Leftovers: January-April 2016

Leftover Movies:

Green Room
        To say that I saw Jeremy Saulnier's new movie Green Room the other day would be the ultimate understatement; simply put, Green Room happened to me, and every muscle in my body is still sore from the experience. Shot in my beloved native Oregon and relishing in its nasty underbelly, the film tells the story of the Ain't Rights, a down-on-their-luck punk band who knowingly accepts a gig at an establishment jam-packed with skinheads, and finds themselves on the wrong end of their relentless wrath. Diving head-first into schlocky horror thrills, the film is bolstered at every turn by Saulnier's exquisite aesthetic eye, and unteachable knack for building unrelenting tension. It's genre-fair through and through, but apparently no one told the cast, highlighted by tremendous performances from Anton Yelchin, Imogen Poots, Patrick Stewart, and Joe Cole, but also featuring a deep roster of urgent and immediately believable supporting work. For god's sake, do not take your more violence-weary friends to this flick. Green Room might literally might kill them. It almost ended me.

Midnight Special
        Ok, I'll admit it; I still haven't seen Deadpool and had 'the superhero genre flipped upside down' right in front of me, but I've still got a funny feeling that Midnight Special's take is even more subversive. Director Jeff Nichols has been a filmmaker to watch for so long now that one wonders why we all haven't started watching, and this Spielbergian sci-fi thriller might just be his best yet. Michael Shannon and Joel Edgerton star as a pair responsible for the abduction of one Alton Meyer (Jaeden Lieberher), a young boy whose disappearance serves to distress the mysterious religious compound known simply as The Ranch. To tattle on where MS goes from here would cast one as an insufferable spoil-sport, but suffice to say we are in the hands of a deeply inventive filmmaker, one with his fingers firmly on the pulse of both spectacle and emotion. A clear throwback to Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Midnight Special is that rare indie that's just as capable of appealing to mass audiences, though a surprisingly tender performance from post-Kylo Ren Adam Driver certainly doesn't hurt.

The VVitch: A New-England Folktale
        By no means have I seen every horror movie ever made. Even some genuine classics have slipped through the cracks of my viewership. And yet, perhaps foolishly, I feel emboldened to make the wily claim that The VVitch can go toe-to-toe with even the most storied fright-fests. In 1630's New-England, a deeply Christian family is pushed out of their modest town for reasons largely unspecified, and forced to live by a leering, seemingly endless woods residing right outside their door. What happens from there is the stuff of your darkest nightmares, presented in a fashion that is at once etherial and clear-eyed, and all the more troublesome for the balance. Featuring astounding performances from a handful of relative unknowns, The VVitch is an examination of faith under duress, and the unthinkable terror of watching everything you ever believed in fall apart at the seams. It's been months now, and I still can't get the debut feature of writer/director Robert Eggers out of my head.

Leftover Music:

Junk by M83
        Before Junk met the world almost a month ago now, all we had was this remarkably odd album cover, forcing fans of M83 to wonder if band leader Anthony Gonzalez was trolling us all. As it turns out, the outright goofiness of the image perfectly befits the aggressive cheesiness of the record, and while it's certainly an adjustment from the star-gazing enormity of the band's heralded Hurry Up, We're Dreaming, a bit of patience reveals an effort that impresses on its own terms. Built almost entirely of shimmering 80's gloss and towering synth drops, Junk plays like a bizarro talent show, including assists from the likes of Beck, Jordan Lawlor, and newly-minted band member Mai Lan. Sure, the soul-searching emotion of the band's previous release is largely absent, but the grandeur is here to stay, tracks like Go and Road Blaster almost begging to be played in front of a boisterous audience. Silliness aside, no one does big and kaleidoscopic quite like these guys.

Lemonade by Beyonce

        If I'm being honest, I've always found Beyonce easier to admire than genuinely enjoy. That all changed last night with the release of Lemonade, her second straight surprise album, 12 tracks and 45 minutes that traverse endless musical landscapes while somehow maintaining thematic unity. The glue between the tracks is largely subsistent of Ms. Knowles relentless rage, the entire first act of the disc consisting of fiery accusations directed toward her husband. Wether this is an exploration of personal history or expertly crafted baiting of a gossip-hungry audience is impossible to know, but sonically there's nothing here to doubt. Animal Collective samples, Jack White guitar solos, Father John Misty songwriting credits, and soulful James Blake piano ballads all exist in unthinkably perfect harmony, never fully distracting from the album's true star. Even the epic Freedom, despite featuring notorious scene stealer Kendrick Lamar, fully belongs to Queen B. Sharp enough to cut diamonds yet intimate enough to inspire introspection, Lemonade is a straight-up accomplishment.

Leftovers: Summer 2015

Leftover Movies (now Available at Redbox):
Kingsman: The Secret Service:
        Back in the summer of 2011, director Matthew Vaughn's X-Men: First Class was met with glowing reviews from critics and audiences alike, and has since managed to reboot the whole mutant-based film property. We've spent the last four years wondering how the helmer would follow his runaway success, and now we finally know: by basically making the same movie all over again. Taron Egerton stars as Eggsy, a troubled youth growing up in London who is recruited by a dapper, stoic English gentleman (Colin Firth) to join The Kingsman, an organization of super agents tasked with protecting the world. Yes, another gifted 20-something being adopted by a larger group who sees his immense potential isn't exactly a brand new concept, but the charm of Kingsman is in its familiarity, not its originality; the film delights in toying with your preconceived notions of what a spy epic is all about, somehow managing to defy your expectations while simultaneously playing straight into them. Exciting action scenes abound, utter ridiculousness awaits behind every corner, and a specific scene involving Mr. Firth could justify the price of admission all by itself. You'll never look at the Oscar winner the same way again.

