Currently Listening

A glog about the ups and downs of the "album shuffle" function.
The Afghan Whigs - 1965 Like most people, I’m mostly familiar with The Afghan Whigs mid-career high points (Gentlemen, Black Love), and the stuff from before and after kind of mirrors a trajectory very reminiscent of fellow midwesterners The Replacements; punkier early days, albums marked as the steps to their indie rock trailblazing opuses, and then the heady days that followed with a more polished sound and worn out welcome. The worn out welcome isn’t really true for either band, much like The ‘Mats’ All Shook Down,1965 definitely takes some liberties with genre, but Greg Dulli (in a Westerbergian fashion) is really showing that he can master songwriting in other genres as well as his own. 1965 is absolutely necessary in Dulli’s evolution from the Whigs to The Twilight Singers, especially in songs like “John the Baptist”, a near-six-minute sex funk workout complete with Dulli stretching his trademark lothario croon and full horn section. “The Slide Song” could have easily shown up on Gentlemen or Congregation, and “66” is a top 40 pop-rock the way only Greg Dulli can do it. He even throws out a nod to Nas’ seminal Illmatic in “Omerta”, with the line, “I don’t sleep ‘cause sleep is the cousin of death/At least that’s what Nas says”. The blues-dirge of “Neglekted” is a cringer at times, but if you listen carefully, you’ll hear bits of Lifter Puller, Built to Spill, and Modest Mouse hidden throughout the album under fragments of syrupy disjointed melodies and jagged funk guitars.

The Afghan Whigs - 1965

Like most people, I’m mostly familiar with The Afghan Whigs mid-career high points (Gentlemen, Black Love), and the stuff from before and after kind of mirrors a trajectory very reminiscent of fellow midwesterners The Replacements; punkier early days, albums marked as the steps to their indie rock trailblazing opuses, and then the heady days that followed with a more polished sound and worn out welcome. The worn out welcome isn’t really true for either band, much like The ‘Mats’ All Shook Down,1965 definitely takes some liberties with genre, but Greg Dulli (in a Westerbergian fashion) is really showing that he can master songwriting in other genres as well as his own. 1965 is absolutely necessary in Dulli’s evolution from the Whigs to The Twilight Singers, especially in songs like “John the Baptist”, a near-six-minute sex funk workout complete with Dulli stretching his trademark lothario croon and full horn section. “The Slide Song” could have easily shown up on Gentlemen or Congregation, and “66” is a top 40 pop-rock the way only Greg Dulli can do it. He even throws out a nod to Nas’ seminal Illmatic in “Omerta”, with the line, “I don’t sleep ‘cause sleep is the cousin of death/At least that’s what Nas says”. The blues-dirge of “Neglekted” is a cringer at times, but if you listen carefully, you’ll hear bits of Lifter Puller, Built to Spill, and Modest Mouse hidden throughout the album under fragments of syrupy disjointed melodies and jagged funk guitars.

Bomb the Music Industry!/O Pioneers!!! - Split Showcasing both bands involved at a definite turning point in their careers, this split from Brooklyn’s Bomb the Music Industry! and Houston’s O Pioneers!!! (one split, four exclamation points) is a brief, but startlingly accurate cross-section of what the punk rock underground looked like in 2007. Tied together by a loosely folky thread, Bomb the Music Industry!’s energetic ska-punk and O Pioneers’ Against Me!-influenced acoustic-based thrashy punk represented at the time a burgeoning DIY aesthetic of the internet age. Less relevant because of the content, but more because it’s two young powerhouses of the adolescent punk scene, each band churns out an acceptable effort, but it’s O Pioneers!!! that steal the show. Recorded before the band introduced a bass and second guitarist, they open their half of the split with a borderline joke track about Punknews.Org memes, and things get sicker from there. O Pioneers!!! side’s barnburner, “You Know That Scene in Superman III?…” writhes with lightning-fast strumming and kinetic drumming and boasts a fist-pumping gang chorus, making it the definite album highlight. BTMI’s side is still strong, including future fan favorites “This is a Sing Along” and “Save the War”, but it falters the closer to ska it leans. For a band who stakes so much of their reputation on covers, it hurts to see them butcher them on record (see also their cover of Laura Stevenson’s “A Shine to It”), and their inclusion of Regina Spektor’s “Ghost of Corporate Future” is a glaring sore on their half (though I’d chalk part of that up to it being a bad song in the first place).

