Phantogram Amps up in Search of New Highs on 'Three'

Following their genre-bending collaboration with Big Boi last year, Phantogram’s next direction was always going to be an expansive and confident one. With Sarah Barthel’s dynamic, sultry vocals now commanding more widespread attention and Josh Carter’s glitchy backdrops earning larger stages, the dream pop trip hop duo found themselves on a deserved platform for growth. In enlisting mainstreamers from Ricky Reed’s (Jason Derulo, Meghan Trainor) glossy production to Semisonic’s Dan Wilson (Adele, Taylor Swift) co-writing credit, Phantogram’s transition from Barsuk indies to Republic pride became increasingly clear. 

On their aptly-named third record, Three, tracks like opener “Funeral Pyre” and plaintive lines including, “I keep on having this dream / Where I'm stuck in a hole and I can't get out / There's always something that's pulling me down, down, down,” carry extra weight in the context of the abrupt passing of Barthel’s sister, who was also a close friend of Carter, during the album’s creation. Through this lens Phantogram touches truly sobering depths, wondering, "Walk with me to the end / Stare with me into the abyss / Do you feel like letting go? / I wonder how far down it is."

But “Same Old Blues” quickly shows for all the morbidity they mustn’t succumb to moroseness in sound, peaking in a powerful gospel-turned-electronica punch with blistering guitar. Flagship single "You Don't Get Me High Anymore" next has Barthel's breathless vocals dancing over Carter's massive, fuzzed-out bass synth bombs at a frenetic pace. “Used to take one / Now it takes four / You don’t get me high anymore,” she cries, and indeed the track is a bold embodiment of the band’s restless climb. Maturing from a humble indie outfit from upstate New York into big league #FestivalKillers rubbing shoulders with Miley Cyrus and rap legends, the duo continues to push themselves to the brink as a louder, flashier, and more sexualized act at every turn.

Featuring a drum machine sonic collage reminiscent of "Don't Move," the sharp standout “Cruel World” seems primed for car commercial levels of ubiquity, but, complete with the nice, subtle touch of the warm fuzz of a vinyl spin we first heard on "When I'm Small," it’s one we wouldn't mind hearing around for some time. With its scattered string samples and equally scattered ramblings, “Barking Dog” is a welcome return to the oft overshadowed strengths of Carter’s increasingly rare lead tracks, but doesn’t quite cut to the same emotional depth as, say, “I Don’t Blame You.”

Urban influences showing through, “You’re Mine”’s electrifying rhythm isn’t unlike - dare I say it - Future’s “Jumpman,” and would feel right at home with Big Boi spitting a verse or two. “Run Run Blood” then features the brass creep of horns contributed by The Antlers’ Darby Cicci, the surprising highlight of a mix that has Phantogram at their most brooding in years. “Destroyer,” in turn, is a vessel for showcasing Barthel’s skyrocketing vocal range.

Hitting the notes required for both dancefloor movability and indie playlist inclusion, Three’s wild sonic and emotional swings can seem jarring. You’d be forgiven for wondering how you got from the initial feelings of loss to the sensual slink of carefree sex anthem “Calling All” in only half an hour, though that transition was long in motion since Big Grams was born. It’s in these ways Phantogram’s third installment sometimes reads less like an album and more like a collection of singles looking to package the eclectic angles of their human condition into different shots at exuberant accessibility, yet each shift arguably feels as natural as the last. Indulging in the instant gratification of radio-ready drops over the more stable, steady charm of classics like “Mouthful of Diamonds,” Three is at times moody and unhinged, but undeniably succeeds at what the duo seems to have set out to do.

Three reveals a Phantogram veering ever closer to the sun in terms of stadium-filling riffs and diamond-polished edges - Carter’s beard and black-rimmed glasses are long gone in favor of basketball jerseys and gold chains, while Barthel has evolved into a full-blown blonde bombshell - but strip it all alway and there’s still enough of their unique charm amidst the beats and bravado for now. What next emerges from the pyre of Three, though, is anyone’s guess.

'22, A Million' and the Dissociation of Bon Iver

In observance of Bon Iver’s career catalogue to date, each third can be easily identified through a distinct phase or impression: There was the apocrypha of For Emma, Forever Ago, the prophecy of Bon Iver, Bon Iver, and now the martyrdom that is 22, A Million. While the martyrdom is certainly sensationalistic in some regards, there’s a reason for such nomenclature – following Bon Iver’s 2012 Grammy win for “Best New Artist” and “Best Alternative Album,” Justin Vernon desperately needed (for his own well-being, not for the sake of the masses) to shed the label of “indie god.” In a way, Bon Iver had become exactly what Vernon had feared – a proverbial gateway drug to the world of independent alternative folk rock. So Vernon simply “ended” Bon Iver.

The instantaneous termination of Bon Iver devastated many a self-indulgent millennial hipster, of whom had yearned for an Elliot Smith or Kurt Kobain of their own, and to most, that was Vernon. But being placed on a pedestal of overblown apocrypha and adulation was never a desire of Vernon’s, who sought not to appease the fervent masses that had deified him without his consent. So he disappeared, hiding in plain sight the entire time - five years of runs with the likes of Volcano Choir, The Shouting Matches, (the highly publicized) Kanye West collaborations – but never producing new Bon Iver, outside of a commissioned track for a Zach Braff film (“Heavenly Father”), which Vernon aired his criticism of the process on a handful of occasions.

All the while, self-ascribed Vernon-nites pined for more Bon Iver, but Vernon would assert with great confidence Bon Iver was on hiatus, stating that intense writer’s block and creative stunting had impeded the process of envisioning Bon Iver’s next iteration. Then Eaux Claires came along, rekindling Vernon’s Bon Iver creative kick, presenting two new tracks (“666 ʇ” and “29# Strafford APTS”), and the following year, running through 22, A Million in its entirety.

