The Bullpen 007

Age-appropriate concerns for teens and nonagenarians

Gouge Away: Deep Sage

Yet another alt/hardcore fusion, fortunately with (i) more emphasis on the latter, (ii) a strong vocalist in one Christina Michelle, who brings conversational texture to the quieter bits between her shouted rasps. Guitarists Dylan Downey and Mick Ford are well above the genre average, bringing little slides and distorted rings as well as the big loud chords. While songs are heavy on repetition, there’s vivid scene-setting in “Maybe Blue”, which brings depression to life before getting stuck on “doesn’t this mean we have no choice but to change?” to the extent that Michelle doesn’t complete the rhetorical question. The one time they try a good old ’90s-style modern rocker, it goes on for a not-so-good six minutes; I hope they’ll learn to combine ambitious songwriting with their existing concision. (“No Release”, “Deep Sage”, “Maybe Blue”)

Jeffrey Lewis: Preconditions Include

This streaming-only EP-plus is Lewis’s Kanye project, in that he’s at liberty to change the title and tracklist on a whim. Of the two songs that make that worth dealing with, the 12-minute epic “The History of the Development of Punk on the Lower East Side, 1950–1975”—which comes with an uncannily good Holy Modal Rounders impression, assuming that’s not Stampfel himself—is outdone by the closing “It Could Be Worse”, written in 2022 with the Ukraine War under way and COVID still casting a shadow. Turns out it could! He brings to mind the Ellen Willis optimism quote, except he shows how much willpower and brainpower the bright side can require—at least some fish might survive, he guesses. The three or four other tracks are diverting if slight; this newsletter is on record as preferring a dozen 1920s and ’30s novels to Gatsby anyway. (“It Could Be Worse”, “The History of the Development of Punk on the Lower East Side, 1950–1975”)

Laila!: Gap Year!

Daughter of a rapper of some repute, she’s nineteen this week and already an accomplished talented R&B singer-rapper-songwriter-producer. Now, 18-year-olds don’t make great albums without massive institutional support, and this is no exception: it could use a doctor to differentiate one high school lovesickness from another. Nevertheless, it sounds fine throughout, and in moments where she attains emotional clarity—ruing not having a prom date, or plotting to leave a note on a crush’s locker—her poise and normalcy are reminiscent of teen Taylor herself. She could be around for a very long time, thanks not least to the well-sampled support of family members, her dad most definitely not included. (“Blackberry (Date 4 Prom)”, “If You Don’t Know by Now”, “We’re So Over!”)

Laurie Anderson: Amelia

Minor Anderson, in part because of the narrow focus on what Earhart didn’t succeed in rather than what she did. Still, there are insights and pleasures. Anohni is very good here: her emotions bulge out of her restraint when things turn tragic, in contrast to Anderson’s discipline, which requires you to recenter yourself inside her to find the ever-present feeling. Matters deepen when the flight reaches Asia and the Pacific, ukeleles and exotica swoons symbolizing the cultural globalization abetted by air travel. However filled with misunderstanding the times were, they did herald a smaller world where some women suddenly had unprecedented possibilities, and Anderson makes sure to let Earhart say that in her own words. (“India and on Down to Australia”, “Road to Mandalay”, “Aloft”)

Mabe Fratti: Sentir Que No Sabes

Trained as a classical cellist in Guatemala, Fratti won a scholarship to Mexico City, where her record collection expanded to include the weird and the very non-weird. Her fourth and most successful solo album is artpop, a few short avant-gardisms aside. Otherwise she encases her bowing and pizzicato and extended techniques within the bounds of songform, albeit with surprises and shifts. Meanings, like love, are elusive yet not unfixable, and if the fact that the opener is titled “Kravitz” worries you, pretend it’s Zoë and roll with it. Her partner/producer Hector Tosta a/k/a “I. La Católica” adds guitar, piano and more synths; Jacob Wick adds flattened trumpet on “Oídos”. Effects are used sparingly, with Fratti’s voice coming through with admirable clarity and unfashionable sweetness. On the closing “Angel nuevo”, when she repeats “no regresar a tí”, what she’s avoiding is the idea of stasis itself. (“Enfrente”, “Intento Fallido”, “Alarmas Olvidadas”)

