Semipop Life: Acting like a dude

Thalin, Steve Lehman, James Brandon Lewis, Corook, and more!

Thalin/Cravinhos/VCR Slim/iloveyoulangelo/Pirlo: Maria Esmeralda

Origin story: São Paulo’s Thalin was by chance locked in a studio with a gaggle of producers, leading to this pleasantly eclectic project. Its ideas fly in all kinds of directions: “McCoy Tyner” is all of 50 seconds and manages to include a shocking beat shift. The vibe reminds me of DJ Shadow as much as anything in its ability to incorporate new and old music and movies and telenovelas seamlessly. Though there are plenty of guests, Thalin handles the bulk of the vocals, with different voices for different characters even if I’m not always sure who the characters are. If sometimes he takes the ham from Hamilton, the variety of his flows is impressive and moving. The narrative concerns the personal life and artistic times of one Maria Esmeralda, who as far as I can tell is fictional. However, Marília Medalha, winner of the 1967 Festival de Música Popular Brasileira (2nd: Gilberto; 3rd: Chico Buarque, sampled on this album; 4th: Caetano) recites the opening poem, which climaxes with “I love you and I’m leaving”. Fictional Maria goes through music biz, socioeconomic, and relationship travails. If the details are hard to follow via auto-translate, Thalin and crew make the feelings clear.

Grade: A (“Judas Beijoqueiro”, “Lince”, “Nova Ternura”)

Steve Lehman: The Music of Anthony Braxton

With Braxton’s catalog perhaps the hardest to consume of any major jazz figure (someone cut down his recent megaboxes to whatever thirteen or fourteen bucks will buy me, please), Lehman pulls out all the stops to render his mentor accessible, short of renaming: the algorithms at least will love classic titles like “34a”, “40b”, and who could forget “23b + 23 g”. Mere humans, like the ones in attendance at the live L.A. recording, may better appreciate the complementary approaches of Lehman’s alto and Mark Turner’s tenor—the latter starting from a post-Trane base that’s amenable to prevailing winds from all coasts, the former displaying a harmonic sense to fascinate those of us who pretend to know what “spectralism” without having plowed through the math. Matt Brewer and Damion Reid’s rhythm section can play with mad precision; other times they swing the shit out of things, which is funnier. Lehman’s two writing credits show that Braxton’s compositional approach is very much alive (as is Braxton himself, of course, happy 80th in June) through tunes that demonstrate jagged logic that’s of interest in itself and that form rich bases for improvisation. There’s also, why not, a “Trinkle, Tinkle” that trickles and tickles.

Editorial note: Usually I don’t instruct you to buy things, but Lehman’s house burned down in the Altadena fires, so maybe just pay him the thirteen or fourteen bucks.

Grade: A MINUS (“L.A. Genes”, “23b + 23g”, “34a”)

Skaiwater: Gigi

2024 album from a rapper who’s relocated from Nottingham to LA, to the extent that they don’t live on the Internet. Lil Nas X, a friend since before “Old Town Road” and a guest here, is one point of reference; the post-Carti experimental scene is another. Skaiwater is distinguished from most of its participants by having—sorry, artsakers—something to say. Rather than being non-specifically emo, their sadness is about specific things and lovers, and they’re comfortable with using Auto-Tune as one way to get a “real feel”. They giddily fuck with gender on the side: “If I told my secrets, I’d be the richest girl alive” makes “girl, I’m acting like a dude” more trenchant later on. The beats are adapted from regional scenes I’ll let the trainspotters identify; the prettiest moment is when the kicks on “Box” get turned up and Skaiwater’s quantized syllables weave through with literal meaning downplayed, though the “diamonds and pearls” references clarifies Prince too is in the DNA. Another step towards reclaiming the uncanniness of the lost Soundcloud generation. (Follow-up mini mia is minor, but making a pop move, however tentative, and titling it “Pop” is a laudable development.)

