"RTJ2" Review

Among the many "Bonus$ Packages" one can buy when preordering RTJ2, the sequel to last year's Run The Jewels, is the "Meow The Jewels Package," which promises that for $40,000, Run The Jewels will remix their latest album with nothing but cat noises as production. Sure enough, their internet following has come out to support the idea, and has successfully crowdsourced what was once nothing more than a joke. And yes, El-P is living up to his promise, and has already begun recruiting the choicest felines for the project. The very concept of Run The Jewels is a bonus. A supergroup combining El-P and Killer Mike does not need to exist. Both of their albums have been released as free downloads. In a sense, you are playing with house money when you listen to a Run The Jewels record, so why not give it a spin? Although it is easy to imagine that a sense of urgency would be absent on music released for free, RTJ2 is every bit as frantic as its predecessor, a collage of haymakers, explosions, unchecked testosterone, and unmatched wit. The pact these two have made to each other that Killer Mike addressed on "Banana Clipper" ("Producer made me a beat, said it's the beat of the year, I said, 'El-P didn't do it, so get the fuck outta here!'") has only fortified their bond and sharpened their focus. After spending another year savoring their roles as raunchy sages of rap, Run The Jewels have only gotten better with time.

At the very onset of RTJ2, Killer Mike roars, "I'm finna bang this bitch the fuck out!" True to his word, RTJ2 operates at record setting pace. The words "cool" and "out" do not seem to be in Jaimie and Mike's vocabulary for this go around, which is made clear enough from Rage Against The Machine's Zach De La Rocha on "Close Your Eyes (And Count To Fuck)." "Run them Jewels fast, fuck the slow-mo," yells De La Rocha on the hook, as we find El-P making impassioned court room speeches and Mike gunning for sheriffs. It is these larger than life moments that make listening to this independent release a true Blockbuster Night. That track, which starts with a pulsing house beat, along with the mercilessly speedy "Oh My Darling Don't Cry" and "All Due Respect," feels like it has enough energy to rip a hole in the space-time continuum. But is it variety you want? Variety you shall receive! The woozy "All My Life" and anthemic "Lie, Cheat, Steal" are spiritual successors to the last album's more deliberate "Sea Legs" and "DDFH (Do Dope, Fuck Hope)," if not better versions altogether. On "Love Again," their ode to sexual perversity, Killer Mike and El-P's graphic exploits can only be topped by Gangsta Boo, who gloriously interrupts the boys' club with her own vulgar demands. "Crown" is a pep talk,  a call to reignite the fighting spirit in the downtrodden. While most will be drawn to Killer Mike knocking people out and El-P tea-bagging a piranha tank, Run The Jewels is, at its heart, composed of two multifaceted artists who are able to seamlessly blend politics, existential crisis, and general awesomeness into a hardy gumbo of no-prisoners style hip-hop.

RTJ2's closer, "Angel Duster," might as well serve as the mission statement for the dynamic duo. "A little smoke for the gone boys, a little nod to the spirits/ We still here, running 'round screaming, they're still here pointing and laughing." It is an indicator that no matter how ridiculously over the top Run The Jewels may be, they still have no intention of slowing down any time soon. In a way, they are the superheroes of the rap industry, the group that everyone deserves, but no one needs. Until they are called to rise again. Yes, normally I would not reference The Dark Knight in a review. But this is Run The Jewels we're talking about. They require comparisons as big as the ones that they draw to themselves. They deserve a hero's send-off for another Job Well Done. "A little toast to the no ones, with a nod to the masters/ To the ones with riches, from the ones who the rags fit." Run The Jewels is here to stay. Run The Jewels is here for the people.

"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."

"…And Then You Shoot Your Cousin" Review

Even with the broad shoulders of ?uestlove Thompson, shouldering the entirety of a people's musical history must be daunting. Much more than hip-hop and late night's favorite house band, The Roots have morphed into a group of cultural ambassadors, relaying the trials and triumphs of black America to the greater American public one step at a time. Whether it be teaching NYU students about Prince or orchestrating perfect walk-up music for the many guests of the Tonight Show, ?uestlove and The Roots do their homework better than anyone else. The breadth of their research is evident on …And Then You Shoot Your Cousin, which arrives as both carefully crafted and completely unorthodox for a hip-hop record. At a compact 33 minutes, The Roots take a concise and powerful approach on their eleventh studio album, packing it to the brim with intricate compositions, amelodic explorations, and precise references to the past that carry more meaning now than ever. 

