August Mixtape

Highlighting the songs I've discovered, rediscovered, or repeatedly played each month. The order reflects an attempt to create a cohesive mixtape, not to rank the songs in any way.

1. Guided By Voices - "Gold Star for Robot Boy."  Until this month, I had never listened to Guided By Voices, which seems like heresy given their huge reputation in lo-fi and indie circles.  After giving Bee Thousand a Spotify spin, I quickly saw why these guys are so hyped.  "Gold Star" especially stood out, a song that epitomizes lo-fi with its staticky guitars and barely audible bass. The track's poor quality brings an earnest urgency to the song -- the feeling that the music could cut out at any second and all the fun will be over.  Fittingly, "Gold Star" doesn't waste any time, though it doesn't linger either, clocking in at a mere minute and 39 seconds.  This seems surprisingly quick for a song that seems so full, but therein lies the band's brilliance: like their descendants The Strokes and Tokyo Police Club, GBV know how to pack big hooks into short pieces, making songs feel complete despite their brief run-time.

2. Kendrick Lamar - "m.A.A.d city."  This might be the most shockingly evocative rap song I've ever heard. Right away, Lamar warns his listeners "Brace yourself, I'll take you on a trip down memory lane" and then describes the horrors of living in one of America's most violent cities: "Seen a light-skinned nigga with his brains blown out / At the same burger stand where Crips hang out. / Now this is not a tape recorded saying that [his friend] did it, / But ever since that day, I was looking at him different."  Lamar continues with his brutal anecdotes until the violence seems too much to compute for the listener; the first verse is an emotional assault, heightened by the swelling, chaotic synths and jabbing drums, which evoke the "madness" he's describing.  For Lamar, Compton is like "Pakistan on every porch": there's "a wall of bullets coming from AK's, AR's"; gangs "pack[ing] a van with four guns at a time"; and kids as young as nine "packing nines."  Like his unrelenting city, Lamar offers no respite from the violence; once he concludes the first verse, he imagines, in a woeful combination of futility and fatalism, that "if Pirus [Bloods] and Crips all got along / They'd probably gun me down by the end of this song. / Seems like the whole city go against me: / Every time I'm in the street I hear *imitation of gun noises*."

For a second, Lamar creates the hope that this first verse was just a horrible nightmare, as static cuts off the violent hook and a new speaker commands Kendrick to "Wake yo punk ass up!"  But as the hook declares, there's no escaping Compton's horrors, so Lamar--now, incredibly, sounding like a different rapper--then tells a new story over an even more hellish beat (sampling Ice Cube's "A Bird in the Hand").  Here Lamar discusses smoking laced marijuana and staging a robbery at his job.  Later he asks, "If I told you I killed a nigga at 16, would you believe me?"  After this verse, I'm at a loss for answers.

The song culminates with Lamar poignantly describing the youths who've shared, and share, his plight:

[Kids] with dreams of being a lawyer or doctor
Instead of boy with a chopper that hold the cul-de-sac hostage
Kill them all if they gossip, the Children of the Corn
They vandalizing, the option of living a lie, drown their body with toxins
Constantly drinking and drive, hit the powder then watch this flame
That arrive in his eye; this a coward, the concept is aim and
They bang it and slide out that bitch with deposits
And the price on his head, the tithes probably go to the projects
I live inside the belly of the rough
Compton, U.S.A. made Me an Angel on Angel Dust.

Thank God this album ends with a message of hope because this song is absolutely crushing.

3. Beach Fossils (feat. Wild Nothing) - "Out in the Way."  Just a bit of a 180 from Kendrick: shoegazey gauze combined with twangy guitar plucking and ethereal vocals.  Sounds right up my alley.  Can it get better?  Yes, when you have a line as beautifully wistful as "In the darkness passing through / Tell me is it really you? / You don't look the same as when I was dreaming." Beach Fossils do shoegaze so well on this EP that they're almost their own worst enemies, as the pretty and ambient noises lull me into some blissful, semi-conscious state where I'm unable to concentrate on the song itself.  The music is a means towards an altered state, not exactly an end in itself.  That's why such powerful lyrics are so essential: they keep the listener grounded--focused on unpacking the singer's brooding thoughts and discovering the emotional impetus behind the track's lush soundscapes.

