Icelandic post-rock gods Sigur Rós have a way of capturing the full depths of the human experience like no other musician has ever approached. Between their massive, patient arrangements and Jónsi Birgisson’s otherworldly croon, they create and destroy worlds and lifetimes in the course of their catalogue.

​So when Jónsi went to do it alone, everyone was a little unsure of what to expect. Obviously, his angelic falsetto would be heavily featured, but what would accompany it? How would his songwriting adapt?

Go came hot on the heels of Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust, Sigur Rós’ most human release. Acoustic guitars were used liberally. Tempos were quicker. Jónsi even sang in English on one track. 

​And that was just a warm up.

Go takes the group’s trademark jubilance (specifically tracks like Hoppipola, Gobbledigook, Við spilum endalaust) and cranks it up. Jónsi appears here as unbounded and playful as some pagan trickster god. The average tempo is nearly twice the average Sigur Rós album. And he sings everything in English. Of course, his thick Icelandic accent still makes it sound unknowable. 

This is the sound of pure joy cut to wax. Even the more mournful tunes (Tornado in particular) have a core of jubilee to them. 

​Also worth noting, I bought this particular copy on my honeymoon, so that’s a good memory too.

I’ve said it a thousand times: I hate compilation albums. It’s never a good idea to split a track from the context of its album.
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But I have a few exceptions…

Principal among them is Johnny Cash. Because every single one of those songs is gonna be great.
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And it’s incredibly telling that despite the past twelve years of being a Johnny Cash fan, I’ve never heard about half of the songs on a Greatest Hits album. If that doesn’t perfectly exemplify Cash’s legacy, I don’t know what will.

I’ve had never had a problem admitting that I’m a pretty unashamed James Taylor fan. For a while, I was convinced he was the greatest singer-songwriter in the world. And while I no longer hold him on that pedestal, I still enjoy every second of the Greatest Hits cassette I have (except Mexico). And as much as I love James Taylor and dislike compilations, my experience with Sweet Baby James begins and ends with that cassette and the Sweet Baby James LP. ​

This album is after all of that, after he had traded his tender acoustic guitar ballads for unapologetic disco-fueled soft rock. To see how far this Walking Man has walked, look no further than the horn blasting Honey Don’t Leave LA. Carolina is nowhere near his mind. The opening track Your Smiling Face is a jubilant soft rock track that is an absolute banger. Eight albums into his career, he has become a bonafide pop star. 

But those chart-ready pop tunes are a little deceiving. The non-singles are classic James. Secret O’ Life features a similar riff to You’ve Got a Friend. Bartender’s Blues is a true blue country song. The two exceptions are the skiffling Traffic Jam and I Was Only Telling a Lie, which is probably the most menacing rock song James Taylor has ever written (it is not all that menacing).

​In all, JT is a proper pseudo-self titled album. It captures all of his tender sweetness with a side of poppy indulgence. 

GGOOLLDD was one of the small number of nonlocal acts, hailing from Milwaukee. When they started, I was managing a stage across the river, so I could only sorta hear what was going on, but it sounded hype. After I got 6’10 (solo project of the singer of Flatfoot 56) going, I meandered over to see what was going on.

I was immediately confused because I had thought I heard a female singer among the synth-soaked pop I had heard. But I only saw four indie-rock lookin’ dudes on stage. I watched for a while to see which one of them had such a high voice.

Then, slowly, a leg rose into the air from behind the center monitors, ending with a gold platform shoe. The woman it was attached to followed, adorned in a gold bodysuit. And she began singing. And my brother, did she begin singing.

The last thing you’d expect to hear at a local music festival is chart-ready synthpop, but that’s what they delivered. None of these songs would sound out of place on a Top 40 station, the way that Chvrches could find a home in the top ten, and the way that Lorde did. And for a second, I had a moment of disbelief that this was happening in my city, in the parking lot of a restaurant on the river. This would have been of of the hypest sets at Lollapalooza, and it’s happening here.

I searched for a merch tent, but could find nothing. After a while, my friend Max friend came over with an LP and a t-shirt. “Look what GGOOLLD gave me for helping them load their gear.” He handed me the disc and I looked it over. “You want it? I don’t have a turntable.”

​And so here we are now. It’s Monday morning and I’m jamming some seriously hype tunes, courtesy of GGOOLLDD and my friend Max.

He moved to the PacNorthwest and started an emo project called Knola. Knola played a short tour (the final show was a house show in my living room that Jack stopped halfway through the set because he was tired), then disbanded as Jack moved back to the Midwest.

After some meandering around with an acoustic guitar, he poured his restless energy into this chamber pop/indie rock project called Boy Rex. And if you ask me, it is by far his best work. While Better Vision is the second Boy Rex album, it is the first to feel like a cohesive statement.

Better Vision is the result of long weeks spent in his dad’s house meditating on death, love, and God (Senff Sr. plays trumpet on this album, as well as in my ska band Dad Jokes). In the process of writing these songs, he moved a few times and got engaged. Huge life events, to be sure. And Better Vision plays them with the sincerity and gravity they deserve. 

Which isn’t to say this is a depressing record. In fact, it’s one of the most jubilant records I’ve heard in a long time. Bouncing horn lines and poppy drum beats pervade the entire record. Playing it live, Jack’s hips swing the entire time. This is a feel-good record. It just might make you cry a couple times.