Semipop Life Presents: Neitherland

Lucky bunnies and counters of moneys

Those of who who’ve never written a Turkey Shoot might not realize how dispiriting it is to put one together, and seeing Drake’s name on a spreadsheet was enough to convince me not to do one this year. Instead, the albums below have substantial merits (they’re all B’s or so) and, an edge case aside, weren’t irritating to listen to multiple times. If I generally chose to accentuate the negative, it’s because while you don’t have to be cruel to be kind, you need somebody to push back on you before you do whatever the musical equivalent of buying Twitter for forty-four billion dollars is. (We’re one Kanye album away from finding out what that entails.)

Brandi Carlile: In These Silent Days

Both the most admirable and most groanable aspects of By the Way, I Forgive You return amplified: the harmonics are a little more sophisticated, and there are fewer killer lines capable of supporting the weight that she and Dave Cobb and Shooter Jennings give to them (I think there were two of those last time.) Best when she just rocks out on “Broken Horses”, singing doggerel that no one could mistake for deep no matter how loud she sings. Wait, that’s the title of her memoir? (“Broken Horses”)

Carly Rae Jepsen: The Loneliest Time

She lives and dies by the killer single, and though it’s early days, the New York Times needle on her streaming numbers is pointing to Likely Dead. On the title track, Rufus Wainwright is a star-crossed duet partner, and she shoulda got someone capable of hurting one’s feelings to guest on “Beach House” (I think Rufus knows a guy.) Points in favor: the melodies should be enough to keep her fairly big in Japan, the ballad “Go Find Yourself or Whatever” is miraculously as good as its title, the dumbest stuff (“Beach House” again, plus bonus track “No Thinking Over the Weekend”, which is unmiraculously not as good as its title) seems intentional. (“Go Find Yourself or Whatever”)

Chat Pile: God’s Country

There’s one must-hear track on this noise-sludge Pitchfork 8.4: “Why”, in which screamer Raygun Busch repeats “Why do people have to live outside?” like a kid who’s just discovered injustice in America. It’s not an artful song at all, but confronting people with the ugly realities of this country in the bluntest way possible is a necessary task for socialism. The rest isn’t very metal and conflates leftism with murdering family members, which is less socialist. (“Why”)

Danger Mouse & Black Thought: Cheat Codes

This year’s album that many of you quite reasonably love and I have trouble mustering up anything more than respect for, a/k/a every Black Thought album ever save for the three or four where Questlove went next level. Danger Mouse still does the “construct a beat out of one or maybe two old songs” schtick better than most, Black Thought occasionally throws in a contemporary middlebrow culture reference like a kidnapping victim holding up a newspaper, and every guest rapper except whoever Russ is is more personable than him, not that Doom doesn’t stand mask and shoulders above the rest in this regard. (“Belize”, “Strangers”)

Metric: Formentera

Starts with the ten minute “Doomscroller”, which just doesn’t cohere: there’s little pop interest to link its movements, and no one has the confidence to mix Emily Haines’s Resistance-lib lyrics (“ruling classes trickle piss from champagne glasses”, not bad) very high. It puts the album in a deep hole, which by mid-album they’ve climbed out of thanks to remembering their strengths are melodies, modest surprises, and oh yeah, guitar, though even then, overreaching arrangements mean they don’t get above the ground. (“What Feels Like Eternity”, “Enemies of the Ocean”)

The Mountain Goats: Bleed Out

Not bad or anything, it’s a Mountain Goats album that’s not recorded on a boombox and it rocks along pleasantly, it’s just that the subject matter is very limited even compared to the wrestling one. Of course he does get around to deconstructing all those action movie tropes a bit, but revelations like “John Rambo never went to Vietnam” would get you a pat on the hood from Patterson Hood. (“First Blood”, “Bleed Out”)

Rosalía: Motomami

I distrust my reaction when it consists of nothing but “this is annoying”, which is one reason Midnights isn’t in this column (maybe next year, Tay.) After letting Motomami settle for most of the year, what’s striking is how uniformly annoying it is, even when it’s objectively, you know, good. The hyperpop stuff? Annoying. The tracks that lean more heavily on flamenco? Annoying. The one with the Weeknd? That goes without saying. She can’t be eliciting so consistent a reaction if she isn’t doing something right, and though working out what that is should be a solvable problem (particularly as it’s definitely not the lyrics), it seems inappropriate to apply such an analytical framework after such a visceral reaction. (“Chicken Teriyaki”)

