album of the month
cuz the cream always
rises to the top
I’m a music maker, a journalist, an audio producer. I’ve been hosting a podcast about independent musicians for what seems like forever. I receive dozens of new music submissions and press releases each week and I never complain. I listen to all of it (eventually). I check in to my regular nerd sites weekly to make sure I’m caught up on all the new stuff, maybe to read a couple of features or reviews. I regularly ask for recommendations from friends, bandmates, and respected colleagues.
I lost all my physical product — two thousand records and about twice as many compact discs — in a flood over a decade ago. A death in the family. Mother Nature spared the mp3’s. And so a digital music library was everything, and thus carefully curated. All the album artwork and the metadata as it should be: meticulously arranged. A few years ago, I started buying records again. They are organized by their level of greatness. My audiophile OCD remains strong. Everything in its right place.
I don’t pay for a subscription service, lest I get lazy and push music to the background. Sure, I’m often doing other stuff while I dive in… but once a tune catches my ear, I’ll bookmark it and return to give it the attention it deserves.
I frequent record stores and tiny clubs, an endless quest for the next musical lightning bolt. A musical Ben Franklin, an archaeologist. Spotify and YouTube my tools to dig deeper, Bandcamp and Soundcloud avenues to support the cause.
I’m a fan, a contributor. Obsessed since childhood. My favorite bands are Nine Inch Nails, Radiohead, Beastie Boys, Depeche Mode and The Beatles. But I have 7000 favorite bands. Most music sent my way these days is… not great. But I listen to so much — and still enjoy so many artists that have already swept me off my feet — that I’m never less than satiated. I used to be a critic, but I’ve realized that the better move is to listen to everything with an open mind, then shine a light on the music that I love.
That’s where album of the month comes in. A place for me to toss some flowers to a single collection of new music that I kept revisiting all month. My podcast and this playlist do the rest.
There’s so much noise, so little commerce. Repeated listens are hard to come by even if they offer little to line artists’ pockets. Repeated listens often lead to a purchase, then maybe a concert ticket, a trip to the merch booth, a new vinyl record added to a new and growing collection. It’s a vital first step. These are the albums that have kept my attention, that I can’t stop listening to. Lord knows it ain’t easy.
Support the locals,
Ron
july 2023
Sigur Ros
ATTA
(Von Dur)
No music makers have made me cry more than the Icelandic band Sigur Ros.
I’ve done a lot of crying these past three years — more crying than I’d likely done in the entirety of my life prior to 2020. Don’t blame Sigur Ros. 2020 was a year of immeasurable loss, not only for myself, but for humanity. A loss not only of squad - and of the love and security that came with that squad - but a complete loss of self.
There’s a lot of crying in the video for “Andra,” in which Sigur Ros fans from all walks of life are invited to sit in front of a camera and share the band’s significance to their own losses and their own lives. They are then invited to listen to “Andra” for the first time. Real-time reactions are filmed. Tears are shed. A man younger than I admits thru his own face water: “There’s something sacred and holy about what that does on the inside.”
ATTA is Sigur Ros’ first new album in a decade — and what the songs that comprise the new album ‘do on the inside’ remains as significant as anything else the band has produced since the late 1990s. When you consider Sigur Ros’ history of critical acclaim over that 25 year stretch - when you consider the amount of tears shed - this is a compliment of the highest order.
Sigur Ros albums are paintings, meant to be absorbed wholly and deeply, and ATTA is no exception. Fortunately, this is an ambitious and groundbreaking band that has always commanded that sort of attention, fashioning new material slow in pace, vast in scope, and full of lengthy quiet moments that often make your body shiver and your lip quiver.
The truest testimony to the band’s impact lies in the fact that most of us affected by Sigur Ros aren’t absorbing any lyrics, at least ones that we can understand. Throughout the band’s history, vocalist Jonsi has mostly sung in Icelandic, or in a melodic language he and the band created called Vonlenska. This remains a strength rather than some pretentious gimmick, considering Jonsi’s masterful use of voice melody and how critical it is to Sigur Ros’ sonic palette.
ATTA feels just a shade darker than most of its predecessors, a shade softer - perhaps reflective of modern times. ”Blooberg” is the album’s doom-and-gloom symphony. The video for the song takes place in an endless desert wasteland littered with corpses. It’s a theme more fit for death metal, and yet in Sigur Ros’ hands, loss so massive becomes somehow poignant and beautiful.