Thus, indie en masse was aroused by the ensuing prospect of a Bon Iver album release, but at what price? The new tracks and eventual single releases – “22 (OVER S∞∞N)” and “10 d E A T h b R E a s T” – were utterly divisive and dissociative amongst fair-weather Bon Iver listeners, sighting the warbled vocoder effects and reverse percussive sounds alongside emoji-laden song titles as uninspired flourishes. But for the initiated and more familiar of Bon Iver faithful, the meaning of the peculiar track titles and hellish sound sequences were apparent – 22, A Million is the martyrous dissociation of Bon Iver as we know, all the while maintaining every tenant of classic “Bon Iver-dom." There are a myriad of reasons why a devout (with blind faith) Bon Iver disciple would assert that every single song serves as an ahead-of-its-time template that the next wave of industrial folk aficionados will undoubtedly imitate in vain.

22, A Million marks Bon Iver’s most impressionistic work to date, operating almost entirely upon an emotional plane. Songs like “715 – CR∑∑KS” delve into a single location that carries such depth and weight for Vernon that it seems as though there’s an attempt to masque the visceral emotion brought about by Vernon through the intricate (and magnificent) musical composition. Other tracks resemble the attempts at obfuscating emotion through synthetic flourishes, warping a distorted Vernon vocal to almost totally dissociate Eau Claire’s prodigal son, as he only provides the most intense and brief glimpses into Vernon’s past five years with little to no context, tracks like “33 “GOD”” being prime examples – “Staying at the Ace Hotel;” corporate branding, I think not.

Less observant listeners have gone as far as opining the newest iteration of Bon Iver is nothing more than bombast and old hat tricks of the indie trade, but one can only hope that such close-minded dismissal of anything other than For Emma or Bon Iver, Bon Iver will become withered and eventually dismissed within its own right upon a simple careful listen to 22, A Million. Where Vernon’s first two projects dealt primarily with the most outright of narratives in service of emotion and verve, 22, A Million focuses on the atmospheric feeling and synthetic grit to best service the project. While the primary focus of 22, A Million will likely never be revealed, as Vernon has become increasingly reclusive (or at least expressed his desire to do so) throughout the promotional cycle for the record, and tracks like “22 (OVER S∞∞N)” hint at a possible end to Bon Iver – “It might be over soon…” – 22, A Million will serve as the finest dissociation of Justin Vernon from Bon Iver, making it the project’s best work to date, and if things truly will be over soon, Bon Iver’s greatest album ever. 

Hamilton Leithauser + Rostam Combine Artfully on 'I Had A Dream That You Were Mine'

“I use the same voice I always have,” belts out Hamilton Leithauser in “Sick As A Dog” to an Edward Sharpe-esque choral echo. With over a decade of expertly exerting one of indie’s boldest howls it would be senseless to stop, and following his former band The Walkmen’s “extreme hiatus” starting 2014 and a solo release in the same year, he has thankfully found yet another vessel to carry them on I Had A Dream That You Were Mine.

Leithauser is at his best at his most strained, anguished, and raw, and in his pairing with newly departed Vampire Weekender Rostam Batmanglij, the Brooklyn veteran offers no shortcomings of any of his strongest qualities while Rostam does his best to mix up the backdrops to the production. Further enlisting White Rabbits percussionist Stephen Patterson, the result is deftly balanced dynamics and a surprisingly diverse combination of styles resulting in an album that somehow feels equal parts eclectic and whole.

Much of Rostam’s production, not least the Vampire Weekend-reminiscent string arrangements, gives I Had A Dream That You Were Mine the feeling of truly being composed. Whether the medium is meandering harmonica or baroque accentuation, the multi-instrumentalist blossoms in the newfound freedom of realizing a long-standing aspiration to write for a voice he spent the last 15 years admiring from the outside.

First single and opening track ”A 1000 Times" breaks right out of the gate with Leithauser's full register of glorious, pleading yowls. The potential energy is immediately palpable in the delicate opening few seconds that serve only to set the stage for a vocal main course that doesn't really let up once it starts. “Rough Going (I Won’t Let Up)” reaffirms their commitment to carrying on while looking back at doo-wop inspiration before “In A Black Out” pauses for finger-picked balladry. Though much of peak Walkmen-era Leithauser vocals are delightfully thrown against a clash of reverb and electric guitar, we have them gently laid over a bed of acoustic here, while a Rostam-procured "Step”-style choir combines to beautifully fill the space.

Banjo-nestled “Peaceful Morning” veers close to saccharine at first before finding its stride in Leithauser’s gentle coos turned cries once more, while "When The Truth Is..." is a swanky blend of bottle slide guitar, steady piano plinks, and a jarringly splendid marriage of his impassioned pipes with those of a saxophone. The latter’s ecstatic barroom brawl of a chorus is a powerful highlight of both the record and their respective careers, flawlessly punctuated with Patterson’s skittering high hat. Submerged in the locomotion of Patterson’s drums, a country twang even pokes through in “The Morning Stars,” and, past the initial confusion of a new voice being introduced just as the credits roll, “1959”’s Angel Deradoorian (Dirty Projectors) feature gives an angelic foil to Leithauser’s lead.

A damn good duo, Leithauser and Rostam are a veritable phoenix rising from indie ashes that wonderfully proves when two doors close sometimes the window that opens lets in more than enough light to fill the bar. To argue that together they’re greater than the sum of their parts would be misleading - this collaboration would have a long way to go before attempting to dethrone either of its member’s past projects - though they at no point rely on reputation to carry the record, leaving us with an album that deserves far more than a footnote when the curtain falls. The dream many of us hold of a Walkmen reunion (and now even a Vampire Weekend one, to some extent) may fade with each passing night, but at least I Had A Dream That You Were Mine can be spun a 1000 times to more than fill the silence.

of Montreal Continues the Chaotic Search for Identity on 'Innocence Reaches'

of Montreal's lower case cache of chaos, innocence reaches, opens with a question: “How do you identify? / How do you ID?" Though perhaps a newly-minted staple introduction of the millennial age, sexual discovery has been an omnipresent undercurrent in the kaleidoscopic catalog of androgynous flamboyance only the man who once transformed into a transsexual alter-ego named Georgie Fruit could procure. Whether aimed outward or introspectively (and we get both in spades), these sorts of probing enquiries form the spine of a record that combines Kevin Barnes’ psychedelic sound with newfound electronic experimentation.

