Danish duo Reptile Youth’s second album, Rivers That Run for a Sea That is Gone, is a revelation. It’s a thrilling electronic rock album that harkens back to the new wave/post-punk era of the early ‘80s but hurled forward into 2014. The album starts with the superb “Above,” a track taut with escalating tension and drama. “Colours” is a kinetic rocker built around a spiky guitar riff, manic percussion and an urgent vocal delivery. The title-track is a frantic, motoric rocker with a sinister, uneasy vibe that keeps you on the edge of your seat like a good action sequence. “Structures” is built on a sly bass-line, an insistent rhythm, and a slinky vocal performance that explodes into a massive rock chorus. The heavy swirl of guitars and sinuous melody on “JJ” are reminiscent of Suede from around the Coming Up period. Reptile Youth know how to write keen melodies that stick in the head, and surround them with an exciting blend of swirling guitars and electronics. Rivers That Run for a Sea That is Gone is one great song after another – do not sleep on this band, or this album. They are too good to be consigned to obscurity and oblivion.
You’re Dead! is a skittery kaleidoscope of electronic noodling, jazz, hip-hop and R&B influences, and whatever other sounds Steven Ellison (a/k/a Flying Lotus) feels like throwing into the intoxicating mix. It’s head-music that covers the aural spectrum – Flying Lotus comes at you from all directions. It’s a musical puzzle that delivers one surprise and thrill after another. The wildly percussive, jazzy “Tesla” segues right into the manic “Cold Dead” which builds layers of guitar, keyboard, sax and manic percussion – it sounds like a snippet of a track from one of Santana’s great ‘70s albums. It just gets wilder and more diverse from there. You’re Dead! isn’t a collection of songs so much as a painstakingly constructed array of endlessly fascinating soundscapes. “Never Catch Me,” a dizzying blend of manic electronics and hip-hop, with a cameo by rapper Kendrick Lamar, is the closest thing to a traditional single the album has to offer, but that doesn’t lessen its appeal in the slightest. Put it on, turn it up, and see if your brain can keep up with Ellison’s freakishly brilliant studio histrionics. An almost impossible challenge to contemplate, but it sure is fun trying to keep up with him.
The Secret Sisters, Alabama natives Laura and Lydia Rogers, are a wonderfully beguiling mix of The Dixie Chicks’ tight country/pop harmonies and Nick Cave’s nightmarish gothic folk. The Sisters write most of their own material, and ace producer T-Bone Burnett is the perfect choice to get the most out of these songs. Put Your Needle Down is a deeply compelling listening experience. “Rattle My Bones,” the album’s opener and lead single, co-written by award-winning alt-country songwriter Brandi Carlile, is a country-rock sparkplug of note-perfect harmonies with a healthy dose of winsome mischievousness. The gripping murder ballad “Iuka” is an early highlight, a haunting tale of doomed lovers steeped in the rich tradition of tragic southern storytelling. The ominous “Dirty Lie” marries beautifully heartrending vocals to a stuttering backdrop strongly reminiscent of Tom Waits. The Secret Sisters are strongly influenced by classic country, but they also soak up influences as diverse as alternative rock, as on their breathtaking cover of PJ Harvey’s ominous “The Pocket Knife.” They also do ballads well, such as the maudlin “Let There Be Lonely,” a gorgeously sad piece. “Black and Blue” is an old-school rocker reminiscent of the girl-groups of the ‘60s. “Lonely Island” is a delicate take on a song written by the late country legend Boudleaux Bryant. “Good Luck, Good Night, Goodbye” is a melodic rocker co-written by the Sisters with Angelo Petraglia formerly of the new wave band Face to Face (remember their hit “10-9-8”?) but better known for co-writing with Kings of Leon. The album’s finale is “River Jordan,” a haunting number that perfectly encapsulates the album’s sound in one song. Put Your Needle Down is a highly stylized hybrid of classic country, rock, and folk all built around the Sisters’ remarkable harmonies. It’s an album worth savoring.
