Feather Beds – The Skeletal System

I'd like to think I'm an omnivorous listener, open to many genres and styles, but really, who am I kidding? I'm inexorably tied to the music of the mid to late '90s, when I was in my late teens and early 20s: Yo La Tengo's I Can Hear The Heart Beating As One, The Flaming Lips' Clouds Taste Metallic, Sparklehorse's Vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot. I rarely listen to those particular albums any more because they're so familiar, but their enduring appeal lies in the balance between songcraft and soundscaping – there's always a tune to hitch your ear to, plus plenty of interesting stuff going on within and around the songs to explore on repeat listens.

Michael Orange mines the same rich seam, and his debut album as Feather Beds, The Skeletal System, is a short, sweet distillation of this aesthetic. Nothing is played absolutely straight, but nothing is showily odd. The video for 'Animal Fat' visualises this effect nicely:

 

I know it's a kaleidoscope; you know it's a kaleidoscope. But can you look away? No. It's hypnotic. Understanding something doesn't necessarily make it less alluring. I hear what Orange is doing and it all sounds just right to me. I appreciate the craftsmanship that gently eases the album from more focused, melodic passages into ambient washes of sound. There's a lightness of touch, a gentle flexing of arrangements to make reflections glint off surfaces. A blurring. The pleasure of parallax as you stare out of a train window. Although I could happily zone out to tracks like 'Airbrushed' if they were two or three times as long, the restraint demonstrated on this lovely album keeps me coming back.

The Skeletal System is available as a limited edition CD on Happenin Records and for streaming on Spotify.

The White Birch – The Weight of Spring

The White Birch is time slowed down, moments drawn out, emotional burdens given their space to be felt. In the ten years since Come Up For Air, Ola Flottum has lost his mother, fathered two children, and bought a house in Oslo, where he's set up a basement studio. You can feel it. Despite the air and light in the arrangements of these slow, sad songs, there's the weight of earth around them, the slow transformation of leaves into soil, the movement of feelings from felt sensations into memories.

The Weight of Spring is so uniform in its mood, so consistently poised, it's almost ambient music, tinting the room with melancholy. It glows and thrums with an internal rhythm that allows it to unfold naturally without the desperate need to grab your attention. If you're not moved by this music, you're not listening, not really – you're waiting to be impressed. Key to this is Flottum's voice, a strange, wavering, deflated instrument, and once you acclimatise to its timbre, it has its own unique beauty.

Most of these anti-gravity ballads are sparse and beatless, traced out lovingly on piano and strings. Whenever rhythms are introduced (such as on 'New York' 'Lamentation', 'Lantern' and 'Spring') it feels like the clouds parting, like feeling your heartbeat again after being slumped listless on the couch. It gets the blood flowing, lifts the mood, breaks the daze. The album also employs striking textural shifts to break the narcoleptic fog, such as the second half of 'Lantern' and 'Mother'. These moments need the context of their neighbouring songs to create their dramatic effect, which lends the album a wonderfully unified atmosphere.

I still feel like I'm coming to terms with the subtle shifts this album stirs within me. It needs more time to absorb. It needs more space to breathe it all in. It's truly beautiful.

Lazy Salon – 'Halo Hand' / 'DAM'

Sometimes a promo email grabs me immediately with a short description. In the case of Lazy Salon, all it took was "the stonier side of Yo La Tengo" to reel me in. And dammit, this new two-track, eighteen-minute release by Sean Byrne (ex-Twin Atlas, Mazarin, Azusa Plane, Photon Band, Lenola, BC Camplight) sounds exactly like the stonier side of YLT. Maybe a bit more layered and reverb-drenched, but definitely in the YLT lounge room, kicking back. (He's called himself Lazy Salon, just to drive the point home.) This is a very good thing. Oh wait, there's more from Sean: "new directions in layered hypnotic pop jammers". Dammit, this guy is good. Not only does he create awesome music, he can succinctly describe it in order to really draw people in. (Well, me at least.)

'Halo Hand' starts off as though you've just walked in on Ira, Georgia and James rehearsing 'I Heard You Looking'. It sounds like one of those staircase melody illusion things, as if the music is constantly ascending, spiralling upwards into the clouds. 'DAM' pulls off the same trick, but with a sleight-of-hand down-tempo intro before we're into prime YLT territory again, percussive details flitting around as distorted guitar leads shoot off like fireworks. Real head-out-the-car-window-while-summer-driving stuff. Beatific.

