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(09/18/14 12:53am)
This past summer, I was fortunate enough to be paid to spend exorbitant amounts of time listening to music – along with more logistical responsibilities – here at WRMC, Middlebury College’s student-run radio station. Aside from getting a hold of the biggest releases in the college radio world, the station received a slew of lesser-hyped gems that earned repeated indulgences during those sticky Midd-summer nights. A bit about some of my favorites:
Owen Pallett – In Conflict
An intricate, smartly crafted record from Polaris Music Prize winner and Arcade Fire member, it peaks and descends at times you would never expect among complex woven narratives that depict bland and bleak aspects of life with an immediately engrossing particularity. His emotive string arrangements, rooted heavily in theory, range from startlingly dramatic to subtly curious; all the while, he evokes charm and wit with clever bass lines and complements of synth, giving life to the dreary landscapes he draws.
Hundred Waters – The Moon Rang Like a Bell
This record is delicately packed with gorgeous, airy, ethereal and – above all – sexy melodies that softly explore the outer contours established by singer Nicole Miglis’ hushed 2000s pop-R&B vocals. As a whole, the tracks exude seamlessly-blended styles ranging from folk to dark pop to ambient noise. My impulse is to describe The Moon Rang Like a Bell as atmospheric, though such a term implies a distinction between the listener and her environment, one that the album certainly does not allow. Standouts like “Chambers (Passing Train)” paradoxically draw out isolation and comfort with familiar yet bracingly unique sounds.
Sounds of Sputnik – New Born
Taking strong cues from My Bloody Valentine, New Born is composed of rich, sparkling, spaced-out ‘new-gaze’ dream pop wonder spawned from some of the coldest places on earth – Ummagma, the Canadian-Ukranian duo, add vocals and instrumentation to the Moscow-based Sound of Sputnik’s arrangements. Shimmery piano interludes help foster the feeling of vastness and grandeur laid out by their drawn-out compositions. While this record contains only five original songs (along with seven not too dissimilar remixes and one radio cut), each retains its own cosmic flare within a unifying musical framework.
Shabazz Palaces – Lese Majesty
Shabazz Palaces’ sophomore LP is no joke. Lese Majesty is a collage of futuristic beats, rhythms and sounds rendered impossibly smooth and explicitly sinister, forsaking conventional hip-hop structures in favor of conceptual fluidity and sonic reversals. Ishmael Butler a.k.a. Palaceer Lazero attacks the complacency of modern rappers with controlled aggression, lyrics dripping venom and political consciousness. While not as immediately enthralling as predecessor Black Up, Lese Majesty shows promise of mainstream recourse away from straight bombast toward revitalizing rap as a forum for conscious action.
Ben Frost – A U R O R A
Ben Frost claws away the fringe layers of melody and sound until he strikes their cores in this bracing LP, his first solo studio album since 2009’s equally challenging By the Throat. Spectrally haunting one moment, screeching and dissonant the next; A U R O R A will rip apart your preconceived notions of what music ought to sound like and thrust you into a sometimes-mind-rattling, often terrifying new musical paradigm.
Warehouse Eye – Carvings
Carvings is a strong debut from a fledging Minneapolis group that displays a smart mix of lush dream pop, buoyant vocals and stretched-out slowcore post-rock that, rather than striking new ground, treads along the mean of their influences – Beach House, Slowdive, Low and Grizzly Bear, to name a few. While no track is particularly original, tracks like “Tokyo” and “Through the Grass” demonstrate clear talent and the potential for a solid debut LP in the very near future.
Wunder Wunder – Everything Infinite
Wunder Wunder boast a refreshingly jangly, melodic and fluid psych/surf rock sound. “Coastline,” the by-and-away best track on the record, floats along like a SoCal breeze while swirling around bits of Tame Impala and the Beatles. The subtle funk and soul influences give this West Coast duo a distinctive touch, but they occasionally spoil it with overpowering synths that caramelize their aesthetic.
Countless other excellent albums were released this past summer, far more than I could ever hope to listen to with the attention they deserve, let alone evaluate enough for two-three sentences’ worth of remarks. Yet an exciting fall lies ahead with plenty of big names and impending album drops. Check in again in three weeks for more on the latest releases.
(03/12/14 3:34pm)
The word ‘emo,’ with regards to music at least, normally evokes a couple of common reactions for graduates of the American teenage experience. First, a wave of nostalgia washes over your glazed and jaded eyes, bringing you back to those icky formative middle school years where everyone was horrible and cruel and mom don’t make me go back to school, can we please move far away from here? Thankfully, there were so many bands of 25(plus)-year-old dudes with nasally whines and spiked hair dyed black that ‘got it’ and could ‘speak to us’. Next comes the sudden realization that any band made of the aforementioned aging heartthrobs who wrote lyrics mostly aimed at adolescents (lookin’ at you, Simple Plan) might not have been worth your time—they didn’t have as much figured out as previously thought.
As such, I was weary to see that festering little word glued to essentially every description of Modern Baseball’s newest release You’re Gonna Miss It All that I could find online. I was far too busy with my burgeoning iTunes library of ‘college rock for grown-ups’ – I’m trying to run away from the past here! – to listen, but repeated recommendations for this slick record put out by fellow-college-aged Philly natives made me cave and I gave it a shot.
The first line of the opener “Fine, Great” got me hooked for good when, saying it far better than I ever could, it reduced the entirety of my undergraduate strife into a single sentence: “I hate worrying about the future/’cause all my current problems are rooted in the past.”
In essence, this album is the catharsis for any wayward college kid trying to sort through the mess of emotional chaos that’ll eventually plague us all no matter how many books we sink our heads into, no matter how many life philosophies we churn out at one in the morning with overeager acquaintances and no matter how we carry on through our time here in school.
On “You’re Gonna Miss It All,” self-discovery pokes through the haze of keggers and off-campus house parties in the form of two-and-a-half-minute bursts of simultaneously peppy and bitter vignettes about heartbreak and hangovers. Brendan Lukens, the band’s lead singer and main songwriter, has somehow found the perfect niche between observant, self-aware and naïve, never reaching beyond that which he knows, thankfully avoiding embarrassingly indulgent grasps at truth, or whatever. His lyrics are sharp and witty, not at all whiney yet still boasting a tinge of the kind of pathetic that earns an empathic laugh rather than scornful pity. Each track is a little prickly and sad but no less hilarious and relatable.
Modern Baseball’s members have lived through the same nights we all have, ripe with the same frustration and the same cute innocence of trying to deny reality for just a little bit longer once the morning after strikes: “My head is on the verge of exploding/no amount of aspirin or pizza could help this from hurting,” Lukens croons on “Rock Bottom,” a standout track. The beauty of his words lies in the intensely honest, personal, getting-right-to-the-point nature of each tightly crafted line — that and their ability to make me laugh and hate myself all within the same thirty seconds.
Musically, “You’re Gonna Miss It All” contains all that you could want from a simple indie rock album: melodic rhythms, cutting riffs, a sing-along anthem here (“Charlie Black”) and a slow cut there (“Two Good Things”). There are bits of Brand New, Tokyo Police Club and even Built to Spill peppered throughout, if those strike your fancy. Modern Baseball was kind enough to keep its album to a brief 30 minutes, which really gives you just enough of a break from whatever aspect of real life you’re currently vested in. It’s a nice blast from the past with enough meek insight to make you think you’re spending your time well.
(02/26/14 4:34pm)
It’s been two decades since Beck penned the anthemic, self-mocking two-lined chorus that (who knew?) would be swallowed heartily by ‘90s frat bros and despondent weirdos alike. Led by “Loser,” his album Mellow Gold immediately garnered praise with eclectic fusions of anti-folk twang, old-school hip hop, noisy blues riffs and a little bit of everything else, coupled with darkly-wrought ironic humor wrapped up neatly in a smooth-ish yet vapid white boy flow. Just about every record has followed suit, with maybe a pinch of electro or an acoustic cut here and there, to the approval of both staunch critics and casual consumers.
In 2002, however, he digressed from his oeuvre in putting out the simple, honest, brooding and much less clever post-break up album Sea Change, which still managed to pluck at the feeble heartstrings of listeners everywhere despite compromising on both experimental production and wicked clever (but non-academic!) lyricism. When word surfaced that Beck’s 12th and newest album, Morning Phase, would be a continuation/sequel/companion piece/pick-your-buzz-phrase to Sea Change, the title along with nary a word about an emotional regression suggested a beautiful, well-crafted, melancholy (like Mourning, the sly dog) yet hopeful ‘self-discovery’ of sorts. And yes, it turned out quite beautiful indeed. Beautiful but also, after not too long, kinda boring.
I won’t go so far as to say all great art comes from a deep well of pain, but it certainly helps creativity to suffer. Beck was in a tumultuous place those 12 years ago, and it was made pretty obvious: “These days I barely get by/I don’t even try” he echoed on “The Golden Age,” a song made so depressing that such a straightforward delivery was met with empathy rather than accusations of kitschiness. On Morning Phase, Beck gently caresses listeners’ ears with somewhat similar sentiments, though from a rather disconnected perspective. He establishes moody contexts and auras just the same with his lush orchestration, but there is a noticeable lack of first-person narratives in comparison to the album’s predecessor; he instead opts for externalized pop-generalizations (“Somewhere unforgiven/Time will wait for you”) and vaguely preachy tidbits of advice (“You better save yourself/From something you can’t see/Follow it where it goes/Follow it back to me”). In other words, he is writing from somebody’s heart but not really his own, well-meaning as it may be. In doing so, he turns the empathy on its head and dangerously approaches cliché.
