My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy is one of those albums that, when you throw it on, it’s impossible not to sing along to the entire way through. From the Nicki Minaj introductory monologue and Kanye’s masterful opening verse, to the Bon Iver sample leading into the album’s energetic closer, MBDTF is 68 minutes of hip-hop perfection.
The album’s full of memorable lines, funny moments, and catchy hooks, not just from Ye, but the all-star cast of characters—Rick Ross, Pusha T, Jay Z, Rihanna, John Legend, Justin Vernon—all performing at their highest levels.
When this album was release in 2010, to that point it was the most well-crafted hip-hop album I’d ever listened to, specifically the production. Every track twists and turns in beautiful ways that you usually wouldn’t expect from a hip-hop beat, with the vocals mixed in as another layer.
Hip-hop has come a long way since 2010, and Kanye West as both a person and an artist isn’t at all what he was at his peak, but regardless of what you think of Kanye nowadays, there’s no denying Dark Twisted Fantasy’s glory and place in music history.
Untrue is one of the most consistent albums in terms of song quality, sound, speed and vibe I’ve ever listened to. It’s subtly brilliant and one of a kind, which makes it so easy to overlook.
Without true lyrical lines or major dynamic shifts, it’s easy to dismiss it as simple. Without much variation in tempo or the looping drum tracks, it’s easy to dismiss it as boring. And with the same electronic sound palette of glitchy clicks, moaning foghorn bass and processed voices used essentially from start to finish, it’s easy to dismiss it as repetitive and all sounding the same.
But that’s also the beauty of the album. Each song meshes with the next track, meticulously builds upon the groundwork that came before it, and perfectly stands on its own as a cold, haunted, twisted soundscape of isolation and futuristic oblivion. It’s surely not an album that is for everyone, but Burial’s vision and craftmanship here stand up admirably alongside the efforts of the best ambient, dubstep and trip-hop producers ever.
Who knows if what was released on February 22, 2022, was the final product that fans will listen to when Kanye West eventually decides to release Donda 2 on steaming. But, at least for now, it seems like Kanye may have listened to some of the criticism thrown at Donda last year — an overlong tracklist with big highlights but too many repeated lyrics, scattered ideas and occasional over-the-top production without a punch — and tried to make a few adjustments.
The deuce is much more streamlined and concise than the original, and the quality of tracks is more consistent top to bottom. Unfortunately though, that level of consistency is pretty middling, and Kanye doesn’t have nearly as many dynamic swings as he’s usually known for.
Most songs are … fine. While he definitely has a few bad moments in there — his lyrics on “Security” and “Louie Bags” are particularly lazy — some songs like “Happy,” “We Did It Kid” and “Pablo” kind of go hard, as do the album’s two promotional singles “City of God” and “Eazy.” Infact, a lot of the beats here are cool — “Louie Bags,” “Too Easy,” “Flowers,” and “Security” all sound interesting.
But Kanye’s vocals almost feel like they were just tacked on at the last minute, and his obsession with his fame and status and the narrative around him as an artist is tiresome both on the record and in the real world. Additionally, the overall darker, more centered vibe of the album compared to the odd but uplifting moments on Donda 1 limit the tracks’ potential to really stand out.
With Kanye, especially in his later years, you’ll still get something cool and something that shows off his musical genius, but it’ll be mixed with something that sounds stupid, lazy and unfinished. In Donda 2‘s case, without the power of tracks like “Off The Grid,” or “Hurricane,” or “Keep My Spirit Alive” to really make those beautiful moments shine, the album feels more like a deliberate collection of B Sides and after thoughts instead of a grand statement.
To experience the few interesting moments on here, it’s not worth the effort it’ll take to find a good bootleg copy, it’s not worth the money it would take to find an authentic version of the music, and it’s not worth the internal guilt you’ll feel listening to mediocre songs from a person who hasn’t been on his best behavior for some time.
If there were still any holdouts hoping that The Weeknd would start inching back towards his darker, more hip-hop roots, Dawn AM should squash any of those lingering thoughts. If 2020’s After Hours was The Weeknd finally admitting he’s meant for dance-pop radio, this year he married it and had some kids. The music is clean, bright and slick, some of the darker themes have been sterilized, and the Weeknd is operating at almost a robotic energy level throughout.
