This record hit 2012 like the spotlight hits an old lounge singer in a seedy jazz club. With hushed, husky vocals, Leonard Cohen sounds a bit like a reformed prisoner who has just returned to the outside world from jail. While this is his first record in eight years, and though it may be riddled with puzzles, it is by no means disappointing. Cohen has entered that group of singer/songwriter legends who are standing in the doorway of death. Perhaps this is why he religious, superstitious and grave in a way that he never has before. Actually, the feel and sound of this album remind me in many ways of Dylan’s “Time Out Of Mind”, the record he released after a similar break of about seven years without any new material.

“Old Ideas” starts with a overtly titled track called “Going Home” that threads a third-person narration of “Leonard” his faults, flaws and hopes are discussed in relation to his life, death and accomplishments. He sings “He will speak these words of wisdom/ Like a sage, a man of vision / Though he knows he’s really nothing/ But the brief elaboration of a tube.” The paradox he creates here is one of puppet and puppeteer, of import and insignificance, poetry that moves me to consider echelons higher than the one I normally find my thoughts dwelling. This poetry that sets Cohen apart is back in full force. Invoking imagery in the same breath from rehab and a church pew on “Amen” Cohen deftly combines the threads of life into songs that prick and pique my interest like never before.

One of the puzzles of the record is why in the world Cohen allowed the thick coating of female back up singers on his songs. Almost every song feels draped in streamers as soon as these voices show up, which is astonishingly often, and they turn every track into a song that sounds like a parody of itself. Sometimes he leaves off vocally altogether and the chorus of gospel-bound harmonies bounces right over and through his poetry without any recognition of what it stands for, what it means. I found this to be a facet of the record that actually disgusted me, it felt cookie cutter but it also felt inconsistent.

Filled with curve balls, even after a solid few days with the record I keep uncovering new twists and turns. My favorite track is “Banjo” near the end of the record. Although still filled with these chintzy female back up singers (really it is astonishing how often they show up), they almost feel appropriate on this track. First Cohen declares “There’s something that I’m watching / Means a lot to me” and after this intriguing opening goes straight into what could be a line from Mother Goose “It’s a broken banjo boppin’ on the dark, infested sea.” The bopping nature of this song and Cohen’s own hint of a smile in his pronunciation make this track a delight to hear.

The themes of death and growing old appear in most of the tracks, including “Darkness” which almost sounds like it could be off of “Time Out Of Mind” with its heavy dose of organ and Cohen’s vocals at their lowest and most foreboding. Love and growing old seems to be another irreconcilable topic for Cohen as both “Crazy To Love You” and “Different Sides” deal with twisting effects that time have on love and what a relationship becomes.

Sometimes he sounds straight out of a saloon, sometimes he sounds like a like a pulpit-pounding preacher, sometimes he could be a cheerful grandfather singing his grandchildren a silly ditty, and sometimes Leonard Cohen sounds like a veritable legend. Whatever your degree of contact and connection with this record, it becomes apparent even upon a cursory listen, that despite its flaws, this collection of songs is the work of a musical genius and a true legend.

Connect with Leonard Cohen – Facebook | Twitter | Website | Label

Blue Sky Black Death, the Seattle-based beat-production duo, are radically experimental when put into the same context as artists like Star Slinger or Clams Casino, which are other artists who have recently dabbled in the hip-hop realm.  They have a thirteen-minute long track, “13”, that takes the listener through a smorgasbord of rapidly changing textures and long-winded progressions.  Their beats combined with Nacho Picasso, also based in Seattle, provide a new perspective for the hip-hop scene.  In a local climate where socially conscious rappers like Macklemore and the Blue Scholars reign supreme, experimental hip-hop like Shabazz Palaces and THEESatisfaction are highly regarded, and energetic party-rhymers like Fresh Espresso and Mad Rad are constantly performing throughout the city, Nacho Picasso’s voice is oddly separate.  He doesn’t fall into any single category, although his style is reminiscent of southern rap because of Mike Jones-style slowed down lyrics and the way he swings from bar to bar with calm expertise.  “Lord of The Fly” is their second collaborative album and it yields some bizarre and groundbreaking results that overall prove they work well together.