While not indicated in the track listing, …And Then You Shoot Your Cousin seems to be divided into suites, with relatively untouched samples from older artists acting as transitions from chapter to chapter. The album starts with "Theme From Middle Of The Night," as the great Nina Simone moans, "Only the lonely love.../ In desperate embrace/ To make your false a true…" This sets up the question at the core of Cousin, which asks if love and caring only exist as meager ways for us to validate each other's existence. "Never," with its vocal distortion and operatic chorus singers, insists that abandonment and growing up poor is the worst fate imaginable. "When The People Cheer," the album's hard-hitting single, suggests that isolation can also be found in the things that we assign too much value to, such as money ("For your entertainment money is the language/ So every time I speak I'm tryna make another payment"), religion ("Everybody acts like God is all that/ But I got the feeling he ain't never coming back"), and sex ("She keeps providing the place for me to be unfaithful at"). The next suite, which opens up with an excerpt from jazz pianist Mary Lou Williams' "The Devil," muddles the line between right and wrong ("Black Rock") and exposes the many contradictions of organized religion ("Understand"). Another shift occurs on "Dies Irae," a musical interlude provided by experimental French composer Michel Chion. This chaotic interlude is a perfect preface for "The Dark," one of their most morbid, sinister songs to date. 

While The Roots make sifting through the past seem like nothing but fun and games on Fallon, …And Then You Shoot Your Cousin reveals that navigating through history can lead to the reemergence of painful memories, and makes us question just how much progress we have actually made. Even darker than Undun, their 2011 street opera told in reverse, Cousin looks backwards for answers, and comes up empty. The struggle and the hurt feel as real on this record as any The Roots have ever created. The final song, "Tomorrow," is the album's only shimmer of hope. Almost tongue-in-cheek with its cheerful whistling, "Tomorrow" contains a simple yet profound message: "Cause everybody needs an angel/ And everybody needs to smile/ And everybody has an angel/ And everybody wants tomorrow right now." It seems The Roots haven't given up on love and understanding after all. In fact, on …And Then You Shoot Your Cousin, they're the only things left that can lift us out of the dark past and help us look towards a better tomorrow.

Stream …And Then You Shoot Your Cousin via Pitchfork Advance.

"Turn Blue" Review

This might already be the title of a children's book, but here it goes anyway: everyone gets to feel sad sometimes. It's easy to watch from a distance and insist on how someone has everything they could ever want. Wealth. Recognition. "What's to complain about? Stop fussing and be happy." It's an all too common conundrum that succesful artists have to face. How do you stay hungry? Dan Aurebach and Patrick Carney, the 21st century's most beloved blues brothers, seem to think they've found an answer through psychedelic experimentation, or at least so they have publicized for Turn Blue, the Black Keys' eighth studio album. Unfortunately, it's going to take a little more than some ambient noise and fuzzed out guitars to patch up some of the holes that are starting to form in the Black Keys' formula. That, what I have just mentioned, appears to be the biggest flaw of all: the blistering passion and supercharged soul of the Black Keys is turning into something stale and formulaic. Additionally, the genuine heartbreak found in their earlier work is starting to be replaced by something less sincere.

Penned by many as "trippy" and "a turning point" in anticipation of its release, Turn Blue really only seems experimental in comparison to its commercially minded predecessor, El Camino. Previous records, like 2008's Attack and Release, and even their 2010 smash hit, Brothers, feel much more liberated and playful than Turn Blue. The duo only step out of their comfort zone at brief, disconnected moments on this album, never amounting to anything greater than a suggestion of something that never arrives. At the 6:20 mark, a hypnotic sounding xylophone and bass combo takes over, mirroring the kind of "far out" imagery that is present on the cover art. It's ominous, and perhaps maybe even indicative of something that can explain their bizarre, quirky promo trailer. Alas, nothing comes of it. Exciting, yet underdeveloped moments like this are scattered throughout Turn Blue. "Year In Review" starts and ends with interesting, sonar-like pitches, but the meat of the song consists of Aurebach eking out lines about a love that wasn't meant to be while accompanied by a chorus of oo-ing and oh-ing soul singers. Tactics like these feel routine at this point, as past hits like "Lonely Boy" and "Gold on The Ceiling" took a nearly identical approach. The variety in lyrical content is scarce, as some of their typical blues tropes ("I'm aching," "heart's rearranged") are starting to get old. The grit and sweat found in standards like "I Got Mine" and "10 AM Automatic" have been replaced by washed out, aimless screaming ("Bullet In The Brain") and a passive attitude ("Gotta Get Away"). Songs like the funky change of pace, "10 Lovers," try to shake things up, but it only ends up adding to the inconsistency. Sadly, while there are some noticeably problematic trends in Turn Blue, there is no underlying theme that connects any of the positive aspects of this record.