Bomb the Music Industry!/O Pioneers!!! - Split

Showcasing both bands involved at a definite turning point in their careers, this split from Brooklyn’s Bomb the Music Industry! and Houston’s O Pioneers!!! (one split, four exclamation points) is a brief, but startlingly accurate cross-section of what the punk rock underground looked like in 2007. Tied together by a loosely folky thread, Bomb the Music Industry!’s energetic ska-punk and O Pioneers’ Against Me!-influenced acoustic-based thrashy punk represented at the time a burgeoning DIY aesthetic of the internet age. Less relevant because of the content, but more because it’s two young powerhouses of the adolescent punk scene, each band churns out an acceptable effort, but it’s O Pioneers!!! that steal the show. Recorded before the band introduced a bass and second guitarist, they open their half of the split with a borderline joke track about Punknews.Org memes, and things get sicker from there. O Pioneers!!! side’s barnburner, “You Know That Scene in Superman III?…” writhes with lightning-fast strumming and kinetic drumming and boasts a fist-pumping gang chorus, making it the definite album highlight. BTMI’s side is still strong, including future fan favorites “This is a Sing Along” and “Save the War”, but it falters the closer to ska it leans. For a band who stakes so much of their reputation on covers, it hurts to see them butcher them on record (see also their cover of Laura Stevenson’s “A Shine to It”), and their inclusion of Regina Spektor’s “Ghost of Corporate Future” is a glaring sore on their half (though I’d chalk part of that up to it being a bad song in the first place).

Ghostface Killah - Hidden Darts: Special Edition Ghostface has carved out a pretty sweet niche in the hip-hop world. He easily blurs the line between commercial and critical success, reaches out to hyper-literate white suburban males all the while keeping more street cred in his lap than virtually every other MC in the game, and probably one of the biggest reasons why is his prolific nature. Hidden Darts is a compilation released in early 2007, smack in the middle of an unbelievable 18 month stretch where Ghost released three (count ‘em, 3) proper LP’s, including 2006’s mind-blowing  late-career smash, Fishscale (number 78 on my list of the 100 greatest albums ever made). In a year and a half where Ghost released nearly 60 tracks, he was bound to be left with a lot of remixes, spare verses, and various other unreleased material. The first Hidden Darts collection here collects material mostly from the FIshscale era, but some dating as far back as 2001’s Bulletproof Wallets (an album that was originally supposed to be Cuban Linx II), finding a grab bag of freestyle tracks, remixes, and odds and ends from Ghost’s cutting room floor. While it’s not phenomenal, it’s still front-to-back better than 2007’s Big Doe Rehab, which came at the tail-end of this 18-month hot streak. The record opens with the immediately infectious “Hidden Darts”, copping Ghost’s flooring second verse from Fishscale’s “The Champ” and dropping a slicker, less flashy beat behind it, setting a tone for the rest of the LP; this isn’t the Wizard of Poetry Ghostface. While the middle of the album ends up being a showcase for his Theodore Unit squad, we get some killer verses from Method Man (“Drummer”) and Raekwon (“Belt Holders”), and Cappadonna mercifully makes only a single appearance. “Paycheck” is a killer Ghost verbal workout featuring lines like “When I see jewels all I know is take/I’m like a seed at a birthday party/All I want is cake”, and “Wise” rides a dour soul beat through a remorseful tune. The “Cherchez La Ghost” and “9 Milli Bros.” remixes are give or take, and “Black Cream” sees Ghost flowing crazy over a sample of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” nearly a year before 8 Diagrams dropped. Ghostface shows out with his trademark versatility and charm all over the album, collecting some neat moments throughout maybe one of the all-time great 2 year stretches any MC has ever had.