Though not on the levels of Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer?’s dense tracklist, Barnes grandiloquence is still on full display on innocence reaches as his trademark verbosity continues to force us to come to terms with just how limited the vocabulary of pop music usually is. Even at his most overwrought - Barnes amusingly recounts basking in the sun as "absorb[ing] some solar lashings" on “chaos arpeggiating“ - he still manages to somehow pull it off in a jarringly natural way. Only he could rhyme "gratuitous abysses" and make one 2016's catchiest rock hooks out of it while reminiscing of “The Jean Genie” guitar riffs. "Am I on the edge of a really big breakthrough / Or just another meltdown?" he again begins a song with interrogation. For Barnes the answer is usually both simultaneously, and we’re better for it in the voyeuristic way we as consumers of his emotional turmoil can't help but be.

Though the binary-challenging instant dance bounce of “let’s relate” and off-kilter feminist anthem of “it’s different for girls” may seem increasingly on the nose, it’s likely only because times have begun to catch up with Barnes himself, who has been strutting stages in dresses and glitter - if anything at all - since the ‘90s. “I’m thankful to have an outlet for that, to express that and not get chased out of town or beat up. I think we’re moving in the right direction now,” he’s explained, and for a gender-fluid performer based in Athens, Georgia (a classic Southern town that only just closed local favorite Confederate-themed bar last year) that's a feat not to be under-appreciated. Pressed beneath a cover adorned with neon naked female forms created by longtime art directer and set-opening hype-man David Barnes, his brother adds to the highlighting of the “wonderment for the female anatomy” (and we can't wait to see how many times this review is taken down by Facebook because of it).

Just as 2013’s Lousy With Sylvianbriar signaled a departure in sound as of Montreal shed its auxiliary members while Barnes fled to San Francisco, for this album he decamped to Paris in the waning wake of his divorce, and innocence reflects that shift in geography as well. Enjoying the anonymity only foreign excursions can bring, Barnes lyrically fleshes innocence with the tales of French flings from “les chants de maldoror”’s “We only act nicely when we’re ruining hotel beds / I greeted you in a hundred doorways” to “trashed exes”’s “The problem is a different girl / An Athenian beach­-goth.” Recorded in a small urban apartment, he also often eschews the cacophony and collaboration of the traditional rock band instruments of the previous two LPs for fear of neighboring flats complaining, resulting in a collection of solitarily forged tunes addressing new characters and love interests set to the more manageable modes of drum machines and synthesizers.

This change of scenery also burst the bubble that blocked the contemporary music climate from influencing Barnes, as he began pulling from peers Jack Ü, Chairlift, and Arca after a career largely inspired by Prince, Bowie, Beach Boys, and Beatles. Flirting with skittering trap beats and EDM-inspired synthetic sound, particularly on standout “a sport and a pastime,” Barnes both shows old dogs can learn new tricks, deftly mixing nearly nihilist levels of destructive tendencies with glittering rave. Vocally it seems he's settled on more monotonous murmurs and coos over his chandelier-swinging shrieks of the mid aughts.

One of the few certainties of each of Montreal release is the likelihood that its successor is already at least partially completed by the time your copy has arrived. Coming only one year after Aureate Gloom and their 14th proper LP in 19 years, one could argue the only reason of Montreal’s recent records fail to make a larger splash is simply because people can't seem to consume his confessional epics as quickly as he can produce them. While Barnes no doubt lapses in and out of varying degrees of self-indulgence, give them time and you can't help but still be entranced, even if it can take some time to chew.

"It's not bad / It’s not sad / It’s fun,” closer “chap pilot” bluntly justifies before ending with a repetition of “I guess we can still surprise ourselves when we stop acting way too tough.” It’s an appropriate realization for a shameless poet ever vacillating between unforgivingly brutal depictions of love and desperately vulnerable admissions. 14 albums and 19 years later the only consistent predictability is that Barnes will indeed still continue to surprise.

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Read our in-depth interview with of Montreal here.

Margaret Glaspy Gets Straight to the Point on 'Emotions and Math'

Whatever your opinion of Bonnaroo 2016’s headlining lineup may be, you would be hard-pressed to find another festival that managed to book a stronger mid-level and breaking artists tier (the last breath of Superfly before Live Nation twisted its heel into Superfly’s throat), at least when considering other festivals of similar ilk. Without getting caught up in the divisive Live Nation booking practices, seeing bands like Whitney, Sunflower Bean, Luke Bell, Sun Club, Hinds, Bully, and Vulfpeck command (and steal) their respective Bonnaroo stages made for many a watershed moment in each band’s career.

While the aforementioned bands were formidable (and even exceptional) in their sets, there was one such set that had a particularly monumental moment, and that was Margaret Glaspy’s Saturday showing on the Who Stage.

For whatever (unfair) reason people want to place Margaret Glaspy’s music into the “folk-rocker” chick channel - as if such an unintelligible blanket statement equates for due diligence – because she’s seemingly unassuming when not on stage or whatever other closed minded pigeon-holed logic might arise. But that’s simply not the case, as exhibited on her debut LP, Emotions and Math, Glaspy’s cerebral songwriting and meditative-yet-managed stage presence place her in a channel that’s wonderfully indeterminate and unfettered, apart from the increasingly tired roots-revival tropism ascribed to any young woman that happens to play guitar.

Emotions and Math is an excellent debut for any artist, but through the lens of Glaspy, it exemplifies her intercourse between personal discourse and a wellspring of feeling and intuition; there are no wax poetic musings to be found on Emotions and Math. The eponymous album opener recalls associative assurance from a former lover of some sort. In a sense, it explores the periodic moments of borderline co-dependency within a relationship. It features feminist idealism while highlighting incongruous feelings of relational dependence.

One of the early points of contention featured in the record is misunderstanding, a common talking point in most indie-music, sure, but Glaspy manages to provide an aggressive and dismissive demeanor on tracks like “Situation” stating “Call me a rebel / Call me a renegade / Whatever fits the mould you’ve made,” while her guitar work bares tonal depth in creating an air confused tension. Admittedly, it's tough to immediately compare Glaspy’s “sound” and spirit to any other established artist – which is something to aspire toward as an artist, in my opinion – though songs like “Somebody to Anybody” and “Memory Street” recall occasional cadences of Cat Power and bellowing labelmates Alabama Shakes' guitar tones. She’s in good company, but it isn’t a total reverential imitation of influences, a practice that seems to be more and more common amongst the “indie” star(let) crowd.

