Category: Music

Let’s be frank: U2 is nothing less than one of the most successful and popular acts to have ever recorded a rock album. They need no introduction. As such, this review really needs no introduction either. By now you’re probably already sick of hearing about the band’s thirteenth studio album, Songs of Innocence, as well as the uniquely invasive delivery strategy surrounding its release. So allow me to start this review on a personal note: I spent the summer listening to a whole lot of fucking U2. Inspired by “U Talkin’ U2 to Me?” — a not-as-ironic-as-it-seems-at-first fan podcast hosted by Scott Aukerman (“Comedy Bang! Bang!”) and Adam Scott (“Parks & Recreation”) — I’ve devoted the last couple months to exploring the band’s back catalogue, from their 1980 debut LP Boy to their last self-consciously experimental outing, 2009’s No Line on the Horizon. Now, September is here and I find myself blessed with the opportunity to end my Summer of U2 with the band’s brand new album. If that wasn’t enough of a pleasant surprise, the thing is actually good, too.

If the release of Songs of Innocence has reminded me of anything, it’s that a lot of people really, really hate U2. Chalk it up to the band’s often cringeworthingly earnest sound or Bono’s refusal to step down from his soapbox; U2 may be insanely popular, but people fucking despise this band. I don’t. They may not be the greatest rock act in the world, but I think they’ve managed to turn in their fair share of decent material over their almost four decades of being a band, some of which — such as records like their first magnum opus The Joshua Tree and the band’s ironic reinvention Achtung Baby — have rightfully ascended to the position of rock classics.

That being said, it’s been a while since U2 have released anything outstanding. No Line on the Horizon’s respectable attempt at experimentation was marred by the presence of some of the band’s worst songs ever. 2004’s How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb was a scattershot collection of hits and misses. All That You Can’t Leave Behind found the band kicking off the new millennium with a solid A-side that gave way to a back half that is almost offensively dismissible. Forgotten 90s records like Pop and Zooropa are okay (if you’re into that sort of thing) but that takes us all the way back to 1991 and Achtung Baby — which means that it’s been 23 years since U2 have managed to record a truly impressive album.

If U2 have another masterpiece in them, Songs of Innocence isn’t it. Instead, it’s simply a cohesive collection of personal, catchy pop rock songs that is solid from front to back, and I couldn’t be more pleased to have it. This record is respectable to a fault; it seems like Bono and co. have somehow actually managed to learn from everything that has and — perhaps even more importantly — hasn’t worked for them in the past. Take the record’s first single and opening track for example. While the arrival of No Line on the Horizon was heralded by Bono getting on his “sexy boots” to shout about submarines and gasoline, “The Miracle (of Joey Ramone)” finds the band returning with a big sound but a personal message, comprised of just how significantly music can touch us at impressionable times in our lives. Not only does “Miracle” soundtrack the return of a band who have released their fair share of inspiring music themselves, but it introduces us to an album that is surprisingly free of the Bono-isms that have earned the band’s singer his reputation of being one of the most annoying frontman to ever pick up a microphone.

Which is not to say that Songs of Innocence is lyrically a great album; to tell you the truth, I haven’t actually given the record’s lyrics too much attention (from what I can gather, they’re fairly personal and surprisingly unoffensive, though). Fortunately, Songs of Innocence succeeds on various other levels. For instance, while I couldn’t begin to tell you what “Every Breaking Wave” is about lyrically, I can tell you that it finds the band functioning at the top of their game in terms of melody and dynamics. After a subdued intro reminiscent of “With or Without You”, the band reach for the heavens with an irresistibly huge chorus that proves to be one of U2’s most spiritually elevating moments since, well, “Elevation”. The band really go for it on this album; perhaps threatened by irrelevance, they’ve recorded some of the most undeniably catchy songs of their career, all while managing to sound more youthful and energetic than they have in decades.