Leftover Music:
Another One---Mac DeMarco:
        Less than a year and a half after releasing what many consider his best record to date in 2014's Salad Days, Mac DeMarco is back with Another One. As its title might suggest, this collection of eight songs feels more like a gathering of Salad Days B-sides than a proper album, lasting all of 24 minutes from front to back, and delighting all the while. The back half of Just to Put Me Down plays out like a throwback to DeMarco's earlier work, which emphasized intricate guitar picking over the woozy reverb he's favored of late, while the title track offers a darkness to his sound that feels completely new, adorned with lyrics full of anxiety and disillusionment. Most of the time, however, the guy's all about having a laid-back good time; opener The Way You'd Love Her uses its groovy ax-line to shoot rays of sunshine onto your back, both A Heart Like Hers and Without Me rocking listeners back and forth like they're in a hammock. Summer's almost over, and you should give this one a spin before she's gone.

Ego Death---The Internet:
        Before encountering Ego Death, all I knew about The Internet was that they (or was it he? She?) were a part of the Odd Future collective. And while this may be true, finding a more misleading context for their music would be a tall task. Led by vocalist Syd tha Kyd, The Internet craft sultry R&B that's lightyears removed from the wanton aggression of OF's most famous output, Ego Death consisting of one smooth, pleasure-positive winner after another. The group enlists fellow 'alternative R&B' star Janelle Monae for breezy highlight Gabby, but requires no assistance on Just Sayin'/I Tried, one of the album's only moments of true aggression, wherein Syd scolds a former lover with a calm the belies fire. It's a rare moment of tension in an album deeply defined by its sexy saunter and mellowed-out worldview, so much so that when Tyler, the Creator shows up on two-part closer Palace/Curse, he not only sings instead of raps, but acts as a jovial MC to an imaginary dance party. If Ego Death can get that guy to calm down and have a good time, imagine what it can do for you.

La Di Da Di---Battles:
        Either you're in on Battles or you're out, and I'm all the way in. Now nearly a decade into their reign of deceivingly methodical mania, the New York-based three-piece is back with their first album since 2011, and if anything, they've only gotten crazier. Now two discs removed from the departure of Tyondai Braxton, La Di Da Di finally sees the band omit vocals entirely, focusing on the speed and wicked interplay of keyboards, basses, electronics, guitars, and that tasmanian devil of drummers known as John Stanier. The three previous items on this list all stressed comfort, relaxation, and familiarity, all of which are concepts Battles have yet to encounter. This is a taught, muscular, 50-minute listen, from the sprinting, swirling momentum of FF Bada, to the leering, bombastic Non-Violence. Even a song with a title like Summer Shimmer can't help but induce stress, its plucky rhythm seemingly chocked by the wheezing strings that lean in from the track's periphery, forever threatening to take over. It's not exactly a walk in the park, but if you're looking to go on a run, let Battles be your guide.

No No No---Beirut:
        Beirut's latest hasn't exactly been lighting the world on fire when it comes to critical reception, and while I disagree with the overall shoulder shrug its been shown so far, it's not exactly hard to see why. Zach Condon's lush, elaborate work as Beirut has often seemed to contain worlds, defined by the myriad of varied instrumentation occupying its every nook and cranny. No No No is largely stripped-down by comparison, most tracks consisting of little more than a percussion line, a singular instrument for melody, and Condon's lovely croon. One thing that hasn't changed is Condon's impeccable ear, that simple weaving of bongos and keyboard chords slapping smiles on faces during opener Gibraltar, as Perth sways its way into a late-summer's contented bliss. The reduced instrumentation also affords Condon's singing the spotlight, and while his intonations have always proved comely and inviting, songs like Fener and the gorgeous earworm of a title track make a convincing case that his voice is among the best working in independent music today. No No No proves that minimal doesn't have to be minimizing.

Leftovers: June 2015

Leftover Movies (now Available at Redbox):
While We're Young:
        If one Woody Allen movie per year simply isn't enough to satisfy, may I introduce you to Mr. Noah Baumbach? Now exactly two decades into his filmmaking career, Baumbach is the modern poet laureate of New York's upper-middle class, having delivered such Big Apple-based wonders as The Squid and the Whale and Frances Ha. He adds another winner to his canon with While We're Young, the story of a middle-aged couple (played by Ben Stiller and Naomi Watts) who become infatuated with a younger bohemian pair (Adam Driver and Amanda Seyfried) to the point where the millennials' social paradigm starts to rub off on their own. This marks Stiller's second collaboration with Baumbach, and while the movie asks less of him than the affectionately bitter pill that was Greenberg, he's fine once again, as is the entire cast. WWY is perhaps the writer/director's funniest film to date, thanks in no small part to its cutting honesty, and unique outlook on generational divides. Not to belabor the point, but Baumbach is an artist cut from the very same cloth as Allen, and if the Woodman isn't really your flavor, you might be wise to pass on this one. For lovers of Annie Hall and Manhattan, however, While We're Young is not to be missed.

Wild Tales:
        You know all that subtle, incisive social commentary I was just describing? Take that, wad it up, douse it in lighter fluid, and blast it with a blow torch. Wild Tales, the Argentinian Best Foreign Film nominee at this last year's Oscars, is as deranged as it is hilarious, a comedy about righteous indignation that never stops raging. Composed of six short films that each stand completely separate from one another, writer/director Damián Szifrón's nutso anthology picture is best viewed without pre-existing knowledge of its distinct brand of mania. The tales here live up to their billing, each opening with a simple problem or misunderstanding that eventually balloons out into sheer madness, like a mushroom cloud expanding upon impact. Some have compared it to Tarantino, while others say the Coen brothers, but a worldview this fully formed doesn't exactly need predecessors. This is an electric, unpredictable ride, bursting with gonzo energy from first frame to last.

