Fascinations Grand Chorus “When You’re Mine”

Fascinations Grand Chorus are proudly retro, and write and record as though music history – and the technology associated with it – cut off around the early 1970s. “When You’re Mine” is expertly crafted early ’60s girl group pastiche, and unlike a lot of music that aims for this aesthetic there’s no irony or wink to it. It’s remarkably earnest, and the primary thing separating this from actual period music is that the production veers a bit too garage rock, though in a very good way. The most interesting thing in the track is the particular tone of the synthesizer, especially when it starts to flutter a bit near the end of the track.

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Ibeyi featuring Kamasi Washington “Deathless”

One of the weird things about 2017 is that the overwhelming majority of the music that’s been coming out was actually made in the year before, and so we’re only starting to hear songs written in the wake of last year’s election. Ibeyi’s new record is one of the records made in the immediate aftermath of that, and “Deathless” is a song they made with the intention of giving people strength. It’s not entirely about that – the verses reflect on an encounter with a racist cop in France – but that story just gives personal weight and resonance to the defiance of the chorus. The music is tense but groovy, with Kasami Washington’s emotive sax responding to the intense feeling of the vocal and allowing a bit of free movement in a track otherwise dominated by a heavy, rigid rhythm.

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Squeeze “Rough Ride”

“Rough Ride” is one of Squeeze’s most ambitious songs, a sleek disco number that tosses in some sax, a choir, and an opera singer for a bit of extra flavor. The music evokes both opulence and community, which mirrors the sentiment of Chris Difford’s lyrics, which lament the steady removal of the working class from the hyper-gentrified contemporary London. Glenn Tilbrook, whose voice typically sounds affable and charming, takes on a sour tone in plainly uttering the subtext of every interaction in the city: “There’s nothing for you here / why don’t you move away?” And then a bit later at the end of the chorus, his voice shifts to a subtle blend of guilt, empathy, and weariness: “They can’t imagine the life that I’ve had / either you’re rich or it’s tough.”

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A$AP Mob featuring Joey Bada$$, Kirk Knight, Nyck Caution, Meechy Darko & Zombie Juice “What Happens”

My favorite type of rap song is the posse cut, no question. I just love the thrill of hearing as many rappers on a track as possible, and the contrast of voices and approach to lyrics and flow. I’m a Wu-Tang guy, and they are unquestionably the gold standard for this sort of thing. A lot of that comes down to RZA’s production – not just the aesthetics of it, but also his remarkable instinct for sequencing and structuring rap verses for maximum musical impact. He wasn’t just hearing the Wu guys as rappers, but as approximations of instruments in an arrangement – Ghostface is a trumpet, Method Man is a sax, U-God is a tuba. (Thinking of U-God in this way will make you like him a lot more, I promise. That and appreciating how much of his style is lifted from reggae toasting.)

Anyway, here we are in 2017 and RZA is revisiting his greatest strength, but with a totally different lineup of rappers. “What Happens” is an impressive congregation of nine young NYC rappers, representing three different crews – A$AP Mob, Pro Era, and Flatbush Zombies. It’s sorta like a present day equivalent of the “Buddy” remix, where De La Soul, A Tribe Called Quest, Jungle Brothers, and Queen Latifah all converged to capture the spirit of that moment in New York rap. The tone is very different, of course. The track approximates the tension and grit of classic Wu-Tang while having the digital gloss of latter day RZA material. I love the way the beat stutters, and how it puts this jagged frame around each rapper. The mic gets tossed around a lot through the cut, so key voices like Rocky, Ferg, and Joey keep popping up through the entire song. This is a smart approach, as there’s not as much variation of timbre and cadence in their voices so you can’t rely on major tonal or stylistic shifts to signal movement, but there’s more than enough energy just in hearing these guys bounce off each other.

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Cupcakke “Cartoons”

The chime sound looped through “Cartoons” lends an off-kilter psychedelic vibe to a rap track that is otherwise very aggressive and focused. Cupcakke’s voice has a punchy quality, so maybe it’s meant to feel like your head is spinning from getting pounded in the face with her words. As forceful as she is, she’s mostly being silly here – the entire chorus is funny wordplay on classic cartoons, and the verses are mostly clowning on lame guys and people who’ve had the nerve to doubt her. There’s a thing in rap where artists early in their career will brag as a way of willing their vision of themselves into reality, but that’s not quite what I hear on this song. She sounds confident but relieved, like she’s glad to just be the person rather than talk her way into it.