That sense of youthful energy can probably be accredited to the record’s production. It’s worth mentioning that Songs of Innocence is the first U2 record since 1997’s Pop not to feature production from the likes of Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois, the duo responsible for many of the band’s finest moments. Instead, we’re either treated to big pop sheens and glimmers from Paul Epworth and One Republic’s Ryan Tedder, or the muted colors of Danger Mouse / Brian Burton. This might be the first U2 record to sound like Coldplay since Coldplay started sounding like U2, but the pop treatment actually serves the band well for the most part (“California” actually manages to sound like every good Coldplay single distilled into one track). Still, it’s Danger Mouse who actually manages to take the record’s b-side as an opportunity to push the band into more exciting and experimental territory. If I’m being honest, I haven’t really enjoyed Burton’s production work since his work with Gorillaz and MF Doom back in 2005, but he actually manages to pull some cool tricks out of his sleeve here; “Raised by Wolves” is a car-bomb ballad with some razor-sharp guitar and a drop from Hell and “This is Where You Can Reach Me Now” will have you tapping your foot before you even realize that U2 have gone disco. They’re two of the record’s most esoteric moments, but they’re also two of its best.

If you’ve been drinking the U2 haterade since back when Bono decided to replace four with fourteen, I’m sure Songs of Innocence will do little to change your mind on the band. But if you manage to put all pretenses aside and approach the record with an open mind, I think you’ll be as pleasantly surprised as I was that the record’s title is actually sorta fitting. Pretensions, lyrical blunders, political soapboxing… these songs are innocent of every crime U2 has been accused of in the past. Maybe they’ve finally found what they were looking for after all this time?

Benjamin Booker’s powerful self-titled debut album is less of a kick in the teeth and more of a push off of a massive cliff into a deep, clear ocean. Its sound is raw and menacing at times, but its construction couldn’t be more tightly controlled. The New Orleans-based Booker burst onto the music scene with a bang this year, touring with Jack White and putting on an impressive set at Lollapalooza.

The barrage of press surrounding his anticipated debut album has often hailed him as the savior of blues-rock. While it is for certain that Booker’s sound is frequently brushed with the remnants of 60s and 70s blues and gospel, to compartmentalize this album to just one type of sound would be doing it a great disservice. In this album you hear the punk rock influences of bands like The Gun Club and glam rock bands like T. Rex. Both of whom Booker cites as bands that have impacted his sound.

Listening to this album may take you to a time of unpolished and coarse rock and roll, but despite its timeless sound this album is incredibly present. From the very beginning with the lead track “Violent Shiver,” Booker (and his drummer Max Norton) kick-start the album with a song that refuses to let the vocals rise above the rhythm section. The music and the lyrics are so intertwined that their union blurs the lines between which one is used for the melody and which is used for harmony. Is the guitar complimenting his raspy voice or the other way around?

This is blatant in songs like “Spoon Out My Eyeballs” a seemingly soothing, almost ballad, where Booker’s voice couldn’t be soft if his life depended on it. Eventually the song shifts into a fast-paced guitar at around the two minute mark. In this song, and many others on the album, the eruption of guitar feels as if Booker had just been impatiently waiting for the slow part to be done so he could implement it.

That is my favorite part of this album and with Booker as an artist. Listening to him, I can’t tell if these songs are a product of improvisation or they are just masterfully crafted songs. Exhibiting a mastery that is well beyond his 25 years.

My favorite track on the album is “Have You Seen My Son?” I first heard it on the radio a few months ago and it struck me so profoundly I had to pull over to look up the name of it. Booker in this song takes the perspective of a father who is looking for his son in a world consumed by sin and immorality. It starts with a rhythmic drum and doesn’t let up. Booker’s shaky and raspy voice pulls you in and then pushes you out as the guitar grows and grows. At around the 1:45 mark he delves into his first of two rhythmic jam sessions between him and the drummer. It sounds like he’s constantly about to lose control, but his never does. He finds cohesion in the chaos.

Interpol was a band I always stated was a staple of the “My First Indie Rock” song collection. It was the gateway to the more obscure and weird and experimental artists all along the blogosphere. However, the band hasn’t been as synonymous with that as it used to be. Artists like Arctic Monkeys, Lana Del Rey, Twenty-One Pilots, and the like are the new staples for a new brand of indie rocker. Interpol seems to be pushed back for the youngbloods and because of the mixed opinion on their last album, people thought that Interpol has lost their edge. Longtime listeners stayed with them but there was that hint of doubt. El Pintor is giving a slow, skeptic hope that they will continue being a indie rock standard.