 

4. Built to Spill - "Out of Site."  When it comes to structuring a multidimensional rock song, I really believe that few bands could ever outdo what Built to Spill did on Perfect from Now On and Keep It Like a Secret.  I've written about this several times before, but I'm constantly amazed and inspired by the technical skill of these guys.  And they strike such an incredible balance between craftsmanship and raw emotion.  Just listen to the buildup of this song, how it climaxes to Martsch's nasally outburst: "Who gave you the right?  Who took mine away?"  This song might mark the climax of an aurally incredible album, though the gorgeous "Velvet Waltz" could also take that title.  Regardless, this is an intense listen, replete with billowing strings and various guitar noises (wails, watery echoes, screeches).  And Martsch's final vocals, where he repeats "on and on," sound like Nirvana gone orchestral, which sounds horrible--I know--but seriously, it works.  Just listen.

Pet Sounds-era Wilson

5. The Beach Boys - "Surf's Up."  I got a chance to read Catch a Wave: The Rise, Fall, and Redemption of the Beach Boys' Brian Wilson this summer, and it offered fascinating insights into Brian Wilson's troubled life and, especially, his infamous Smile! project.  Who knows what the album would've been like if he finished it in the late 60's (Wilson eventually returned to and produced the album in 2004), but if it were released with songs anywhere near "Good Vibrations" and "Surf's Up," then, man, I don't know if the Beatles would still be the conventional pick as the gods of 60's rock-n-roll.  "Surf's Up" is such a stunningly complex song, where Wilson somehow blends disparate movements into a cohesive, transcendent whole.  It begins with pianos, which are eventually embellished with strings, twangy guitars, and other studio eccentricities. Then there's a pause at about 2:15, after which Brian begins his next piano movement featuring, amongst Van Dyke Parks notoriously esoteric lyrics, the revealing lines: "A choke of grief heart hardened, I, / Beyond belief, a broken man too tough to cry."  From a man who's had to cope with the bitter pangs of rejection (from his father, brothers, cousins, record companies, and so on), this is an incredibly poignant admission. Even more powerful,  though, are the earthshattering lyrics that follow: "Surf's up, / Aboard a tidal wave," Wilson declares. In this revolutionary line, Wilson marks the end of the Beach Boys's extremely popular (and lucrative) odes to surfing and the California beach life, announcing a more complex approach.  Unfortunately Wilson cracked under the pressure of reinventing the Beach Boys's sound.  But whereas Wilson could never complete Smile!, he did finish "Surf's Up," which carries on after this bold proclamation.  We get to hear what Brian calls "a children's song," which sounds like a euphonic mini-choir of angelic voices.  On a song where Brian hits almost inconceivable high notes, this gorgeous melody is the appropriate conclusion to an incredible song.

6. Joni Mitchell - "My Old Man." I've been obsessed with Joni Mitchell's Blue: its devastating, heart-on-sleeve emotionalism, frigid album cover, diverse arrangements, beautiful and historically illuminating poetry... I could go on.  But I don't have the time.  So I'll leave a lyric for each; hopefully they'll stun someone else like they have me: "But when he's gone, me and them lonesome blues collide. / The bed's too big, the frying pan's too wide."

7. Joni Mitchell - "Little Green."  "Just a little green, like the nights when the Northern lights perform. /
There'll be icicles and birthday clothes, and sometimes there'll be sorrow."

March Mixtape

Highlighting the songs I've discovered, rediscovered, or repeatedly played each month. The order reflects an attempt to create a cohesive mixtape, not to rank the songs in any way.