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Seventeen “Change Up”

One thing I find fascinating about K-Pop as an ultra-casual dilettante is the way English words are scattered through songs that are otherwise performed in Korean. This song by Seventeen is a rather bold example, as the entire hook is in English – “change up, change up, change up” – so if you’re not paying much attention to the verses, it kinda loosely scans as something that’d fit right in with American pop. It’s very easy to imagine a “Despacito” scenario in which Bieber or Drake hopped on the track and smuggled it into the US mainstream, as this is a supremely catchy and well-crafted bit of vaguely hip-hop pop music. My favorite element is the synthesized horn sound on the hook, but the core appeal of this track is the way it flows so effortlessly between a series of strong melodies. There’s a density to the construction of this song, but you never ever feel it.

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Taylor Swift “New Year’s Day”

The first music critic I read consistently was the New York Post’s Dan Aquilante, mainly because the Post was always around my house because my dad loved the sports section. Aquilante had an idea that would pop up in his writing now and again, and it’s stuck with me over the years: the final song on a record was usually an indication of where the artist would go on their next record. I don’t really agree with that; in fact it can be tricky outside of certain patches of The Beatles discography to find solid examples of this. But I actually hope it’s true of Taylor Swift’s Reputation, a record full of uninspired “pop” production and weak drum programming that ends with “New Year’s Day,” a song that both calls back to the craft of her earlier work while showing a deeper, more adult point of view.

“New Year’s Day” strips away the most grating elements of Reputation – the production choices that signal a need to fit in with radio trends rather than dictate them, the obsession with her own media narrative, the coldness and defensiveness and petty spite. I don’t dismiss those choices; I think they’re probably a very accurate summary of where this artist’s head has been out for a while. Artists have to get things out of their system, and you don’t always have to like it, even if you like them overall. But the song isn’t good because it’s not like the other songs, but rather because the simplicity of its arrangement and the sentiment of the lyrics seem like an epiphany for her. It’s all in the details – the slightly muted tone of the acoustic piano, the way the live-in-room tone of her main vocal contrasts with her overdubbed harmonies, the sparing use of acoustic guitar. The lyrics follow the form of the music, with her reflecting on small, specific moments that add up to something bigger, but also kinda fragile. The Taylor Swift we’ve known over the past few years, the version of her that maybe comes to the end of an arc on this record, was all about larger than life drama. The woman singing on “New Year’s Day” sounds like she’s over that, and has moved on to a more life-size version of romanticism.

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Red Velvet “빨간 맛 (Red Flavor)”

I don’t understand a word of Korean but it was pretty obvious what these girls were singing about just by hearing this music: “Red Flavor” is a big, goofy crush song. The melody and super-charged bounce of the beat capture a very young sort of crush feeling, amped up on hormones and undiluted by age and cynicism. I read a translation of the lyrics, and this all checks out – they’re basically comparing this feeling of joy to sweet candy flavors, ice cream, and fruity cocktails. It’s fun to know that, but it’s unnecessary as the ecstatic feeling of the music is so overwhelming that it makes Carly Rae Jepsen seem aloof and unenthusiastic about new love.

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Sleigh Bells “Favorite Transgressions”

The initial thrill of Sleigh Bells came out of the way Derek Miller’s incredibly loud and forceful tracks blasted out nuance in favor of delivering hooks with the maximum degree of urgency and physicality. As the band have progressed he’s found ways to hold on to that energy and impact while allowing for more shade and color in the arrangements, as well as room for Alexis Krauss to grow as a singer. Krauss’ approach to vocals shifted dramatically over the course of the past few records, and at this point her brash, belting voice is just as powerful as Miller’s beats and guitars. Their new EP Kid Kruschev places a lot of emphasis on her voice, and on a few tracks, completely cuts out the noise to focus on her melodies and phrasing. It’s interesting to hear the softer side of Sleigh Bells, but I’m even more intrigued by a song like “Favorite Transgressions” that contrasts that newfound delicacy with their signature moves. I love that they’ve been evolving towards what is essentially a modern take on the R&B-meets-pop-metal sound of Janet Jackson’s “Black Cat” and En Vogue’s “Free Your Mind.” It’s an incredible aesthetic that never went anywhere beyond a few hits, and it’s nice to see someone dig into it all these years later.

