Benji- Sun Kil Moon
The opening track of Benji
starts with a guitar line that crawls back and forth between grief stricken
and meditative. It sums up the ebb and flow of the entire album in that way. Mark
Kozelek throws us a few laughs here and there, but they’re only momentary
reprieves on Benji’s long somber
road. Mortality and morality loom over Kozelek’s rambling tales as he touches
down on minuscule details. He describes the crimes of infamous serial killer
Richard Ramirez with terrifying precision. “A little girl in the Tenderloin was
his first/In the laundry room took a dollar from her fist,” he sings over dusky
guitars. No one cuts quite as deep as Kozelek from the shockingly raw “Dogs” to
the nearly 11 minute self-reflection of “I Watch the Film ‘The Song Remains the
Same.’” More so than any gindcore or industrial album you’ll find this year, Benji ain’t for the faint of heart, but
once you dive in, there’s no coming back.
Christmas Island- Andrew Jackson Jihad
“In the days before the damage no one knew that they were
happy.” Knowing Andrew Jackson Jihad, they're probably ones that did the damage. Christmas
Island is another incredibly fucked up release filled with snipers, Nazis, and
a fuck-ton of bullshit. “Stevie Wonder to the bullshit baby!” shouts out Sean
Bonnette on the opening track. The newly expanded AJJ conduct one hell of a
therapy session that goes “You’re fucked up, I’m fucked up, we’re all fucked
up.” It’s the feel bad hit of the summer, as you laugh at jokes you totally
shouldn’t laugh at and listen to an album that might just warm your blackened
little heart.
CLPPNG- Clipping.
It’s a desolate fucking waste land that Clipping. paints. “Once
upon a time there was a moral to a story/But fuck it, they need some ends,” spits
Clipping.’s menacing ringleader/MC Daveed Diggs after asking “Who need a fix?
You? You?” and if you’re for visceral blood curdling thrills this is your fix.
From the cannibalistic killing spree backed by percussion that brings new
meaning to “industrial” on “Body and Blood” to the epic gangsta mantra of
“Dominoes” Clipping. have the best of both worlds. The manic evil
production and the gritty street level bars combine into something horrifying
and new.
In Conflict- Owen Pallett
Owen Pallett needs to write a musical. I’m completely
serious. He’ll win a Tony if he can get the funds up and properly put it on
Broadway. I say this because In Conflict has
all the marks of a grand stage play, abet one made in the 22nd
century. Pallett (with a little help from Brian Eno and the Prague Filmharmonic)
creates the year’s most stately songs. These pieces are all based in the world
of chamber music, but Pallett becomes bored quickly. He hops from dance, to
indie, to synth pop, using each as a filter on his brilliant base. It’s one of
the most progressive and forward looking releases of 2014 with Pallett
seemingly holding a crystal ball that shows future musical trends. And of
course Pallett’s scoring mastery is as stunning as ever. It’s clear he’s saved
his best work for himself (sorry Taylor Swift).
Piñata- Freddie Gibbs & Madlib
Piñata is the best
hip-hop album of 2014. Don’t even try to argue. The touchstones of recent
hip-hop (Kanye, Kendrick, El-P) have broadened rap both musically and thematically.
Piñata doesn’t try to, nor does it
need to. Listening to Madgibbs is like being served your favorite dish freshly
made by a five star chief. You’ve had it before, but it’s never been this good. Gibbs flows like a reincarnated Tupac and Madlib delivers his soulful and bonkers beats. “Thuggin’” “Shitsville” “Uno” and nearly every other song on the album are
paragons of hip-hop excellence. Damn straight Gibbs claims he’s “Number
One.”
Tomorrow’s Hits- The Men
There’s a neon glow on the album cover and a neon glow on every note of Tomorrow’s Hits. Not the Vegas neon that burns the
eyes, but the dimly humming sort that lights up the dingy bar just enough for you
to see the grand mess of it all. That blurred eyed drunkenness is what The Men
thrive off of. They play late night classic rock grooves that the DJ can only
get away with because it’s two in the morning and the station manager isn’t
demanding he play “Hotel California” for the billionth time that day. They also
love them some raucous madness that seems ready to completely fall apart at a
second’s notice. Lead howler Mark Perro plays the most pissed off version of
Bob Dylan possibly imagined over speed addicted brass on “Pearly Gates” and the
band rolls into one of the best rock n’ roll songs made in decades on
“Different Days,” where Perro screams “Man I hate being young!” and that’s the
balance they strike. They still have the energy and enthusiasm of teenagers
mixed with the hilariously jaded edge of the touring life. They’re the band
playing that neon lit bar that night, reviling in every second of its drunken
glory.