1. The Velvet Underground - "I'm Sticking with You." I've been on a Velvet Underground kick lately, and though I've heard this song before from Juno, it caught my ear this month.  In retrospect, it's the perfect track for that film, not only because it sounds super indie but also because Moe Tucker's off-kilter and unadorned vocals recall the film's eccentric and forthright heroine.  Moreover, as unconventional as "Sticking" begins, with Tucker's voice flatlining over circus-y pianos, it transforms itself into both a nostalgic and modern sounding love song: the stacatto guitar and "oh ohs" recall the hooks of the Beatles at the tail end of their career, while the fluid, chimey guitar plays like contemporary alt/indie-rock.  Yet there's one disturbing ambiguity that darkens an ostensibly straightforward song: after a few innocuous lines, Tucker sings, "Saw you hanging from a tree / And I made believe it was me."  As childlike as the language seems ("I made believe"), this potentially violent imagery--hanging by his feet or neck?--disturbs the simplicity of "Sticking" and calls larger issues into question:  is this a song about love or loss?  A lover's unconditional affection or a stalker's unwavering obsession?

2. Vampire Weekend - "Diane Young."  When I first heard "Diane Young," I didn't know what to think.  I was confused and consequently disappointed; the song sounded convoluted and frenetic, like the tape to "California English" was chopped and haphazardly reassembled.  But then I listened again, and again, using it first as jogging music, then as homework music, and then as everywhere and nowhere music.  I played it and started dancing around the house like a madman, demanding that my mom dance with me during one of its many breakdowns.  (She did, sort of).  Lyrically, Diane Young (the person) represents a voice of reason to an obstinate and reckless Saab burner who's living life "too fast." Naturally, then, "Diane Young" shouldn't sound composed, neatly structured, or even immediately coherent; we're moving headlong with whoever's risking "dying young," speeding past flickering synths only to break abruptly and then start back up again.  The song's frantic pace feels like a drag race, and while that's fun to experience vicariously, we're admonished not to live so carelessly.

3. Vampire Weekend - "Step."  Wow.  This song is dazzling.  Its icy synths recall the best moments of Contra, playing like the gentler cousin of the flawless "Giving Up the Gun."  Only whereas Ezra Koenig sung over the drums on "Gun," here his voice bounces with the song's hip-hoppy beat, his delivery paced to stress "Step"'s obscure, witty, and often comical lyrics.  "I just ignored all the tales of a past life / Stale conversation deserves but a bread knife," Koenig deadpans.  Between the thumping verses is a gorgeous chorus, featuring twinkling keys and echoing vocals, the highlight of the song and, frankly, 2013 thus far. For such a magical musical moment, though, the chorus offers unexpectedly, if not disappointingly, quotidian lyrics, "The gloves are off / The wisdom teeth are out / What you on about?"  But any disappointment fades in the chorus' last line, when Koenig repeats in an almost childlike plea, "I can't do it alone."  This universal statement imbues the song's minutia with charm and mystique, providing a subtle payoff where the listener feels him/herself reshaping and enriching the meaning of the obscure words.  This is key for a song that sonically doesn't build up so much as it does gracefully wind down, and it keeps me returning for another listen.

4. Phosphorescent - "Song for Zula."  Combine Kurt Vile-esque vocals with drum beats and strings and you have a recipe for success -- or complete disaster.  Here it works really, really well. The shaky, fragile vocals are gradually propped up by swelling synths, culminating with the speaker's indignant proclamation:

All that I know is love as a caging thing,
Just a killer come to call from some awful dream.
And all you folks, you come to see;
You just to stand there in the glass looking at me.
But my heart is wild, and my bones are steel,
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free.

