The Great Dismal is my first experience with Nothing, and I come away quite taken with the band’s blend of shoegaze and alternative metal. I’m impressed at how many styles and genres they take a stab at, mostly with great success. Meditative album opener “A Fabricated Life” plays out like a cross between Spiritualized and Slowdive, before launching into the gloriously noisy “Say Less”, with guitar textures that you’d usually expect on a Nine Inch Nails production. The Great Dismal starts strong, and though there are slightly weaker moments in the final third it mostly stays on track for the duration.

Dominic Palermo’s vocals sit well below the instrumentation, offering plenty of space for the guitars to roar. This balance will prove to be frustrating for some listeners, but the shoegaze sonics are an essential part in this huge, gloomy sound. This is the selling point, and Palermo seems more than satisfied with the compromise (though it is nice to hear him at the forefront on the brilliantly breezy “Catch a Fade”). Nothing seem confident and in full control, which is vital when the tones and techniques are this specific. The melodic composition, particularly on tracks like “Famine Asylum” and “Bernie Sanders”, is just an added bonus.

Admittedly, I do find myself lagging towards the end of The Great Dismal. The formula is gratifying, but after half an hour it does begin to feel a little predictable. This is coming from someone who traditionally soaks up every last drip of misery to be found in music. The Great Dismal gradually becomes a protracted hum with no real surprises to be found. Closing track “Ask the Rust” hints at an explosive ending, though never really delivers. Perhaps 2020 has finally taken its toll on me, and I’ve simply met my quota of despair. For those who haven’t, The Great Dismal comes heavily recommended.

Favourite tracks // Say Less
­­                                          Famine Asylum
­­                                            Catch a Fade

Fred

By and large The Great Dismal listens like something out of the gentle giant school of rock, serving up heavy riffs and thumping rhythms with all the awkward, stuttering grace of a class nerd with horn-rimmed glasses. I’m a fan of the sound, but the album does lay it on a bit thick at times.

Power chord fans will be well supplied here. “Catch a Fade” isn’t far off Pixies or Weezer when it comes to easy listening. The solo would sound right at home on the Blue Album. When Nothing give their instruments space to shimmer and shine rather than crunch, like on “April Ha Ha”, the results are hard to argue with. It’s a thumping yet chummy ride.

It’s all just a touch too heavy. After the final few tracks I feel like I’m soaring through the great cosmos with a killer migraine. Is that a bad thing? I don’t know any more. After multiple listens I’m still not entirely sure whether I like “Bernie Sanders” because it’s a good song or because I like Bernie Sanders.

Favourite tracks // Bernie Sanders
­­                                          Catch a Fade
­­                                            April Ha Ha

Marcus

Names for bands nor albums rarely get more melancholic than Nothing or The Great Dismal, and the band’s latest effort is certainly no trip to Disney. Stoney, metal-esque shoegaze whose melodies remind me of Snow Patrol is one of the more novel rock sounds I’ve heard recently, and it’s got a certain nostalgia for ’90s alt rock about it, too. I like stoney metal and I like ’90s alt rock just fine, but there’s something unfulfilling about The Great Dismal — like I’m waiting for it to sink the hooks in rather than just dangle them in my face.

Its guitars sound fantastic, with a warmth to the slow melodies’ resonance that’s edged with a tactile quality to their recording. The simplicity of the hooks is carried by the richness and forthrightness of the performance, magnified in the editing studio, and it’s really pleasant to glide alongside it. The rest of the instrumentation is delicately mixed, and generally I find the execution of the whole thing pretty compelling, save for the vocals.

It’s probably a rejection of genre more than quality to say that I can’t get on board with such eventless vocal performances, but it is what it is. Maybe I’m spoiled by the likes of Chelsea Wolfe when it comes to such sombre rock tones, but I really would have liked some more fiery vocals once in a while. Their monotone, airy quality flattens some of the diversity in the tracklist, and it seems a shame not to get much catharsis out of the album’s occasional accelerations. Nevertheless, its general consistency and confidence keep me from losing interest in the project as a whole, and it’s a sobering listen if nothing else.

More than anything, I like The Great Dismal’s aesthetic — unabashedly grim, but reassuringly gentle. Its striking cover art, of a red-eyed, mud-caked old man with a menacing but fragile look to him, is a pretty good indicator of what I found here. For an album named after a swamp it’s an uncanny breath of fresh air.

Favourite tracks // A Fabricated Life
­­                                          Bernie Sanders
­­                                           Catch a Fade

How do you follow up one of the most memorable and imaginative hip hop records of recent years? I’m hesitant to claim this is ‘more of the same’, but there is a clear sense of continuation with Visions of Bodies Being Burned. It’s noisy, extremely detailed, and at times, absolutely harrowing. Clipping have mastered this style of horrorcore, though with only a year between this and There Existed an Addiction to Blood I wonder if some of the novelty has worn off. Perhaps it’s my fault – I did play that record to death, after all. It was my favourite album of 2019 by quite a margin.

The differences lie in the details. Visions is more abrasive than its predecessor, with tracks like “Something Underneath” and “Make Them Dead” occupied by harsh noise. Strangely, it’s also more melodic, at least in places. The excellent “Enlacing” is carried by a somewhat soulful sample, with Daveed Diggs even contributing some sung vocals himself. Overall, Diggs is as spectacular here as he was on Blood, perhaps even more so. His rhymes are quick-witted and intricate, controlled with enough care, and a degree of flawlessness, to make you wonder whether he is the real villain behind the horror story. Always one step ahead: covering his tracks, leaving no traces behind.

Whilst I think Blood is a more cohesive album from start to finish, I’d argue that Visions has stronger individual moments. “Say the Name” opens with less tension than Blood‘s “Nothing is Safe”, but it develops in similar fashion, before landing to a rewarding conclusion. “Check the Lock” is the grooviest cut from either album, yet still manages to retain a sense of fear. I don’t think I’ve ever bopped my head to such a distressing tale of paranoia. Then there’s “Pain Everyday”: a stunning centrepiece that builds with unrivalled tension and rises to a sensational climax. The level of detail and design in the breakbeats is simply remarkable. It’s one of the most gripping pieces of music clipping has released to date.

