A Year of Blind Spots: Abraxas

It has to be a generational thing, that the first thing I think of, and will think of forever, when I hear the word "Santana," is Rob Thomas singing the opening lines over a Latin-infused guitar lick in the 2000 smash hit "Smooth." An absolutely atrocious song, but one that will live forever in the hearts and minds of the so-called "'90s Kids."

It's at the very least interesting, I guess, to go back and view the critically acclaimed 1970 Santana album Abraxas in that context. If 2000's Supernatural was a "comeback" for Carlos Santana, then what preceded the downswing he needed to come back from? As it turns out, Santana (the band) sounds a whole lot like if Cream moved south of the border. I dig it.

This is a guitar-lovers album if there ever was one. I knew that Carlos Santana was masterful at noodling, but you don't really get that sense from "Smooth," ya know? So it was kinda nice sitting back and hearing him go wild this week. I especially enjoyed hearing all the frantic soloing clashing with the smooth relaxing bongo/conga rhythms.

Not that Santana (the guitarist) is the only important piece of Santana (the band). Santana was co-founded by keyboardist and lead vocalist Gregg Rolie, who brings a measurable sense of '60s-blues-psychedelic-rock to the album (check out "Hope You're Feeling Better" if you aren't the biggest fan of Latin Rock). Rolie would leave Santana in 1973—long before any popular resurgence or Grammy AotY win—so I have to imagine that Abraxas and the other albums from the early '70s feel different than any of the other 25 studio albums, just due to Rolie's presence.

(Fun fact: Gregg Rolie was also a co-founder of Journey, and sang lead in that band too, for a while. This means that Rolie has been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame twice. But since he left Journey in 1980, he did not participate in the creation of 1981's "Don't Stop Believin'," for better or worse.)

Anyways, Abraxas presents a pretty nice balance between two different rock 'n' roll styles. It wears the Latin music influence on its sleeve but never shoves it down your throat. You got your chill classic "Oye Cómo Va" mixed with the time-signature-bending theatrics of "Incident at Neshabur," and so on. Most importantly, it achieves the bare minimum of what I had asked it to do: Abraxas allows me to push "Smooth" just a little further down the memory hole.

Push Back, Pam

On a superficial level, Jetty Bones's sound is part of a musical genre that I feel like I'm supposed to like, but for whatever reason I've never been able to get into all that much. I think Brittany's ex (she knows the one) would have most definitely rattled off Jetty Bones as an artist he's into, after telling me that he "listens to good music" the very first time I met him. 

On a deeper level, I realize that the subject matter on Push Back is pretty heavy. Let's be honest—when it comes to writing about music, I have no idea what the hell I'm taking about, so if writing this album helped Jetty work through some dark times, then that's all that matters, amiright?

Push Back, Brittany

Welcome to my shitshow everybody.

I had already written my review, but afterward I was looking around at Jetty Bones interviews, and came across this gem, about where the name Jetty Bones came from, and here is the response from Kelc Galluzzo, and I thought it was really cool.  

"This project is named after the most badass woman I've ever met, Betty Jones. During a difficult time in my life, she told me a story about how she broke out of her all girls catholic school by hitchhiking away from a beach day in her bikini. I remember telling her that I 'felt bad even littering a piece of gum' and I couldn't believe how brave that was. She responded by saying 'If you aren't happy where you are, you go somewhere else.' I thought this was an amazing lesson about making sure you are always embracing change and the ability that we have to grow. A lot of the project's material focuses around that idea, so it was a good fit. I'll never forget her sister chiming in by saying '...and all the girls said that there would be "nothing but her jetty bones left" when the nuns got ahold of her.' To me, that meant that taking the risk to better yourself, fight the expectations and break free from your circumstance to find a better life is always worth it. So, pack your bikini—it might be your escape plan."

Jetty Bones' sound reminds me of Halsey meets Rocking Horse Winner (remember them?) or Carly Rae Jepsen something, and I totally agree about the '80s pop sound as well, which I obviously love. It's familiar, yet new... but sounds like it could be old? Anyway, I'm totally down with the sound in general.  Also, she uses saxophones—no further explanation required.  

Overall, in a broad statement, these tracks are all about insecurities coated in optimism. Depression with hope. I generally gravitate toward that theme in music I think—draw your own conclusions about what that says about me. 

I think Jetty Bones' entire existence is what music is for. I love relating to feelings, emotions, experiences, innermost thoughts conveyed by the artist and having that connection. To me, great music makes you feel less alone. Creating music is a release for the artist to speak their truth and perspective, no matter how it is judged or perceived by the masses. As an artist, you put yourself out there. And for those of us (me) who are way too paranoid to ever make such a personal public statement, we are able to quietly consume. Mental health is something everyone can relate to, no matter if someone has an actual medical diagnosis—everyone gets sad and no one can be happy all the time. It takes a lot of courage to speak out about your own personal experience and so I stan Jetty Bones (did I say that right?).

One track that I really liked was "Taking Up Space"—as a woman, this is highly relatable. Actually, I'm sure anyone can relate. It's about self-doubt, questioning your worth and your purpose. But at the same time, it's about questioning your self-worth WHILE dancing and swaying your hips, and dancing ALWAYS makes everything better. It's like Jetty Bones was like, hey guys, feeling bad? That’s okay, you’ll be okay, you’re great, and now you can dance it out. 

I was also really drawn to "Bug Life," the last track on the album. I'm always drawn to those slow jams. If I was sixteen and listening to this one, no doubt I'd be sobbing in my mom’s minivan... right Pam?  Haha. 

The end of the song/album has actual voicemails from concerned friends and family playing during what the listener assumes is a trying time for the artist. At first, I was like wow, she really did that? Almost mortified for her because that’s how I would feel—exposed and vulnerable. But I also was like, damn, that's brave. It sounded like her mom left a message about someone's funeral and viewing and called again and said she was worried but didn't understand what the problem was. Hit me right in the feels.

This album was quality, in sound and content. I'm happy I stumbled upon Jetty Bones through Spotify, and cannot wait for live shows to come back so I can actively plan to go see her—and maybe this time she will be headlining.

Push Back, Sunny

As the album ends you might find yourself deeply slouched in your chair, heel of hand on head, staring into the middle distance. An interesting track, but considering the subject and the conceit of layering in voicemails, a bit of a downer.

So you might go back to the first track thinking the whole album wasn't so sad right? You notice it's "Waking Up Crying." Huh. You play it, and yeah, waking up crying, but it's certainly more up-tone. These first few tracks showcase the locus I click with in Bones' music—an '80s/'90s indie pop deal somewhere between the Cranberries and Rilo Kiley. Around "That's All," she starts to sneak in her country twang, adding a pop/country mix at approx. the inverse ratio of our dear Shania, and rounding out the overall vibe.

"Taking Up Space" is the big energy track, something that would find a good home as a set-opener, or in this case, music video. It also stands at the album's inflection point. The album's back half is particularly textured and interesting. "Ravine" introduces a smooth sax, "Bad Time" has a duet with some goofy elements, "Dolly" amps up the country vibe, "Bad Trick" the '90s, to just rattle off a few. All the while, she's ramping up emotion from "Taking Up Space," until you find yourself back at the end of "Bug Life." Your general posture is the same, but everything fits a little better.

