EP Review: Keeley Forsyth - Photograph

It’s simple to assign adjectives to Keeley Forsyth’s sound. It’s stark, gothic, minimal, and ghostlike. But, anyone who gave this year’s debut album Debris more than one listen knows that those words are inadequate. It is all of those things, sure, but there’s a deeper weight to the combination of voice, guitar, and synthesizer. Forsyth’s vocal is the most memorable of all the elements, usually morphing into not only different deliveries and intonations, but entirely new personas and egos. The music holds her up gently and simply, which made Debris one of the finest, albeit understated, debuts of 2020.

Sadly, the new Photograph EP doesn’t have the same elegant dance between music and voice. At four tracks, however, this isn’t a huge problem. Like Debris, it’s bookended with its best songs. The opening title track is a slow-motion reveal of style that newcomers may need. “Our words are the weight of bricks / I couldn’t find you in my arms,” croons a languid Forsyth. Closing out “Photograph” is a four-note twinkle of a melody that only lasts a couple of phrases. It’s in this way you realize how Forsyth effectively withholds melodies; all the pieces are there for her songs to spread out and expand, but this tantric method works incredibly well to the opposite effect.

Second track “Unravelling” doesn’t quite share this quality though, as it sees Forsyth withholding melody to an extreme. Fortunately, the poetry remains impeccable: “My mind is my belly button / thick unravelling to a better place / find a better place.” Whether this is Forsyth herself or another persona, it works. Next is “Glass”, where Forsyth opts for spoken-word delivery. Nick Cave comparisons abound, particularly his “Fireflies” interlude on last year’s Ghosteen, but Forsyth’s voice is so damn good, you’d rather she just sung it. Perhaps if there was a full-length list of tracks to back it up, it’d feel better placed.

Before any disappointment sets in, “Stab” clears the air with the most inventive sonics of the whole EP. Small snare drums literally ‘stab’ into the song’s otherwise astral aesthetic. “Don’t fall into the trap / it’s going to stop / regain control,” warns Forsyth’s lowest register. Close your eyes and the effect is as frightening as it is cinematic (a certain stabbing scene from Ex-Machina would pair perfectly).

The world over knows how difficult it is to follow-up a truly brilliant debut, but Forsyth manages to convey her style well with this short collection. The immediacy (“Start Again”) and mourning (“Look to Yourself”) from the album may be absent, but if you placed Photograph‘s four tracks somewhere into the tracklist, Debris’ relative brevity could blossom out into something greater. However, it’s quite possible that Forsyth wants to keep things as brief as she can; it’s an effective musical method to save us from a 2020 that’s been saturated in too much information, maximalist overreporting, and anxiety. Look to Photograph if you need a release from all this.

Album Review: Mourn - Self Worth

Let’s get this fact out of the way right now: the four members of Mourn were just teenagers when they released their first album in 2014, and their youth has far too often been the only thing people talk about when they talk about them. Instead, let’s focus instead on just how reliable the Barcelona punks are; their consistent release schedule always churns out at least a few gems. The follow to their self-titled debut, 2016’s Ha, Ha, He., showcased a darker sound, and 2018’s Sorpresa Familia was a sprightly jump in fidelity. The newest, Self Worth, is again both of those things. Adding a heavy dose of righteous anger to the narratives, these cuts are the lean and mean adrenaline shots we’ve come to expect, or rather, need, from this band.

The ingredients are much the same, spearheaded by Jazz Rodríguez Bueno and Carla Pérez Vas’ singing – often howling with every inch of their vocal chords. But special mention goes to new member Víctor Pelusa, whose drums are punchy and almost never quit. A standout is “It’s A Frog’s World”, where the band make you think it’ll be their only percussion-less entry on the album, but more than halfway in, the pretty harmonies are accosted once again by a roaring performance from the drummer.

This is one of several reminders that Mourn are a band focused on energy, but it’s important to note that it comes with a very polished sound. Classic New York punks might look the other way, but fans of the fidelity of bands like Metz have a lot to love here. Even the songs with more soothing guitar riffs put out a heck of a lot of decibels. “The Tree” is a new tonal direction for the band, with reverb that almost makes this a hangout song and lyrics that emphasize metaphor over specificity. Closer “The Family’s Broke” is a sibling track with an almost shoegaze warmth on top, and it’s a fine lyrical departure as well, describing the dismantling of the Sorpresa Familia (“surprise family”) that was built up on their previous LP.

