This album doesn’t feel suited for taking apart. It’s full of seamless transitions from one jazz-beat and sample to another. Earl’s lyrics are significantly more dense here than on I Don’t Like Shit… or Doris, and in some ways, this contributes to some difficulty in approaching the album. Still, a single listen through the tracklist and the genius of the album and its maker become instantly clear. Maybe I’ll have more concrete things to say after a few more listens. For now, I let the album play out and wash over me, like a slow-moving tsunami I’ve not quite comprehended the magnitude of.
Bug Fight –– “Worm”
This is a recent single from Bug Fight, a band on the New Perfume label that is home to CC’s own Seal Eggs and the upcoming Honour Council album. Musically, “Worm” reminds me of Ought, with a sharp, pleasantly dissonant inflection in guitar and vocals. Lyrically, it brings me right to Kafka’s Metamorphosis, with lines like: “Onwards, upwards, till death or a conception of a different world.” The song lives in the abstract, but in an abstract that, even without totally understanding it, feels eerily reminiscent of the current cultural climate that surrounds me.
A$AP Rocky –– “Sundress” (directed by Frank Lebon)
Frank Lebon has been one of my favourite directors ever since I watched his video for King Krule’s “Czech One.” His video for A$AP’s recent single is just as innovative, moving endlessly through lo-fi Super-8-esque shots to disorienting (in the best way) animation. While I’m not a fan of the “jealous-ex-girlfriend-with-a-gun” narrative in the video, watching the video feels like a big breath of fresh air; in a climate that’s so invested in narratives, it’s so enjoyable to see as much emphasis on getting meaning from visual effects, rather than tropey storylines or characters. The song by itself is totally worth a listen, but if you’re gonna experience it at its fullest, watch the video.
Recently I saw two shows for free, in exchange for reviewing them. The first show I took up on a whim, trying to convince myself that I liked this particular band, Slow Hollows, enough to drive up to Denver for an hour and watch them play to a sparsely filled out audience. Mostly, that was true –– I was looking for an easy way to keep the few scraps of leftover summer spontaneity alive, in an attempt to offset the quickly settling CC-induced feeling of utter boredom.
The second show, though, was Soccer Mommy––someone I’d already loved, with another favourite––Sasami––as the opener.
Both Slow Hollows and Soccer Mommy consist of people that are about my (and probably yours’) age, which, every time I think about it, induces in me a complicated feeling of awe, inadequacy and existential dread. Like a lot of other people nearing the end of their time in college, I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. None of my most beloved pursuits inspire any confidence in their ability to provide for a simple roof and a (to be fair, not-so-simple) meal, and I spend at least a few minutes each day wallowing in this mind void. So, this confrontation with people who are actually doing what they love, is both sweet and ego-destroying, especially when they’re successful.
The success segment looks different for the two bands. Slow Hollows, fronted by Austin Anderson, are on their first national tour; still, Anderson is featured on both Tyler, The Creator’s “Flower Boy” and Frank Ocean’s “Blonde” and “Endless.”
Instrumentally, their set felt tight, if a little generic, soaring to its peak during the trumpet’s occasional features. Lyrically, though, the songs lived in the realm of the cliché, with rhymes like “you/glue” and “leaving/dreaming” sticking so saccharinely they carved cavities in my auditory cortex. I wanted so badly to like them better than I did, so I heard myself using their ages as some sort of excuse or explanation for their relative mediocrity, employing that same “you’ll understand when you’re older” mentality I’ve felt so hurt and patronized by in the past. Mostly, I think, I wanted them to be better, because I projected this position of young-creative-new-and-improved American Dream (i.e. you can do anything if you just believe&work rly hard) onto them. I wanted them to feel ageless, so that I could stop feeling hindered by my age too. Alas, I left that show confused, though a little more energised for having briefly left the bubble.
A few weeks later, I sped through dense, viscous tonkotsu-like fog on the I25 to Globe Hall, a BBQ place-stroke-venue in Denver. I got there just in time to catch the latter half of Sasami’s set, which was wonderful, although sometimes a little less full than I’d expected, probably because of Globe Hall’s funky acoustics.
Then, after a short break, Soccer Mommy came on. Instantly, the room’s attention tunnel-visioned onto the stage. Sophie [Allison, the frontwoman]’s voice sounded so clear and perfect that I kept having to ask my friends if it was autotuned. Each song took me through a new story, poignantly communicated in each sound and lyric. The songs felt self-aware; they seemed to know exactly what they were trying to say, and the most evocative way to say it.
The fact that Allison and her bandmates are all college-aged did not present itself to me, until she told the audience that it was her bandmate, Graeme’s, 22nd birthday. The lyrical content was only aware of its performer’s age within references to school. The artistry of each piece, though, was outside of the youth that’s synonymous with inexperience. Allison’s work is as intricate, grounded and steeped in craft as any of those artists whose age we don’t even seem to know.
She towers above the “you’ll understand when you’re older” mentality, showing us (or at the very least, me) that we can, and do, understand “it” now, even if the “it” looks differently today. Her success barely inspires any jealousy; instead, I drive home from the show inspired, bursting with energy, grinning, happy to be my age again.
Jungle, an English modern soul musical collective was formed by Tom McFarland and Josh Lloyd-Watson in London back in 2013. McFarland and Lloyd-Watson had known each other since the age of nine, where they lived as neighbors in Shepherds Bush, London. After playing in various musical groups throughout their secondary education, the pair formed Jungle. The pair became known as J and T, after advocating for a concentration on the aesthetic of their sound, focusing on art and video, instead of their own personal identity taking stage.
Since its formation, and after their first year spent playing with other artists of a variety of disciplines,Jungle has become a seven-piece band. J and T resisted the route of re-producing their music and performing on laptops, and instead rendered their music into authentic, live performance. J and T understand music to be a collective and collaborative experience, and that energy is absolutely palpable when they perform.
Their first album, “Jungle,” was released in 2014, and since they have released various singles, and just recently came out with a new album, “For Ever,” on September 14th of this year. The music collective has travelled across the world to perform, and will be visiting Colorado Springs for the first time next Friday, September 28th, 2018.
Jungle’s style is often characterized as “midtempo 1970s funk,” with sounds such as tropical percussion, wildlife noise, falsetto yelps, and psychedelic waves. Whether it be the inclusive nature of the band, or perhaps the diversity of their sound, Jungle offers a performance of absolute energy.
Be sure to check out CC’s Concerts and Shows Facebook group for carpool opportunities to the show. We hope to see you there.