5. The Cure - "Pictures of You." In mixing Robert Smith's emotive vocals over dreamlike soundscapes and shimmering chimes, "Pictures" fixes itself between the material and supernatural and worlds, inviting its listener on a 7+ minute escapist journey.  This thrilling, even transcendent, listen momentarily pauses midway through, but the drums reawaken the guitars and vocals with a one-two strike.  It's a brief moment in a long song, yet it's my favorite, something I eagerly await each time.  I find myself begging for bigger reverb--the cheesiest, Phil Collins-y kind of stuff possible (I hate myself for wishing this, let alone admitting it)--and often pretend that I'm hearing it as I jam on my steering wheel.  "Pictures" is such an engrossing listen that it makes this bizarre, maybe uncharacteristic transformation possible; it's so easy to get lost in its undulating guitars and Smith's commanding vocals that no one should be allowed to drive while listening to this album.  Example #1: I knew I had to take the exit for Rt 17 because the Turnpike was closed one Friday afternoon, but, because of "Pictures," I happily drove right past it while screaming some of the song's wonderful lyrics:

I've been looking so long at these pictures of you
That I almost believe that they're real.
I've been living so long with my pictures of you
That I almost believe that the pictures are all I can feel.

6. Built to Spill - "Reasons."  I love listening to the early works of great bands, hearing their inchoate (often juvenile) style and paying close attention for glimpses of brilliance.  I think that's why I like Brand New's Your Favorite Weapon so much-- though "The No Seatbelt Song" is a whole lot more than a glimpse of brilliance.  BTS's "Reasons" is from the group's second album There's Nothing Wrong with Love, which is excellent in its own right, but a very different record than the more experimental Perfect from Now On and Keep It Like a Secret.  Midway through, the group's masterful guitar skills shine, as the guitars wind down into near silence until gentle pluckings delicately build them back up.  It reminds me of early Smashing Pumpkins, actually, which wouldn't be a stretch since the Pumpkins had come out with Gish only three years earlier.  It's an epic yet somehow still subtle moment that embodies the style of the group's two masterworks: technical and swift guitarwork without any showmanship.  I also really like the way "Reasons" starts; it's endearing how the vocals sound a little flat and out of place.  This isn't overly refined sugar pop, but something, for all its catchiness, that sounds sincere and deeply important.  By the end of the song, Martsch's throaty vocals are jagged and raw, but this just adds to the charm for me: "Reasons" is perfected by its imperfections.

7. Grouper - "We've All Gone to Sleep."  There are some nights of late-night writing where I only want to listen to this song, which washes away external noises (listen as the police sirens fade in the opening seconds) for ghostlike whispers and Liz Harris's prominent guitar strums.  As its title and calming description suggests, "Sleep" can prepare its listeners for rest, but the song also has an unsettling heaviness to it that can fill listeners with dread.  As such, "Sleep" elicits powerful feelings that prove difficult to reconcile; on the one hand, it's a soothing lullaby, yet on the other it's an acceptance, even a welcoming, of death.  As a listener, you're dangling uneasily between rest and relaxation and a heavy sense of foreboding, but ultimately the song teeters more towards the latter, as the album ends with a cassette reel spinning erratically.  If "Sleep" begins to console listeners about death and the end of all things (including its own album), it ultimately finds a limit in its consolation as it confronts its own mortality.

July Mixtape

Highlighting the songs I've discovered, rediscovered, or repeatedly played each month. The order reflects an attempt to create a cohesive mixtape, not to rank the songs in any way.

July seemed like an extraordinary long month; even though the time appeared to pass by in an instant, I feel like it's been ages since I drove my brothers to Fordham while blasting Built to Spill's Keep It Like a Secret.  That July does not feel like the same month that I was jamming to Frank Ocean in Vegas or discovering Passion Pit's newest album on my couch after work.  Because of my newfound time this summer, much of which I devoted to exploring new music, I belive this is the most diverse mixtape yet, from DIIV's shoegazey dream-pop to The War on Drugs's folksy Americana to Chromatics's drugged-out electronics.  It's been a fun month for listening; I felt like I was discovering all these new great things, and everything sounded great.  Here's some of that now:

July mix from kevstevxx on 8tracks.

