Semipop Life: Indestructible libido

Mahotella Queens, Maria Muldaur, Pulp, Sabrina Carpenter, and more!

Mahotella Queens: Buya Buya: Come Back

One of the catchiest numbers here, “Thoko, Ujola Nobani?”, is one of their oldest; then titled “Thoko”, it was one of their initial singles in 1964. You can hear it on YouTube, uploaded by user Nick Lotay, which as it happens is the name of the producer who’s corralled the Queens into the studio for the first time since 2007. With Hilda Tloubatla a wonder we take for granted, the less quotidian miracle might be how well Lotay’s crew stands in for the Makgona Tsohle Band. Lotay’s turns at lead guitar, relatively simple, capture the ebullience of old school mbaqanga. Boikie Kagiso’s leads, more Indestructible style, are on average about as enjoyable. The rhythm section is a quantum less funky than Joseph Makwela et al., meaning they’re not a top three bottom end of all time. The two Queens-in-training harmonize on a dime, but it’s Hilda’s album; her rep as one of Africa’s great singers long established, this collection emphasizes her career as a composer. In 1966’s “Buya Buya”, she voices her guilt at being a working mother away from her children, and the tune’s triumphant. Household drudgery, possible bigamy, death itself: all of it persists, as do the songs.

Grade: A (“Jomba Jomba”, “Thoko, Ujola Nobani?”, “Phephezela”)

Maria Muldaur: One Hour Mama: The Blues of Victoria Spivey

Another Muldaur tribute to a pioneer of shellac lasciviousness, and maybe even more fun than Don’t You Feel My Leg. The honoree, singer-songwriter-actress “Queen” Victoria, became one of Muldaur’s mentors decades after Spivey embodied lines like (Andy Razaf’s) “I wish that you could see the way he handles my front yard”. “My Handy Man” is almost all double entendres, and Muldaur keeps a poker face while every other part of her body slouches all over the place. I hadn’t heard the “Sixty Minute Man”-predating title track before: the way Muldaur sings it, you worry about her partner holding on for anywhere near the duration of a 78. Spivey’s own compositions, though less explicit, also wander way outside of the Hays Code. Muldaur sings “Don’t Love No Married Man” directly—save for some sarcasm on “he gets practice every day”—flattening the blue notes and adding a little grunt for emphasis after slurring the word “wife”. She repeats the word “grind” on “Organ Grinder Blues” with a high-end Baratza’s worth of settings. Tuba Skinny and James Dapogny’s Chicago Jazz Band support with contrasting reconstitutions of the hot years. Guest Taj Mahal claims he’s cute: he is, and he’s not the only one.

Grade: A MINUS (“Don’t Love No Married Man”, “Organ Grinder Blues”, “My Handy Man”)

Djrum: Under Tangled Silence

The ingredients: Ableton Live; “classical” “piano”; some strings; a few bird chirps, feathered or digital I don’t know. The opener is called “A Tune for Us” (aww, you shouldn’t have, Felix Djrum), and its sighing cello and the other early tracks don’t dispel the suspicion this is going to be electrohippie shit—pleasant and perhaps useful for those of us who aren’t getting to Burning Man or its damper British equivalent any time soon, but not a substitute for analog spirituality. Then right in the middle, with “Galaxy in Silence”, the competing elements start to play off each other to create something new. That one clashes the tinkliness with a few gruffly distorted noises that wouldn’t be out of place on a South African club floor. “Three Foxes Chasing Each Other” begins gamelany before the kick drums machine-gun into a sparser, more mature version of the 160 bpm breakfests the kids love. The finale, “Sycamore”, is faster and longer again, with a factory floor’s worth of rumble beats before a few well-earned minutes of prettiness play us out. Piano moistness notwithstanding, one of the year’s most listenable electronic albums.