In addition to these two fantastic new songs, there are three more on the Lazy Salon website from last year, just sitting there for free download. (Hint: download them too, they're great.) Sometimes this music-via-the-internet thing is just too easy: someone living in New Jersey cranks out superb instrumental jams and uploads them to the internet; someone living in Melbourne hears about said instrumental jams via email, downloads them and blisses out. You know what to do.

Sam Atkin – Gently, Quietly

I like music that is simultaneously big and small. Both vast and intimate. Large enough to lose yourself in but human-sized, too. Sam Atkin's Gently, Quietly is such music.

It's skewed in such a way that my ears discern some sense of perspective, a feeling of momentum, without being able to predict where it's going to end up. I'm ushered along by streaming synths, vague rhythms like heartbeats, droning half-melodies and twinkling piano lines that break my heart. I follow where it leads because it's strange and beautiful.

I approach this music feeling immediately at home, though I don't know if I've heard anything exactly like it. Too uneasy and melancholy for 'New Age', too clean and radiant to be 'lo-fi', too lovingly mapped out and oddly accessible to be 'experimental'.

The best way to put it is that I can hear Atkin making the music while it's playing, right there within the music, responding to what's just happened, fiddling with filters or cooing into a pitchshifter. During the second half of 'Grove/Grown' he decides to pick up an acoustic guitar and strum a few open-ended chords and it sounds new, for fuck's sake. When was the last time anyone did that with an acoustic guitar? He even manages to use field recordings of flowing water and birdsong without upsetting the applecart. It all feels just right to me, without being predictable or cheesy.

Music this understated yet so deeply affecting is a rare thing. Go and listen and download over at Bandcamp.

Lower Dens – 'To Die in L.A.'

If I didn't know Beach House producer Chris Coady had a hand in Lower Dens' forthcoming third album Escape From Evil, I probably could've guessed from listening to their new single 'To Die in L.A.' It sounds so much like Beach House it's almost a parody. As gorgeous as Beach House's music may be, it's never really grabbed me. I mean, I can appreciate the husky desolation in Legrand's voice, the artisan's touch in the arrangement of their dreamy music, but I rarely go back for more. Lower Dens, on the other hand – I can't count the number of times I've played Twin Hand Movement and Nootropics.

On 'To Die in L.A.', the move into Beach House territory is, I'm hoping, just to tease out the highlights in Lower Dens' sound. This is the poppiest song off the new album, surely? It's a single – it's supposed to grab people. Vocals front and centre! Bright keyboard arpeggio! Chiming Strat! Brisk tempo! I can already picture sensitive twenty-somethings in cardigans grooving self-consciously around an indie disco... As usual, though, when I start paying attention to what Jana Hunter is singing, the song takes on a slightly different hue: "I wish I could count on you to be mine / But here I'm not crying / I'm just glad to be alive".

For now, I'm cynical about their new direction on the basis of this single. Hopefully the musical momentum of Lower Dens 3.0 translates into something irresistible over the course of Escape From Evil, which comes out on Ribbon Music on 30th March – just in time for my 38th birthday. Thanks, Lower Dens.

My 10 favourite albums of 2014

If there's one thing that's characterised 2014 for me, it's the realisation of how streaming affects my engagement with music. How much I get out of listening to music is only partly down to what I'm listening to – the rest is determined by the mood I'm in, what device I'm using to listen on, what kind of day I'm having, and what I'm doing at the time. Working in an office during the week, a lot of my music listening has been pretty passive, streaming stuff on Spotify while I do other things. My favourite albums have largely been those that really grabbed me while they were on in the background, so I had to save them for later to listen with focused attention, either on headphones during my commute or blasted in the car.

2014 has also been the year in which I've made a concerted effort to pay for more music. Streaming services like Spotify and SoundCloud are an incredible discovery tool, but it’s easy to forget that you can further support an artist you love by purchasing a download or CD via Bandcamp or at a bricks ’n’ mortar record store – if you can find one...