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Escape-ism “Lonely At the Top”

Escape-ism is the first music project Ian Svenonius has done entirely on his own, and he really makes the most of that by embracing a severe minimalism. He’s basically doing his own version of Suicide’s first record, but in this case, he’s both Alan Vega and Martin Rev. Svenonius’ voice is always the most interesting and exciting thing about any band he’s in, so placing all the emphasis of the music on it is a winning bet. There’s barely anything to “Lonely At the Top” other than a jumpy electronic beat and him alternating between sing-song verses and anxious bleats and squeals, and it’s incredibly compelling. He’s using the same musical tactics that Suicide used to convey claustrophobic tension and the threat of violence, but shifting it into farce – this isn’t sung from the perspective of some mentally ill street person, but rather the paranoid interior monologue of some rich guy trying to cling to power and prestige.

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Keshi “Goes to Waste”

I’ve never been a big fan of Coldplay’s “Fix You” but I love what Keshi does with bits of it in this composition. A few fragments of Chris Martin’s vocal are chopped and screwed, and presented as a context for Keshi’s own vocal performance, which is rather feminine and delicate. The “Fix You” quotes are basically a jumping off point for a meditation on a dying relationship, but the airy, elliptical quality of the track evades the maudlin melodrama of Coldplay’s original. Also, crucially, whereas Chris Martin sings “Fix You” like someone still convinced he can make things right, Keshi doesn’t seem even slightly optimistic.

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Jonathan Bree feat. Clara Viñals “Say You Love Me Too”

Everything in “Say You Love Me Too” moves around a slinky, vaguely sinister bass line that loops through every moment of the song aside from the bridge. The drums, vocals, and keyboard parts respond to the bass melody – the singers convey low-key romantic obsession, the percussion emphasize the lascivious sexuality of the groove, the piano notes and organ drone suggest both a yearning and a void. In some ways, this is like Peter, Björn, and John’s “Young Folks” turned inside out, with much of the same aesthetic choices, but with that song’s sweetness and forward momentum flipped into sexual frustration and pacing in circles.

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Stella Donnelly “Mean to Me”

There’s a lot of lovely songs in the world written about people who don’t deserve such beauty, and “Mean to Me” is almost definitely one of them. Stella Donnelly is singing about a failing relationship with someone who barely seems to like her, and is just dragging her along out of convenience. Even if you’ve never been in this relationship, you’ve seen it from the outside. This happens allllll the time. Donnelly’s vocal performance seems to take that into account – there’s something in her phrasing that comes off as a bit self-aware and knowing – but more than anything, it’s sweet and vulnerable and affectionate. This isn’t sung from the perspective of the relationship actually being over, it’s right there in the thick of it, right before the ending. There’s a bit of pleading in her voice, trying to make a case for better treatment. The must gutting bit is how wounded she sounds to be kicked around like this, particularly after the gorgeous, wordless bridge. The statement “you’re so mean to me” comes out sounding a bit like an incredulous question.

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Demi Lovato “Daddy Issues”

“Daddy Issues” sounds like Demi Lovato is straight up singing the subtext of another more artful or demure pop song. It’s like having the most literal interpretations from a Genius annotation replace the actual lyrics of a song, and the effect is vaguely jarring – like, wait, aren’t you supposed to be bullshitting us at least a little bit? At this stage in pop music we’re used to hearing pop stars be blunt and vulgar, but Lovato’s incredibly direct lyrics and forthright vocal style projects both a charming guilelessness and an impatient desire to be understood. The music is just as emphatic as the words, and I love the way the keyboard comes down in the chorus as if it’s underlining her lyrics a few times over.

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Poppy “My Style”

Poppy’s YouTube channel is an amazing piece of deadpan pop art that’s hilarious, ominous, mesmerizing, confusing, cute, and unnerving all at once. It’s a bit hard to explain – sometimes it’s modern dada, sometimes it’s a biting parody of the cult of personality, and sometimes it’s just straight-up funny. It’s always beautiful, but the aesthetic is deliberately sterile and surreal. The tone is somehow both serene and anxious. There’s a cloying sweetness to the character, but it’s undermined by Poppy’s vacant affect and the constant suggestion that this whole thing is a cult and you’re in danger of getting brainwashed and indoctrinated. There’s a lot of potent ideas in the mix here, but it’s all so off-kilter that it never comes off as a didactic critique. Mostly it’s just bizarre and fun.