As much as I enjoy Visions, I can’t shake the feeling that much of it is comprised of ideas and afterthoughts that occupied the space of Blood. Last year’s album feels like a more complete experience. I certainly don’t feel the same sense of dread here, despite the added harshness and eery interludes. I’d never claim to be disappointed by Visions, and I’ll be recommending it just as much as I was Blood for all those months. Clipping can continue releasing these types of records for years and I likely won’t get tired, such is the brilliance of their formula, but the thought of something entirely new is what excites me most. Maybe not a Christmas album.

Favourite tracks // Check the Lock
­­                                          Pain Everyday
­­                                            Enlacing

Fred

Although I’ve enjoyed listening to Visions of Bodies Being Burned and have no hesitation recommending it, I don’t actually feel all that strongly about the album one way or the other. It is beautifully made and beautifully produced, with some belting tracks and velvety smooth flows. I guess it just lacks a certain wow factor.

The good stuff deserves its dues. There’s a lot of it. Clipping is a pleasure to listen to, interweaving lyricism with instrumentation to produce something from a shadowy void between hip hop and gothic poetry readings. Not a million miles away from the Saul Williams album we reviewed a while back, though this is more stylish.

“Check the Lock” and “‘96 Neve Campbell” were standout moments for me, though the track list has enough variety for favourites to change depending on one’s tastes. I have to admit the glitchy electronic stuff — which I’m always ready to hate — works terribly well here. Even when it’s shredding your eardrums the record is enchantingly grotesque.

That’s Visions at its best, which isn’t a level it quite holds throughout. Always a tall order when an album is nearly an hour long. Overall it feels (admittedly super) solid but not much more than that. For me it’s a crisp, clean echo of There Existed an Addiction to Blood, and that’s nothing to sniff at.

Favourite tracks // Check the Lock
­­                                          ‘96 Neve Campbell
­­                                            Say the Name

Marcus

It’s impossible to talk about this album without mentioning There Existed an Addiction to Blood, one of the very best avant garde hiphop albums of the past few years. Its themes, identity, and conceit are all continued in Visions of Bodies Being Burned, only this time the foundations are overtaken by the house. Clipping. has iterated on last year’s cinematic qualities, mastering the concept and pushing harder on the experience of listening to it, delivering something that’s confident, merciless, and complete.

Scenes play out from a lost horror movie’s screenplay from track to track — the film is incomplete, but a sense of narrative is still intact. It’s challenging to define and endlessly open to interpretation, and the layers to Diggs’ writing and deliveries do as much for this as the gaps in the narrative. His abilities are the beating heart of clipping.’s sound, and on Visions he opens fresh drawers in his toolbox.

Where the preceding album was a regular display of impressive technical skills, on this outing he drills into a creative vein with intense, but sparing, frequency. Every so often he unleashes the horses, amping up his tempo, shifting dynamics mid-bar, rolling out line after line like a rapping gatling gun. Each time he brings out the set-pieces they’re distinct and inventive, moving on from past ideas and showcasing more like they’ll never stop coming. He seems entirely at home in the environment, swaggering through his own Lovecraftian nightmare and kitesurfing down the Styx. It’s hard to argue that Daveed Diggs isn’t a member of rapping’s top tier, especially after this.

The production, meanwhile, is masterful, tying together a concept that demands attention but never stops rewarding it. Instance after instance sounds like a brand new idea, or at least a refinement on their horrorcore experiment that carves out something more. Nothing else sounds like this, and yet it’s so clear in its vision. At first I was struggling to see past the disappointment that clipping. weren’t trying something completely new, but now it’s hard to find fault with the experience. The sequencing is so deliberate and carefully implemented, with tracks like “Make Them Dead” and Invocation tenderising you before the onslaughts of “She Bad” and “Pain Everyday. It’s hard not to gush about “Pain Everyday” and the way it feels like you’re experiencing four tracks at once, glitching and clipping into each other like a fracture in time and space. It’s striking, brutal, and unbelievably well-realised. I can’t imagine how much work went into creating it.

That’s the album as a whole — a relentless and unpredictable work that feels like the spawn of a Satanic ritual in a theme park. It’s oppressive and challenging, but also warm and charming, reminiscent of the horror works of Stephen King and Spielberg but unreservedly unique. There Existed an Addiction to Blood was a remarkable surprise that struck at something otherwise untold, but Visions of Bodies Being Burned replaces the novelty with conceptual perfection.

Favourite tracks // Pain Everyday
­­                                          Enlacing
­­                                           Say the Name

It’s been a while since we’ve heard from Doves. Eleven years to be exact. The biggest compliment I can give The Universal Want is that it feels like the band never went away. Though it feels heart-warmingly familiar, the songwriting and arrangements feel fresh. It has a similar sense of comfort to that of Coldplay’s music, except this is actually good. There have been some brilliant comeback albums recently. There have also been some rather wretched ones. This leans more into the former. Whilst it doesn’t quite reach the height of Doves’ first two records, The Universal Want is a satisfying return that will no doubt please long-time fans. The band certainly haven’t lost their way.

Though Doves have often been viewed as defiant survivors of brit-pop, their music commonly goes beyond the formulas that Oasis and Blur were following in the early ’90s. The Universal Want has its indie rock anthems, as you’d expect, but it also contains surprising instrumental passages that preserve interest throughout the record. Album centrepiece “Cathedrals of the Mind” opens with a reverb-soaked synthesiser and incorporates production techniques typically seen in dub music. Perhaps an even bigger surprise is the ambient section that suddenly builds halfway through “For Tomorrow”. The music may feel familiar, but the band aren’t afraid to throw some curveballs.

The Universal Want is well written, expertly performed, and quite brilliantly produced. Mournful lyrics glide over bright and colourful melodies, with various nods to dance music, most notably acid house. It’s one of the most agreeable musical blueprints I’ve come across this year, and I can’t imagine anyone not getting some enjoyment out of it. The various stylistic blends become bewildering towards the end, particularly on “Cycle of Hurt” and “Mother Silverlake”, though thankfully not enough to firmly dampen the experience. It’s all quite lovely, really. It’s almost as if Doves are rather good at this whole thing. I do hope we don’t have to wait quite as long for their next release, if such an entity ends up existing.

Favourite tracks // Broken Eyes
­­                                          Cathedrals of the Mind
­­                                            For Tomorrow

Fred

I think it’d be quite easy for an album like The Universal Want to sound rubbish. High paced pop rock with busy arrangements and ornate mixing is a potentially boorish combo, but Doves do an admirable job of spinning its plates. The album earns your attention and keeps hold of it without ever quite being exceptional.