Welcome, to my shit show everybody. I bet this isn't what you thought you were getting into tonight. Now it's too late. You're alrеady here.

Push Back, Nate

Jetty Bones has created one of the most cynical pop records I've heard in a few years. It sounds less like an album than a playlist of its own work.

No doubt the subtle tweaks in the endlessly-repetitive songs mean different platforms to be leveraged; your Spotify playlist single here, your Alt Nation satellite radio station song there, your would-be Netflix teen drama end credits song here, your TikTok snippet there. The cross-promotional options certainly seem leveraged, and good for the savvy marketers who have identified them.

On a song-by-song level, it's fine enough. As an album, it's cheerful bedroom tedium that sounds like it cost a million dollars to make and was untouched by human hands.

Push Back, Joe

I've been thinking a lot about something Julien Baker said in a Stereogum interview recently, in which she was discussing her new album, Little Oblivions (3.5 pukes out of 5, in case you were wondering). The interviewer asks her about a lyric that goes "Wrap Orion’s belt around my neck and kick the chair out." This was part of her response:

I was like, "Is this OK to say?" And then I felt that way about many of the tracks on the record... But I was like, "OK. Well, if I'm scared to disclose something, why? And what is that telling me about my shame or fear?" And ultimately, the things I'm most scared to disclose maybe are useful to bring into a discourse through music, but also, maybe they're not. I have a real fear that maybe they're just triggering, and a tool for wallowing. Of course, that depends on how the listener uses them. But I'll never know. And I think letting go of not knowing has been helpful for me, just as a writer, being able to not feel so stilted.

She's right that it's up to the audience to decide, and so let's do that for Jetty Bones. What do we make of this music on Push Back? It's a question worth asking in this context because Jetty Bones (a.k.a. Kelc Galluzzo) has been pretty explicit in her promotional material that the music on this album came from a dark place. The eventual album's finale, "Bug Life," was her version of a suicide note. The lyrics are filled to the brim with anxiety and regret and low self-esteem.

"Tool for wallowing" is the phrase that stands out to me in the Baker quote. Where's the line, and how does an artist avoid crossing it? The most bizarre part about Push Back is how bright and poppy it sounds. Not that it's necessarily uncommon to come across happy music with sad lyrics. It's just that the conceit of this album—springing from and ultimately preventing a suicide—is just so dire, that the glossy sheen seems out of place. I almost wish I went into Push Back not knowing anything about its creation. This is a bell you can't unring.

Ooh, here's a good Record Club comparison—Connie Converse. Remember her? Her deal was that she disappeared and was never found and is now presumed dead. Like, that was the whole reason we were listening to her music in 2019 at all. It's depressing to consider, but it was also weird to consider, especially as we listen to her ghost sing about, like, drinking at a saloon or whatever. There was a disconnect between theory and substance.

I'm also hesitant to say something like "you need to feel sad to listen to this music." Perhaps if I too had experienced suicidal ideation at some point, I'd find more to pore over here. But there's again that disconnect—you feel sad, and you want to listen to... 2010s-20s indie pop? It just doesn't track. I can't imagine anyone finding any type of solace here, in this music, music that you get when you triangulate Maggie Rogers, Tegan and Sara, and anytime Taylor Swift attempts to sound like hip hop.

Who am I to say, though? Maybe someone is going to find what they are looking for in Jetty Bones. I hope they do. I personally just felt uncomfortable with the notion that anyone could use this type of music to work through their issues. I'm talking about the listener, but I'm talking about Jetty Bones too. I am so glad that Galluzzo chose life, and chose to push back against those dark moments, as it were. But that means that she had to have found such an immense worth in the art that she created in the aftermath, which means that the art (i.e. the album) comes with high expectations. High enough that Push Back can't possibly reach them (imo).

I don't even dislike the music. I think the Record Club alum pastiche "Dolly" is fun as fuck. The triplicate of modern female pop artists I named above are all great, and I'm glad whenever I listen to music that sounds anything like any of them. Like, if Jetty Bones wants to be the next Sky Ferreira, then I'll be there.

The highs are more prevalent than the lows. Saxophone might be overused in popular music, but I don't care—"Nothing" is good. "Ravine" shows off the pipes. "Bad Trick" gets a little harder, straining to be like something closer to Paramore, and I think that sound is a great fit too. All good stuff. The highs are more prevalent than the lows for sure, but that doesn't mean the lows don't exist. The whole "shitshow" thing on "Waking Up Exhausted," for instance, is by far the most cringeworthy Record Club moment in the past 110 weeks (trust me, I went through the list and checked). It hits cringe levels that Lizzo could only dream of hitting.

How much you like the music on Push Back is probably besides the point. So is the idea that someone might relate to the lyrics or not relate to them. I think the main concern here is that Jetty Bones clearly has some issues that she is working through, and despite the fact that her music is fun in a vacuum, this isn't a vacuum, it's a vessel to express her issues. In that context, it's completely off-putting.

Whether you consider Push Back "useful" or "triggering" or a "tool for wallowing," Julien Baker was probably right that it all depends on "how the listener uses them." And so all I can say is that I found no use for Push Back. But hopefully you found use for it yourself. Or hopefully not, being as this is a sad album...? I dunno.

You guys, this was a bad review. But I guess an album review's value all depends on how the reader uses it too. I don't expect anyone to get any use out of this. I don't even expect anyone to read it.

GRADE: 2.5 puke out of 5

Never Seen It, #40 of 200: Coneheads

I made a list of 200 movies and I'm watching them in alphabetical order. That's pretty much the gist of this column. I have no idea how I'm going to write 160 more of these intro blurbs.

Coneheads

1993

I don't have to explain this for every movies, but for Coneheads, I definitely have to explain it: why the fuck is Coneheads even on this list? And I don't even have a good reason, honestly. It's not a movie I've always wanted to watch. It isn't featured on any lists of Best Movies of All Time or whatever. It's never been a movie I've always felt like I was "missing out" on by not having seen it. I think it's just that there are some movies that I'm barely aware of, but I am aware of them, and what little I know about it, I'm intrigued.

So I was aware that Dan Akyroyd played a character with a cone-shaped head. That was literally all I knew. So my question becomes: what the fuck is that about? And the answer, I figured, could be found via the Never Seen It list. Would my bare minimum of interest in such an idea pay off, or would this be a shitty movie?

Mostly, the answer is the latter. Coneheads is not a great movie. I don't even think it's a good movie. It's fine, I guess. But the reason I felt the need to explain how it got here on this list was because I didn't want you to think I was even fucking aware that this was an SNL Skit Movie, and that I included it here  as some sort of hate-watching exercise. To be fair, I do hate SNL, and I do mostly hate the notion of stretching a barely passable SNL skit into an 80-minute movie, but I'm not a glutton for punishment. I didn't want to watch Coneheads after knowing that this was the case. I don't think there is value in participating in entertainment that you know beforehand is not going to be pleasant. I wouldn't do that to myself (too often, anyway).