Yep, I’ve cried a lot these past three years. I continue to cry. But today, the tears feel a little different — the losses still feel deep, but there’s gratitude in that sometimes uncontrollable release, too. There’s even some hope, often felt alongside the overwhelming pressure of basic existence and human morality.
My 2023 tears are a saline solution of mixed emotions, a potion that feels aptly like that feeling you get when you listen to Sigur Ros. You cry without often knowing why. You are simply moved. Something stirs in you. Some part of you that feels sacred and holy.
”8” — the last song on the band’s eighth album — ends with a whisper rather than a crescendo and nary a promise that we’ll hear from Sigur Ros again anytime soon. For now, we are left to enjoy a new series of whispers and crescendoes, of dark and light, joy and sadness.
Maybe, like me, you love Sigur Ros - you weep over their music - because you recognize that listening can feel akin to reliving the most dramatic parts of life — the best parts and the worst — the victories and the failures, the births and the deaths, the good fortune and the bad mistakes — and you can discover the beauty in all of it.
june 2023
James Ellis Ford
The Hum
(Warp)
Is James Ellis Ford this generation’s Brian Eno?
And is that comparison good for James Ellis Ford?
Ford’s impressive career as a producer for other bands — most notably Depeche Mode and Arctic Monkeys — has put bread on the table for two decades, and I was more than pleasantly surprised to discover that this James Ford is also the same James Ford who co-founded the excellent English electronic dance duo Simian Mobile Disco.
Ford’s first-ever solo album sounds nothing like the ones he’s produced for other bands, nor does it contain the thumping 4/4 beats and challenging sonics of SMD. Instead, it dwells in the meditative land of Eno, one of the godfathers of ambient and experimental music.
Ford is a multi-instrumentalist and plays every note from top to tails. Since he’s not a wanker or particularly skilled at any one instrument, the performances — all recorded in isolation in his attic-based home studio — are competent. That said, Ford picks up 18 different instruments to create his solo debut, crafting hooky bass guitar lines that often carry the album to greater heights. The otherwise lack of razzle dazzle presents a gift. The sonic twists and turns make the record, as a whole, genre-neutral. Ford focuses on what he does best as a producer — creating mood, texture, and atmospherics with his various studio toys (pictured). He even sings on four of the songs, displaying a pensive and pleasant voice that echoes Robert Fripp and even melancholy Bowie.
I ask if the Eno comparisons are good for Ford simply because we are no longer in an era of consumption that would have allowed Eno’s legend to form and then grow. Those now-iconic records are challenging and thought-provoking, they require multiple rides for most to find the fun in them. The same applies here, what with Ford getting cheeky almost instantly, presenting nearly 5 minutes of tape loop ambiance on The Hum’s opening track “Tape Loop #7.” I can envision most music consumers younger than Ford (and myself) tapping out before the 4 minute mark.
But if you’re patient and wise enough to keep listening, it’s at this point that the pulse of the album begins to take permanent form. Its slow and steady heartbeat leads us into “Pillow Village,” a King Crimson-esque meditation, replete with horns and layered synths that build and swell in all the right places. Bands like Radiohead do this so well, letting the dynamics do the talking.
”The Yips,” framed around an engaging drum polyrhythm that intertwines with Arabic melodies, reminds me of the great Seattle instrumental band Critters Buggin.
The Hum can be downbeat and downright bleak in spots. Part of Ford’s motivation for diving deeper into production work - and now going solo - was a response to his Simian Mobile Disco partner Jas Shaw’s AL amyloidosis diagnosis in 2018, temporarily grounding that high-energy project.
Ford fills the void with ambient noise on the title track, harpsichord on “The Golden Hour,” Harry Nilsson-style pop on the exquisite “Closing Time.” What makes it all work is that Ford presents the album as a continuous piece of art, songs weaving into and out of each other. The Hum is an album lover’s album. And so in the wake of its darker moments, you find yourself climbing out of the hole alongside Ford before you can tumble deeper down, thanks to the orchestral funk of album standout “Caterpillar” and the drone-y, robotic “Squeaky Wheel.”