10. Morgan Delt – Morgan Delt (Trouble In Mind)
Although this album invites plenty of comparisons with classic psychedelic rock from the '60s and '70s, Morgan Delt doesn't remind me of any artist specifically, nor does it overemphasise any obvious production tricks to signify the psychedelic experience without actually embodying it. This magnificently warped half-hour is so deftly executed and full of memorable songs that it's almost too much. It wobbles and surges and oozes between your brain-fingers like chocolate. This is music to subject your consciousness to, and goosebumps are bound to follow.

9. Eiko Ishibashi – Car and Freezer (Drag City)
The only reason I've even heard of Japanese musician Eiko Ishibashi is because this album prominently features the multi-talented Jim O'Rourke, one of my musical heroes, plus it's just been released on Drag City. With vocals in both Japanese and English (not that it's necessary to follow the words to appreciate its beauty), Car and Freezer is a lovely album of feather-light jazz-pop that will surely sate any O'Rourke enthusiasts waiting for a follow-up to The Visitor, or fans of bands such as The Sea and Cake. And if you like this, its predecessor, Imitation of Life, is superb too.

8. Richard Dawson – Nothing Important (Weird World) 
I have an old friend to thank for introducing me to the wonders of Richard Dawson. Lyrics are more likely to turn me off a record than draw me to it, but in the case of Nothing Important's two vocal tracks, these are some of the funniest sung lines I've ever heard. Pair them with Dawson's overdriven acoustic guitar and it's truly something special – and the perfect antidote to over-earnest singer-songwriters. His guitar playing may be chaotic and astringent, but this whole album is infused with a warmth and humour that's infectious.

7. Fennesz – Bécs (Editions Mego)
While most fans of Fennesz's music favour the seminal Endless Summer, I'll go out on a limb and assert that Bécs is his best album, containing his single best piece, the staggering 'Liminality'. From just a guitar and a laptop, Fennesz constructs mighty edifices of shimmering sound, from the gentle and reassuring to the terrifyingly dense and imposing. Unlike Ben Frost's A U R O R A, which was thrilling on first exposure and quickly palled, Bécs has an approachability and melodic nous that rewards repeat listens.

6. Owen Pallett – In Conflict (Domino)
In Conflict's appeal is immediate, its beauty obvious, but its motivations and through-lines feel like they’re just around the corner, dissolving into air or ducking into the shadows as you move thuggishly towards them. Pallett is a master at this stuff: melodies move in delicate arcs, lovingly coloured with brass and strings, his soft, supple voice reaching and harmonising with itself. Tracks flow together like water and the arrangements feel like natural, billowing things – part of the songs’ DNA rather than a later addition to make the music sound more epic and emotive. Rapturous stuff.

5. Daniel Lanois – Flesh and Machine (Anti)
Although perhaps best known for his collaborations with Brian Eno (yay) and U2 (boo), Daniel Lanois is a stunningly effective musician and producer in his own right, and this new instrumental collection plays to his strengths (dense overdubbing, hands-on mixing techniques, fearless sound manipulation). Veering from chaotic processed jams with drummer Brian Blade ('The End') to utterly gorgeous solo pedal steel ('Aquatic'), Flesh and Machine is a sensuous, immersive experience, abrim with kaleidoscopic textures.

4. Deerhoof – La Isla Bonita (Polyvinyl) 
The 10 songs on Deerhoof album number 12, recorded in guitarist Ed Rodriguez's basement, were originally intended as demos, but the band wisely decided to develop the rehearsal room recordings into final songs. If you've seen Deerhoof live, you'll know that their kinetic energy and instrumental interplay are a large part of their magic. The immediacy of these performances demonstrates that this approach has paid off dividends. This is easily among Deerhoof's best, and after the crushing disappointment of their last two full-lengths, a wonderful surprise.

3. Ian William Craig – A Turn of Breath (Recital)
Despite sharing three tracks with his wonderful 2013 album A Forgetting Place, I can forgive Ian William Craig because A Turn of Breath is the perfection of his art thus far. With just his voice, old reel-to-reel tape machines and some occasional guitar, Craig conjures forth an awe-inspiring, heavenly sound, akin to angels singing through a broken radio. Listening to this transcendent album feels like witnessing something crushingly beautiful in the process of falling apart forever. Thankfully we can listen to that process again and again.