If you have seen any of the Saturday Night Live sketches from the late '70s (these characters appeared in eleven sketches over a two-year period), then you already know the premise. A family of aliens is trying to hack it on earth, blending in as best they can. They do not blend in well due to their odd behavior and jargon-laden verbal communication, but everyone seems to ignore all that, and considers them a normal part of the fabric of society.

The 1993 film (didn't realize until after watching the movie that it wasn't made until fifteen years after their final SNL appearance) pretty much follows the same format, except that it delves more deeply into the origin story of the Coneheads. Beldar and Prymaat crash into the ocean near Manhattan, and emerge as aliens in an alien world (the same plot as Cloverfield so far!!!). They await communication from their home planet, and meanwhile, assimilate into American culture, including having a child and raising her in a suburban locale. "Hilarity" ensues as we also witness immigration services attempt to deport the Coneheads.

If the premise sounds thin, then that's because it is. This is what happens when you take a joke first and then try to make a movie out of it. I can't really blame SNL for trying to stretch a joke for as long as they can in a film, seeing as that's exactly what they do for every sketch, every week on television. Each sketch has a single joke, and that joke is repeated over and over and over until the curtain drops on the sketch. That's it.

I've always hated this type of comedy. I spoke for a little bit with PoYB contributor Sam about this opinion after watching Coneheads last week, and he rightly pointed out that what I described, the one-joke button pressed over and over, is the basic comedic premise for all sketch comedy. So it's insane to try and generalize about this. Am I trying to say I hate all sketch comedy? Absolutely not. I'll even point out a show that I liked after it was recommended by that very same Sam on this very blog—I Think You Should Leave. If I found that show to be about three times funnier than SNL, but they are both sketch comedy, then what's the difference?

It probably has to do with the quality of the joke that is being repeated over and over in any given sketch, the more I think about it. Every sketch has one single premise—is that premise funny? Incredibly subjective, sure, and possibly not even the entire answer. Here's another piece: if every premise is repeated over and over, then the comedians presenting different variations of the joke throughout the sketch have to be skilled at finding different notes on that same joke to at least keep it fresh on a subatomic level.

You could compare a couple sketches, if you want examples. Like, here's this recent COVID-related sketch from SNL that Pam had me watch. The premise is pretty funny, since my family has made it painfully relatable over the past six months. The actors, however, don't do shit with the material, making every iteration of the "joke" feel repetitive and one-note. Compare that to the hot dog sketch from I Think You Should Leave. The premise is pretty good to begin with, but the way Tim Robinson is able to find like 27 angles to the joke in the span of two minutes is masterful.

Again, this is pretty fucking subjective, and also, who the fuck am I to judge comedy at all? (That might be an unfair question to ask most people, but over 50% of my college friends are learned students of comedy, and like 99% of the people currently reading this have also performed comedy on stage at some point, so it's important to distinguish myself as having done none of this, and thus, having a bit less of an authority when it comes to what is "funny" and what is "unfunny").

But I'm here saying that Coneheads was not funny anyway, so let's break it down. First, what was the intended "joke" in this movie (and the sketches, and the State Farm commercials I guess)? I.e. what was repeated over and over and over in an attempt to elicit laughter from the audience? It's a two-part answer. 

 

First, it's supposed to be funny that the Coneheads are "different" then us, and that makes what they do "weird." E.g. Beldar smokes an entire pack of cigarettes at once; he fixes a lawnmower by chewing on one of the bolts; Prymaat floods the entire apartment with two inches of fluid when her water breaks; etc.

Second (or maybe it's 1b), the Coneheads' vernacular is filled with technical jargon. The humor, I guess, being that they are saying exactly what they mean to say, in English, but the English is like lingo you'd find in a medical dictionary. E.g. instead of saying "I'm going to enjoy this breakfast or waffles, bacon, and eggs, thank you," Beldar says: "Morning consumption of mass quantities. Grid-like breakfast slabs, seared strips of swine flesh and flat chicken embryos. I will enjoy it."

To me, both of these jokes fall flat, even the first time they are employed. It's just wacky for wackiness's sake. As far as whether the actors are up for the challenge of finding different notes on the same one-joke premise throughout the 80 minutes... I mean, I guess? It's a tough thing to consider, seeing as how the Coneheads are supposed to be one-note, with flat demeanors, so I don't know if I can judge Aykroyd or Jane Curtin for their performances. How can I say something like their tone and cadence never changed when that's part of the joke? In any case, I laughed out loud when Curtin started screaming at the sight of eggplants in the supermarket. Let that say whatever it is you want it to say about the movie and about Jane Curtin and about me.

It's a shame, though, because I thought there were a bunch of interesting directions that the film could've taken the joke, but Coneheads pretty failed on delivering a single one. The first big one is that I thought it was interesting how everyone surrounding the Coneheads in their normal American lives allowed all the "weird and wacky" traits of the Coneheads to go completely uncommented upon, if noticed at all. When Jason Alexander needs his lawnmower fixed, and Beldar fixes it by swishing the nuts and bolts around in his mouth, Alexander's character doesn't say anything like, "Okay..." or "Well that was weird," or whatever. He just says, "Hey, thanks buddy." In fact, some characters, like Sinbad's character for instance, explicitly state that the eccentricities of the Coneheads are actually beneficial to society.

I thought this was a pretty interesting idea, one that a much lazier comedy would not have featured. But alas, Coneheads barely does anything with it. It almost comes off like shitty writing, if I'm being honest. It's as if the writers were like "We don't feel like dealing with the implications of 'normal' people witnessing the Coneheads' behavior, so let's just have them all act like nothing weird is even happening." I guess I'm really asking for the fourth wall to be peeled back a little bit, and that just never happened.

But that's tied to the other piece of Coneheads that I feel was underbaked, and that's the idea of the Coneheads being "aliens" in both senses of the word. Yes, the villain is an INS agent (INS is now part of ICE) bent on deporting the Coneheads out of America, so it's not unmentioned completely. But there were times when Coneheads came right up against the idea that these "illegal aliens" were actually a large benefit to society, despite the fact that border agents were actively trying to expel them for nebulous/disingenuous reasons. That's an idea I would've loved to explore more, but again, Coneheads didn't do shit with it. I feel like they came across such ideas almost by accident.

So yeah, there's a more interesting movie idea in here somewhere, but at the same time, maybe it wouldn't have made a difference at all if the movie isn't funny. That's the whole point, right? For us to follow along with the adventures of this normal-but-for-one-distinct-difference family and laugh along with them too? And I just didn't get that.

I should've known that going in, though. I should've known this was an SNL enterprise before I even let Coneheads make it onto the NSI list. The odds were stacked against Coneheads from the beginning, and the movie could not overcome them.

GRADE: 2 pukes out of 5

NEXT TIME: Thankfully, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon is not based on a Saturday Night Live sketch (as far as I know!!!!).

Album of the Week: Push Back

I'm interested in coincidental relationships and similarities between Record Club albums. And since this is an introduction to this week's Album of the Week, I won't go too deep into it, but I will say that I noticed the other day that this album, Push Back, is the third album title out of the past four that is a command / imperative.

