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.
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.
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.
If history is kind (and accurate) it will remember Alcest as one of the most important metal bands of all time.
After all, the flood of bands fusing the passion of black metal with the textures of shoegaze and the drama of post rock (see: Deafheaven, Oathbreaker, Brutus) are taking pages from their playbook. Their debut EP Le Secret fused these elements together in a way that many bands are still using as a blueprint—and it came out in 2005.
For their debut full length, math rock monsters Narrow/Arrow offer up a ten track song cycle about how much they hate Ohio.
Who gave them the key to my heart?
The first time anyone sees Narrow/Arrow, their eyes are drawn to the same thing…Cody Nicolas’ second guitar, clamped to a keyboard stand in front of him. Everyone speculates as to its purpose, but no one is prepared when they see him play both guitars in tandem.
Naturally, that visual is completely lost in an audio format—which is why it’s a good thing that Narrow/Arrow relies more on quality songwriting and composition than on live gimmicks.
Remember when Local Natives was an indie rock band?
I certainly do. But after the delicious synthpop of Sunlit Youth, I came to peace with the fact that they’d probably never write a song like “Sun Hands” or “Breakers” again.
While I wasn’t surprised to see them to further embrace pop sensibilities, I was a bit shocked that Violet Street explored the disco-tinged soft rock of the late 70s.
Did I say shocked? I meant frickin’ delighted.