Posts Tagged ‘Best Albums Of 2017’

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 Flyte’s debut album shimmers with a very English melancholy. There is ancient, churchlike resonance to the choral harmonies of “Annie & Alistair”, a tale of the twelve-step programme at Alcoholics Anonymous. There is something of Orange Juice’s sun-dappled innocence to “Victoria Falls”, and shades of Simon & Garfunkel in the beautiful acoustic ballad Orphans of the Storm, but also the spirit of the English outsider, romantic and hopeful and never entirely satisfied, running throughout the album. You can hear it in “Sliding Doors”, a Talk Talk-inspired tale of a suicide, and in “Cathy Come Home”, in which the parents of a girl whose boyfriend has been beating her up beg her to return to the family fold. Not so much drawing on his own life as seeking experiences to then reflect upon, Will’s style of writing has as much in common with George Orwell and Evelyn Waugh as it does with Nick Drake, Ray Davies, or any number of songwriters who have tapped into the English malaise for inspiration.

“Being an English songwriter is tainted ground,” says Will, “but all the poetry I’ve mustered is about the sadness and mournfulness that penetrates English life. Cathy Come Home, for example, is about empty nest syndrome, and the pain of seeing a child moving into adulthood. Orphans of the Storm gets its name from a chapter in Brideshead Revisited. Perhaps it is because I come from Winchester, which I have a massive chip on my shoulder about because it is so incredibly safe and middle class and my dad taught at the college for clever people, while I went to the local comp, but I can’t get away from that kind of sensibility.”

Flyte’s story begins at that comprehensive in Winchester when Will, aged thirteen, formed a band called the Ashbys with drummer Jon Supran. (“We had a tiny bit of hype. Lily Allen said she liked one of our songs.”) Needless to say, there was still much growing up to do, and after leaving school, after spending six months in San Francisco and a year in Paris with his then-girlfriend, Will reconnected with Jon and bassist Nick Hill, another school friend. Then in 2013 Will spotted Sam Berridge, the band’s classically trained keyboardist and guitarist, busking at Tottenham Court Road station. Ten years of waiting for something to happen, forming a band with three other musicians gifted with great singing voices, and a serious case of heartbreak — Will’s girlfriend ended things not long after Flyte came together , This gave the band all the ingredients they needed to hit the ground running.

“My soon to be ex-girlfriend made a video on an iPhone of us playing Faithless,” says Will. “It snowballed from there.”

Once the band had a deal in place with Island Records, after releasing their first single on Transgressive, and the time to devote themselves to making a great debut, Flyte released a flurry of alternative-indie anthems including ‘We Are The Rain’, ‘Closer Together,’ and ‘Light Me Up’, amassing millions of streams and a dedicated live following – having started their own sell-out Chasing Heaven club night, where friends are invited to play at intimate London venues, with many artists passing through such as Beatenberg, Toothless, and Grace Lightman. But it was one Christmas night that spelled a Flyte-movement – when Will and Sam uploaded a cover of Joni Mitchell’s ‘River’ to their Facebook page. The heart-wrenching interpretation racked up over 1M streams, with fans wanting more sessions. The band began carefully curating covers in London landmarks with towering acoustics, including Heaven Talking Heads, and Archie Marry Me by Alvvays, which features on the record.

Earning a reputation for their trademark vocal arrangements, the goal was to come up with a sound that acknowledged the music they loved, from Nick Drake to Mac DeMarco to Vangelis’s soundtrack to Blade Runner, without being derivative or overly reverential. Sam says Flyte found their voice by “forcing restriction on the music, and by making the most of having four singers in the group. When we realised it was a unique thing to have four people who could sing in harmony we emphasised that. We knew it wasn’t going to sound like anything else.”

“We would be in the studio and say to each other: ‘wouldn’t it be great to have some strings here?’, or, ‘Let’s get a wicked synth line on this track,’” adds Will. “And we always conclude, ‘No, let’s do it with the voices because it will always work that way. And it’s our way.’”

No album worth its place in the pantheon is made without the spilling of much blood, sweat and tears. Flyte don’t make life easy for themselves. They never use Pro Tools, instead practising intensely, honing and crafting each song until they know they can do a great live take of it in the studio. Harmonies are captured by having three voices sing into one microphone rather than using the more common modern technique of layering with overdubs.

“None of the albums that inspire us as musicians are heavily edited, polished or overproduced,” says Sam, “so we didn’t want ours to be either.”

