8: The xx — I See You
With its seductive melodies and pillow-talk interplay between vocalists Romy Madly-Croft and Oliver Sim, xx, the 2009 debut album by this London trio, was the sultriest British export to come along since Sade. After the mild sophomore slump of 2012’s Coexist, which sounded like a paler copy of the original, the xx pumps up the volume a smidge on this outing. The brassy synth notes and insistent beats that introduce the lead-off track, “Dangerous,” promise a more club-ready sound, and I See You does indeed deliver a few danceable numbers, most notably “On Hold,” the band’s catchiest tune to date. But fans of the hushed intimacy of the first two albums shouldn’t fret too much. The grooves here stay at the techno-lite simmer of, say, “Missing” by Everything but the Girl. And there are still plenty of slow burners like “Replica” that allow Sim and Madly-Croft to wrap their sexy, simpatico voices in an aural embrace. One or two disposable cuts keep this from placing higher on my list, but all in all it’s a sure-footed attempt at expanding the group’s very identifiable sound.
[Blogger’s note: I’ll post each of my Top 10 picks in succession over the next few weeks, or possibly several weeks, depending on the severity of my winter laziness.]
The eerie headless and floating figure, photographed from behind, on the cover of this soulful L.A. up-and-comer’s debut album is unnerving at first glance. Let your mind’s eye adjust and a new image takes shape: The artist gazing very determinedly at his own navel. It’s an apt visual to accompany the themes of solitude and self-reflection that Sumney explores in this lush song cycle. The album’s title, a trendy buzzword for the inability to feel romantic attraction, suggests Sumney’s no fan of happy loving couples. “You need a solid, but I’m made of liquid,” he warns on “Don’t Bother Calling,” one of 11 exquisitely produced tracks here. But he’s savvy enough to know that romantic reclusiveness comes with a price. “Am I vital if my heart is idle?” he wonders on “Doomed.” If the album is introspective to a fault—the languid rhythms and Sumney’s delicate falsetto grow a little snoozy at times—it is nevertheless an impressively ambitious artistic statement by the most promising newbie of the year.
Critics have called this brainy Brooklyn combo’s latest album, its first after an extended hiatus, “elegantly layered” and “immersive.” Non-fans might interpret those accolades as code for “boring.” And to be honest, it took five or six listens for Painted Ruins to click with me as a whole. As usual, the band eschews easy hooks in favour of complex song structures with protean melodies, although the moderately propulsive “Mourning Sound” is one of its most accessible compositions yet. And while the 11 tracks here do allow for the occasional burst of drama, such as the emphatic organ flourishes on “Aquarian,” the overall tone of the album is restrained. Patient listeners will be drawn in by the always-stellar harmonies, virtuoso playing—Daniel Rossen’s guitar work is the standout—and off-kilter lyrics. (The opener, “Wasted Acres,” is a playful ode to a DRX-250 motorcycle.) It’s no party record, to be sure. But if you don’t mind the wait, Painted Ruins will eventually reveal its quiet beauty.
Here we are, halfway through 2017 already—okay, okay, halfway plus two weeks; I’ve been busy, all right? — and so far this year, my earbuds seem to be partial to past favourites. Three of the acts listed here have graced my annual top 10 lists in recent years, while a fourth put out one of my go-to albums of the decade a while back. And my number one pick? I’ve been listening to him off and on for decades. Damn, that must mean we’re both old! I’m hoping some fresher sounds will catch my attention in the remaining months of 2017, but for now, here’s a tried-and-tested top five. 
Here, at long last, is my pick for the best album of 2016, weeks after that year sputtered ignominiously into oblivion and a full 11 days too late to honour the first anniversary of its maker’s passing. So much for my new year’s resolutions to be more efficient and punctual. Maybe I should start my best of 2017 list tomorrow.