The first third of the album is nonstop action, blaring 1980s synths and electronic drum beats, with songs that seamlessly flow from one to the next like you’re at a Micheal Jackson -themed dance party or cover night. However, the middle section is so much of a slog that it really makes you forget how much fun you were just having on the dance floor, and only a few moments of the later part of the record, like “Less than Zero,” really shine through.
Compared to After Hours, I feel Dawn AM has much fewer top-tier songs, and the low points can be pretty darn cringy. The spoken word stuff in on the second track didn’t really work for me even if the interstellar beat got me going, and the whole concept of the radio station interludes throughout the record is executed at a very basic level, where they feel more like filler on an already bloated album than a clever, essential inclusion. The Weeknd also officially holds the honor of having the worst Tyler, the Creator feature verse of all time on his album, and a forgettable Lil Wayne contribution.
There are for sure tracks here that could light up the dance floor or that deserve some nice radio play — “Take My Breath,” “Sacrifice” and “Out of Time” work — but there isn’t any new ground covered, or anything that initially jumps out like a potential classic that we’ll be listening to for years to come. It’s a collection of fine songs, with a few highs, a few lows, and not nearly enough raging hits or grimy sleaze to hold my interest.
There’s a lot to like about Bright Green Field, the first album by British band Squid.
Musically, it’s post punk with a lot of captivating odd, dancy syncopation and forward energy. The production is more diverse than what you’d typically expect from a punk band, with synths and electronic clicks, horns and layered vocals here and there. It’s all pretty fun, exciting and creative.
There’s also not as much aggression in the vocals, which are goofy at times with cracking voices and a B-52s level of randomness and theatrics. But when Ollie Judge get going — especially in some of the sections where he repeats a refrain like the “I’ll play mine” build on “Narrator” or “Don’t push me in” outro on “Paddling” — he can really crank up the energy and draw you in.
The album also does a great job at balancing more sparse, contemplative moments where you can hear each melodic line on its own or as part of a round, and the really big hits of sound, when new-wave drumming picks up the pace and the guitars really start to screech and buzz.
The downside of the record is that it’s a bit long, and some of the tracks stretch beyond 7-8 minutes. That isn’t always a problem and is something I can get over since the music is good — especially if the payoff is as big as “Narrator” – but some moments feel a bit too abstract or disconnected, like the back half of “Boy Racers” and the instrumental interludes, which make the album start to drag a little near the end.
There are a lot of critically acclaimed bands that sound like the album Ducks Ltd. put out in 2021, which has the jangle pop charm of Real Estate with the energy of Cloud Nothings or Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever.
But Modern Fiction is modern-day jangle pop at its finest — happy, upbeat clanging guitar chords with basic, warm vocals — and the clean, crisp album is more inviting than those of other similar artists. At a quick 29 minutes, every song is in the 3 minute range, but the constant movement prevents the music from getting stale or feeling overdone.
If you’re looking for something groundbreaking or particularly showy, this probably isn’t for you. But what stands out is the consistency and warmth you get from the album. It’s easy, it’s subtle, and it’s feel-good fun.
I know there have been extremely relevant and timely album releases in the past, but RTJ4 being released at the peak of the Black Lives Matter movement after another example of police brutality during the Covid-19 pandemic, and all of the lyrics being about social justice and equality and police brutality made it the perfect anthem for the moment.
Is it better or worse than Run the Jewels’ other three albums? It’s really hard to say, because the group is so consistent in quality and style. But Killer Mike and El-P have never sounded as relevant as they did in 2020, with expectedly smart, pointed lyrics and well-times comedy.
Style wise, this album is loud and in-your-face like the others, but there is a bit more weight to the music, which slows the tempo down a little and eliminates some of the really upbeat, celebratory songs of the past (it’s hard to be upbeat when the subject matter is so serious). But that doesn’t mean it’s an album that drags at all. Each track moves really smoothly one to the next. There are cool beat shifts. There are fun features like 2 Chainz, Gangsta Boo, Pharrell, Zach de la Rocha and Mavis Staples (with backing vocals by Josh Homme).
Album highlights include “JU$T,” “Walking In The Snow,” “Never Look Back” and “Ooh La La,” but every track is worth paying attention to.
I know that Phil Elverum has a following of die hard fans who feel connected to all of his projects, from The Microphones to Mount Eerie, but I’m not as in love with The Glow Pt. 2 as many are and could not enjoy Crow Looked at Me even if I can appreciate and understand why he made it.