The lead single, “All The Rage Back Home” does show that these guys aren’t getting too ahead of themselves as they produce this fast-paced, surprising, bursty and thrashing song. The guitars just yelling “yehehehehe” in the background is a subtle production dream, and the return of Paul Banks’ voice, untouched by age is something fantastic to hear. “Anywhere” has a cool indie rock aesthetic too. The drums still punch like on Antics and the synthesizers mixed with the high-pitched guitar give a cool sound, but pushes the vocals to the back, something that I’ve criticized shoegaze albums for. “Same Town, New Story” has this weird hammer-on, pull-off riff that actually does it better than “My Desire”. The reverb and pushed back vocals on this give it a deeper sound, something that I haven’t really heard from Interpol before. “Blue Supreme” takes a softer approach, taking about someone who you desire to be. Although at some points it sounds like a Coldplay track.

Most of the album does have some very good music, despite the biggest departure from bassist Carlos Dengler. The duties have been taken over by frontman Paul Banks, but you can hear the difference in change almost immediately. The intricacies of scale and note changes are almost nonexistent here. If you listen to “Obstacle 1” on Turn On the Bright Lights and “Breaker 1” here, the changes are very noticeable. Also, the bass seemed to bring the most out of the vocals, but Banks seems to be all over the place. At one point, he’ll be singing a faded falsetto on “My Blue Supreme”, and then back to his original voice on “Ancient Ways”. “Tidal Wave” teases us with a synthesizer opening and what seems like the opening notes to “Barricade” and leads into another odd combination of falsetto and whatever the hell Paul Banks is supposed to be singing in. And the final track “Twice As Hard” has some pretty cool production on the vocals, but the slow, spacey, tremolo of the song really takes the cake.

Final Verdict: It’s the Interpol we would have liked to see Carlos Dengler on, but for the first time without him, they sound new. If we take out all of the critical acclaim from their previous albums and judged this solely on its own merit, it’s a decent album with some cool production that didn’t need to be completely streamlined for it to work. There’s enough variety in the album to keep it going and it has enough poppy punch to keep you listening to it for a while. Is it the best? No, not at all, but it’s a start in the right direction. I wanna see Interpol become something more than a has-been band, and this album has proved it to me, and should prove it to other avid listeners. I’m a little skeptical that the youngbloods will take these guys over, but I want to see them influence other bands again.

I used to have a noise rock themed radio show in college. It all began when I picked up a copy of Whip It On, the debut EP from The Raveonettes, at a Princeton record store. It honestly blew my mind. The entire EP was written in Bb minor, and drenched in sweet, delicious fuzz. I kept the CD in my car for months. Numerous years and albums later, Danish band, The Raveonettes, have dropped their newest album out of seemingly nowhere. Pe’ahi is an album as powerful as it is pleasant to listen to.

The Raveonettes have had a lot of time to develop their sound over the years. They started as a noise rock band, moved to a 60s rock style, and eventually to the realm of dream pop. This album combines all of the band’s past styles, blending them into one unique voice they can call their own. It is almost a greatest hits album, but with all new material. First of all, the album is wet with reverb, producing a very relaxed feel. The guitars find a proper balance between soothing and jarring. There is a beauty in the chaos that is heavily distorted guitars. A lot of the drum tracks on the album have a hip hop or trip hop feel to them. Some tracks sneak in a little slide guitar and harp, but they are not misused or out of place whatsoever. The dual vocals of Sune Rose Wagner and Sharin Foo shine just as much as when they sing alone.

The Raveonettes never wrote happy songs about dancing in a field of flowers, and they are not about to start. There has always been a dark twist to lyrics from this band, even when exploring topics that should be positive. Lyrical themes cover topics such as Wagner’s difficult relationship with his father, the recent passing of aforementioned father, Wagner’s near drowning experience, and general infidelity. Pe’ahi, the album title, is a popular surfing spot in Maui, Hawaii. The album art features a small, vertical switchblade on a light cyan background. The symbolism here is obvious, and the minimalistic approach of the album art is very much appropriate. Every track shines in its own way on this album but check out “Killer in the Streets” and the first track “Endless Sleeper.” I also find “Sisters” to be an artistically beautiful song.

