme could be the finest release of Iggy Pop’s career to date.

A nine-track sonic exploration of Iggy Pop’s Joshua Tree retreat – where Homme’s studio is located – Post Pop Depression features an unofficial “supergroup” as Iggy’s backing band – Josh Homme (Queens of the Stone Age, Them Crooked Vultures), Dean Fertita (QOTSA, The Dead Weather), and Matt Helders (Arctic Monkeys) – helping provide some of the fullest sounds ever featured on an Iggy Pop record. Post Pop Depression opens with “Break Into Your Heart,” a track that prominently features Iggy’s vocals asserting the affirmative recognition of Pop’s career, fueled by physical force and creeping persistence. The Homme production influence is practically instantaneous, as the warping synth and guitar sound akin to QOTSA’s Era Vulgaris tones, melded with the Arctic Monkeys’ Humbug style-rhythm and unobtrusive percussion (recorded at Joshua Tree by Homme), both of which provide the robust sonic anchor as the perfect inverse to Iggy Pop’s sinewy vocal proclivities.

As Post Pop Depression ventures further, the Homme hand becomes more and more noticeable – but in the best of ways – as “Gardenia” sounds like QOTSA’s “The Blood is Love” meets “Make It Wit Chu;” playful with hints of indignation. The bellowing timbre of Iggy Pop’s voice makes the poppy chorus – “All I wanna do is tell Gardenia what to do tonight.” – sound purposefully comical.

Third track, “American Valhalla,” is an interesting congruence of Iggy Pop ideology mixed with fairly unconventional instrumentation – at least for Iggy Pop. A song that originated from a Homme instrumental demo title “Shitty Demo,” featuring vibraphone and steel drum “motifs.” Interestingly enough, the vibraphone is turned off the entire track, so the noise adds yet another peculiar facet to an already strange steel drum melody. The Valhalla – an afterlife destination for only the most indomitable of warriors - focus stems from Homme and Iggy Pop’s text dialogue oriented on whether or not there is in fact an American Valhalla. Iggy Pop then spent the following day singing along with the track, eventually settling on possible answers to his original question – “I’ve shot my gun / I’ve used my knife / This hasn’t been an easy life  /I’m hoping for American Valhalla.” The rest of the song is considerably moving for an artist best known for societal skewering and romping around on stage.

The middle portion of Post Pop Despression begins to groove in a more familiar Iggy Pop fashion. “In The Lobby” features some deft stick work from Arctic Monkeys drummer Matt Helders – a man whose involvement in his primary gig is already criminally under-acknowledged – helping provide a tight winnowing beat for Iggy Pop to prance around lyrically. Iggy Pop explores the realities of his inevitable age, and his shift from his peak to his his considerably more restrained present; death and disconnect becoming more and more apparent as album motifs.

Being a 68-year-old master of punk music, Iggy Pop could have accepted his peremptory status, continually speaking out against societal niceties and pitfalls (though “Sunday” explores Iggy Pop’s thoughts on corporatized living), but instead, he grapples with the banality of his eventual departure – well aware that his death is inevitable. It’s a perspective in music that has rarely been explored – someone totally comfortable with their life’s work, but still trying to feed the beast that is “purpose.” Songs like “Vulture” concern themselves with the unfortunate reality of being an aging public figure, running into people angling for some sort of financial reward for their end-of-life courtship; thus the songs title. “German Days” sees a return to the heavy-Homme’d soundscapes – thick base lines paired with airy guitar licks, as Homme even provides backing vocals that basically whittle German culture down into a four minute and forty eight second ode. “Chocolate” is an unexpected surprise for an album that has already established its rock-heavy trappings, featuring bells and chimes over a cool disco beat, it’s the first track on the album that really suggests this may be the last album we ever see from Iggy Pop.

If Post Pop Depression is in fact Iggy Pop’s definitive punctuating mark on his famously ungovernable career, it’s about as good a note he can go out on as any. Pre-meditated closing statements can be sad affairs – Glen Campbell’s Ghost on Canvas – and other times oddly premonitory – David Bowie's ★ – but this closing statement feels nothing like either of those sentiments. Post Pop Depression feels like the first of many further installments in Iggy Pop’s marathon-man career – forever indomitable in every aspect, and wry as ever – but then again, for a guy that’s been frolicking around shirtless on stage for the past 50 years, that may be the best way to go out.

The Magnetic North Explores Simon Tong's Transcendentalist Hometown in 'Prospect of Skelmersdale'

Bringing an album into existence is no small task. It’s the ultimate culmination of an artist’s expression and is - in most instances - an unceremoniously intimate endeavor. Maintaining that intimacy while orienting a collection of songs to become a living, breathing embodiment of a concept, memory, or place can be doubly as daunting.