Barring the lyrics, as many listeners are wont to do anyway, Morning Phase is musically stunning. Each track swells and contracts delicately within a hollowed sonic landscape, all part of a singular piece that merely comes to rest every few minutes as opposed to a collection of individual tracks cut out and laid down aside one another. “Unforgiven” takes off in a spiraling swoon atop a gently scaled-back tempo and “Blue Moon” soars through a dynamic range reminiscent of Sea Change-standout “Lonesome Tears.” The record is stripped of ominous bass undertones and instances of occasionally overpowering drums used to bring home jarring moments of emotional troughs, which together do in fact point to the lighter nature earlier anticipated.
A mild optimism certainly pervades the musical elements of the record, but they remain in conflict with the lyrical themes to an off-putting degree. Beck fails to convince me of his genuineness when his lovely tunes undermine his words; and as such, I’m not inclined to spin this LP in place of its precursor.
Let me stress that by no means is this record bad. In fact, if this is your first time listening to Beck, I’m sure you will thoroughly adore it. If you liked Sea Change, I’m even more certain of it. The problem is, quite simply, it is too similar in some respects and worse in others. Put another way: if you like to frequent name-brand café chains, you’re probably going to hear it whether you wanted to or not.
(11/20/13 11:15pm)
To anyone who has felt the slightest angst throughout his or her formative years — and I know this applies to all of you — great news: pop punk lives on! But I’m not talking Vans Warped Tour here; I’m talking the hard stuff. The good stuff. The ol’ fashioned, ass-kicking tempos venting those oh-so-important frustrations of the suburban teenage experience packed into neat little singles and half-hour LPs. And we largely have the Crutchfield twins – Katie of Waxahatchee and Allison of Swearin’ – to thank for that. The latter enjoyed the summer festival circuit on the backbone of her excellent spring release “Cerulean Salt” while Allison’s band recently put out “Surfing Strange”, their second LP.
The album kicks off with “Dust in the Gold Sack”, which is quite possibly the best pop punk song in the past 10 years, if not for “Kenosha” from their first LP. Ripe with heavy licks and thick riffs, Swearin’ flaunts its early influences, some of whom are titans of the genre – you can find bits and pieces of the Replacements, the Breeders, the Pixies and countless others on the opener and scattered throughout the eleven tracks as well. “Mermaid” is merely a darkened “Only in Dreams” from the Weezer’s “Blue Album”, while “Echo Locate” is a cross between Nirvana’s “In Bloom” and “Insomniac”-era Green Day (which was damn good — don’t let anyone tell you otherwise).
Despite the negatives attached to the genre’s name, on top of the risks of sounding anything remotely like those last two bands mentioned, Swearin’ effortlessly forsakes the clean tunings of the last 15 years of mass-produced consumer-pandering pop punk. The use of gritty distortion gives rise to an extra dimension to their music that the precision of more recent overproduction eliminates; no longer do they need to lay down an additional layer in order to make up for flatness as these tightly coiled songs are highly textured despite the simplicity of arrangements.
In comparison to the band’s self-titled debut, the album’s cuts are a tad slower and more drawn out, which isn’t exactly hard to do when its longest track barely reached 2:38. The transition mirrors the new mood of the record; the irritation tinging Allison’s sharp remarks in the first LP gives way to a darker, more despondent undertone in “Surfing Strange”. The intermittent youthful joy found in the former, best encapsulated by her falling for the sticky skin of a Southern boy in the song “Just”, is replaced with anxiety and frustration, sometimes to a daunting degree.
Lyrically, her rhymes carry slightly less heft than the poetry of twin Katie’s outlet. But such an earnest and straightforward delivery is refreshing in itself. Her words need not be drenched in hazy metaphor; rather, she evokes a visceral response from a more pure, stripped expression. And why not? Such naturalness is what fostered the massive appeal to pop punk in the first place. Its function is to bridge the gap between the isolating abrasiveness of 70s punk and the broad, collectively tame youth experience. In all, they nail it on this record.
As sweet as it is mesmerizing, Allison’s voice humanizes the dark overtones of her palpable melodies. They stand in gloomy contrast to Kyle Gilbride’s not-too-nasally whine, which is a nice change of pace from the Allison show in their debut. The band incorporates a stringent “you write it, you sing it” policy and it pays out nicely in the four tracks he leads.
Like most albums, “Surfing Strange” does falter at a couple points. “Glare of the Sun” is a bit of a misstep, and, save a brief reprieve with “Unwanted Place”, the latter half of the album falls into a lull. Considering the form of a pop punk album, it’s a bit problematic to find oneself a little bored before the 34th and final minute of “Surfing Strange” passes. Yet it never devolves into cacophony, and even the more boring tracks on the record are pleasant on their own regard.
With this solid thrill of a release, Swearin’ excites me for the future of rock. Not that I was ever really worried; the album, at its very core, is still but a re-imagination of past formulas still as fresh as ever. But any world in which I can admit to liking pop punk again — better yet, any world in which pop-punk is good again — is better than the last. Thanks to Swearin’, things just might be looking up.
(11/06/13 9:48pm)
It is Saturday night, roughly 11:50 p.m., and the crowd facing the Chicago-born Chance the Rapper in Nelson Stadium is getting antsy. The show thus far has been nothing if not a tad bizarre, and Chance is running out of concert staples to fill the venue’s echoey crevices. “Smoke Again” and “Juice” have somewhat revived the audience from the lull of slow jams dominating the last twenty minutes, but a sense of restlessness is lingering. Naturally, after a week of intense scrutiny and campus-wide discourse, the question remains: will he play it? The insidious lyric in “Favorite Song” resting neatly within the lush garden that is Chance’s acclaimed LP Acid Rap? Will he defy pleas of the administration and many students on campus?
And then it happened. Chance ran through “Favorite Song” without the hint of censoring.
Chance the Rapper begins singing “Favorite Song”. (middbeat)
“I’mma give you all one last test, I’mma play one last song … I want everybody, when I drop this next song, to start jumping; I’m not even gonna say the name of the next song, I’mma just countdown.”
Five notes — a revitalized sample of the famous opening of Betty Wright’s “Clean Up Woman” — pulsed through the haze and erased all doubt, igniting an uproar of cheers, invigorating the crowd and saving the concert.
Well, sort of.
Chance the Rapper is no stranger to controversy. Indeed, his first mix-tape #10Day is the direct product of a 10 day suspension period inspired in part by conflicts with teachers and life’s daily occurrences. In between cheap laughs and grim landscapes, Chance spits clever quips about love, drugs, sex and everything else 20-year-olds think about. Amongst modern rappers he is highly respected yet considerably mild; in context of the broader world, however, as well as the community of the College, Chance’s lyrics are reason for concern. The exact brand of anticipation held by students was therefore mixed: some were ecstatic, others frustrated; many were indifferent, the majority at least vaguely curious.
At around 10:45 p.m., the admittedly modest crowd began to thicken as ticket holders who had gotten wind of the late projected start time began to trickle in. Whispers of excitement flowed between expressions of uncertainty. Personally I was thrilled to see Chance; having read numerous reports commending his stage presence over the past year before finally seeing him perform a shortened set this past summer, I had high hopes for an energetic concert bolstered by a lively student body. The growing swarm of students was promising. “This is gonna kick ass,” I heard someone slur in passing.
The time crept past 11:00 p.m. and the anticipation was morphing into impatience. Some tried to accelerate the process with cheers and a brief chant to little avail. The collective buzz showed signs of waning.
And then the lights went out. “Good Ass Intro” began to pour out of the speakers. Chance ran across stage, stopping with his trademark stagger, strutted up to the microphone, started the song’s opening chant, and … something immediately felt off.
A breathy rasp coated Chance’s high pitched, nasally delivery. The speakers fuzzed and instead of the rich, orchestral track listeners expected, out came a tinny, flat replica. He danced across the stage but with a slowed step — some eight months of touring, it appeared, were finally catching up to him.
Moving into the first verse, Chance picked up the tempo and got into a little groove, but then began an unfortunate trend of cutting lines short that would come to permeate the remainder of the show. Granted his rhymes are jam packed and some breathlessness is expected when one flies around with as much gusto as Chance, but it seemed to break up the rhythm of his songs.
To fix this issue, Chance resolved to stick out his microphone at the ends of bars, expecting the students to fill in the blanks. Not many knew the right answers; and with each repeated effort came another gap marring his tracks. The effect was disheartening, but not entirely damaging.
Four songs in, the concert abruptly shifted in direction. Chance took a brief break backstage as the screen lit up with a dizzying mash-up of sex scenes, puppies fighting and an African village. A few minutes passed and Chance stormed the stage with his backing band, recharged and reinvigorated, and belted a silky smooth rendition of “Everybody’s Something.” The effect in combination with the video was above all bemusing; students were not sure whether to feel offended or inspired, instead left merely confused.
Yet as it came to a close and Chance drifted into “Paranoia,” a slowed-down standout from Acid Rap, a certain disconnect wedged itself between the stage and the audience and absolutely deadened the latter. A wholly out-of-place, out-of-nowhere rendition of Coldplay’s “Fix
You” further alienated the crowd. Regardless of the energy Chance unleashed on stage, they indulged him only in sporadic waves.
It was not until Chance kicked off “Favorite Song,” the closer of the main set list — the unstable, volatile crux of contentious student debate — that any sense of enthusiasm or passion grew out of the crowd. The implications of this are plentiful and divisive, and reactions were just as varied.