Leftover Music:

In Colour---Jamie XX
        At long last, In Colour has arrived... and it is glorious. Jamie XX is a British electronic producer best known for his construction of the minimalistic, nocturnal atmosphere that powers The XX. His own star has been in ceaseless ascension for the last decade, powered by his work with the aforementioned outfit, the excellent Gil Scott-Heron remix album We're New Here, and a plethora of EPs. In other words, he's been making us wait on a proper solo album for years now, but it only takes one listen to IC to know that it was worth the delay. His debut LP covers a myriad of genres over its 11-track, 42+ minute runtime, the smattering of textures most aptly described by the kaleidoscopic album cover to the right. His XX buddies each make an appearance, and while Oliver Sim's outing is one of the album's lower points, Romy Madley Croft's gentle whisper gives Seesaw its beating heart, and turns Loud Places into a Song of the Year candidate. Their vocal longing is matched by Jamie XX's lush, evocative work on the soundboard, and it's a testament to his strengths that some of the album's most emotional moments happen without the aid of words. In Colour might have arrived later than expected, but it stands as proof that Mr. XX is here to stay.

Summertime '06---Vince Staples
        While we're on the subject of youngsters who have been on the come-up for a while now, let's explore the dark, seedy ocean of anxiety and violence that is Summertime '06. Once considered a periphery player in the Odd Future scene, Staples rode the buzz of his stellar verse on Earl Sweatshirt's Hive into last year's more-than-promising EP Hell Can Wait. That said, even the most avid of supporters could not have predicted '06, a descendant of Kanye West's immortal Yeezus that actually sounds like... you know... a rap record. The album will play nicely blaring out from car speakers, but is ideally suited to headphones, which bring the doom-laden sparsity of the production to the forefront. Norf Norf drips down your back like a cold sweat, while the leering, clanging beat on Street Punks proves downright infectious. Staples lyrics are focused and his flow is confrontational, trading in flowery wording and imagery for plain-spoken realism. This is Parental Advisory rap at its finest, with a no-B.S. author taking you on a tour of his mind's most frightening streets and alleyways. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Surf---Donnie Trumpet and the Social Experiment
        As bright and hopeful as Summertime '06 is dark and seething, Surf is a record that would be completely out of place in any other season than summer. The group features Chance The Rapper, whose much-lauded mixtape Acid Rap has allowed this outfit much more attention than previously seemed possible. If Surf is any indication, they deserve every last beam of the lime-light; the 16-track delight is packed with endless detours and surprises, all in the name of bliss and love. Busta Rhymes checks in for a characteristically bombastic verse on Slip Slide, Noname Gypsy goes full-on spoken word on Warm Enough, and Joey Purp comes correct for his moment in the sun on Go. This album is so generous that even Big Sean impresses with his bars on Wanna Be Cool, and despite the fact that Chance affords the disc so much immediate attention, he's only present on about half the songs. The titular bugler is a more consistent player, even going solo on the thematically bookending duo Nothing Came to Me and Something Came to Me. Surfing on an enormous wave of self-love from first track to last, the LP crests on the beautiful rally cry that is Sunday Candy before misting out of existence on Pass the Vibes. Don't wait until the weather turns to check out Surf. This is audio sunshine.

Leftovers: Spring 2015

Kindred---Passion Pit
        Despite the relentless kaleidoscopic colors and energy of Passion Pit's sound, Michael Angelakos' constantly brutal, self-eviscerating lyrics have always balanced things out... until now. Kindred takes its name from the empowering, life-affirming connection Angelakos feels with his family and friends, nearly each track relying one deeply felt gratitude or another. Lead single/opener Lifted Up (1985) announces this new mission statement with a candy-coated wave of stadium-sized synths, and while this aesthetic feels wholly familiar, its twin themes of love and destiny finally match the high-fructose rush that defines Passion Pit. Perhaps this new-found contentment is why Kindred frequently feels less big and bombastic than previous offerings, sneaky earworms like Whole Life Story and Looks Like Rain featuring only minimal adornment, allowing subtle sonics and blissful words to take over. One would be forgiven for missing that joy/misery dichotomy found on their early records, but when Until We Can't (Let's Go) and Five Foot Ten (I) get things going, most complaints are rendered mute.

MCIII---Mikal Cronin
        As aggrandizing as this might sound for a guy still toiling in relative anonymity, you'd be hard-pressed to find a better American songwriter that Mikal Cronin. Don't mistake this for the sort of prodigy/game-changer tag applied to artists like Radiohead or Animal Collective; Cronin's gift is in finding unnervingly immediate melodies and undeniable guitar riffs within established boundaries, not outside of them. MCIII can hardly contain the beauty of his craftsmanship, sumptuous strings and lovely keys pouring out of opener Turn Around from the moment you hit play, slipping into the background to support I've Been Loved's comely acoustic lament. He even manages to step on the gas from time-to-time, Say launching off the blocks into distortion-covered, horn blowing triumph, Ready serving as its pounding, urgent late-album counterpart. The songs Cronin pens and plays pull off that most elusive of musical magic tricks; even on first spin, you feel like you've been listening to these cuts for as long as you can remember.