Nacho’s strengths are his intelligence and humour.  “I’m A Greek God” shows his creativity, likening himself to a god-like status and relying heavily on puns to emphasize his otherworldly swagger.  Boasting lyrics like, “Should have been a Minotaur/’Cause your boy’s a beast/Got me feelin’ like Aries/’Cause I know no peace,” Nacho’s voice carries over the chilled-out Blue Sky Black Death beat, sounding strangely alien due to sparse percussion.  Nacho’s allusions to historical greatness also appear on “Tutankhamun” where the chorus is, “Me and Tutankhamun/Got a lot in common/I’m a young pharaoh.”  These tracks contain some of Nacho Picasso’s funniest lines, “Count Dracula/My bitch is Elvira/And Bride of Frankenstein/That’s my secret admirer,” and “Boy, I’m fresh to death/Like you dug up my body.”

While seemingly mindless comparisons are drawn, there are nods to a deeper intelligence in his wordplay and track titles.  “Naked Lunch”, also the title of a once controversial novel by William S. Burroughs, is also the longest track on the album.  This track also shows Blue Sky Black Death’s more club-friendly beats, with infused synths while Nacho references a ton of drugs, possibly relating to the risque nature of Burrough’s novel.

Blue Sky Black Death does wonderful work creating an ambient, highly listenable atmosphere for Nacho to spit some wildly abstract lyrics.  “On A Bitch” has a lo-fi guitar riff topped with percussion that’s accented by different effects, “Tool Man” sounds like parts of the beat are from Castelvania since there’s an element of 8-bit music within the track.  Finding any comparisons to their work is difficult because they seem to be in the hip-hop mindset, building effective beats that switch gears to make room for choruses or to emphasize certain parts of Nacho’s lyrics.

Of course there are a few cliches that Nacho falls into, like the track “Rammin’”, which is his gratuitous ode to sexual over-performance.  However, most hip-hop artists follow this trend and he has some particularly memorable lines like, “I got more accounts/Than my trophy wife/But I got more to count/I got a secretary/Just to sort ‘em out” and later, “I’m like the statue of David/Except more endowed.”

While his direction isn’t necessarily original, Nacho proves that he’s able to wield his lyrics with a sense of humor and impressive capability.  He may be under-appreciated in the latest wave of experimental hip-hop, with artists like Danny Brown, Tyler, the Creator, and Lil’ B lurking around, but his talent is greatly complimented by Blue Sky Black Death’s beats.  “Lord of The Fly” is a step in the right direction for Seattle’s hip-hop and it holds value as a well-executed experiment for fans of both synth-heavy beats and unconventional rap.

Connect with Blue Sky Black Death: Facebook | Twitter | Website

Connect with Nacho Picasso: Facebook | Twitter | Bandcamp | Website

When we last left Chairlift, Caroline Polacheck and Patrick Wimberly, they were somewhat exhausted.  The cutesy nature of their indie-pop hit “Bruises” had garnered them brief notoriety for writing adorable songs that are easy on the ears.  Much of their attention had come from the use of “Bruises” in an iPod commercial, putting off some fans while bringing in new fans with short attention spans.  “Something” is another shot at displaying their songwriting talents, now with a little more production muscle and an even more obvious nods to the 80′s, and it’s a complete success.

From the beginning, “Something” suggests a nonchalant adventure, perhaps setting out to explore a city.  “Sidewalk Safari” might recall a simple metropolitan excursion between friends with an uncertain destination, before the chorus lyrics reveal a more sinister storyline: “I’m gonna run you down.” The track actually begins with what sounds like tuning of instruments, almost like stretching before exerting physical movement.  Just as the song is building, the vocals come in, backed by an addictive beat that breaks into a a whiny guitar riff. When those vocals intertwine with a soaring synth line for the chorus, it’s really quite something. The track shows how Chairlift have grown since their last album and it only gets better.

“I Belong In Your Arms” is the obvious crown-jewel single of the album, which is saying something since the whole of the album is a dance-fest.  The beat is simple enough to allow the lyrics to carry the song.  The chorus reminds me of a typical Best Coast-hook since Polacheck’s voice is slightly distorted to sound lo-fi but the distortion doesn’t drown-out the message or tone of the vocals.  “Amanaemonesia”, the first single from “Something”, shows Chairlift’s most acrobatic vocal performance.  The track uses many effects but not excessively, just enough to allude to how energetic they are as a band.