“Though I’m not sure how I feel about the lyrics, I think [the lack of censorship] may have been a good thing,” said Audrey Goettl ’16. “I believe musicians need artistic liberty to an extent to express their message without the fear of offending others when interpreted without context.”
Others, like Nathan Weil ’15, were less forgiving.
“Before the show I thought the [free speech] argument in favor of Chance carried at least some weight,” Weil said. “[But] from the bizarre misogyny of the pornographic projections above the stage to playing only enough of ‘Favorite Song’ to shout the word ‘f*****’ to a cheering crowd, Chance was a shock artist and nothing more.”
Nevertheless, the act of defiance heightened the spirits of the room for the remainder of the night. Chance unexpectedly played an extra fifteen minutes with as much zeal as he had throughout the show. Closing out the night, he graciously thanked the crowd, despite its lukewarm support.
Exiting the arena, I couldn’t reconcile my unmet expectations. Chance no doubt put up a dynamic performance, but the concert in its entirety felt a bit cheap and gimmicky. The inflamed controversy did nothing to assuage the disappointment. One cannot really fault the Middlebury College Activities Board (MCAB) Concerts Committee — they had no control over the odd features of the show or the blundered venue change — but nevertheless I still feel wary over the upcoming spring show. I doubt an act as nationally revered as Chance will be easy to come by. At the very least, we can be certain that the student body will have far more vested interest in both the content and the execution of future concerts. Hopefully that will be worth something.
(10/30/13 10:25pm)
If there is one thing the music world could have counted on for 2013, it was that surely, at some point, eventually, Arcade Fire would release a new album. Since 2004’s insta-classic debut Funeral redefined the indie landscape with gusto and grandeur, few things have been more certain than a (roughly) three-year wait period between releases: 2007 gave birth to Neon Bible and 2010 was blessed with The Suburbs.
So when July rolled around and Arcade Fire decided to inform the world of an October 28th release date for their newest album via Twitter, I groaned with exasperation — “Yeezus Christ, it’s about time!” — rather than gasped with excitement. I’ve come to expect nothing short of greatness from arguably the best band of the 21st century, and the announcement felt sort of cheap yet ultimately inconsequential. Insignificant, even — that is, until the album’s meaning surfaces.
Thematically, Arcade Fire is no stranger to tackling darker topics than most modern rock bands. Death and loneliness, paranoia and crises of faith, internal degradation at the hands of stifling suburbia: not too uncommon, yet not the easiest to digest. Reflektor, however, takes on more ambitious influences of Greek mythology and existentialist philosophy to comment on the disconnect and isolation between contemporary human beings apparently brought about by society’s ‘reflectors,’ whatever those are. Win mostly laments about his inability to fully ‘get’ the depth and complexities of his opposite — either Eurydice or Joan of Arc, depending on the song — and not so much on the factors of life that invariably cause such distortions in perception and human understanding, as the album’s title would suggest. Thus resurfaces that peculiar decision to disclose the release date via Twitter all those months ago. They could not have missed the irony, could they? The irony of unveiling their treatise on interpersonal barriers and remoteness through one of the premier driving forces of cheapening communication? Maybe their irony was purposeful? I sure hope so.
Now on to the music.
A sprawling, 85 minute two-disc epic, Reflektor boasts an indescribable sound, but I will try my best to explain: Haitian-inspired rhythms carrying Krautrock and disco-fused beats, underscored by steady clave percussion tempos, pierced by jangly guitars, enveloped in ambient haze and peppered with just about every other instrument imaginable. It is Bowie meets LCD Soundsystem meets Talking Heads meets Afro-pop (also known as the entire foundation of popular music). Each song is an intricate orchestral masterpiece, lavish yet unimposing, an accomplishment in and of itself, densely arranged and fully satiating with eight of twelve clocking in at over five minutes apiece.
Yet, within such vast length lays the problem: whatever argument Win was attempting to make with his record could have been achieved easily in twenty fewer minutes. At a certain point, Reflektor becomes too much to handle in a single listen, and a cut or two regrettably become a substitute for the completed and immensely beautiful picture. The title track probably could have expunged a few instances of the (50-time) repeated phrase “it’s just a reflector” without losing significance or meaning. “Afterlife” similarly falters when it so desperately holds on to its “work it out/scream and shout” rhyme scheme for far too long, slightly marring an otherwise perfect (and I mean perfect) song. “Supersymmetry” didn’t need the last four minutes and Arcade Fire knows it — they were a purely extraneous indulgence.
While Arcade Fire has mastered the harmony of an ever-elusive and evolving sound while retaining a distinctive, unmistakable edge, Reflektor does contain a couple stylistic miscues. Notably absent is a lead vocal contribution of Régine Chassange, whose steady yet potent alto normally provides a refreshing break from Win’s sometimes too-unsubtle pretension.
Also, a few songs contain seemingly paradoxical arrangements that hit the ear just the slightest bit off. Whereas “Normal Person” and “You Already Know” display the gradual and climactically concluding structure for which Arcade Fire is known, “Here Comes the Night Time” sort of devolves into a gentle piano riff in place of the bombastic escalation one would expect. “It’s Never Over (Oh Orpheus)” sheds the momentum it should have maintained, or at least revisited, halfway through. “Porno” hints at something great but instead drags on for an extra minute before suddenly cutting off like the Sopranos finale before bringing the whole thing home.
Reflektor is indeed a lot to swallow. But otherwise, the album is simply incredible. Unfathomably good. Spectacularly crafted. Superbly produced (thank heavens for James Murphy and his brilliance inside a studio). I amend my earlier thought and assert that, with the release of Reflektor, Arcade Fire is, without a doubt, the best band of the 21st century. If you haven’t yet listened (twice, thrice, ad nauseum) I wouldn’t waste another minute depriving yourself.
(10/09/13 9:10pm)
A little less than two years ago, Drake’s second album Take Care – an 80 minute epic on love, failed relationships and the pressures of budding fame – was released to staggering success. Demonstrating marked growth in maturity and spawning as many singles as the standard Beyoncé album (as well as that ridiculously shallow, infuriatingly cliché cultural adage I’m sure everyone will, try as they might, never forget), the record thrust Drake into an international spotlight while silencing skeptical detractors of his earlier efforts. An extensive, acclaimed tour and Grammy win cemented his place as one of the top rappers in the game, though still with room to develop. So what, if anything, changed during the lead-up to his most recent release, Nothing Was The Same (NWTS)?
Two things are immediately obvious: the beats are better and the ego is bigger. Way bigger. Too big, in fact, to give legitimacy to his oft-inflated reputation as acutely self-aware, introspective and real. So big that it taints the moments of genuine insight and honesty that he belts with admittedly far more poise and precision than ever before. The fame, as some might say, went to his head.
Drake wastes no time letting listeners know just how good he thinks he is. “Tuscan Leather,” a six-minute banger named after overpriced cologne (if that alone doesn’t say enough about the ensuing track), kicks off NWTS. The natural braggadocio all too common in mainstream rap and hip-hop pokes through a bumping beat pretty quickly – favorable comparisons to Dwight Howard and Martin Scorcese, references of fine Italian wine and allusions to that ridiculously shallow, infuriatingly cliché cultural adage are all fine, whatever, he earned the right to some self-congratulation. That he rubs your face in the fact that he’s indulging in an intro for about 3 minutes too many isn’t even that bad, either, considering the ten seconds of qualifying criticism and Noah “40” Shebib’s sick production. But it’s woefully clear that Drake spent little time listening to his serious competitors during that hefty chunk of time between releases. That, or he’s just kidding himself with quips like “this is nothin’ for the radio, but they’ll still play it though.” His songs are downright bloated with tailor-made, single-selling hooks; does he really think that sales figures and seemingly paradoxical (but actually not at all) airplay proves his worth when, say, Kanye outright informed the world of his intention to forsake both? That the game has not evolved? That success is not about creative growth, but pure figures?
All that aside, Drake swiftly settles down to business in the following track “Furthest Thing,” in which he addresses the personal contradictions and emotional struggles felt while, as opposed to other rappers, taking his work seriously. The melody is slippery-smooth and the drum machine tightly claps at all the right moments. He briefly flirts with patronization but doesn’t affront too severely. A solid track all-around.
And then comes “Started From the Bottom,” a track so annoying and pandering that it borders on offensive. Here, he squanders chance to delve into his past — e.g. conflicts with his mother, pains of achieving independence — free of criticism before devolving into a kitschy 2 A.M. after-party-blues mantra (“F*** a fake friend, where your real friends at?”). But he practically begs listeners to point out how he really started from the middle with laughable lines assuring us that he was indeed hungry from time to time.
The positive from this is that the worst is over after the third track. He comes to shine when he raps about what he knows — disillusionment on “Wu-Tang Forever,” miscommunication on the stand-out “From Time,” youthful naiveté on “Connect” — and stumbles when he loses sight of himself (“The Language”), unknowingly touches on misogyny (“Own It”) and becomes straight-up condescending (“305 to My City”).
None of the songs are unlistenable, though; each track flows like silk and pulses brilliantly against the senses. The problem is that they blend too well together. Though ripe with more dimension, depth and darker undertones than its predecessor, Nothing Was The Same lacks the diversity and dynamism that his contemporaries explore to much greater dividends. Drake has surely perfected the artistic framework found on all of his releases thus far, but his lack of exploration accommodates a narrow range of listener emotion; and if he really wants to reach the level of Kanye and Kendrick on the main stage or Earl and Danny Brown (whose brand new release Old far exceeds the reaches of Drake’s) on the down low, he needs to dig a little deeper, reflect a little longer, tell us all something we don’t already know. The rap game is evolving; if he wants to compete, he needs to stop giving us only more of the same.