Mr. Wonderful---Action Bronson
        Action Bronson opens the song Only in America by claiming "I'm focused, I swear I'm focused," which, even by the fib-telling MCs own standards, is a flagrant lie. Focus is, by every conceivable measurement, the very antithesis of all things Arian Arslani, the Queens-based rapper with the voice of Ghostface Killah, the body of a 300+ pound Albanian, and the imagination of a 8-year-old who just found daddy's stash of Playboy magazines and gangster movies. Wether adorned in red silk at a Montigo resort (Galactic Love) or impressing the Eastern seaboard with his keyboard virtuoso (Terry), Bronson's glorious fantasies are delivered with easy swagger, and a non-perfectionist attitude that outright embraces the MCs occasional lyrical slip-ups (Brand New Car). These punch-lines and fairy-tales lay on top of one stunning beat after another, from the breezily retro Falconry on down to Actin Crazy, which sounds like Drop it like it's Hot turned inside out. But there's no better example of Bronson's appeal than Baby Blue, with its sturdy piano base, goofily resilient lyrics, awesome Chance the Rapper guest verse, and jazzy horn outtro.

Sound & Color---Alabama Shakes
        Well that was fast. Alabama Shakes formed in 2009, released a 4-song EP and started touring in 2011, and watched their debut LP Boys & Girls go gold in 2012. Oh yeah, and Sound & Color opened as the #1 selling album in the nation. Credit the Black Key's ascension for bolstering mainstream interest in Southern-tinged Roots Rock, but the Shakes are the real deal, a band with a specific-yet-eclectic sound, and a knack for crafting catchy grooves. Just one listen to slippery, funky lead single Don't Wanna Fight, and you'll be hooked for life, while the laid-back middle section of This Feeling and Guess Who wafts gracefully out of headphones and speakers, sliding around eardrums like a glove fits a hand. While the instruments and production on had are top-notch, there's little doubting how much lead singer Brittany Howard's voice means to the group, blues-ing away on Shoegaze, scraping the ceiling with her falsetto on Future People, and exploding like a volcano near the end of Miss You. Get used to Alabama Shakes; they're in this for the long haul.

Vulnicura---Björk
        I wouldn't exactly call myself a Björk expert (notice I'm four months late on recommending this one... for shame), but I feel safe in saying that you've never heard the Icelandic troubadour quite like this before. While the art of Björk Guðmundsdóttir has been poignantly esoteric in the past, Vulnicura manages to keep the freak flag flying within one of the most immortal music traditions known to man: the break-up album. On her first record in four years, the singer/songwriter from Mars completely gives up on hiding the meaning of her lyrics, soaring through one plainly-worded ballad after another, the pain and heart-break of her recent split from multi-media artist/partner Matthew Barney felt in every syllable. While the solo work of producers Arca and The Haxan Cloak can feel a bit lacking, their beats are utterly perfect beneath Björk's singular croon, a string section goosing up the stakes and emotions of every waking moment. The 9-track offering bares only two songs that fall short of the 6-minute mark, the other 7 unfurling with the patience and build of a flower in bloom. As gorgeous as it is sorrowful, Vulnicura is one of 2015's very best.

The Waterfall---My Morning Jacket
        If you've loved My Morning Jacket like I've loved My Morning Jacket, my condolences on the last decade. Following the walloping one-two punch of 2003's It Still Moves and 2005's Z, the future seemed blindingly bright, and potentially sky-high. Then came Evil Urges and Circuital, a pair of LPs the doubled-down on the band's country western bend while largely sidelining the foundation-shaking power chords and wonky songwriting that powered their legendary Bonnaroo run. In other words, they veered dangerously close to becoming a Dad Rock band, and while many of those ideas and inclinations are still present on The Waterfall, the five-piece finally seems to be easing into this new phase in their career. The size and might of In Its Infancy (The Waterfall) and please-turn-that-up single Big Decisions harken back to the glory days, while Spring (Among the Living) and Compound Fracture employ unfamiliar instruments to show Jim James and company in an ever-so-slightly different light. Best of all, songs that might have turned into out-and-out cheese-fests on their last couple discs work like gangbusters here, opener Believe (Nobody Knows) embodying contentment in a far more believable way than Evil Urges' fan-service-y I'm Amazed, while Get the Point coaxes actual emotions where Librarian could only muster eye-rolls. I'm not here to tell you that My Morning Jacket will ever make it all the way back to their heyday, but they're finally back on the horse, and thank god for that.

Leftovers: Winter 2015

        There's really no two ways about it; 2015 has been a spectacular year for music so far. Multiple albums released in the first quarter of the year would have slotted in my top ten of 2014, and we're still barely over 100 days into this thing! Incase I didn't shout quite loudly enough the other day, I kiiinda dig the new Kendrick Lamar, but To Pimp a Butterfly isn't the only must-listen LP we've been treated to so far. If the following 6 records aren't already in your itunes, allow me to nudge you in the right direction:

Carrie and Lowell---Sufjan Stevens
        Despite releasing his debut LP a whopping 15 years ago, we're only just now meeting the real Sufjan Stevens. Over the course of his first 6 studio albums, the eclectic singer/songwriter released records consisting of stripped-down folk, grandstanding electronica, elaborate orchestral pop, and faith-based hymns, not to mention over four-and-a-half hours of Christmas music (and yes, you read that right). What he hasn't done, however, is put his own personal experiences and emotions on wax... until now. Carrie and Lowell, named after Stevens' recently-deceased mother and still-supportive step-father, is by far the most autobiographical work of his career so far, the troubadour even describing his 11-track wonder as "... Artless, which is a good thing. This is not my art project; this is my life." Sonically, the disc most closely resembles Seven Swans' stripped-down, hushed loveliness, but the lyrics are what set it apart, the album teeming with tales of Sufjan's youth, and the visits he made to Oregon under the care of his less-than-competent mother. Though their relationship is presented as thorny and complicated, Stevens mostly saves the blame for himself, self-loathing and unconditional forgiveness constantly clashing in one of the most emotional musical offerings in recent memory.