Dear Neko Case, k.d. lang, and Laura Veirs: Please make 10 more albums together. At least. The origin of this astoundingly simpatico collaborative effort may have been casual—out of the blue, lang emailed Case and Veirs to propose recording together and they quickly agreed—but it’s clear that once in the studio, these seasoned solo artists worked diligently to blend their differing styles. The truest vocal collaboration is the opening track, “Atomic Number,” on which each takes a line in the verse. lang’s hot-buttered-rum alto gives way to Veirs’ sweet folkie timbre which cedes to Case’s high, emotive twang before the trio unites in exquisite harmony on the chorus. It’s the aural equivalent of a flower unfolding to full bloom. On the rest of the tracks, one sings lead while her cohorts chime in with pitch-perfect backing vocals. Veirs, previously the least-known and most stylistically constrained of the three, really holds her own, co-writing every song and taking the reins on many, including “Song for Judee,” a lovely, evocative tribute to obscure ‘70s folk artist Judee Sill, who succumbed to drug addiction. “They found you with a needle in your arm,” Veirs sings, “Beloved books strewn around at your feet.” Producer Tucker Martine, Veirs’ spouse, adds charming ‘60s pop touches here and there. As effortlessly gorgeous as this album sounds, Veirs has said that the recording process was difficult and there may not be a follow-up. Let’s hope that’s not true. This formidable threesome is too good to be a one-off. (And that countdown pun merits a score of zero.)
Like its title, the 1975’s sophomore album is alarmingly long, equal parts amusing and pretentious, and ultimately unforgettable. And like 
Much like New Order’s 2015 comeback “Music Complete,” which topped my 10-best list last year, Underworld’s latest is an all-too-rare example of an aging group that hasn’t lost its youthful potency. Nine albums in, electronic envelope-pushers Karl Hyde and Rick Smith can still school the current crop of interchangeable EDM newbies on how to make dance music with substance. “Barbara” bats away all doubts with its striking opener, “I Exhale.” Over a throbbing industrial pulse, Hyde spits out spoken-word snippets that evoke overheard bits of conversation on a busy street corner or crowded Tube train. Crackling with urban tension, it’s the highlight of this concise seven-song set. A close second is “Nylon Strung,” the album’s closer. Where Hyde’s delivery is all edgy confrontation on “I Exhale,” here it’s warm and soothing as he chants “Open me up, I want to hold you, laughing” over a percolating techno beat. The tempo ebbs and flows in between these bookends, with the Latin-kissed “Santiago Cuatro” providing a lovely chilled-out interlude, but “Barbara” never loses its swagger. Bonus points for the year’s most intriguing—and touching—album title, taken from an exchange between Hyde’s mum and dad shortly before his father died. If this late-career triumph is any indication, Underworld’s future shines bright indeed.
Following a succession of releases that showcased a delicate, cerebral sound, as if it were emanating from a bespoke jewel box, Chicago’s own Andrew Bird cranks up the amps on his latest effort. But not to 11, just to about 5: Where once dainty fiddles and whistling dominated, comparatively brawny guitars and drums now propel a few songs. The added instrumental oomph isn’t always welcome. The opening track, “Capsized,” is a generic ‘70s-FM rocker that would sound at home on side two of a Stephen Stills album. Bird also dials back his dense word-nerd lyrics, opting for a more heartfelt, direct approach, although he still can’t resist the occasional egghead verse or two, like this one from the bouncy title cut: “Used to be willfully obtuse/Or is the word abstruse?/Semantics like a noose/Get out your dictionaries.” The new direction seems a tad tentative, giving “Are You Serious” the feel of a transitional work. But all the tinkering pays off with the profoundly moving “Valleys of the Young,” which maps out in vivid detail the perilous peaks and valleys of parenthood. It’s a sprawling, guitar-fuel rock opus worthy of Neil Young himself and it lifts this intriguing-if-flawed record to greatness.
Previously a purveyor of doleful indie folk—check out her relentlessly bleak 2014 breakthrough “Burn Your Fire for No Witness” for proof—this North Carolina-based singer-songwriter aims for a broader, brighter sound on her fourth album. The results are fairly spectacular. “You’ll Never Be Mine,” an incandescent ode to unrequited love, shimmies to a ‘60s girl group beat. “Give It Up” hits the grunge-pop sweet spot between the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Nirvana. And “Heart Shaped Face” is a country-tinged weeper that recalls Lucinda Williams at her most poignant. Olsen still occasionally lapses into the Debbie Downer doldrums, especially during the album’s slower second half. (Or side two for you vinyl nerds). And the instrumentation and production are scruffy to a fault. One wonders how someone like Butch Vig might tweak the grunge-y guitar riffs on “Give It Up”— he’s had some success with that after all. But flaws aside, “My Woman” is a damn good, stylistically diverse set that hints at even greater things to come.
dugoutdiscs 