Ghostface Killah - Hidden Darts: Special Edition

Ghostface has carved out a pretty sweet niche in the hip-hop world. He easily blurs the line between commercial and critical success, reaches out to hyper-literate white suburban males all the while keeping more street cred in his lap than virtually every other MC in the game, and probably one of the biggest reasons why is his prolific nature. Hidden Darts is a compilation released in early 2007, smack in the middle of an unbelievable 18 month stretch where Ghost released three (count ‘em, 3) proper LP’s, including 2006’s mind-blowing  late-career smash, Fishscale (number 78 on my list of the 100 greatest albums ever made). In a year and a half where Ghost released nearly 60 tracks, he was bound to be left with a lot of remixes, spare verses, and various other unreleased material. The first Hidden Darts collection here collects material mostly from the FIshscale era, but some dating as far back as 2001’s Bulletproof Wallets (an album that was originally supposed to be Cuban Linx II), finding a grab bag of freestyle tracks, remixes, and odds and ends from Ghost’s cutting room floor. While it’s not phenomenal, it’s still front-to-back better than 2007’s Big Doe Rehab, which came at the tail-end of this 18-month hot streak. The record opens with the immediately infectious “Hidden Darts”, copping Ghost’s flooring second verse from Fishscale’s “The Champ” and dropping a slicker, less flashy beat behind it, setting a tone for the rest of the LP; this isn’t the Wizard of Poetry Ghostface. While the middle of the album ends up being a showcase for his Theodore Unit squad, we get some killer verses from Method Man (“Drummer”) and Raekwon (“Belt Holders”), and Cappadonna mercifully makes only a single appearance. “Paycheck” is a killer Ghost verbal workout featuring lines like “When I see jewels all I know is take/I’m like a seed at a birthday party/All I want is cake”, and “Wise” rides a dour soul beat through a remorseful tune. The “Cherchez La Ghost” and “9 Milli Bros.” remixes are give or take, and “Black Cream” sees Ghost flowing crazy over a sample of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” nearly a year before 8 Diagrams dropped. Ghostface shows out with his trademark versatility and charm all over the album, collecting some neat moments throughout maybe one of the all-time great 2 year stretches any MC has ever had.

Les Savy Fav - 3/5 In the interest of keeping this somewhat brief, I’m gonna go ahead and put it out there that Les Savy Fav’s first record at the very least left them a lot of room to improve. While I wouldn’t call it a bad record, it’s just kind of unimpressive. Songs like “J’Taime”, “Blackouts”, and “New Teen Anthem” show the inner excellence that LSF would become more indicative of on their later records, but for the most part, it’s run-of-the-mill dance punk. The song structure and pop sensibility is less realized than on something like 2000’s Rome (Spelled Upside Down) EP or 2007’s wonderful Let’s Stay Friends, but Tim Harrington & Co. can at least cash in on the youthful thrash of the previously mentioned songs. Like most bands who have thrived in the singles arena (see 2003’s Inches compilation), there’s a lot of trouble in the early years putting together a cohesive full-length. Les Savy Fav is no exception, but it’s not until a number of years from their debut when they hit their stride and are able to balance their excellent ear for great singles with the ability to keep it together for 12 tracks.