I Love You, Honeybear---Father John Misty
        When Josh Tillman decided to quit his gig as drummer for the Fleet Foxes in early 2012, it looked at least something like career suicide; a little over three years later, nothing could be further from the truth. While the indie darlings haven't released an album since 2011, Tillman, who now records as Father John Misty, has given us two. There was plenty to admire about 2012's Fear Fun, but that deliberately varied disc played like a musician still in search of his true voice, a claim that couldn't possibly be leveled against a single second of I Love You, Honeybear. Consisting just about entirely of ballads whose beauty thinly veils their piss-and-vinegar, the LP is resplendently textured and magnanimously comely, sprinkling tales of debauchery and detachment with enough gorgeous gloss to make the bitter pills go down smoothly if the listener so desires. Numbers like the gorgeous Bored in the U.S.A. walk an impossibly thin line between jaded sarcasm and desperate longing, while The Night Josh Tillman Came To Our Apartment commits to the former, and Strange Encounter the latter. Even the disc's most rosy cut, Chateau Lobby 4 (in C for Two Virgins), a tale of two lovers uniting in their bitterness (among other things) is a monument to mixed emotions. Though I Love You, Honeybear's sincerity is constantly in question, its level of accomplishment never is.

Panda Bear Meets the Grim Reaper---Panda Bear
        Noah Lennox has set the bar awfully high for himself, releasing one classic after another with Animal Collective, and contributing knock-out solo work under the moniker Panda Bear all the while. Grim Reaper is perhaps lesser than the man's previous pair of efforts (widely-lauded Person Pitch, and wholly-underrated Tomboy), but its intricate, knotty sound-world is just as easy to get lost in. Tropic of Cancer and Lonely Wanderer waft beautifully into and out of existence, while the centerpiece back-to-back of lead single Boys Latin and delightfully grimy Come to Your Senses are headphone fodder of the very highest caliber. On-ear headsets were practically designed to showcase this material, the density of Lennox's work with producer Sonic Boom proving downright enveloping to all who allow it the time and space to fully unfurl. Groovier and dingier than we're used to from the Brian Wilson super-fan, Grim Reaper is simply another chapter in the career of one of the most interesting artists of this millennium.

Policy---Will Butler
        11 years and 4 LP's into their storied career, Arcade Fire has established an identity as this generation's defining arena act, an eight-piece with out-sized sound, and even more enormous emotion and importance. Will Butler wants nothing to do with all that. The debut record of AF frontman Win Butler's little brother, Policy is a rip-roaring 27 minutes that's jam-packed with energy, excitement, humor, and, above all, nifty songwriting. Only one track dares to go on past the 4 minute mark, each caffeinated, delicious morsel ripping through its existence in the name of pure pleasure-center bliss. While Policy is mostly comprised of lo-fi, excitable anthems (Take My Side, Witness), it also finds space for McCartney-esque balladry (Finish What I Started, Sing to Me), and 80's tributes that would find themselves wholly at home on any LCD Soundsystem album (Anna, Something's Coming). A modest offering that stresses fun over literally all else, Policy is a promise of yet more enticing music from the Arcade Fire camp.

Natalie Prass---Natalie Prass
        It's kind of funny to see Natalie Prass' debut LP listed as a wintertime triumph when everything about the disc screams of Spring. The Richmond, Virginia-based singer-songwriter's soulful country renditions feel immediately well-worn, like a trusty pair of shoes. There's precious-little boundary-breaking on display here, but in its place one finds relentless loveliness, each note wafting out of speakers like a breeze gently ruffling the leaves of a tree. Enwrapped in contented horns and pleading strings, Prass' voice drips with emotion and sincerity, forgoing bombastic high notes in favor of a crackle and hush so intimate, she might as well be sitting next to you. This isn't to say the 28-year-old up-and-comer doesn't show some range: opener My Baby Don't Understand Me is a grandstanding number that sees the vocalist through emotional peaks and valleys, while Your Fool and its companion track Reprise opt for a tone that's almost conversational. Prass' lineage will be obvious to anyone with a taste for the genre, though the songsmith doesn't seem to mind; why else pen and croon Christy, a cut that, for my money, is a direct reference to Dolly Pardon's Jolene. Floating in a sun-soaked middle ground between recent offerings from Rhye and First Aid Kit, Natalie Prass is a confident, lustrious introduction to a voice that will hopefully stick around for a while.

Sometimes I Sit and Think, and Sometimes I Just Sit---Courtney Barnett
         When it comes to Courtney Barnett, inhibition is the thing. How else could you explain the swirling blender of Sometimes I Sit, an album that, in some previously unthinkable way, seems to split the difference between Nirvana and Sheryl Crow? At every turn, Barnett has her cake and eats it too, sing/speaking stream-of-consciousness narratives involving perceived suicide attempts, lazy days spent indoors, home shopping, sexy swim instructors, and seals who have lost the will to go on. The breadth and randomness of her tales would be off-putting if she was any less talented, or any more concerned with conveying a message: the house-hunters of radiant album standout Depreston consider the life of the deceased former tenant only to subsequently muse on what it would cost to knock the place down, while the Barnett of Kim's Caravan spends as much time relaying the details of her convenience mart snacks as she does that aforementioned beached mammal. Of course, none of this would matter if this manic storyteller weren't so spellbinding on guitar, as at home in up-tempo ditties (Elevator Operator, Nobody Really Care if You Don't Go to the Party), as she is with muscly power-chord monsters (Pedestrian at Best, Small Poppies) and steady delights (An Illustration of Loneliness, Boxing Day Blues). Who needs to land on a distinct style or sound when you've got as many tricks up your sleeve as Courtney Barnett?