Grade: A MINUS (“Galaxy in Silence”, “Three Foxes Chasing Each Other”, “Sycamore”)

Pulp: More

Didn’t have the highest hopes for this, since the only Pulpist involved in great 21st century music was late bassist Steve Mackey, who helped launch M.I.A. and can’t be blamed for how that ended up. So More beats expectations and We Love Life. They’ve regressed toward their classic sound, if not the Purves Grundy parody thereof. On “Grown Ups”, they play a four-chord stomp as Jarvis tells us about his spacey dream; the punchline: “Why am I telling you this story? I don’t remember.” Which is what I want from them. Their collection of oddly specific guitars and synths has expanded, and the strings are fetching on them thanks to James Ford’s normie production. Although Jarvis is talking even more than he used to, a shame from someone responsible for one of the Nineties’ most triumphant tunes (no, the other one), he has an actor’s sense of drama, and he can shift from referencing Bergman and Hieronymus Bosch to repeating “got to have love” on a dime. Why, you ask? You don’t remember the first time?

Grade: A MINUS (“Grown Ups”, “Spike Island”, “Got to Have Love”)

Luke Stewart Silt Remembrance Ensemble: The Order

Stewart gets all his friends together to form a supergroup; the record is named in homage to the strongest faction in the Japanese Assassins Association in the manga Sakamoto Days, I presume. It launches with some actually effective spoken word by one No Land, before we get to the usual free jazz niceties. The three horn players do an admirable job of staying out of each other’s way. Daniel Carter, whose alto has the most distinctive sax tone, often switches to trumpet, while Jamal Moore pulls out what sounds like a wood flute. When they and Brian Settles return to their main axes on “Silt Remembrance”, it’s triple-sax glory, and on “Claimed” it’s faster triple-sax glory. It goes without saying that the Stewart-Chad Taylor rhythm section is at best in the world level, beating out complex patterns to squall over on “Lion’s Den” and finding a groove to hang out in no matter how avant things get. There’s also more poetry, and I’ve even grown to appreciate Stewart’s own spoken-wordified take on Mallarmé: “unparalleled”, he and himself articulate in parallel.

Grade: A MINUS (“Claimed”, “Memory”, “Lion’s Den”)

Tropical Fuck Storm: A Laughing Death in Meatspace (2018)

Thought I listened to this at the time but, in a meatheadspace mistake, I hadn’t, I believe, or else I’d’ve flagged “You Let My Tyres Down”. It’s an elastic classic, with Gareth Liddiard taking moments off from railing against the sick sad world in and outside rural Victoria to put uncharacteristic sentiment into the title. He too is deflated; putting up with dumb bullshit is, however, something you have to do if you have Australian friends. If nothing else is as felt, the music fascinates: the keyboards are as avant as the guitar, and Fiona Kitschin’s distorted bass is essential to the lurch-funk, ensuring that real heaviness anchors the guitar squalls. Liddiard, who knows enough jargon and acronyms to know there’s much more he doesn’t, posits one might survive the digital maelstrom by sticking to basic principles, fuck the posers in power being the most basic. Also: keep your tyres in good condition; you never know when you’ll have to run.

Grade: A MINUS (“You Let My Tyres Down”, “Chameleon Paint”, “Soft Power”)

Tropical Fuck Storm: Fairyland Codex

Once the possessor of a genuine melodic knack, Gareth Liddiard starts the album jaded, with more sprech than gesang over the kaiju warning of “Irukandji Syndrome” and the mechanical stomp of “Goon Show”. Fortunately it doesn’t affect his incisive guitar, plus at least a couple of people in the band sing better than him. There’s something Eighties about Fiona Kitschin’s and multi-instrumentalist Erica Dunn’s responses to him. Rather than dialogue, they choose which themes to emphasize, leaving him to state his sicker burns (“techno feudal poodle”) and groanier wordplays (“raining cats and dogma”) by himself. Dunn commandeers the lead on “Teeth Marché” and doesn’t oversing, trusting those teeth’ll get to chomp on those who deserve it, though she allows herself a squeal of anticipation. This fails to perk Liddiard up, but he concedes a proper tune to “a village in hell is waiting for you” for his bandmates to sing along with. Strange that a group called Tropical Fuck Storm has become one of rock’s best exemplars of community. These are strange days.

