Record #1000: U2 – The Unforgettable Fire (1984)

After War its subsequent tour made them into The Next Big Thing, U2 pushed back. Per Bono’s own account, the world was waiting for the next The Who or Led Zeppelin, and it seemed that they were poised to fill ascend to that throne.

But they didn’t want to be “the Next” whoever or other. They wanted to be the first U2. And so they eschewed the throne waiting for them and took a hard left turn instead. They rented a castle and hired Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois to produce (a decision that Bono had to talk both the label and Eno himself into). Eno and Lanois took the sense of atmosphere that had always been a spice on their albums and turned it into a main course.

The resulting album was unlike anything before or since, forecasting shoegaze and post rock in prescient detail. And even in the light of thirty years, The Unforgettable Fire remains the most consequential album they’ve ever made.

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Record #971: Emma Ruth Rundle: EG2:Dowsing Voice (2022)

Among the broad expanse of Emma Ruth Rundle’s oeuvre, you’ll find psychedelic tinged shoegaze, Pink Floyd-y post rock, no-holds-barred art rock, dark folk, doom metal, and more—not to mention her expansive visual work.

Even as far-reaching as her catalog is, nothing can prepare you for EG2: Dowsing Voice, the second of her experimental, instrumental records released under her name. But where Electric Guitar One still mostly stayed within the realms of post rock, this record is positively feral.

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Record #916: Braids – Euphoric Recall (2023)

As the ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus once said, “Change is the only constant in life.” He probably wasn’t talking about the artistic trajectory of musicians, but it’s certainly applicable. Every artist’s career is destined to change—whether by the continued growth of experimentation or the stagnation from repeating once-fresh formulas until they decay. And as artists change, their fans also change, and often in different directions. It seems to me that many fans usually follow an artist for three albums before they each move beyond one another.

I say this because I’ve loved Braids since their 2011 full-length Native Speaker, a delightful piece of energetic yet thoughtful art rock. I even emailed the group to get a digital copy of their debut EP which has since been scrubbed from the internet. While I eagerly anticipated the more ambient Flourish // Perish, devouring the singles and preordering the disc (it remains my favorite of theirs), I somehow missed Deep In the Iris until months after their release. So when a promo for Euphoric Recall came across my inbox, I was surprised to find that it was actually their fifth record, having released Shadow Offering in 2020.

But listening to Euphoric Recall, I was instantly reminded why I fell for the band in the first place. And not because they’re still putting out carbon copies of Native Speaker (they aren’t), but because the careful balance of experimental sonic craft and hooky songwriting is still a fertile field for the harvest.

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Record #831: Iggy Pop – The Idiot (1977)

Iggy Pop lost himself for a while in the mid ’70s. His heroin addiction had proven too large a beast to manage, leading to the breakup of The Stooges in 1974. He tried his hand at a few musical ventures, auditioning to replace Jim Morrison in The Doors and to join KISS. Both were as unsuccessful as his stints in rehab.

In 1976, he reached out to his friend David Bowie, battling his own addictions, for help. The two moved in together into a Château near Paris and Bowie offered to produce an album for him. The resulting record, The Idiot, stripped away the proto-punk fury of Pop’s previous band in favor of Krautrock-influenced electronic textures—a sound that Iggy would describe as “James Brown mixed with Kraftwerk.”

In that way, The Idiot isn’t just a great record in Iggy’s catalog, but it’s also the spiritual prequel to Bowie’s Berlin Trilogy.

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Record #794: The Armed – Ultrapop (2021)

Genre alchemy gets into diminishing returns pretty quickly. While fusion was once incredibly revolutionary, the internet has hastened the pace of these reactions so that there’s almost no crossover that hasn’t been tried.

We’re almost two decades past the advent of Girl Talk, whose genre-defying mashups saw acts like Fleetwood Mac, Ludacris, The Ramones, Lil Missy, Radiohead, Jay-Z, and Metallica featured on the same track. Babymetal debuted eleven years ago. Ill-conceived chimeras like crunkcore and emo rap are now old enough to vote. Then you have the entire crop of bands blending metal with shoegaze, post-rock, spirituals, and even Azerbaijani folk music.

Genre-bending alone isn’t enough to make compelling music.

So it’s a good thing that Ultrapop has much more to its credit, because this is one of the freshest takes on genre fusion in a long time.

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Record #785: Lantlôs – Wildhund (2021)

Lantlôs is German for “homeless,” or “without homeland,” and that name is certainly apt. Throughout their career, chameleonic German metal band has been stretching the borders of heavy music, unconcerned with citizenship in any genre. Their earlier albums, such as .neon and Agape were indelible entries in the blackgaze canon, featuring Alcest’s Neige on vocals. 2014’s Melting Sun was a transcendent work that shed itself of any of heavy music’s trope to create an album that was blissful while still being entirely heavy.

Seven years later, Lantlôs returns with Wildhund (German for “Wild Dog”), an album that uses all the same sonic textures to create what is almost a pop record. And even with all the band names they’ve dropped in the press materials, Wildhund sounds as without peer or homeland as they ever have.

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Record #781: Lungfish – Love Is Love (2003)

For much of my life as a fan of punk, hardcore, and emo music, I have come to trust Dischord Records almost implicitly. The Ian MacKaye-founded DC label has released many of my favorite bands of the 80s and 90s, including Rites of Spring, Jawbox, Minor Threat, and of course, Fugazi. Their roster is filled with bands that practically defined post-hardcore and emo without ever falling into cliche.

And so it’s strange to me that it took me until this year to hear of Lungfish. Even among the Dischord catalog, the Baltimore art rock band sounds alien and a little unsettling—yet strangely beautiful at the same time, like a moment of spiritual transcendence.

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Record #756: June of 44 – Tropics and Meridians (1996)

One of the more interesting things about music to me is how we attempt to categorize and classify according to imperfect terminologies—and more specifically, how that terminology changes over time.

Take for instance the term math rock. These days, it is most often used to describe neo-prog with noodly guitar lines (usually played with two-handed tapping) and rapid meter changes through odd time signatures. Think Chon, TTNG, or Polyphia.

But in the mid-to-late 90s, the music called “math rock” was much more patient. There were plenty of odd meters and angular guitar lines, but tempos were slower, more cerebral than maniacal, relying more on compositional experimentation than technical virtuosity. More interesting, much of this early math rock was born at the intersection of post-hardcore and post-rock. Think bands like Slint, Roadside Monument, late-era Frodus, or even Sunny Day Real Estate’s LP2.

One of the hidden gems of this scene is June of 44, who I have somehow entirely missed until the last few months.

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Record #752: David Bowie – Lodger (1979)

I received a great kindness the other day.

Some months back, my friend Billy commented on one of my posts about David Bowie and we got to talking about his Berlin Trilogy. I mentioned that I had never been able to find a copy of Lodger, the third (and perhaps oddest) in the run and put the conversation out of my mind.

But not Billy.

A few days ago, he showed up at my wife’s shop with a copy for her to give me. That is generous enough, but it went even deeper. As it turns out, many years ago, he had given away his record collection when he came to faith, and when he found out that I was missing this record, he tracked down the friend to whom he had gifted his records so that he could fill the gap in my collection.

That’s a rare gift, and in most cases, the music itself would be overshadowed by that generosity. But Lodger is just as odd and meandering as the tale that brought it to me.

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