Grade: A MINUS (“Box”, “Real Feel”, “Shut Up and Drive”)

James Brandon Lewis: Apple Cores

Your standard outstanding JBL record, this time featuring Chad Taylor and bassist Josh Werner, plus some extra guitar and percussion. The concept isn’t too restrictive: the album title references Amiri Baraka (“Apple Cores” was his pro-Ayler ’60s Downbeat column), puzzle fans can connect song titles to Don Cherry, and between those two, they have the last two-thirds of a century of American jazz to play in. Lewis blows in his now-signature style, moonwalking notes to make melodies standard on the sheet sound novel; typical is “Five Spots to Caravan”, where he varies simple motifs before going all the way free before the fadeout. On “Of Mind and Feeling”, he even starts to display tenderness, the hardest skill for an avant-horn player to learn. Taylor gets his mbira feature and otherwise displays his unfaltering drum judgment. On the dubbier tracks, Werner gets to show that he played with Lee “Scratch” Perry once; the whole time, he’s competent if a bit of an odd man out. Yet with the original material proving as sound a basis for improvisation as Ornette’s “Broken Shadows”, there’s a wealth to be fascinated by.

Grade: A MINUS (“Exactly, Our Music”, “D.C. Got Pocket”, “Of Mind and Feeling”)

Low Cut Connie: Connie Live

Here’s where I admit that after the first couple of albums by America’s probable most thrilling in-concert rock act, I’ve enjoyed-not-loved their records. Obvious solution: a live one. The setlist inexplicably lacks anything from Call Me Sylvia and maybe leans too hard on then-new Art Dealers, but otherwise it represents the band’s eras well, with worthwhile remakes of early faves like “Rio” and “Big Thighs, NJ”, plus newer material I often prefer to their studio versions. The structural integrity of their strongest songs shines: it becomes clearer how the chords of “Sleaze Me On” drive the narrative. Adam Weiner’s an underrated singer, capable of both rocking out and expressing sympathy for lost or confused souls at the same time. Still, maybe the most important reason Low Cut Connie is best experienced live or at least at the movies is that they sound like a real band; while they’re well-drilled, Weiner will often give his crew space to go ham, especially his co-vocalists Abigail Dempsey and Amanda Bullwinkel, the latter of whom gets a “Jesus Christ, Rocky” from Weiner for having little Tina shake back.

Grade: A MINUS (“Shake It Little Tina”, “Sleaze Me On”, “Charyse”)

Kurious: Mystery Mixtape and Majician

Two 2024 releases from a journeyman NYC emcee who unless you remember 1994’s “Walk Like a Duck” is best-known for appearances on MF Doom projects. Though speakin’ Puerto Rican Kurious is nowhere near as outlandish as his late supervillainous friend, he too can barrage you with nigh-infinite rhymes (“I don’t need no chorus neither”, he boasts) that keep it conversational. The Bandcamp-only Mystery Mixtape is stronger as pure flow—try “A Lot Going On” with its reality-anatomy-salary string or “I Don’t Even Exist” with its complicated internals. By the time we get to the closing “Purpose and Leisure”, it’s a victory parade. Majician is glossier and a little more ecumenical: Kurious admits to liking mumble rap. Mono En Stereo handles beats for both, uniting the former with Scooby-Doo samples, while the proper album has a throwback feel and, on “Teach & Forgive”, what sounds very much like a version of Bread’s “If”. Majician is on the usual streaming services; I liked Mystery Mixtape enough to pay twenty bucks for a Bandcamp download.

Mystery Mixtape: A MINUS (“I Don’t Even Exist”, “Pure Intentions”, “Purpose and Leisure”)

Majician: A MINUS (“Unknown Species”, “Par for the Course”, “1984”)

Corook: Committed to a Bit

If you insist on a listening experience as consistent as Best of Corook (So Far), skip the first five songs, mildly overco(ro)oked in the aggregate, and start with “Pepto Bismol”, which is where the writing becomes undeniable. That one’s about a mother and child who can’t know the right thing to do but Lord they try; it’s followed by a “There Is a Light” variation that improves on Moz by offsetting him with Kenny Rogers, then English-language single of the year clubhouse leader “They!” It’s astonishing that someone who writes about sadness and grief with as much knowing detail as the namechecked Adrianne Lenker can also triumphantly stomp over their own suffering. They’re a very effective singer when they lay off the autoharmonization: listen to their switch from jumpy chorus to sustained-note bridge on “Medicine”. And if you don’t insist on perfection, circle back to those first five songs, whose wisdom is hard-won: so what if the chorus isn’t too catchy? Perfection can come when they get older, which they’re okay with.