There are tracks like “Pins and Needles” that manage to meld both Glaspy’s blues and rock opining sensibilities with the existential and relational crises of indie-music – “I don’t want to be on pins and needles around you of all people” – simultaneously developing a unique sense of Glaspy-ness. Then you have songs like “Anthony” that feel like a hardened Regina Spektor track (I realize this could be argued as a contradiction in the previous paragraph, but allow me to explain further) – it narrates an absent reciprocation from the aforementioned “Anthony” as Glaspy prays for the admiration and love of Anthony, only to come up short. It’s a theme all too common amongst many a finicky couple – continuing to stay together when feelings and compassion have so obviously run their respective courses. It's almost like Glaspy’s version of Kanye’s Amber Rose call-out on The Life of Pablo – “She said I took the best years of her life.”

Emotions and Math closes with a decidedly brooding tonality that acts as a slight divergence from the light(ish) feel of the rest of the record. “Love Like This” is arguably the strongest track on the record, examining a former romance that was unceremoniously tossed to the wayside, leaving Glaspy left to her own devices, while her guitar work is at its strongest, with a dark tango feel that flirts with positivity, but almost always maintaining a perpetual sense of “Saudade.” Emotions and Math’s closer is the record’s bluesiest track on the record – which seems fitting for a song titled “Black and Blue” – that highlights a slight sense of narrative neuroticism brought about lifelong misconceptions (aka “black is blue”), thus cementing a full-circle moment in Glaspy’s early career – the thought that a seemingly quiet artist could bring about such unabashed and insightful commentary on typical narrative tomes. With a strong full-length debut like Glaspy’s, it will be likely that her presence will quickly shift from the close-mindedness of those expecting a soft-cooing songstress into the proper ascription worthy of Glaspy’s ability.

Mitski Comes Into Her Own On 'Puberty 2'

Maturity is a tricky concept. We talk about it as if it’s some elusive nirvana attainable only through a vague combination of time and experience, but in reality the path to maturity is a long, twisted clusterfuck that you don’t even realize you’ve been following until you look at where you were the year before and realize how much you’ve changed… or how much you haven’t. As New York singer-songwriter Mitski Miwayaki puts it in her song "Crack Baby," it’s “a long, hard 20-year summer vacation.”

In this sense, Mitski’s fourth album Puberty 2 is her most “mature” to date – not an Ariana-in-leather-bunny-ears declaration of adulthood, but rather a weary demonstration of the hard-earned emotional clarity that comes from years of trying and failing to Figure It Out. She has channeled the raw emotional overload of her modern classic Bury Me At Makeout Creek into a more lush, expansive sound without losing an ounce of its gut-punch intensity.

Puberty 2 covers a broad emotional spectrum, but it is primarily defined by a longing for recognition and acceptance, even as it understands how fleeting these may be. “Dan the Dancer” and “Your Best American Girl” tell two very different stories of outsiders yearning to be understood, while “Fireworks” finds Mitski struggling to reconcile grief within her daily routine: “I will go jogging routinely, calmly and rhythmically run / And when I find that a knife’s sticking out of my side / I’ll pull it out without questioning why.” Intense blasts of emotion arrive unexpectedly – deep infatuation on “A Loving Feeling,” detached disappointment on “A Burning Hill,” and high anxiety on the contained punk rager “My Body’s Made Of Crushed Little Stars,” which sprints through Mitski’s inner monologue as she fantasizes about blowing a job interview and plotting her own disappearance. But these songs are over before you can begin to make sense of them, creating an experience as unpredictable as our own emotional cycle.

While Mitski’s expertly crafted lyrics masterfully reflect our own fickle feelings, her compositions are more confident than ever. The SUNY Purchase-trained composer and her co-producer Patrick Hyland find the perfect middle ground between the elaborate arrangements of her first two albums and the urgent garage frenzy of Bury Me At Makeout Creek. The panic-attack guitars on “My Body’s Made…” bleed into the dreamy synth globs of “Thursday Girl,” while the industrial clatter of “Happy” simultaneously recalls St. Vincent and political punks Downtown Boys.

Yet it’s impossible to listen to Puberty 2 and hear it as anything but a product of Mitski’s singular vision. Her turns of phrase provide a connective tissue for its disparate themes, and her affecting voice adapts to every new sound. She has come into her own as a writer, producer and performer, with a presence so commanding it sells every line like a short story. The genius of Puberty 2 lies in Mitski’s ability to turn this emotional whirlwind into a personal, cohesive statement. After all, there’s nothing more mature than knowing yourself.

Chance the Rapper Reflects on the City That Made Him in 'Coloring Book'

“And we back, and we back, and we back, and we back!” Chicago’s very own Chance the Rapper has finally released his much-anticipated third mixtape, Coloring Book, formerly known as Chance 3, and it’s got everyone excited for the summer that’s just around the corner. Yes, Chance is back, and so much better than before. In an interview with Complex, Chance summed up the hype leading up to Coloring Book: “This stuff is way better than Surf. I’ll say that on record. Donnie [Trumpet] is awesome, and the project was awesome, but this is all of us focusing our efforts into some hip-hop and some very dance-y shit, and it feels good. So I’m excited about that.”

When I first heard Chance on his 10 Day mixtape I walked with a newfound pep in my step in between classes; frankly it was one of my first exposures to hip hop songs that weren’t all about money, drugs, and women, and it was a very fresh breath of new life into my then stagnant hip hop playlist. This was music you could vibe to, music that made you genuinely smile because it made you want to dance. It seemed impossible to find someone who genuinely didn’t like Chance the Rapper, and he quickly rose to the top of Chicago’s hip hop scene without having anything to do with the drill music that has all but completely dominated the local scene.

Coming in at 14 songs deep, Coloring Book is no different, so grab a friend, take a deep breath, and just let the joy and beauty that is ‘Coloring Book’ dance into your ears as it makes you feel that sometimes rare emotion: pure happiness.