(09/26/13 2:58am)
The era of indie rock is dwindling. Thirty years or so is a good run, all things considered; but the young teens of today simply aren’t interested in taking the time to hone their six-string skills for the heartthrobs of freshman year creative writing class when more immediately accessible instruments – a.k.a. torrented, open source music software – are readily available.
Such widespread access has accordingly fostered an explosion of independent electronic projects within a musical realm traditionally consisting of either intricate and ambient dance, genre-fusing production (The Knife, LCD Soundsystem, Youth Lagoon), or critically-scoffed emotionally-vapid synthpop (Owl City, 3OH!3, post-“Toxic” Britney). Only in the last few years has anything vaguely resembling pure ‘electronic pop’ attracted positive acclaim. Crystal Castles, Grimes and Purity Ring come to mind, as do Passion Pit and that one MGMT song they hardly ever play anymore, yet no act of late seems to encompass the complete picture, the simultaneous lightness, catchiness and sincerity needed for an idyllic electro-pop album.
Then came along Glasgow-trio CHVRCHES who, with a couple of singles and a handful of EPs, ignited a fury of blog buzz and hopeful whispers that the ideal could be achieved, provided their initial success wasn’t a fluke, of course.
It wasn’t.
The release of debut LP The Bones of What You Believe stomped, pulsed and bumped through expectations. 12 tracks, 48 minutes, one listen—all that’s needed to thrust CHVRCHES into the spotlight as the indiesphere’s pillar of electro-pop.
Let it be clear, this album is by no means transcendent or ground-breaking. It is not the next Kid A, Silent Shout or Merriweather Post Pavilion. But it is a tightened package boasting an expansive spectrum of varied intensity, teasing listeners with darkly anthematic choruses opposing sparkling interludes and shimmering bridges. It is a collection of towering hooks and infectious beats pierced by wavering throbs of deep cascading electronic greatness. It is an album to groove to and swoon to; an album of passion and gloom and relationships facing their doom. In other words, it is one hell of a debut.
A brief disclaimer: this review is extremely subjective. I love this band. I’ve been jamming to at least one CHVRCHES track on a daily basis since “Recover” first permanently lodged itself onto my consciousness back in March. Hundreds of listens, if not more, have not yet sickened me and an incredible concert experience cemented my biases. But my fervor is certainly qualified.
Take “The Mother We Share,” the single that launched CHVRCHES into the spotlight and fittingly kicks off the new record. The pounding crystal-clear melody envelops an icy chorus – “I’m in misery where you can seem as old as your omens/And the mother we share will never keep your proud head from falling” – and comes full circle to form one of the catchiest tracks of the last year. The rhythm of the following track, “We Sink” trickles down to a sweetly sung promise: “I’ll be a thorn in your side ‘til you die/I’ll be a thorn in your side for always/We Sink/We Lift Our Love.” Her earnestness is so palpable that when “Gun” – probably the best track on the album, the perfectly structured pop song, the best single since last year’s “Oblivion” – strikes, it’s almost unbelievable that the same adorable Lauren Mayberry is warning a past lover to “Hide, Hide/I have burned your bridges/Now I’ll be a gun/And it’s you I’ll come for.”
CHVRCHES thrills itself on these juxtapositions. On the album’s latter half, the darkest track “Science/Visions” attacks the ear drums with a muffled, sinister tempo before a saccharine voice and soothing bass line massages the assault away on “Lungs.”
“Night Sky” bursts with a crescendo, donning one of the many climaxes on the LP. It’s hard not to belt it out when driving through the shadowy streets of a Middlebury evening. And then, of course, there’s “Recover,” the neon-plastered dance floor anthem playing off one of the simpler melodies that refuses to loosen its grip from whatever cruel part of the brain keeps songs on repeat.
As partial as I am, I can note some low points in this record. “Under the Tide” is just okay; and, as one fellow concert-goer noted when I had the chance to hear this excellent record in action, Martin Doherty is “pretty off-key the entire time.” Also, I can’t quite get into the groove of “Science/Visions” after the adrenal high of “Night Sky.”
I think that covers the downside.
But don’t just take my word for it. Give this album — this beautiful treatise on unadulterated electro-pop — a shot in its original form, before every DJ across the country pickpockets some samples and puts out remixes to half of the songs. You’ll be glad you did.
(09/12/13 12:44am)
In case anyone was wondering, the litmus test for giving an artist free reign to spit outright venomous obscenities that pass unexamined by the critical eye is being really, really clever -- a 16-year-old Earl Sweatshirt proved as much back in 2010 on his semi-eponymous debut mixtape. One has to wonder about the psychological ramifications of catapulting a teenage psyche to fame on the basis of rhymes boasting acidic, violent imagery and sociopathic fantasies. Couple that with the insurmountable pressure to satisfy a cosmic standard thrust upon this (inaccurately) so-called ‘prodigal son’ of notorious rap collective Odd Future by rap critics and fans alike and you get Doris, Earl’s first proper LP and major label debut.
His initial response on “Pre”—a monotonous, self-assured death threat to his detractors laid thick atop a skulking, sinister beat—seems convincing enough. The three years between releases, rife with blunts, petty crime and a brief stint in a Samoan therapeutic retreat for your more-angsty-than-average teenager, have hardened Earl’s already vapid soul. Or so it seemed.
Some ten seconds is all that’s needed for friend and frequent Odd Future collaborator Vince Staples to pierce through the egotistical façade on “Burgundy,” a grandiose jazz-infused track produced by famed duo The Neptunes. From the vantage of his insensitive fans, he mockingly calls Earl out on his insecurities and frustrations: “Why you so depressed and sad all the time like a little b****?/What’s the problem man?/…Don’t nobody care about how you feel/We want raps…”
Earl concedes with a brutally honest verse documenting the struggles that plague his attempt to produce an Illmatic-caliber follow up on someone else’s command—too little time, money and fame to afford the prioritization of his ailing grandmother above his work, all exacerbated by a nagging fear of complete failure.
And so the true Earl Sweatshirt is revealed: a confused, mentally-fragmented 19-year-old splintered from the conflicting forces of high aspirations backed by raw talent and a negatively-slanted self-awareness instilling personal doubt.
Such inner turmoil is reflected in the ambivalent structure of Doris. One moment, he’s the arrogant Earl of yore who gets twisted kicks from spewing goofy THC-induced raps about Fruit Loops and cheap shots aimed at Sarah Palin’s youngest child; the next, he’s a vulnerable kid lamenting the childhood absence of his father—the South African former poet-laureate Keorapetse Kgositsile. ‘Hesitant’ and ‘indecisive’ best characterize Earl on Doris, and unfortunately he doesn’t get anywhere by the album’s conclusion: “So, searching for a way to state it right/Young, black, and jaded, vision hazy strolling through the night.”
Though he may not have figured out exactly how to convey his burdens, Earl certainly says them alright — every single track attests to Earl’s prodigious command over language, one clearly unmatched by any rapper so far this year. A poet more so than a storyteller, his bars are potent with highly complex arrangements and dazzlingly-sly wordplay. On the standout “Hive,” a grumbling and gritty bass line creeps along parallel to Earl’s master-crafted allusions, internal rhymes and enjambed sentences. “Whoa” features what could only be described as perfect prosody on par with an early-2000s Eminem. Five, six, seven listens are still not enough to thoroughly parse the density of Earl’s verses.
His production skills have matured substantially as well. While his constructive presence was virtually nonexistent on his first effort, Earl’s prominent hands in the assembly of Doris pay off. He particularly shines alongside Frank Ocean on “Sunday,” the collaborative sequel to 2012’s “Super Rich Kids”, in which a sunny synth riff confirms that his shadows do eventually disappear when the day breaks. Thanks to the aid of RZA’s genius, “Molasses” pulses through the murky atmosphere fostered by its preceding tracks.
This isn’t to say that Doris is without flaw. Some tracks fall flat — “Guild” drifts along sluggishly while Earl and guest Mac Miller struggle to keep on its tempo and the removal of Domo Genesis from “20 Wave Tracks” probably wouldn’t hurt. In fact, sometimes one forgets that this is an Earl album instead of a new Odd Future release when his many contributors outlast and occasionally outshine the feature. As Earl continues to develop as an artist, his consistency will come to reflect his pure skill.
Honestly though, these complaints are minimal in context of the entire work. Clocking in at a short 44 minutes — although somehow seeming about 20 longer — Doris is easily one of the best albums of the summer, especially in the wake of Hova and Kanye’s rather unfortunate disappointments. But don’t expect to get hyped on this record — his demeanor can be contagious, and it’s best to listen alone and inside when it does.
(05/09/13 3:10pm)
“Oblivion” is the result of some macabre thought-experiment, wherein every device necessary to tell an effective story is eliminated in favor of Tom Cruise’s face and the basic tropes of pop science fiction. It’s a structure that broaches questions about why we care about science fiction in the first place. The presumption is that an audience will overlook plot in science fiction if the world is sexy and seductive enough. And if Oblivion is considered solely on the basis of its world, it is more mediocre than it is offensively awful. If “Oblivion” is considered on the whole, it is awful.
Our introduction to the world of “Oblivion” is a flagrantly long voice-over: the entire context for the conflict is given in this opening speech. It is an inexcusable opening that sours the first act of the movie and it’s a tactic that “Oblivion” gratuitously repeats. But Cruise’s opening gives us the basics: the year is 2077, mankind has been nearly wiped-out by a series of wars with a sect of aliens and humanity is preparing a pushback against the invaders.
