Album Review: Miley Cyrus – Bangerz

Posted on October 16, 2013 by bgibs122

In a twisted way, I almost wanted Bangerz to be brilliant.

Not because I hold any particular fondness for former child-star and pop culture hanger-on Miley Cyrus, but because shit, wouldn’t that have been a surprise? Almost everything about Cyrus since dropping first single “We Can’t Stop”–the laughable twerking, the shitstorm VMA performance, “Wrecking Ball”‘s art-troll video, that tongue—has increasingly painted Bangerz as chaotic but minor album released chiefly as a means to keep her in the spotlight. What better way to be a rebel than to subvert those expectations, and make something massive or at least inspired?

But no, Bangerz goes exactly how everyone imagined: the driving question isn’t “Is it bad?”, but “How bad is it?” And, unsurprisingly, the answer is “pretty bad”. As a rule, the songs on Bangerz can be divided into two categories: the obvious “bangers”, and baffling everything-but-the-kitchen-sink genre blends. There’s no hard ruling on which edges out which as better; the bangers are straightforward but ugly takes on synth-y Southern hip-hop that typically feature Cyrus rapping (“We Can’t Stop”, “SMS”, “Love Money Party”, “My Darlin'”, “Do My Thang”), while the genre mash-ups (“4×4”, “Wrecking Ball”, “#GETITRIGHT”, “Drive”, “FU”, etc) err towards more interesting but frequently mediocre and/or boring takes on filtering country, rock, and dance through pop.

But, of all the outright weird fits and starts of the album, Bangerz‘ most left-field choice is to start with “Adore You”, the album’s least fussy track, and the best of its ballads. Propelled by a skittering drum beat and somber piano chords with by-numbers strings in the chorus, the song suffers slightly from “This Could Be Anyone’s Song” Syndrome, but it has one of Cyrus’ more restrained, nuanced, and earnest performances, and actually succeeds as a sweet love song. On the album’s other end, penultimate track “Maybe You’re Right” is an electro-ballad that could work if it had more forward motion.

“It could work” was one of my recurring thoughts while listening to Bangerz. “#GETITRIGHT”, the guitar-groove produced by Pharrell Williams, has a decent enough instrumental and melody, but enters one ear and politely exits the other four and a half minutes later. Something similar could be said for Williams’ other entry here, “4×4”; the hip-hop/country stomper that registers damn high on “What the hell am I listening to?” Obvious single “Wrecking Ball” is a pleasing listen, but the thudding chorus and Cyrus irritating vocals sell it short. Even mid-tempo filler cuts like “Drive”, “My Darlin'”, and “Someone Else” contain at least one workable hook or flourish that could have led to a better track. For an album that’s surprisingly ambitious in its scope, Bangerz leaves plenty of ideas on the table.

But, then there are the ideas that made it on the final pressing that should have been taken from the studio console and buried in a shallow grave in whichever vacant lot Cyrus buried her Hannah Montana wig. The French Montana-assisted “FU” represents the album at its absolute nadir: a genre trainwreck of dubby EDM and jazz-y cabaret, lyrics a drunken ex-lover would call graceless, and Miley pushing her voice to its obnoxious extremes. Britney Spears drops in for other low-point “SMS (Bangerz)”, the most aggressive club jam on the album that’s also far and away the worst (and, with the Spears cameo, a possible single).

“SMS” is awful, but not for the reasons Cyrus wanted it to be. The on the nose “adult” content is meant to be shocking, but really, it’s almost rote and predictable. It’s a problem that haunts Bangerz as a whole; Cyrus’ “can’t be tamed” lifestyle comes across as sincerely what she wants to do right now, but it also has more than a few winks and nudges–she knows we know it’s calculated. But, this means that the record gets the worst of both worlds because while Cyrus wants to push people’s buttons, she either doesn’t know how or want to fully commit to her trainwreck image. She could sing about doing a line off a dancer backstage, and it’d be more believable and shocking than going through the motions schlock like “Love Money Party”.

If Bangerz was a better album, it might have even been fun, too. As is, there’s plenty of parties, but no one sounds like they’re enjoying it; “We Can’t Stop”, the big party anthem single, sounds more like a dirge than a good time. There are a few decent to good spots on this album, but between the atrocious lyrics, messy production, and Cyrus’ still-grating voice, the album misses far more than it hits. Two stars out of five.

tl;dr: Bangerz might give you a headache, 2/5.