I’m also taken by how upfront Polacheck is in songs like “Met Before” and “Guilty As Charged.”  She isn’t hiding behind slick production or overextending herself over the music, which both frequently happen in this genre of music.  Polacheck’s growth as a singer is obvious.  Also, she morphs from sounding like Feist on “Ghost Tonight” to sounding like a combination between Ingrid Michaelson and Inara George but she doesn’t bite their styles.  She sounds contemporary but she’s difficult to pin down as a vocalist because she’s able to own so many styles.

Also, the variety of songs they offer on “Something” suggests a more mature group: Polachek and Wimberly nail poppy hooks whenever they want to, but they don’t make them their crutch.  “Cool As A Fire” is a somber, fragile song with lyrics like “Nothing ever lasts forever” repeated as the song comes to an end.  Historically, Chairlift hasn’t written about despair but they’re successful in creating a downtrodden track.  “Turning”, is heavily influenced by chamber-pop, slathered with reverb to create a blanket of sound.  Chairlift still focuses on writing indie-pop but hearing them testing new sounds is encouraging, especially because they embrace each style enthusiastically.

From the title of the album, you might think it’s a forgettable or bland collection of songs by a band that may not really care about how they’re perceived.  However, “Something” allows listeners to see Chairlift as a reinvented musical entity.  They actually took the feedback from their last album and used it to build their strongest album yet.  “Something” is more than just a band growing, it’s their inclusion of many popular sounds and adding them to their repertoire.  Chairlift have completely avoided falling into boring cliches and has forged a new path for their music.

Connect with Chairlift: Facebook | Twitter | Website

Trailer Trash Tracys is a four-piece band from London, signed by Domino Records/Double Six. The band snagged attention with their longing-filled track, “Candy Girl”, two years ago, around the time The XX made their debut, and has only recently released their first album, Ester, to add to their name. Stating Sufi poetry (now if that doesn’t sound intriguing already, I don’t know what’ll pull you in…) and a kaleidoscope of experimental sounds as their influences, this band certainly has a sound that is distinctly interesting, mixing the unfamiliar and the familiar together in an intriguing blend.

I held zero expectations when I first started listening to their debut, “Ester”. Groggy and bored, I wanted something to surprise me, something different from the usual repeats of the usual artists I so often had on play. Glancing at the album cover, I wasn’t sure of what to expect of my auditory companion for the week – the hazed out woman on the cover and the unattractive font reminded me eerily of moments of frustration revolving a stuck Windows computer screen. To the cynical viewer, it looked unimpressive, if not vague, to say the least. What genre of music is this even?? was the all-important question asked the first time I set my eyes on the album.

Thankfully, just as you should not judge a book by its cover, I guess it’s only fair that you do not judge a band by its album cover as well (ha-ha). The first listen of the psychedelic-sounding opener, titled “Rolling Kiss the Universe“, managed to whet the appetite just enough as an opening track. However, what I liked even more was how beautifully in sequence it continued on to the next track, a cracker of a track titled “You Wish You Were Red“. This track, underlaced with Twin Peaks basslines so steadily good, introduces you to the vocals of the singer, Suzanne Aztoria, whose vocals are best described as nowhere near nectarine sweet yet serenely assuring in a dreamily hazy sense. Immediately, comparisons to other bands that come to mind upon listening would be psychedelic bands like Warpaint and perhaps even the much older Cocteau Twins. The lo-fi/shoegaze sound also inevitably draws comparisons to bands such as Still Corners and Sleep ∞ Over. But there is more to “Ester” than just that; add in a dash of dreampop, a strong 80s-soaked influence (think The Jesus and Mary Chain plus longingly haunting lyrics and you’ve got the basic outline of this album.

The star of “Ester” would be the disoriented arrangements of all the tracks; dissonant, weird, foggy, yet surprisingly so amazing in chemistry together. The lyrics are sparsely poetic and the overall music, a varied mash of many clashings, sometimes spacey and tinny, sometimes explosive and chaotic (check out the track “Starlatine” and “Turkish Heights“, both so freakishly good in warped ways). The obvious standout track, “Candy Girl”, is infectious and difficult not to fall in love with, tainted in melancholia and shoegaze as it is.

Then again, this album has its minor faults. This is not the sort of album to swoop you whole at first listen (in fact, it was hard for me to recollect the other songs from memory save for their two standouts the first few times I was listening to it) but it certainly grows on you fast and hard. “Ester” may not bowl you over completely but it is definitely a winner for hazed out nights to remind you of monologues you have with yourself in the dead, solitary hours of the early morning. For what its worth, this is definitely an interesting and a bold try worth crediting for a first album.