Rumors of D’Angelo’s long-anticipated follow-up to the 2000 masterpiece Voodoo, with potential release dates being thrown out on a semi-regular basis, have always dissipated like the sweet smoke from a nice bong hit. And then suddenly, with nary a word of warning, D’Angelo drops Black Messiah in mid-December. It doesn’t sound like nearly a decade and a half has passed since Voodoo. D’Angelo dives right back into the wickedly funky, slow groovin’ R&B that he delivers like nobody else can. There’s a reason why a new D’Angelo record has been so anticipated, after all; and he doesn’t disappoint. “Ain’t That Easy” opens the album with some richly funky guitar work and bass playing from another planet by the one and only Pino Palladino. Genius. “1000 Deaths” opens with the sound of an old sermon over a cacophony of percussion and bass, with D’Angelo’s vocals distorted and barely comprehensible, before a chorus with a vocal arrangement of staggering brilliance. The song has a palpable aura of danger about it. “Sugah Daddy” is sly, sexy funk, with rapid-fire horn riffs, piano, and a vocal by D’Angelo capable of melting hearts. “Really Love” is an ethereal ballad with some lovely acoustic guitar, and “Back to the Future (Part 1)” returns to the ‘70s-inspired deep funk. The album closes with the sizzling, sexy “Another Life,” a richly soulful ballad with ornate piano and D’Angelo singing in his falsetto register. It’s hard to wrap one’s mind around an album this rich and rewarding so quickly; the shock of there actually being a new D’Angelo album so suddenly is still just sinking in. But there is zero doubt that Black Messiah stands up with his best work and although fourteen years is a long time to wait, at least D’Angelo has given us all something rich and complex to really sink our teeth into. The world needed a new D’Angelo album, and it came at just the right time.
It’s a true shame that the launch of Songs of Innocence was such a fiasco, with the automatic (and free) iTunes download. Not only did the band devalue their music, but they pissed people off in the process. The furor was such that the music itself was buried in the flood of negativity, which is unfortunate since Songs of Innocence is the band’s strongest collection since All That You Can’t Leave Behind, released 13 years ago. The band mines their most intimate and heartfelt memories and thoughts from their formative years in a collection of songs that has that big, epic U2 sound but is overflowing with real heart and feeling. The band explores their influences and their beginnings on songs like on the anthemic opener “The Miracle (of Joey Ramone). “Every Breaking Wave” is perhaps the album’s strongest track, as good as anything the band has released. Lyrically it’s a triumph, regret woven into lines poetic lines like “The sea knows where are the rocks, and drowning is no sin. You know where my heart is, the same place that yours has been. We know that we fear to win, and so we end before we begin.” “California (There is No End to Love)” is a rocker with big hooks, washes of keyboard and guitar – it will surely be monumental when played live. “Song for Someone” is another track that will stand up as a U2 classic, a slow-burning ballad that breaks into one of those big, epic U2 choruses, with The Edge’s chiming guitar well-represented. “Volcano” is somewhat reminiscent of their hit “Vertigo,” with a heavy bass-line and a massive chorus. “Raised by Wolves” is a harrowing, emotional rocker with some incredible lyrics like “Boy sees his father crushed under the weight of a cross in a passion where the passion is hate.” The album closes with “The Troubles,” a spellbinding finale that serves as the final piece of an intense emotional ride. It may be stylish to bash U2 these days, and in some ways they’ve made themselves an easy target with their larger-than-life stage shows, the perception of towering egos, and their close ties with corporate entities that funnel more and more cash into their pockets. Set all that aside and give “Song of Innocence” a fair listen, with the lyric sheet in front of you. It’s all that is great about U2. We should feel fortunate indeed that one of the greatest bands of our generation is still operating at the very top of their game.
Beyoncé Knowles has ruled the pop charts for more than a decade now. First with her multi-platinum success as part of Destiny’s Child, and now as a solo artist, she’s become one of the great iconic pop artists of our generation. Unlike much of the mindless, repetitive EDM throwaway studio creations that are essentially the same song being recorded over and over again and yet somehow – bewilderingly – people snatch them up in droves, Beyoncé has always been way ahead of the pack. She’s the real deal, and Beyoncé, a slick melding of highly melodic minimalist pop, hip-hop and R&B, is easily the strongest album of her career. It brims with confidence and heart – like on the opening track “Pretty Hurts,” which addresses the unrealistic attitudes that women (and men) face when it comes to beauty and self-worth. It sets the tone of an album that is defiant in the face of society’s expectations. “Haunted,” a stripped down electronic tour de force produced by Boots (Jordan Asher), is pop music at its finest. Beyoncé’s vocals have never been more pure or beautiful. “Drunk in Love,” with it’s monster bass and guest appearance by Jay-Z, is a killer single. “Blow” is sexy and fun, and “No Angel” and “Partition” are slinky, funky R&B. The collaborations all work on Beyoncé, including “Mine,” featuring Drake in a terrific cameo. “XO” is the single finest pop song on the album – it’s has all the elements of what makes a great pop single, from the brash rhythm, the strong melodic hook, and most of all Beyoncé’s outstanding vocal. “Flawless” is a high-wired hip-hop number that’s fun and trippy. “Heaven” is a jaw-dropping, beautifully emotional ballad that practically drips pathos. Beyoncé closes with “Blue,” an ode to her young daughter. Beyoncé covers quite a bit of stylistic territory, and there are quite a few cooks in the kitchen – numerous writers and producers contributed to the album. Despite that it has a remarkable cohesion, and each track sounds like it came from the exact same team. What ties it all together, of course, is Beyoncé herself. As a vocalist and performer she’s at the top of the pop heap right now, and nobody else even comes close. Beyoncé is a sterling collection that will stand as one of the true lasting successful pop albums of this era.