Leftovers: Summer 2014

Leftover Movies:
Edge of Tomorrow: 
        Tom Cruise's latest action spectacle/savior-complex accommodation Edge of Tomorrow is that rarest of things: a big-budget blowout that followed a box office trajectory usually reserved for independent films. While opening weekend receipts weren't exactly anything to brag about ($28 million on a reported budget of 178...), the dual power of Rotten Tomatoes and word-of-mouth made the movie a sleeper hit. An amalgamation of Groundhogs Day, Saving Private Ryan, and any number of sci-fi action romps, Edge tells the story of Major William Cage (Cruise), a PR representative for the ongoing futuristic war against the aliens who would love nothing more than to avoid the battle field altogether. This becomes problematic when an intense extra-terrestrial encounter renders him nearly immortal, his death automatically resulting in a total reset, Cage waking up in the very same place where his day started. Cruise is great in the film, constantly toying with his self-image with at least some degree of intentionality, Emily Blunt serving as the convincingly badass Joan of Arc at his side. Director Doug Limen packs the action sequences with much more gravity and visceral punch than your average summer tent-pole, the randomness and brutality of war evident every time that the bullets starts flying. I'm not exactly the first to make this point, but Edge of Tomorrow might just be the greatest video game movie ever made... even though it's not based on anything you can play with a controller. Exciting, fun, and unnerving in nearly equal measure, Edge stands out as one of Summer 2014's very best.

Leftover Music:
Brill Bruisers---The New Pornographers: 
        Before Carl Newman changed his first name to A.C., before Dan Bejar began destroying, and before Neko went solo, there was The New Pornographers. Despite each of their individual successes as solo artists, indie rock luminaries of the early 2000's are back with their best LP in nearly a decade. Brill Bruisers is an 'event album' in every sense, its gathering of buzzy names over-shadowed by arena-rock anthems and ingenious song structures that always save the best for last. This is still power-pop at its most elemental, but the riffs crafted by Newman and Todd Fancey pack infinitely more punch this time around, the undeniable chords of the title track crashing down like the high tide, closer You Tell Me Where smoldering before it finally lights on fire. Even the scaled-back jams work, Neko Case's deceptive anthem Champions of Red Wine riding zippy synths to its heartening climax, Hi-Rise captivating ears with is steady, airy churn. Like Arctic Monkeys, MGMT, and Franz Ferdinand before them, The New Pornographers are a band living far past their purported expiration date of the late 2000's, and on this evidence, they won't be slowing up anytime soon.
Drop the Vowels---Millie and Andrea:
        Here's something you won't be hearing on the radio anytime soon. This collaboration between Miles Whittaker (of Demdike Stare fame) and Andy Stott is about as dark, dingy, and dusty as dance music can possibly be, but unlike Stott's 2012 masterwork, Luxury Problems, Drop the Vowels is willing to gun up the RPMs. These tracks aren't exactly party jams, their nebulous construction, and lack of either hooks or non-sampled vocals rendering their sound esoteric, but those with the patience to let these leering, nocturnal tunes sink in will be hard-pressed to keep their toes from tapping. 51 straight minutes of lo-fi hiss and sneaky-deep grooves.

Familiars---The Antlers
        From the first elegant, delicate notes of Palace, you can tell that something has changed. The Antlers have always been something of a down-tempo outfit, but Familiars seeks to take that thesis to a new level, nearly refusing to shift out of first gear. The approach can take a little getting used to, but when given a chance, these slow-burn beauties sink deep into your bones. No song better exemplifies this idea than Intruders, a spacey 5-and-a-half minute piece that wafts slowly through the air like fog or mist, stripped down to the point where every last note and symbol tap makes a lasting impression. The track, like its nine other album-mates, is bolstered by swooning horns that peak and fall with effortless grace.
         While not exactly an album you'll be hearing on the dance floor anytime soon, one of Familiars' greatest strengths is the way the consistently stayed pace allows the bigger moments to leap off of the recording. The catharsis brought on by the sweeping trumpets of closer Refuge darts straight to your core, but nothing matches the powerful breakdown that serves as Director's foundation-shaking climax. Band leader Peter Silberman's voice has never been more ghostly or powerful, and in Parade and Hotel, he's penned anthems that stand among the band's best. I never thought The Antlers would make another album on the level of their masterful full-band debut Hospice, but Familiars completely flips the script, opening up a new sonic era for one of America's most under-appreciated outfits. My favorite LP of the year so far.

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Part 3

Leftovers: April/May

Leftover Movies:
Under the Skin:
        After my bloated expectations turned this year's entirely serviceable iteration of Godzilla into something of a disappointment, I needed a break; no more movies that ended by knocking over the city.  My quest for something different led me much further from the norm than I could have ever anticipated, and thank god for that. Under the Skin stars Scarlett Johansson as (wait for it...) an often-silent extra-terrestrial being prowling around the outskirts of Scotland, seducing and kidnapping young men, and then harvesting their bodies. Director Brian Glazer's lets its freak flag fly to perilous heights, rejecting expository dialogue whole-sale, allowing his audience to decipher the meaning of his beautiful nightmare on their own terms. The visuals are at once gorgeous and unsettling, the varying vistas and textures all made memorably tactile by cinematographer Daniel Landin, bolstered by composer Mica Levi's score, which makes hair rise, and sweat go cold. Be warned; Under the Skin lives up to its name, and is not for the faint of heart, but those brave enough to stomach and process the picture will be left pondering themes of gender, identity, predation, sexuality, mercy, and a slew of others. I wasn't entirely sure what I thought of the flick upon leaving the theater, but after a week in which its ideas and images have rattled ceaselessly around in my brain, utterly refusing to leave, the truth has become undeniable: Under the Skin is the best movie I've seen in 2014 thus far.