2. Timber Timbre – Hot Dreams (Arts & Crafts)
Their name may be clunky, but Timber Timbre's music is masterfully conceived and executed. On the cover of Hot Dreams, we see the twin icons of Western material success, the car and the house, in a palm tree-lined street in (perhaps) the Hollywood Hills. Yet against the bleached-white sky, these parched husks take on a tragic dimension. Therein lies the key theme of this record: promises of glamour and happiness glow like neon in a strip club, yet behind this facade is a loneliness and despondency that threatens to erupt into violence.

1. Adult Jazz – Gist Is (Spare Thought)
This debut album by Leeds-based quartet Adult Jazz is such a thing of rare beauty, that to try and parse its singular appeal feels overwhelming and unnecessary. Overwhelming in the sense that there's so much wonderful stuff going on here that it's difficult to know where to begin. Writing about the music feels redundant, in the sense that it feels meaningless next to the experience of actually listening to it. All I can really say is listen to this album, because it's deliriously beautiful, inspiring and addictive. When I first discovered it, I listened to it on repeat for two weeks straight. 


Also recommended:
Amen Dunes – Love (Sacred Bones)
Bohren und der Club of Gore – Piano Nights (PIAS)
Children Of The Stones – The Stars and the Silence (Saint Marie)
Christina Vantzou – No. 2 (Kranky)
Flying Lotus – You're Dead! (Warp)
Locust – After the Rain (Editions Mego)
Peter Escott – The Long O (Bedroom Suck)
Protomartyr – Under Color of Official Right (Hardly Art)
Steve Gunn – Way Out Weather (Paradise of Bachelors)
Tape – Casino (Hapna)

Thom Yorke – Tomorrow's Modern Boxes

Thom Yorke's new solo album has arrived at an opportune moment for me. I'm in the midst of re-listening to all my favourite Radiohead albums, prompted by the news that the band are back in the studio working on the follow-up to The King of Limbs. I've even gone back to Atoms For Peace's disappointing Amok in search of Yorke-related goodness. Surely I'm primed to lap up this new surprise release? 

Before I even heard any of the music, the first thing Yorke got right is the pricing. I'll happily pay $6 for the digital download of an album by an artist I like, even without hearing any pre-release singles. (I'm less enamoured with the BitTorrent process, but that's an aside.) As far as the music's concerned, although there are some worthwhile tracks, mostly found in the first half, the album is bogged down by the limitations of Yorke's solo musical explorations: glitchy beats and bloops, plus Yorke's inimitable whine, trapped like a ghost in the machine. 

Single and opener 'A Brain In A Bottle' is probably the most fully realised song, counterbalancing ominous bass throb and eerie synth melodies with shuffling beats and Yorke's vulnerable, periodically echoed voice. However, it's immediately followed by the less-than-inspired 'Guess Again!', where the insistently crunchy rhythm really grates over its run-time.

For me, the one true stunner on this album is track 3, 'Interference', perhaps because it's not cluttered with Yorke's busy beatwork. In under three minutes, he runs a warm bath of electric piano and synth tones, then breathes his lonely vocal through the steam. It's followed by the very different but equally strong 'The Mother Lode' (note the correct spelling of 'mother lode', Mastodon). Even though I instinctively wince at the bass bounce and Burial-esque drum sounds of this lengthy upbeat workout, there's no denying it's catchy.

In contrast, 'Truth Ray' is almost sublimely dreary, its excruciatingly foot-dragging tempo made even more leaden by Yorke's moan of "Oh my god, oh my god". It's almost unbearable, but that's probably the intended effect. Boxes' longest track, 'There Is No Ice (For My Drink)', is punctuated by irritating high tom hits and vocal manipulations, richocheting around with very little direction before seguing into the piano and tape warble of 'Pink Section'. Patience is rewarded by the plaintive finale, 'Nose Grows Some', which oozes with ethereal atmosphere.

What's most frustrating about this release is the feeling that the songs are underdeveloped. Sounds are mostly looped then left to run for the duration of each track, with little to no variation or manipulation. When you place this music next to something like Syro by Yorke's beloved Aphex Twin, it sounds especially crude. Nevertheless, as with most of the music Yorke produces, there's a definite something that draws me back repeatedly. The aesthetic may not be especially original or groundbreaking – or even consistently effective – but there's no doubting that his morose songcraft can prove hypnotic.