Each member of the band contributed to the music, to which Will then added the words, but that doesn’t mean it was plain sailing. “Our process of making music is democratic but frustrating,” Will explains. “Dreams get crushed on a daily basis because everyone has a say, so you have to let go of something you might be particularly proud of. There is a lot of arguing, crying and hating each other and I want to die most of the time, but the end result makes it worthwhile.”

 Please listen to Flyte’s life-affirming album of tightly constructed songs,

Protomartyr Relatives in Descent review

Protomartyr has never wanted for momentum. The Detroit band, at their best, has always been racing toward an endpoint, driven by a sense of urgency, outrunning some kind of unseen danger or darkness that’s constantly nipping at their heels, in the vapor trails behind Greg Ahee’s guitar riffs or in the pregnant pauses in Joe Casey’s personal narratives or commentaries. Protomartyr aren’t going to revolutionize guitar music. That’s a big ask for any rock band, where many acts are hyper-literate, fiercely political or formally adventurous — though the group possesses all of these strengths. Their consistency is ultimately what sets Protomartyr apart from the pack. Their development has been steady, as each new album broadened the scope and lyrical ambition of its predecessor. Relatives In Descent is a culmination of the band’s potential; they sound a career removed from the scrappy garage punks who released No Passion All Technique just four years ago, even as they remain snidely dissatisfied.”Casey’s sardonic lyrical humor. But most of all, it’s because Protomartyr never stops moving.

“A Private Understanding,” the opening track to the band’s fourth album Relatives in Descent, has a similar feeling to past Protomartyr openers—it’s perpetually on the brink of building up to something, and it feels tense and climactic. But it lingers on moments in a way that few of the band’s songs have before. The verses feel a bit more drawn out, with the first echoing the phrase, “Never wanna hear those vile trumpets anymore,” while the second track recounts a true story of Elvis Presley seeing the face of Stalin in a cloud: “He was affected profoundly, but he could never describe the feeling/He passed away on the bathroom floor.” By the end, Casey croons, “She’s just trying to reach you,” echoing a consistent theme of failed methods of communication and the complicated ways that people process those messages. As empathetically as these figures are drawn, they’re still mired in the fatalistic absurdity of never being able to say what needs to be said. Maybe she’ll never actually reach you; Elvis is dead on his bathroom floor.

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Relatives in Descent, illustrated by its unsettling opening track, is the darkest Protomartyr album to date because it’s so reflective of the time in which it was created. It’s not a political album, but rather a bleakly philosophical album of meditations on the fallible nature of truth and self-destructive ideals that brought us to an age of willful ignorance and “fake news.” Nobody gets off particularly easily here. Casey sneers mockingly throughout the sing-songy punk stomp of “Male Plague,” reminding the self-inflictedly mediocre white men at its core that “Everybody knows it’s gonna kill you someday.” In the brooding “Corpses in Regalia,” he barks, “Decent people don’t live like that,” laying down an indictment on wealth and excess, while the driving “Don’t Go to Anacita” condemns the exploitation inherent in privilege. Only “Up the Tower” actually addresses what sounds a lot like the president, himself, and “the hatred he brewed within us,” following up on an observation of a golden door with a violent command to “knock it down! knock it down! knock it down!” It’s the kind of catharsis that Protomartyr has always done well, dialed up to match the dreadful urgency of the moment.

Some of the darkest moments on the album are those that happen on a purely instrumental level, giving Relatives in Descent a gothic wash of blacks, grays and charcoals. Those hues are rendered brilliantly, their chilling tone resulting in the strongest batch of songs they’ve written to date. The opening riff of standout single “My Children” has a subtly eerie tone, creating an ominous passageway toward its unexpectedly catchy chorus. “Windsor Hum” chimes with a horror-movie-soundtrack riff, underscoring Casey’s reassurance, “everything’s fine,” with the sick-to-your-stomach feeling of knowing that it isn’t. And the reverb-laden sound of closing dirge “Half Sister” finds Protomartyr capturing the grimmest of post-punk gloom brilliantly.

In that final track, Casey says “truth is a half sister,” before looping back to an early refrain from the album, “she is trying to reach you.” In intercepting these communiqués, to better understand why humanity is sometimes doomed to reject truth, Protomartyr delves into some dark places albeit ones that yield their most rewarding results.

THE HORRORS

The Horrors return with their fifth album and it’s full of synth pop and futurism – produced by Paul Epworth and released on his label. There’s darkness, windswept melancholia and self destructive noise. The Horrors have raided the 80’s closet and deliver a thrilling and substantial pop album.