If I had to sum up the album with a smug, pithy phrase – which I do – I’d probably call it plushy rock. The easy, drifting melodies and luminescent guitars are suggestive of bands like Oasis, but the inescapable neatness of everything that goes on is more like, well, a Gallagher brother solo project. “For Tomorrow” probably captures this best. Though purposeful and powerful, it’s all a bit too cuddly to be proper rock and roll. Like much of the album it tries hard without necessarily being hard hitting.

The Universal Want lands more in the realm of baroque pop, where the likes of San Fermin roam. Motifs on tracks like “Carousel” and “Cycle of Hurt” are a real treat, with the mix offering its own pleasures whether the songs land or not. Whether that’s enough to make an album I’m not sure. I guess you could say the mood leaves me… wanting.

Favourite tracks // For Tomorrow
­­                                          Cycle of Hurt
­­                                            Universal Want

Marcus

If nothing else, The Universal Want has made it clear Coldplay has practically become a genre – I hasten to add that this is the kindest way I can say that Doves’ ponderous, mumbled, naggingly uninspiring, and breathtakingly dull album commits the most heinous crime of sounding like an out and out rip-off of a moment that passed over a decade ago.

The opener kicks things off with what amounts to an alarming Coldplay-Imagine Dragons lovechild, although by the fifth track in the sequence I can’t help but wish they’d maintained the unholy cocktail. It seems that a template was drawn up and filled in ten times over, such that every track sounds like the last, only wearing a different hat. The textures, vocals, and mixing are tediously uniform, and the instrumentation is too often basic in conceit and effects-laden in execution. There’s nothing to grab onto, nothing to shake the feeling that I’m listening to the soundtrack of a cul de sac dinner party, nothing to make me wonder if, really, I ought to stick Travis on instead, if only to get the same sort of vibe without the vocalist doing his very best Chris Martin impression.

Derivative, sterile, and clearly, unjustly, pleased with itself, The Universal Want succeeds as a weightless ‘mood’ and little else. ‘If you’ve got to let go of something/Then let go of me’ he sings on “Prisoners” – fine by me, pal.

Favourite tracks // n/a

Following the departure of keyboardist Jonathan Draper, All Them Witches have slimmed down into a trio for their sixth studio album. Thankfully, the band have lost none of their power. Nothing as the Ideal is another satisfying collection of alternative rock jams that rummages around in the deep and dark depths of blues, stoner rock, and neo-psychedelia. The mixture may become too eclectic for its own good sometimes, but the record remains a hard-hitting odyssey that rarely fails to entertain.

Nothing as the Ideal is overly ambitious, perhaps to a fault. I’m not sure it knows what it wants to be. The band have their musical fingers in too many pies, with the grand aim of creating their most immersive record yet. Crunchy riffs, soaring solos, and ferocious drum passages share the same space as steady soundscapes. When it works, Nothing as the Ideal plays out like an epic film soundtrack. When it doesn’t, it feels slightly cumbersome.

“Saturnine & Iron Jaw” sets the mood by immediately using hypnotic sound effects, before evolving into a Black Sabbath style metal jam. There’s a distinct lack of subtlety, but it’s a powerful opener nonetheless. “See You Next Fall” is almost 10 minutes’ worth of chugging rock, with psychedelic guitar solo’s that would make even Gong proud. Closing track “Rats in Ruin” goes all-out post-rock in an attempt to capture a momentous and memorable conclusion, but I’m not sure the band quite pull it off. It’s certainly no F# A# ∞.

I maintain that the band are at their best when getting down and dirty to a killer groove. “Enemy of my Enemy” is a perfect example: a hard-rock gem with various nods to the likes of Kyuss and Led Zeppelin. “Lights Out” may be a bit too cock rock for my liking, but there’s no questioning the sense of adrenaline it provides. The closest ATW get to achieving a distinct and gratifying atmospheric interlude is “Everest”, a beautiful moment led purely by a lone electric guitar. Its solitude is almost spiritual.

Whilst not every experiment works out, Nothing as the Ideal remains a compelling and often exhilarating listen. It strives for the spectacular, which is impressive in itself. I’m just not convinced the band have the prowess to pull off those truly epic moments. This is ATW’s heaviest album, but perhaps also their messiest. At the very least, there’s something for everyone, and I doubt any long-time fan will leave disappointed.

Favourite tracks // Enemy of My Enemy
­­                                          Everest
­­                                            Saturnine & Iron Jaw

Fred

This is the second time in as many weeks I’ve been a hair’s breadth from loving a record but ultimately held back. Nothing as the Ideal has a lot going for it. The record is a sumptuously produced blend of folk, rock, post-rock, and psychedelia, all with a smokey stoner sheen. When it gets rolling the grooves are irresistible. You can inject “See You Next Fall” straight into my veins thank you kindly.

The three-piece Tennessee outfit weave together an impressive range of genres. When at one point Charles Michael Parks Jr. sings of a ‘tapestry of noise’ he may as well be talking about the album. (Fantastic voice by the way, like a bassier Josh Homme.) The sound is grand, but it’s elegant too. Nothing as the Ideal is mystic rivers and desert plains with a bit of muscle — what folk tunes might sound like after hitting the gym, growing a goatee, and finding a good dealer. It’s all very assured.

In fact, it’s all so assured that by the end one starts to feel the album is rather plodding along. The power chord offerings of “41” wear thin, and “Rats in Ruin” doesn’t quite earn its 9-minute length. I have a well-documented soft spot for post-rock but Mogwai it is not. Hardly a disastrous end, but were the closing tracks a little tighter this might have been my favourite album of the year.

Favourite tracks // See You Next Fall
­­                                          The Children of Coyote Women
­­                                            Saturnine & Iron Jaw

Gabriel

All Them Witches’ latest offering, Nothing as the Ideal, is as satisfying as it is surprising at times, and is a delightful addition to their already accomplished back catalogue.

All Them Witches are an outfit with huge ambition. Over the past few records, they have evolved and experimented whilst keeping a very much All Them Witches sound. Nothing as the Ideal is no different. Sleeping Through the War delved into a more pop/prog orientated sound. ATW ventured into the fissures of post-punk. In Nothing as the Ideal, All Them Witches give us a taste of metal. This is best seen in crashing tracks like “Lights Out” and “Enemy of My Enemy”, where the heavy, speeding guitars and strong drums are relentless.