Good grief this band is hard to look up on the internet. Apparently a lot of things out there like to be number one. Obvious Highlander quote aside, I stumbled across this band and their self-titled debut LP through the typical Bandcamp digging and am happily content. The Number Ones is a Dublin band made of members of other bands from the area. Europe seems to have a lot of musical incest going on these days. Completely acceptable.

This is POWER POP in its purest form. The dirty guitars, dancing bass lines, and crashing cymbals follow a lovable format to whip you back to the late 70s where bands like The Buzzcocks left your appetite fulfilled. I would not be surprised if this album were recorded all in one take, straight through. Despite the rawness of the sound, the band is comfortably tight and well-rehearsed. The lyrics are juvenile in nature. If you are currently a teenager, have ever been a teenager in the past, or intend on being one in the future, these lyrics are not going to change your life.

This album is less than twenty minutes long. A bit unsettling, as it is quite short for a full length release. This brand of music does not demand the longest album lengths, but The Number Ones definitely push it here. All songs are under three minutes, and most are even under two. Together, the ten tracks spell out innocent summer fun. I do not want to mess with specific decimal scores on this one. Solid three and a half stars! Seven outta ten! I really want to hear this band develop in the future. Maybe focus on more mature lyrics and their own sound while sticking to their roots. The band seems like they are really having fun with this album. I really enjoy “Heartsmash” and “Sixteen”. “Girl” is also a solid track.

Debut albums are tricky things to assess. An artist’s first full-length is not a reliable litmus test for how their career will pan out, or in some cases, their artistic validity. But it’s the unique blend of hype and mystery that always makes debuts exciting to listen to. That lack of history combined with the concocted narrative provided by the blogs du jour makes for a first listen that’s brimming with anticipation and yet is a venture into uncharted territory. All of that makes it confusing when a band like Adult Jazz releases something like Gist Is, a debut album that’s refined and familiar but foreign in its precociousness.

Clocking in at nearly an hour with only nine tracks, Gist Is might initially appear to be an exercise to get through. With only one song shorter than four minutes, the band certainly takes the “long player” form to heart. Quite happily, the album hardly drags, as many songs have multiple movements within them, and each song itself plays nicely into the next. These elongated structures allow for the band to really explore and wring out the most from their instruments. There is a real freedom to the interplay between the four musicians, almost bordering on (as cliché as it is to say here) jazziness. Off-kilter rhythms, especially in songs like “Am Gone”, are given dipping accents with economical bass playing, while guitar and vocals dance over top, unafraid to clash with the rhythm section or each other. Guitars and vocals take a huge amount of cues from the David Longstreth School of art rock, dangling off the edge of song structure (though perhaps Mr. Longstreth himself would push these sounds further). This means a lot of skronky electric figures (see “Donne Tongue”) and singing versions of high-wire acts (“Pigeon Skulls”). It makes for highly expressive sounding music that tests the boundaries of its focus without ever really endangering it.

If the album has a lived-in quality to it, that may be due to the fact that it was recorded in The Black Byre, a 16^th century bastle house. The slight reverb of frontman Harry Burgess’ voice at times recalls someone shouting in an empty room, and gives a special feeling of captured reality. Adding to this great “living” sound is the juxtaposition of those performances against interesting studio tricks.  The pitch-shifted vocals on “Hum,” what sounds like the tail end of a chant on “Idiot Mantra”, and the various cut-and-paste, chopped off bits and phrases found throughout make Gist Is feel like both an artifact and alive at the same time.

There are a couple of things to grapple with on this album. There are some jams here that would surely rock the festival crowd. “Springful” has a wonderful palette of sounds and a killer chorus, and “Am Gone” has a lilting summery pace that anyone on Bonnaroo ‘shrooms would wave their hands to. But there’s a certain paint-by-numbers going on here. “Hum” basically could be a James Blake song; the rest of the album arguably sounds as though Grizzly Bear, The xx, and Dirty Projectors collaborated, and the similarities are easy to spot. But it usually makes for a damn good listen, and this is a debut album, so for now, who cares? Better to draw our concern to the lyrics, which are for the most part inscrutable without liner notes. Some lines do stick well, like the opening three from “Am Gone” or these from “Spook”: “and I do not have no will/and I write these songs to trick God/ and I do not take it lightly.” Burgess, who has a good, unique voice, is not afraid to stretch words with onomatopoetic license, or to repeat phrases, or to generally test the limits of the language he uses. But this can and does bloat some of the songs unnecessarily. Also, the fake patois he occasionally uses is an artistic decision that is hard to understand, and comes off as silly.

