"Sea When Absent" Review

Nearly all truly exceptional music that I hear, whether it be live or recorded, brings on a certain awe inspiring after-effect that can only be described through physical phenomena. As my ears ring from a deathly sudden silence, an unshakeable smirk takes shape, my eyes fixated on whatever may happen to be in front of me at that moment. In this state of ecstasy, I can feel new neural pathways form, goosebumps rise up an down my arms, and the weight of the world diminish. Any of my friends who have accompanied me to concerts can verify that I do, in fact, experience exactly what I am describing right now. I tend to dedicate a few minutes, as we file out of the venue, to repeating the mantras "whaaaaaaaat?" or "that was nuts" over and over again, unable to fully comprehend everything that has just transpired. The best music can never be summarized, debriefed, or dissected immediately after listening. The best music always leaves you speechless.

There is no appropriate place to stop A Sunny Day In Glasgow's newest release, Sea When Absent. Find a comfy couch or a hammock, because bringing yourself to stop this trip once it begins would require superhuman self-control. Finding a break in the action may be nearly impossible, but luckily you'll never catch yourself searching for one. Smatterings of synth-pop and waves of new psychedelia (the best since Tame Imapala's 2012 masterpiece, Lonerism) will wash over you from beginning to end. In a world that has slowly and sneakily become overridden by fluttery dream pop bands that prefer to operate in the ether, A Sunny Day In Glasgow chooses to fire off a canon right by your ear drums. From the very first thrilling second of "Bye Bye, Big Ocean (The End)," ASDIG pull you in with no intention of letting go. In short, it's one hell of a thrill ride.

This is also a headphones album. I repeat, shouting into my megaphone of music snobbery: "THIS IS A HEADPHONES ALBUM." Sea When Absent is pain-stakingly arranged, and the more of it you are able to hear, the more of it you will enjoy. Jeff Zeigler, who was also co-producer of Lost in the Dream by The War On Drugs (this year's other enchanting indie offering from Philadelphia), mixes this record to perfection, as rotating vocals ("Crushin'") and honey sweet guitar licks ("The Things They Do To Me") collide and bounce off of each other into a million separate directions. Detractors will say this album is too easy, for it supplies catchy hook after catchy hook. What naysayers will forget to mention is that each individual song on Sea When Absent contributes not one, but a full cache of pleasing melodies. For instance, "The Body, It Bends" naturally switches from a triumphant horn line to a sweeping guitar solo without a moment's notice. Every song on this album morphs and evolves naturally, as satisfying hooks beget more satisfying hooks. And even if ASDIG are a bit of a high-flying bunch, they never drift off course, for everything is anchored in a powerful rhythm section. Besides simply playing their parts well, Ryan Newmyer (bass) and Adam Herndon (drums) also provide their own fireworks (see the slippery bass line on "MTLOV (Minor Keys)," the percussion sampler that is "In Love With Useless").

With the entire band scattered all over the globe, it is amazing that ASDIG have accomplished anything at all here. The six members of the current lineup (songwriter/guitarist Ben Daniels, vocalist Jen Goma, and multi-insturmentalists Josh Meakim and Annie Fredrickson round out the bunch) never came together as a complete whole at any point throughout the recording process, with at least one person being absent at any given session. Even that knowledge seems to reinforce the beauty of Sea When Absent, as if its some sort of grand experiment, a group of artists attempting to create something together despite being thousands of miles apart. At this point, I have to admit that while I try to thoroughly research every group or musician I review, my knowledge of A Sunny Day In Glasgow is fairly limited. I saw this album streaming for free (via Pitchfork Advance), went for it, and am so glad I did. While I cannot wait to delve into the rest of their material and see what they will do next, none of that matters right now. Right now, all I want to do is lay back and have my mind blown again.