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Album Review: Drake – Nothing Was the Same

Posted on October 11, 2013 by bgibs122

When you look at Drake on paper, it’s astounding that he’s the biggest name in pop-rap right now. He’s an upper-class, Canadian, mixed, half-Jewish, former child actor who became an MC that dabbled in singing who blew up after getting picked up by the (at the time) leading name in hip-hop, who has created and as of Nothing Was the Same sustained a major career not on club-bangers or famously killer verses, but moody, insular and emotionally fragile (and a little pathetic) albums. The guy, quite simply, shouldn’t work.

Drake’s aware this, announcing that “This is nothing for the radio, but they still play it, though” not a minute into Nothing Was the Same. He made it work on Take Care, and it works for him again on Nothing Was the Same, albeit to a lesser extent. Take Care was Drake’s second album, but established his persona far more than the rushed and guest-heavy Thank Me Later. Between his introspective lyrics, varied delivery, and executive producer Noah “40” Shebib’s gauzy but gorgeous production, Take Care was a breakout album that put Drake in the upper echelon of crossover rappers (and, as of 2013, it’s still one of rap’s great Sad Bastard albums).

Nothing Was the Same, then, does relatively little to expand on the territory carved by its predecessor, but willfully explores the personal and isolating qualities of Drake’s music with even less attention to the radio (where it’ll still get plays–it’s that new Drizzy Drake, after all). And for something that mopes as much as NWTS, it’s interesting to see how confident this feels; opener “Tuscan Leather” sprawls out over six minutes, doesn’t have a single hook, and still starts the album on a triumphant note. Similarly, “Furthest Thing” is half typical moody Drake track, half Drake rapping over an old soul sample that works surprisingly well. Now that Take Care established Drake/40’s style as a template, NWTS sees them celebrating it.

Two of the best tracks here, “From Time” and “Too Much” put Drake in Oversharing mode, both with his love life and his family. On “From Time”, 40 and collaborator Chilly Gonzales’s beat consists mostly of simple drums and a melancholy piano melody, but adds jittery electronics as Drake’s rapping builds in intensity; it sounds like someone slipping away (Jhene Aiko’s fantastic hook helps the song, as well). Lyrically, Drake raps about his father’s alcoholism, his mother’s fear of being alone, and the infamous “Courtney from Hooters on Pea Street” and their failed relationship. “Too Much”, meanwhile, sees Drake call out his mom and uncle on not following through, and laments again how fame and money have changed him.

Those subjects–family, love, and how wealth complicates them–run parallel with the other themes of NWTS: namely, how great/rich Drake is, how much he loves where he’s from, and his past. Some of it is easy to relate to, like family trouble, love woes, and losing touch with old friends, but it takes a certain kind of person to consider “the bottom” as a middle-class child actor, ala “Started From the Bottom”. Honestly, the introspective sing/rap mood jams like “Wu-Tang Foreve”, “305 to My City”, and “Furthest Thing” work better than mugging tracks like “The Language” or “Worst Behavior” because three albums in, it’s still impossible to take Drake seriously when he tries to act menacing.

And while NWTS mostly eschews the radio, there’s still a pair of obvious radio singles here. “Started From the Bottom” is the weaker of the two: it’s a decently producted 40 and Mike Zombie track with an active snare and piano loop, but some sleepy rapping from Drake (I have also heard it more than anything else at the college bar near my house). Other single, “Hold On, We’re Going Home” is Drake at his poppiest, an MJ/Quincy Jones-inspired R&B track that consists entirely of singing, including some Miguel-esque falsetto. “Hold On, We’re Going Home” might be Drake’s best pop song to date.

Nothing Was the Same has some great parts, but a weak whole. Again, Drake’s a victim of few edits–the album’s “only” an hour, but has just enough uninteresting material to make especially the back half feel like a slog. Outside “Too Much”, the wheels fall off after “Hold On, We’re Going Home”; not even Jay-Z in the form of the album’s only guest verse can salvage “Pound Cake” (if anything, he’s part of the problem). Drake’s got plenty of arresting, engaging material on Nothing Was the Same, but what he’s missing is variety. Three and a half out of five stars.

tl;dr: Nothing Was the Same, but Drake’s as sad as ever. 3.5/5.

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Radio Rant: Lorde – Royals

Posted on October 10, 2013 by bgibs122

Hello, and welcome to Radio Rants! Let’s start with an announcement.

Hipsterism is dead!