Les Savy Fav - 3/5

In the interest of keeping this somewhat brief, I’m gonna go ahead and put it out there that Les Savy Fav’s first record at the very least left them a lot of room to improve. While I wouldn’t call it a bad record, it’s just kind of unimpressive. Songs like “J’Taime”, “Blackouts”, and “New Teen Anthem” show the inner excellence that LSF would become more indicative of on their later records, but for the most part, it’s run-of-the-mill dance punk. The song structure and pop sensibility is less realized than on something like 2000’s Rome (Spelled Upside Down) EP or 2007’s wonderful Let’s Stay Friends, but Tim Harrington & Co. can at least cash in on the youthful thrash of the previously mentioned songs. Like most bands who have thrived in the singles arena (see 2003’s Inches compilation), there’s a lot of trouble in the early years putting together a cohesive full-length. Les Savy Fav is no exception, but it’s not until a number of years from their debut when they hit their stride and are able to balance their excellent ear for great singles with the ability to keep it together for 12 tracks.

Fugazi - Steady Diet of Nothing For being my favorite band of all time, and for being a band whom I often refer to with the phrase, “fuck every other band ever,” the amount of times I actually sit down and listen to Steady Diet of Nothing is very very infrequent. Written and recorded right on the heels of the previous year’s Repeater LP and 3 Songs seven inch, Steady Diet is widely regarded as Fugazi’s “least essential” album, and with good enough reason. The production is muddy, some of the songs are misguided attempts at recapturing the band’s hardcore roots (“Polish”), and flat instrumental pieces (the titular “Steady Diet”). However, for every “Stacks”, there’s a song like the resiliently solemn “Long Division”, an absolutely essential piece of D.C. hardcore. I - like most people - give the album a pretty unfair shake in the light of its follow-up, 1993’s magnificently aggressive and visceral In on the Kill Taker (number 89 on my list of the 100 greatest records of all time), but it’s not really as deserving of my disdain as I like to think it is. And again, like most people, I also say that “a bad Fugazi album is still better than 99% of most band’s creative outputs”, which is a conceit I still hold to be true. Steady Diet is still packed with Fugazi classics. “Exit Only” and “Reclamation” pack an excellent aggressive one-two punch, “Nice New Outfit” is one of Guy’s best songs, and the aforementioned “Long Division” is the defining moment of early-90’s Dischord Records. No, it still doesn’t hold a candle to the coherent and expansive Red Medicine or The Argument, or the early raw guitar squeals of Repeater and Kill Taker, but it still fits perfectly and squarely as a stepping stone in Fugazi’s history, and is an absolute essentiality in their catalog.

Fugazi - Steady Diet of Nothing

For being my favorite band of all time, and for being a band whom I often refer to with the phrase, “fuck every other band ever,” the amount of times I actually sit down and listen to Steady Diet of Nothing is very very infrequent. Written and recorded right on the heels of the previous year’s Repeater LP and 3 Songs seven inch, Steady Diet is widely regarded as Fugazi’s “least essential” album, and with good enough reason. The production is muddy, some of the songs are misguided attempts at recapturing the band’s hardcore roots (“Polish”), and flat instrumental pieces (the titular “Steady Diet”). However, for every “Stacks”, there’s a song like the resiliently solemn “Long Division”, an absolutely essential piece of D.C. hardcore. I - like most people - give the album a pretty unfair shake in the light of its follow-up, 1993’s magnificently aggressive and visceral In on the Kill Taker (number 89 on my list of the 100 greatest records of all time), but it’s not really as deserving of my disdain as I like to think it is. And again, like most people, I also say that “a bad Fugazi album is still better than 99% of most band’s creative outputs”, which is a conceit I still hold to be true. Steady Diet is still packed with Fugazi classics. “Exit Only” and “Reclamation” pack an excellent aggressive one-two punch, “Nice New Outfit” is one of Guy’s best songs, and the aforementioned “Long Division” is the defining moment of early-90’s Dischord Records. No, it still doesn’t hold a candle to the coherent and expansive Red Medicine or The Argument, or the early raw guitar squeals of Repeater and Kill Taker, but it still fits perfectly and squarely as a stepping stone in Fugazi’s history, and is an absolute essentiality in their catalog.