With their fifth album, The Horrors have delivered their best batch of songs to date, a further refinement of the formula—Simple Minds-esque new wave meets baggy Madchester meets shoegaze psychedelia—that the British group has been perfecting ever since 2011’s Skying officially shrugged off the group’s gothic, shriek-punk origins. These songs are also their biggest: There isn’t a moment on that doesn’t sound tailored for arena stages (where the group’s lately been playing with Depeche Mode, an obvious influence on roiling industrial cuts like “Machine”), yet minus the pomposity that so many groups tend to affect at that level. It’s a perfect distillation of The Horrors’ slow and deliberate evolution over the years. It will be hard to top.

new record, “V”, is coming out on September 22nd

The album pretty much stopped me in my tracks when i first heard it. So delicate! So beautiful! Find a quiet space and play the single follow my voice. After spending years on the road performing as part of a fiercely independent DIY music community, Julie Byrne stayed put in New York City and coalesced the thoughts and experiences of her past few transient trips around the sun into this unnervingly beautiful album.  Not Even Happiness is a stunning combination of strong lyricism and technical skill. Byrne fingerpicks a guitar she inherited from her father and pours every ounce of herself into these compositions, laying her innermost feelings completely bare in the process.

https://soundcloud.com/juliebyrne/follow-my-voice

The album has had huge support from radio already with RRR and FBI making it album of the week and Double J adding the first single. Pitchfork recently made it Best New Music!
“Here is something special” ***** The Times
Byrne paints sublime, awestruck moments when simple things become overwhelming.” Pitchfork, Best New Music
“there’s so much to love about Not Even Happiness: the lightness of the finger-picked acoustic guitar patterns, the flute and string interludes, the plaintive timbre in Byrne’s voice recalling fellow outsider folk figures Anne Briggs and Karen Dalton.” **** MOJO
“the voice is a balm” **** The Observer
“with Not Even Happiness she’s spreading her wings musically” Album of the Week, The Line Of Best Fit
“otherworldy and other-timely… for all its dreaminess, it never seems fey or contrived… stunning.” The Guardian

“one of the albums of the year” NME

A trans-American folk singer (and former park ranger) travels far and wide, only to return to the comforts of her childhood home to record a stunning, stripped-down sophomore effort.

Given Julie Byrne’s extensive record of following wherever the wind takes her, it’s tempting to read Not Even Happiness as an acoustic travelogue of the United States, or rather, her United States. It helps that the album invokes an intoxicating sequence of visual imagery that spans the continent from the Redwood Forest to the Gulf Stream waters, Byrne’s voice splashing watercolors across Big Sky country in the touring ballad “Natural Blue” before literally dissolving into the ocean on “Sea as It Glides”. But just as often this record turns inward, probing the depths of a twentysomething soul as it transitions from wary to wistful to weary. Each of the nine songs on Not Even Happiness is its own vast landscape, lurching and zig-zagging far more often than Byrne’s steady, delicate finger picking might suggest. Whether those landscapes turn inward or explode outward depends, one imagines, on what the listener brings to the table

The best part about finding out about Jen Cloher on her fourth album is that I feel like I just got four great albums to listen to. She has a certain swagger and cool about her that is some sort of a mix between Patti Smith and Chrissy Hynde. Songs chug along meaty hooks as her throaty voice delivers the goods.

For those not in the know, Jen Cloher is the wife of Courtney Barnett. this album stands on its own merit. But the main reason, for mentioning her relationship with Barnett is that it plays a role. As mentioned, Cloher has 3 prior albums and is Barnett’s senior by 10 years. To see her wife hit international acclaim on her first LP would shake anyone. She delves into shit with Forgot Myself and Sensory Memory. It doesn’t come across as bitter; more honest than any person would feel.

Second single from Jen Cloher’s self-titled album out August 2017

But lest you think this LP is all about her and Courtney. She hits on some heavy subjects and takes the religious right down a peg on Kinda Biblical. The following track is Great Australian Bite, a track about how Australian artists suffer from a grueling touring schedule to make any sort of an international name for themselves.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvTTx5yLrSE

This is an absolute gem of an album. Jen Cloher deserves all the plaudits she gets.

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Over the past couple years, Sheer Mag have run one of the tightest ships in music. The Philly rock quintet released three 7” singles in three years—each with four songs, grainy black-and-white punk-flyer cover art and a retro band logo. They named these EPs I, II and III, then compiled them into a self-titled 12-song LP. Now comes the first official full-length, which finds Sheer Mag trying to navigate the leap from underground heroes to rock ‘n’ roll rat-race runners. The record is built on twin pillars: Guitarist Kyle Seely’s wellspring of gritty riffs and licks, which sound like they were unearthed from a late-’70s time capsule but somehow never got old, and Tina Halladay’s vocals, imbued with a combination of tenderness and tough talk that doesn’t come along too often. This is one of the best guitar-rock bands going right now.