That’s right, you heard it here first. Tell your nearest tight-pansted, black rimmed glasses totting 20something to pack up their fixed gear bike, gluten free/vegan cook book, Vampire Weekend vinyl, and go home; their services as the vanguards of “cool” new music are no longer necessary. They’re popular, now. It might feel shocking or sad, but remind them of the good times, we’ll always have The Moon & Antarctica, right?

Ok, in all fairness, the “hipster/indie is dead” argument rolls around every seven to ten years, but few things make the argument sound as convincing as the fact that “Royals” is currently America’s number one song. Just listen to it: if this song had been released in any other year between 2008 and now, the best it’d get is a slow-week Pitchfork “Best New Track” feature praising the “smart pop instincts and precocious songwriting”, and maybe some lower placing on year-end lists before disappearing into the buzz-o-sphere ether.

I’m not saying I’m unhappy with how things turned out.

We’re watching the start of Lorde’s career unfold now, so there isn’t much in the way of background, other than the fact that she’s 16 (OhGodwhatamIdoingwithmylife), and from New Zealand. Despite the look and sound of “Royals”–which we’ll get to in a bit–she isn’t a self-starter with a laptop and beat maker, but a major-label signee with a designated producer (Joel Little). That’s really about it, beside the fact that I think of someone very specific when I think of a “teenage royal lord”.

Someone somewhere just almost punched their screen.

Ok, getting to “Royals”. This song is about as minimal as you can get and still have a hit. The beat consists of a  skittering 808 drum, fingersnaps, background bass synth, and Lorde’s vocals. It’s the kind of minimalism that makes “Started From the Bottom” sound downright overstuffed by comparison. The more obscure Name That Influence here is electropop dup and 2012 critic darlings Purity Ring, as “Royals” could pass for a Shines outtake, minus the weird.

I still haven’t quite got my head around this being the biggest song in America. I mean, yes, on a closer listen, it makes sense; underneath the Noah “40” Shebib reverb and smoothed-out Purity Ring beat, “Royals” is a for-the-masses pop song at its core, but it gets there through playing to what’s typically considered indie music. We’ve had indie acts chart high before, but Lorde’s the first case where indie-pop is purely an aesthetic choice, never a business one.

In this way, she’s also comparable to another “Royals” influence: Lana Del Rey. Both have a more refined and opulent moniker that adds a bit of mystery, and basically the same “one breakout song launches an album” backstory, but for “Royals”, the most prominent comparison is the layered/self-backing vocals. Pound for pound, Lorde’s the superior singer–her voice has a great balance of talent and training, and her knack for melody is stellar, but where she really shines is the vocal embellishments. She’s frequently backed by herself, and the four part harmony at the end of each chorus is to die for.

Lana was also apparently part of the inspiration for the lyrics to “Royals”. And here’s where I lose track of what the song’s saying. Make no mistake about it, they’re a great set of lyrics–Lorde plays with the dissonance between listening to songs about “Gold teeth, grey goose, trippin’ in the bathroom” or “Like Cristal, Maybatch, diamonds on your time piece, jet planes, islands, tigers on a gold lease” at parties while scratching a few bucks together to get your broke ass home. It covers the same “Richness is bullshit” territory that “Thrift Shop” did, except with actual songwriting.

Where Lorde loses me is in her explanation. She says that the song’s inspired by listening to Jay-Z and Kanye’s Watch the Throne and Lana Del Rey’s Born to Die. Her thought process, in her words, was that “I can get absorbed in Kanye’s world, but a part of me is always like, ‘This is kind of bullshit’—all the crazy extravagances he’s talking about. And I started listening to a lot more top-40 music, and realized a lot of the stuff isn’t very relatable to anyone’s lives.”

I want to make sure I get this straight. She wrote a luxury takedown because she thought that Kanye West, Jay-Z, and Lana Del Rey weren’t very relatable. She’s railing because an admitted pop culture pastiche, the guy whose last record included a song literally called “I Am a God”, and the one entertainer who could credibly buy Scrooge McDuck aren’t something to relate to?

Fucking duh!

I can’t speak for Lorde or the rest of y’all, but I didn’t listen to “N**gas in Paris” because I, too, know how to not give a shit about fifty grand. Hell, Watch the Throne only worked because if anybody knew how make being mind-shatteringly wealthy believable and fun, it would be Jay-Z and Kanye West.