Thursday - Kill the House Lights I remember when Thursday was making plans for this release, they were spouting all kinds of absurd shit about how it was going to be a huge collaboration album featuring Jacob Bannon and Tim Kasher and a million other people (much like every Converge record is), which is a cool idea (much like Against Me! & Lucero’s abandoned idea for a collaborative split with both bands playing the songs together) and all, but something that’s never really been accomplished. Tim Kasher does show up here though, lending vocals to the stellar opener, “Ladies & Gentlemen, My Brother the Failure”. Other than that and “Dead Songs”, there’s not much offered here. Live versions of some fan favorites (but not that many), an alternate extended version of 2001’s “How Long is the Night”, a demo version of a song that would become “Time’s Arrow” from 2009’s surprisingly aggressive and consistent Common Existence. It’s a fan treat, an accompaniment for a live DVD release, a stopgap in a three-year absence from recording, a lead-up to their excellent split with Envy from two years back. The quality of the material isn’t bad, there just isn’t much of it there, but for Thursday die-hards (are there still any?) it’s a definite must-have.

Thursday - Kill the House Lights

I remember when Thursday was making plans for this release, they were spouting all kinds of absurd shit about how it was going to be a huge collaboration album featuring Jacob Bannon and Tim Kasher and a million other people (much like every Converge record is), which is a cool idea (much like Against Me! & Lucero’s abandoned idea for a collaborative split with both bands playing the songs together) and all, but something that’s never really been accomplished. Tim Kasher does show up here though, lending vocals to the stellar opener, “Ladies & Gentlemen, My Brother the Failure”. Other than that and “Dead Songs”, there’s not much offered here. Live versions of some fan favorites (but not that many), an alternate extended version of 2001’s “How Long is the Night”, a demo version of a song that would become “Time’s Arrow” from 2009’s surprisingly aggressive and consistent Common Existence. It’s a fan treat, an accompaniment for a live DVD release, a stopgap in a three-year absence from recording, a lead-up to their excellent split with Envy from two years back. The quality of the material isn’t bad, there just isn’t much of it there, but for Thursday die-hards (are there still any?) it’s a definite must-have.

Burning Love - Songs for Burning Lovers When long-running and beloved Canadian hardcore band Cursed broke up in 2008, it was a pretty devastating blow to the Canadian hardcore scene. Cursed were among the most abrasive bands to ever have walked Canada’s vast plains, making hardcore in the vein of Tragedy or From Ashes Rise, but with lead vocalist Chris Colohan’s unmistakable earth-shaking growl creating a more discordant sound than the rest of the band. So when Colohan’s new band, Burning Love started to surface late in 2009, some people were thrown back. A borderline cock-rock hardcore band bringing back the glory days of the middle 00’s when Bars and the Hope Conspiracy and Doomriders ruled the earth was not what most people expected. However, Colohan directs it masterfully. Softening up his voice only slightly from his days with Cursed, Burning Love ends up sounding like a ballsier version of The Bronx, full of gnarly, boogie-inducing metal riffage, and throat-tearing vocals from Colohan. “Alien Vs. Creditor” and “Curse Breaker” are among the best songs anyone recorded last year, and the closest thing to a “slow jam” on here is the single “Don’t Ever Change” or the break in “Morning After Party”, but even those are harder than virtually anything else out there right now. This landed at number 25 on my Top 50 Records of 2010 list recently, and I stand behind its placement absolutely. I’m a total sucker for hardcore like this, and Songs for Burning Lovers is a record in this style that’s really only rivaled by The Hope Conspiracy’s untouchable 2002 release, Endnote, and in time will undoubtedly become a milestone in this variety of hardcore.