 

A complete list of Record Club album titles that double as a command, in reverse chrono: Sound the People by Red Baraat, Come On Over by Shania Twain, BE by BTS, Go Go Diva by La Rappresentante di Lista, Kick by INXS (depending on your interpretation I guess), Fetch the Bolt Cutters by Fiona Apple, Run the Jewels 4 by Run the Jewels (if you ignore the "4"), Watch Out! by Wells Fargo, Set My Heart on Fire Immediately by Perfume Genius, Let It Grow by Mountain Brews, Get Bleak by Ducks Unlimited, Help Us Stranger by the Raconteurs, Free Yourself Up by Lake Street Dive, and Keep It Clean by Innanet James.

 

Okay, we're back. Please enjoy this album (and/or the archives and/or the playlist) and let us know if you wanna write about it this week! Record Club is more fun when you participate!

WEEK 110 — March 7-13, 2021

What we're listening to this week (Brittany's pick):

ALBUM: Push Back

ARTIST: Jetty Bones

RELEASED: February 26, 2021

WHAT GENRE IS THIS: I've seen "'80s-tinged indie pop" so let's run with that

WHY BRITTANY PICKED IT: "Well two reasons actually. I bought a ticket two years ago to see Mat Kerekes in Philly, at that batting cages venue which I think has since closed. But Jetty Bones was the opener. I ended up missing the entire show because I got stuck in a lab at school. But then this song kept popping up on my Spotify and I really liked it. Turned out it was 'better' by Jetty Bones. Just saw she dropped a new album last week!"

TRACKLIST:

1. Waking Up Crying
2. Nothing
3. That's All
4. Everything
5. Taking Up Space
6. Ravine
7. Waking Up Exhausted
8. Bad Time
9. Dolly
10. Bad Trick
11. Bug Life

LENGTH: 31:57

WHERE TO LISTEN FOR FREE: I made a playlist on YouTube for y'all. There was actually already one on there, but whoever made it added a random song by a completely different band right in the middle of it. What the fuck is up with that? That's not the first time I've seen something like that on YouTube. Honestly, it's why I usually link to Bandcamp when possible. Get this album onto Bandcamp, Jetty Bones!

READING SOME SHIT: American Songwriter gives a trigger warning about this album, so PoYB will too. TRIGGER WARNING, y'all. Discussions about suicide both in the article and on the album.

Happy listening, fam! Have a great week!

A Year of Blind Spots: The Raincoats

I mean, there's probably no way to avoid the Velvet Underground & Nico comparison, right? Between the dogged persistence of a screechy violin, a guitar that rejects the leash, the dulcet tones of a female vocal performance that feels as emotionally right as it sounds technically wrong, pounding drums that refuse to keep steady time, music both rooted in the punk tradition and also a little too weird to be considered straight-up punk (proto-punk, post-punk, whichever). The Raincoats might not be similar to The Velvet Underground & Nico in spirit or in stature, but in sound, the resemblance is there. 

 

As always with these extended comparisons, they only hold up without any measurable scrutiny. There's the big difference of the male-to-female ratio being skewed in opposite directions, obviously. And, like, they cover "Lola" at one point, and that shit doesn't sound anything like VU or Nico.

And, like I said, there is no way to compare the two albums in stature, with Velvet Underground & Nico being one of the most famous and influential albums in the rock canon, and The Raincoats not being known to many people at all. Maybe that's a shitty assumption, but I at least had never heard of them until Rolling Stone ranked them #398 on their new Top 500 Albums All Time list. (There are a few albums picked up from that list and transferred to my Year of Blind Spots list, and this is the first one so far.)

I have to wonder what the self-titled debut of the late-'70s / early-'80s punk band the Raincoats is even doing at #398, to be honest, even after listening to it all week and mostly enjoying it for what it was. The #398 position isn't necessarily lofty, but it would require multiple votes. What's the deal with that?

If you google around about the Raincoats, the most prominent factoid you'll come across is that Kurt Cobain was a Raincoats superfan, and was integral in the album's American reprinting in the early '90s. He even wrote the liner notes for that reissue. And at a certain point, I have to wonder if this is the only reason anyone would ever say that they "love" The Raincoats—because Cobain loved it too, and Kurt Cobain is the all-time epitome of cool, and so on.

I get it. I enjoyed this album for the most part, and if you connect the dots, then I never would've listened to it if Kurt Cobain didn't love it. That's a fact. But what it mostly got me thinking about is the value of music referrals from musicians that I like, and how musical suggestions from famous artists shouldn't necessarily be taken more seriously than your pals in real life. The temptation is there to assume that if you like the music that Kurt Cobain created, then you're going to like the music he consumed. But I'm starting to think that that's not always necessarily the case. 

You could look at it like an artist's music being a reaction to his influences, and your enjoyment of his art being a reaction to the music, and those two reactions are completely separate and not always related. The first reaction is not always a reflection. If that makes sense.

If it doesn't, then fuck me. Just suffice it to say that you will probably find some junk to like on The Raincoats, like if you're going through the kids' toy chest and you find something they haven't played with in months, but also, maybe don't take my or Cobain's word for it.

Sound the People, Brittany

I tend to avoid listening to music like this—I don’t know why. So this group and album were way out of my scope of familiarity. I decided to give it a go anyway.  Popped them on my Spotify on Wednesday morning, and wow. What a treat! I was pleasantly surprised. It was great. I liked how upbeat it was, how lively it was. It reminded me of Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights (which to me is a good thing). I pictured sipping on a piña colada or some saucy cocktail on a warm beach in the Caribbean or something. I’ve really got nothing else to say. I thoroughly enjoyed it, would listen again, would see live in concert and yeah... definitely surprised at how much I was rocking out to Red Baraat.

Sound the People, Rachel S.

Well... this was a delight to unfold! I am watching the Tiny Desk concert and BOY OH BOY, does this make me wistful for outdoor summer concerts. This has very big XPN Fest vibes! This is the band you're like "I guess I'll sit in the grass and listen to while I wait for the headliner... wait? This rules! I AM VIBING. I am ashamed of my grass-sitting assumptions!!!"

Also, now that we're a year into the pandemic/pandemmy/panorama, I know I'm feeling insane, depressed, anxious, in disbelief, sometimes all at once! Dancing is good for that. In fact, my therapist recommends getting up and moving around at least once an hour. So why not DANCE IT OUT, you know?

The album itself is as expansive as the sound itself. It's dance hall. It's meditative. It's political. It's big. It's chill. It's jazz. It's funk. It's who the band Beirut would have toured with if they were still making music, probably. It's something I probably wouldn't have found and enjoyed without Record Club.

Also, the John Hodgman feature? BE MORE BROOKLYN, I DARE YOU.

My one gripe is that in a band with this many members, with this many instruments... y'all couldn't find one woman to jam with (other than a singular spoken vocal feature)? Hmmft.