And now, being the fan that I am, here come the apologies. Railing against the Black Keys is not something that gives me enjoyment. This album does not take away from the greatness of their previous offerings, their exceptional chops as blues rockers, or their welcome sense of humor (their music videos are ridiculous and awesome). In fact, Turn Blue has several terrific moments. The opening track, "Weight of Love," contains a healthy barrage of mind melting guitar solos. "Fever" is the reliable, up-tempo single that every Black Keys album needs in order to stay grounded. The jungle rhythm vibe on "It's Up To You Now" sounds like a modern take on Led Zeppelin's "Four Sticks." From the lonely piano at the opening to the meandering guitar at the end, "In Our Prime" is gorgeous in its desolation. However, these moments lack unity, as Turn Blue ultimately pans out as a batch of songs that are either hit or miss.

One of the best songs the Black Keys have ever put to wax is the brief, often overlooked "Grown So Ugly," a gem from their tremendous third album, Rubber Factory. Aurebach kicks it off by growling, "I got up this morning/ Put on my shoes/ Tied my shoes/ Went to the mirror/ To comb my hair/ I made a move." Not a whole lot is said here, but the outrage that Aurebach uses to deliver these simple phrases speaks volumes. While it's certainly better than no new Black Keys album at all, Turn Blue possesses neither the heart nor the sonic unity that can be heard throughout most of their discography. Ironically enough, "Grown So Ugly" is a song about identity crises. On Turn Blue, there is no song like this to be found. You can't start fixing the problem until you recognize it.

Mac Demarco Makes It Look Effortless with "Salad Days"

What is it about Mac Demarco that makes him seem more like a cartoon character than an actual person? Is it that gap between his two front teeth, the one that makes him look like indie rock's version of Danny Brown, or perhaps even Mad Magazine's Alfred E. Neuman? Or could it be those bizarre music videos, like the one where he gets Nickelodeon-looking slime poured on him while wearing a powdered wig? Yes, Demarco has been widely publicized as a lovable goon, but nowadays many artists that are even more widely embraced than Demarco have their share of wacko tendencies too. What separates Mac Demarco from the rest of the bunch is his ability to carry over this whimsical aura into the music itself. With Salad Days, we get another delightfully wobbly trip into Demarco-ville, and additionally, these breezy tunes seem to carry an added level of importance to him. He accomplishes this while still maintaining the soothing, seemingly unrehearsed sound that his fans have come to expect. This comes across on tracks like "Blue Boy," where he sings, "Blue boy, older than the world knows/ Honey, that's the way that life goes/ No use acting so tough/ Come down, sweetheart, grow up." The same carefree attitude as always, but with a compelling argument to go along with it.

Although this album was most definitely a product of much hard-work and practice, the confidence that exudes from Mac Demarco makes it feel as though all of these songs were nailed in one sitting. He takes many risks on Salad Days, but they always feel organic. The warped guitars on "Goodbye Weekend" and "Treat Her Better" are like muscle relaxants. The thumping bass line and swirling organ on the jam session "Jonny's Odyssey" make for a fun, lighthearted cap to the album. However, not all of Salad Days is a lazy trip down the river. "And where would I be, feeling lonely/ Separated from my one and only/ And what's there left to say/ Far as I can tell that day could be on its way," he softly sings on "Let My Baby Stay," the ode to his foreign born girlfriend, whom Demarco desperately wants to remain living with in the United States. "Passing Out Pieces" deals with the star's loss of identity as his fame grows, and is accompanied by a brass arrangement that counterbalances his psychedelic musings (almost like "A Day in the Life" taken down a few notches). "Chamber of Reflection," which may be his most compelling song to date, combines a striking synth line with introspective lyricism. Demarco makes sensational songwriting and composition look effortless on Salad Days. At under 35 minutes, the tour through Demarco-ville is rather short, but luckily it's one that gets better with each trip. If this is simply not enough to satisfy your dream pop fix, Demarco takes the last six seconds of the album to leave us with this reassuring message: "Hi guys, this is Mac. Thank you for joining me. See you again soon, buh-bye." Can't wait.