Considering such notions, the prospect of creating a representative musical snapshot that combines the triumvirate of aforementioned sentiments almost inevitably runs the risk of falling flat – either by being too specific for those unfamiliar with the subject, or even worse, by not meeting the expectations of those most familiar. While regarding hypothetical listeners’ individual receptions of a conceptual or representative work is hopefully absent from the creative process, it is exactly what makes conceptual pieces a perilous undertaking.

Nevertheless, such hyperbolic scenarios have yet to reach the awareness of The Magnetic North – a conceptually fueled rock symphony outfit fronted by one of the UK's most ubiquitous guitarist/keyboardists, Simon Tong (blur, Gorillaz, The Verve, The Good, the Bad & the Queen, and Erland & the Carnival) – having created an altogether beguiling and transporting musical rendering of Skelmersdale, England, The Prospect of Skelmersdale.

Originally designated as a site for UK population redistribution in the 1960s, Skelmersdale floundered as a council estate village for almost two decades until the Transcendental Meditation (TM) movement unexpectedly revitalized the town in the early 1980s. The establishment of the town as the official UK capital for the TM movement injected new life in the struggling village, as families devoted to the teachings of the maharishi flocked to the Skelmersdale. Amongst those the zealous masses converging on Skelmersdale was the family of The Magnetic North’s Tong, whose past relation and experiences connected to the town acted as the primary inspirational force behind the LP.

To understand The Prospect of Skelmersdale, one must first understand how The Magnetic North operates and came into being. Tong, along with Erland Cooper (Erland and the Carnival) and Hannah Peel (John Foxx and the Maths), came together in 2012 to create an album based on a dream Cooper had in which an apparition told him to produce a record focusing on his home of Orkney, Scotland. Consisting of pastoral (and symphonic) depictions of features unique to Orkney, the trio released Orkney: Symphony of the Magnetic North, and thus The Magnetic North was born.

Originally intended as a one-off endeavor, The Prospect of Skelmersdale came into consideration - after some third party encouragement - when the trio gathered to determine what their next effort would look like. Somewhat influenced by the locational focus of their first album, it was Peel’s curiosity about Tong’s past life in Skelmersdale that oriented The Magnetic North to zero in on the once promising community.

Taken from the new album "Prospect Of Skelmersdale" out 18th March 2016. Pre-order CD / LP / DL here: http://fulltimehobby.sandbaghq.com/the-magnetic-north-prospect-of-skelmersdale.html

Prospect of Skelmersdale wastes no time in transporting the listener to a wholly tangible auditory analogue of Skelmersdale, opening with “Jai Guru Dev,” an introductory piece that features choral vocals and audio from the dedication of the TM movement’s “Golden Dome;” establishing an over-arching theme that is simultaneously hopeful and mysterious, along with the TM movement motifs. The Prospect of Skelmersdale operates in a series of musical vignettes that assist in setting the overall tone of the record, with tracks like “Pennylands” and “A Death in the Woods” maintaining the optimistic outlook so many people associated with the community. The compositional prowess of Peel rings true on “Pennylands,” (an actual location in Skelmersdale) as the combined vocals of the trio offer hopeful melodies spread over dubiously tense strings that ebb and flow over driving (yet discerning) percussion.

A perspective shift from its preceding track, “A Death in the Woods” maintains a more realistic assessment of Skelmersdale – a prospective paradise that never fully reaches its presumed potential. The track shifts from a relatively subdued narrative nature into a full-blown electro symphony, as the phrase “We only came by on our way to paradise” echo into the song’s frenzied end, and in turn officially bringing the listener to Skelmersdale. Clean up track, “Sandy Lane,” echoes the same bright sentiments expressed in “A Death in the Woods,” as the combined group vocals narrate the colorful sentiments “You are golden too…” presumably a reference to the Golden temple or some relation to the TM community as light woodwind lead the song out into the middle portion of the album.

Prospect of Skelmersdale consists of individual snapshots varying in their connection to the town itself, with the body of the album providing some of the most vivid depictions. The album’s initial single, “Signs,” features more archival audio promoting the town itself, while the song’s lyrics maintain a loving assertion of wanting what’s best for someone literally waiting for a sign. Follow up tracks “Little Jerusalem” and “Remains of Elmer” begin to diverge from the established tone of hope and optimism shift into more (at least sonically) ominous songs - talks of mediation and outright order and harmony being viewed in dream like lenses, as if to acknowledgment the fledgling prospects of Skelmersdale.

The final third of Prospect of Skelmersdale coincides with the beginning of a figurative (and literal: “Exit”) exit from the town, featuring some of the strongest connections to the TM community. “Exit” brings about a quiet instructional verse that directs an unidentified listener to say goodbye to something or someone (Skelmersdale perhaps?), while maintaining an acknowledgement of some higher purpose. “The Silver Birch” and “Northway Southway” provide more illuminating lyricism and hopeful musical perspectives speaking to future opportunities.