The War on Drugs is a six-piece indie-rock band led by Philadelphia native Adam Granduciel, previously known with his work with Kurt Vile. Their music is progressive dream pop with strong melodic tendencies and lush instrumentation. The songwriting is self-assured and confident, Adam Granduciel’s vocals strong and capable of subtle nuance. The songs unfold at their own leisurely pace, but never outstay their welcome. The nearly 9-minute opener, “Under the Pressure,” begins with grace and ease and then builds intensity the longer it goes, with a long ambient section in the middle. It feels like the opening act of a fully realized and complete work that is lovely and engaging. Lost in the Dream envelops the listener in its often soft and gauzy atmospherics. There are moments that jump out of the reverie. “Red Eyes,” for instance, is the most straightforward rock track on the album, and it’s killer: sharply melodic with a terrific, echo-drenched vocal, cascading synthesizers that sound for all the world like a full string section, and blistering guitar. Most of the pieces, though, are stately dreamscapes — rarely has there been a title more apt than Lost in the Dream (and surely the irony of a band called The War on Drugs creating an album so perfectly suited for a nice long smoke has been duly noted). “An Ocean Between the Waves” may be the album’s centerpiece – a long uptempo piece that builds slowly, built around a steady beat, incandescent keyboards and guitar. There are no weak moments on Lost in the Dream. It’s a deeply absorbing album, pensive, sometimes whimsical, with always another layer of sound or nuance for the listener to discover.
Going into 2014 it had been four long years since Prince’s last studio album – the uneven 20ten, which he didn’t even bother to release in the U.S. Never before has the notoriously prolific artist taken so long between albums. All through 2013 and into 2014 he toyed with his fans by releasing scattered one-off singles via his website, and he toured widely with his super-tight all-female backing back, 3rdEyeGirl. Then the man pulled the surprise of surprises out of his hat – over two decades after his bitter and very public feud with Warner Bros. records that culminated with his scrawling of the word “Slave” on his face, Prince announced that he and the label on which most of his essential classics were released had kissed and made up. He announced two new studio albums, and an anniversary reissue of his legendary 1984 masterpiece Purple Rain. So far the reissue has yet to materialize, but the promised albums of new material hit in September. PlectrumElectrum, the collaboration with 3rdEyeGirl, is a blazing rock album with some extraordinary guitar-work. But it’s the shimmering pop and R&B of Art Official Age that provides the strongest reminder that Prince is one of all-time greats. It’s his best album since The Gold Experience, released nearly two decades ago. Inventive, quirky, melodic, heart-felt – Art Official Age veers from slinky funk to glistening pop to ballads of exquisite beauty and heart. “Way Back Home,” “Clouds,” and the stunning ballad “Breakdown” are all new masterpieces from the mercurial genius. Prince’s work over the past two decades hasn’t been bad by any stretch – in fact, albums like 3121 and Lotusflow3r are quite strong. But for the first time in far too long, Prince has delivered an album of effortless creativity and character that stands up alongside some of his best work. Art Official Age is a vital addition to Prince’s peerless discography.
The fourth album by Scottish band The Twilight Sad will be a welcome listen for anybody who yearns for the days of cranking up melancholy epics by Echo & the Bunnymen, Modern English and The Cure in their bedroom as a kid. Nobody Wants to Be Here and Nobody Wants to Listen is a new wave/post-punk album that sounds as if it could have been released in 1983 every bit as much as it sounds like an album from 2014. There is an overriding melancholy to the album – the spectre of loss infuses the songs like a miasma – but it’s wrapped in powerful waves of shimmering beauty. In some ways The Twilight Sad doesn’t sound too dissimilar to post-punk revivalists like Interpol and Editors, but there is a lush dreaminess that gives their music a surreal aura, and an intensity that is riveting. “There’s a Girl in the Corner” is an engaging opener, drawing the listener in to the turmoil that roils unchecked throughout the album. The spiky “Last January,” with murky stabs of keyboard penetrating the hypnotic rhythm is particularly powerful, with James Alexander Graham’s richly dramatic voice wrenched with emotion as he soars above the dense accompaniment. The Twilight Sad isn’t sullen mope-rock. There is a fighting spirit to Nobody Wants to Be Here and Nobody Wants to Leave. It’s laden with heart-bared desperation and yearning, but not surrender. The slow and surreal “It Never Was The Same” is a wounded, raw emotional scar set to music, aching and glorious in its bitter resignation. The title-song is wracked with feedback and unreleased tension. The plaintive final track, “Sometimes I Wished I Could Fall Asleep,” is about a lovely as heartache can be, a simple piano backdrop for Graham’s yearning vocals. The Twilight Sad have created something that is at once personal and steeped in pain, and musically it’s dense, atmospheric and darkly beautiful. Some bands just have it; there is a certain magic that they themselves probably can’t even define. The Twilight Sad is one of those bands, and Nobody Wants to Be Here and Nobody Wants to Leave is one of those albums that leaves you both exhilarated and emotionally spent.