Burning Love - Songs for Burning Lovers

When long-running and beloved Canadian hardcore band Cursed broke up in 2008, it was a pretty devastating blow to the Canadian hardcore scene. Cursed were among the most abrasive bands to ever have walked Canada’s vast plains, making hardcore in the vein of Tragedy or From Ashes Rise, but with lead vocalist Chris Colohan’s unmistakable earth-shaking growl creating a more discordant sound than the rest of the band. So when Colohan’s new band, Burning Love started to surface late in 2009, some people were thrown back. A borderline cock-rock hardcore band bringing back the glory days of the middle 00’s when Bars and the Hope Conspiracy and Doomriders ruled the earth was not what most people expected. However, Colohan directs it masterfully. Softening up his voice only slightly from his days with Cursed, Burning Love ends up sounding like a ballsier version of The Bronx, full of gnarly, boogie-inducing metal riffage, and throat-tearing vocals from Colohan. “Alien Vs. Creditor” and “Curse Breaker” are among the best songs anyone recorded last year, and the closest thing to a “slow jam” on here is the single “Don’t Ever Change” or the break in “Morning After Party”, but even those are harder than virtually anything else out there right now. This landed at number 25 on my Top 50 Records of 2010 list recently, and I stand behind its placement absolutely. I’m a total sucker for hardcore like this, and Songs for Burning Lovers is a record in this style that’s really only rivaled by The Hope Conspiracy’s untouchable 2002 release, Endnote, and in time will undoubtedly become a milestone in this variety of hardcore.

Dinosaur Jr. - Where You Been Navigating Dino Jr.’s major label years is kind of a weird thing. Lou Barlow had exited the band before 1991’s Green Mind, their first record for Sire amidst turmoil and creative differences with J. Mascis. Most people, myself included, are really only familiar with Living-era Dino Jr. and their post-reunion material beginning with 2007’s Beyond (one of the all-time great reunion albums), and I want to say that Lou Barlow is really missed, but it’s tough to really notice. On Green Mind, Mascis played almost all the instruments, with Murph only appearing to play drums on a couple tracks, but Where You Been is a full-band effort, and while I do miss Barlow’s “wildcard” input, the jams are still there, the guitar remains thick and howling, the rhythm section supplies a great anchor for the band, with Murph’s dextrous pummeling drumwork standing squarely in the background. You can tell that DJ weren’t churning out hits under Sire, “Start Choppin’” is the closest thing to a “money shot” single, and even that wouldn’t play on alternative radio even in the middle of the Alternative Nation that was 1993. “Goin’ Home” is among their best songs, and “Out There” is a nice sludgy opener. Sure, it’s not You’re Living All Over Me, but it’s not that far off. J. Mascis is an incredible songwriter, and he’s always been the core of this band, with or without Lou Barlow. There are weird major-label flourishes, like the orchestral outro to the otherwise magnificent “What Else is New”, but the assaulting intro to the following “On the Way” more than makes up for it. The real rock-out moments that we all love Dino Jr. for are there, intact, unmolested. The guitar solos rip, the melodies drive, and the band remains a touchstone for guitar rock in the modern age, because at the end of the day, that’s what Dinosaur Jr. has always been about; big fucking stupid loud shrieking blow-your-brains-out-your-ears guitar.

Dinosaur Jr. - Where You Been

Navigating Dino Jr.’s major label years is kind of a weird thing. Lou Barlow had exited the band before 1991’s Green Mind, their first record for Sire amidst turmoil and creative differences with J. Mascis. Most people, myself included, are really only familiar with Living-era Dino Jr. and their post-reunion material beginning with 2007’s Beyond (one of the all-time great reunion albums), and I want to say that Lou Barlow is really missed, but it’s tough to really notice. On Green Mind, Mascis played almost all the instruments, with Murph only appearing to play drums on a couple tracks, but Where You Been is a full-band effort, and while I do miss Barlow’s “wildcard” input, the jams are still there, the guitar remains thick and howling, the rhythm section supplies a great anchor for the band, with Murph’s dextrous pummeling drumwork standing squarely in the background. You can tell that DJ weren’t churning out hits under Sire, “Start Choppin’” is the closest thing to a “money shot” single, and even that wouldn’t play on alternative radio even in the middle of the Alternative Nation that was 1993. “Goin’ Home” is among their best songs, and “Out There” is a nice sludgy opener. Sure, it’s not You’re Living All Over Me, but it’s not that far off. J. Mascis is an incredible songwriter, and he’s always been the core of this band, with or without Lou Barlow. There are weird major-label flourishes, like the orchestral outro to the otherwise magnificent “What Else is New”, but the assaulting intro to the following “On the Way” more than makes up for it. The real rock-out moments that we all love Dino Jr. for are there, intact, unmolested. The guitar solos rip, the melodies drive, and the band remains a touchstone for guitar rock in the modern age, because at the end of the day, that’s what Dinosaur Jr. has always been about; big fucking stupid loud shrieking blow-your-brains-out-your-ears guitar.