Tom Cruise plays a guy named Jack Reacher (wait, no — Jack Harper, that is) who, with his love interest Victoria, remains on earth to gather resources in hopes of sending them to the human colony on Titan. Summarizing any further runs the risk of revealing spoilers — there is a big plot twist in the film which is indeed highly derivative and partially predictable. Melissa Leo gives a nice performance as Jack and Victoria’s lone connection to the outside world, but that she is so cheery from the start of the movie is an alarm; something has to be up.
The central theme is memory: we’re told from the beginning that Jack has lost his memory. The drama then becomes that Jack has dreams and memories of a woman, which is troubling in his state of amnesia.
What a boring plot device. Make no bones about it: “Oblivion” only exists because of its visual appeal. Director Joseph Kosinski takes a unique satisfaction in letting the world exist without constant action — especially in the first half-hour of the movie the pace is contemplative and this is when “Oblivion” is at its best. The color palette relies on melancholic blues and pine trees. It feels like an ominous, mechanized version of Alaska. The problem is that we have no vested interest in not only the characters in “Oblivion,” but also its world, and despite its aesthetic allure, it quickly feels vapid and hollow. As soon as Kosinski begins to forgo contemplative scenery for exposition, the movie comes undone.
Tom Cruise only exacerbates the problem, playing an unmistakable everyman, who wears the archetypical baseball cap, chews gum, fights for earth. What I don’t understand is why Cruise is ever cast as an everyman to begin with — there is something inherently unrelatable about his action-hero passion. This is not to say that he is a poor actor, or even that he gives a poor performance in “Oblivion” – only that he is miscast. His performance, like most of Oblivion, is meant to be homage to the sci-fi flicks of the 1970s: the entire structure of the movie is laced with references. But there is a fine line between “paying homage” and “ripping off.”
“Oblivion” is instantly reminiscent of literally every piece of pop-science fiction, and peculiarly reminiscent of 2001, “Battlestar Galactica,” “Gattica,” the new “Star Trek,” “Mass Effect” even “Halo.” Those latter four are themselves highly derivative — it is the nature of science-fiction to borrow ideas. Here, I feel like there are copyrights being infringed. This is not necessarily to say that ‘Oblivion’ doesn’t perform a function as a competent piece of disposable entertainment: it can accomplish that end, in a pinch. But if the basic utility of sci-fi is its ability to take us to new, exciting realities, the world must offer at least some fresh iteration on borrowed ideas, or something otherwise interesting — something, anything. “Oblivion” gives us nothing.
(05/09/13 3:17am)
Over the weekend, Middlebury split both of its series against NESCAC East opponents Bowdoin and Tufts. On the road, the Panthers took game one before dropping the afternoon effort in Brunswick on Saturday, returning home Sunday to divide their final double header of the season against the Jumbos.
The opening game against divisional leader Bowdoin saw a pitcher’s duel highlighted by a brilliant performance by Eric Truss ’15 who shut out the Polar Bears in his complete game, four-hit, four-strikeout effort. His quick tempo and consistent pitching kept the rhythm and momentum on Middlebury’s side in a game lasting less than 90 minutes, ending with a score of 2-0. The effort would earn Truss NESCAC Pitcher of the Week honors.
The Panthers struck early in the first, starting with a lead-off double by Dylan Sinnickson ’15. Moved over by junior Alex Kelly’s groundout to second base, Sinnickson came in on an RBI single from the bat of Thomas Driscoll ’13. Bowdoin couldn’t respond, hitting into three quick fly-outs.
Middlebury scored its second and final run in the sixth, again kicked off by a Sinnickson double before Michael Morris ’13 drove a fly ball deep enough to bring him in on the sacrifice fly. Sinnickson went 2-3 in the game.
Bowdoin starter Erik Jacobsen didn’t roll over, however, as he shut down the Middlebury lineup with nine straight outs through the next three frames of play. He battled each inning against Truss, also going the distance in a five-hit, two-run outing. His offense couldn’t support what was an otherwise solid performance as the Polar Bears stranded nine runners total.
Game two was a different story as Middlebury failed to plate a run in a 9-0 loss. Bowdoin combined six different pitchers to limit the Panther lineup to four hits in a seven inning shutout.
Offensively, the Polar Bears scored two in the bottom of the first off of a hit-by-pitch, a walk, and a double to bring them both in. They added pressure in the third by plating three more on two additional hit-by-pitches, a walk, a two-RBI single and an RBI double before reliever Mark Dickerson ’15 got a double play and strikeout to end the inning.
A one-run fourth and a big three-run sixth inning capped off Bowdoin’s strong offensive return. The Panthers struggled to make solid contact throughout the game which resulted in a high number of fly-outs and groundouts.
A short evening of rest was all the Panthers were afforded before returning to Forbes Field to take on the Tufts Jumbos. Game one gave Middlebury a hard-fought victory with a final score of 7-6, but game two fell in favor of Tufts with an end result of 8-3.
Tufts began the day with a couple of unearned runs in the first thanks to a leadoff walk and a throwing error by starter John Popkowski ’13. Middlebury swiftly cut the lead in half on Morris’ RBI single in the bottom half of the inning before Driscoll knocked in the tying run on a single in the third.
The Panthers busted the game open in the fifth on a five-hit, three-run inning with another RBI by Morris and a two RBI single by Tom Rafferty ’13. They didn’t keep the lead for long, however, as Tufts struck back with four runs in the top half of the sixth. But the Panthers bats were hot, and a seventh inning rally put the Panthers over the top to take the game. Alex Kelly ’14, Morris and Driscoll all reached base to start off the inning before Rafferty stepped up to the plate. With the game on the line, he roped a single to left to bring in the game-winning run. He led the team with his 2-4, four-RBI performance. Logan Mobley tossed the final 1.2 innings to earn a relief victory.
Game two saw the momentum reverse early as a three hit, two-error first inning allowed the Tufts to jump out to a 5-0 lead. The game settled through the next two innings thanks to reliever Dylan Kane ’14, but the Jumbos struck again in the fourth to put the game at 6-0.
The Panthers chipped away with a run in the bottom of the fourth on an RBI double by Hunter Merryman ’15 and again with a strong four-hit, two-run fifth inning. But the top of the seventh saw Tufts tack on two more runs off of Kane to put the game completely out of reach. The Panthers showed life in the bottom of the last inning by putting three men on base, but they were ultimately left stranded.
Though the Panthers’ season ended with lesser results than anticipated, splitting two series against two of the strongest members of the NESCAC shows the talent this team possessed throughout the year. The Panthers look to continue the trend of strong pitching performances coming into next year’s season.
(05/01/13 7:55pm)
The Panthers failed to touch home plate this weekend in Hartford, Conn. as they dropped two games to Trinity last Saturday, April 27. Middlebury remains in third place in the NESCAC West as their divisional record dropped to 4-8 (9-17 overall). Despite scoring three runs, the Panthers fell to Skidmore in their mid-week game on April 30.
Game one began slowly for Trinity as starter Eric Truss ’15 tossed two straight hitless innings, allowing only one runner in the stretch on a hit-by-pitch. The Panthers showed early promise offensively with two lead-off hits in the second by Alex Kelly ’14 and Tom Rafferty ’13, but they were ultimately left stranded, along with Max Araya ’16 who walked in the inning. Rafferty capped the Panther offense with a 2-3 game.
Middlebury paid for their missed opportunity in the third when Trinity knocked in three runs on three hits including a pair of doubles by Scott Cullinane and Alex Almeida. After Stephen Rogers singled to drive in Almeida and Joe Papa walked, a botched play by Truss allowed Rogers to come in for an unearned run.
Truss would settle down after the inning, but his command was not on par with his last few performances for the Panthers. The fourth inning saw two consecutive hit-by-pitches, but a double play ground ball ended the inning. Truss began to fatigue in the fifth after an Almeida triple and his fourth and final hit-by-pitch of the game. A sacrifice fly to center field brought in Almeida to push the game to its final score of 4-0. Andy Dittrich ’13 closed out the game by pitching a scoreless sixth inning.
The Panthers came out flat in game two as the Trinity pitching silenced the Middlebury offense. Following three straight groundouts in the first inning, Trinity starter Scott Huley struck out the side in both the second and the third inning in a performance that would set the tone for the remainder of the game. Middlebury struggled to collect just three hits across the game’s nine innings, coming closest to scoring in the seventh inning when two runners were left on base.
The Bantams, however, rode the momentum from their victory and came swinging. A double, single and sacrifice fly to bring in a run began the bottom half of the first inning. Despite leaving three runners on base, Trinity tacked on two more runs on three hits in the third inning.
Trinity busted the game wide open when the fourth inning rolled around. Five straight RBI hits – a double and four singles – quickly put the game out of reach. The fifth inning began with back-to-back doubles to add another run,with another RBI single in the eighth to top the game off at 10-0.
The Panthers have now concluded NESCAC West divisional play and have just five games left on the season, following Wednesday’s game against Plymouth State.
The team’s home game Tuesday, April 30 against Skidmore saw Middlebury bats with some renewed life, but the Panthers couldn’t overcome the early deficit and fell to a final score of 8-3.
Middlebury flirted with scoring in the second with two runners left on base, but the game remained scoreless through the first three frames. Skidmore struck hard in the top of the fourth with four runs on four hits, highlighted by a two-run homerun by Mike Pannozzi following a leadoff single by Nate Barra.