Connect With Trailer Trash Tracys – Website | Facebook | Last.fm

Soon, a review of “Let’s Go Eat The Factory”, but first a brief history lesson, just in case you don’t know the story so far. Guided By Voices haven’t released an album in 8 years. Some would probably call it 16 years, since it was in 1996 that Robert Pollard sacked and replaced the rest of the band with an all new line up. That iteration of GBV released some mighty fine albums in their time – I’m thinking “Isolation Drills” and “Earthquake Glue” – and Pollard has made his fair share of strong records in post-GBV collaborations, including one I quite liked last year, but none have quite scratched the same itch as the early 90s GBV did. The hope is that “Let’s Go Eat The Factory”, which sees the classic GBV line up back in the studio after a reunion tour, can capture some of that pre-96 magic.

You don’t have to spend a lot of time with the album to realise that that’s its goal. A glance at the sleeve reveals twenty-one tracks, only three of which break the three minute mark, while opening track “Laundry And Lasers”, which sounds like it was recorded with a walkie talkie, couldn’t do more to signpost a return to a sloppy, lo-fi aesthetic.  These tracks will come on scratchy and fast, just like old times.

And some of them will be no good, just like old times. GBV have always tread a fine line between bite-sized gems and underdeveloped filler, and unfortunately there’s a little too much of the latter here. Some tracks, like the overdramatic “Hang Mr. Kite”, actively miss the mark. Many others are simply forgettable, especially on the Pollard-dominated second half of the album, the exception being sinister closer “We Won’t Apologise for The Human Race”.

The first half of the album is more balanced in the songwriting stakes and is all the better for it. Pollard and returning keyboardist and guitarist Tobin Sprout trade blows on a run of cracking [and crackling] pop tunes, starting with the silly-but-delightful “Doughnut For A Snowman” and ending with the dirty and bluesy “The Big Hat And Toy Show”, both Pollard numbers. It’s Sprout who steals the show though. With his serene voice ever fresh, he exhibits a childlike revelry on tracks like “God Loves Us”, “Who Invented The Sun” and the frankly joyous “Waves”, and that revelry suggests very good things to come from GBV if they can squeeze another few albums from this get together.

“Let’s Go Eat The Factory” is an uneven album for sure, but it should do just enough to sate GBV fans with a retro hankering, and if in future the whole band starts enjoying itself as much as Sprout clearly already is, well, we could be in for another bona fide classic.

Connect with Guided By Voices: Last.fm | Website

This one’s a treat. Cheyenne Marie Mize was a folk singer-songwriter from Loiusville, Kentucky. I say “was” because although her first album, which you should check out if you haven’t already, was a mature collection of stripped down folk tunes showcasing Mize’s beautiful voice, her latest EP represents something of a transformation. On “We Don’t Need” Mize explores a range of new styles in just six short tracks and nails almost all of them. No need to beat around the bush with this one: this EP is almightily good.

Almightily best of all is “Going Under”, a piano driven blues tune with a clapped beat that’s frankly irresistable. I don’t envy anyone who isn’t compelled to move their feet when listening to this track. Mize is right up front as she belts out lines like “I want to take your hand… I want to have a good time with my lover” with confidence and invigorating cheek. That confidence is even greater on soulful opening track “Wishing Well” where, backed by nothing but thumping percussion, Mize’s voice is so powerful that it induces a slight buzz of distortion in an otherwise clean mix by the song’s conclusion.

From the soul and blues of the first side, “We Don’t Need” settles, briefly, on more conventional rock for its second half with “Keep It” and “It Lingers”. The first is definitely the stronger of the two, a bouncy guitar-pop tune with a cheesy organ line in the background that keeps the mood emphatically light where “It Lingers” is just a smidge more moody. The EP’s only hint of tonal consistency doesn’t last long though, as closing track “Back Around” once again sounds unlike anything else on the record. It’s a reverberating, hazy, shoe-gazey instrumental whose thundering climax provides the EP with a surprisingly fierce conclusion.