On “Emptiness,” piano takes center stage, as do the overarching themes of mortality, loneliness, and life’s impermanence. “Like ripples in the water, quickly disappear,” Ford sings. These are the observations of a man now firmly entrenched in his 40s, his sentiments riding the contemplative current of The Hum. Let’s hope that this isn’t Ford’s only solo effort — that he keeps sailing forward, above the waves, sharing more music both hopeless and beautiful.
may 2023
Lana Del Rey
Did you know that there's a tunnel under Ocean Blvd
(Interscope / Polydor)
Let’s get it out of the way. I have a crush on Lana Del Rey.
Maybe it’s because of our brief encounter in 2014 — me, a Z100 board operator, emerging from the on-air studio; Lana, riding the success of the previous summer’s mega-smash, ‘Summertime Sadness,’ exiting the radio station after a meeting with our program director.
I never needed an excuse to abandon my post running the Ryan Seacrest show — and I’m not sure I’d chosen that moment to step out just because Lana was passing thru. But it happened. Our worlds collided.
My only exposure to LDR, pre-collision - besides the maddeningly overplayed dance mix of ‘Summertime’ - was her debut on Saturday Night Live. Lana was blasted by the critics for that performance, but what I remember most about it was how different it felt. This was original, authentic. Bold. Especially considering all the 'safe’ pablum that turned up on the Studio 8H stage, not to mention the same radio hallways I roamed.
And now here I was in that hallway, face-to-face with that attractive girl from the TV. No lace dress, no vamping. Just Lana in a hip leather jacket, her fingernails phenomenal. Me in my dumb ‘I didn’t shave my head today’ skull cap and my Banana Republic sweater. Lana says hi. I say hi. I say congratulations on your success, nice nails. I share that I prefer the album version of her single. Lana smiles. Her label rep asks if I wanna take a picture. Ummmm sure.
Lana leans in. Lana puts her arm around me. Lana smiles at me under the Z100 sign outside the studio. I smile my shit-eating ‘Lana Del Rey is smiling at me’ grin. The crush is born.
It was a cool moment. But I admittedly didn’t go running towards Lana Del Rey’s catalog the same night, probably not even the same year. In fact, I didn’t start crushing on Lana’s music until 2017’s Lust for Life, when I had finally committed to something not enough music fans — and music critics — do: I spent significant time with the album, I listened with intent. Then I tunneled deeper down the rabbit hole.
I was still working at Z100 back then, and not surprisingly, the station didn’t play any of Lana’s music besides that ‘Summertime Sadness’ remix. Which of course was why Lana’s music continued to appeal to me. Radio didn’t like it, didn’t know what to do with it. It must have been dumbfounding to programmers — the industry machine unable to crown Lana their queen and thus equally unable to claim credit for her success.
That’s because Lana Del Rey has never had much interest in writing pop hits. The crush grows.
That trend continues on Del Rey’s ninth studio release, in which the self-proclaimed ‘album artist’ unveils 16 new tracks and nearly 80 minutes of music, a good number of the songs eclipsing the 5 minute mark. There is no filler here, however.
Did you know that there's a tunnel under Ocean Blvd unfurls like a greatest hits compilation — the gospel vibes of opener ‘The Grants’ into quintessential Torch Song Lana on the title track into the pastoral and so-sad-it’s-pretty piano of ‘Sweet.’ From here, the album sprawls into an epic stretch. ‘A&W’ is an apex, shades of Radiohead up top, shades of trap-beaten Nine Inch Nails in the back half, all while Lana croons about being an “American whore,” simultaneously deconstructing myths and creating new ones.
Lana cites ‘Don’t Forget Me’ by Harry Nilsson - one of my all-time faves - as an inspiration for the title track. She sings like Tori Amos and Cat Power, sometimes even like Peter Gabriel. The crush grows.
Throughout the album, she makes unconventional choices, the title notwithstanding. A sizable chunk of a sermon by controversial pastor Judah Smith follows ‘A&W’. The motivation for this is unclear, but causes mild uproar anyway. The intent to titillate is subtle yet ever-present. There are barely any couplets or hooks, but things never get dull. ‘Candy Necklace’, ‘Kintsugi’ and ‘Fingertips’ are opuses that engulf another “interlude” (this one by Jon Batiste), a sequence of songs that gives this stretch of the album a modern-day Pink Floyd feel. The piano remains the musical centerpiece, performed beautifully throughout, especially on the waltz-y ‘Paris, Texas.’
