Odds & Ends 140
Life has the strangest way of saying love will occur here now
She writes more directly about LGBT stuff than just about anyone else in Nashville, which doesn’t mean every track is singular—personal journeys from conservative Christianity to kumbaya ecumenicalism aren’t underreported these days—but when she’s on, she’s really fjucking on, and “Jealous of the Boys” really is singular (“Jealous of the Boys”, “Blood Related”, “The Waitress”)
Guy Davis: Be Ready When I Call You (2021)
You can tell he’s more “folk” than “blues” because the Flint water song is more fun than the one called “Badonkadonk Train”; still, the badonkadonk is fun enough, and for the most part the political stances are forceful and righteous, even if the Palestine song is merely a nice try (“God’s Gonna Make Things Over”, “Flint River Blues”, “I’ve Looked Around”)
Last year’s Upper Midwestern alt breakout reveals Mike Maple has paid obsessive attention to everything Bob Mould did post-Hüsker Dü (probably including his ill-fated 1999 stint as a writer for World Championship Wrestling): big tunes, big guitars, middle-sized feelings further honed to a minute and a half a pop (“Built 4 Nothing Good”, “American Record”, “Holding in a Cough”)
“I’m feeling just like Courtney/We’re living like the Nineties”, says Slutever’s Rachel Gagliardi, who revives that era’s alt-rock sonics to the point of getting her drummer to do an impression of Dave Grohl on Nevermind; the weed/astrology/doomerism lyrics are much more 2020s in their post-girlishness, but old people complaining about changes in songwriting is just a denial (“Denial Is a Heavy Drug”, “TV on TV”, “Salty”)
Kehlani: Crash
The reigning monarch of honorably mentionable R&B gives us frivolity that tickles and frivolity that tanks, admirable attempts to expand their range to Latin soul (cool) and Afrobeats (ehhh), too many slow ones and a stunning minimal closer called “Lose My Wife”—contradictions, baby (“Lose My Wife”, “After Hours”, “Sucia”)
Name producer Darrell Scott and friends add splashes of pedal steel and a pretty fancy string arrangement on the pills song (well, one of them) to smooth out the swings between defiance and despair, with the latter winning out on balance; if that sounds like a bummer, it is, but at least here, despair tends to come with more music (“Critterland”, “Higher Lonesome”, “When the Pills Wear Off”)
Rosie Tucker: Never Not Never Not Never Not (2019)
Smarter than their music at this early stage, but there’s one classic (gay bar as heaven or vice versa), one lovely ode to a BFF who’s Ollie now, one unusually animated break-up song, lots of good titles and rhymes, and unbounded promise: some punk-leaning Cali label should sign ’em (“Gar Bar”, “Lauren”, “Habit”)
Vince Staples: Dark Times
Delete the fragments and the Santigold spoken word telling him that he’s fjucked up (we knew that) to get the correct half-hour dose of his unreliable autobiography and deadpan cynicism about C-list fame, lacking only a couple more uppers like “Étoufée” to satisfy us annoying “fans [who] said they want 2015 Vince” (“Étoufée”, “Little Homies”)
Future & Metro Boomin: We Don’t Trust You
Metro fills the 59 non-Kendrick minutes with grandiosity, with no concept beyond “Fjuck Drake” to get in the way; Future at this point is as content-free a sound effect as a slo-mo synth pad, but he serves to put into relief more lively vocalists, such as Mobb Deep’s Prodigy, who’s been dead for seven years (“Like That”, “Type Shit”)
This Is Lorelei: Box for Buddy, Box for Star
Water from Your Eyes guy shows off strong Americana-pop arrangements, effective technological enhancements, decent tunes, funny voices, and sometimes even real songs (“Perfect Hand”, “Dancing in the Club”)
Phelimuncasi & Metal Preyers: Izigqinamba
London DJ Jesse Hackett provides some serviceable faux South Africanisms as well as experimental beats that don’t always do Phelimuncasi favors; keep expectations modest and enjoy the vocals, the upbeat moments, and the concept of gqom chopped and screwed (“Gidigidi ka Makhelwane”, “Khala Ngiyabaleka”)
***
Martin Phillipps of the Chills, probably New Zealand’s greatest musician, has died aged 61. I’m not going to write a better remembrance than Ryan Maffei at Rock and Roll Globe, so I’ll just post my five favorite Chills songs and be glad I no longer have to go to the New Zealand Film Archive in Wellington to watch the videos, like I did in 1999.
Next week: Latin American poetry! Plus, since I don’t want my open rate to drop to single digits, Olivia Rodrigo live!
We are almost always aligned on meh-plusses.