Despite this new venture, All Them Witches remain seated in their own neo-psychedelic universe. You know who is playing over the speakers. This is done immensely well with the almost liquid baritone sound of Charles Michael Parks Jr.’s vocals. The lyrics can conjure images of southern swamps and sweated moonshine. This is best heard in the 9:5-long track, “See You Next Fall” — probably the most All Them Witches track on this record.

What is most delightful about this new record, however, are the respites and slower tracks among the speedy crunch of the more metal-influenced songs. “Everest” is a hauntingly beautiful single guitar instrumental that offers a reminder to the listener of where they are. Similarly, “The Children of Coyote Woman” is an excellent folksy call back to an earlier track, “The Death of Coyote Woman”, which appeared on Lightning at the Door.

All Them Witches are, in my opinion, one of the best blues-rock, neo-psychadelic (whatever you choose to call them) bands currently making music. Nothing as the Ideal is no departure. There is a huge amount to listen to here. I will certainly be revisiting more than I care to count.

Favourite tracks // Saturnine & Iron Jaw
­­                                          Enemy of My Enemy
­­                                           The Children of Coyote Women

There is an abundance of good producers in the realm of electronic music. There are some good songwriters too. To find an artist capable of excelling in both aspects can prove challenging. Even Thom Yorke, often considered one of the best songwriters of modern music, has released electronic records to varying degrees of success. James Blake has found a formula that works for him, though even then some listeners remain skeptical.

Enter Kelly Lee Owens from North Wales. Her second studio album, Inner Song, is a beautiful blend of dream pop and techno, with songs that shine just as much on headphones as they inevitably will on the dance floor. It’s so assuring to listen to an electronic record that feels comfortable operating at its own pace. There are bangers, of course, but for the most part Inner Song is a thoroughly patient experience, and it’s all the better for it. “Corner of My Sky”, a real slow-burner featuring the legendary John Cale, is probably the only time I feel that the record is too passive for its own good. With its 7-minute running time, the song just ends up feeling lethargic.

Aside from that, Inner Song is a consistently gorgeous listen. Owens’ delicate vocals provide a softening touch that contrasts quite brilliantly with throbbing beats and icy synths. The instrumental club cuts are mostly my favourites, but the more songful tunes are vital in providing a steady flow to the album. Stomping rave anthems like “Melt!” and “Night” wouldn’t be so effective if not for the likes of “L.I.N.E.”, “Re-Wild”, and the euphoric closing track “Wake Up”. The balance is almost perfect. Almost.

Inner Song is a record I’d recommend not just to fans of electronica, but also experimental singer-songwriters like Bon Iver, or even St. Vincent. Though Owens may not be as adventurous with her songwriting as those artists, she more than makes up for it with her compelling sonic explorations. It’s a beautifully arranged album, perfect for late-night meditations. I’m already anticipating her next step.

Favourite tracks // Melt!
­­                                          Jeanette
­­                                            L.I.N.E.

Fred

I came close to adoring Inner Song. Bold, playful, and absolutely immaculate, it’s everything I tend to like in an electronic album. And yet in a way the album is so delicate, so finely made, that it at times feels too fragile for its own good. It’s like a frozen wildflower – intricate and beautiful, but prone to shatter at any moment.

When I complain that immaculately produced electronic music needs more direction, this is the kind of stuff I’m hoping for. The record is almost unerringly focused. Kelly Lee Owen’s ethereal vocals are bolstered by immaculate, synth-heavy arrangements, with percussion bobbing along just beneath the surface. When the pieces click together the results are joyous. “L.I.N.E.” and “Re-Wild” positively soar, while instrumental tracks like “Arpeggi” show the arrangements can stand on their own two feet when they have to.

The blight for me is “Corner of My Sky”, which tramples the flowery picture with all the grace of a grazing cow. It’s not a bad track, but it disrupts an already gentle flow, and the album never quite recovers its mojo. Were it not for that I’d likely be in the same ballpark as André. Instead I’ve had to settle for really, really liking Inner Song and thinking it’s great. Alas.

Favourite tracks // L.I.N.E.
­­                                          Re-Wild
­­                                            Arpeggi

Marcus

Inner Song is one of those albums that I wish I could like more than I do. While plenty of the album’s qualities are admirably delivered, sublime, and polished to a fine sheen, its general sterility and lacking variation mean that, while it’s often a gorgeous listen, I’ve found it deeply forgettable.

Kelly Lee Owen’s approach, akin to Jon Hopkins’ output married with more traditional song structures, works well for the first half of the album. Her anchoring of weightless synths and low-impact percussion to a warm, bassy undercurrent and recognisable structuring works well to begin with, and the majesty of its production and dynamics are the stuff of audiophiles’ dreams. The trouble is that none of these qualities are memorable in and of themselves – in fact, the ponderousness and consistent (read: uneventful) atmosphere tend towards the disappointingly homogenous. There are plenty of instances where KLO’s vocals save the day, humanising things as they start getting too sterile, and her voice’s serenity is often moving. The tracks where she unleashes her voice are sequenced well with the more ambient cuts, but it’s hard to pinpoint when and where the intrigue comes in beyond these injections of personality.

“Jeanette” is easily my favourite track on the album, but it’s a bit of an outsider in its vibrancy, energy, and 8-bit-esque playfulness. It’s indicative of the sense that, maybe, I’m not the right person for the wider piece, namely in that I’m disappointed to see so few of “Jeanette”’s engaging qualities replicated elsewhere. It’s a ponderous, ambient album, and that’s fine. What is replicated, to a frustrating degree by the end, is the aforementioned approach to structure. By the time we hit “Night”, following the deathly boring and overlong “Corner of My Sky”, the familiarity of KLO’s use of crescendos, layered arpeggios, and bursts of energy start feeling uniform and uninspired.

The sum is an album that is sumptuously well-produced and clear in direction, whilst also being disengaging and unmemorable. It’s a nice listening experience, there’s no doubt about that, but it lacks the bite that makes the likes of Jon Hopkins, Thom Yorke, or Bonobo’s albums so characterful.

Favourite tracks // Jeanette
­­                                          Arpeggi
­­                                           On

Like every hip-hop head on the planet, I hold Illmatic very close to my heart. I’m also rather fond of its follow up album It Was Written. Suffice to say, Nas’ output since then has been sketchy at best. Some records flirt with greatness, others are indisputable duds, and then there are those in between: decent, but forgettable. It’s a shame that a true legend of the game hasn’t released a definitive classic for 25 years.