So, even if Lorde lost me at her inspiration, there’s still no denying that “Royals” is one of the best chart toppers this year. Even if it strictly speaking isn’t different, there’s nothing that sounds exactly like it, and Lorde’s vocals are wonderful. It’s interesting to see where such a fully formed artist will go next, but hopefully she outgrows the Holden Caulfield “phonies are bullshit” streak.

Damn hipster.

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Album Review: Arctic Monkeys – AM

Posted on September 22, 2013 by bgibs122

At the time, Josh Homme acting as producer for the Arctic Monkeys’ 2009 album Humbug didn’t feel like a game-changer for the group, but jumping four years down the line to AM, it’s impossible not to hear the Queens of the Stone Age mastermind’s influence. In some ways, it makes sense that Homme and Arctic Monkeys frontman Alex Turner would be kindred spirits: both of these guys have led capital R Rock Bands since before they were old enough to drink, and somehow, you can’t imagine either of them doing anything else. Since the 2009 collaboration, there’s been a certain bromance between the two both on and off records: on record, Homme appeared on Humbug‘s followed up and AM while Turner showed up on QotSA’s …Like Clockwork; off record, Turner moved out to LA, about an hour out from Homme’s Palm Springs.

The point is, Homme’s presence is so thorough on AM that when the Queensman himself shows up for backing vocals on “One For the Road” and “Knee Socks”, it’s jarring to realize he hasn’t been there the whole time. The cooing falsettos on “Do I Wanna Know?”, “Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?”, or “R U Mine?” aren’t his, but come courtesy of drummer Matt Helders and bassist Nick O’Malley, and sound as much a part of the band as the angular riffs on AM.

Given what it is, I see two perfectly valid reasons in naming the album AM. Most obviously, it’s an abbreviated take on a self-titled album. Accordingly, AM fits most of the stereotypes associated with having a self-titled record five albums into your career: this is the first album Arctic Monkeys have released where they can comfortably be described as sounding like themselves. The album’s sound is a melting pot of the frenzied post-punk/garage rock of their first two albums, the psychedelia of Humbug, and the guitar pop of Suck It and See mixed with some deliberate hip-hop influences. The hip-hop influence translates to some slower and groovier beats, but they fit the lumbering riffs of the group like a glove. AM is essentially Arctic Monkeys’ “brand” record.

For a group who could have easily imploded after two albums, AM‘s sound hints at some longevity. The first five songs (plus second half standout “Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?”) play to the band’s strengths as a junior Queens of the Stone Age between the stomping drums and grinding riffs. Opener “Do I Wanna Know?” works as a one-song summary for AM, and “R U Mine?” is explosive and snarling in all the right ways. The next three songs keep a happy balance between smooth and sexy rhythms and beats with surprisingly aggressive guitar work (see the “War Pigs” riff in “Arabella”). Meanwhile, things lighten up in the album’s two-song, blissed out, middle section of “No. 1 Party Anthem” and “Mad Sounds”, which recall the expansive pop of Suck It and See. The backhalf of the album slides quality-wise, with “When You’re High?” and the murky, drum-machine heavy closer “I Wanna Be Yours” acting as highlights. Still, there’s a range to AM‘s sound that feels surprising.

The other interpretation to AM is “after midnight”, where its subject matter dwells. This is a record meant to soundtrack the nervous, half-shouted conversations and inner-monologues born from 2 AM and too much to drink. “Do I Wanna Know?” colors the album in the lyric “Ever thought of calling when you’ve had a few?/Cause I always do”, while “One for the Road” proposes treating a break-up like last call at the bar. There’s plenty of sex and alcohol on AM, but for how lively the music sounds, the lyrics are covered in anxiety and desperation. “Why’d You Only Call Me…” nails this tone best, with “No. 1 Party Anthem”, where the narrator’s begging to hear a pump-up song before chatting up a girl, in a close second. Elsewhere, tunes like “I Wanna Be Yours” and “I Want It All” describe a guy who will drunkenly take it where he can get it. An early Alex Turner lyric observed “Weekend rockstars in the toilets, practicing their lines”, now he’s gone from observer to participant.

Much like a night out drinking, AM meanders through its own highs and lows. There are some keepers here, but the quality and pacing of the album drop after “Mad Sounds”. Even in that good stretch, there are a few take’em-or-leave’em numbers that won’t invite replays outside AM as a whole. It’s sexy, and even with missteps, a surprisingly replayable and likable album. Three and a half stars out of five.

tl;dr: AM goes well with Jack and Coke, but like all good nights out, the ingredients aren’t always perfect. 3.5/5.

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