Sound the People, Sunny

It's the RC world tour. This is solid Bhangra/Baraat-style music (a subject I know nothing about really), elevated with a bit of modern fusion and style. The album starts out straight-forwardly enough in "Next Level" with a focus on the dhol and the flutes that comprise the bulk of the music. The tempo switches a couple of times, showing the range bhangra likes to work in. "Kala Mukhra" introduces vocals with an Indian timbre to the mixing, probably the most "traditional" song on the album.

From there, Jain opens up the project. "Mere Yaar Ki Shaadi" has the length and progression of a "big" bhangra dance song, but with some modern conveniences. The album's introduced itself and led us to this, the main event, made special through things like a saxophone solo. The album continues to play around with fusion. "Moray Gari Suno" adds guitar, a unique and welcome accompaniment particularly as the song speeds into its ending. "Holi Ke Din", the last big dance number, reminiscent of the album art itself, has the most "modern" feel of the bhangra dance tracks. The sax, the soundboard, all the tricks are here, Holi hey.

The headier stuff? "Vibrations" is kinda cool, and I jive with it. "Punjaub March" is a nice callback. "Sound the People," however, meh. The concept is OK but the execution really pratfalls. Alas, you tried.

The whole album, being what it is, is sort of interesting to listen in a studio context. It's sort of like listening to American Beauty, or something, but not quite, a band from a particular sub-region of a country (though maybe the Dead is that too), but either way someone you'd rather hear in concert, or even better, playing at a party you happen to be at.

p.s. not normally seeing people who share my name, it's funny to see two in the credits list. sunny/sonny is like "joey" over there. by over there i mean brooklyn, or something like that.

Sound the People, Joe

Church Pew:

 

The best part about Sound the People is how Red Baraat manages to sound unique and also incredibly familiar, both at once. At least to my Occidental ears, anyway. There is an unmistakable Eastern sound that ties all nine songs together on this album, and yet, through that journey, we come up against plenty of other sounds that Record Club has already covered—the ska of 340ml but with a fire lit under its ass, the surf punk of La Luz but awake from the dream, Theon Cross but with the tuba (correctly) moved to the background. And for better or worse, a lot of it blends together—the best moments do, anyway. I think "Meer Yaar Ki Shaad Hai" and "Holi Ke Din" are clear high points, but I wouldn't be able to tell them apart if you quizzed me. Low points are when Red Baraat is clearly stretching past their comfort zone. "Vibrations" sounds just as bad as the Inaugural Poet did in January (man, I hate beat poetry). "Punjaub March" is a disorienting and disappointing way to end the album. And while I like "Sound the People," and especially appreciate the honest and fiery call to arms, I do think that it stands as somewhat of an outlier here, and also serves to dim the otherwise bright and happy mood that Red Baraat has sweated to established. Overall, there's much more to like than dislike here, and even if everything I like starts to amalgamate after a while, I still appreciated it every time I listened to it this week.

 

Open Bar:

 

It was only like six weeks ago that I was closing my eyes and picturing myself drunkenly performing the ritual of making a fool of myself on a dancefloor at some wedding hall, and that was to some half-baked K-pop. This, this is legitimately, certifiably designed to be wedding music. That is explicitly the point. I find that fascinating in the same hands-off way I am fascinated by cultures that I am not all that familiar with. Would I actually ever find myself dancing to bhangra at a wedding? Hopefully! But probably not! The last song played at my and Pam's wedding was Iggy Azalea's "Fancy"! A little different! But there is a certain universal joy to be found at weddings that transcends genre. It's no coincidence that this is probably the seventh or eighth Record Club review that has explicitly pictured that week's music as music to be played at a wedding. We find happiness in music, we find happiness at a wedding reception, and often the idea of both, together, in one's mind, can mutual heighten each respective emotion. When I first gave Sound the People a solid listen, I was on a cold 12th Street, next to the Convention Center, standing in line, eyes mostly closed, picturing myself at a wedding, any wedding really, listening to Sunny Jain and his merry band of misfits dhol their way through a pretty appealing set of traditional Indian slash jazz slash ska(?) slash surf(?) slash beat poetry slash hip hop slash DANCE music, most of it gratifying, not always hitting the mark (man, I fucking hate beat poetry), but when the mark is hit, fuck man, it's euphoric. The album ended and I was ready for an actual wedding. Got the first dose of the vaccine just so I could help make it happen, hopefully, sometime soon.

GRADE: 3 pukes out of 5

Never Seen It, #39 of 200: Coming to America

About eleven months ago or so, I was bored and decided to make a big list of 200 movies I have never seen before. Here is the list. Below is the next movie on that list, and what I have to say about it.

Coming to America

1988

I used to run into this problem all the time in my The Albums That Matter column—the constraints of working through the list alphabetically can occasionally provide a less-than-ideal viewing order. With Coming to America, my thought is: as someone who is not necessarily familiar with Eddie Murphy's filmography, was this the right film to start with?

Probably not. If I was committed to "understanding Eddie Murphy," then maybe I would start with Beverly Hills Cop (one of those movies that I was surprised didn't end up on the list, looking back). Maybe I should watch Eddie Murphy Raw (not a movie, but still, it's the most popular taped stand-up performance of all time). Maybe I should work my way through the Shrek series (I've watched the first one 67 times the past month, but haven't seen any of the numerous sequels, as far as I remember). Maybe I should watch Stephan perform "Party All the Time" at karaoke (god, remember karaoke?!).

There is a thrill in knowing an actor to be one thing, and then to see him knock that perception down completely and surprise you with something new and equally exciting, and I think by watching the latter first, you're robbed of that experience. Plus, to say that Eddie Murphy's performance in Coming to America was the best thing about the movie means nothing coming from me, since the only thing I have to compare it to is his performance as a cartoon donkey and his flatulent performance in multiple fat suits.

And maybe this really is all because I haven't seen many Eddie Murphy vehicles and have made some bad assumptions, but I was absolutely thrilled at the notion of him giving an honest and grounded performance. Especially because these types of movies—the "stranger in a strange land" comedy—are usually centered around a bumbling, outrageous, and obnoxious fool. Picture Borat trying to use a fax machine or whatever. I just assumed that Coming to America, which is about an African Prince (Murray) coming to America to find his one true love, was going to feature a main character closer to Ace Ventura.

Because that's easy, right? At least for comedies. Repulsive obnoxiousness—maybe a character like Ron Burgundy—is easy for cheap laughs. But to have your main protagonist be a largely educated, well-mannered, a good-hearted member of royalty is a bigger challenge. And can you blame me for assuming that the Klump didn't have it in him? That's what happens when you are ignorant and you try to write on a blog about your ignorance.

So if anything, I loved Coming to America because I was afraid it was going to be exactly the type of comedy that I hate, and it ended up being... well, not that. I guess you could call it a relief more so than anything else.

It's not even like my perceptions of Eddie Murphy as a comedian were completely reshaped by this film. Consider too the fact that, not only does he play the wonderfully winning lead in Prince Akeem, Murphy also plays the frontman of the fictional band Sexual Chocolate, an outspoken barber shop owner, and a Jewish senior citizen patron of said barber shop (the latter in white face, making Murphy completely unrecognizable). I could see Murphy playing Clarence the Barber Shop Owner as a lead character in another movie, and that would be a movie I would absolutely detest. Clarence is basically a older black Ace Ventura, and y'all know how I felt about that.