Nas’ latest effort, King’s Disease, isn’t a ground-breaking record, but it is a relative return to form. A significant part of this is due to the production work of Hit-Boy, which is a constant highlight. It’s a joy to hear Nas rap over jazzy beats once again. The format suits him down to the ground. After 2018’s NASIR, produced and generally designed by Kanye West, King’s Disease comes as a welcome relief.

The soulful samples of the title track set a heartening tone, reminiscent to Kanye’s work on The College Dropout. Hit-Boy’s production offers Nas a new lease of life, and he sounds more comfortable here than he has in a long while. There’s less of a focus on hooks, with more emphasis on compelling storytelling. Nas deals in broad strokes, and whilst that leaves plenty of room for interpretation, it also leads to some conflicting conclusions. King’s Disease is an album of reactive observations. Listeners are likely to be left with more questions than answers.

Sonically, King’s Disease feels like a slight throwback. There’s a warmth to the instrumentals that hark back to Nas’ glory days, particularly in the album’s opening few tracks. “Blue Benz” is an early standout, and “27 Summers” offers a change of pace that fits snugly in the tracklist. The album does lose some steam towards the end. “All Bad” suffers from flat production and an Anderson Paak feature that lacks any significant presence, and whilst the chilled nature of “Full Circle” is gratifying at first, it soon ends up feeling lethargic.

For the most part, however, King’s Disease is a smooth ride. It’s not the modern classic that fans have been crying out for, but I doubt Nas aimed his sights that high. Moments of pure poetic brilliance come and go. It’s a real shame they’re often caught between awkward lyrical moments. For me, it’s just nice to hear Nas in his element once again.

Favourite tracks // Blue Benz
­­                                          27 Summers
­­                                            King’s Disease

Fred

When players deliver in curling the stone starts at a steady pace. It’s hardly motoring along, but it’s moving. As it reaches its target the stone slows down. It slows down so slowly that you barely register it’s happening. Then it stops. That’s the journey of King’s Disease. It slides steadily along and scores respectably.

The record deserves better than that astonishingly laboured metaphor, to be fair. It hits a really nice balance between sounding classic and sounding fresh. That vintage Nas flow is well represented, with sure-footed beats ever-present in the tracklist, and at the same time it’s produced by a pop and cleanness more in tune with modern hip hop. Hearing Nas through a more contemporary filter is as pleasant as you’d expect, though hardly a revelation.

Were King’s Disease two or three tracks lighter I’d probably click with it much more, but the early momentum — such as it is — fades by the end. Solid, professional, and just a little too forgettable.

Favourite tracks // Ultra Black
­­                                          King’s Disease
­­                                            Replace Me

Marcus

King’s Disease doesn’t feel like a bid to reclaim any space at the top of hip hop’s conversation, but Nas hasn’t sounded this good for a while. Thematically, lyrically, and sonically, the esteemed rapper channels a lot of what made his early work so timeless, and he clearly thrives on the ease of it.

Nas frames himself, thematically, as an old king of hip hop, surveying the state of the world, reflecting on his reign, looking forward to the next generation, and speaking as though he’s ready to step aside to let younger artists take the reins. Whether Nas is held in the esteem his braggadociousness would have us believe is in the eye of the beholder, but the themes’ synchronicity between bars and production is surprisingly effective. Hit-Boy’s inventive production and textures are a great match for Nas, tapping into vibes from the rapper’s jazz roots whilst firing out tributes to the various eras that his career has walked alongside.

Across the album, callbacks to hip hop trends that have come and gone over the past 25 years are well integrated blink-and-you’ll-miss-it inflections that add a lot of character to the wider piece. Kanye gets nods throughout, “27 Summers” is reminiscent of the likes of Vince Staples, “Til the War’s Won” has a piano section harking back to Kendrick’s Good Kid phase, and “10 Points”’ tones have a distinct Danny Brown flavour during certain moments, and “The Cure” doesn’t sound too far removed from Madvillainy. The playful, irreverent writing feels right at home in the album’s languid atmosphere, mottled with brass flourishes and gentle hooks, and thematically there’s a great deal of cohesion going on here.

A few things drag the album back from being a true return to form, and the lyricism is one. There’s a general sense of aimlessness and emptiness to the writing across a few tracks, with “Blue Benz” and “Car #85” being particularly weak on Nas’s part. The production, hooks and beats on these tracks push them forward as highlights, but it’s a shame that Nas couldn’t take better advantage of the soundscape Hit Boy lays down. “Ultra Black”, conversely, is Nas at his best with its dense, layered and interesting writing, a well integrated vocal hook, and impassioned delivery. So, it’s a bit Jeckyll and Hyde, but the production is consistent enough to save the dips.

The features, on the other hand, are pretty weak. Don Toliver and Lil Durk, in particular, add nothing but blandness, irony-free autotuned vocals, and some seriously dead bars. Meanwhile, Anderson .Paak is kind of anonymous, and ASAP Ferg is relegated to the bonus track. On an album so regularly set up to win by Hit Boy, it’s interesting that the other features fall so flat. That being said, the album’s a pleasant, consistent, and enjoyable listen, so here’s hoping Nas and Hit Boy build on their clear chemistry with a follow-up.

Favourite tracks // 10 Points
­­                                          Ultra Black
­­                                           Blue Benz

Hardcore punk doesn’t come much better than Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables. Dead Kennedys’ iconic debut still boasts some of the most brilliant and uncompromisingly cynical songs the genre has ever seen. It’s not wholly consistent, but its manic, rapid-fire approach retains momentum throughout. It’s an absolute fucking riot: the sound of true rebellion. It makes the Ramones sound like nursery school punk.

Jello Biafra’s intrusive vocal style suits the music down to the ground – chaotic and unhinged, though more musical than, say, Mark. E Smith of The Fall. Biafra’s presence is a vital part of the formula, and a clear influence on many of today’s more unconventional vocalists. You can hear the snark in every word he sings (or spits).

The songwriting itself is incredibly inventive. Song structures gradually get more dynamic as the album progresses, making way for some remarkable musical moments. The surfer-rock guitar solo in “Let’s Lynch the Landlord” is a wonderful contrast that constantly catches me off guard. The absurdity of “Drug Me” reminds me hugely of System of a Down and their silliest moments. Closing the record with a cover of Elvis Presley‘s “Viva Las Vegas”, drenched in sarcasm, is simply inspired.