“All We Got (ft. Kanye West, Chicago Children’s Choir)”

Staying true to the beautiful sound of the trumpet, the song starts off with the familiar, “And we back, and we back, and we back, and we back, and we back,” and I can’t help but crack a smile already. Chance is back. The song features a powerful message delivered to the listeners by yours truly, Yeezus himself: “Music is all we got, living is all we got, so we might as well give it all we got The song is a fitting introduction to the project, and with a feature from Chance’s favorite hometown hero Kanye West it seems that Chance’s gospel sound on "Ultralight Beam" have carried over into Coloring Book, and it’s got everyone rejoicing.

“No Problem (ft. Lil Wayne, 2 Chainz)”

Let me be one of the first to say that this song will be one of the anthems of your summer. The song has everything it needs to be a radio hit; a catchy hook, a feature from 2 Chainz AND Lil Wayne, and a beat that you can’t help but bop your head to. "No Problem" is a warning to all the record labels trying to sign Chance: he’s not about it, and he wants to make it clear through lines like, “If one more label try to stop me / It’s gon’ be some dreadhead niggas in ya lobby.” You don’t want any problems with Chance, and he’s going to keep on doing what he’s doing whether others like it or not. 2 Chainz and Wayne do their thing on the song, each with their own flow that compliments the beat. Wayne also references his own struggle with his former record label Cash Money not letting him release "Tha Carter V,” with, “If that label try and stop me / There gon’ be some crazy Weezy fans waitin’ in the lobby.”

“Summer Friends (ft. Jeremih, Francis And The Lights)”

Growing up on the southside of Chicago, Chance reminds everyone about just how deadly the violence really is. He raps about how it’s the first day of summer and people are already shooting each other, and there are less and less students in summer school because of it. Sadly, “Summer friends don’t stay around here” is a stark reminder that the this is still a huge issue in the community, and the pain of losing his friends during the summertime still stuck with Chance.

“D.R.A.M Sings Special”

The shortest song on the project is a repeated verse in a soulful type lullaby by the Virginia rapper D.R.A.M who has collaborated with Chance through Donnie Trumpet and the Social Experiment, and it’s a deep message that reminds us all that we truly are special. Each and everyone one of us has talents and gifts that they were born with, and we need to be reminded that nobody is a nobody. The interlude preaches a message of self-confidence as well as inspiration to create yourself. Positive vibes all around.

“Blessings”

A testament to God, Chance isn’t afraid to show his devotion to his religion. He also touches on the Black Lives Matter movement as well as the birth of his daughter. A feel-good gospel song, and some emotional lyrics from Chance further solidify this track’s place in the project. Jamila Woods adds the cherry on top with her voice that makes you just want to throw your hands up in the air and praise whatever god(s) there may or may not be.

“Same Drugs”

“Same Drugs” is Chance’s farewell song to the drug taking persona he exuded during his days of Acid Rap, highlighting how he’s matured as a person to be a father for his daughter. He reminisces about the old days, but it’s on a positive note with no regrets. He thinks back to his carefree days as a child where everything was still filled with wonder, and even alludes to Peter Pan when Peter told the kids, “All you need is happy thoughts” to fly, as Chance encourages his daughter (who is referenced to as "Dandelion") to think happy thoughts, and in turn she will be a happy child growing up.

“Mixtape (ft. Young Thug, Lil Yachty)”

Wow, where to begin. First of all, Chance the Rapper + Young Thug + Lil Yachty? Never in a million years would I have even dreamed of those two on a Chance song, and yet this turned out to be one of my favorite songs off the project. Thugger and Yachty discuss their concern for the music industry losing it’s legitimacy by somewhat ignoring mixtapes. Yachty recently debuted his first official mixtape, and he’s bound to be one of the fastest rising stars in the scene in 2016. Young Thug on the other hand is becoming a much more common name now that Kanye has even had him featured on The Life Of Pablo, but the real fans knew that Thugger has built his career on his mixtapes, especially with his Slime Season collection. Chance feels like the industry is warping the minds and vision of artists who no longer release music for the passion but instead for commercialized purposes. Young Thug said it best: “How can they call themselves bosses when they got so many bosses?”

“Angels (ft. Saba)”

A true dedication to the city that raised and made him, Chance pours his heart out to his fellow Chicagoans with fellow Chicago-native Saba on "Angels." In it, Chance talks about how he grew as an artist and he expresses his love for his hometown, complete with a music video featuring gorgeous shots of the city from an L train. It just makes me so happy and actually made me crack a damn smile, because for once I get to see a Chicago hip-hop music video that doesn’t have a single gun being waved at the camera, and that doesn’t have to do with what people label as “the dark side of Chicago” hip hop. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love the Chicago drill scene as well as all the new talent that’s sprouting out from it, but I am fully aware of the hardships and problems that have been going on in Chicago’s southside communities. The systematic segregation of the city as well as the fake war on drugs has ravished the communities, and the violence has always spiked during the summer. Chicago needs something to help start working toward solutions to the countless problems with the city, but Chicago will always have hope. Chance is willing to live and die for this city because he believes in it, and so do I.

“Juke Jam (ft. Justin Bieber)”

A song about Chance’s teenage years and an innocent relationship that he says he was too young to be able to take it to a sexual level. "Juke Jam" is sensual while keeping it innocent. The song’s chorus sung by fellow Savemoney rapper and Chicago-native Towkio is a vocal interpolation on R. Kelly’s "Feelin' On Your Booty," and damn it’s good. Bieber comes on here a couple times to do his thing with the song’s bridges, and the whole song just flows together extremely smooth. You’d be lying if you said this song didn’t make you feel some type of way with your special someone.

“All Night ft. Knox Fortune”

Goddamn it’s hard to not jump up and get groovy to this one. Chance proves he can be one funky dude on this track as he raps about how everyone’s drunk and trying to be friends with him now that he’s got fame and success. Chance tells them to give him his space and he just wants his friends and himself to just enjoy the party. Chance promised Coloring Book to be filled with “dance-y shit,” and it’s safe to say he delivered on that promise. This beat alone makes it worthy of a lengthy run in TV / film placements, and it’s a jam that can be played at parties and clubs alike.

“How Great (ft. My Cousin Nicole)”

Continuing on the religious themes prevalent throughout the mixtape, "How Great" is a continuation of Chance praising God. Chance’s actual cousin named Nicole opens the track up with a sample from Chris Tomlin’s "How Great is Our God"; the song is a great gospel addition to the project. Jay Electronica, a Muslim producer, does wonders to the track, and Chance himself throws in Christian rhetoric as he talks about worship and praise.