The Panthers didn’t give in to the quick 4-0 deficit, instead driving in three runs on three hits and one error in the bottom half of the inning. Hunter Merryman ’15 brought in Morris, who reached by a misplayed ball to third base, with an RBI double to right center field. Kelly followed suit with a single before Rafferty brought him in. Araya plated the inning’s third run by a sacrifice fly to center field.
Skidmore added to their lead in each of the next three innings, swiping six from starter Dylan Kane ’14 and two more from Dittrich who came in for relief in the sixth. Mark Dickerson ’15 closed out the game with two scoreless innings, but Skidmore would prove to have enough to take the win.
Though the game saw more runs given up than would be liked, Dittrich noted that the developed solidarity in the team’s pitching staff will put them in positions to win throughout the rest of the season. Morris added that despite the team’s record, the season “isn’t an entire loss…we [can still] come out and get some wins” to finish off the 2013 schedule.
They look to finish the year off on a high note in their two-series weekend against Bowdoin and Tufts on Saturday, May 4 and Sunday, May 5, before finishing out on the road against Castleton State on May 8.
(04/25/13 12:50am)
The Panthers played strong on Friday, April 19 beating Wesleyan 4-3, but dropped both games of the doubleheader Saturday, April 20, in a weekend series against the Cardinals at Forbes Field. Although Panthers moved to a 4-8 NESCAC record (9-14 overall) with three divisional series remaining on the season, head-to-head records within the NESCAC West division have sealed the playoff picture early with the Cardinals (7-2) and top-seeded Amherst (8-1) clinching the number-two and number-one berths, respectively, meaning that the Panthers will not compete in the playoffs.
Friday’s opener saw the continued trend of stellar Panther pitching as Eric Truss ’15 gave up just three runs on 11 hits to bring his season earned run average to a cool 3.96. He currently leads the pitching staff in wins.
Wesleyan struck first scoring on a sacrifice fly to center field in the top half of the first inning. A bunt single put two-hitter Andrew Lin on base and another single through the right side moved him into scoring position. Middlebury responded quickly with three straight hits in the bottom of the inning, the third a two-RBI single by Michael Morris ’13, to take the lead. But the Cardinals replied with a four-hit second inning that saw two men cross the plate to bring the game to 3-2 early.
That would prove to be all the damage that Wesleyan would do as Truss shut down the lineup for the remaining seven innings, scattering five hits and giving up just one walk in the third. The Panthers would score again in the bottom of the inning off of two hits and once more in the fourth on a Thomas Driscoll ’13 double, which would prove to be enough for the Panthers to take game one by a score of 4-3.
Middlebury’s offense was silenced for game two on Saturday, however, as the Panthers managed only two hits in the seven-inning game en route to a 6-0 shutout loss. Wesleyan’s Jeff Blout took the complete game win throwing nine strikeouts and two walks.
On the defensive side, five total errors — three of which came in the final two innings — tainted the solid pitching performances by seniors Tyler Buckingham ’13 and John Popkowski ’13. Buckingham took the loss after giving up four runs, none of which were earned, on two hits in five-and-two-thirds innings. In the sixth, the Cardinals tacked on three runs to a 1-0 lead off of two hits and two errors. Though that would prove to be more than enough against Middlebury’s struggling offense, Wesleyan added two more in the top of the seventh on three hits and another error to cap the game.
Saturday’s second game saw intense offensive action early from both sides, but the Panther bats dulled after the second inning and they dropped game two by a score of 8-4. In the bottom half of the first inning, Middlebury drove in three runs on two hits and a Wesleyan error, with RBIs by Hunter Merryman ’15, Dylan Sinnickson ’15 and Andrew Lind ’13. Wesleyan answered quickly in the top of the second with an offensive surge of four hits and four runs, but Middlebury tied it up at 4-4 in the bottom half of the inning.
The Panthers’ potent hitting unfortunately cooled after their two innings, managing just two hits throughout the rest of the game against reliever Sam Elias. Wesleyan, on the other hand, snatched three unearned runs off of two errors and two hits against Middlebury reliever Logan Mobley ’15 in the third before coasting to a win. Noah Bakker ’15 threw five strong relief innings after Mobley, giving up another run in the sixth to bring the game to what would be the final score.
The Panthers, though disappointed at missing the NESCAC playoffs for the 2013 season, nonetheless look to build upon the season’s pitching improvements and fine-tune their defense through the remainder of the season.
“[Our plan is to] win as many games as possible to end the season on a high note, leave the seniors ... with a good end for them, and get the younger players as much experience as possible,” Dittrich said. “I think with those three goals in mind we can find a happy medium and at least take some positives from this season and get the program headed in the right direction for the future.”
On Tuesday, April 23, the team split a weekday double-header against St. Michaels, losing the first 7-1 but came back to win the second game 7-0, riding a complete game shut-out from Baaker. Merryman led the Panthers with three hits, scoring two runs and batting in two more.
The Panthers will head out to Hartford for a double-header against Trinity this Saturday, April 27.
(04/21/13 7:30pm)
Punk rock may never die – and it is certainly still alive today – but punk rockers eventually grow up. Way out in southern California, where burnout skaters have been churning out snotty noise rock cuts drenched in distorted reverb and don’t-give-a-f*** demeanors with steady consistency over the last five years, there’s certainly a tiny window where do-it-yourself bands with poetically void yet bluntly direct lyrics on substance abuse and hating everything can be taken seriously without a sense of cynicism.
So how does Nathan Williams, lead singer and brain child of bedroom-project-turned-full-fledged rock band Wavves, respond to getting old, moving out of his parents’ house and achieving some legitimate critical acclaim on his last LP? By releasing Afraid of Heights, his musically polished fourth album and his most intimately honest one yet.
The fact that a punk album would be touted as “honest” should hardly be surprising – the whole punk movement is built upon frank and truthful assertions about its adherents’ twisted lives. After all, The Ramones were as sincere about craving escape through sedation as fellow SoCal skate-punk band FIDLAR is about slamming down crappy beer.
But Afraid of Heights displays a remarkable transition from a guarded defiance against the downs of life to a realization that is something like “Wow, I actually feel this pain, and it sucks.”
Take “Idiot,” a thrashing standout from Wavves’ 2010 gem King of the Beach, for example. A disturbing cackle opening the track prepares Williams to stubbornly defy his thought that “[they] laugh right behind my back” with the affirmation
“I won’t ever die/I’ll go surfing in my mind”
Now compare that to Afraid of Heights’s lead single “Demon to Lean On” in which he croons off-key about a dead romance before admitting in a towering hook “The truth is that it hurts.”
The past two years have clearly left Williams trapped in his most vulnerable mindset to date. He openly fears eternal loneliness throughout the title track, so for any sense of affection he gives into an abusive and debilitating relationship later in “Beat Me Up.”
Sure, I love the distracting non-sequiturs of past Wavves releases in which he deflected introspection with ridiculous lines (the title of 2011’s “I Wanna Meet Dave Grohl” says it all). But the earnest self-awareness on this record is so much more captivating for a broad range of listeners, particularly disillusioned college sophomores.
Musically, what the album gains in stylistic accessibility is slightly counteracted by some losses in the essential character that is Wavves. The first thing you’ll notice – other than the strange but sparkly opening 41 seconds – is that they actually have bass lines, which were virtually nonexistent on killer tracks like 2010’s harmoniously abrasive “Post Acid” and literally nonexistent in the electromagnetic fuzz of 2008 tracks à la “Side Yr On.”
Williams’s guitar, while still louder than the majority of recent palatable Lo-Fi rock, is comparably channeled in Afraid of Heights. His recognizable twang is replaced with denser yet rather typical melodic riffs.
That’s not to say I don’t like it, I only mean that if you prefer the aesthetic of older Wavves, you may be disappointed.
A wider access to studio gear also led to indulgences like “Mystic” and “Everything Is My Fault,” which could (or, rather, should) have been avoided.
Nonetheless, Wavves take the obvious cues from King of the Beach’s strengths and apply them to the familiar “Gimme a Knife” and instant winner “Sail to the Sun.” They haven’t forgotten how to be a punk band just yet.
T
hough I’ve been fairly critical of the album’s shortcomings, Afraid of Heights is one of my favorite releases of the year thus far.
Aggressive yet approachable, somewhere in that no man’s land between B+ and A-, it’s perfect for Midd kids looking to foray into the modern punk scene.
.
(04/17/13 11:26pm)
The Middlebury baseball team walked away from a tough home series against Hamilton this weekend with two more NESCAC wins under its belt. Coupled with a mid-week victory against Norwich on Tuesday, April 16 the Panthers have made a strong rebound since enduring a five-game losing skid.
A bout of poor weather delayed the weekend series against the Continentals until Saturday, April 14, which kicked off with a low-scoring pitcher’s duel primarily between Logan Mobley ’15 for the hosts and sophomore Jonathan Lane for Hamilton. Though the Continentals were held to only two hits throughout the game, it would prove to be enough as Hamilton took the opener by a score of 2-1.
Middlebury jumped into the lead early in the bottom half of the first inning. Thomas Driscoll ’13 took advantage of an error made by third baseman Colin Henneberger to reach base and promptly stole second to get into scoring position before a single by Michael Morris ’13 moved him over to third. Tom Rafferty ’13 drove in the run with the sacrifice fly to center field, accounting for the team’s lone run of the game.
The game remained dormant for the next three innings, with Middlebury notching two hits compared to Hamilton’s lone single in the fourth. In the fifth, however, a hit-by-pitch to start off the inning came back to haunt Mobley as an error on a sacrifice bunt created a situation with two runners on with no outs, setting up another sacrifice to put both men in scoring position. Following an intentional walk to set up the force out at home, a fielder’s choice hit to shortstop Garrett Werner ’16 brought in the tying run.