Clarence and the other secondary Murphy performances were only a small fraction of Coming to America, however. Closer to cameo than supporting role, honestly. My theory is that Murphy's primary comedic speed is absolute mania, it's first-gear for him, and so he needed these secondary roles in the movie to act as sort of a pressure valve. He needs to yell at high volumes and high speeds in funny voices, and by confining that grating behavior to bit parts, he was able to just let it all out and then use the remaining calmness and humility in his main role. Would I watch a movie starring Clarence the barber? FUCK no. But would I watch a movie that features his rabid ranting around the edges, which allows the center to still hold? I just did, and it was pretty great.

Okay, I don't want to go overboard with the praise. This was a very good comedy. It was probably held back from being GREAT by its predictability. As soon as the premise is laid out—a prince wants a woman to love him for who he is, and decides to find that woman in Queens—then you can already guess where it's all headed. You know that Prince Akeem is going to find a great girl, that he'll have to win her despite the obstacle of her shitty boyfriend, that they will fall in love, that they will fall apart due to some misunderstanding, and that by the end, they'll be married. Nothing about the plot of Coming to America is surprising.

However, if there were indeed no large-scale surprises in terms of structure or plot, then there were plenty of tiny surprises littered throughout the movie that made Coming to America a funny one, scene-to-scene at least. I cracked up a lot more at the subtle touches around the margins—like when a baby elephant interrupts a conversation and everyone finds that to be normal, or like Prince Akeem calmly asking to wipe his own ass, or James Earle Jones getting excited about fucking his bath maid. Me and Pam were fucking dying at the tiny little bit when Akeem gifts Lisa expensive earrings and writes on the note "from your secret admirer... not Darryl." The final two words of the note are just a fucking masterclass of genius in subtlety.

I wonder how much that has to do with director John Landis. Landis also directed Animal House, and I see a lot of a similar type of humor—not so much content, but more so how it's delivered. Understated, deadpanned, humble, however you want to describe it. I'm sure the praise can be passed around—the director, the actors, maybe even Paula Abdul, who choreographed the big dance scene a few minutes into the film.

But that would require me to watch more movies—more Eddie Murphy movies, more John Landis movies, etc.—and I'm trying! But it's a long process! And it's a lot tougher when you have alphabetical constraints!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sequel

This will never happen again in the Never Seen It series, so let's appreciate this coincidence while it's here. Within 24 hours of this blog post's publishing, a SEQUEL will be released for the movie we are discussing. Yes, folks, Coming 2 America is coming to Amazon Prime tomorrow, March 5, 2021, almost 33 years after the original.

This is an almost unbelievable coincidence. I swear to god I had no idea that a new Coming to America film was coming out the same week I planned on watching the original. It actually caused a little bit of confusion in our household. First, Pam told me that "Coming to America is gonna be streaming on Amazon soon." But she didn't see the "2" instead of a "to" in the title. So the next piece of confusion was me assuming that Coming 2 America had come out in the 1990s or whatever. I had assumed that, like a lot of these older comedies, a sequel was pumped out quickly as a money-maker (which was itself confusing because then why is Amazon advertising a movie that came out in the '90s?). Nope, didn't realize until right before we watched Coming to America that Coming 2 America was a brand new movie. Confusion #3 was why Amazon Prime would show a preview to a sequel right before screening the original movie. Spoilers, yo!!!!

Anyways, Coming 2 America, like most comedy sequels, sounds pretty awful—now it's Akeem's son who has the yearning heart, you see. But I'm only assuming that it's bad from reading any brief description I could find online, and we see what happened, with Coming to America, when I make assumptions. Sometimes, I find out that the movie is infinitely better than what I had ignorantly assumed. Not sure if I'm going to watch it, but it's definitely funny that we are discussing it at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

GRADE: 3.5 pukes out of 5 (I give this grade out a lot, I realize. I'm sorry, but also, I just mostly really like movies for the most part, and am rarely disgusted or ecstatic about them.)

NEXT TIME: Not mentioned above was that Eddie Murphy honed a lot of his typical shtick on Saturday Night Live, but when we watch Coneheads, mentioning my least favorite TV show of all time will probably be unavoidable.

Never Seen It, #38 of 200: The Color Purple

A list appears. 200 movies, never seen. The list slowly disappears, one movie at a time, over an extended period of time.

The Color Purple

1985

"All my life, I has to fight."

Not knowing anything about The Color Purple, I clearly had no idea that Kendrick Lamar was quoting it in the intro to his 2015 protest song, "Alright" (let alone that he was quoting Oprah fucking Winfrey). So credit to both Lamar and Winfrey for taking the words of The Color Purple author Alice Walker and making them so emotive and impactful in their separate (but related) contexts.

And no credit to me for being tempted to revert back to an old standby in this essay regarding The Color Purple (the film). The temptation is to say "Maybe this entertainment is not for me." Not in that I didn't like it and am being kind or whatever, but that maybe I, Joe K***, a straight white male, am not The Color Purple's intended audience. My argument today isn't whether this is true or false, but whether that's even a valid form of film criticism at all. 

Probably because of the "all my life" connection, I was thinking about how I responded to To Pimp a Butterfly in 2015. I wrote about the indie rock / hip hop dichotomy, mostly, and yeah, that's something I still struggle with. But I also think the inference was that I "was too white" to appreciate what was clearly an empowering statement album for the black community, and so my response was a lazy one—why try to understand it at all if it wasn't meant for me?

I call that "lazy" because I'm starting to understand that there is a difference between understanding something and relating to something. Just because I have never been in the exact situation that a character in a movie is in doesn't mean I can't learn something from it, or capture whatever type of emotion or message that the film is trying to convey.

Look, this is pretty basic human understanding, and I'm sorry that I feel the need to type it all out and possibly cause you to roll your eyes. Yes, of course there is more to film than that trite requirement of seeing yourself in it. Film would be stagnant if everyone in every film looked exactly like you and portrayed lives exactly like your life. I guess I'm just trying to say that, in the past, I've appreciated films through which I'm able to gain some personal insight—which is fair—and have conversely tended to slightly discount film (and music, and TV, and whatever) that did not provide me with such an opportunity. And I don't want to be like that anymore. I think there's value to be found in all film, regardless of how I feel about myself after watching it.

I think it also gets a little tricky when it comes to matters of race in/of entertainment, and that's because I am fully aware that white people have a long and storied history of ignoring racial injustice that is staring them in the face—from America's founders writing "All men are created equal" before heading back to their slave-operated plantations, to my grandma's recent racist "What's next, we're not allowed to use black and white crayons?!?!" Facebook posts—and I refuse to be part of that tradition.

