Popcraft from a better time (ie; 10 months ago)
Hinds – The Prettiest Curse (Mom + Pop)
While gatekeepers and publications with an editorial stance to maintain spent the summer fawning over just another HAIM record that sounds like just another HAIM record, I continue to find comfort and joy in the bratty and spirited melodicism of this foursome from Madrid. They’re “garage” because their guitars are buzzy and their vocals sound frayed at times. They’re “pop” because they’re catchy, sure, but also because their lyricism evokes the sort of idyllic young-adult lovesickness that made icons of Dianna Ross and Britney Spears. But these mujeres are smart enough to recognize the fact a good love song is also a good intimacy song. They don’t lust, mind you, that’s far below their station. They also eschew cheap thrills as self-medication — the ebullient fun of “Riding Solo” masks the fact they’d rather be boo’d up than binge drink. These gals instead get off at the mere thought of a “pretty boy” hanging on their arm and accidentally falling in love on a sofa. With music this charming, effervescent and utilitarian, it’s a reminder in these terrible times that small pleasures can make a big impact. I hope to someday hear these songs played live in a small room at full capacity. Ya know, intimacy. GRADE: A-
Red Velvet – ‘The ReVe Festival’Finale (SM Entertainment, 2019)
K-Pop exists in a separate, ever-expanding universe — the genre’s biggest firm doubled its revenue last year to the tune of $500 million. Prognosticators swear the movement will someday crest stateside. The success of BTS leads me to believe they’re right, but I’m also dubious of America’s wider tolerance of songs sung in Korean. However, here’s hoping this five-piece gets their due in the western hemisphere. Like my TikTok account, they serve as a window into a larger subgenre of the culture I enjoy but of which I know I’m not a target audience. After reading a good review from resident smart guy Brad Luen, I settled on this compilation of two EPs to get my toes wet with K-Pop fever. The immediate comparison is Fifth Harmony, but their songcraft is much more consistent. Frontwoman Wendy (real name Shon Seung-Wan) recalls Ariana, but without the tortuous vocal calisthenics. If it sounds unfair to compare them to domestic acts, remember pop is America’s forte and that The Beatles made it fair game to reflect American music back to Americans. It’s why Mariah should be flattered by “Remember Forever,” why Quincy Jones should get royalties for “Ladies Night” and why “Jumpin’” recalls Pharell’s universal funk. For K-Pop stans, just push play. For the unconverted, don’t be afraid of the language barrier, just dance. GRADE: A-
The fury of Run The Jewels notwithstanding, rap’s most captivating artists continue to be women — be it Cardi and Megan’s collective libido, the art-school intelligentsia of noname and Tierra Whack, or the street conscious warriors Young Ma and Rapsody. Just when another excursion through Sound Cloud’s bottomless buffet of auto-tuned tripe left me dismayed, here comes this collab from a Detroit producer and a Buffalo soldier that’s so smart and discerning it rekindled the joy I get when finding something new to listen to. She’s not East Coast proper (NYC is more than 300 miles away), but her effortless flow, no-nonsense rhymes and self-assured demeanor are rooted in the game’s Big Apple lineage. What grabbed me on first listen, however, was her gift as a communicator. Right, she’s from a hood where empty houses and dead homies are common, where violence is routine and hope is measured in dope. But where hucksters would be happy to recite mere clichés and collect their checks, Che goes deeper and relishes the contradictions of being a decent person in an indecent time. Cash isn’t a cure-all, but she gets what she’s owed. Toughness won’t stop a bullet, but she stays strapped to survive. “Pain and experience” makes her wise beyond her years, but she still impulsively kills her boyfriend after misreading an innocent text only to find an engagement ring in his pocket. Not since a young Kendrick Lamar has an up-and-coming rapper been this gifted at storytelling. GRADE: A-
If you have yet to familiarize yourself with London’s brightest rap talent, start with last year’s GREY Area, a wonderfully confident set of 10 songs in 35 minutes that blends funk, soul, dub and jazz into an arty mixture that lives off the groove and her swagger. Then come back to this 5-track EP that serves as a continuation in her mixtape series and doubles as a proper placeholder until she drops another full length. Recorded in quarantine just as COVID exerted its grip on humanity, a premonition of gloom hangs over much of the material. Sirens blare on the opening track, a claustrophobic sprint that clocks in at 2:06. The title of “one life, might live” sounds ominous until her brags and ego reassure you she’s here to stay. Say amen to “damn right,” so you can relax for “you should call mum,” wherein a playful synth sample pairs nicely with her hopeful rhymes — “We all in the same boat / Keep yo’ head up, stay afloat.” As for the finale that’s more concerned with sounding distant and cool instead of engaging and immediate, pray it’s just a case of the stay-at-home blues and not the beginning of a larger trend. GRADE: A-