Its catchy, hook-heavy protest rock that shows at least one band paid attention during history class.

Key Lyric: “I’ve been reading the news, and you’ll surely regret/ If you don’t give us the ballot, expect the bayonet!”

At a time when rock and roll’s relevance couldn’t be lower, Sheer Mag not only stir excitement for the dying genre with “Expect the Bayonet”, but remind us that rock and roll’s job traditionally has been to speak truth to power and afflict the comfortable.

Mount Eerie A Crow Looked at Me cover

How do you turn a shocking personal tragedy into fuel for your next record, It has been said suffering is required for great art, but Phil Elverum seems to disagree. Last year, he lost his wife Geneviève Castrée, a noted artist and musician, to pancreatic cancer at the age of 35. “A Crow Looked at Me” is about Castrée’s death, yes, but more than that, it is about her absence.

Elverum makes this clear in the record’s opening moments: “Someone is there and then they’re not/And it’s not for singing about/It’s not for making into art.” He wants you to take him at his word here. A Crow Looked at Me is not a particularly imaginative, poetic or tuneful album, but pierces with its intimacy and honesty, as gripping and deep as any 10-piece overture. This is not a meticulous thoughtfully curated, poured-over album; this is Elverum sorting through the wreckage in real time.

A Crow Looked at Me is an unflinching examination of death in all of its crushing absurdity. It’s an exceedingly difficult listen, a piece with Benji and Skeleton Tree. Dates and events are recorded with precision, each track a dutifully, objectively detailed chapter of the months before and after Castrée’s death. Sadness emanates from every aspect of the production. “Death is real,” which functions as the album’s subtitle, makes its presence felt with every creaking note. The context is significant as well. Crow was also recorded in the room where Castrée died, with her instruments.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zGESP0iePmQ

Crow is explicit. It does not dodge, evade or tiptoe, but the delivery is paced and smoothed out. There’s no tragedy to unspool; the circumstances are laid to bear in stark terms again and again. “Your transformed dying face will recede with time/Is what our counselor said,” sings Elverum on “Swims”, which is to say it hasn’t yet. Not even close. A Crow Looked at Me is an open wound, so fresh that shock and numbness still stand in the place of the pain. There are moments of escape, like on “When I Take Out the Garbage at Night”, where Elverum loses himself in the night sky; but they are fleeting, and followed by the devastation of tracks like “Toothbrush/Trash”.

When he’s not staring emptily at his wife’s belongings, Elverum reckons with what to do with her memories and his new life as a widower and a father. “I am a container of stories about you,” he croaks on “My Chasm”. He’s unsure how many to share and how many to keep to himself, but he unloads as many as he can onto Crow, giving each the space it deserves. The semi-self-titled closer shifts the focus to Elverum’s daughter, born only months before Castrée’s diagnosis. This is not exactly a hopeful moment, more a pause. An acknowledgment that for all of the isolation and empty space, time will press on, however slowly.

For anyone who was ever remotely interested in Mount Eerie or the Microphones, A Crow Looked at Me is a must-listen. For these reasons, it didn’t strike me that Crow is part of the healing process but a prerequisite to it, like packing a bag before a long journey. The weight of the tragedy has not dissipated. It may never, certainly not completely.

thanks Paste

Perfume Genius No Shape

From the quiet bedroom recordings on his debut Learning to the subtle ballads on Put Your Back N2 It  to the pop swagger on Too Bright , the music Mike Hadreas creates as Perfume Genius has gotten bigger and bolder with every album. For his fourth album, No Shape, Hadreas continues his impressive streak with another record that retains his unique voice while incorporating new sounds and ambitions.

Perfume Genius has always explored the queer experience, especially the traumas on the path to embracing one’s identity. Even at its most exuberant, the music battles with a darker tension. The stellar single “Queen” from Too Bright, for example, projects a powerful confidence musically, but the song, according to Perfume Genius’s camp, is about “gay panic.” On No Shape, that tension is still present, but more subdued, subordinated by the extraordinary strength of love.

No Shape feels more celebratory than any Perfume Genius record to date; that celebration often runs deliciously wild. Too Bright also swung for the fences, but its immaculately constructed pop songs always felt well under control. Both albums open with gentle piano, but No Shape opener “Otherside” can hardly contain itself. It explodes into glitter and euphoria after a minute, and then leads into the triumphant lead single “Slip Away.”

