I only just discovered The Raincoats, a post-punk group from England who had their heyday way back in the late ’70′s and early ’80′s. The group would go through several different versions after forming in 1977, but by 1978 they settled on an all-female lineup who would eventually put out their debut, The Raincoats. It’s one of those albums that is indescribably… interesting. It’s if you can feel that there’s something behind all that raucous noise that’s yearning to get out, something special under all that sloppy musicianship. The lineup itself seems somehow evident of this fact, with the atypical inclusion of a violin that never quite sounds like a violin. It goes down even to the mix, which feels raw and spacious and unflinching. It’s the kind of album that leaves a strange, indelible mark even if you can’t place exactly what it is.
So, inevitably, you turn towards the familiar to give yourself a bit of bearing. In this case it’s a cover of The Kinks classic “Lola,” smack in the middle of the album. It’s surprising because after the album’s first five tracks, a Kinks cover comes to be the last thing you’d expect. I’ve never been terribly fond of the original (I think because I heard this version first) but The Raincoats sold me on the song itself. The chorus rings with an energy and its buoyancy makes it hard to resist. I think it’s better than the original.
I’m not sure whether or not I should have already known about The Raincoats, but I haven’t been this struck by an album in a long time–hence this being my first post in almost a month–and I can’t help but want to share it. Whether an oversight or not, I can’t but recommend this weird, compelling group.
Sucré is a three-piece band hailing from Texas and Missouri, comprised of Stacy King, Darren King, and Jeremy Larson. Their name derives from the French word for sugar, an apt descriptor for the band who plays on the delicately, sweet voice of the Mrs. King and the dreamy beats of Jeremy and Darren. “Hiding Out” is the title track for their debut album A Minor Bird (which is worth checking out) and does not betray the bands nature. The piano and strings that dominate the beat lay the silky foundation for the song. The final product is a song that is all finesse and beauty.
It’s hard not to have an immense amount of respect for artists that can draw so much emotion out of so little. “Passing” has a soundwave that looks like it would make for a terribly unimaginative listen. Yet, underneath the drones and the repetitions is something unique, something affecting. It’s unassuming, but it’s there, hidden and waiting to be found by the special few who look, like the best things in life.
“Pssing” is the lead single for Bolton’s album Under A Name That Hides Her, to be released soon on Hibernate.
A couple months ago I made a post on a rapper named B. Magic from Toronto. He came up on my iTunes earlier to day so I figured I should check in to see if he’s released any music since and I strolled up on a song called ‘Friend or Foe’. It was released about a month ago. As he says, “a track about your so called friends”.
A line that really struck me is “The world is full of friends and foes, one day you’ll need ‘em”. Can’t help but agree on that one my friend. Similar to the idea of you can’t feel happiness without being sad at some point, you only appreciate your friends when you know your foes.
That said, this song goes out to all my friends. I don’t take any of you for granted.
It’s a home recording that was recorded during the sessions for Dylan’s first album and sat unreleased until the 7th edition of the Bootleg Series, for the Scorsese documentary No Direction Home. Dylan’s voice has always been distinctive, but this is one of the few songs of his I’ve heard in which he uses it emotionally. It’s when he delivers the line “And your daddy needs you home right away” that stands so stark. Carrying a strong emotional weight that would show up again on songs like “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright” and “Simple Twist of Fate,” it’s incredible that this was left off the album and is a testament to Dylan’s ability even at the earliest moments of his career. And it may just be my favorite Dylan song.
(A cover, which I overlooked, was done by Antony and Bryce Dessner for the Dark Was the Night composition a few years back, but Dylan’s is much more compelling. The cheap recording quality, the earnest young voice, and the snipping guitar all make the original feel honest and quietly urgent.)
I complained last night (stupidly) that I had been having a lot of trouble finding weirder music. With the advent of Spotify and my personal pledge not to pirate any music in 2012, I felt like the majority of my listening had become skewed towards, well, the normal. You see, I’ve always had a deep affinity towards the slightly weirder forms of music that, in spite of being non-conventional, succeeded in creating a strong sense of mood. My favorite of these have always been the ones that are drone-y and relaxed, what I have referred to time and time again as “night music.” Last year, Kyle Bobby Dunn’s Ways of Meaning was the “night” album that enraptured me. This year, though, has felt pretty stagnant on that front and I think that’s where my frustration originally lay.
So I ventured off to solve my problem and this is what I found:
36, a group/person/project I willfully know nothing about, released this little moody gem, called Lithea, earlier this year.
Unfortunately, this sort of music always presents a very real problem when you’re trying to write about it. I can never really describe accurately what draws me to these sorts of releases. Nor can I ever seemingly say what makes one more compelling than the other. But I think that’s why I love them so much. They convey a very raw emotion that is somehow indescribable. This is music made because words are hindering. They skew you towards analyzation and rationalization when this is about feeling.
The result is that the write-ups are always verbose, silly thing, attempting to capture that which can not possibly be captured. Indeed, they paint pictures that with a modicum of emotional distance look ridiculous and pretentious. So, I’m not going to do that here–in spite of my instincts telling me to do otherwise. Instead, I will simply say this: Lithea is an intensely resonant album in an emotional. One need go no further than the title track or the astounding “Deluge” to see that. I give it the full backing of this blog because I consider a deeply powerful work.
I don’t think I can possibly describe to you why. But then, maybe that’s actually why.
I fell deeply in love with The Cinematic Orchestra some years ago when I first heard their superb album Every Day. Unfortunately, they haven’t released an album of new material since 2007′s Ma Fleur–itself a departure from the Nu-Jazz roots that made the group so compelling in the first place. Thankfully, the group has kept busy primarily as a means to score films old and new, adopting in full idea their name, which was originally a little perplexing. They’ve re-purposed some of their older tracks to serve as a musical setting for the landmark silent film The Man With the Movie Camera as well as a recent Disney nature documentary on Flamingos.
What’s here, though, is a little different. There aren’t many strong overtures of their previous work and instead, “Manhatta” is as gorgeous as the film for which it was made, complimenting the stark city scenes perfectly. It’s a bit long at 11 minutes, but well worth a watch. It may even move you.
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A couple months ago I made a 
Yeah, yeah, yeah, it’s Bob Dylan. There’s no point about writing about any of his music because everyone’s already heard it. And yes, that’s pretty true. But I just stumbled onto this one when listening to 
I complained last night (stupidly) that I had been having a lot of trouble finding weirder music. With the advent of Spotify and my personal pledge not to pirate any music in 2012, I felt like the majority of my listening had become skewed towards, well, the normal. You see, I’ve always had a deep affinity towards the slightly weirder forms of music that, in spite of being non-conventional, succeeded in creating a strong sense of mood. My favorite of these have always been the ones that are drone-y and relaxed, what I have referred to time and time again as “night music.” Last year, Kyle Bobby Dunn’s Ways of Meaning was the “night” album that enraptured me. This year, though, has felt pretty stagnant on that front and I think that’s where my frustration originally lay.