When The Microphones in 2020 was released I was skeptical. After all, how can someone get excited to listen to a 44 minute album that’s literally 1 song with the same acoustic guitar theme and chord progressions the entire time and primarily available to listen to on YouTube?
Honestly though, this record was beautiful. It’s intimate, reflective, so small and simple at times and breathtaking at others. While the basic theme and tempo of the song is consistent almost the entire 44 minute runtime, it does evolve, with hints of textures added or temporary variations that reflect the themes and stories in the music. Plus, the addition of the visuals in the video, a collection of authentic photos from the eras Elverum’s looking back on, makes it a unique experience and one that felt right while most of the world was inside and alone during the pandemic of 2020.
Elverum’s casual, almost spoken-word approach is soothing, and the lack of range actually helps make it pay off when he does all of a sudden sing for a few moments, or when harmonies come in. The song’s subtleness and repetitive nature makes you yearn for and appreciate every new element that’s introduced, some elements that would likely be ignored on a normal lengthened song or conventional record. Your ear instantly gravitate to anything new.
The song starts with about 7 minutes of soft strumming, with a chord change that signifies a “chorus” every few minutes, before the vocals are finally introduced. Then at about the 20 minute mark, things get louder as he talks about his past music influences and when he learned he could manipulate sounds, specifically mentioning an endless sustain he heard during a Stereolab concert. Of course, he says this while a sustained note is held for multiple measures.
That builds and resolves at minute 27, with a beautiful section when he starts talking about family, going back to the acoustic guitar before bursting onto this vast soundscape created by this organ/keyboard, before again returning to the acoustic guitar.
Later, distant drums come in, then a constant drumbeat with some various drum breaks for a bit more energetic, somewhat jazzy feel.
About 33 minutes in, the drums drop out and we get the band starting up to jump in, grabbing their sticks, their mics, turning on amps, and then the drums return with distant, chiming guitar harmonics.
At close to minute 40, you get the first lead guitar part — a slow, slide acoustic that hits just a few notes, but a musical line nonetheless. Then, a piano with a flourish, followed by muted stair cases of keys and amped harmonics that mix with the static of an amp at the very bottom of the sound.
Then at minute 42, there’s a very faint, distant sound of wind or frogs and crickets over a lake, with a bird making an appearance, all still behind the acoustic chord. The end just fades into the night.
I don’t know how many times I’ll really ever be able to listen to this again. Even if a fully audio version of the record was easily accessible, the photos in the YouTube video for the project feel like an essential part of the listening journey, and who wants to dedicate 44 minutes to a music video? But when you find the time to go and sit through it start to finish, pay attention and be moved.
Father of all… is a complete abandonment of anything Green Day may have represented or stood for in the 1990s and 2000. American Idiot may have been punk with a squeaky clean finish for commercial radio, as the band left its edgier, younger self behind, but the record still tried to make a point and has undeniable hits. Father of all… completely buffs any edge in the music, it neuters any aggression in the vocals and leaves you asking why the band even bothered. Most songs have easy, safe, sing-along lyrics, contrived stomp and clap choruses, basic, flat guitar riffs that could’ve been synthesized on any music production platform, and phony garage rock vocals. “I Was a Teenaged Teenager” is probably the closest thing we get to the band’s older, radio anthem kind of pop punk, but the lyrics are so mid and the synths are so unnecessary that it’s hard to get excited. The best part of Father of all…is that it’s graciously 26 minutes long. It’s been more than a decade since Green Day was truly relevant, but even for a band well past its prime, this is an embarrassing slap in the face to their former selves.
After a five-year run with numerous Billboard Hot 100 hits and three solid albums, Ariana Grande’s 2019 record thank u, next is probably her best and easiest to listen through from start to finish.
“imagine” and “needy” are good R&B-styled tracks near the top, “fake smile” has a good hip-hop beat with a recycled Wu-Tang Clan sample, and “bad idea,” “7 rings” and the title track are the heavy hitting, catchy, pop singles.
It’s not the most innovative record, and Grande’s vocals can sometimes be a bit too showy for me, but it perfectly captures the more sentimental, personal radio pop of its era, and at 41 minutes and only 12 tracks, there’s no filler at all.
Fresh Out The Deli 