Prospect of Skelmersdale ends in a manner that resembles the albums’ inception – with a serendipitous cover of a George Harrison song, “Run of the Mill.” Harrison was a noted disciple of TM, and according to Tong the cover came about when Peel and her friend Laura Groves were playing the song. Coincidence aside, the rendition is a beautiful song to include on the album, and arguably the perfect track to go out on – with its TM adjacent relation, as well as its exeunt nature.

For as complex and atypical a context the town of Skelmersdale features, The Magnetic North managed to encapsulate aspects of the town that evoke lush pastoral scenes seemingly foreign to a town that has been all but forgotten. Despite Tong’s more than twenty years of being removed from the township, he manages to guide the trio in a particularly deft representation of a unique environment, creating a capsule that is suitable for all to experience both sonically and spiritually. If the expectations for a once auspicious community faded, the outlook is bound to shift thanks in large part to Tong, The Magnetic North, and The Prospect of Skelmersdale.

Taken from the new album "Prospect of Skelmersdale" out 18th March 2016 on Full Time Hobby. Pre-order CD / LP / DL here: http://bit.ly/1PiF3qp

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Read our interview with Simon Tong of The Magnetic North here.

'You and I’ Exhibits Jeff Buckley at His Most Candid

American ignorance withheld Jeff Buckley’s first appearance at the Billboard No. 1 position for 11 years after his untimely 1997 death. Through the lens of America’s gross underappreciation for an artist its people almost exclusively know through his cover of Leonard Cohen, a posthumous album comprised mostly of cover songs seems to be a miracle. Yet even through the European perspective which appropriately views Jeff Buckley as a guitar virtuoso and the true voice of a generation, the posthumous album of unreleased Buckley material entitled You and I still seems to be a miracle. 

Popular culture has deferred Buckley into the role of the wallflower amongst the greats of 90s rock. Scarcely referred to as a legend for his guitar playing ability, his touch and dexterity on the fretboard rival that of Jimmy Page. His voice, often criticized for its overt emotionalism, covers ground between Nina Simone and Robert Plant. Never had there been a more perfect archetype for music greatness and never had such a talented presence on earth been so brief. Though the years past prevent You and I from having the same satiating effect that Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk had the year following Buckley’s death, You and I revives an early image of the young and burgeoning talent by revisiting his artistic self-discovery. 

Buckley’s haunting aura is immediately felt in the negative space surrounding Buckley’s guitar trills on the opening Bob Dylan cover “Just Like a Woman.” His guitar playing is simultaneously inviting and distant, sparse but flawless. His gentle strumming yields the foreground to his voice until stingingly precise guitar solos command attention. His singing balances grit and levity while delivering Dylan’s lyrics, sounding tenderly affectionate at times and then seductively crass at others.  

His cover of Sly & the Family Stone’s “Everyday People” builds upon a street busker aesthetic that is reminiscent of his live performances at Sin-é. The young Buckley’s voice reveals his eagerness for the spotlight, singing “Sometimes I’m right / Others I’m wrong” with a humble softness that allows his vocal projection to explode at the chorus. He whittles the song down to a light conga introduction, percussively strummed guitars, and quivering vocals, making a very wholesome performance out of a song that most would consider disastrously empty without the accompaniment of bass and horns. 

Buckley is his best on You and I’s most balladic moments. His cover of Jevetta Steele’s “Calling You” is bone-shavingly harrowing. When considered alongside his supremely confident performance of “Everyday People,” the Jevetta Steele cover legitimizes Buckley’s ease in navigating the soul/R&B genre from its most euphoric peaks to its most lonesome plateaus. He demonstrates that same variability across genres as well, expanding his range with blues standard covers of “Don’t Let the Sun Catch You Cryin’” and “Poor Boy Long Way from Home.” 

You and I challenges both Grace and Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk as Buckley’s most intimate studio release. His elaboration upon the dream which inspired the album’s title track adds a conversational quality to a deeply personal connection with listeners built throughout the album. The hold that Buckley’s performances takes on listeners is so compelling that we mourn the album’s close in almost the same way we mourn his death; we find it immensely difficult to let go of him. His acoustic rendition of The Smith’s “I Know It’s Over” ominously sings of life coming to a close; his air is angelic as he sings “I can feel the soil falling over my head.” The greatest credit that can be afforded to him for this performance is how he congests the emptiness left around Morrissey’s original vocals. The song carries much more fluidly than the original without sacrificing Morrissey’s desperate tone; rather, enhancing the lyrics’ desperation with heightened emotion and rawness. 

Those who cherish Jeff Buckley’s work tend to elevate his legacy to a mythological stature, to the point where the organic qualities of his artistry seem to evaporate. No other Jeff Buckley album takes on a greater mythological ambience, yet You and I features some of his most unembellished and candid work. You and I presents the fragile sounds of an impassioned artist prior to fame and the mythos which followed. It is a cuttingly reductive experience, unpretentious, emotionally stirring, and powerfully evocative. 

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. 

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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.