The pace cooled again until the top of the seventh in which back-to-back no out walks gave Hamilton further momentum. A balk by relief pitcher Mark Dickerson ’15 moved the runners to second and third before an infield bunt single loaded the bases. Noah Bakker ’15 came in to control the inning but Hamilton hitter Gabe Klein got a free pass on balls, bringing in the game-winning run. The Panthers managed to get two runners on in the bottom half of the inning in response but failed to push them across.
Game two of the Saturday double-header saw similar dominant pitching, this time from Middlebury starter Eric Truss ’15. In eight-plus innings of work, he allowed six hits and fanned four without surrendering a lone walk. Unfortunately he was backed by an uncharacteristically sloppy performance from Middlebury’s normally consistent defense in which six errors turned two earned runs into four total and allowed Hamilton to hang around throughout the game. Behind three Middlebury errors in the second inning alone, Hamilton grabbed the lead early.
The Panthers responded in the third with two quick singles by Dylan Sinnickson ’15 and Driscoll, but Sinnickson was caught stealing at third and Morris flied out to center as the team conceded two outs just as quickly. Hunter Merryman ’15 knocked in Driscoll with a clutch single to tie the game and two straight walks by Hamilton starter Cole Dreyfuss brought in another run to give Middlebury the lead. He would walk six total along with nine hits on the day in four-and-a-third innings.
Though the Panthers found a way to get runners on base in all but one inning, they struggled to push runs across the plate, ultimately stranding 15 base runners in the game. The low run support for Truss gave little cushion as the ninth inning rolled around and Hamilton took advantage of his fatigue. Andy Dittrich ’13 entered the game in relief with no outs and one runner on. An errant pick-off attempt and a sacrifice bunt brought in another run to tie the game, but Middlebury won the game in the bottom half with a walk-off wild pitch following two hit-by-pitches and a walk.
Sunday saw a 12-inning marathon in which both teams combined to throw 10 pitchers on the mound who gave up a cumulative 31 hits in a whopping 99 total at-bats. After Hamilton struck first with a run to open the game, the Continentals and the Panthers traded big innings early: Middlebury scored two runs on three hits in the second, while Hamilton responded by knocking in three runs on four hits in the third. The Panthers then reciprocated in the fifth to bring the score to five-all.
After tacking on another run apiece, an eighth-inning RBI double from Alex Kelly ’14 put the Panthers ahead going into the final frame of regulation. An infield single by Hamilton’s Henneberger followed by a throwing error from catcher Andrew Lind ’13 allowed for Stephen LaRochelle to tie the game at 7-7 with an RBI single. The Panthers flirted with victory in the bottom of the ninth and again in the 11th inning after two men reached base, but it wasn’t until the 12th that a hit by Merryman and a couple of Hamilton errors brought home the game winning run three hours after the game’s start.
“I was a little disappointed that we lost the first game, but we rebounded well to finish the weekend,” said Merryman. “We feel like we’ve got some momentum now which we can hopefully carry over to the rest of our season.”
The Panthers pitching again proved effective on Tuesday, April 16 against Norwich as Dylan Kane ’14 and Edmund Murphy ’15 combined to blank the Cadets, giving up just three hits in a 6-0 shut out.
The third inning saw an offensive surge for Middlebury, as the team tallied three runs on five hits and one error. Norwich responded with an infield single to start off the fourth, but Kane shut down the Cadets offense and did not allow another hit.
The Panthers extended their lead in the fifth when Morris drove in Kelly with a single to right center field. For added insurance they tacked on two more in the eighth on a wild pitch and a fielder’s choice RBI by Driscoll.
Though pitching dominated the game, Middlebury bats have been heating up back to early form as Kelly, Merryman, Morris and Sinnickson each had a multiple hits. The Panthers look to be in good form heading into the second half of their season.
The Panthers look to build on their momentum this weekend, April 19 and 20, at home against Wesleyan where a series win could propel the Panthers to third place with hopes of a playoff run.
“The [two wins over Hamilton] put us back on track just in time for a crucial series with Wesleyan,” Sinnickson said. “Hopefully we can keep the momentum and beat Wesleyan this weekend, while keeping our playoff hopes alive.”
(04/10/13 9:37pm)
Middlebury’s bats were silent this past weekend at Amherst as the Panthers suffered a sweep at the hands of the Lord Jeffs, dragging their season record down to 4-10 (1-5 NESCAC). After returning from their annual spring trip to Arizona with a series loss against Williams, the Panthers are off to a slower start than anticipated.
On Friday, April 5, Amherst propelled to an 11-0 win on the momentum of the powerful performance by Jeffs’ starting pitcher Bob Cook. His effective pitch location and off-speed repertoire kept the potent Middlebury hitting line-up off balance throughout the game. Surrendering no hits and only one walk through the first eight innings, Cook’s no-hit bid was broken by a pinch-hit single by Steven Bodine ’16 with one out in the ninth.
Middlebury starter Eric Truss ’15 threw two strong innings before running into trouble. In the bottom of the third inning Amherst junior Alex Hero took Truss deep for a two-run home run. Then in the fourth inning Amherst tacked on four more runs, three of them unearned. Andy Dittrich ’13 provided two solid innings of relief before Amherst struck again for five more runs in the seventh.
First-year Sawyer Olson ’16 closed out the game for Middlebury with a hitless eighth inning, but the Panthers offense failed to score a run.
The Panthers rebounded for the first game of Saturday’s double-header with a strong pitching performance from Logan Mobley ’15. Mobley went the distance in the shortened, seven-inning game, scattering nine hits — seven of which were singles — and four runs (three earned) while striking out three and walking two.
Yet Middlebury’s offensive struggles continued, as the Panthers failed to capitalize in the second inning after getting the first two men on base, and racking just one hit through the first four innings. In the fifth, however, a pair of Amherst errors and three straight hits by Thomas Driscoll ’13, Michael Morris ’13 and Alex Kelly ’14 brought three runs to the plate to tie the game.
Unfortunately, the momentum promptly shifted in the bottom half of the inning with a leadoff triple by Amherst’s Taiki Kasuga followed by an RBI single by first-year Conner Gunn to bring in what would become the game-winning run as the Jeffs took game two by a score of 4-3.
In game three of the series, the Panthers again struggled against Amherst’s pitching, spraying seven hits over nine innings, but managed to score just one run. Kelly and Max Araya ’16 both went 2-4 with a single and double each, while junior Kyle Fink’s ’14 RBI groundout in the seventh drove in the Panthers’ sole run in an 11-1 loss.
Amherst’s nine-hitter Jonathan Ramirez had the Panthers’ number, driving in five of the Lord Jeffs’ 11 runs and collected a hit in each of his four at-bats. Mike Odenwaelder and Andrew Vandini also had multiple hits in the six- and seven-hole, respectively, for the Lord Jeffs making up for an underwhelming display by the top half of the lineup, which combined to go 4-19 in the game against Middlebury pitchers Cooper Byrne ’15, Mark Dickerson ’15 and John Popkowski ’13.
Two weekends ago at Williams, the Panthers picked up a 9-3 Friday win riding Eric Truss’s stellar complete-game, three-run, four-strike-out performance. Saturday did not fare as well, howewer, as Middlebury dropped the doubleheader with scores of 5-2 and 11-2, respectively. The scores do not reflect the performances of the Panther pitching staff, however, as less than half of the Ephs’ runs were earned in both games.
The Panthers’ offensive slump plagued this series as well with the team hitting .245 and scoring 13 runs total over the course of three games, significantly below the .355 batting and eight runs-per-game average racked up over the seven-game spring recess trip to Arizona. Yet despite the successes of Middlebury’s offense back in the warmer climate, the Panthers finished the trip 2-5, something Dittrich attributed to inconsistencies in the team’s offensive and defensive performances.
“[So far] our biggest weakness is the inability to put a full game together where both the pitching and hitting click at the same time,” said Dittrich. “[Besides] our second game against Amherst … the four other NESCAC games have unfortunately been pretty lopsided with either the pitching staff or hitters, or both struggling.”
However he remains positive in his outlook for the team, noting the steady improvements of the pitching staff since the Arizona trip which saw the Panthers allow 78 total runs in seven games. Now it’s the offense that needs to show similar improvement.
“The hitters have shown that we can score a lot of runs,” Dittrich said. “We as a team need to make small adjustments during games. Once we start to do that we should be putting ourselves in better opportunities to succeed.”
The baseball team got back on track on Tuesday, April 9, picking up a road win over Plattsburgh by a final score of 5-3. Dylan Sinnickson ’15 went two for four to pace the Panthers, including the game-tying RBI single in the eighth inning. Noah Bakker ’15 pitched four scoreless innings in relief to pick up the win for Middlebury.
The Panthers look to strike back against Hamilton this weekend with a three-game home series at Forbes Field.
(03/21/13 4:00am)
Intimate communication appears to be a painful endeavor for the modern college student. Indeed, Trevor Powers was a senior at Boise State University when he began writing and recording highly personal tracks under the moniker Youth Lagoon as an outlet for his crippling anxiety and erratic mind. As such, his acclaimed debut, 2011’s The Year of Hibernation, was rife with earnest nostalgia as depicted through anecdotal vignettes from the perspective of a plague-riddled mind.
Roughly a year and a half has passed since Powers embarked into the world of post-undergrad doldrums, which one would think could only be exacerbated when distracted by the mental strain of constant touring.