"Piñata" Review

Look at the image above. Through a chain-link fence we see Freddie Gibbs, smoking a joint by himself on a playground. Unbeknownst to him, matching his slightly zipped open Adidas tracksuit and his ever-visible Rolex, he is encompassed by a zebra print pattern that could easily pass as a section of a Rorschach inkblot. Unmoved, Gibbs sits and observes, despite the radiance that surrounds him. This is the backdrop for Piñata, a meeting between two representatives of independent hip-hop that generally stay on opposite sides of the aisle. A street king with zero interest in gimmicks, Gibbs finds himself rapping exclusively over production by Madlib, the dastardly, devilishly clever beat maker responsible for the now ten year old classic Madvillainy. Unlike Madvillainy, however, Madlib is not creating music for an absurdist, dazed, free flowing lyricist like MF Doom this time around. Throughout Piñata, Madlib is faced with the task of simultaneously matching Gibbs' hungry attitude and also pushing him to crack open his bullet proof shell. It's a balancing act for sure, but Madlib walks the line with brilliance and grace, helping one of rap's greatest lone gunmen reach new, astonishing heights.

Bobbing and weaving through onslaught after onslaught of chimes, synths, and strings, Gibbs takes a strong stance on a different set of issues with each song. Gibbs is a man of principle. Whether he's slandering major rap labels ("Phonies ain't gon' throw me in this Minstrel show") or reciting his lunch order ("Six wings, mild sauce, with all the fries you can give me"), the man's mind is made up. Yet, while ultimately unwavering on most matters, there are some evident shreds of remorse from this man who has gone all in on the gangster lifestyle. Consider "High," one of the more lighthearted moments you'll find on Piñata. Most of the song centers on the luxuries that come with selling drugs, but early on Gibbs admits, "Never finished college like my brother or my sister/ I was in the crib lying on a kush cloud/ Getting zoned out, eyes red/ Mommy and my daddy said my mind dead." On "Thuggin," he cannot deny that refusing to sign a contract comes with its share of setbacks ("Critically acclaimed, but that shit don't mean a thang/ When you rockin mics and still in microwaves cooking 'caine"). These regrets culminate in "Broken," where after reflecting on his grandmother's disapproval and the tension he created with his cop father, he comes clean, confessing, "And honestly I know I'm out here fucking up/ Seven grams of rock I stuff 'em in my nuts/ And seven bucks an hour wasn't good enough/ Cause seven days a week I'm living in a rush." It's big that Gibbs owns up to his mistakes on Piñata, but it's even more crucial that he never seems to abandon his identity or his moral code in doing so.

Interspersed through Gibbs' musings on thug life, Madlib orchestrates a great amount of seamless transitions that link the 17 tracks of Piñata together. These breaks include spacey instrumental interludes, soul samples, bits from Blaxploitation style movies, and recordings of Gibbs screwing around in the studio (one in particular, at the end of "Robes," catches him singing an hysterical rendition of TLC's "Waterfalls"). Guest verses are placed tactically, as Danny Brown ("High"), Odd Future members Earl Sweatshirt and Domo Genesis  ("Robes"), and a cavalcade of other independent up-and-commers ("Piñata") bust out their premium material in hopes of keeping up with Gibbs. Paying respect to legends that have come before him, Gibbs also relinquishes the booth to Raekwon ("Bomb") and Scarface ("Broken"), and neither disappoint. Clocking in at an hour long, the album never loses steam, as both artists allot each other time to work their magic, but never enough to let the other go overboard. I can't say that everyone will flock to this album. Unfortunately, there will probably never be lines out the door to buy an independently made rap album. What I can promise is that true hip-hop heads will have an ear to ear smile on their face after listening through Piñata. And if that small group can do as Gibbs asks and "get on iTunes and buy this shit," he might just live to fight another day.