"Lazaretto" Review

Jack White isn't a kid anymore. No, he's not ancient, but he's no spring chicken. As one half of the White Stripes, White was responsible for several iconic anthems regarding youth rebellion ("Seven Nation Army," "Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground") and young love ("Fell in Love with a Girl," "You Don't Know What Love Is"). Since then, he has struggled through two divorces, had two kids, championed his own record label, and become the poster boy for vinyl collectors everywhere. At 38, the garage rock revivalist can occasionally come off as bitter in interviews, like when he recently lashed out at the Black Keys for rehashing his sound and criticized ex-wife and bandmate Meg White for being distant following the dissolution of the White Stripes and their marriage. Opting to spend more time with industry titans like Jimmy Page and Neil Young than with budding, developing musicians, White now has a hand in controlling the very machine that he spent much of his early career defying. While not all of this is explicitly addressed on Lazaretto, his second solo album, White makes it clear that feeling misunderstood does not magically fizzle out with age, and isolation can come from unexpected places. Lazaretto is significantly more grown up than any of White's past work, and that includes 2012's Blunderbuss. He spares us a futile attempt at reigniting some spark from his past, a crime that far too many aging rockers have committed. Instead, we get to look on as White explores the dark corners of adulthood. 

So how does this affect White's approach? Well, when the old man troubles do rear their ugly head, they are celebrated, rather than concealed or disregarded. On "Three Women," he has a grotesque amount of fun, shouting "Lordy Lord!" while satirizing the classic "I've got women all over the world" trope. It's the kind of slightly raunchy stuff you'd hear your grandpa say while you're trying to finish your mashed potatoes. On "Just One Drink," he's clearly had one too many, as the initially playful question, "I love you, but honey why don't you love me?" quickly evolves into a frustrated cry for help. For the most part, White trades in his trademark high pitch shrieking for a seasoned, gruff moan, but moments like the one at the end of "Just One Drink" pack a necessary punch. 

Lazaretto was constructed over many months of fine tuning and arranging at Jack White's very own Third Man Studios in Nashville, making it the longest recording process that he has been apart of thus far. Foregoing the blitzkrieg paced recording style of his past works (White Blood Cells was recorded in less than four days), the eleven songs here are layered, carefully crafted, and as varied as we've seen from White. The title track, which is part spastic guitar freakout and part funkalicious, is directly followed by "Temporary Ground," where he fully indulges in the Tennessee country spirit, fiddle and all. "Lazaretto" is full of chest pounding braggadocio, but "Temporary Ground" is forlorn, almost worrisome about the idea of remaining stagnant and being unable to make new discoveries. There is playful percussion aplenty on the delightfully weird "That Black Bat Licorice." The end of "Would You Fight for My Love" is rock opera in the most literal sense of the term. Rest assured though, Lazaretto never forgets that it is, at its core, still a Jack White record, as his expert guitar play rips and tears track after track apart, providing a clean slate for whatever song lies next. "High Ball Stepper," the album's centerpiece, is four minutes of White letting the beast off of its chain, a truly ferocious instrumental from start to finish.

Yet, as much fun as White has while basking in his newfound crotchetiness, he cannot help but feel like  a buzzkill in his old age. "In a time when everyone feels entitled/ Why can't I feel entitled too?" he wonders on "Entitlement," where he takes some time to open up about feeling uncomfortable taking from the cookie jar. However, he also entertains another viewpoint with "Want and Able," the folksy tale that closes out Lazaretto. "Who is the who telling who what to do?" goes the chorus, with White realizing that as a CEO and a father, maybe he is the one who does the majority of the finger wagging nowadays. Songs like this, in which White challenges himself and addresses the hypocrisy of being a punk who struck it big, place Lazaretto in the better half of his already decorated discography. You'd think someone as accomplished and unpredictably timid as Jack White would have a tough time figuring out what he wants next, but at the end of the album, it isn't an issue at all: "I wanna hold you, and see you, and feel you in my dreams…" Getting there, with all the baggage that comes with being Jack White at 38, however, is another story: "….but that's impossible, something simply will not let me."