“Have compassion for everyone you meet, even if they don’t want it… you do not know what wars are going on down there, where the spirit meets the bone.” There’s a meme that pops up from time to time on social media: some variation of “Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Be kind.” Lucinda Williams’ “Compassion” explores that theme with magnificent poignancy. The lyrics were written by her father, the noted poet Miller Williams, who read a poem at the inauguration of Bill Clinton in 1997. With her father now 84 years old and battling Alzheimer’s disease that has rendered him unable to write poetry, Lucinda felt compelled to put one of his poems to music for the first time. With a simple acoustic-guitar accompaniment, her voice cracked with pain, “Compassion” begins the heartrending journey Down Where the Spirit Meets the Bone. A 20-song tour de force, Williams is at her brilliant best on her finest album since the 1998 masterpiece Car Wheels on a Gravel Road. The vinyl edition sprawls over 3-LPs, almost an embarrassment of musical riches. Down Where The Spirit Meets the Bone doesn’t stray from the blues, rock, folk and country hybrid that Williams has been exploring her entire career.
Nobody this side of Bob Dylan can wring as much nuance and emotion from vocal phrasing the way Lucinda Williams can. Her singing is raw, real, world-weary. She can sound tough and aggressive, haunted and vulnerable. Her eyes pierce the veil into the very heart and soul of her subjects, whether she’s writing about herself or someone else. “Protection,” which immediately follows the stark acoustic opener, is Williams at her edgy, hard-rocking best. “Burning Bridges” is another searing guitar rocker featuring a particularly stunning vocal. The bluesy “West Memphis,” featuring the great Tony Joe White on guitar and mournful harmonica, is a sad retelling of the famous case of the West Memphis 3, a trio of teenagers who were convicted of murdering four young boys on evidence widely considered suspect at best and were later released after serving 18 years in prison. “Foolishness,” another great performance by her rock-solid circle of musicians, finds Williams unleashing her righteous anger in fiercely repudiating “all of you liars in my life.”
The swamp-rock shuffle “Something Wicked This Way Comes” opens the second half of the album with an ominous vibe reminiscent of Dylan’s work with Daniel Lanois on Oh Mercy. Williams’ allows vulnerability to seep through in the heartbreaking country-tinged ballad “Wrong Number.” “Temporary Nature,” a solemn contemplation of loss, is one of six albums tracks featuring keyboards by Ian “Mac” McLagan, a Rock and Roll Hall of Famer and former member of The Faces and frequent collaborator with The Rolling Stones, who passed away suddenly this past December 3 at the age of 69. His passing gives the song, which features his swirling organ on a lovely solo, added poignancy.
Not all is bleak; “Stand Right by Each Other” is a powerful expression of love and hope. “Stowaway In Your Heart” is an upbeat, optimistic love song that’s touching in its simplicity and sincerity. The album closes with a slow-grooving, nearly 10-minute cover of J.J.Cale’s wistful “Magnolia.” There is no resolution, only the interplay of the musicians as the song slowly winds to its conclusion.
Down Where The Spirit Meets the Bone is deeply inspiring and heartfelt throughout. Williams wrings every ounce of emotion and feeling to be had from these songs, and they feel starkly real, whether they are personal or whether she is expertly crafting a storyline, or perhaps even just evoking a feeling. That’s always been Lucinda Williams’ strong point, the unquestioned authenticity of everything she does, and that’s never been more deeply felt than on her latest release. Now aged 61, and widely regarded as one of the finest songwriters of a generation, Lucinda Williams has experienced every conceivable high and low that life serves up. She has long been able to tap into that junction deep inside, where the spirit meets the bone, but rarely – if ever – with such magnificent power and poignancy as she does here. Lucinda Williams is a national treasure, and Down Where the Spirit Meets the Bone is a major achievement in American recording, an achingly beautiful and harrowing collection that stands as the finest album of 2014.
*Note – since Down Where The Spirit Meets the Bone is not available on Spotify, below is a representative track from her 2011 album Blessed.
Top 30 of 2014 Spotify playlist:
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