Devendra Banhart - Nino Rojo Here’s a fun example about why I like my album shuffle. Here’s a record that I’ve had very little interaction with. I got into Devendra Banhart like a year ago when Tim (my frequent guide through the folk music underbelly) recommended him to me. I have most of this records, but haven’t spent a lot of time with them, although I gave Nino Rojo’s predecessor (and sister album), Rejoicing in the Hands a fair amount of play about 6 months ago. But, over the last week or so, Tim’s had this in his car, and we’ve been listening to it on the way to/from practice and shows, so I’ve been getting a nice little primer on it before this coincidentally popped up. I really enjoy Banhart’s music. I think I had an unfair impression of him prior to hearing any of his albums. I saw the Mansonesque hippie weirdo folkie in photos before hearing a single song, and saw publications across the board championing him as the hero of “freak folk”, which is a term I - at the time (let’s say 2005) - associated most vividly with Animal Collective’s Sung Tongs LP. Clearly not a very good comparison. Fortunately, Banhart follows a more traditional folk pattern, but not without his own spin on it. His wavering treble-y voice betrays a confidence in his delivery and musical prowess, and Nino Rojo (recorded in the same sessions as 2004’s Rejoicing) is thus far my favorite of his albums. “Little Yellow Spider” - an album standout - flutters along Banhart’s savant-esque picked guitar with a genuine lightheartedness not found in modern folk. “Be Kind”, “An Island” and “At the Hop” are pure unequivocal first-mixtape gold, and Banhart’s ear for melody is near untouchable. His portrayed naivete does wonders for his winking charm and the playfully mature songwriting, making Nino Rojo a joy of a record.

Devendra Banhart - Nino Rojo

Here’s a fun example about why I like my album shuffle. Here’s a record that I’ve had very little interaction with. I got into Devendra Banhart like a year ago when Tim (my frequent guide through the folk music underbelly) recommended him to me. I have most of this records, but haven’t spent a lot of time with them, although I gave Nino Rojo’s predecessor (and sister album), Rejoicing in the Hands a fair amount of play about 6 months ago. But, over the last week or so, Tim’s had this in his car, and we’ve been listening to it on the way to/from practice and shows, so I’ve been getting a nice little primer on it before this coincidentally popped up.

I really enjoy Banhart’s music. I think I had an unfair impression of him prior to hearing any of his albums. I saw the Mansonesque hippie weirdo folkie in photos before hearing a single song, and saw publications across the board championing him as the hero of “freak folk”, which is a term I - at the time (let’s say 2005) - associated most vividly with Animal Collective’s Sung Tongs LP. Clearly not a very good comparison. Fortunately, Banhart follows a more traditional folk pattern, but not without his own spin on it. His wavering treble-y voice betrays a confidence in his delivery and musical prowess, and Nino Rojo (recorded in the same sessions as 2004’s Rejoicing) is thus far my favorite of his albums. “Little Yellow Spider” - an album standout - flutters along Banhart’s savant-esque picked guitar with a genuine lightheartedness not found in modern folk. “Be Kind”, “An Island” and “At the Hop” are pure unequivocal first-mixtape gold, and Banhart’s ear for melody is near untouchable. His portrayed naivete does wonders for his winking charm and the playfully mature songwriting, making Nino Rojo a joy of a record.