I’m no expert in the realms of hardcore punk. However, alongside Black Flag, Dead Kennedys stand out as a vital band to spawn from the late 1970s. Fresh Fruit is a key listen for anyone eager to delve into the genre. Gaunt production does slightly dampen the impact, but then this is punk, after all. It’s a proper DIY recording, showcasing the band for all their credentials with no stabilisers attached. Unfortunately, the harsh high frequencies (mostly found inside the vocals and overheads) become slightly too grating when playing the record at high volumes. And that’s a huge shame, because I’m often listening to this high-octane glory as loud as possible.

Fast-forward 40 years from the release of Fresh Fruit, tyranny and greed is still rife. I have a feeling anti-establishment art is going to evolve again sometime soon. The political and social landscapes of the Western world hints at inevitable revolt, and music is always at the forefront. Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables will be an essential reference point for all defiance. Rise up. And don’t forget to have fun in the process.

Favourite tracks // Holiday in Cambodia
­­                                          Let’s Lynch the Landlord
­­                                            California Über Alles

Fred

Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables hums in a sweet spot between punk and post-punk. While it has all the snarling ‘fuck you and fuck this’ venom you’d hope for from a punk classic it’s also wry and clever, relishing how much fun it’s having at the world’s expense. As a Dead Kennedys newbie I’ve had a great time with it.

Motoring through its 33-minute run time, the album is comprised mainly of wiry, frenetic arrangements, with Jello Biafra sneering along over the top. For me “Let’s Lynch the Landlord” and “Holiday in Cambodia” are the standout moments, but no track lets the side down. From start to finish the album rattles and whirs along like a loosely assembled Harley-Davidson motorcycle with flame spitting out the exhaust pipe. It’s a wicked ride. There are shades of John Lydon (Sex Pistols, Public Image Ltd) and Mark E. Smith (The Fall) throughout — both in the instrumentation and Biafra’s delivery — though I do think the impression left here is slightly more fleeting.

There’s no getting around the production being on the muddy side. Still, although it’s a shame the instrumentals seldom sound as sharp as they could, they’ve force enough to punch through all the same. Punk is perfectly capable of being beautifully produced, but it can still charm and delight when it’s not. This is one of those times.

Favourite tracks // Let’s Lynch the Landlord
­­                                          Holiday in Cambodia
­­                                            Viva Las Vegas

Andrew

I didn’t enjoy Rocket to Russia, and Ramones fans were peeved to say the least. With that in mind, I was worried that Dead Kennedy fans might be lynching me, rather than their landlords.

I needn’t have worried. “Kill the Poor” makes an opening statement that quickly snowballs into a flurry of noisy, energetic rock. From that point on, I’m glued to this album for the remaining half-hour, without a moment of peace, tracks fly past at a mile a minute. Jello Biafra’s vocals, a distinctive, quivering bellow, are front and centre and backed by a band of raucous, rumbling, cacophonous sound.

Noisy rock doesn’t need to be quite so literal though, and Fresh Fruit For Rotting Vegetables exemplifies the point perfectly. The whole band’s sound is cutting and while the likes of “Forward To Death” have a sense of urgency, with vocals almost tripping over themselves, this is a tight performance throughout. Track-to-track, listeners are met with the surfer rock guitar solos of “Let’s Lynch The Landlord” in one moment and beaten with the intense explosion of sound in “Drug Me” in the next, decades before nu-metal arrived with similar madness. “Chemical Warfare” is a showcase for innovative, borderline theatrical writing and instrumentation, with a blinding chorus, and a bizarre waltzing bridge which quickly descends into pandemonium.

All the above still leaves the album’s lead singles unmentioned. “California Über Alles”, with its ominous, chuntering instrumental and unforgettable chorus hook, and “Holiday In Cambodia” with its swelling dynamics and clattering drumline, are both certain highlights but by no means diamonds in the rough. Top it all off with an insane, fidgety cover of “Viva Las Vegas” and you’ll fall out the bottom of the tracklist spinning.

It’s been a pleasure of an album to listen to, and forty years on, it’s still a riot. Energetic, agitated and rowdy, it’s well worth a listen.

Favourite tracks // Let’s Lynch the Landlord
­­                                          Chemical Warfare
­­                                           Holiday in Cambodia

Favourite tracks // n/a

Fred

Gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you. Dreamland is an album that tackles head on the bubbly, colourful, vapid, disposable, Instagram filtered, infotainment-filled emptiness of modern life. To Glass Animals’ credit, that character comes across pretty strongly. Sadly though, that character comes across pretty strongly.

The album drifts through its 45-minute runtime with no real impetus, the mix caked thick with synthesisers and vocal effects. With no oomph beneath them, the lyrics themselves come across like a mundane stream of consciousness, skipping from [‘90s reference] to [‘90s reference] to [‘90s reference] with nostalgia soaked wistfulness. The fantasy world is dead; long live the fantasy world.

I’m left wondering whether this is a reaction against an unreal culture or a product of it, because as dreamy as the music is there’s not much going on beneath the surface. It’s like a bubbling synth pop brook — tranquil enough, but looks much the same now as it did 20 minutes ago.

Favourite tracks // Heat Waves
­­                                          Hot Sugar
­­                                            Tokyo Drifting

Andrew

Four years after fan-favourite How To Be A Human Being, Glass Animals return with Dreamland. A change in sound, writing, and focus make for a divisive release and I’ve been hoping this isn’t that ‘Difficult Third Album’ for the band.

With drummer, Joe Seward, recovering from a serious road accident and understandably affecting the whole band, frontman Dave Bayley has taken the reins. Citing positive reception to more personal songwriting, Bayley uses Dreamland as a nostalgia trip and, unintentionally(?), the longest ‘only Millenials will remember’ meme I’ve seen in some time.