It’s all typically provocative, poignant, and unapologetic. Lana once again surrounds herself with solid collaborators. Father John Misty makes a welcome cameo, Jack Antonoff co-signs a song about his actress fiancee. Strings soar, organs hum. The singer embraces vibe, and lyrically, gets to the heart of the matter: aging and healing, family and loving, God and taco trucks. Self-doubt and self-confidence, decadence and despair co-mingle to near-perfection.
I think about the Lana Del Rey who I met in 2014 amassing all the wisdom, heartbreak, accolades and anxiety of the past decade, taking it into her 30s. I think about the art that she’s made, a beautiful weapon against those early critics who just didn’t (and still might not) get her. I think about Lana Del Rey doing things her way — pure, uncompromising. That’s the dream. Art for art’s sake, its undeniable brilliance a punch in the nose to the pasteurized.
I think about Lana Del Rey and the crush grows.
april 2023
M83
FANTASY
(Mute)
Before sites like Spotify and Apple Music provided an endless, easily accessible catalog of an artist’s music, you actually had to collect it. My general rule has been to sample a new album on Spotify while I’m making meatballs or cleaning the bathroom. If I like it, I listen again. If I like it again, I buy it on Bandcamp or Apple Music. If I like it again, I often buy the vinyl. It becomes ‘collected.’
Compact discs and I broke up over a decade ago. But when CDs and I were madly in love, I would often make mixes and burn them onto CD-Rs - mostly for muses, sometimes for friends, and even occasionally for myself. I carefully curated “sleep mixes” for four artists who effectively ushered me into dreamland: Sigur Ros, Moby, Enya, and M83.
Admittedly, most of the songs on the M83 sleep mix are from the French (then duo, now) solo artist Anthony Gonzalez’ earlier albums — the self titled debut, Before The Dawn Heals Us, Digital Shades Vol.1, and Dead Cities, Red Seas & Lost Ghosts. This is not to say that these albums, nor the ones that followed, were all hazy ambience and twinkly, soothing synths. There is a bombast to M83. The music often gets big and wide — euphoric — a trend Gonzalez leaned into as the band grew more popular, with varying degrees of success. The 1980s-tinged Saturdays = Youth is a straight-up teenage dream-o classic, the bold double album Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming was mostly thriller and little filler, while more recent albums have felt wildly uneven.
That’s why M83’s ninth studio album, Fantasy, feels like a true return to form. After the ambient prologue “Water Deep,” M83 comes in hot with the signature-sounding “Oceans Niagara,” followed by the frenetic, upbeat “Amnesia” and the chill midtempo “Us And The Rest” — the first 15 minutes of the album lay out a proper sampler platter of all the styles that M83 does well.
The songs get longer and more eclectic after this - “Radar, Far, Gone,” with its jangly acoustic guitar and earnest piano accents, is electro Sea Change. “Sunny Boy” goes full ‘80s kraut-rock once the beat drops, all arpeggiators, operatic falsettos, and radio-friendly electric guitars. Gonzalez employs Justin Meldal-Johnsen as a co-producer on Fantasy. The stellar JMJ has more famously appeared in the studio and on tour alongside two of my all-timers, Nine Inch Nails and Beck, so his participation here is most welcome.
Gonzalez is a French dude who’s been world-building M83 mostly by himself for over two decades. As a songwriter, this makes him a unicorn of sorts. I’ve admittedly never listened to or enjoyed M83 for the lyrical content, rather I’ve found how Gonzalez integrates vocal melody into his dreamscapes much more intriguing. Let’s face it, no one at an M83 concert is shouting the lyrics back to the band. It is, and has always been, the musical aesthetic that titillates, that tugs at the heartstrings.