If “We Don’t Need” faulters anywhere it’s on “Call Me Beautiful”, a track whose would-be sinister message – “Don’t call me beautiful. You don’t know how ugly I can be.” – is a little spoiled by the inconsistency of Mize’s vocal delivery: she opens with the hesistant breathiness of Blonde Redhead’s Kazu Makino on “Your Plants Are Dead” but slips into a Winehouse like twang by song’s end. Don’t get me wrong, both are fine vocalists to emulate, but perhaps not at the same time.

Really, though, the failure of “Call Me Beautiful” speaks to what makes “We Don’t Need” successful as a whole: the genre hopping might get a little muddled on that one track, but elsewhere Mize shifts through stylistic gears without a single misstep. It’s tempting to call Cheyenne Marie Mize promising because her career is so young, but that’s underselling it: “We Don’t Need” is a compelling record, equal parts fascinating experimentation and plain fun, and as exciting as Mize’s future will no doubt be, she deserves your attention right here, right now.

Connect with Cheyenne Marie Mize: Facebook | Twitter | Bandcamp

I have a confession to make. I am a huge fan of Tool, A Perfect Circle and all things Maynard James Keenan. HUGE. That being said, I can already see your cursor poised over the Back button, ready to click, but WAIT, hear me out. Puscifer (puss-if-her) is a horse of a different color and shouldn’t be grouped together with Maynard’s other creative accomplishments. Puscifer’s music isn’t intimidating, like Tool can be, nor is it painfully introspective, like A Perfect Circle. Instead, “Conditions Of My Parole” is the most listener-friendly of Maynard’s offerings to date. It is a complete 180 from any of his previous work (including the first Puscifer album, “V is for Vagina”) and he is inspiring in his evolution and growth. Which is why, despite it’s October 2011 release, I feel compelled to shine the spotlight on it now. This album did not get the recognition or exposure that it deserves, and it is very deserving.

Recorded amidst the wine casks at Caduceus Cellars, Maynards’ winery, this album sounds just like the surrounding Arizona landscape that he calls home. “Musically, it’s like Twin Peaks in the desert” Keenan told SPIN Magazine, and honestly, I don’t think I could describe it any better myself. The album is full of wide open spaces, mirroring the vastness of the desert sky and sands. The music soars, giving it an atmospheric, airy feel that has an element of eerie to it. What keeps it from being downright spooky is Maynards’ honeyed tones, taking you from dusty desert floor to dizzying mountain top.

According to Maynard, this venture of his is “the space where my Id, Ego and Anima all come together to exchange cookie recipes”. I’m not sure if it’s because of all the digging in the dirt that Maynard’s done, in his wine-making endeavors, but those voices of his appear to be of a distinctly feminine nature. Puscifer’s music is earthy, sensual, it oozes She. This album breathes; it has a heartbeat. It takes you in its arms and rocks you, from beginning to end. Like being in the womb; warm, enveloping, nurturing. There is nothing rushed about this music. Every note is heard, experienced, soaked up. You will take it in, as it takes you in.

While this could be considered Maynard’s solo project, as he writes and composes all the music himself, it could not be carried off so successfully without the revolving door of musicians he has accompany him on his various Puscifer projects. The cast of 16, this time around, includes Tim Alexander (Primus), Mat Mitchell (APC, NIN) and even Maynard’s own son, Devo, on cello. The chanteuse du-jour, British singer/songwriter Carina Round, provides the perfect accompaniment to Maynard’s own angelic voice. She has a haunting, heart breaking quality that compliments the album so very well. Specifically, listen to the last track, “Tumbleweed”. Even the banjo seems to sing with her.

Surprisingly, Keenans’ latest album does not appear to be about the lyrics he’s so well known for (or if it is, I have yet to crack the code). That’s not to say there isn’t wisdom to be gleaned here;

‘The more you take, the more you need / The more you suck, the more you bleed / The dead know better, so listen to the letter / The more you suck, the more you bleed’,

so says Maynard, in “Telling Ghosts”. This time though, I think it’s about the music. It’s about where it takes you and how it makes you feel.  Maynard keeps digging deep, pushing past his own boundaries, and we are the richer for it. “Conditions Of My Parole” is an album to be listened to in it’s entirety, to fully appreciate it’s ebb and flow, but leave your expectations at the door. Maynard’s mind is an interesting ride, and well worth the price of admission. Stream the album below and, if you’re interested in hearing some of their earlier work, you can listen to the large collection of remixes on the band’s website.

