NOTHING IS MINE TO KEEP
Does anyone else feel like time is blasting through at warp speed? It was March and now the holidays are here. This is usually a stressful time and yet for some reason it feels quieter than it has in years past. Maybe that’s because we aren’t traveling. Maybe that’s because we’re without the things we used to take for granted. Maybe we’re forced to examine why this time is important—after all, we were never owed that big turkey in the first place. Hopefully this is a reflective time for you. I know it is for me.
Naedr - The Waltz of Fate
Black Thought & Salaam Remi - Fentanyl
Moses Sumney - Plastic
Bleachers - chinatown (Feat. Bruce Springsteen)
Mogwai - Wizard Motor
Baths - Ocean Death
Death - Symbolic
Adrianne Lenker - half return
Sainthood Reps - Widow
Florist - The Fear of Losing This
Naedr plays the kind of screamo/powerviolence that’s as disorienting as it is breathless, relentless in its need to self-immolate. This kind of screamo used to be commonplace for the scene—melodramatic, pitch black gothic romanticism without a hint of irony. The Singaporean five-piece operates on the knife edge of chaos and turn on a time precision, pummeling listeners with full-bodied shrieks and slashing guitars. This is black eyeliner music, full of white studded belt breakdowns and rapturous melancholy. Barely topping 3 minutes, this storm in a teacup will get you slam dancing in no time and remind you of a time when wearing a mask in public wasn’t such a big deal.
Human beings are infinitely corruptible. Songs about drug addiction aren’t new but the way Black Thought and Salaam Remi draw a line through Prince and Tom Petty falling victim to the same sickness—the same addiction, the same physical and emotional erosion—is a spiritual masterstroke. Set against a sturdy and unflinching boom-bap roll, Black Thought dives into the many converging aspects of addiction—the state-sponsored targeting, the profitability, the isolation, and the eventual submission. Listening to Black Thought makes me think of the methodical confidence of James Baldwin, a calm but resolute voice shedding light on the violence of our self-destruction. On “Fentanyl,” Black Thought taps into the trauma of now while acknowledging the legacy of suffering that preceded his time on the mic.
Moses Sumney songs are heavy. They bloom with confessional weight and the sadness of regret. “Plastic” is a rare exception, a love song that blossoms with the joy of possibilities. It features a spacious acoustic strum and dreamy keyboards that seem to hover in infinite space. It’s not all roses; the image of plastic wings evoke Icarus (maybe a modern telling, eschewing the wax), or the cheapness of confession without follow through or commitment. But there’s real joy here, the notion that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be stripped to our naked selves, faults and all, in the hope that such a reveal could be reciprocated. In the end, that possibility seems worth the risk. I’ve always thought so, and so does Sumney, as the song resolves in collapsing, Disney-style strings.
There’s a great John Mulaney bit about how all modern songs are about how “TONIGHT, IS THE NIGHT,” for something amazing to happen. The joke pivots into Mulaney yearning for a song that espouses “tonight’s, no good…how about next Wednesday?” “chinatown” embodies the kind of “anything can happen” daydream that I think even Mulaney can get behind. Jack Antonoff continues to prove that the market for cinematic, 80s-inspired new wave is bottomless, with swirling guitars, acoustic strums, and twinkling synths designed to make you feel every inch of New Jersey’s nocturnal sprawl. The Boss shows up too; falling between “Atlantic City’s” seen-some-shit wobble and the breathlessness of “Dancing in the Dark,” Springsteen’s gravely voice holds out hope that there’s somebody out there for you, you just have to meet them when the chips are down. Maybe tonight is the night.
“Wizard Motor” reminds me of 2015. Back then I was making weekly drives to a café on the edge of the city to write what I thought would be a novel that was part road trip from Hell, part personal processing about the grief of love. Often, the soundtrack would oscillate between Deafheaven’s superb catalog and Mogwai’s Les Revenants soundtrack, mainly because I wanted something spooky to listen to that would keep me focused on the task at hand. There’s a powerful quality to “Wizard Motor,” the way the keyboards are parked in constant hum against the static glitches and thunderous drums, guitars climbing as the song unfolds into a kind of slow-moving majesty. I never finished the novel but maybe I will some day. I just need to restart the engine.
I’ve always found Baths’ approach to electronic music hypnotizing. I can’t say he’s much of a songwriter—the ocean personified as a graveyard is a little on the nose—but the wave of sounds he’s playing with makes it worth the price of admission. There’s plenty to like, from the pulsing insistence of “Ocean Death’s” back beat, to the hydroponic ASMR samples and molasses slow synth warble. The pitch-shifted chipmunk vocals are either going to turn you on or turn you off, but the mix creates a twisting undertow that pulls you deeper to the depths below.
“Symbolic” is almost psychedelic in its approach to death metal, which I’ve always found to be a nice surprise in a genre that’s often predicated on its ability to decimate instead of discover. Still, it’s not often that death metal touches on the permanence of memory while tendrils of ominous guitar splay out like surreal shadows. This is what has made Death an enduring act since the late 80s. Don’t get it twisted, Chuck Schuldiner’s raspy vocals are demonic in their delivery, and the portions of “Symbolic” that charge ahead like furious stealth bombers are enough to delight any metal enthusiast. But there’s a spellbinding quality to this song that really sets it apart, a rise and fall from memory prison to death dungeon, a crispness to the vivid horrors of the mind, that really make it something special. If only death metal could be this intricate all the time.
It’s been nice to appreciate the quiet of quarantine. I’ve had a lot of folk music on rotation this year but Adrianne Lenker’s excellent solo album songs, has been a strong highlight since its release. “half return” carries a spider-silk softness that balances nimble guitar work with flashes from the past. With all of us more or less trapped at home in 2020, the notion of flashing back to the intensity of the “before times” is often a daily occurrence. Lenker, it would seem, was able to turn that into a gorgeous acoustic ballad, as bittersweet as her bird-like singing, reminding us of a once great wide open world.
“Widow” lumbers with a kind of dread that’s often reserved for a late night, staring at the ceiling, paralyzed. Sainthood Reps take us through a surreal kaleidoscope of images, the skin and paint peeling back to reveal a home for our deepest thoughts and fears. There’s a suffocating quality to this song (shout out to the ever present Long Island Production MVP, Mike Sapone) as it ascends, or maybe forces its listeners to plummet, alongside twisting guitar spirals and death march drumming. Francesco Montesanto’s vocals are positively haunting as he details the dissolving veneer of monotony, the menace of things just below the surface. If you’ve ever felt the weight of expectations, crushing you, I think you know and feel what Sainthood Reps were going for on this one.
After so much loss in 2020, the only thing I can circle back to is the freedom of letting go. Florist maybe arrived at this notion earlier than I did with “The Fear of Losing This,” balancing gently floating keyboards with cloudy guitars. The sparse arrangement helps focus on Emily Sprague’s quiet strength, reminding us all that nothing was ever ours to begin with. The fear of losing anything in particular is misplaced because there’s nothing to fear. It’s our attachments, our neuroses in making sense of the possibility of loss, that keeps us from what we should really be doing: savoring what’s good about the present, before it’s gone.
Originally published November 22, 2020 as part of Hella Vibes.