Still, the first dose we got from Self Worth remains its finest track; lead single “Call You Back” – first released back in April – is effortlessly good. Clearly borrowing once again from bands like Throwing Muses and Sleater-Kinney, each vocal part is practically screamed, whether it’s a solo melody or a sublime harmonization. “I’d rather die before letting you know how I feel” is the resounding lyric, evoking catharsis and desperation in almost equal measure. It’s just a catchy tune, right up to the end where the drummer strikes some off-kilter snare hits and the vocals are reduced to wordless chants at this point, as if they’re telling the listener “we’ve said all we need to say.”

Indignation is queen of Self Worth’s narrative. Rodríguez Bueno and Pérez Vas often sing about the release from toxic relationships. “They think they do things for me / But they’re doing them to me,” they scream on “Men”, but, this is more than a breakup album. Indeed, Mourn introduced the themes of the album by saying:“You try so hard to do life your own way, but you’re super stressed out and you’re scared, and every now and then you think “Is it worth it?” In the end, I think it’s worth it.” Yes, stress does permeate the attitude of the record, but it’s always expressed in a healthy, satisfying way.

Like many records in this scrappy rock genre, there’s not too much to say before you start unnecessarily over analysing it. In short: it’s the best sounding Mourn record by a longshot, while maintaining the youthful energy we expect and need from the Barcelona band. Self Worth may not be the most well-rounded punk album of 2020, but it still manages to be hyper-focused in sound, expression, and energy. If there are angry demons that need to be exorcised from a clouded mind, Mourn can help.

Album Review: Deradoorian - Find The Sun

Many of us are spending extensive amounts of time in self-exploration, and Find The Sun is an album borne of just that. For her second long-player, Angel Deradoorian has much to tell us about this process. Turns out there’s at least as much to unlearn as there is to learn: “There was nothing out there / nothing in here / and nothing is here to stay,” she sings on “It Was Me”, explaining about her journey inward, teaching us that we will always be reckoning with ourselves even if some force of nature destroys society; or some force of will rebuilds it. After all, the album was long finished by the time Covid became a global anxiety.

As a concept, this is a beautiful impetus for a piece of art, and Deradoorian tackles introspection with grace. Bookended by its best songs “Red Den” and “Sun”, Find The Sun is a time capsule into the half-dozen or so genres that have inspired her most. As stated in the press release, psychedelic heroes Can and Pharaoh Sanders were huge influences; “Saturnine Night”, “It Was Me”, and “The Illuminator” tackle these styles to an almost simulatory degree. Even the production has an early-70s fidelity to it, made ever-more apparent with headphones. Deradoorian recommends giving it a listen while lying on the floor, and such an experience would certainly drive home Find The Sun’s meditative qualities.

The reasons behind the record and how the lyrics enforce it are often more interesting than the album experience itself. This isn’t to say that it’s a musical failure – the contrary is often true since Find The Sun never fails to be compositionally bold. Opening track “Red Den” has an exquisite, in-the-room-with-the-band feel to it, and when she sings the album’s first lines, it’s a whisper. We journey to her native Armenia, temples in China, and, most importantly, India. Yes, the track and the album at large clearly reflect an Eastern journey through solitude, and “Red Den” sets it all up perfectly.

Although it shares a recording quality with the other songs, Deradoorian often chooses instrumentals that sprawl to extremes far flung from “Red Den”’s gauzy claustrophobia. “Saturnine Night” propels itself into ecstasy over seven minutes; ever the backbone, Samer Ghadry’s drumming persists and persists, never stopping for a break, hook, or even a coda. Deradoorian is left to sing for her life: “Give me infinite skies! I die! I die!” she intones breathily – the crescendo and drama are well-earned.

Find The Sun goes on to find Deradoorian’s voice more than anything. The hyper-focused, high fidelity of her work with Dirty Projectors is so far in the rear view it almost feels trite to mention. What’s found here is much more subdued. Almost underselling her talent, the vocals on “Monk’s Robes” are lost in a swirl of rapid piano arpeggios before a chime signals an effective gong bath of a coda. The resulting feeling is a peaceful one.

The chameleonic, guitar-leaning multi-instrumentalist Dave Harrington rounds out the band, and things get tricky when you try to find out which member of the trio played what and when. Ghadry has the drums covered, mostly, but Deradoorian and Harrington share talents to the point where many parts could have been played by either. Sure, this concrete information can be found somewhere, but it’s more fun to imagine the sounds coming from some unnamed musical force. The litany of treble instruments on “Monk’s Robes” follow this mystery, the video featuring a ghost-like Deradoorian strumming a stringed instrument. Look closely and you’ll see that her fingers don’t move with the chord progression; the strum is merely for show. Even in a visual medium, the album continues mysteriously without a real conclusion.