“Smoke Break (ft. Future)”

What a time to be alive. Chanco and Future Hendrix on the same track? What?! And it worked! Chance rapped about how he used to smoke out of a bowl because it’s much easier and quicker to do since his life is so hectic, and Future is looking for his queen to share his clean molly and whips with wings with, and there’s even what seems like a subliminal shot at Desiigner: “I got designer galore,” which could easily be Future’s passive aggressive ways of saying Desiigner is getting big off of Future’s sound. Guess we have to wait for Desiigner to drop his second official song to see.

“Finish Line / Drown (ft. T-Pain, Kirk Franklin, Noname, Eryn Allen Kane)”

The longest song on Coloring Book, "Finish Line" features veterans and up and coming artists praising the greatness of God and how far they’ve come thanks to him. The first part of the song "Finish Line" features Chance and T-Pain talk about their devotion to God, and how it's helped them to “see the finish line”. The second part, "Drown," features two up-and-coming female rappers from Chicago by the names of Eryn Allen Kane and Noname as they talk about how God has helped them out through their hardships in life, and they remind you that through God you will never drown. Beautiful analogy of how even though the water is deeper than it’s ever been and how life may seem harder than it has ever before, with the help of God you won’t drown and you will be able to get through anything.

“Blessings (Reprise)”

The conclusion to Coloring Book, Chance basically thanks God for how far he’s gotten and for everything that he’s been able to accomplish. Honestly, another work of art, and a fantastic way for the project to come to a close. Uncredited support from the likes of B.J The Chicago Kid and Ty Dolla $ign, amongst others, the song wraps everything that Chance is about up nicely in a song and reminds us just how gifted Chance really is. With God to thank, Chance is ever grateful for everything that he’s been able to achieve, and the dreams that he has still to set out and accomplish.

            Wow, what a ride. Coloring Book was well worth the wait, and it further solidified Chance’s spot amongst Chicago’s legends. With Kanye’s stamp of approval, the messiah of Chicago addresses his come up and how the city made him who he is, and Chance makes sure to pay tribute to that throughout the project. God also plays a major role in Chance’s life and career, and he thanks God for everything that he’s given to Chance and all the times that God has been there for Chance through difficult times in life. This is a project you can smile while listening, and something that will make you want to dance until you drop when you hear “All Night” at the next party you go to. He’s not just another Chicago rapper, he’s an artist, a believer, and an ambassador of positive vibes set out to remind us not to give up, better days are just around the corner.

Julianna Barwick's 'Will' Wanders Into the Furthest Recesses of Sound

Ambient artists, post-rock bands, and noise performers have a rough go of carving out a name for themselves in music. On one hand, being that the music is almost wholly composition based, most listening masses ascribe an immediate “cerebral” rank to any and all releases (which, if you’re an egoist, can be both of great benefit and detriment). The inverse of the scenario is that being any sort non-lyrically driven artist can relegate one to the realm of conceptualism and/or performance art (not that either is necessarily an arena of “relegation,” perhaps just to the less exploratory masses) that would be viewed to many as a piteous endeavor. It is for that exact reason that I believe the noisemakers and ambient ascendants who are forced to push the bounds of sound conception without the assistance of lyrical direction are some of the most vital assets in the continued progression of sound as a whole.

There’s many a noise artist that has received considerable accolade for their efforts in sustaining the pioneering nature of their ambient, post, and cacophonous predecessors – Explosions in the Sky, Mogwai, Xylouris White, SUNN O))), Phantom Orchard, Faust – all of whom deserve their celebratory credit where such credit is due, but one artist who has quietly and quite consistently continued to challenge and progress the ambient arena on both large and small scale is one Ms. Julianna Barwick.

Perhaps one of the more ethereal ambient artists (such a description may be akin to calling a fuzzy rabbit soft, but I digress) having debuted in the past decade or so, Barwick has charted a course in music that is centered firmly upon her voice. I understand that this review was prefaced under the guise of ambient artists and post-rock albums are devoid of lyrics etc, but Barwick’s incantations are virtually indiscernible, like an atmospheric Wurlitzer manipulated and warped in a variety of manners to propel her music. A brief look at the Brooklyn transplant by way of Louisiana’s songbook, and its evident that despite having one or two repeated lines of lyrics in some of her songs, they are merely vessels for her to layer and loop the tracks in the name of ambient sounds.

Its been three years since Barwick released her astounding Nepenthe, an album which served as a secondary debut bringing larger appeal and admiration from the atypical music listening crowd. Barwick’s ability to juxtapose the confinement of being a soloist with the congregation of sounds of one voice is moving and more emotive than most lyrically based efforts. Where the soaring tones of Nepenthe helped elevate the listener to a higher plane, Barwick’s newest release, Will manages to do the same, but by eliciting heavier synth to most tracks, which in turn brings a darker, seemingly introspective gravity to the record. Will is more mature - both in the Gregorian sense of time, as well as sonically – as Barwick manages to effortlessly exude a tonality of crisp and clean, yet unpolished melodies that were at times overwrought on Nepenthe and previous efforts.

Rather than waste the reader (and listener)’s time giving the typical track-by-track review, rundown, etc. it may be of more benefit to the reader/listener to interpret Will as a whole, without dissection or individual critiques. Will is an exercise in rumination, stripped of any expressive production than might obfuscate Barwick’s innermost workings while crafting the album, in turn presenting a body of work that is wholly humble and fragile, at times even worrisome. Spirals of emotion and synthesizer help transport Barwick and the listener onto an almost lunar-like plane, which prohibits any mental impairment when it comes to digesting Will, as there are no clever production tricks or snippy lyrics to distract the listener from the album’s core principles – the sweet cafard that is being alone. Its spacious enough to peer into the furthest recesses of sound, in turn coaxing out the purest form of emotion and meditation for both Barwick and listener alike. Will is a heart-searching odyssey of observation and reflection navigated by Barwick’s deft ambient touch.  