Nellie McKay-Obligatory Villagers (2007) That’s pronounced McKAI, like the front man of Minor Threat. Nellie McKay is this perky little girl filled with energy, spunk and no filter. She’s a punk rocker that doesn’t do punk rock. She says whatever she wants, however she wants, in whatever genre she’d like. Show tunes? No problem. Rap? Absolutely. Reggae and Rocksteady? She’ll do it. And she’ll do it quickly, messy, and with attitude. And possibly tongue-in-cheek. Just don’t ask her to be commercial, cause she won’t do that at all. On her first album Get Away From Me (an intentional play on “rival” Norah Jones’ Come Away With Me), McKay was all over the place, changing styles as it suited her. Going from rock to hip-hop to jazz. She earned a reputation as a combination of Frank Sinatra and Eminem. She was fiery and angry and it sounded fantastic. After her second album Pretty Little Head (which is probably her strongest release), McKay became a little more consistent on style. Obligatory Villagers (her third album) mostly sticks with show tunes and jazz (aside from a goofy opener and closer that don’t  reflect the rest of the album at all).  McKay never hid her love of Broadway on her past releases, and used Obligatory Villagers to put her own spin on it. Starting from “Oversure”, McKay tackles the show tunes genre like it were a race. She speeds through songs, not stopping to care who she offends or curses out along the way. Be-Bop legend Bob Dorough does guest vocals on many tracks, yet can’t keep up with McKay’s insanity.  Now don’t get me wrong, this may not be the best place to start if you’ve never heard Nellie McKay before. In fact, you may listen to this album after reading my review above and say “hey, its nothing like that! Where’s this big-mouthed punk you mentioned?” It might be better to start at her first album and then move down the line to this one…but I need to warn you again: she doesn’t stick to a style, even within one song. She may be rapping on top of a jazz song, or doing Pogues-style vocals on a pastiche of Broadway. She refuses to be defined, and she doesn’t care what you think. And what’s more punk than that?

Nellie McKay-Obligatory Villagers (2007)

That’s pronounced McKAI, like the front man of Minor Threat.

Nellie McKay is this perky little girl filled with energy, spunk and no filter. She’s a punk rocker that doesn’t do punk rock. She says whatever she wants, however she wants, in whatever genre she’d like. Show tunes? No problem. Rap? Absolutely. Reggae and Rocksteady? She’ll do it. And she’ll do it quickly, messy, and with attitude. And possibly tongue-in-cheek.

Just don’t ask her to be commercial, cause she won’t do that at all.

On her first album Get Away From Me (an intentional play on “rival” Norah Jones’ Come Away With Me), McKay was all over the place, changing styles as it suited her. Going from rock to hip-hop to jazz. She earned a reputation as a combination of Frank Sinatra and Eminem. She was fiery and angry and it sounded fantastic.

After her second album Pretty Little Head (which is probably her strongest release), McKay became a little more consistent on style. Obligatory Villagers (her third album) mostly sticks with show tunes and jazz (aside from a goofy opener and closer that don’t  reflect the rest of the album at all).  McKay never hid her love of Broadway on her past releases, and used Obligatory Villagers to put her own spin on it.

Starting from “Oversure”, McKay tackles the show tunes genre like it were a race. She speeds through songs, not stopping to care who she offends or curses out along the way. Be-Bop legend Bob Dorough does guest vocals on many tracks, yet can’t keep up with McKay’s insanity. 

Now don’t get me wrong, this may not be the best place to start if you’ve never heard Nellie McKay before. In fact, you may listen to this album after reading my review above and say “hey, its nothing like that! Where’s this big-mouthed punk you mentioned?” It might be better to start at her first album and then move down the line to this one…but I need to warn you again: she doesn’t stick to a style, even within one song. She may be rapping on top of a jazz song, or doing Pogues-style vocals on a pastiche of Broadway. She refuses to be defined, and she doesn’t care what you think. And what’s more punk than that?