Gist Is is like IKEA furniture: a collection of modern influences that, when combined, creates something that isn’t earth-shattering but is certainly stylish, and ultimately something you want to live in. Adult Jazz demonstrates a sophistication and assuredness in its sound that is worthy of repeat plays and spending serious time with.

I was on Tumblr the other day when I saw this post called the “Anatomy of Music”. It listed different genres and it gave the general (and very funny) structures of the songs that are associated with them. Indie music was comprised of banjo, twentysomething problems, faster banjo and it made me think of the state we’re in now of indie rock being grouped as just “the genre that The Lumineers share” and no newcomers look for other bands except what’s played on the radio. That’s where this album can hopefully change all of that because They Want My Soul is perfect for being the new staple in the indie rock savant’s collection.

They Want My Soul starts off with the medium-paced single “Rent I Pay” that takes blues to the next level and instead of talking about the twentysomething problems that make indie rock repetitive, it talks more about problems with insomnia, not finding peace and how everything comes back to you no matter what you do, problems in the now rather than the plight of teenage romantics. We then get into the beautifully slow “Inside Out” which shows a bit of the psychedelic side with minimal guitar, soft synthetic harp and a pushed back “mmm” that rides the whole track with the with the treble-reduced production. “Rainy Taxi” has a bassline that makes you remember why Spoon grooved with simplicity and a drum riff that keeps you feeling badass, like walking into a wedding reception and you have more life than the groom. The single “Do You” still has to be my favorite song off of this release. Everything about is brilliantly paced, the triple Britt Daniels’ voices work off of each other gracefully, the little do do dos and hm mm mms paired with the reverberated flute make a dreamy ending that people will try to replicate.

“Knock Knock Knock” has the dark piano, acoustic guitar, ethereal phasing moans and subtle drum groove (paired with an equally sublte flanger) that slowly reveals a tired friendship. “Outlier” is more a instrumental that has a jazz background akin to that of a heist film, and the title track is a hilarious Randy Newman/Sonic the Hedgehog soundtrack sounding song about paranoia that has Daniel shrieking about how card sharks, street preachers, sellers, palm readers, post-sermon socialites, park enchanters in skin tights, educated folk singers and even Jonathan Fisk (from the album Kill the Moonlight) all want his soul. “I Just Don’t Understand”, “Let Me Be Mine” and “New York Kiss” all end the album in different ways, a blues track with enough soul to be a Black Keys track, a traditional indie rock track, and a synthpop track that combines Cut Copy and the traditional sound with glitches and production tricks.

Final Verdict: This is one of the best indie rock albums I’ve heard in a long time and it is the first perfect indie rock album I’ve heard this year. The production tricks are the ones I’ve come to expect from Spoon’s earlier work on Transference while still maintaining an accessible collection of songs that are friendly to all ears. While nothing is as crazy with experimentation as “The Mystery Zone” or “Who Makes Your Money”, They Want My Soul doesn’t need it and its heartfelt soul from Britt Daniels and company is a breath of fresh air in this age of Imagine Dragons hardness and Parachute softness. This’ll be on blast forever at my place.

If you’ve been following the genre since its inception, I’m sure that I don’t have to tell you that pop punk hasn’t always been the emotionally-charged melting pot that it is today. While classic pop punk bands such as Blink-182 may have occasionally ruminated on the nuances of growing up, they ended up spending most of their time writing songs about alien conspiracies and getting stoned, all the while indulging in some of the most sophomoric humor ever to grace a pair of headphones. Hell, one of the most popular singles to ever bring the genre to mainstream radio is about little more than seeking a cure for boredom in the act of… well, we’re all familiar with Green Day’s “Longview”.

On the other hand, nowadays you’ve got acts like the Front Bottoms begging you to kiss your knuckles before you punch them in the face, Modern Baseball celebrating the simple joy of your crush sitting next to you on the couch, and most recently on Joyce Manor’s third LP Never Hunger Again, Barry Johnson quite literally wearing his heart on his sleeve (or somewhere on his body, the dude never really says specifically where).