Grade: A MINUS (“Goon Show”, “Fairyland Codex”, “Teeth Marché”)

Sabrina Carpenter: Man’s Best Friend

Maybe she blew her budget on the “Manchild” video, because she runs short of music. Lead single aside, Antonoff’s productions devolve into Antonoffisms, while John Ryan, having ripped off “Upside Down”, decides to rip off worse songs. So Sabrina and Amy Allen have to do everything themselves, and if it seems like here and there they repurposed a line from the Short n’ Sweet recycle bin, I understand. “When Did You Get So Hot?” has their trademark overstimulated syntax—“thank you Lord, the fine you has risen” (suspect there was a late substitution there)—that contrasts with every syllable of “agoraphobia” getting articulated in the previous track’s chorus. The fine her’s the smart one, I’m sure, based on her savvy key changes and on phrase-weighting that suggests she got something out of the Dolly summit nobody streamed. If she can’t make blah material like “We Almost Broke Up Again Last Night” deep, the smoothness of her high notes is a reason to listen.

Grade: B PLUS (“Manchild”, “Tears”, “Never Getting Laid”)

The Good Ones: Rwanda Sings with Strings

Right before this Kigali duo were supposed to go play a Tiny Desk Concert, producer Ian Brennan locked them in a hotel room with a cellist and violinist they’d never met, promising he’d let them recreate the Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan cover if they came up with a record. The strings are unfussy—they’ve no aspiration to virtuosity. If the cello fits into the Good Ones’ guitar–percussion palette better than the violin, that hardly matters compared to the sense of spontaneity the quartet creates. With respect to Janvier Havugimana’s tambourine-and-shoe percussion and accurate harmony, Adrien Kazigira is the main attraction. Looping simple guitar patterns, he sings high and gentle in a wisdom-weathered voice about topics including the artistic dreams of one Agnes and that time they opened for the guy from Once. It’s all refreshing; all easy. Next time Brennan should impound them with a theremin player, an amapiano DJ, and the Clube da Encruza.

Grade: B PLUS (“Agnes Dreams of Being an Artist”, “Mediatrice, You Left This World Too Soon”, “I Love You So Much, But You Refused to Marry Me”)

Barker: Stochastic Drift

Berghain regular whose 2018 Debiasing EP posited a utilitarian drumless future techno; he then decided he didn’t like danceable music that much. This is still optimized for home use, but at least he kicks and snares us a little. “Difference and Repetition” is a highlight—jerky and maybe unnatural, it defines an empirical movement as well as QWOP does. “Cosmic Microwave” is a lesson in how to decorate with rhythmlets without using the same 808s as a million software downloaders. “Reframing” hearkens to his original style and could well please crowds given an Armin van Buuren remix. The ambient stuff is ambient. The last couple of tracks try cocktail jazz and drum and bass without bass (and the drums are under duress); to my surprise, the latter is more successful. As music putatively about Taleb’s “antifragility” goes, as robust as Le Sserafim.

Grade: B PLUS (“Difference and Repetition”, “Cosmic Microwave”, “Reframing”)

Marina Sena: Coisas Naturais

Still in search of Anitta’s tax bracket, she switches production allegiance to Janluska, whose rotund low end undergirds Sena’s vision of Brazilian pop for the international market (hereafter B-pop; sorry Bangladesh.) Leaping over language barriers, she projects evident sensuality on “Numa Ilha” and makes amorousness ominous on “Anjo”. Unlike her first two albums, this loses steam with the back half’s genre exercises—you need stronger motivation if you’re going to do an Eighties One in 2025 or a Non-Jamaican Reggae One ever. More successful are Reggaeton One “Doçura”, which has Hispanophone guests for that making out at the youth hostel vibe, and “Carnaval”, which while not ear-splitting enough for my tastes is as credible an attempt at pop-funk by anyone this side of (checks notes) Nelly Furtado. I believe Sena might yet find the magical just-right level of musical promiscuousness.

Grade: B PLUS (“Numa Ilha”, “Desmistificar”, “Anjo”)

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Carsie Blanton, Jewish-American, is currently being detained after being intercepted in international waters as part of the Gaza flotilla. If this troubles you, and you live somewhere where this might trouble your representatives, you might drop them a line. You can keep up with her husband’s updates on her Facebook page. Be good to each other.