I was going through some old audio files and remembered that I once marveled at how hectic and unsettling (in a good way) the last 20 seconds of the song 'Run' by Vampire Weekend are. Because I don't have the Soundcloud storage capacity to create a 10-hour loop, I've instead slowed it down and added a compressor. Here's a minute of that:
I hope Rostam is on their next release.
I've bought exactly one record in the past seven years. It is called 'Dark Bliss' by Galcher Lustwerk, and it lives on Bandcamp. Mr. Lustwerk, whose real name is unknown, is a minimal techno/deep house producer living in Brooklyn via RISD via Cleveland, Ohio. He lays down dusty raps and spoken word verses over heavily textured synths, 808's, variant clicks and clacks, and impressively subtle drops, even in the context of the minimal continuum. 'Parlay', a joint with no bass line and that opens with a 45 second lay-down of a single note ("like a highway mirage", Philip Sherburne notes), perhaps best showcases his style.
Minimal techno is a funny genre, in that its tendencies of shared enthusiasm are elusive. It's easy to tell when people dig, but even easier to tell when they don't (a friend once asked why I was playing elevator music over the last beers of the night). But Lustwerk's own brand of minimal, in combination with lines about cars, wax, and clubs, can make even a kid from Northern Michigan like me feel cool - the first time I heard his music, I'd never set foot in a club. There's also something distinctly Midwestern about his music; it's industrial, it centers on driving, and it's deceptively simple (ridin' in a car//feelin like a star//ridin in a drop top// countin all my guap) . Despite remaining underground -- his most recent and first full release, 'Dark Bliss', was largely unannounced -- he's got a surprisingly prolific catalog. There's his own work under the Lustwerk moniker, then his collaboration with fellow White Material labelmate Alvin Aronson called Studio OST, and, last but not least, Road Hog, a project devoted to Turnpikes and roadside views.
In the car, at the gym, home from class, it's often Lustwerk for me. If there's a single redeeming quality of drab winters in Southeast Michigan, it's the facilitation of deep, dark, techno phases. So, might I recommend beginning yours here:
Best.
I've recently read a column from Hua Hsu about his favorite musical moments of the past year, and it prompted me to consider a few minutes of music that have stuck out to me lately as well. So, here is the first installment of a (hopefully) recurring series of these instances.
1.) I keep flip-flopping on whether to sell my car, an endlessly troublesome 1999 Volkswagen Jetta that I nevertheless love dearly. Like a good hair day on the eve of a cut, it has caused me much strife. But late the other night, I was driving and listening to this (2:40 - 3:12), an equally uplifting and silly riff from Erik Skantze's 'Stargaze', and decided I should keep the damn thing. No, I wasn't soaring through the Nordic night, as the song might evoke, but rather cruising home on an eerily empty Washtenaw Avenue. It's a ridiculous, over the top, spaced-out track (UFO noises and all), but I like it, kind of like this car (I should get those noises checked out).
2.) King Krule has, to me at least, long been filed in a hipper-than-thou category that can be sort of intimidating. I like his records, but they're pretty dark; that being said, live cuts from Marshall and his surprisingly tight band are definitely worth checking out, even if you've never gotten into his stuff. They're energetic, meld whirring electronic effects with jazz-influenced ballads, and feature a ghost-note prophet of a drummer named George. Here's a cut (2:03 - 4:20) from their Tiny Desk set that I keep re watching.
3.) A record that I was kind of late to the game on is called 'Jardîn' by Gabriel Garzón-Montano, but there are a lot of great moments throughout. My favorite comes from a song called 'Fruitflies, where he finds a perfect synth bass tone (2:50 - 3:17) that I've since been trying to recreate.
4.) Montreal based producer Kaytranada has an impressive catalog as both a backing producer and a solo artist, with one of my favorite records, 99.9%, to his name. He also has a lot of otherwise-unreleased cuts on Soundcloud, which somehow still exists. He's a sampling wiz, and there's a particularly smooth example in this (0:45 - end).
My brother will disown me if he sees this. But there is a track by Aussie DJ and Producer Mall Grab that reworks Cheryl Lynn's 1978 disco hit 'Got To Be Real' into a modern dance floor, uh, banger. And you know what? It's quite good. Sure, this one's not too much of a stretch, nor is it so inventive. But simplicity, in this case, makes for a supremely good time.
This is fraught territory after Norwegian tropical house phenom Kygo's abomination of a remix of 'Sexual Healing', I realize*. Since then, I've been wary of any and all subsequent interpretations of classic dance numbers. But, after getting into some pretty good reworks from Late Nite Tuff Guy, I'm willing to give them another go.
I came across Mall Grab after hearing Yaeji's fantastic cover of his track 'Guap', which features perhaps the best reverb'd out snare in fiscal year 17. Here you go:
*editor's note: fraught territory does not include rekutts by Todd Terje, who can do no wrong.
Drumroll......
Having surveyed the year-end lists of 'best albums' from Pitchfork and the like, I'd like to chime in with perhaps my favorite from 2017 (not that anyone asked). 'Life Will See You Now' by Jens Lekman, the amiable Swedish singer-songwriter, has become unexpectedly near and dear to me. While it seems that many critics had no problems with the record, I was surprised to see it absent from many major recaps. Nevertheless, it grew on me such that I'm willing to put it near the top of my list. It's also probably one of the first records where lyrics have meant much, if anything, to me.
I've taken to describing this record as, in short, really good pop music. And Lekman occupies a unique space within pop (in style, but neither necessarily nor likely in mainstream success). His songs are, lyrically speaking, oftentimes absurd and, in some instances, utterly melancholic. He favors sample-heavy backing tracks that balance equal parts cheese and whimsy paired with an ear for hit-making, not unlike that of fellow Swede and producer-to-the-stars Max Martin. 'Life Will See You Now' puts this combination on stark display, with tightly produced, feel-good instrumentals underscoring themes like aging, existential anxiety, and 3D-printed tumors. Hmm.
In the liner notes, Lekman elaborates,
it’s really an album about that transition from what Kierkegaard called the aesthetic to the ethical. It’s an existentialist record, about seeing the consequences of your choices. From being a dandelion seed, blaming the wind for where it carries you, to saying the name of your fear three times in front of the mirror. Maybe this is an album about taking responsibility. How sexy isn’t that?
All this from a record that contains a hopelessly addictive, Ralph MacDonald-sampling nu-tropical epic like 'What's That Perfume That You Wear'? Indeed, it's inexplicably fun. Lekman's post-ironic tunes inhabit a middle ground of interpretation; the record is, on a base level, really catchy (and sometimes that's good enough), but it's also a maudlin, introspective endeavor. In 'Evening Prayer', overtop an almost sarcastically bright track, Lekman wonders if he's actually close enough to a dying friend to pray for them. Later, he reckons with an acquaintance pressuring him not to write a sad song about a reckless night on the town, as is apparently his tendency. Finally, on 'How We Met, The Long Version', he offers a short history of the universe that results in a pretty normal romantic meeting (Hey, can I borrow your bass guitar?). Fate is at once magical and mundane.
I guess I'm aging too -- the ravages of time spare none! -- and, even though I hopefully have more to look ahead at than behind, Jens has me thinking (yeah, I'm 21 now, what a pity). If nothing else, maybe what I take most from this effort is the value of attempting to pair optimism -- in this case, through Lekman's instrumentals -- alongside interpretations of the good, the bad, and the fucked-up.