This isn’t a bad thing. It’s also kind of the point. “Find the Sun is a record to sit and listen to, and ask yourself about your Self,” Deradoorian says. However, a hook or two across these songs would be welcome – but considering adding some is a frustrating conundrum given Find The Sun’s themes. Yeah, there’s not much dynamic pull to these songs, but we’d probably have to rethink the album from the ground up if there were. Asking for more excitability may be a misguided request.

Either way, most artists who borrow so generously from other genres don’t nail it this well. Deradoorian’s impersonations of classic psychedelia and krautrock are solid, except perhaps “The Illuminator”. A blatant free-jazz homage, this track is nine minutes of spoken word delivery, flute improvisation, and repetitive drumming. Although one of the weaker performances, the poetry remains well in-line with the album’s mission statement. “Devil’s Market” has the same trappings; the flute, although well performed and produced, is the only moving part of the track while the narrative, once again, remains the most compelling component. Deradoorian views her temptations one by one, and by sticking to her mantra of “say no, say no, say no,” she continues to clue us in on what successful self-evaluation looks like. If the performances used some of the dramatic build from elsewhere on the record, it’d be much less dull.

There’s little else to complain about. The narrative is crystal clear, with poetry often perfectly matching the tone and feeling of the production. Find The Sun could easily be the soundtrack to one’s own meditative experience, but this is a personal record, and hearing about Deradoorian’s individual experience is its finest quality. Closer “Sun” is a wonderfully-paced example of this, only climaxing in its final moments before several drums and voices shout the album’s title. We’ve come a long way since the foreboding “Red Den”.

Writing fun songs is not easy, but fitting them into a mythos is even harder. Deradoorian and company handle the latter perfectly. It’s less playful and more focused than her last full-length, 2015’s The Expanding Flower Planet, and the concept record suits her well. Any indie artist should start taking notes on how to construct such a complete statement. The rest of us now have a guidebook for an effective personal journey right when we need it most.

Album Review: Other Lives - For Their Love

A whole host of instruments familiar and unfamiliar can be found throughout Other Lives‘ four albums. Picking apart these complexities is one of the best parts about being a fan: realizing how sparse the drums are, discovering ghostly background vocals, and connecting Jesse Tabish’s lyrics to the band’s arrangements, to name a few highlights. This is still true, nine years after their breakout album Tamer Animals, which landed them not only a cultish following but a coveted spot opening for Radiohead. 2015’s Rituals was a left hook from the band, who wasted zero time making their “electronic record” while continuing to strategically bury compelling sounds underneath a pysch-folk haze.

Five years later, we have a new Other Lives record. Recorded on their own terms in an A-frame house (as depicted on the album cover) in Oregon’s Cooper Mountain Region, For Their Love is definitely the same band as before, but almost disappointingly so. Gone are much of the fun mysteries behind the arrangements of your average Other Lives tune. Each of the 10 tightly-wound tracks lays its hand out for all to see. “We wanted 10 songs that held up by themselves,” explained Tabish about the process.

Indeed, For Their Love showcases a much more collaborative and balanced Other Lives, and the mix makes the songs more immediate. Though this might disappoint fans who were eager to dig deep into this record, it isn’t always bad. Those spectre-like vocals that were buried so deep on Tamer Animals cuts are now the focal point, accentuating the most poignant words. “Ah you really fucked me up this time,” sings Tabish with his wife Kim, now a fixture in the band, on standout “Cops”. As ever, it’s not what Tabish sings, but how he sings it.

There’s an impressionism to lines like “It’s a lost day man, for the newborn seeker” on “Lost Day”, but the drama remains evident. Furthermore, there’s drama everywhere on For Their Love. “Hey Hey I” explodes with one of the band’s most consistent drum grooves layered atop a Tame Impala-inspired piano syncopation: “Hey man, something don’t seem right / they only come at night!” sings an ecstatic chorus at the song’s peak. Conversely, “We Wait” is incredibly somber, as Tabish recounts the horror of his best friend’s murder at 17 years old. “It’s been haunting me for the last decade,” Tabish admits. “It’s part of my larger narrative of dealing with troubling stuff in my life.”