Connect with Puscifer – Facebook | Website | Twitter

The amount of Rock records has been decreasing at a surprisingly steep pace in the past 10 years, as many bands have begun to embrace untechnical rhythms, hazy vocals, and instruments laced in reverb. The resultant change birthed several great bands (Japandroids, Cymbals Eat Guitars) and hundreds of horrible ones (practically all the rest). From somewhere in the middle of those camps came Cloud Nothings’ debut album last year.

Dylan Baldi, a student at Case Western Reserve University, began Cloud Nothings as a solo project to give himself something to do between classes. The music that came out of this idle time felt expectantly escapist and airy, and many critics, including myself, pegged Cloud Nothings as “Just Another Guitar Band”. A “guitar band” is basically a band that plays guitars, just like a Rock band, but which makes music that is too shiftless and flighty to be properly Rock. It’s music that’s destined to soundtrack commercials for Toyota Camrys, for a generation that has become increasingly accustomed to that sort of thing.

So you might understand the reaction I had when I first heard “No Future, No Past”, the lead single off of “Attack On Memory”. I was floored. The steady, proficient drumming, Baldi yelping that lyrical refrain with actual verve and grit, the fact that I could actually hear each instrument, with each note given it’s own ample sonic space – was I listening to the same band? “No Future, No Past” sounds like Nirvana covering Radiohead from somewhere in the flat Ohio countryside, wind whipping Baldi’s unbuttoned flannel shirt into a billowing cape as he screams his heart out about love gone sour. There’s no marshmallow fluff hooks on “Attack on Memory”. This is like when Ministry dropped their spangled synthpop act and released the brutalist “The Land of Rape and Honey”. This is a Rock record with a capital R, and one of the first great albums of a year destined to be full of them.

Although the stylistic shift from lo-fi powerpop to turbulent punk rock was clearly of the band’s own design, it’s impossible not to recognize recording engineer Steve Albini’s fingerprints on the sound of this record. The Big Black/Shellac frontman and “In Utero” producer might have been playing Scrabble on Facebook while the album was being recorded, as Baldi suggests in interviews, but the acoustics in his warm studio space, and his collection of vintage tube-amps, heighten the album by bringing Cloud Nothings down to Earth. Guitars growl and cuss, drums make all the sounds that your morning bowl of Rice Crispies did, and where vocals on previous releases sounded like they could have been sung into Baldi’s Macbook, they now feel sharp and weighty. “Our Plans” in particular, with it’s military-grade drumrolls and bass that bounces like it was trapped into a pinball machine, benefits from the sonic upgrade. The song’s chorus “No one knows our plans for us/We won’t last long” is brought into melancholy clarity, and when those jagged guitar leads rise up out from behind Baldi to steal the show with a teeth-baring solo of ferocious feedback, one wonders why the band didn’t just start out sounding so alive in the first place.

“Attack on Memory” is, according to Baldi, an “attack on the memory of what people thought the band was”. But the risks taken on this record go beyond the obvious changes from saccharine, C86-flecked guitar-bandery to a more aggressive, emo-influenced sound. This is the first of Baldi’s records to entirely focus around one concept, that being the end of a long, turgid relationship. Like the previously mentioned Ministry record, “Attack On Memory” is an exercise in brutalism, except of the lyrical variety rather than instrumental.

Thus, when Baldi sings of his heartbreak, he does so with all the fat trimmed off, vamping on the same three or four lines over and over again. “I miss you ‘cuz I’m not damaged/I need someone I can hurt” Baldi states matter-of-factly for the last minute of “Cut You”, all obliqueness pushed aside until the words ring as clear as the sound quality. “I need time to start moving/I need time to stay useless” he explains on “Stay Useless”, the album’s strongest hook and proof that Cloud Nothings isn’t aiming for Antlers-like levels of emotional trauma on “Attack on Memory”. The chorus of “Fall In” is the title shouted over and over again, and because it is mixed at such a higher level than the verses, they might as well be the song’s only lyrics. It’s a startlingly effective method of peeking inside a broken man’s psyche: I have found myself humming “Stay Useless” at work, the gym, and in the shower, the lyrics rattling around in my head much like the memories of a relationship gone awry rattle around a post-breakupee’s.