In many ways, Joyce Manor are a perfect pop punk band. Relatable, catchy and instantly quotable, their songs are over in the blink of an eye yet paint vivid pictures, offering fresh and clever takes on subjects that have been long-standing staples of the genre such as dysfunctional friendships and small town angst.

Much like on their previous album, 2012’s Of All Things I Will Soon Grow Tired, the band still thrive on chaos, forsaking anything resembling a traditional introduction to a song in favor of simply propelling their listeners into the tune. The effect can be disorientating; if Never Hungover Again is your first experience with Joyce Manor, you might be forgiven for thinking that you’ve accidentally downloaded a copy of the record that’s missing the first 30 seconds of each MP3. You may initially bemoan the fact that some of your favorite tracks here are too short, but once you learn to appreciate the band’s style for what it is, you’ll realize that they’re just not messing around; the songs may not last long, but literally every moment of them is good. All killer, no filler, to quote a band you may have bumped in middle school.

Front and center of these songs is singer Barry Johnson, who seems to be working harder than ever to fill the shoes of the pop-punk-Morrissey both fans and journalists have hailed him as ever since his band swiped the Smiths’ jangly swagger on “Bride of Usher” two years ago. The parallels are not for nothing: Johnson’s friends may ask how he can be happy when he wears all black, but one only needs to turn to one of the Smith’s underrated b-sides to learn that he probably wears black on the outside because black is how he feels on the inside. Still, nowhere are Johnson’s Moz aspirations more striking than on the record’s closing track, “Heated Swimming Pool”, which finds the singer sharing a strange confession with a friend: “I wish you would’ve died in high school, so you could’ve been somebody’s idol.” Oh Manchester, so much to answer for.

Of course, Joyce Manor make sure to pay tribute to the veterans of the genre that paved their way, as well. It’s hard to hear the backing vocals that close out album highlight “Heart Tattoo” without the nasally whine of Blink-182’s Tom Delonge springing to mind, while the band’s biting sense of ironic humor can only be described as Jawbreaker-esque. Meanwhile, the stoned, summery production of the record harkens back to the basement sounds favored by punks of every era, from classic bands like the Descendents and Circle Jerks, to more modern acts such as the Ergs!.

Essentially, Never Hungover Again has something to offer you no matter what kind of punk rock you enjoy. From Barry Johnson’s clever yet relatable lyrics to the band’s uncompromising ability to whip up an instrumental fury, Joyce Manor have crafted what will undoubtedly be the pop-punk record of the summer, an album you’ll want to start over the second it finishes. Trust me, brevity has nothing to do with it.

It’s really hard for me to write about a Conor Oberst album because Bright Eyes is and will forever be one of my favorite bands of all time. When Oberst started to release solo albums again in 2008, I was a bit tepid. His self-titled album sounded like a lighter version of a Bright Eyes Album, which was an odd feeling. The album lacked the overwrought lyrics or powerful meanings that every Bright Eyes album had preceding it. The over-the-top dramatics that ended feeling poetic is part of the reason Bright Eyes became such an important band to me, so when Oberst began his simpler solo projects I was turned off. However, when I say this was his best solo released album to date, I mean it.

I will admit that I haven’t paid much attention to his solo projects prior to his self-titled in 2008, but the progression of Oberst as a musician is evident here. It’s somewhat of a call back to the effortless and intimate “I’m Wide Awake It’s Morning,” while still drawing from the Southern California Folk Pop that led his recent return to solo work. While his album doesn’t become as tragic as his previous work in Bright Eyes, the introspection feels so genuine.

The mix of upbeat folk with the melancholy of the lyrics end up working to support Oberst’s vocals and its simple instrumentation become a refreshing reminder of Oberst’s long career that allowed him to mature as a musician.

While much of the album featured strong storytelling, none are as complete and profound as that in “Enola Gay.” The 2:24 song features one of the most lyrically honest songs (“mashing Charles Mason songs up with show tunes”) of Oberst’s career set against such a beautifully complex instrumentation that plays off mostly like a classic mellow California folk rock groove, but includes small piano interludes that add a whimsical feeling to the song. Eventually the song builds into one of the most haunting endings of any song I’ve ever heard.

