Alphabet game - Album reviews

A is for: Assume Form

Pitchfork, when I get my hands on you...To rate this album a 5 is absurd, but then again, Pitchfork has not been a reliable quality metric for some time. It's also supsected, and probably true, that this was a retaliatory review in response to Blake's critique of an article in which they called one of his new tracks at the time "sad boy music". In any case, remnants of this album are ubiquitous in my music catalogue, though it's a kind of quiet brilliance where it's easy to forget that this one release of his churned out gem after gem. I'd argue this is peak James Blake. He proves that he can cater to the mainstream trap sound (Mile High), but doesn't neglect interesting instrumenetals, letting other genuises of the field in his orbit lend a hand (Barefoot in the Park). With sound, Blake still immerses you visually - Can't Belive The Way We Flow sounds like two figurines inside a jewelry box. And may I just say, it's hard to get "sad boy" out of this album when it's so romantic? He sweetly teases his subject - "Are you in love? Do your best impression for me"...very swoon-worthy, (Are You In Love?). Besides substantial lyrics, what I appreciate is how sonically interesting each track is. You're never bored, and he gets lent a hand from several collaborators including Andre 3000 and Rosalia. One of my favorite love songs is on here as well; with lyrics like "I'll slip right into the cracks between you and him " and "I wouldn't do this on my own, but I'm not on my own", it's an ode to the absurdity of love and all its quirks, but it's also a promise: wherever you're headed, that's where I'll go (I'll Come Too). The music video is pretty ridiculous, too. Overall, this is a solid album where Blake's mastery of sound is on full display, a real quiet stunner. I don't feel it gets nearly the amount of recognition it deserves, so take the advice from the album itself - "don't miss it".

B is for: the bends

I cheated but I'll remind myself that for the letter 'T', I'm not allowed to use an album that starts with 'The'. I wanted to write about this mainly to gush about Radiohead as soon as possible. Honestly it's hard to believe this was released in 1995. I love this album, and I didn't always. I, like most people, gravitated towards the beep-boop of ok computer, especially with its 'Animal farm' and '1984' references - perfectly ripe for a rebellious teenager to latch onto. Now, being just a bit older than Yorke was when this album was dropped, I've come to appreicate this pent up pressure cooker that unleashes all its frustration about commercial success onto its listener. In truth, The Bends captures the troubling and contradictory feelings that are trademarks of angst. Yorke acknowledges how on the tip of your tongue these feelings can be, recognizing that the "words are coming out all weird" as he succumbs to "The Bends". Planet Telex, in all its sultry psychadelic hopelessness is such a good opener it's stupid. Now I could write a whole freview over Fake Plastic Trees, but I think it goes without saying it is one of THE Radiohead songs. Funnny, they couldn't get away from Creep's shadow and then incidentally created another masterpiece. The symbolism, the legends and lore (Apparently Yorke was crying during the recording of the last bit of lyrics), "It wears me out" song had Tumblr in a chokehold...but sometimes the masses get it right. This song really is one of the greatest rock songs of all time, and it doesn't fuss or yell, just despairs. Since we ought to listen to albums by their intended track listing, I have to say the ordering of The Bends definitely reinforces that uncomfortable and disjointed feeling, fitting for a band that's sort of writhing and itching from under the commercial success that fits like a wool sweater that's too small around them.

The album is not without its weaker spots. High and Dry is safe, pleasing enough, but melodically boring when its stacked up against musical giants like Fake Plastic Trees and Street Spirit. To be clear, though. it's still a solid track. I guess really it just speaks to the album's enormity, if nothing else. That's also not to say a more scaled back song means its weak, either. Nice Dream and Bullet Proof...are beautiful, with Nice Dream giving us those bursts of released frustration. Yorke gives us one last hoorah with the nuclear bombs that are Just and My Iron Lung. Sardonically, he thanks critics the success of their most popular single, and the track's symbolic title makes sense - Creep is their crowning glory, their ball and chain, their iron lung. And the closer, Street Spirit...well, what is there to even say? Hauntingly, devestating, gorgeous, with the swelling instrumentals and layered vocals drowning you in its despair. The way The Bends ends is not with a bang, but a whisper. I may not be able to be objective about this but I'd say this album is one of the reasons Radiohead will be cemented in musical legend for all time, and insanely enough, it's not the only time they would go on to revolutionize rock.