And that determination to be a better person conflicts with the fear that maybe one might be intruding on someone else's tradition or story or life, in some of the questions of "Should I appreciate this movie as much as I do?" and "Am I worthy in participating in this discussion at all?" and the like. I think about episode from Atlanta, when Earn and Vanessa attend a Juneteenth soirée co-hosted by a white man who is deeply into African culture and history. It was made abundantly clear that this dude was incredibly knowledgeable and—more importantly—very well-intentioned, and yet, he still made Earn extremely uncomfortable. I just have this fear that, if I try to talk about The Color Purple in any meaningful way, that I'm going to make someone uncomfortable.

This isn't just a Joe thing—director Steven Spielberg himself questioned whether he should be the one directing such a story, since he is white. Quincy Jones convinced Spielberg to do it by arguing "did you need to be an alien to direct E.T.?" (By the way, this marks the second time in Never Seen It when a black man had to convince a white man that his film was okay, after Richard Pryor "gave permission" for Mel Brooks to drop a plethora of N-words in Blazing Saddles.) 

 

I don't even know if the Joe/Steven comparison is a fair one. I didn't intend to put Spielberg on blast here, but there has to be different responsibilities for the filmmaker and the film-watcher, right? Like, it probably would've been more appropriate for a black man to tell this story. No, strike that, it would've been more appropriate for a black woman to tell this story. But I also understand that societal change is glacial, and that in 1985, we were at the point where the question was at least asked (if dismissed). By 2020, we were at the point when a white Pixar director acknowledged that he might not be the perfect person to tell the story of a black jazz musician, and so he hired a black man to co-direct with him. We're not quite there, but we're headed in the right direction.

But as the audience, we are consuming the entertainment and engaging with it. I'm finding that there's a responsibility to do so if the film features something that was previously unknown to the viewer. That's the difference. 

I'm all over the place with this, so I'm sorry. If I could sum it up, I'd say this: in the past, I was always willing to avoid confrontation with art if I was able to say that "this isn't intended for me," when really, most (good) art is universal, and it's up to me to not be a cheap lazy shit and to search for that connection.

So I guess we can turn to the second half of this essay, in which I try to find that connection, and try to determine what I can personally extract from The Color Purple. (Even now, I am debating whether to just end the essay now, but that would be counterproductive, wouldn't it? To talk at length about how I've been lazy in my art criticism, and then lazily cut it short?)

What is this movie about? Well, it tells the multi-decade story of Celie, a black woman in the deep south in the early 1900s. We follow her through the years as she deals with abuse at the hands of her father and, later, her husband (to whom she was sold, basically). It's a tale of struggle, for sure, but it's also a tale of finding strength in the protection of family and loved ones, and holding onto hope even when life beats you down. 

When I put it that way, I guess it's easier to find empathy with the protagonist then I originally thought (and indeed, the family reunion at the end is a tearfully joyous one for both those in and watching the film). But that might be because I'm talking generally. To get a little more specific, this is a story about the strength of women, and finding strength in other women. Not that The Color Purple isn't a film that portrays a black experience, but considering the "woman experience" might be the more poignant path (unless you wanna talk about the cartoonishly evil Ms. Millie, sure).

In the world of The Color Purple (and, I assume, in real life around this particular time and place), women are subservient to men. Celie is raped by her father, has her children snatched from her, is sold into a marriage that basically amounts to slavery, and is constantly beaten down by the men in her life, both physically and verbally. This isn't a situation unique to Celie—Oprah's Sofia is strong-willed, and stands up to the men in her life, and she pays the price dearly for daring to do so.

So if I'm asking what I—as a white male—can take away from The Color Purple, then the easy answer is that it's important to maintain some semblance of hope in even the most trying situations. But the hard answer is that this is really how it was, and while society has made great gains in gender equality, there still exists today shades of the dynamic portrayed in The Color Purple. 

Even that analysis might be a little too pat. I dunno. It's tricky. I read that, around the time of the film's release, a lot of black men accused The Color People of being racist, because the black men in this film were almost universally portrayed as despicable monsters (despite any last-minute redemption that I'll let you discuss among yourselves). But that definitely seems like a conversation I should have no part in. I don't think I should have any say one way or the other how a community that I'm not a part of should or should not be portrayed on screen. 

 

All I can do is consider what the movie intends to be, and then consider whether it was successful. I think that The Color Purple was intended to be a heartwarming tale of keeping a spark of hope alive in a lifetime of storms, and through some great acting—hey, Whoopi was really good in this!—and some interesting set pieces, and by telling its moving story clearly and competently, I do think that The Color Purple achieved success. I do not know if it was intended for white audiences to engage as well, and to take stock of their own lifestyles, opinions, world outlooks, and so on. But if it was, then I consider The Color Purple a success in that regard as well.

This blog post was written stream-of-consciousness, for the most part, and I am pointing that out now because I want to acknowledge that I use stream-of-consciousness too as a defense mechanism. I am uncomfortable talking about certain issues in art, and I probably always will be. But my tangential takeaway from watching The Color Purple is that I have to stop being so dismissive of art that isn't necessarily made "for me," whatever the fuck that means. It's not fair to the movie, because this is a good film and deserves to be discussed by everyone, and it's not fair to my own audience, who might as well not even show up if I'm gonna continue with shit like "I watched this but I don't think it was for me" or whatever. That's lazy and pointless. No more.

Anyways, The Color Purple. Good film.

GRADE: 3.5 pukes out of 5

NEXT TIME: Coincidentally, we watch another movie that could reasonably considered part of a so-called "black film canon," though Coming to America might be a little different in tone than The Color Purple—but we'll see!

Song of the Day: "Alright to Hide"

"Alright to Hide"

Langhorne Slim

from Strawberry Mansion

2021

 

I wonder how dated these so-called "quarantine albums" are eventually going to become. And I'm not talking about music that is retroactively "about COVID" because we made it so—like, e.g., Empty Country, which I'll always listen to and think about the early days of the pandemic, even though the timing was coincidental—I'm talking about music that was specifically made during our global house arrest. And I'm not talking about music that could be about the pandemic—one of my biggest pet peeves recently is reading interviews with musicians and a question is asked like "I know this album was recorded before last March but it's striking how poignant the lyrics are to these trying times don't you think?" as if COVID-19 invented loneliness and isolation—I'm talking about music specifically about the weird, mostly awful bullshit we went through from mid-March 2020 through today.

 

I can't even say I've listened to too much music within those specific parameters, possibly because musicians are aware that "COVID music" is going to age horrendously (or maybe because, like all of us, musicians were a lot less productive while being stuck at home). Albums like The Black Hole Understands or folklore technically count (the latter will be without a doubt known as the best "quarantine album," should such a ranking ever be put together), but combing through the lyrics on those albums requires a lot of connecting-the-dots and inferences.

 

If you want music that is ultra-specific in its references to and stories about the 2020 COVID pandemic, then please now turn to local boy Langhorne Slim's new album, Strawberry Mansion. The listener is not required to connect any dots on this album. When he's singing about seeking psychiatric help or sending pictures of your cat or seeking refuge in Wildwood, NJ (no, really) or lending a helping hand during a "plague," you know exactly what he is referring to. Because you lived it too. Langhorne Slim was right there with you, stuck at home, doing the same bullshit you were doing to get through the day, except he did it next to a piano and a guitar, and decided to write songs about it.