Sturgill Simpson Trades Psychedelics for the Sea on 'A Sailor's Guide to Earth'

In the midst of a cultural renaissance, country music is in as good a spot as any genre (if not more so). At this point, we’ve all been beaten over the head of how incomparable Chris Stapleton is (which realistically is still an disservice to the man), how cool it is that Margo Price was christened Jack White’s prodigal country daughter, and how “bro-country” has finally succumbed to its own interminable existence.

That’s all well and good, but for country music’s resurgence to extend its tenure and avoid falling out of the zeitgeist, the genre needs an indomitable force of innovation, conceptualism, and metamorphosis. Enter Sturgill Simpson - whose 2014 sophomore effort Metamodern Sounds in Country Music was effectively a Waylon Jennings record on six tabs of acid – the country artist most poised to venture out into the furthest weird reaches of country music’s sonic dimensions.

Simpson’s first record, High Top Mountain, was his foray into the crowded country scene, an effort that was arguably released before its time. Metamodern Sounds’ release saw Simpson (with the help of Dave Cobb, country music’s present day King Midas) shove a bag full of mushrooms down the throat of country music, creating a psychedelic haze of country wax poetics and a sound wave of intergalactic exploration. The record was a bonafide success, as Simpson saw himself assume the mantle of country music’s resident “outlaw,” spitting in the face of conformity all the while showing the utmost reverence toward those that preceded him in the genre.   

As Simpson’s near two year long tour run in support of Metamodern Sounds came to a close, he and his wife experienced the birth of their first child, and Simpson gained perspective on his newfound life as country music renegade and newly minted father. Viewing life through a different lens – one that featured the dependency of a now full-fledged family – Simpson’s third record maintained Simpson’s continual sonic exploration, this time taking to the sea in A Sailor’s Guide to Earth.

In short, the record is one of the (at least to my knowledge) few concept albums in country music – if not the best – as A Sailor’s Guide to Earth sees Simpson navigate his new life as a father and touring musician in the form of a Motown/R&B/country amalgamation of the finest ilk. Furthermore, the majority of the album is dedicated solely to Simpson’s wife and son, as the former Navy man navigates his life on the road and at home, creating an impassioned narrative of love and trepidation atop the bounding mains of existence.

"In Bloom" off Sturgill's new album - A Sailor's Guide To Earth // Available Now Download Now - http://smarturl.it/DownloadSturgill Stream Now - http://smarturl.it/StreamSturgill Limited Edition "A Sailor's Guide To Earth" Bundles Available here: http://atlr.ec/ASGTED2CYT "In Bloom" Official Music Video Directed By: Matt Mahurin Follow Sturgill Simpson https://www.facebook.com/sturgillsimp... http://www.twitter.com/SturgillSimpson https://www.instagram.com/sturgillsim... https://soundcloud.com/high-top-mountain

A Sailor’s Guide to Earth wastes no time establishing itself as a distinctly different Sturgill Simpson record in both theme and scope, as “Welcome to Earth (Pollywog)” sees Simpson come down from the interdimensional travels of Metamodern Sounds and settle (not by much) down as a loving ode to his newborn son – “Hello my son / Welcome to Earth." The track features emotional conviction that pulls at the heart strings of the listener almost instantly – “I’ve been told you measure a man by how much he loves” – as he speaks directly to his son – “You may not be my last / But you’ll always be my first” – utilizing the sea-faring metaphors as the analogue to his life on the road in support of his music. The song rips into a Motown groove that was unbeknownst to Simpson’s music prior to A Sailor’s Guide to Earth. “Breakers Roar” reneges the initial tonal promises from Metamodern Sounds, as Simspon sticks to soft acoustic picking over orchestral strings and slide guitar imitating the cries of a far off whale, all before cajoling the listener into a roundabout boogie jumping right into “Keep It Between the Lines;” Simpson’s do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do life instructional. The track incorporates heavy brass horns and chorus backing vocals that seem alien to Simpson’s music on paper, but on the actual record, good gracious its incredible. If anything, A Sailor’s Guide to Earth is beginning to feel like Simpson’s genre bending answer to his disco-country predecessor Conway Twitty’s varietal discography.

At the beginning of the album’s middle third, “Sea Stories” see Simpson return to the sweet psychedelic country rock as he revisits his time spent stationed in Japan as a Unite States naval man. Ever the humble man, Simpson pretty much recounts his entire life to date in the span of a three minute and seventeen second country song that features lyrics like ‘From Kawasaki to Ebisu/Yokosuka, Yokohama, Shinjuku…’ the track is easily one of the most amusing features on the record.

Following “Sea Stories” comes one of Sturgill Simpson’s finest moments – his magnificent cover of Nirvana’s “In Bloom.” Simpson is a deceptively – or in current terms, “low key” – profound cover artist, as Metamodern Sounds saw him cover When in Rome’s 80s hit, “The Promise,” one of the finest covers of the decade, if not the new Millennium. Anyway, “In Bloom” sees Simpson rework the brooding Cobain piece into a convergence of smooth soul and cooing country, before the track explodes into a crescendo of wailing horns and pedal steel. As Simpson returns to his original tracks – though the “In Bloom” cover is about as original as a cover can get – the album’s single “Brace for Impact (Live a Little)” rounds out the heavy hitting middle portion of A Sailor’s Guide To Earth.

The closing third of A Sailor’s Guide to Earth sees Simpson turn to his more sensitive side, with tracks like “All Around You,” acting as Simpson’s bellowing soul ballad while saxophones and brass instruments run wild in the songs latter half, rounding out Simpson’s exceptional sonic exploration of soul and country music. “Oh Sarah,” the album’s penultimate track, as well as the record’s sweetest. While most of the album had been directed to Simpson’s son, “Oh Sarah” is a loving promise to Sturgill’s wife – as an assurance that the continued life on the road is bound to place a modicum of strain upon their family’s life, but it will never create anything detrimental. After creating a warm and loving lull in the album’s final third, “Call to Arms” sees Simpson step onto dry land with a country-soul jam that celebrates the fullest combination of Motown/gospel/country/soul in a jam that would make Charlie Daniels blush.