“Slip Away” just might be Perfume Genius’s finest song to date. The conflict between preserving your identity and survival, at the heart of so much of Perfume Genius’s work, is there. “They’ll never break the shape we take”—Hadreas is singing from the battlements, but there’s no doubt he’ll make it through to the morning. Even if the enemy is scaling the walls, this music remains triumphant.

Nothing else on No Shape matches the transcendence of “Slip Away”. That kind of brazen euphoria is anomalous on the album and Perfume Genius’s career in general. Much of the middle of the album follows slower, gentle ballads; the songs resemble Put Your Back N 2 It in tempo and Too Bright in production value, but they follow a logic entirely their own. Hadreas follows his intuition, which leads him to peculiar rhythms and sudden bursts of sound that continually surprise. From the early burst of sound on “Otherside” to the hypnotic forward march of “Valley” (another album standout), No Shape surprises you with a constant intimacy punctuated by thwarted expectations.

All the music is characterized by a baroque sense of melodrama, but if No Shape has one defining quality, from “No Shape” to more delicate tracks like “Every Night,” it’s confidence. Hadreas is in complete control of his extensive gifts, trusting his instincts to guide to someplace at once comforting and foreign. He achieves both on nearly every track. Occasionally, No Shape can come off as somewhat saccharine, twee pushed past its melting point. “Just Like Love” is one such example, though it undoubtedly suffers from coming immediately after “Slip Away,” a tough act to follow. The danger of leading with such an incredible track is always that everything else seems smaller.

More often than not, however, this album brings you into its world and convinces you that love really is redemptive, that it can hold back the hounds at the gate. Hadreas, one imagines, knows this better than most. While the music of Perfume Genius has always had been richly authentic, it’s especially so in No Shape. Many of these songs are inspired in part by Alan Wyffels, Hadreas’s boyfriend, and musical collaborator for the past eight years. The last song on the album is named for Alan; it immerses you like a cloud, then lifts you up with it as Hadreas howls, “Rest easy, I’m here. How weird!” Like Perfume Genius, love is many things, weird in so many wonderful ways.

thanks Prettymuchamazing

Cherry Glazerr played an amazing set at Nottingham Dot to Dot Festival this year, that this concert was so insane and so much fun . If you were not there please check Cherry Glazerr out if you have’nt heard of them before! . a truly wonderful set . Celebrating the release of their third album earlier this year, despite the fact that lead-singer Clementine Creevy is only 19 she came crawling onto the stage on all fours you knew then this was going to be something a little bit special, Cherry Glazerr are from Los Angeles, they arrive on the cusp of something big. Musically, it’s all slightly grungy early-mid 90s riffs, female empowerment lyrics and youthful energy.

Their album “Apocalipstick” is one of the best albums of the year.

priests nothing feels natural

Nothing Feels Natural, the first studio album from Washington D.C.-based post punk group Priests, is loaded with anger and anxiety, It’s a roaring album that spans the genre from the experimental to the classic. “Appropriate,” the opening track, combines harsh punk minimalism—distant-sounding brush strokes from drummer Daniele Daniele and robust vocals and lyrics from singer Katie Alice Greer. This song is one of the most interesting on the album, combining the structure of punk with experimental jazz-skronk sax, Mixing the parts of both genres works surprisingly well for Priests.

“JJ” is a quintessential punk track about a relationship got wrong, with Greer ultimately realizing that writing songs for this person (“The most interesting thing about you/Was that you smoked Parliaments, the babiest cigarettes”), or anyone, is pointless. That pointlessness remains constant throughout the record. Existential dread and anxiety abound on “No Big Bang”, perhaps a reflection of Greer’s struggles with writing and the creative process. A steady guitar riff accompanies an increasingly frantic Greer, firing off thoughts seemingly at random. If “No Big Bang” is the lyrical apex of Nothing Feels Natural’s anxiety, then the short, explosive “Puff” is its musical equivalent—angular guitars played by G.L. Jaguar, dissonant bass lines played by Taylor Mulitz, and thrashing drums release tension that’s been building since the first track.

Themes of distance and consumption run through Nothing Feels Natural (“Nicki,” “Leila 20”). Though the lyrics are ambiguous in meaning, listeners get the sense that members of Priests are critical of late capitalism, America’s neoliberal policies, and the perverted sense of patriotism that runs through the country, and anger with a system that keeps people in narrow boxes (“Pink White House”).

“Suck” is a fun funk-inspired dance reminiscent of early Blondie, but doesn’t match the overall mood of the record, leading it to sound out of place. Nonetheless, Nothing Feels Natural is a great debut from an exciting band; arguably among the best debuts of the year

Nothing Feels Natural (2017, Sister Polygon Records)