In the spring of 2006, I drove to Grand Rapids with my best friend to see mewithoutYou with Thursday. In between the two was a group called Minus the Bear.
I had heard the name before (and kept confusing them for Iwrestledabearonce), but had never heard them. Honestly, I was a little underwhelmed by their almost clinical stage presence, but there was a technical prowess to what they were building that enticed me. And on record, those technicalities blossom into an intricate masterpiece.
Before Fugazi became the best punk band in the world, and before Embrace essentially invented post-hardcore, Ian MacKaye fronted what may be the single most iconic hardcore band of all time.
This 1984 release compiles the seminal straight edge band’s blistering first two EPs into a single 12″, and those songs are just as visceral and frantic as they were in the early 80s.
When I first heard Astronoid’s debut record Air, I was spellbound. Their particular brand of genre-bending heavy metal (which they call “dream thrash”) had all of the punishing heaviness of traditional thrash but with an tender, life-affirming heart. It’s blast beats and hairspray-soaked guitar solos were paired with dreamy melodies and anthemic harmonies.
But knowing that lightning rarely strikes the same place twice, I was a little apprehensive when I saw they were releasing a new record. Could the gimmick really pay off again?
The answer is, “yes, and handsomely.”
Miles Davis’ monstrous 1971 double album purports to be two things: Live, and Evil.
Live? It’s unlike any other live record ever. A fiery 1970 performance at the Cellar Door was stitched together and interjected with studio tracks.
Evil? This record is positively wicked. Continue reading
If you mention Miles Davis among older individuals, you might get an almost dismissive, “Oh, he’s too weird for me.” Almost invariably, they’re talking about Bitches Brew, his 1970 jazz fusion opus.
And brother, it’s as weird as advertised.
Throughout his five-decade career, Miles Davis record over fifty records as a bandleader (and dozens more as a sideman). But none of those records are as singularly important than 1969’s In A Silent Way.
And no, that’s not an exaggeration.
In the grand scheme of Miles Davis’ immense, indelible catalog, there is not necessarily anything particularly special about My Funny Valentine. But, it was the first Miles Davis record I owned (because I found this copy for cheap ten years ago), and for a while, it was the only Davis record I owned.
But it was also recorded fifty-five years ago today, which is a happy accident. Continue reading
Miles Davis once said that you could sum up all of jazz history in four words: “Louis Armstrong, Charlie Parker.” And as elegantly concise as that history may be, it ignores the “Prince of Darkness” himself.
No individual left a larger footprint on jazz—or perhaps music history overall—than Miles Davis. And Kind of Blue, his most popular record—and most popular jazz record ever—demonstrates his mastery as a composer and a bandleader.
If you’ve been following along at all, you’ve probably noticed that I have a deep love for weird metal. Particularly, heavy metal that looses itself from the macho tropes that have conventionally marred metal music and stretches beyond the rigid confines of the genre. Bands like Alcest, Deafheaven, Isis, Spotlights…the list goes on.
The Boston outfit Astronoid hits every single one of those buttons—and then some.
No matter how much music evolves, a few things remain absolutely timeless. Things like easy melodies, singalong choruses, and a truly gnarly electric guitar tone.
Mikal Cronin understands this better than most people. His second solo record isn’t revolutionary by any stretch, but dang if it isn’t great.