With A Sailor’s Guide to Earth completed and circulating throughout the airwaves and streams of online musical content, it rests in choppier waters than most of Simpson’s other “classically” country compatriots. Still lauded as a country artist (and justifiably so), Simpson has truly separated himself from the country renaissance that he helped usher into the musical zeitgeist. Instead, Simpson has elevated himself from pioneer to innovator, within multiple genres that opens up the musical floodgates for his next project. Its an interesting notion that an artist of Sturgill Simpson’s ilk may have put out the year’s finest country album (not to mention one of the best in general) on a record that has more unbridled satin soul than country twang. 

Gallant's Debut 'Ology' Is a Study Of His Diverse R&B Abilities

It's hard to believe that the ever pensive and introspected musical styling of Sufjan Stevens would some how be involved in launching the public facing career of a full blown R&B debut, but such is the case when it comes to Los Angeles/Columbia, MD transplant Gallant. Christopher Gallant, better known solely by his surname, supported Detroit’s favorite songwriting son on Stevens’ Carrie & Lowell tour in 2015, which featured the most Snapchat-able moment of Stevens’ career – a collaborative cover of Drake’s “Hotline Bling,” with Stevens and Gallant exchanging verses. The pairing of Gallant, a slick dancing, falsetto pitched R&B singer as Stevens’ opener felt oddly appropriate, mostly due to Gallant’s vivacious stage presence, prohibiting anyone in attendance to question his right to the opening slot.

Cross-genre pollination can work to an artist’s benefit or detriment, and in the case of Gallant, it's safe to assume that his time spent on the road with Stevens paid off in spades. Gallant’s long overdue debut record, Ology, recalls the most beloved R&B truisms while invigorating the overall landscape for a cornerstone genre that grown predominantly stagnant. The new school of R&B features futuristic samples warped through auto tune and Serato, something uniformly absent from the crisp organic sounds of Gallant’s sound. Furthermore, the lyricism in Ology is distinctly different from the coke-lined confessions of The Weeknd or trap music lyrical passiveness of Bryson Tiller; Gallant opts for the more vivid and warmer waters than his subdued contemporaries. In short, Ology is the R&B album no one knew they were missing.

Gallant has the honey-resin vocal tendencies that feel like melodic allusions to Usher and MJ, but his avant-garde leaning intricacies help him avoid any direct creative connections. Ology opens with single note echoes as they usher in a fever dream entry into the album’s first full length track, “Talking to Myself,” which wastes no time showcasing Gallant’s exceptional falsetto range amongst a shifting soundscape of R&B 808s, dubstep leaning drops, and coarse baritone saxophone; where Gallant’s melodies are wholly R&B, his instrumentals are other-worldly. “Shotgun” is an early album contender for best track of the record, as it stretches the genre confines of soul and R&B in a more modern mold. Gallant’s lyricism is a refreshing apologia from the cynicism of other contemporary R&B artists – “my God forsaken weakened pulse / I knew I have to admit this / I never was a force to be reckoned” – who would rather imbue stubborn self-righteousness. “Bourbon” is a pop R&B throwback with an injection of space age mysticism, harkening back to late '90s and early 2000s shimmery pop R&B tracks from the likes of Boyz II Men and Anthony Maxwell.

Gallant’s Ology presents an interesting movement within R&B, where he and fellow R&B disciples like Daniel Caesar further the genre bounds with gospel-esque runs mixed with heavy pop R&B production. Where Caesar straddles the line of Gallant and Bryson Tiller, Gallant operates in a realm of Usher-esque confidence that is propelled by his vocal chops. Songs like “Bone + Tissue” and “Weight in Gold” are Gallant’s vocal breakouts in the album’s first half, as if his capabilities (which are indeed more than capable) were so immense that he could no longer take holding such epic runs for later in the album.

As the record continues into its latter portion, the songs begin to explore other sonic realms, as “Episodes” flirts with surf rock, glam rock and '80s synthpop top-lined with effusive lyrical questioning of a relationship gone awry. Following “Episodes” comes “Miyazaki” – presumably named after the famed Studio Ghibli animator – a proverbial 180 from its predecessor, as a cool jazz rhythm allows Gallant to make short vocal runs before hopping into a The-Dream-esque vocal whisper. The lyrics of “Miyazaki” aren’t the most inspired – “If you want, I can make your body tremble” – but it somehow makes the song feel like an earnest mid-90s R&B panty-dropping ballad. “Miyazaki” fades into “Counting,” one of those obligatory R&B love lost nostalgia trips, but the track is revamped with light afro-beats over inspired lyrical vignettes – “I lost my pride in the crater / In ancient coal mines” – that suggest a truly thoughtful writer.

As Ology progresses, the vocal analogue for Gallant becomes more and more apparent – Gallant sounds startlingly similar to a young Seal that happens to have more vocal range and better taste is instrumentation. “Jupiter” kind of moves like a galaxical version of a Seal song, but Gallant deftly maintains his unique falsetto timbre as Moogs and shimmery percussion glimmer and glow. With Ology’s end in sight, we see the album’s first feature artist – new age hip-hop and R&B collaborator extraordinaire, Jhene Aiko - on “Skipping Stones.” It’s a nice R&B noir that sees light production, clean sounding drums and guitar, along with Motown adjacent horns that allow for Gallant to make some of his most impressive vocal arrangements. Aiko’s unique and affectation-less voice make for a nice addition on the duet portions of the track, but when she leads into her feature, the hip-hop singer as a lounge singer comes off as a bit of a stretch. Nevertheless, “Skipping Stones” is a true standout on the album, and a nice penultimate track. Ology closes with its most hopeful track, “Chandra,” where we hear Gallant opine, "Maybe there’s a home behind these eyes," which make for sweet sentiments within an emotionally confounding song that ranges from hope, to faith, to despondency, to attraction; all over a spacious orchestral arrangement.

Ology operates on a plane, which most debut records should aspire to achieve – it presents a cohesive sonic presence for Gallant, all the while allowing him to explore other musical pathways for future endeavors. Gallant is certainly not an avant-garde artist, but his willingness to consider other musical realms implies that his creative output could resemble something of a conceptually based artist. Gallant has entered an R&B arena that is already saturated by “new” and “groundbreaking” artists staking their claim to unforeseen R&B adaptations, but Gallant remains unfettered. His nouveau riche take on classic R&B is less of a gamble, and his diverse talent makes Gallant seems poised to experience a long standing career in and out of the genre.