c is for: channel orange

Oh Frank...a pattern is emerging in which I give albums I personally like 10s accross the board. But that's kind of the point, I don't want to write about albums I don't like. I was around 14 when this album came out. I don't think it's exaggerating to say, alongside FKA Twigz's Two Weeks, this revolutionized mainstream music and broke black artists out of the confines of being restrained by the RNB label. Thinking of You is an ambitious start (since Start is not TECHNICALLY a song). Ocean has a lot to live up to, and does he ever, because after Fertilizer, you get Sierra Leone, my pesonal favorite track. However, if you asked me to define the song that officially put Ocean on par with giants of his field, then it would have to be Pyramids, It's always a gamble when artists release lengthy songs (over 5 mins), but it's the right move here. Pyramids is truly two fully formed and mature songs bonded together. They can be enjoyed separately, but the story they tell inextricably links them together. Pyramids tells you that Ocean can make a dance track and he can make a bump track, and he could have made the entire album sound that way. Yet, he graces us with a variety of beats and colloabs - Earl Sweatshirt, Andre 3000, and John Mayer on one album is truly something to behold. Bad Religion -> Pink Matter -> Forrest Gump is a glorious track run. Ocean's grappple with spirituality and sexuality flawlessly melts and flows from between these tracks before culiminating in the sweet, cheeky love letter to Tom Hanks. And speaking of spirituality and sexuality, that really is what channel orange is. Ocean, a quiet man, gives every thing he means to say through Channel Orange, and I think he speaks at a perfect volume.

D is for: doolittle

Whores in your head, tattooed tits, Chien Andalusia, monkeys going to heaven. The Pixies hold the reigning title for coolest bald frontman around. Distressed jeans, converse, and greasy hair owe themeslves to Doolittle. Hard to believe, since this album does not sound like it was made in 1989. You could have told me some Cage The Elephant-adjacent (There Goes My Gun seriously could have been extracted and slipped into Melophobia) group of guys made this in their garage last week, and I would believe you. And that's what iconic music does, it withstands the test of time, refusing to date itself. When you hear Doolittle, you can't help but hear it in Nirvana (Cobain confirms this), in Smashing Pumpkins, and even in the one of the newer buzzy indie bands emerging, Geese, right down to the cooler-than-life female guitarist. It helps to break down what it is we're hearing. After all, the album's formula is simple enough. Well, Black Francis plays a lot with his vocals, weaving in and out of conversing, whispering, singing, and shouting. The range of rasping and then screaming at us in the thrasher Tame, and raising up to a high falsetto in folky Silver adds the experimental flair that elevates this from a simple 40-minute jam session. You want to thrash around (Dead, Tame, my personal favorite track, Crackity Jones), bob your head (There Goes My Gun, Hey, Gouge Away), and do some fancy footwork (Here Comes Your Band) to this music, which really leans into the homemade garage sound later bands honed in on. I think sometimes it's hard to substantiate a body of work's impact because, unless you were alive to witness otherwise, it's easy to look at mainly at music solely through the lens of streaming. But besides The Pixies, the Beastie Boys and The Cure were the biggest "alternative" commercial successes against a backdrop of the likes of Madonna's Like a Prayer and Janet Jackson's Rhythym Nation. Doolittle ends like it begins, leaving you pent up and ready to kick some trash cans over. Unlike a previous review I did on Radiohead's The Bends, Francis isn't particuarly interested in storytelling. It's gritty, it's dirty, the lyrics are absurd, and it's steps on your neck for 38 minutes 38 seconds straight. You can't help but want more when it's over.