 

I have no idea how this music, or this album, is going to sound in a year or two, once all this is behind us (he types with fingers crossed). It's possible that it's going to sound pretty cloying, like the thousands of Vietnam protest songs that were rightly discarded after the scars of war faded. It's also possible that this music sounds terrible right now; that will depend on how much you like Langhorne Slim, I guess. I personally find him, and have always found him, charming.

I'm thinking back to the unkind words I had about Weezer's OK Human, how much I hated specific references to COVID on that one (as if Rivers Cuomo was ever going to interview for a job on Zoom). Either you want to call me a hypocrite (which would be fair in many ways), or maybe Slim is just better at softly integrating such general COVID-related observations into his music. It sounds natural in "Alright to Hide," for instance, when he sings such lines as "Something's going on out there," and "Don't be a dummy, honey, come back inside," and "Send ya some pictures of us getting fat" and "People got a lot to say when they're locked up away" and all that. He sings them like they are normal observations. That's maybe the trick—he sings 'em normally because, for a while, and occasionally still, it was normal.

Or it could just be the music, I dunno. "Alright to Hide" kinda reminds me of Randy Newman, which I like a lot, even after watching the Toy Story movies three-hundred and eighty-seven times last year. Some of the songs of Strawberry Mansion are even better. Most of the nineteen tracks are close to or under two minutes, and most just feature Slim on guitar or piano or both. It's simple and it's sweet and it's pretty enjoyable.

But the whole COVID thing is really the thing that binds me to this album so much. I just find it fascinating that an artist could sing about something so incredibly specific and so insanely stuck-in-a-specific-time, and still succeed. If you're like me, looking around at the number of daily deaths, and wondering why people are acting so differently this March than they were last March, then rip of the band aid with Langhorne Slim. It'll be the most gentle and fun band aid ripping you'll ever know.

Album of the Week: Sound the People

Well, I hope everyone enjoyed last night's big event!! Post Malone!! In a virtual concert!! Celebrating National Pokémon Day!!!

If you somehow missed it, don't worry, we're here to treat your wounds with some more good music. We have the archives, the playlist, and the new Album of the Week below. Let me know if you wanna write about it in between multiple streams of the Pokémon concert!!!!!

WEEK 109 — February 28-March 6, 2021

What we're listening to this week (Joe's pick):

ALBUM: Sound the People

ARTIST: Red Baraat

RELEASED: June 29, 2018

WHAT GENRE IS THIS: Bhaṅgṛā-jazz-funk fusion

WHY JOE PICKED IT: Me and Willow and Martha were surfing the Tiny Desk Concert YouTube channel a few weeks ago and all three of us were pretty thrilled when we randomly watched the one featuring this band. Also—the bandleader's name is Sunny!!!

TRACKLIST:

1. Next Level
2. Kala Mukhra
3. Mere Yaar Ki Shaadi
4. Vibrations
5. Sound the People
6. Moray Gari Suno
7. Ghadar Machao
8. Holi Ke Din
9. Punjaub March

LENGTH: 40:09

WHERE TO LISTEN FOR FREE: Bandcamp

READING SOME SHIT: Stereogum has a nice little write-up from 2018, but it veers a little too far into "review" territory, and I usually don't like including reviews in this section (don't want to muddy the waters when we're trying to write our own reviews, ya know?). So here's a much older, much shorter piece from Mother Jones (so old, in fact, that Sunny Jain is asked to hit "shuffle" on his iPod, and he is able to do so without question).

Happy listening, fam! Have a great week!

A Year of Blind Spots: Bleach

Bleach is, if only in the very specific context of regular Puke on Your Birthday blog columns, pretty similar to Broken Flowers. Only, the Never Seen It list is explicitly comprised of films I have never seen, so Broken Flowers' inclusion was pretty iffy. I never really stated that A Year of Blind Spots had to be new to me, exactly. I was gifted Bleach for Christmas many, many years ago, and I don't even think it ever made it onto my iPod, so turned off was I at the time. 

But, of course, musical tastes change over time, especially over the twelve or so years since I've listened to Nirvana's debut album. I can see why Teen Joe was turned off by Bleach's whole aesthetic—it is abrasive and purposefully unmelodic. If Nevermind was just barely polished enough to take a stronghold of popular culture, then Bleach is the rawness before "polish" was even in Nirvana's dictionary.

I don't mean to exaggerate. I listened to In Utero today too, and I am still taken aback by how heavy that album is. And that was after Nirvana's international success. So, like, imagine how coarse Bleach might sound, being the album before any sort of popularity or success fucked Kurt Cobain up in the head (permanently).

It's kind of like how you acquire a taste for spicy foods when you get older. By the time you hit your 30s, your tongue has taken enough of a beating that you are starting to crave spicier and spicier foods. The kick that was so unappealing when you were younger seems like a baseline now. So it goes with music, too, apparently. That crass, loud, harsh music being emitted from my Walkman as Bleach spun inside of it is hitting the exact right spot currently, now that I'm older and need stronger and stronger shit.

And It's Still Alright, Sean E.

I like this album and I like Nathaniel Rateliff's previous albums (they were more blues and this is more folk, which is a nice change of pace). However—and this is a big however—I just could not get that into the album this week. I do not think this is a reflection of the album, but a reflection of me. We are almost a year into this pandemic and I have not seen family or friends in months. While I am sympathetic to Nathaniel's themes of Americana and depression, I am just not feeling it right now. Instead, I jammed out to the Judas and the Black Messiah soundtrack (haven't seen the movie yet) and the song "drivers license" (hadn't heard of it till SNL). The Judas and the Black Messiah soundtrack fucking slaps and the song "drivers license" is so unbelievably catchy and angsty that it makes me laugh. I like rocking out to good music and laughing. Perhaps one night this summer, after doing both of the aforementioned activities all day, I will crank up the album And It's Still Alright with some friends, sip some whiskey, and chill. Until then...

Red lights, stop signs

I still see your face in the white cars, front yards

Can't drive past the places we used to go to

'Cause I still fuckin' love you, babe (ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)

And It's Still Alright, Sunny

A friend heard me listening to this on the way out the other day, remarking how he likes music with optimistic themes in a tough life, beset by somber tunes to package it ("Expecting to Lose"). "And It's Still Alright" is the locus of And It's Still Alright with this sort of feeling which Rateliff can really play in. The album art primes one to imagine just a dude and his guitar, in the woods, singing about various parts of life.

But for ten tracks, Nateliff works to stretch out past "just" singer-songwriter folk. The downplayed guitar and strings of "All or Nothing" shows an immediate contrast to "Still Alright." Or contrast the squashed vocals of "Mavis" in a large soundscape next to the coffeeshop crisp lyric of "You Need Me." Rateliff has enough range and gravitas to do these long, drawn out soul-wails and while having plenty of "do do doo"s.

The album ends with the six-min+ "Rush On" where all limiters are off. In a vacuum, it would be too hammy. But that gravitas, put on full display with the subject, after being laundered across nine tracks beforehand, I'm here for it. And around then it clicks that Rateliff both is and isn't just one dude and his guitar in the woods.