Leftover Music:
Here and Nowhere Else---Cloud Nothings
        It's a standard musical complaint that every one of an individual band's songs sounds the same, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing. Here and Nowhere Else is nothing if not repetitive, eight tracks that mercilessly slash and pound their way through a tight 31-minute runtime. Drummer Jayson Gerycz, who made his debut with the band on 2011's also outstanding Attack on Memory, has become the outfit's muscular driving force, ripping straight through the core of opener Now Here In, fueling the stop-and-start mania of Psychic Trauma. Like all Cloud Nothings releases thus far, HaNO walks a tight rope between punk and pop, band leader Dylan Baldi's expertly calibrated combination of the two working like gangbusters on early piss-and-vinaeger-sing-a-long single I'm Not Part of Me, as well as the claustrophobia-inducing humdinger Giving into Something. Lovely and delicate it ain't; Here and Nowhere Else is an eruption of brute force that further solidifies its author as a band who demands our attention.

Nikki Nack---tUnE-yArDs
        Following up an album like w h o k i l l is no easy task; tUnE-yArDs' previous LP possessed an absolutely insane amount of madcap energy and confidence (not to mention tough-to-articulate pop appeal), prompting a cavalcade hosannas from critics and fans alike, gracing innumerable Best Albums of the Year lists along the way (including this one). As dense and confrontational as follow-up Nikki Nack might often sound, it notably refuses to sock listeners in the face in the same fashion as its predecessor, but then again, what album doesn't? Merrill Garbus is still a force to be reckoned with, many of the band's best tunes wrapped snuggly in her guttural howl and hauntingly evocative lyrics. Nate Brenner, the duo's seldom-celebrated bassist, is given more space to roam this time around, his plunks crucial to the charging Sink-O, even taking occasional center stage on closer Manchild. But he's clearly the Pippen to Garbus' Jordan, the vocalists' enormous personality warping esoteric sounds into ear worms on the brilliantly under-played Wait for a Minute, as well as on the irrepressibly ecstatic lead single Water Fountain. Something tells me that this Merrill Garbus is in the 'making provocative, challenging music,' scene for the long haul.

Voices---Phantogram
        Phantogram, where have you been all my life? The New York duo's debut disc, Eyelid Movies, met the US over four years ago, and while the LP wasn't a smashing success as a whole, it spawned a pair of undeniable night-time jams (When I'm Small, Mouthful of Diamonds) that still receive independent and college radio play to this day. Voices is the electro-pop outfit's first full-length since, and while it might lack an instant classic like Small, the band's maturational leap is difficult to ignore. They come out guns blazing, opener Nothing But Trouble setting the stage with its jittery pulse and surprise guitar solo, leading into the siren-infused stomp of lead single Black Out Days. As was the case with Eyelid, the record experiences minor setbacks whenever guitarist Josh Carter steals the mic; the real star here is Sarah Barthel, who vacillates between seductive confidence (The Day You Died, Howling at the Moon) and wounded earnestness (Bill Murray, Celebrating Nothing) with ease and aplomb. Please, guys, don't make us wait so long next time!

Tomorrow's Hits---The Men
        Everyone's got their pet bands, and The Men are one of mine. The Brooklyn-based five-piece has released one LP a year every since their 2010 debut, peaking on 2012's raw, emotional, exciting, and pulse-raising Open Your Heart. Just over two years since that album's release, the punk-ish classic rockers (with a pinch country... just for added flavor) remain steadfast in their refusal to stay still, releasing this scrappy, joyous eight song collection. Their instrumentation is notably more varied this time around, a jaunty piano-trumpet pairing serving as Another Night's unlikely backbone, while opener Dark Waltz clears out space for a harmonica to cut through the track's brawny central riff. You'd be forgiven for wondering if the boys are losing a bit of their edge, but the manner in which the more pop-leaning tracks (Sleepless, Settle Me Down) bounce off the more rollicking cuts (Different Days, Another Night, Going Down) is quickly becoming one of the band's greatest strengths. Another year, another low-key triumph for The Men.

Leftovers: Winter 2014

Leftover Movies:
The Lego Movie
          Make sure you get a good night's sleep before checking out The Lego Movie, or at least a sizable cup of coffee; this flick is almost as exhausting as it is exhilarating, relaying the tale of every(lego)man Emmet, and his quest that is far too convoluted and zany to be described in a mere paragraph. Co-writers and directors Phil Lord and Chistopher Miller imbue the film with the very same all-fun-all-the-time energy they brought to Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, throwing every last joke they can come up with right at the wall, and watching a good many stick. The cast is fun as well, Parks and Recreation's Chris Pratt again giving voice to endearing befuddlement, Morgan Freeman and Will Arnett chipping in one-liners from the side. This all goes without mentioning the film's visual world, undoubtably the movie's greatest accomplishment, a whirligig of rapid-fire colors, motion, and creativity.



Leftover Music:
After the Disco---Broken Bells
        Nearly three months having already passed since its release, I think it's safe to assume that After the Disco will never reach the popularity or profitability of the band's self-titled debut, and it's not all that hard to see why. The latest from James Mercer and Dangermouse is far less radio-ready, nearly void of obvious singles, and wears its affections for forgotten musical eras with pride... and is all the better for it. My favorite Mercer output in at least five years, AtD flows ridiculously well, 45 minutes passing without a single glance at the 'track forward' button. Goofy falsetto-powered lead single Holding on for Life is just the tip of the ice berg, the band's twin senses of confidence and abandon leading us through surging opener Perfect World, woozy sing-a-longs Leave it Alone and Lazy Wonderland, and the rousing No Matter What You're Told and The Remains of Rock & Roll. If you're good with a little pitched-up silliness, this is essentially all-killer no-filler.