Grade: A MINUS (“They!”, “Pepto Bismol”, “Death”)

Caxtrinho: Queda Livre

The rare release to get both a rave from the late, lamented Brazil Beat Blog and a little US attention from outside the usual suspects. A common point of reference is Itamar Assumpção, whom Caxtrinho says he didn't know until people started making the comparison. The music is brusque funk in the non-Brazilian sense, with avant-rockisms illustrating alt-samba grooves. Caxtrinho’s a Napalm Death fan, and while there’s no evident grindcore, there’s a fitting feeling that he’s making the sounds he wants without compromising. On “Papagaio” he adds his own flavor of unhinged to those developed by previous unhinged Iberoamerican weirdos. Anglophones may pick out relevant proper nouns from “Xbox” to “Tinder”; otherwise, the tone of the lyrics, which are on Bandcamp, is hard to pin down via autotranslate alone: I'm not sure how levels of irony the words of “Branca de Trança” (white woman with braids) are, but his delivery sure sounds satirical. A major debut, worth unpacking.

Grade: A MINUS (“Branca de Trança”, “Papagaio”, “Queda Livre”)

Previous Industries: Service Merchandise

High accomplishment at low stakes from Open Mike Eagle and pals. Most songs are named after defunct chain stores (Roebuck I know, the rest I shrug at), with Video Dave’s nom de rap in the same spirit, and the general subject is defunct culture, which going by the opener might include Endtroducing… The Quelle Chris-produced “Braids” is glossy; more often the beats are just solid, but I guess I should be grateful there are drums. Mike and Dave match the dead mall vibe, which means Still Rift is responsible for all the energy, getting worked up over long-concluded TV series, like The Simpsons, which younger readers may not remember because Matt Groening famously pulled the plug on it after the first hint of a quality decline in 1998. Video Dave adds funeral-appropriate gravitas; Fighting Game Mike gets by spamming low kicks. Hard to argue with “indie rappers deserve government subsidies”, though I hope he has other options during this administration.

Grade: B PLUS (“Babbages”, “Montgomery Ward”, “Showbiz”)

Ale Hop & Titi Bakorta: Mapambazuko

Dinky, perhaps, yet enjoyable for sure. While Congolese guitarist Bakorta, who like many African artists has ended up in Kampala, doesn’t always have the chance to get his own groove going, the likes of the title track show he can piece melodic units together, and his plucking speed is evident. Programmer Hop, who like many non-African artists has ended up in Berlin, synthesizes cumbia party rhythms with enough bottom-end and clatter to form a stable base for her birdie noises and squeals of delight. On “Bonne Année”, they soar together like they’re in a Nintendo game (not one of the stressful ones), soft objects falling and benign fireworks exploding around them. Eventually they do slow down and come down, collect some coins, scroll through their inventory, that sort of thing. The remixes don’t add much; that still leaves a generous EP’s worth of good clean fun.

Grade: B PLUS (“La Danza del Pajarito”, “Bonne Année”, “Mapambazuko”)

NOBRO: Set Your Pussy Free (2023)

They feel like they have fewer than their four members, which is a compliment: they have unity of purpose and sound. They start off like L7, waiting in lower registers for a reason to wail or solo; it trends back towards radio-in-theory rock in the back half. Kathryn McCaughey and her fellow Canadians imbue the straightforward tunes with attitude and a little spite, delivered in the live clip above in matching “abortion is healthcare” shirts. The purpose, well, it’s in the band name and title. Related issues: the Internet is a bewildering place for semi-well adjusted people even when it isn’t hostile, which it usually is for women; A.I. sexbots are fine if you like that sort of thing; being in a rock and roll band remains an unparalleled way to practice liberation, whoa-oh-oh. Also liberatory: using “I don’t fucking feel like it” as a justification. No further permissions are necessary.

Grade: B PLUS (“I Don’t Feel Like It”, “Where My Girls At”, “Delete Delete Delete”)