Yet he displays a marked maturity in terms of both production ability and lyrical exploration in his sophomore effort Wondrous Bughouse.
The album name itself encapsulates the stylistic direction that Youth Lagoon has taken, conveying a striking impression of lush melodies drenched in pastels floating across the expansive landscape of imagination.
That which musically embodied The Year of Hibernation – minimalistic electro-synth beats metrically pulsating through hazy, ambient lyrics – is now replaced with whirling, tumultuous and frequently jovial neo-psychedelic pop, as majestic as it is bold, reminiscent of turn-of-the-century space rock acts.
With seven of the album’s 10 songs clocking in at over five minutes apiece, Wondrous Bughouse is largely defined by ambivalent tensions between artful yet screeching dissonance and euphonious synth-driven melodies; the image evoked is the contrast between errant thoughts clawing at the edge of consciousness while keen introspection somehow keeps them focused.
The most striking example is “Mute,” in which a wavery, scraping instrumental moves teasingly back and forth in opposition to an ethereal and shimmering riff that substitutes for a lack of chorus; meanwhile a towering drum loop, one unlike anything Youth Lagoon has done before, punches through the track as the conflicting forces dance around it.
Though perhaps sonically alienating at first, the continuously powerful visceral response molded by the song’s cycles validates the six-minute ride.
It is easy to find yourself joyfully lost in these summery, sickly-sweet cuts sometimes oddly redolent of cartoony carnival music, but that by no means should suggest that lyrical themes are any less dark and mystifying than past releases.
There’s a noticeable shift in Powers’s mentality in Wondrous Bughouse, most bluntly fleshed out by the recurring discussions of mortality, the bane of the young adult’s existence.
In the warm, sparkly opening of “Dropla”, the artist gives way to a jumbled pot of confusion and anger over a lover lost among unanswered prayers. “Raspberry Cane” bitterly yet quite pointedly calls a toast to death before its climactic whirlwind of a conclusion.
Most disturbingly, “Attic Doctor” concludes with a grim picture: “The doctor conceals her grin/To tell us you couldn’t have babies.”
His thoughts stem from deep contemplation over the role of humanity between the metaphysical and reality, reflecting rather external notions in comparison to the bedroom intimacy of his earlier lyricism. We are no longer company to his self-reflective journeys through campsites, household TV rooms and a stretch of road in his ’96 Buick.
The further Powers retracts into his own subconscious, the closer he comes to stumbling upon the universal within the particular: he returns to reality certainly more assured and accepting of human decay than when he went in.
While the overarching sound of Wondrous Bughouse doesn’t completely redefine what makes Youth Lagoon unique (the opening minute of “The Bath” confirms it; you may as well be listening to “Cannons” from YoH), its rich and cascading textures make up for some lyrical disappointment to produce an immensely enjoyable listen. Admittedly, I was a sucker for his private obsessions on YoH more so than the forays into collective consciousness in this album.
But then again, my strong liking for the album as a whole is a testament to the excellence of this album’s instrumentation. Akin to The Flaming Lips-meets-Animal Collective – more like a regression to the mean, however – this album is meant to be heard through headphones on a tranquil afternoon, so give it a listen and see where it takes you.
(03/07/13 5:00am)
Foxygen’s new release We Are the 21st Century Ambassadors of Peace and Magic is an album like you’ve never heard before in that, one way or another, it sounds like everything you’ve ever heard before. These two 20-something-year-olds hailing from the comfy suburbs of northwestern Los Angeles County are not shy in acknowledging their love for and inspiration from the pop and rock gods of the ’60s and ’70s, yet they fuse their vast array of cited influences together into nine refreshing and addictive tracks to produce an incredibly solid record. After a quick yet highly gratifying 36 minutes and 39 seconds, you’ll understand the baby-boomer mantra that their own generation-defining music is better than ours.
After only a few minutes into the album, it is clear that trying to pinpoint their style is – putting it mildly – an ambitious task. Their label, Jagjaguwar (who also represents Midd graduate Kid Millions’ band, Oneida) compares their California-psychedelic sound to something along the lines of tripped-out Kinks trying to out-do their magnum opus Arthur. Such a description, however, falls flat and certainly doesn’t explain how they can emulate Velvet Underground-era Lou Reed, Bob Dylan and (strangely) the Apples in Stereo in “No Destruction,” all at once. And yet, Foxygen is still able to bring out unpredictable tracks like “Shuggie,” incorporating elements of steady hip-hop-meets-jazz-funk-fusion interludes and a piano-driven Rolling Stones-esque chorus and then close with a Sgt. Pepper’s sing-along fade out, all the while without sounding cheap and gimmicky.
Foxygen’s broad, diverse instrumentation coupled with a seamless integration of classic and contemporary arrangements provides a much-needed change of pace from the overly-hyped dream pop that has dominated the indie blogosphere for the past couple of years.
Certainly, they owe credit to producer Richard Swift for their evolution from the mere lo-fi homages in their debut EP Take the Kids Off Broadway to the more clean and cohesive quality of We Are the 21st Century Ambassadors of Peace and Magic, but these guys deserve praise and respect in their own right.
It is pretty surprising for musicians as old as our graduating seniors to succeed in creating something as bold and exciting as this.
What I love best about this album is that, at the root of it all, they’re just two kids having a blast playing catchy tunes with lyrics as whimsical and grand as the world they imagine before them. That is not to say they ignore the important stuff — for instance, “On Blue Mountain” kicks off with a crooning loneliness before the drums, guitar and organ layer into a quick-tempo anthem for wayward youth trying to make sense of it all; singer Sam France assures us that “On Blue Mountain, God will save you.”
But you know they have a pure love for what they do when they can throw in lines about green soup, roller skates and orange slugs on purple grass to provide some comic relief between moments of confusion and heartbreak. It isn’t very often that you hear a song as good as “San Francisco” that seriously incorporates a xylophone as the main instrument.
Simply put, this album is a ton of fun even after the fifth, sixth and seventh listen. If you experienced that seemingly obligatory classic rock phase in middle school like I did, then the nostalgia will hit you hard.
If for some reason you missed it, then We Are the 21st Century Ambassadors of Peace and Magic is your chance to relive musical history.
(12/07/06 12:00am)
Author: Emily Temple By now, it's a rather stale story: the indie artist vaulted to stardom via intense internet popularity, but for Lily Allen it was truly a self-motivated, unprecedentedly fast rags-to-riches story. After signing with Regal/Polygram in the UK, Allen set up her own MySpace account without any industry suggestion or approval. People took immediate notice, and within a couple months, Regal's head of press was soon getting phone calls about this girl, Lily Allen, whom he had never heard of. She just wasn't big enough at the label - also home to Coldplay, Kylie Minogue and Gorillaz - but the excitement surrounding Allen forced him to pick his head up and have a look at what he had: at that point, a MySpace star who had organized her publicity completely independently and to great effect. Crass, honest, quick-witted and supremely self-confident, 21-year-old Allen is the girl we all kind of wish we had the balls to be. The UK tabloids have tagged her a "potty-mouthed, pint-sized pop diva," but even that sounds a bit too demure for Lily Allen. She is not an out-of-control brat; she is an assertive, opinionated woman, whose piss-off pop lyrics slam sleazy guys, catty girls and loser ex-boyfriends. She has gotten in trouble in the press for talking about sex, drugs and other celebrities, but she refuses to censor herself. She repeatedly expresses her confusion that anyone could fault her for speaking the truth, especially when it comes to admitting that she likes to have a drink now and again. She has also spoken out against the industry standards for women. In an interview with Pitchfork, she commented that female artists are expected "to sit and look pretty and do what they're told." Similarly, she complained that her insults towards other artists are only seen as bitchy and catty because she's a woman. But Allen is going to break down those stereotypes. Allen is the daughter of comedian Keith Allen and the woman who produced "Shaun of the Dead," Alison Owen. But her rise to stardom was not connected to them, nor did she grow up as a limelight child. Her father left when she was four and was not a part of her life again until she was fifteen. What her parents did offer her, though, was a superb record collection. She grew up listening to Blondie, the Specials, T.Rex and De La Soul, and you can hear it in her work.Her first album, Alright, Still, was released in the UK on Parlophone/EMI in July 2006, and her first single, "Smile," hit the top of the charts soon after. Apparently, in teenage UK slang, "alright, still" means "cool." As in, "Yeah, she's alright, still." In interviews, Lily has said that her favorite quote - from Einstein no less - is "Nothing changes until something moves," so things are all right, if they're still. The album itself is chock full of unquestionable hits, the only real flop being "Take What You Take," an overzealous pop anthem. However, Lily has said, "I [expletive] hate that song more than anything in the world," so we can forgive her. The rest of the tracks pulse with R&B rhythms and reggae influences, backing good stories and witty, sassy lyrics. It's a breakup album, but without the weepy guitars and self-pity. Rather, it seems to be in the guise of a happy-go-lucky summer album. "Smile," reports a girl's attitude after a boyfriend has broken her heart: "At first when I see you cry/It makes me smile/At worst, I feel bad for a while/But then I just smile." "Knock 'Em Out," my personal favorite, is a fed-up girl anthem against the unwanted advances of random dudes in bars. And "Not Big?" Well, in the context of a breakup album, I think you can guess. Allen is signed to Capitol in the U.S., and the rumor is that they will release Alright, Still in the states early next year. But let's not lie, for those in the know, "release dates" don't matter anyway - at the very least, it's available on Amazon. As an added bonus, her new single, "Littlest Things," a sweet retrospective ballad on a failed relationship, is due out on December 11. America, get ready.