1. DIIV - "(Druun)."  [not included on above playlist because 8 tracks does not allow more than 2 songs per band per mixtape.]

2. DIIV - "Past Lives."

3. DIIV - "Human." Dream-pop often garners praise for being atmospheric, brooding, summery, and other mood-evoking adjectives, yet it sometimes is all mood and little substance: short songs merge to create a cohesive album, but the songs themselves float gently by, rarely jarring the listener off-course. Listening to DIIV's ear-pleasing debut, Oshin, I feel that only "How Long Have You Known?" stands out as individually memorable; the rest of the songs blend to make a smartly-sequenced and beautifully-orchestrated collection of euphonies. This initially appealed to me, but, after several listens, I have not been compelled to return to Oshin. I think I will eventually, so this is very much a to-be-continued.

4. Built to Spill - "Carry the Zero."  I've listened to BTS so much this summer that I fear I am running the risk of forever overplaying them (which I've done before...I listened to Cursive's Happy Hollow so much during the Summer of 2006 that I have no desire to ever play it again).  The beginning of "Carry the Zero" just tears at my heart; I don't know why the guitars have such a powerful emotional effect on me, but they seem to be gushing out some terrible feeling of desperation.  Doug Martsch's brooding, nasally vocals compliment all these evocative noises, especially during his half-singing, half-shouting climax where he bitterly criticizes, "you're so occupied with what other persons are occupied with and vice versa." I've listened to this song so many times, and it's yet to lose its effect on me. That's pretty awesome.

May Mixtape

Highlighting the songs I've discovered, rediscovered, or repeatedly played each month. The order reflects an attempt to create a cohesive mixtape, not to rank the songs in any way.

1. Built to Spill - "The Plan." Maybe I'm progressively growing lazier, but I now only occasionally seek out lyrics to songs to try to decipher their meanings.  On songs like "The Plan," I am instead moved by the urgency of the opening (it's the first song on their 1999 album Keep It Like a Secret) and the various guitars, which crank out all kinds of noise (some harmonious, some dissonant). "The Plan" just flows naturally; not only do the harsh/soft sounds play off each other, but the pacing of the song, from its fast beginning to the middle's noisy instrumentals to the ending's comedown, captures a kind of free-flowing, almost syncopated spirit with endearingly modest restraint.  It's actually easier to show how "The Plan" succeeds by showing how other songs fail.  Many really good songs get stuck at their choruses and have to slow down or add fluff to extend their track times. Take Sleigh Bells's "End of the Line," a song I highlighted last month; after the second emotionally-charged chorus, the song (at the 2:42 mark) tacks on a slower, whispery section that, to my ears, seems cut and pasted and artificial, thus awkward.  I really like that song, but that one moment sounds sloppy.  This problem, again, is in no way limited to Sleigh Bells; I hear this all the time, especially in mainstream pop songs, which really only need a catchy chorus to succeed.  But that's what makes BTS' "The Plan" so special; their technical mastery allows the song's different elements to flow and cohere. Even though I'm not sure what "plan" they're speaking of throughout the song, musically, they certainly fulfill it.

February Mixtape

Highlighting the songs I've discovered, rediscovered, or repeatedly played each month.  The order reflects an attempt to create a cohesive mixtape, not to rank the songs in any way.

1.  M83 - "We Own the Sky."   So many adjectives pop into my head when listening to this song: spacey, dreamlike, slow, fuzzy, bubbling, nostalgic.  The keyboards that start it are magical, but they're only occasionally foregrounded (which is a shame, I think, but it also makes me want to constantly relisten); instead, all the song's layered elements weave in and out over Anthony Gonzalez's whispery vocals.  The buoyant drum/keyboards on the verses exude what I hear as a confident (even cocky?) swagger--a feeling of invulnerability, that youthful belief that "We Own the Sky."  What a great title.  My biggest, and really only, complaint is that I feel like the vocals at the end sound out of place, or at least do not blend well with the excellent instrumentals, but they don't take too much away from the song.