From the outset, titular opener “Dreamland” gives us shimmering marimba twinkles over swathes of warm, bassy string synths accompanying Bayley’s memories in ‘Kodachrome’. “Tangerine” hits us with ‘Mr. Miyagi’ and ‘Friends’, ‘member those? “Space Ghost Coast To Coast” rhymes ‘GTA’ and ‘Dr. Dre’, d’ya get the reference? It’s a cavalcade of name drops which, to be fair, does let up somewhat in the second half, but nevertheless feels ham-fisted. Where previous material from the band has worked Flash Gordon in as a metaphorical device, new material simply reminds listeners that James Bond is, hopefully, a fictional character you and Bayley share memories of. Instead of using Pooh Bear as a descriptor of childlike naivety (as in debut single “Gooey”), Bayley instead hopes you can bond over popping a hot pocket in the microwave (I can’t). None of the above is world-changing, but there is still a stark contrast here, and it feels as though in trying to approach more personal themes, Bayley has instead lost the poeticism and creative license that previous album concepts afforded him.

The change in band dynamic isn’t just limited to lyrical work, however, with the sleeve notes revealing the rest of the band’s involvement was substantially reduced, with Bayley taking sole credit for several tracks. “Melon and the Coconut” was purportedly written and recorded in an hour, and ultimately left in its initial state. It kind of shows, feeling a bit like an oddity at the turning point of the album. “It’s All So Incredibly Loud” and “Domestic Bliss” truly feel like departures from the band, sounding closer to staple pop fodder than the distinctive, exotic jungle timbres of their debut or the percussive, sub-infused whack of the follow-up.

You might not believe it, but I have enjoyed Dreamland. Lead single “Your Love (Déjà Vu)” still sounds great, as does “Waterfalls Coming Out Your Mouth”. The narrative of tracks like “Space Ghost Coast To Coast” and “Domestic Bliss” are ripe for songwriting. There’s a lot here to like. But it’s an album that ultimately fades into the background, giving me much less reason to return to it than previous material ever did.

Favourite tracks // Your Love (Deja Vu)
­­                                          Heat Waves
­­                                           Waterfalls Coming Out Your Mouth

After the Gold Rush is Neil Young at the absolute top of his game. It’s a masterpiece, plain and simple. His third studio album is as accomplished as any he’s ever released: an astonishing feat given he was only 24 years of age at the time. After the Gold Rush is a tight package that displays extreme versatility, covering an extraordinary range of musical ground and lyrical depth. Provocative rock jams with soulful guitar solos stand alongside romantic country ballads and heart-warming numbers led by playful piano.

For all its musical and personal scope, Young does incredible things with, seemingly, so little. Simple vocal melodies sung over elementary chords have no right to be as effective as they are here, but Young has the capability to floor listeners with his presence. If there’s an album that best showcases Young as a songwriter, After the Gold Rush is the most immediate choice. His poetry comes naturally, with no metaphor feeling forced. His personal musings and intricate stories aren’t bound by genres. Though his folk and country background is well known, Young’s songs transcend these origins. This is music for everyone.

It’s crucial to recognise that Young has been aided by some of the most extraordinary backing bands that contemporary music has ever seen. After the Gold Rush now celebrates its 50th anniversary, which is absurd given these songs do not sound like they were conceived half a century ago. There are a number of reasons for this, but most notable are the incredible arrangements that comprise the albums deeper cuts. The extraordinary tale of “Southern Man” is driven by stirring guitar, percussive piano parts, and the most glorious vocal harmonies you can ever dream of. It’s the kind of thing Radiohead have been replicating throughout their illustrious career.

“Don’t Let it Bring You Down” is another gem in this respect, showing the full force of the piano as an accompanying instrument. It puts many modern arrangements to shame. Young’s versatile vocals add a sprinkling of magic to these songs that propel them to legendary status. Whilst Bob Dylan‘s voice has been a note of contention throughout the years, there’s simply no denying Young’s abilities. At its best, his voice smoothly sails through the mix like a delightful breeze, meaning that the music is not just magnificent, but accessible too.

Sounding as good as ever, After the Gold Rush remains one of the definitive albums released by, quite possibly, the greatest singer-songwriter we’ve ever seen. To those looking to probe Young’s daunting discography: start here.

Favourite tracks // Southern Man
­­                                          Don’t Let It Bring You Down
­­                                            Oh, Lonesome Me

Fred

Reviewing albums of this calibre is a bit of a double-edged sword. They’re a delight to listen to, and writing about them almost feels redundant. What is there to say about After the Gold Rush that hasn’t been already? It’s vintage Neil Young, as fine a blend of rock, blues, and country you’re ever likely to hear. Beautifully produced too, which always helps.

I suppose the best I can do is put the record in context with the other Young release we’ve reviewed. On the Beach is my favourite Neil Young record, and one of my favourite records ever. After the Gold Rush is not On the Beach. They’re different animals. This is a more jumbled, less miserable affair. The songs have a spring in their step, the zest of a born traveller going it alone. The record is an ideal introduction to Neil Young in that sense; it’s super accessible.

There are a good few classic tunes crammed into the 35-minute runtime. “Southern Man” is a one-inch-punch of a song, with low key one of the greatest rock solos going. The cover of “Oh, Lonesome Me” is so pathetic that it becomes kind of adorable, like Droopy the dog in musical form. The songs are eclectic, but they’re held together by the band which, with a few Crazy Horse members among their ranks, accompanies Young beautifully.

Young has always had a lightness that makes him more approachable than the icier singer/songwriter greats, be they Bob Dylan or Laura Marling. Few — if any — albums showcase that wamth better than After the Gold Rush. It’s Young on a roll, with a fire in his belly and love overflowing from his big Canadian heart. Half a century on, it remains a joy.

Favourite tracks // Southern Man
­­                                          When You Dance I Can Really Love
­­                                            Don’t Let It Bring You Down

Marcus

After the Gold Rush, released 50 years ago when Neil Young was a little younger than I am now, has that indefinable timelessness of a real classic. The humanistic, emotionally available, and touchingly straightforward composition anchors it to another time in many ways, and yet its clear focus on fundamentals at both an instrumental and narrative level mean it could have been released only recently. The subsequent albums and genres where Neil Young’s influence can be felt are innumerable, like the 24-year-old was writing a love letter to bands of the future.

Thematically, this forward-facing nature holds true in the lyricism. Across the album, Young sings about love, its absence, and the coalescence of spirit that enables us to move on from past pains and to be optimistic for the unknowable. Along with a supremely confident and symbiotic backing band, Young imbues each track with this warmth and easygoing courageousness. He nods at every step towards emotional responses and their propensity to linger unhelpfully; acknowledging but never surrendering to them. Everything will be all right, he alludes, and it’s easy to believe him.

