EMBRACE THIS JOY, THIS PAIN
I was listening to a podcast this week and this sentiment (I’m paraphrasing) really put things into perspective—one day you’re going to be asked to go somewhere and the main question you’ll be worried about is whether or not there are stairs, and if there are, you’re not going. This isn’t meant to be ablest or ageist, but rather, a reminder that we’re not going to be at our best for forever, so we need to enjoy our freedom and independence while we have it. Puts all the complaining in perspective, doesn’t it?
Neil Young - Walk With Me
Van Halen - Panama
Kendrick Lamar - Hol’ Up
Jinsang - Egyptian Pools
Doves - Carousels
Nails - Live is a Death Sentence
Westside Gunn - Eric B
Ray Price - Night Life
King Krule - Easy Easy
Tiger Army - Where the Moss Slowly Grows
I’ve always been fascinated with Neil Young’s “metal” record. Le Noise is up there with Harvest for me, which I know is unpopular, but for someone that’s made their living on pastoral Americana I find it to be a fascinating experiment for Young. The lead off track takes minimalism to an extreme—just a road warrior and his electric guitar, blasting out his stacks in an empty stadium. No one is going to mistake Young’s crunch for Tony Iommi but the sleaze on “Walk With Me” provides incredible space for these bluesy chemtrails to drift. The end result is something more mystical than jagged, but no less massive.
Contemporary rock doesn’t exist without Eddie Van Halen. Since his death, the other thing that’s received the spotlight, alongside his cultural impact, is his joy. Where most technical virtuosos focus on lightning quick precision, Van Halen’s neoclassical flourishes would amount to little without the messy bundle of fun that was always front and center for their songs. 1984 is the definitive Van Halen statement for me, and “Panama,” the purest expression of that joy. Lyrically, I’m unsure if David Lee Roth is in love with a woman, or a car (or both), but this song captures everything Van Halen did well: sharp riffing, ringing licks, and explosive leads that walked the line between alien and symphonic. Gone but unforgettable.
Before the myth of the Kendrick Lamar, there was the man. I struggle with Lamar because his flow is technical and almost surgical, but his rapping hasn’t sounded buoyant or fun since good kid, m.A.A.d city. On Section.80, the expectations of this myth were not yet fully realized, and Lamar’s flow was reminiscent of a more competent Lupe Fiasco: articulate, smooth, and free. “Hol’ Up” revels in this freedom, from the horn heavy hook to the dusty drum samples, Lamar’s perspective bending flow plays with our expectations as much as the fictional flight he’s describing. Lamar’s star hadn’t yet risen but it’s clear he was just taking off.
Jisang’s approach to lo-fi hip-hop is as dreamy as it is romantic. “Egyptian Pools” feels like a lost soundtrack to a Disney movie, warped but blissful. You don’t have to be an Aquarius to feel like you’re adrift and at peace, but it probably helps.
I think Doves are the band people wish Oasis was, which roughly translates to strong, consistent, left-of-center Britpop. I don’t have much experience with Doves but The Universal Want has been in constant rotation for me ever since the drop. There’s something about the spiraling drumming and post-punk shimmer of “Carousels” that keeps me coming back—tight, circular, and muscular.
Nails are a punishing band. Outside of maybe Pig Destroyer, it’s hard for me to conceive of anyone else that’s making music this suffocating in the grindcore orbit. “Life is a Death Sentence” is bleak, with macabre stories that start at the delivery room and end at the gallows, set against military-grade thrash. It’s easy for the quality of extreme metal to sound thin given the budgets and production choices. Not Nails though—they are a concrete slab of mechanized devastation.
Westside Gunn is the new Ghostface Killah—loud, unavoidable, and consistent. By extension, the Griselda rap collective is maybe the closest thing we have to peak Wu-Tang Clan. Part of the reason is the commitment to craftsmanship—there are no hooks on Westside Gunn songs, just gritty cocaine-fueled murder raps, assembled with the same hunger and honed technique as Renaissance art. “Eric B” comes from Gunn’s ignorantly titled “Hermes” mixtape series, but it features the kind of car destroying low end and twinkling piano that that makes his grim Buffalo portraits palatable. 2020 was certainly a high watermark for Griselda, but more than anything, “Eric B” is a reminder that the hustle never stops, regardless of whether they put you in the Louvre.
I’ve never really been one for country music but quarantine has made me long for open expanses and the restorative qualities of nature. As such, my listening this summer has been dominated by the likes of Colter Wall and William Tyler (old and new alike). Recently, one of my co-worker turned me on to Ray Price and I’m laughing because none of his songs conjure the openness of the frontier. Instead, Ray Price simmers with the smolder of old road house torch songs. “Night Light” oscillates between the four chord sweetness of Elvis and Roy Orbison, while sporting the kind of nocturnal blues that’s as sexy as it is heavy. Price takes his time here, sharing a kind of longing that you’ll only ever confess around last call. I guess this is growing up?
Where Price is smooth and romantic, King Krule is brash, mercurial, and abstract. “Easy Easy” is a clumsy take on esoteric jazz, the way your walk of shame would be after a few too many Old Fashioneds. The guitar sort of clatters rather than strums, and his baritone, which ranges from shouts to growls, is at best an acquired taste. But there’s soul here, and where Price is busy dreaming, King Krule is wide awake, walking down an empty alley with only his thoughts to guide him. It’s nice to think about those lonely nights every once in a while, with the security of knowing they are memories in the rearview.
Psychobilly was always a nonsense moniker for Tiger Army so it made sense that at some point they would shed that label and try their hand at something more mature. Little did we know they would do so in such an affecting way. “Where the Moss Slowly Grows” is a restrained ballad, full of driving acoustic strums, syrupy lead work, and bittersweet ennui from Nick 13. The parable is universal: “Embrace this joy, this pain…” Stay in the present, don’t fixate on attachment to past. Everything falls apart eventually. I’m amazed at the “sunrise, sunset” energy from a group that never met a stand up bass they didn’t like.
Originally published October 11, 2020 as part of Hella Vibes.