Fantasy never strays too far from its dream-pop crescendoes, its sugary synth bass, and drum machine bliss. Some may find this underwhelming, but my favorite M83 albums aim skyward while never completely leaving the atmosphere. It’s the tunes that eclipse the 7 minute mark that tend to claim the most attention — especially the pleasant plod of closer “Dismemberment Bureau” and the lovely orchestrated Funeral For A Friend on Mars lament of “Kool Nuit,” perhaps the best candidates on the album to join M83’s early efforts on a new sleep mix. I think I have a few blank CD-Rs in a drawer somewhere…
march 2023
MODEL/ACTRIZ
DOGSBODY
(True Panther)
Hit ‘Play’ on Dogsbody, the debut album from Brooklyn noise-punk band Model/Actriz, and you’ll think you have tinnitus. That’s because the tinny squeal that starts the album is intentional — as are the insect, tape machine and factory-like sounds that perpetuate the rest of the record. On Dogsbody, even the subtle moments can be intense.
”Crossing Guard” could be confused for an LCD Soundsystem song if not for Jack Wetmore’s wailing guitar lines, more reminiscent of a power saw than a five-stringed instrument. You get the vibe early on that being unnerving is Model/Actriz’s desired effect, and if that is indeed the case, then the band has achieved success.
What makes it all work is Cole Haden, and how the singer’s sultry, snaky delivery complements a healthy mix of throbbing beats, epic percussive buildups and ear-smashing crescendoes. The band may take things into the red at times, but Haden rarely raises his voice to that level, and it’s that intriguing dynamic that most distinguishes Model/Actriz from its peers (if it has any? This feels like a fresh sound in 2023).
Haden’s affectations remind of everyone from Bowie to Pete Steele to Jesus Lizard’s David Yow to Prick’s Kevin McMahon. The vocal booth is his confessional, as he delivers a desperate prayer to the gods (and perhaps a few demons) — always on edge, one false move away from a meltdown.
On “Divers,” the machine grinds to a sudden halt — it’s the ‘ballad’ in this black parade, and yet Wetmore and drummer Ruben Radlauer manage to conjure a few storms throughout, making effective use of the tools, all thumping toms and crash cymbals. The drum sound on Dogsbody, incidentally, is pretty bananas.
Kudos to Seth Manchester, whose bottom-heavy production brings out the best in the band’s sound (and spotlights a stellar, steady performance by bassist Aaron Shapiro), providing an industrial foundation to wrap the quieter, if still somewhat dissonant moments around while also allowing Wetmore and Haden to freely explore the higher registers.
Lyrically, Haden employs some repeating-line tropes that helped make bands like Tool and Rage Against The Machine famous (Model/Actriz sounds like neither), often tangled in self loathing (“All night, me and my wretched device”), growing slightly more unhinged with every refrain while the band ratches up the tension behind him.
We get a tease of melodic falsetto on album standout “Sleepless,” and even in this rare moment, Haden’s angsty archangel approach doesn’t so much cut thru the music as complement it. Otherwise, he treats the whole affair like some goth cabaret run thru a distortion pedal. His commitment to that aesthetic only makes his performance more effective, and the songs more distinguishable.
The platter ends with “Sun In,” a proper lullaby, at least by this band’s standards. The tinkling bell that permeates the songs is just a bit off. ”I can get back from two years ago,” Haden affirms. Is Cole attempting to overcome what we’ve all been wrestling with these past few years, or is his determination unrelated? The song ends, the tinkling bell reverts back to that tinny squeal, leaving us to check our ears and our minds, and ponder…
february 2023
HAMMOCK
LOVE IN THE VOID
(Hammock Music)
Whenever a colleague reveals that they enjoy ambient music of any sort, my standard follow-up is “Have you heard of Hammock?” It’s become akin to a reflex, music nerd shorthand. Friend: “I like a lot of amb…” Me: “HAMMOCK.”
Don’t ask me how I was first turned on to this Nashville-based duo cuz, son, I don’t remember. All I know is I’ve been listening - rather intently - since their debut, Kenotic. Back when making playlists on iTunes was a thing, a Hammock Sleep Mix was quickly constructed, alongside similar mixes of songs by M83, Sigur Ros, Moby and Enya (pipe down, Enya rules). Rarified air — and many an evening spent floating among the soft n fluffy audible clouds constructed by Mark Byrd and Andrew Thompson. Whether staring out at the sky or trying to catch a nap, Hammock is essential airplane music.
