After falling in love with Purple a few years ago and Gold & Grey more recently, I’ve decided that it’s high time I dig deeper into Baroness’ celebrated back catalog.
And with just a precursory listen to their first three records, they’ve established themselves as a band that can do no wrong. This is clearly displayed on their debut full-length, Red Album, a nonstop, heavy metal tour-de-force.
After the heavy melodicism of 2015’s Purple, falling in love with Gold & Grey was a pretty easy task.
But where Purple was a relatively brief affair, this record stretches out, making itself comfortable in its sonic space with a gravity that is solemn without being inaccessible.
The 2010s were an odd decade. We endured the end of the world several separate occasions, between various crackpot pastors and the long-speculated Mayan Calendar. We lost a number of legendary performers, including many of the best to ever live (Prince, Bowie, Lemmy, etc). We watched terrorism and fascism rise as the lines between truth and opinion blurred and vanished. Memes rose and fell like empires.
And in the midst of it, an onslaught of incredible music was released. Personally, my record collection grew from under a hundred to over a thousand. My tastes shifted drastically and corrected course throughout the course of the decade.
Reducing those ten years to fifty records feels like a fool’s errand, but here I am.
As we sit on the cusp of a new year—and a new decade—it’s become customary to look back and quantify all of the music produced into a neat little list of what’s noteworthy.
While these lists are always bound to vary from person to person and between publications, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen so much variation as in 2019. This year was an undeniable banner year for music, with excellent release after excellent release piling up relentlessly without ceasing. If you slipped behind, there was no hope of catching up.
As I look back on the year, I keep being surprised by all the stuff I missed—either ubiquitous barn burners like Lizzo or Lana Del Ray’s NFR or artists I love like Solange and Deerhunter. Even among releases I loved and purchased, quantifying all of it into a top ten list proved a much more difficult task than most years.
And so, as much as I stand by this list, I’m fully aware how flawed a ranked top whatever format is for describing just how magnanimous this year’s musical output was.
As much as I try to stay atop notable new releases, it’s inevitable that some will escape my attention for a while. In this case, “a while” is twelve years, as the first listen I gave to Blonde Redhead’s magnificent 23 was just last week.
And what a waste it’s been, because this would have been one of my favorite records from my college years if I discovered it earlier. It’s the perfect mixture of thick My Bloody Valentine-y textures, Radioheady beat work, and grade-A pop hooks.
So, it’s been over a month without a post. And for that, I apologize.
One of those instances of life happening and happening and happening over and over again. My wife and I ran a launch on our webcourse in November, so that took most of my extra time, then we pushed hard prepping our shop for the Holiday shopping season, and then I got bronchitis, then I’ve been catching up from having bronchitis.
But, I’m back, and boy, have I gotten some good discs.
Resume transmission.
Side projects are a weird thing.
On the one hand, they will always inevitably be draw comparisons to the members’ main projects. On the other, if it’s too different, their original fans won’t be interested at all.
Less Art, made of members of Thrice, Kowloon Walled City, and Curlupanddie, delivers a record that doesn’t just sidestep the problems that plague side projects and supergroups, but also more than stands on its own.
Before this past Audiofeed, I didn’t know anything about Everything In Slow Motion. And so, I didn’t make a point to catch their set, opting instead to reconnect with some friends that I only see a few times a year.
But during those conversations, I couldn’t ignore the anthemic, melodic post-hardcore ringing out from the main stage. As I left the fest, their name stuck in my mind as one to watch out for.
Musical taxonomy is an interesting thing. Genres twist and mingle like gnarled branches, running parallel to one another but being careful not to touch.
Take for instance, metal and emo. Despite their affinity for sonic catharsis and death, there’s very little camaraderie between the two. However, they each have a symbiotic relationship with post rock. Metal and post rock have fed off of eachother for decades, with bands like ISIS and Mogwai liberally reaching across the branch. Similarly, emo and post rock have much more in common than loud/soft dynamics and precious sonic elements. Bands like American Football and The Appleseed Cast have been mixing the two for two decades. And yet, metal and emo have remained distinctly distant despite this shared commonality.
But on Isolation Ritual, Boston’s HarborLights bridge the gap in a way that never feels incongruous.
For years, I’ve mistakenly thought of Black Sabbath as a one-trick pony—probably on account of the monotony of the horde of copycats citing their catalogue as their bible.
But after digging deeper into their discography, I can see now that the source material is much more diverse than I could have imagined. Vol. 4 is especially varied, and not just in comparison to their other records, but within its own tracklist.