Pest Control: Year of the Pest EP

Leeds thrash metallers, considered punk crossover presumably because these ten minutes contain as many as four songs. Singer Leah Massey-Hay is the major asset, screaming about pests that are not in control—ironic? anti-ironic? I don’t even know anymore—and the “P.M.C.”, which if it stands for what I think it stands for suggests they spend too much time on the Internet (unlike me, I spend too much time in glass houses.) The twin guitar riffery is crisp and succinct; the solos play not too many notes very fast. They’re adept enough to pull off a slow-it-down bit at the end of the title track, and it’s unclear whether developing the maturity to stay unrushed will help them. (“Year of the Pest”, “P.M.C.”)

Rauw Alejandro: Cosa Nuestra

A reggaeton-meets-Puerto Rican history move he brought to market a couple of months before his friend B. Bunny’s. He wanted “telenovela vibes”, which maybe means narrative incoherence and maybe is to distract from the main through-line being his getting dumped for the guy from The Bear. Though it would be scattershot even if Pharrell wasn’t on it, I prefer it to Bunny’s album thanks to Alejandro being an actual singer, which turns out to be helpful if you want to do bachata or salsa romántica; his Frankie Ruiz cover is surprisingly nimble. (“Tú Con Él”, “Khé”, “Qué Pasaría…”)

Rosali: Bite Down

Folk rock is back, have you heard? Rosali brings the folk, which means her songs have proper tunes and chord progressions, while the rock comes from some guys from Nebraska and Destroyer’s piano player. The vibe is that people, not excluding the narrator, are often exhausting, as is the memory of love, yet there’s plenty worth living for: dogs, mostly, but to some extent also friends, bandmates, and select fellow dog-lovers. Rosali’s excellent at getting this across in the singing, which is weary without going for full Lucinda-post-Essence enervation. Omaha’s Mowed Sound’s backup is crucial, and keyboardist Ted Bois even sounds like he’s having fun sometimes. By the time they all get to the slow burn “May It Be on Offer” at the end, they’ve earned the right to take their time. (“Hills on Fire”, “Hopeless”, “May It Be on Offer”)

Takkak Takkak

The wheel of Nyege Nyege lands on “Japanese producer in Berlin” plus “Thai-born Javan instrument maker in Vilnius”. The result is some genuinely weird/novel sonics—harsh gongs, some kind of scraped strings, anything drum-like getting thumped—held together with electronically-abetted dronery. With the reverb turned up to St. Paul’s levels, the results are consistent ominousness; as a pop person I wouldn’t mind a little more tension-release. Might be best cut up into a A24 psychological horror movie soundtrack, but as an album, it has its uses. (“Garang”, “Raung”, “Raksasa”)

Willie Nelson: Last Leaf on the Tree

Having done old man songs for decades, Willie interprets the opener, Tom Waits’s “Last Leaf”, as a really old man song, which might be unprecedented, since he and Tony Bennett are the only major male singers who come to mind that made it to 91 in serviceable voice. Rather than hang out with Gaga (though why not, son Lukas has co-written with her) Willie and Trigger take center stage. For the first time since he was a spry septuagenarian, he/they show off all their different runs, which producer and another son Micah set amidst all kinds of guitars and other things with strings. At times the material is Now That’s What I Call 1999–2003 Pazz and Jop Classics. Beck’s always been a fine tunesmith, and it’s no surprise that Willie can get the most out of Warren Zevon, but extracting gravitas out of the Flaming Lips’ “Do You Realize??”? If it’s not as great as Cash’s “Hurt”, it’s just as impressive. (“Last Leaf”, “Keep Me in Your Heart”, “Lost Cause”)