I own quite a few of Hammock’s albums and admittedly, nearly two decades in, it’s hard to differentiate one from the other. For me, Hammock is just one of those bands — the material is so uniformly solid that you can toss on 2010’s Longest Year or 2006’s Raising Your Voice…Trying to Stop an Echo and find yourself equally pleased with the results.
What makes their new record, Love In The Void, a standout is that it feels just a little darker, a little more intense. Perhaps its post-pandemic themes of yearning and frustration bring the songs closer to the void, but often times, the results feel more like a letting go than a lament. (don’t worry, lament fans — there’s lament here too)
Towards the end of the title track, the duo turn the distorted guitar up to Eleven, a cathartic coda that makes Love’s billing as Hammock’s ‘loudest album’ legit. The next song “UnTruth” quickly returns us to the heavens, the band’s trademark crisp acoustic guitar work and sweet-as-honey two-part harmonies aiding our ascent.
As usual, Hammock doesn’t skimp on the material, providing 13 mostly-instrumental songs that run well over an hour. This is not a complaint. Whether applying headphones so you can soar into the stratosphere unimpeded, or pressing ‘Play’, then stepping into the bathtub or the bedroom or onto a blanket in the grass, Hammock makes wonderful meditative company.
Hammock gets most aggressive on “Release,” a three minute grower enhanced by its accompanying video - a collage that proves that the band can amplify practically any visual moment, whether it’s horses galloping across the plains, a rocket exploding into space, or a young woman taking a shower. The album’s most pop-accessible track “Undoing” is notable for Christine Byrd’s ethereal backing vocals and its inward-facing “Do it to myself” refrain.
All the hallmarks are here - soaring crescendos awash in reverb, the steady tribal pulse of Jake Finch’s drumming (Hammock, can I steal your snare drum sound?), tinkly pianos that add gravitas to the album’s moments of quiet introspection. String orchestrations are provided by frequent collaborator Matt Kidd of Slow Meadow, another great ambient act signed to Hammock’s label.
It’s a fantastic collection of songs that “shout through and shatter the static of complacency.” Lay back, stare into the sun and enjoy your Hammock.
january 2023
ATSUKO CHIBAWATER, IT FEELS LIKE IT’S GROWING
(Mothland)
Hard to believe Atsuko Chiba has been around for over a decade, considering I’d never laid ears upon their unique brand of psychedelic rock until just now. Water, It Feels Like It’s Growing, the Canadian band’s third proper full-length, is an epic collection of mostly long compositions that often plod along unless and until they quickly change direction. Fortunately, the album’s more repetitious moments engage the ears rather than tire them out.
The best example of this is “Seeds,” a steady hike up Atsuko Mountain that stops off at Wendy Carlos’ house just a few steps into the climb. “I’m losing control” is its early refrain, but it’s the restraints of the band during “Seeds” that mesmerize despite the musical ‘sameness’. At the 3:30 mark, the UFO appears and carries us the rest of the way up to string concerto heaven, that border rising up across you.
The opening track, “Sunbath,” doesn’t pull any punches, making quick and effective shifts from its Can-like meditative drone to tribal thunderclap, a charge led by bassist David Palumbo.
“Link” — the platter’s shortest song by a country mile, and one of its most lyrically affecting — raises the stakes of self-destruction via soaring synths and prog-rock rhythms. It’s worthy of a place alongside the finer works of The Mars Volta and The Mothers of Invention.
The secret weapon throughout the album’s latter half: wailing guitars that add texture and nuance in the high registers — a technique applied just as successfully by the likes of Sigur Ros, Mogwai, My Bloody Valentine, and Explosions In The Sky.
The title track closes with a stoner rock sway and some proper Sabbath-ey riffage, and some of the album’s more menacing musical moments even recall the finer works of grunge pioneers Alice In Chains. Vocalist Karim Lakhdar treads a more dream-pop line, lest we forget this is experimental hodgepodge at its finest.
Water is where traditional song structures go to die, as best exemplified on the disorienting “Shook (I’m Often),” while “So Much For” occasionally shakes free of its singular Volta charm (“Fucked up, I’m the culprit!”) to collapse inside a horn-laden groove. A near-flawless experience.
For years, my favorite band from Montreal was The Stills (RIP) but that all changed once I got a couple of spins into this one.
I’m fortunate that I.