With this haunting tale in mind, you wonder what other “trouble” is being addressed throughout For Their Love. Few songwriters have been able to stray away from addressing “these troubling times,” but Tabish often gets by through penning more vague poetry. It works to the band’s favor, but they struggle to make the full album experience stick, which is most apparent on For Their Love.

This is more a collection of songs than an album. Each individual song is a painting, but the landscape barely shrinks even on the album’s softer moments. “Dead Language” is a welcome reprieve from the bombast of the singles, but still can’t help filling out the EQ spectrum by its end. Closer “Sideways” is perhaps the best song here, but this is largely due to the fact that it stays slow and peaceful throughout.

Take any one moment of For Their Love and you’ll find an engaging piece of pop rock, but, where previous albums blended freak folk with Joey Waronker’s bizarre production, For Their Love falls too neatly into that now dreaded “indie” category. This is unfair for a band with this much vision.

Other Lives could be deemed a more down-to-earth version of Fleet Foxes, but that’s not fair either. That being said, it’s hard to stand out when each song on your new record has the same woodsy atmosphere. Sure, having a distinct identifier of your sound is a good thing, but mixing it up over the course of 10 songs is essential. The fact that the band engineered and produced For Their Love on their own is consistently made clear. As much as one should praise the singular voice in a piece of art, Other Lives could’ve used an outside ear or two.

Still, there are no bad songs here. Some fans might even be thrilled with the more consistent approach. For Their Love often feels like the more meticulously produced sibling to Tamer Animals, both to its credit and discredit. There’s not a lot of staying power on this record, but at least it’s well done. “We really set out to make a band record,” said Tabish of the process. Other Lives have accomplished just that.

Album Review: Ian Chang - Belonging

At what point does a musician decide to take that leap into a solo career? It’s a question most famously faced by jazzers and session musicians, and is as old as popular music itself. Electronic artists have one of the richer histories of sharing collaborators before that solo album finally drops. Ian Chang’s career is a modern example of the collaborating shapeshifter – collaborative in the sense that his list of credits is immense (aside from his role in Son Lux, he has worked with the likes of Moses Sumney and Matthew Dear, to name a couple) and shapeshifting in the sense that his style can be applied to a host of pop and electronic styles.

Six instrumentals and three vocal features make up Belonging, but only the former works consistently in Chang’s favor. At his core, Chang is an electronic percussionist, melding dizzying beats with a neoclassical bent. Dig into the world of academic, computer-based composition and you’ll find many similar sounds. His debut, Belonging attempts to provide a bridge between experimental and pop music sensibilities, but suffers greatly by trying to have it both ways.

“Drunken Fist” is the best song here. A boiler room hiss provokes a host of creeping percussion and erhu samples that could make their way into a horror film, but the overall creativity of the song trumps the frightening atmosphere. “Bird’s Tongue” is another gem, using Hanna Benn’s voice as an instrument instead of a focal point – a trick that the other collaborations on the record could have used to a great end.

The problem with the best songs on Belonging is their brevity. “Swarm” is hardly a track at all, clocking in at under one minute despite featuring one of the album’s best performances, as a treated bongo tickles the eardrums with a Zach Hill-inspired performance. But why is it so short? Stack some of the rest of the album’s beat drops or flashes on top and you’d have something really special.

Instead the song disappears to usher in “Audacious”, which features Blonde Redhead’s KAZU and suffers from poor sequencing. KAZU’s hook is one of the only memorable melodies on the record, but it almost immediately gives way to a beat break that chops the track’s elements into a skittering mess. A vocalized version of the hook then carries the song to its unceremonious end. Many of the other tracks here suffer the same fate. All the puzzle pieces are there for great songs, but the final arrangement is obtuse and incomplete. To wit, the album is barely thirty minutes long despite being packed to the brim with samples and techniques.

“Comfort Me” is even worse, adding a horrid lyric to the pile of problems: “Big lights and small minds / Yeah, you know what I mean / It’s complicated,” sings Kiah Victoria. Why would we know what the lyrics mean if it’s also complicated? The answer probably lies in the record’s title; Chang and company are trying to belong, but feel stuck between their styles, never quite giving in to one cohesive sound.

There is a beauty in attempting to belong to a community of artists, and Chang’s catalogue is evidence that his skills are in high demand. But, the question of whether or not he should go solo still stands. Chang’s production style fits well within an established genre of Brainfeeder-adjacent jazztronica, but is not as rewarding. Belonging is a neat and meticulous record that begs to be lengthened in the solo compositions, but frustrates and falters in its collaborations.