As a younger man, I was incensed by Brandy Clark’s inability to crossover into the mega-country stratosphere in which she still deserves to live. After penning tracks for ‘Randa, Kacey, et al., that her own brilliant work barely made a dent was further proof of the sexism and homophobia still rife in the record biz (doubly so for the good old boys in Nashville). As an older man, I know now Clark was never destined for the big leagues in the first place. Though her songwriting will always pay the bills, her hooks are too subtle for the bombastic swill of mainstream country radio, and her voice is more at home in a fireside cuddle than a dive bar glory hole. This record, her third, is the most consistent of the bunch and radiates a genial sense of confidence and charm — as if she’s made peace with grinding out what profit she can muster from the theater gigs she’ll have until she dies. Metaphors include bad cars with good memories and the title track that knows music is the soundtrack of humanity. Lessons are learned on “Pawn Shop,” where a diamond ring symbolizes promises broken, and “Who You Thought I Was,” wherein a breakup leads to better things. As for the Randy Newman duet that pays deference to Noah, I thought it was hokey on first listen. Now I know it’s a moment of levity this record needs, and a necessary balm for the audience in a year where humor is hard to come by. GRADE: A-
The best songwriter in Nashville is this Massachusetts mother of five, whose specialty is crafting stories rich with practicality and pragmaticism. You’ll find both elements in equal measure on “Girl Crush” and “Happy People,” a pair of hits she gifted to Little Big Town, and “Humble and Kind,” which went No. 1 and made professional hack Tim McGraw likable for the first time. While this album is absent a similar go-to anthem that’s ready made for Hallmark season and graduation cards, it does feature her most consistent set of tunes — the bulk of which are centered on a mother’s unyielding and uncompromising love. Roll your eyes and label her corny all you want, but these songs are not merely Cracker Barrell cliches. Dig the reassuring “Uphill,” wherein McKenna encourages positivity and patience without belittling and undercutting our real-world anxieties. While you’re reaching for a tissue, listen to “When You’re My Age,” a necessary reminder that we’re capable of loving and being loved. Elsewhere, a sister anchors a family after a mother’s death, a couple still fights the good fight of matrimony, and adulthood isn’t achieved until teenage dreams are chased after. From start to finish, her kindness is ever present and made even more likable by a slight drawl that’s as comforting as a home-knit sweater. It fits this mama’s boy just fine. GRADE: A
Ian MacKaye’s new band with wife Amy Farina sounds a lot like his old band with wife Amy Farina. A straightedge icon who helped put D.C.’s punk scene on the map, MacKaye has exhibited his politi-punk puritanism in stints with Minor Threat and Fugazi. And while he brings his signature intensity into these songs, the music recalls that of The Evens, his first band formed with Farina in 2006 that eschewed punk’s bombast for art rock’s meticulousness and wound up neither here nor there. This record is largely post-modern. It doesn’t rock, it’s too articulate. It doesn’t roll, either. It’s too rhythmically exacting. It is, however, heavy and urgent. Credit bassist (and former Fugazi friend) Joe Lally for doing the legwork in providing the riffs that act as a gateway through which MacKaye and wifey relay the status quo. Topics include what you already know: drone warfare that kills with impunity, election year anxiety and the crushing conformity of capitalism. MacKaye tells it like it is: “What’s surprising is the expectation that we ever had a say / About who’d be standing on that carpet on inauguration day.” Farina, the more oblique lyricist of the two, almost captures the zeitgeist: “Beautiful is dirtier.” GRADE: A-
Chuck Cleaver and Lisa Walker’s songs are so well-built and sturdy you’d swear they were corn fed. Their Midwestern lyricism is the sort of plainspoken marvel most dumb sophisticates turn their nose to, their melodies are usually first rate enough to win top prize at the county fair, and their sound hovers and drones like cicadas in the summer time. Here is a band so workman-like and consistent even their B-sides are worth a financial investment. 
Sound 'Round 