What strikes me most is how much space is left between the lines for the listener to transplant themselves into the experience. Young’s appreciation for the personal nature of music, in the ownership a listener takes for their own interpretation, comes across as much in the spacious writing as it does in the languid smoothness of each track’s accompaniments and harmonies. With a deft combination of empathy and pragmatism, Young’s album strikes at melancholy and revels in the art of reflection, making sure to talk about pain constructively without denying it exists.

Favourite tracks // Tell Me Why
­­                                          Don’t Let It Bring You Down
­­                                           Southern Man

There’s no denying Lianne La Havas’ talent. When we reviewed her last studio album, Blood, in 2015, there was agreement across the board that the songwriting and arrangements weren’t always up to the same standard as her stunning vocal performances. If the instrumentals were as dynamic as La Havas’ exquisite voice, I imagine it would have had more of a lasting impact.

In this regard, Lianne La Havas has faintly improved on its predecessor. Arrangements are richer, and the production is far less sterile. There’s a hazy, grey quality to the album that is very endearing; a stark contrast to her previous releases. This is a more patient listen, and it feels more purposeful as a result, if only slightly. La Havas sounds more soulful than ever before. I wouldn’t say that she’s fully found her sound yet, but this is as close as she’s gotten. It’s a shame, then, that the record lacks hooks and memorable moments. Lianne La Havas is her most cohesive album to date, but perhaps her most forgettable. It feels like one step forward, and two steps backwards.

The record opens with arguably it’s strongest moment. “Bittersweet” flaunts one of the most intricate and satisfying arrangements in Lianna La Havas’ discography. Add to this a captivating vocal performance, delivering honest details on a diminishing relationship, and you’re on to a real winner. Whether it’s a good enough song to include twice on the same album… is another matter entirely.

As a contrast, “Paper Thin” is jazzy and understated, with delicate drums driving one of La Havas’ most gentle and gorgeous vocal works on record. Even better is the triumphant cover of Radiohead‘s “Weird Fishes”, which sits right in the middle of the tracklist. It’s a fan-favourite in the Radiohead community, and it’s safe to say that La Havas does it justice. The final section is particularly wonderful, and makes for the most euphoric moment on the entire album.

However, the fact that one of the strongest and most distinctive arrangements is almost directly borrowed speaks volumes. “Weird Fishes” is both a standout moment and a key insight into Lianne La Havas’ limitations. Some of the songs just aren’t nearly as strong as others. Speaking as a fan, I’ve always found myself cherry-picking her best songs, rather than listening to full albums. Although Lianne La Havas takes some serious strides, I don’t see my listening habits changing quite yet.

Favourite tracks // Bittersweet
­­                                          Weird Fishes
­­                                            Paper Thin

Fred

Lianne La Havas is back and she sounds as lovely as you expect, but her third album is not so much a progression from Blood as it is a step sideways. The vocals are almost impossibly full and luscious, the songs meander, and the production, though markedly improved, is still too polished to feel real. The songs go down smooth, but I don’t expect they’ll have much staying power.

One of the standout tracks, “Paper Thin”, was supposedly inspired by the Japanese ethos of wabi-sabi — accepting imperfections, basically. It’s a nice sentiment, but I’m not sure how much Lianne La Havas really commits to it. Outside the grainy, almost demo-like “Paper Thin”, the album is hardly rough and ready. Then again, Lianne La Havas embracing her sonic imperfections is like Arnold Schwarzenegger being body positive. There aren’t an awful lot of blemishes to forgive themselves for.

Five years later it doesn’t seem like much has changed. La Havas has released luscious, soulful, not-terribly-memorable rhythm and blues, most people seem to love it, and we’re left thinking she’s capable of so much more. So it goes. Listen to Stewart Lee’s favourite albums from the ‘80s if you want some proper wabi-sabi music.

Favourite tracks // Paper Thin
­­                                          Weird Fishes

Andrew

Lianne La Havas’ self-titled return, five years after Blood, was a welcome announcement. Having enjoyed her previous material and her enthralling live performances, she joins the list of excellent artists making this year a touch more positive.

There’s a new sound here. Opening with intent, “Bittersweet” is a bold, lush groove that sits back and leaves centre stage open for La Havas’ vocals. Instrumentation nurtures a nod of the head, backing vocals complement proceedings perfectly, while the vocal line grows from silky smooth to soaring and powerful. The track certainly invites the listener in.

It’s a common theme. A strong vocal line that builds through “Paper Thin” accompanied by lovely delicate guitars with warming chord progressions in single, while “Green Papaya” goes for a more stripped back, soulful sound. Elsewhere, “Can’t Fight” has glimmers of previous material, with a bright, springy guitar hook. Lyrically, we’re invited into personal, intimate moments across relationships and love interests Lianne’s had and the warm, hugging nature of the album only supports that further.

At the turning point of the tracklist (and opening side B of the vinyl release), La Havas drops a potential front runner for best Radiohead cover. “Weird Fishes” is faithful to the original with a definitive Lianne La Havas identity worked into it. Pulling the drumbeat back in the opening moments is a nice touch and the timbre on the keys is smooth as butter. The vocal line is well rounded and a delight to listen to. The acapella breakdown is the cherry on top, with some brilliant harmonies followed by an explosive instrumental to match. Big, fat vocals re-enter, blasting over the top of proceedings. It’s a constantly evolving, engaging six minutes.

But that’s a double-edged sword. That “Weird Fishes” is one of the most memorable tracks on the record is a credit to La Havas but an issue for the rest of the original material on the album. It makes for a stark contrast in the development of many tracks, particularly those that follow it (save for “Please Don’t Make Me Cry” which makes for another album highlight). The album feels like a jam. Various videos shot during recording show a group of people thoroughly enjoying the music they’re making. That’s a pleasure to watch, but it doesn’t translate to an album of strong tracks.

I’m fully aware that this is a case of ‘be careful what you wish for.’ In reviewing Blood, we all made vague statements about the instrumentation not quite being there, sounding ‘sterile,’ not leaving ‘substantial impact’ and being ‘surplus to requirements.’ Here, La Havas has delivered a rich sound which grooves and vibes its way through the album and leaves the radio hits behind, but in doing so it feels like it misses some grounding or structure. Nevertheless, Lianne La Havas is worth a listen and makes for a strong entry in her growing catalogue.

Favourite tracks // Bittersweet
­­                                          Weird Fishes
­­                                           Please Don’t Make Me Cry