Then there’s the band itself. In the space of a year, Cloud Nothings has morphed from a bedroom solo project to a full-fledged group, with Baldi culling players from members of his touring act. The result are songs that feel composed rather than merely performed, Baldi’s unstudied drum-and-bass-playing replaced by clean, efficient downbeats and rolling basslines. “Wasted Days”, the album’s finest track, utilizes the new lineup to full, awe-inspiring effect. Beginning with showers of guitar sparks that emulate the sound oft the Foo Fighters being played through an alarm clock radio, the band tears through the first three minutes of “Wasted Days” like they have something to prove, with those drums getting attacked like Baldi has taped a picture of his girlfriend cavorting with Adolf Hitler on each drumhead. The tune is ferocious; Baldi sounds suicidal, as if he’s about to drive his car off the biggest cliff he can find, right into Lake Michigan, while taking his band with him.

Then, at 3:02, everything goes underwater. The only member that has managed to keep his head dry is Baldi, who rides a serrated surf-rock riff as his bandmates heads start to bob above the ocean surface. Finally, at 3:26, they begins to swim. The next five minutes are less Foo Fighters and more Fucked Up’s “Baiting the Public”, Baldi furiously downstroking on his guitar, waves of feedback propelling the song to a fiery climax, as if merely by playing as fast and frantically as they possibly can, upping the tempo with each passing measure, they can help Baldi forget. Those are the single most thrilling five minutes in music so far this year.

“Attack on Memory” forgoes the “sophomore slump” and provides a valid argument for Cloud Nothings as purveyors of a rare brand of Rock music that exists beyond trends. Now that they’re supposedly settled on this new sound, I think it’s about time for a name change.The name Cloud Nothings is saccharine, recalling the sort of sugar-coated, supplicating pop music that this band doesn’t make anymore. Their new name should reflect who they are now: a group of fine young gentlemen playing shitkicking, in-your-face power chords with all the panache of your favorite bands in high school. After a couple years spent contentedly quiet, it’s about time that Cloud Nothings made some noise.

Connect with Cloud Nothings: Facebook | Last.fm

After a string of neatly arranged EPs, and an opening slot for M83, Porcelain Raft has finally released a debut album and “Strange Weekend” lives up to the hype.  The appeal of “Strange Weekend” comes from the layering of reverb-soaked instrumentation, punctuated by Mauro Remiddi’s sweeping vocals.  He ranges from crooning bedroom-pop to HEALTH-like vocals, which are textually thinner and sound more ambient.  Even though the music is wonderful, the production quality of “Strange Weekend” is light-years ahead of his peers.

The album opens with “Drifting In And Out,” a hazy testament to Remiddi’s skills as a musician, which is evident from his masterful songwriting and easy-going percussion.  It quietly builds up to the album, immersing listeners in a melodious cocoon. “Unless You Speak From The Heart” is the most striking track because of Remiddi’s aggression from the very start.  The jangly beat is most noticeably fueled by a basic drumbeat accompanied by a tambourine and provides a wonderful framing for Remiddi’s falsetto to break-out into high-flying melodies.  In comparison to the rest of the album, “Unless You Speak From The Heart” is the only one of it’s kind.  “Shapeless And Gone” is another stand-out simply because the fragility of the melody is addictive and can easily get lodged in your mind.

Remiddi offers a variety of sounds throughout the album.  “Backwords” is one of the slower tracks but his lyrics are displayed over a beautifully sparse, droning synth progression and eventually blooms as an all-out embrace of sound.  He’s the forefront of the track until halfway through when the music overtakes him.  Also, the clarity of the stop-go beat on “Picture” is satisfying to hear amongst the dreaminess of the rest of the album.  “Is It Too Deep For You” is the track most likely to be incorporated into future DJ sets with a mellowed-out guitar and urgent beat.  Remiddi’s wailing on the track shows a different side to his singing.

Some listeners may be unwilling to spend time with this album because it sounds one-note.  If you find that’s the case, I’d suggest that you turn the volume up, past your comfort range, and feel the atmosphere that’s created and altered by Remiddi in each track.  Honestly, my first few listens through this album were lackluster but I found myself humming melodies and craving specific tracks afterwards.  This album may take some time to grow on you but once it does, you’ll be hooked on Remiddi’s songwriting and musicianship.

Even though the current state of bedroom-pop is flooded with artists, “Strange Weekend” stands out as a keystone album speaking to how far the genre is capable of reaching.  It seems suitable for Porcelain Raft to have opened for M83 on their recent tour since they both seem to be exploring the spatial limitations of synth-driven pop music.  At any rate, with “Strange Weekend” Remiddi has provided a strong album serving as a proper introduction to Porcelain Raft.

