8: Bon Iver – 22, A Million
To be honest, until now I haven’t thought much of Bon Iver, the hipster folkie act founded and fronted by Wisconsinite Justin Vernon. Something about Vernon’s plaintive falsetto, at times layered into an Enya-like ooze, as well as the sleepy, strummy melodies and the vague, non-linear lyrics left me shrugging. I even pooh-poohed the Grammy love the band reaped in 2011 for the indie hit “Holocene” and its source album “Bon Iver, Bon Iver,” which bored me silly. On the surface at least, Bon Iver’s third full-length album doesn’t appear to be aimed at doubters like myself. From its esoteric cover art to its eye-rollingly cryptic song titles (one track is actually named “__45__”) to the jarring electronic effects that punctuate its 10 songs, “22, A Million” almost seems designed to repel less daring listeners. But it’s the challenging aspects that make this the group’s best record by leaps and bounds. Whereas previous releases wafted by, barely registering, this one demands that you prick up your ears and pay attention. One minute you’re being pummeled by the software-generated tribal drums on “10 Death Breast,” the next you’re trying to parse the gospel hymn-meets-Laurie Anderson’s vocoder weirdness of “715 CrƩƩks.” It’s an exhilaratingly difficult work and one of the biggest artistic leaps forward by any act this year. But those song titles? They have GOT to go.
How much cheese is too much? French electronic whiz Anthony Gonzalez, the brains behind M83, tests the limits of that question on his seventh album. “Junk” is an unapologetic tribute to ‘80s pop that is sure to separate the fromage connoisseurs from the lactose intolerant. We’re not talking about the hipster-sanctioned ‘80s sounds of the Cure or the Smiths, no sirree. As the album title suggests, we’re in much less treasured territory—think T’Pau, Go West, and even, gulp, Peter Cetera. Goofy gimmicks and musical clichés are proudly present. There are power ballads, including the hilariously sappy “For the Kids,” which features a spoken-word interlude by an otherworldly child. There is a guitar solo by none other than Steve Vai, the king of overwrought ‘80s axe work. There is even an instrumental that sounds disturbingly like the theme song from “Gimme a Break.” All this pop detritus has prompted some critics to moan that Gonzalez has sacrificed the nuance and cinematic sweep of his previous works, including the widely praised 2011 opus “Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming.” I might agree if “Junk” weren’t such giddy fun in its entirety. If you’re looking for a tasty break from the cold gruel that 2016 has consistently served up, spread this on a cracker and enjoy.
Disclaimer: The brief recollection you’re about to read is an assortment of dusty memory shards pieced together in an old pickled noggin. Events described may skew toward the true-ish rather than the dead-on accurate.
Hello again! I’m back after a brief hiatus from the blog while I moved the operations for Dugout Discs and its subsidiary holdings (wink) from Toronto, Canada, to Portsmouth, England. We’re by the sea, people! It’s glorious. And the even better news is that Portsmouth has at least four decent places to buy vinyl, including a well-stocked HMV. My two favourite shops so far are a hip little venture called 
Joe Pernice is another one of those songwriters, like
We’ve had prettiest, saddest, and grooviest song selections on our journey from the ‘90s through the 2000s, but we haven’t had a cutest pick until now. Call and Response, an obscure West Coast fivesome—the group doesn’t even have a Wikipedia entry—released its self-titled debut in 2001 and it’s so sugary sweet it should come with a dentist’s warning. A Pitchfork review at the time deemed the record “a brief flash of enjoyable fluff.” I like to think of it as Stereolab meets the Teletubbies. And 
dugoutdiscs 