Poppy’s music is just as clever and well-crafted as her videos. This actually took me by surprise – I’ve enjoyed the videos for a while, but usually skipped the songs because I figured they’d be kinda flimsy and less interesting than the sketches. I was very wrong. The songs on Poppy.Computer are consistently catchy and fun, and you don’t need to have ever seen a Poppy video to enjoy it. It certainly helps if you’re into artists deliberately fucking with you, though.

The lyrics play the same head games as the videos, but whereas many of the videos are maddeningly oblique, there’s more of a wink in the songs. “My Style,” maybe the best track on the record, is where she lays out the basic ideas: Her aesthetic embraces random contradictions, she’s a product, she loves you, she will destroy you. Truly, no one has ever sounded cuter while threatening to break your neck.

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Lake Ruth “Empty Morning”

Allison Brice’s voice has a high, delicate tone that floats gently through “Empty Morning” like a light breeze. It seems to move through the electric piano chords that guide the song, and through the treble of the guitar and snare hits. There’s a languid pace to the piece but the music is always moving forward, Brice’s voice pushing towards its conclusion. When the song finally reaches the end, the beat stops with a few rapid hits. As romantic as the music sounds, the end is oddly unsentimental: Hey, we’re here. We’re done.

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Municipality “Miles Away”

I don’t say this to belittle the band Municipality, but the degree to which this song sounds like The Clientele is astonishing. As in, it can be difficult to imagine that this is not Alasdair MacLean leading another band. The particular tone of the voice, the melodic style, the guitar tone, the way the drums fall into this pocket that’s loose but precise. It’s a dead ringer, and I mean this as a compliment – this is a winning sound, and it’s not as though there aren’t around 300 fake Joy Divisions out there we have to all pretend are fresh and exciting. Also, “Miles Away” is an incredibly lovely piece of music, and frankly, better than a LOT of actual Clientele songs. If you’re going to go with someone else’s style, you really ought to at least do it as well or better.

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Kelela “Waitin'”

The bit from “Waiting’” that gets me is the melodic turn on “Damn, didn’t we have a good time?,” as the song shifts into pre-chorus mode. It has the lovely understated elegance of mid-‘90s Janet Jackson, and signals a feeling of relief and clarity. In the context of the lyrics, it’s the moment where Kelela’s chance encounter with a recent ex has her reexamining their past and contemplating whether they might actually have a future. She nails a very specific combination of emotions in her phrasing – giddiness blended with skepticism, with a bit of nostalgia, loneliness, and anxiety tossed in. The excited feeling is dominant, so you get a sense of where this story is going even if she doesn’t spell it out.

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Miss World “Click and Yr Mine”

“Click and Yr Mine” has a lusty, sassy sound to it that makes it sound like a sort of love song, but listen a bit closer – this woman is literally singing about shopping for clothes online. I think a songwriter from a previous generation would’ve made this some kind of withering critique of capitalism, but that doesn’t seem to be the case here at all. The subversive element here is in upending the expectations of a crush song, and not only removing the guy as the object of lust, but dismissing men altogether: “I don’t need no boys telling me what is wrong in my life!” It’s not a mean-spirited song, though. It’s just someone allowing themselves to prioritize their enthusiasms.

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Melkbelly “Cawthra”

There’s a wired restlessness to pretty much all of Melkbelly’s music, a crazed energy that comes through even in the relatively still and relaxed bits of a track like “Cawthra.” The song is built so the entire first minute or so is like a lit fuse, and you feel the inevitability of the explosion coming even if you’re not totally sure on which measure it’ll come. The loud bits are cathartic, but the more quiet parts are the draw – there’s a touch of childlike mischief to the vocal melody, and hidden subtleties to the mounting tension.

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Jessie Ware “Midnight”

I’ve appreciated Jessie Ware’s earlier work, but never connected with it until hearing her new record Glasshouse. Two things changed – the songwriting has leveled up, and her voice has become more confident and focused. Her phrasing now reminds me a lot of Anita Baker and Whitney Houston in the ‘80s – bold and assertive in expressing emotion, but shaded with nuanced, complicated feelings. Her performance on “Midnight” is particularly excellent, with her contrasting a soft, fragile tone on the verses with a direct, passionate approach on the chorus. The vulnerability leads to strength and vice versa, it’s presented as a continuum of intimacy and lust. The music shifts too, starting off in a more atmospheric space not far removed from a lot of other contemporary pop before shifting into the firmer structure of a chord sequence that sounds quite a bit like Elton John’s “Bennie and the Jets.”

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