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[In the first half of 2011 we ran a few “Flashback” posts giving a little hindsight loving to great/underrated/forgotten albums from 10 years ago. We didn’t really have a plan or timetable for those posts, but we loved writing them, and from our ongoing photo series of great albums on Facebook it’s clear that you guys like a little reminisce about old greats too, so for 2012 the “Flashback” is being resurrected as a fully fledged feature. We’ll be paying tribute to a great album from 2002 at the end of every month. Here’s my take on Beck’s “Sea Change”, hope you enjoy it and all the others that we have in the pipeline - Alex, reviews editor.]

“Sea Change” is an aptly named album. In fact, “Sea Change” would have been a pretty appropriate name for many of Beck’s pre-2002 releases. With the kaleidoscopic, genre-bending style of banner head albums “Mellow Gold” and “Odelay” tending to define our memories of Beck’s early sound, it’s easy to forget quite how many albums Beck released in this period, and how many of them were essentially genre albums: there was the lo-fi “Stereopathetic”, the folksy “One Foot In The Grave”, the bluesy “Mutations” and the funky “Midnite Vultures”. What was it about “Sea Change” that warranted a title so obviously hinting at a style shift from an artist who essentially did nothing but shift styles?

It certainly wasn’t the sound. The lush guitars and glockenspiel strikes that usher in gorgeous opener “The Golden Age” are executed to heart-melting perfection, but they weren’t new for Beck: the song would sit comfortably next to some of the more settled tracks from “Odelay”, like the closer “Ramshackle” [A brief aside: whichever cruel bastard decided to ruin that album’s serene conclusion by slapping the utterly hideous “Diskobox” on the end of it for some non-US releases deserves a smack]. In fairness, there probably weren’t many ways Beck could have sounded surprising by 2002, as even the more ‘out there’ moments on this largely chilled album, like what can only be described as an orchestra solo towards the end of “Paper Tiger”, come off as a routine: just Beck being Beck.

Where he could still surprise, though, was with his attitude. Beck’s popular explosion with the release of “Loser” in 1994 obviously had quite a lot to do with how awesome that song is, but it was also a result of the aesthetic he embodied: standards were reversed as lazy outsider culture became trendy insider culture, and Beck represented the epitome of a new philosophy of cool that was all about not caring. No matter the stylistic shift, Beck never gave the impression of giving a shit.

Until “Sea Change”. Being a loser was once a badge of honour, but on “Sea Change” Beck tackles his losses with something entirely new: sincerity. “It’s only lies that I’m living / It’s only tears that I’m crying / It’s only you that I’m losing…” croons Beck on “Guess I’m Doing Fine”, and any doubt as to the meaning of that song’s title is dispelled by a glance at the title of the next track, “Lonesome Tears”. This refreshing emotional plainness, with none of the playful conceit that informed Beck’s earlier albums, colours the whole of “Sea Change” as the mainly acoustic arrangements give Beck a chance to lay his heart bare.

The tonal shift was matched by a collection of truly beautiful songs. I’ve already mentioned “The Golden Age”, an opening track so strong that it risks overshadowing the rest of the album, but happily there are others that match it. “Lost Cause”, in fact, surpasses it. Ambient sounds wash over a simple melody as Beck tires of relationship breakdown until his vocals come to the fore for one probing question: “Is that what you thought love was for?” It’s a shiver inducing moment. Elsewhere, though “Sea Change” may be the most uniform in sound of all the great Beck albums, there is some variety, from the absolute minimalism of “It’s All In Your Mind” to the surprising descent into white noise and chaos at the conclusion of “Sunday Sun”. Even the less distinct songs like “Round The Bend” make for great late night listening and reflection.

So “Sea Change” was the first time a Beck album gave pause for thought. It was also the last. With “Guero”, a conscious attempt to return to the collage of sounds of “Odelay”, Beck went back to being the same old Beck, and he’s been the same old Beck ever since. I’m a fan of Beck’s recent output, but none of it captures the attention in the same way that “Sea Change” did. “Sea Change” doesn’t feel like a Beck album; it feels like a Beck Hansen album. It took us closer to the real man than ever before, and we’ll probably never get as close again.

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