In conversations about Fugazi (and the evolution of hardcore and emo in general), most of the talk focuses on two bands: Minor Threat and Rites of Spring. And while the importance of those projects cannot be ignored, there is one project that is tragically overlooked.
That project is Embrace. While Ian MacKaye’s road from Minor Threat to Fugazi had a few detours along the way, none of them foreshadowed what was to come more clearly than Embrace.
The mythos of rock and roll party culture is almost as significant to pop music history as the music itself. And while no one is caught off guard to hear about acts of depravity from Guns & Roses or Mötley Crüe, it comes as a surprise to most people that one of the most notoriously wild acts of the 1980s was none other than The Go-Go’s.
Their proclivity for backstage sex parties might seem to run counter to their new wave pop perfectionism and girl-next-door charm. But a closer listen to their debut reveals a rebellious streak that might get missed when you just scan the hits. Even the coy “Our Lips Our Sealed” hides a sort lasciviousness in its secrecy.
Beauty and the Beat might sound squeaky clean, but the Go-Gos offer more than enough winks and nudges to hang with the rest of their new wave and punk contemporaries.
Few things give me as much joy as shouty vocals, tappy guitar riffs, assymetrical drum riffs, the Northern Indiana DIY music scene, and pro wrestling. So obviously, Wrestling Moves, the debut LP from NWI post-hardcore group Native, hits me square across the chest.
Unfortunatley though, their tenure as a band coincided with a period where I was sort of divorced from the local-ish heavy music scene. I’ve only gotten into them in the last few years—and that was mostly through frontman Bobby Markos’ current band Cloakroom. While there’s not a ton of overlap between the doomgaze of Cloakroom and Native’s jagged, angular post-hardcore, this project has way more going for it than as a footnote for a more famous act.
Read more at ayearofvinyl.com
No matter how closely I scour the various corners of pop music history, there’s always something I miss. There are countless bands that have fallen through the cracks of year-end lists from various journalists, retrospectives, and trends on the music charts. And many of those bands are actually worth several damns, despite how much or little notoriety they achieved in their time.
One of these bands is Majesty Crush, a Detroit-based alt rock outfit that played local support to international shoegaze bands like The Verve, Mazzy Star, Chapterhouse, Curve (oh hey), and the immortal My Bloody Valentine. And while they weren’t themselves members of the British community that spawned shoegaze, their sound could definitely grandfather them in as canonized members of the scene.
As part of their effort to uncover these sorts of hidden legends, Numero Group has released Butterflies Don’t Fly Away, a document of Majesty Crush’s brief career that compiles their sole full-length Love 15 from 1993 with various EPs and B-sides.
Somehow, despite my constant digging and delving into the annals of pop music history, I am still discovering seminal releases, even in my favorite subgenres and eras. When I first heard “Horror Head” in the shoegaze subreddit a few weeks ago, I thought it was a recent release until I dug deeper and found out that Curve were members of the original late 80s/early 90s British scene that birthed Lush, Ride, My Bloody Valentine, Slowdive…you know.
But unlike their peers, Curve got much cozier to electronic influences like dancepop and industrial. The massive walls of guitars are paired with drum machines, samples, and Toni Halladay’s lovely melodicism, creating a genre chimera that transcends its era.
There are certain bands whose audience seems to be comprised of more musicians than laypeople. I have largely escaped the hype on Black Pumas, but I can’t ignore that just about everyone I’ve seen talk about them plays an instrument. So when I found a copy of Chronicles of a Diamond for $2 at a closeout store, it was an easy gamble.
Man, did I get really into the Cure at the right time or what.
Long time readers will remember how long my road to Cure fandom, which trekked from detached respect to casual enjoyment to an explosive burst of superfandom just last year. Across that time, I have mourned many times that I didn’t get into them as a teenager, when their brand of emotional rawness would be the most potent.
But as it turns out, Robert Smith & Co. have a really great handle on middle aged angst as well. Songs of a Lost World offers a profound sense of mortality and gothic romanticism set to as archetypal a Cure Record as could be devised. Continue reading
Chelsea Wolfe has been a ubiquitous character in metal circles for a while now. She’s collaborated with artists like Converge, Deafheaven, Emma Ruth Rundle, and so many more. Her 2017 record Hiss Spun featured performances from Troy Van Leeuwen of QOTS and the one and only Aaron Turner of Isis, Old Man Gloom, and Sumac.
And if this is your point of reference to her catalog—as it was mine—her newest record, She Reaches Out to She Reaches Out to She Reaches Out could come as quite a shock. While Wolfe’s delivery and songwriting are mostly familiar, the sonic palette is almost entirely electronic, replacing thick guitar riffs with bristling synths and aggressive drum machines a la Depeche Mode and Nine Inch Nails.
When a band releases a seminal, genre defining record, the follow up can be a bit tricky. After the third-eye opening death metal opus of Hidden History of the Human Race, I wasn’t sure where else Blood Incantation could go. That record perfectly mixed their death metal brutality and proggy sonic exploration in a way that neither undermined the other.
Well…at least it seemed perfect until Absolute Elsewhere. While their brand of punishing death metal is still at the beating heart of this record, it strays further from that center than ever before. I’m not sure anyone could do a better job of explaining it than vocalist/guitarist Paul Reidl, who said it sounds “like the soundtrack to a Herzog-style sci-fi epic about the history of/battle for human consciousness itself, via a ’70s prog album played by a ’90s death metal band from the future.”
It’s been thirteen years since Belong released their sparkling diamond Common Era. In that time, the shadow of that record grew out into the same edgeless infinity of its droning guitarscapes. That record melded the sounds of iconic records together like a dream you have while listening to a shoegaze and post punk playlist on shuffle. And in the midst of that dream, it Inceptioned itself into an iconic record itself.
It’s a tough record to follow, no matter the gap. But greater records have been followed up with longer gaps and have turned out fine. And while Common Era often felt like a sound study on Loveless, there’s a similar sort of parallel between m b v and Reminisce IX.