Overall, Upside Down Mountain is a massive step in the Canon that is Conor Oberst. For some musicians unhappy is them at their best. I will put in that I have been wildly anticipating Death Cab’s post-Ben Gibbard divorce album for some time now. However, the need for raw unadulterated emotion is unnecessary, which is what makes Conor Oberst one of the great musicians of our time. His work always feels so urgent. Whether it be about not knowing love until I met you or about a bad break up his music begs to be heard. This album begs to be heard because of its great storytelling and ability to tap into the emotions we feel as we all gradually move toward death. As a fan of Oberst I am thrilled that he is still able to put out this quality of work, as a lover of music I am thrilled he is able to speak truths in an industry full of bulls**t.

Radiator Hospital makes the kinds of records that your teenaged heart wishes it could have. Principle member Sam Cook-Parrott has meshed punk energy with pop songwriting since 2010 and has steadily stacked his discography with straight-up gems crafted with a great sense of earnestness, and yet all the modesty of a high school secret admirer. On this his 12^th (12^th!) release, Cook-Parrott delivers a forward-charging, focused batch of songs and stories that, while less idealistic than previous LP Something Wild, refuses to get bogged down in emotional bombast.

Torch Song has a similar feel to it that Superchunk records do, in that you go in knowing what to expect, but never in a “ho-hum” way, because you know the songs will kick ass. And like Superchunk, Radiator Hospital knows how to musically pack a genuine punk sensibility into songs that skew more towards mid-tempo or slower, as is the case with songs like “Cut Your Bangs” and “Five & Dime.” At the same time, the more obviously “punk” songs never sacrifice lyrical importance. This is key for an album focused more firmly on reality; as such, “Leather & Lace,” “Blue Gown,” and “Honeymoon Phase” work beautifully at introducing and sustaining a sense of urgency while ensuring that no chance to develop the record’s theme goes wasted. There are plenty of other really cool elements to be found throughout the record, though; from the surfy vibe of “The Eye,” to the dive bar, Hold Steady-esque jump of “Midnight Nothing;” the best lead-in Straylight Run never had on “Just May Be The One;” and, of course, the presence of the wonderful Crutchfield sisters on “Blue Gown,” “Five & Dime,” and the aforementioned “Midnight Nothing.”

That’s not to say that the album doesn’t succeed in its quieter moments. Cook-Parrot can get down with Waxahatchee-style minimalism, as heard on “181935” (try and tell me the line “the dogs are out for blood tonight” hasn’t resonated with you before) and “I’m All Right,” taking simple guitar/voice arrangements and using them as contrast against the rockier numbers.  The conciseness of his songwriting is great for this kind of variation, and as a result the record has neat dynamics to it. Also, being Torch Song, the album would be incomplete without one, so RadHos delivers, albeit unconventionally, with the two-part “Fireworks”. The first part is sung by Maryn Jones (of Saintseneca), the reprise by Cook-Parrott, separated by half an album’s worth of songs. Appropriate to its lyrics, this distance mirrors the “another place, another time” feeling of the relationship it describes, and fully realizes the overarching theme of the album.

When comparing Torch Song to Something Wild, production stands out the most. Whereas Something Wild meandered in fidelity, and had a real sense of being recorded in various places (and various distances from the microphone), Torch Song has a more consistent, forward-sitting mix, which keeps the energy up, maintains its momentum, and lets those quiet moments feel more intimate. The only time this doesn’t quite come off is in “Sleeping House” which sticks out by being a little too synth-heavy and lurching, despite fulfilling a necessary spot lyrically. However, it does bring about an interesting question: what would Radiator Hospital songs sound like with more synth?  Altogether, a big shout out needs to be given to engineer Kyle Gilbride and his mobile recording rig Wherever Audio for continuing to prove that DIY recording can have great results and bring the most out of great songs.

Torch Song is another solid release from a band with almost exclusively solid releases. There are a few outright jams to be found here, and a slew of other songs with sticky enough melodies and hooks that will find their way into your subconscious. In an efficient 33 minutes, Radiator Hospital delivers a batch of experiences and stories that lend themselves to numerous replays.