For an interesting look at the sexual politics of the 1960s, take a look at the conversation between Nancy Sinatra and her producer in the liner notes of this record.
“How should I sing this?”
“Like a 16 year old girl who’s been dating a 40 year old, but it’s all over now.”
It’s a bit of a shock to 2019 eyes. But in a strange way, it perfectly encapsulates the venom-tongued ingenue on display on that iconic track.
These days, I generally treat my record budget with a level of judiciousness. Every dollar is precious, so I typically don’t make any purchases without thoroughly vetting each album in my wantlist, listening and relistening until I feel confident enough to pull the trigger.
But every once in a great while, I’ll take a risk, such as the 5-for-$25 random bundle from Topshelf Records that landed me this record and Mock Orange (among others). But if this were the only worthwhile record in the bunch, it still might have been worth it.
It’s no surprise that heavy music is a bit of a boy’s club.
While all genres have their own struggles toward gender equality, metal and hardcore often treated as inherently masculine, channeling aggression and anger with big meaty riffs and growling vocals.
But there are plenty of women out there who are proving that there is just as much room for feminine voices in heavy music.
The second installment of My Epic’s two-EP project finds the group unleashing the catharsis that they spent Ultraviolet holding back. And once they let go, they don’t stop.
While Ultraviolet found the group restraining themselves, Violent finds them as heavy and unhinged as they’ve ever been.
After hearing My Epic’s name in the periphery of my awareness for years, the project that finally drew my attention was Ultraviolet, one half of a pair of EPs.
While their M.O. has always drawn heavily on experimentation, the Ultraviolet/Violence project finds them restricting themselves to specific elements of their palette.
Ultraviolet, the softer of the two, leans heavy into dream pop, electronica, and ambient post rock, without losing any of their edge.
A debut record is an awkward thing. A debut record might sound absolutely nothing like what the band becomes—awkward, fumbling outings like Sigur Ros’ Von or Radiohead’s Pablo Honey that arrive aimless and formless.
But every once in a while, a debut record comes around that, as it is said, “arrives fully formed.” It presents the group’s intentions with laser focus, introducing a clear picture of their artistic mission.
Having seen My Epic a handful of times in the last year, I can assure you that I Am Undone is one of those debuts.
For a little bit in the late 2000s, it seemed like “chamber pop by a classically trained female multi-instrumentalist that used to be in Sufjan Stevens’ touring band” was posed to become its own genre.
And while St. Vincent’s Annie Clark has found the most enduring success out of that crowd, I’m not sure anyone has topped My Brightest Diamond’s stunning second record.
Let me tell you about my friend Joe.
Joe and I met at our small Christian college over a decade ago (Facebook actually reminds me that today is our ten-year friendiversary. Since then, he has made a reputation for himself as an impeccable stop-motion animator, making music videos for bands like Caveman, Wilco, Sufjan Stevens, and the Roots.
On top of working with such esteemed artists, he’s an incredible musician himself.
In 1998, the Appleseed Cast released The End of the Ring Wars. It was a shockingly mature work for a debut, offering a stunning mix of pop punk hooks, post rock compositions, and hardcore energy.
But it’s especially more impressive when you realize that they’ve done so with an unparalleled consistency. Across their catalog, there are no lulls, no dips, no records that their fanbase would rather just ignore. In fact, if you get five Appleseed Cast fans together and ask for their favorite record, you might get five different answers, each with respectable arguments for their choice.
I say all of this to drive home an important statement.
The Fleeting Light of Impermanence might be their best ever.
Some albums don’t need a follow up. They stand firmly upon their own two proverbial legs, singular icons that echo into eternity, transcending everything else the artist does.
Loveless is one of those albums. It cemented My Bloody Valentine’s legacy even without a follow up.
And for a long time, it finally felt like that follow up would never come. Then once it did, it was met with apprehension. After all, how do you follow up a record as sublime and transformative as Loveless?