G I R L---Pharrell
        Pharrell Williams cannot be stopped. After a 2013 that included starring turns on the two biggest songs of the summer, as well as an Oscar nomination for Best Original Song, the world's youngest-looking 40-year-old is right back at it with his first solo album in eight years. As if radio-ruling single Happy hadn't already made it clear, Williams is in full-on keep-it-simple-stupid mode, each of G I R L's ten tracks settling into a repetitive groove, riding warm and inviting rhythms and sounds off into the sunset. Pharrell's voice won't exact bowl you over, but his charm and swagger probably will, an outed seducer one moment (Hunter, Gush), and a romancer of 20/20-era Timberlake devotion at another (Lost Queen, JT-featuring Brand New). Through a listen or two, the album can come off as uneventful, no single song ever rocking the easy-going track list, but each has its own distinct charm, and a soon-revealed knack for getting stuck in your head for days at a time. The reign of Pharrell continues.

St. Vincent---St. Vincent
        Annie Clark might be a little crazy, but that's just why we love her. The songstress' self-titled latest is my personal favorite of her career, an ideal encapsulation of her many strengths that's never ashamed to let its freak flag fly. Clark's songs always have a patchwork feel to them, as if a mad-cap guitar solo or space-case slow-down could breakthrough at any moment, though the artist herself maintains an unnerving sense of calm and control amidst the chaos. Birth in Reverse is a perfect early single, catchy and crunchy and aggressive, but the album is stocked with many treasures, the bare-bones attack of Regret, sonic mind-games of Rattlesnake, and punchy, physical sound of Digital Witness providing other highlights. With dense instrumentation and unapologetically unhinged lyrics, St. Vincent is a disc that only gets better every time you hear it.

WONDERLAND---CEO
        For Eric Berglund, lush sounds are the only ones worth hearing. A veteran of The Tough Alliance, Berglund's first outing as a solo artist occurred on 2010's ceo, a glittering, expansive set of eight tracks that deserved worlds more attention than it received. He's back with WONDERLAND, another 8-song set filled to the brim with the man's particular brand of warped, neon gorgeousness. The album is largely occupied by delightfully loopy interludes, In a Bubble on a Stream lofting around weightlessly while Ultrakaos rushes jubilantly forward. Mirage is also the real deal, a swirling, enveloping pop track with more than a touch of nighttime atmospherics fashioned atop its keyboard spine, but the irrepressibly jaunty Whorehouse is the record's lead single for a reason, a pure dose of bouncy pop euphoria. A half-hour tour through a disparate land that you'll want to revisit the moment its over.

Leftovers: October 2012

Leftover Movies:
 Frankenweenie:
        No filmmaker can be located across such a wide spectrum of popular opinion as Tim Burton. The, 'Hot Topic,' kids (as well as those who vividly remember the early 90's) revere the guy as a demi-god, while many film-buff circles ridicule the autuer as a cash-grabbing, one-trick pony. Here's something both sides can finally agree on: Frankenweenie rocks. Adapted from a short film that helped Burton make his name, the back-and-white, stop motion affair revolves around the experiments of a brilliant, socially ill-equip boy named Victor Frankenstien (evocatively voiced by Charlie Tahan). Young Victor enjoys making his own short movies, and conducting scientific research with the aid of his trusty canine, Sparky... that is, until the pooch reaches his untimely demise. Unable to let go of his best friend, Victor, in mad-scientist mode, brings his little buddy back to life, but playing god has unique ramifications. Frankenweenie is a heartfelt affair, one wherein the protagonist clearly stands as an avatar for the storyteller, and one brimming with visual and thematic clarity, and inspiration. A fun, bubbly trip to the flicks, and a sure tear-jerker for anyone whose ever loved a pet, Frankenweenie stands as a twisted, joyous reminder of what Burton is capable of concocting when he puts his back into it. Adorably dark, and oddly cozy at nearly every turn.

Leftover Music:
Good Kid M.A.A.D. City by Kendrick Lamar:
         Has more ink been spilt in the name of any single musician over the last month then Kendrick Lamar? The youthful hip-hopper, who broke out onto the scene with last year's Section.80 mixtape, finally released his much-anticiapted proper debut, and while I can't quite get as rapturous as some, there's no denying that the disc is a winner. Lamar's flow has always been positively electric, and here he gets to play with studio production and gadgets that are worthy of his immense talent. Kendrick suffers from a few known vices, like over-doing simple-minded hooks, and occasionally blunt phraseology, but none of that comes close to derailing this LPs heavy-hitters. The Hit-Boy produced Backseat Freestyle is simply undeniable, as are the seedy grind of early single Swimming Pools (Drank), and the silky swagger of Drake-featuring Poetic Justice. A potent blend of the scholarly with the badass, GKMC is doubtlessly one of 2012's finest hip-hop releases, and will have you considering gangster lyricism almost as often as it sends you bouncing down the dance floor... almost.

Jiaolong by Daphni, and Luxury Problems by Andy Stott
         Never have two trippy, dance-music-for-people-who-don't-like-dance-music albums had less in common. Jiaolong, the rug-cutting child of Caribou mastermind Dan Snaith, is all about repetition, and brightly-tinged simplicity. Many of the winners here are founded on little more than a constant, unchanging rhythm, like the über-direct Cos-Ber-Zam Ne Noya, while the celebratory Yes, I Know, builds and builds upon warm, identifiable ingredients. Luxury Problems, on the other hand, desires no such blissful satisfaction. Andy Stott's disc is built out of chilly rhythms, and evolving backdrops, opener Numb growing from misty origins to swirling dread, while the title track rumbles along in a hypnotically foreboding fashion. Neither LP is a champion through-and-through: each has its own noticeable weaknesses, and pronounced strengths. But as a couple of discs bent on creating their own worlds, in a genre that too-often plays it safe, both are efforts worth celebrating.