Soul Glo: Diaspora Problems

Philly hardcore quartet whose strongest point is the ferocious guitar of [Googles “Soul Glo guitarist”—well shit.] Philly hardcore trio whose current strongest point is the vicious rap-shrieking of Pierce Jordan. His political program, described by Pitchfork as “actionable rhetoric”, basically reduces to get high and carry a gun. But regardless of whether you think “Fuck right wing off the rip/Still liberals are more dangerous” contains a kernel of truth or is the dumbest shit you’ve ever heard, he makes his rage so straightforward to comprehend that it can’t be easily dismissed. Well, “regardless” might be a little strong. (“Driponomics”, “Gold Chain Punk (Whogonbeatmyass?)”)

Spoon: Lucifer on the Sofa

Right, let’s find the four good songs: “Wild” for sure, “Feels Alright” feels alright, I appreciate that “The Devil & Mister Jones” wears its influences on its sleeve, Christgau says “On the Radio” but he would so let’s go for the title track instead. Fun game, I enjoyed playing, hope it’s only four years instead of five until the next round. (“Wild”, “The Devil & Mister Jones”)

OKAY, ONE DUD

Elton John: The Lockdown Sessions

Look, I love the guy, I paid way too much money to see him on year four of his farewell tour this summer and he was fine in that context, but one of the show’s most gratifying moments was when he began his encore singing the billion-stream “Cold Heart” remix, and the largely superannuated crowd had no idea what the fjuck to do with it. I’m not a big Bernie Taupin fan, but “Rocket Man” doesn’t deserve a cartoon Dua Lipa making no attempt to reattach any meaning at all to it before it blasts out of the solar system. Desecrating your own work is one thing, treating other people’s great works like karaoke when you’re not good at karaoke is another, though I’m sure after hearing the waterlogged mix of “Chosen Family”, Rina Sawayama did a cost/benefit and worked out that she came out ahead. Olly Alexander, who puts his full ass into “It’s a Sin” like he wants to be able to look Neil Tennant in the eye again someday, is one of the few collaborators who abstains from the game of who-gives-the-tiniest-shit, with even Yo-Yo “will play in a vaccine waiting room like my life depended on it” Ma phoning it in. At least the Christmas edition of the album ends on a positive note, with Ed Sheeran, the (I’m sorry) great inheritor of ’80s Elton’s schlock-but-it’s-well-crafted approach, supplying a seasonal song that isn’t dumb.

Grade: C (“Merry Christmas”)

AND ONE POSITIVE-ISH REVIEW

Bad Bunny: Un Verano Sin Ti

Since 2020’s YHLQMDLG, he’s been the luckiest bunny alive, becoming the world’s most streamed artist and making it to the final five in the Royal Rumble before Brock Lesnar threw him out. His musical success, at least, shows no sign of abating—in half a year, all twenty-three (23) tracks on this have surpassed the 150 million play mark on Spotify—and while I can’t say it’s entirely deserved, he’s more likable than his non-Styles rivals for male gigastar of the moment due to not being known to be a sociopath or a racist or Ed Sheeran. He's an effective singer if not a great one, capable of expressing both horniness and slightly depressed horniness. The music on his album is far more varied than is commercially necessary, touring current Latin trends with the help of the likes of Bomba Estéreo (whom I’m sure are exceedingly grateful for hundreds of millions of fractions of cents), and if Bunny doesn’t show the same immediate aptitude for, say, bossa nova as he did for the top rope plancha, well, he can't be naturally good at everything. Now that would just be unfair. 

Grade: B, BUT A GOOD B (“Después de la Playa”, “Moscow Mule”, “Ojitos Lindos”)

AND ONE RECUSAL

Funtabi: The Creatures We Are

I’m not going to recuse myself from grading music by artists I’ve met just because I used their bathroom or they gave me medical advice once, but one-fifth of this Manhattan, KS pop-punk-sometimes-approaching-emo band was best man at my wedding, which I think is over the line. But they seem pretty solid to me! There are three singers with distinct styles, at least one of whom is good, and guitarists, keyboardist, and rhythm section alike show their experience and/or age by committing to rocking out with clarity. The good news is the best material is front-loaded, so you should know if I’m biased or not by track three, “Homestar Runner”, about watching “Homestar Runner” (and being depressed.)