Like staring into the embers of a campfire, 

 is a meditative experience, chock-full of oaken textures caught in a smoky psychedelic haze.

 – or if you didn’t make it that far, from looking at the cover – you might get the impression Steve Gunn has put out an album of rustic folk-rock in the style of Bob Dylan. Gunn even recruited Dylan’s longtime bassist, Tony Garnier, to keep the rhythm (using an upright once owned by Charles Mingus!). But as layers of reverb-laden instrumentals pile onto album opener “New Moon,” the music takes a transcendental turn that carries through the album’s meandering course. Like staring into the embers of a campfire, 

The rich sound of the album is strengthened by contributions from Gunn’s collaborators. The subtle whisper of Meg Baird’s backing vocals lend a ghostly atmosphere to “Vagabond”, a wistful ode to the nomadic lifestyle. James Elkington’s sylvan production is noticeable throughout, reminiscent of his excellent 2017 album 

. This is especially true on the acoustic “Stonehurst Cowboy,” Gunn’s solemn reflection on the life and legacy of his father. Although not featured on the album, Kurt Vile’s influence can be heard as well. His distinct style of fuzzed out guitar solos over strummed acoustic loops appears on tracks like “Chance”, “New Familiar” and “Lightning Field.” Gunn was a touring member of Vile’s band, The Violators, in 2012.

, both as a lyricist and an instrumentalist. After spending many years in the shadows of his collaborators, Gunn comes into his own on this album with nine well-written, well-executed tracks. His finger-picked guitar work is the star of the album, but it rarely takes center stage, floating instead in the midst of swirling clouds of ambient Americana. The album can be stylistically monotone at times, but overall, 

 is a pleasant listen from a talented guitarist.

Steve Gunn shows growth on ‘The Unseen in Between’

Since the early 90’s, Richard D James’ output under the Aphex Twin label has been a pioneering force in IDM (Intelligent Dance Music), a genre with a name so pretentious it makes me want a lobotomy every time I read it. That said, the Aphex Twin discography includes some of the most celebrated and innovative albums in electronic music history, and it’s hard to judge new music from Aphex Twin without comparing it to his past. Of all his albums, the 

, the album that marked the end to Aphex Twin’s 13-year slumber in 2014. Not only does it borrow synth and drum textures, it cranks up 

’s fractalized complexity to the infinitesimal extreme. At first listen it might sound, at best, like the chaotic output of a machine learning algorithm trained on previous Aphex Twin music, and at worst, like a fax machine having a stroke. But with repeat listens, the meticulous programming becomes clear, and the EP becomes one of the most giddy pleasures of James’ career.

five songs are denser than a black hole. While the impossible level of detail is impressive on its own, what’s more impressive is the laser-focused precision that prevents it from sounding muddled. The audio effects are just as deliberate, with pans that will leave your head spinning as sounds oscillate between the ears at dizzying speeds. Tempos stretch and snap like rubber bands as splintered drums ricochet at terminal velocity. It’s not quite drum and bass, but still has enough coked-out jitteriness to trigger an aneurysm.

The music here is restless, shapeshifting and full of surprises, as if violently allergic to repetition. Melodies shift suddenly but subtly; there is not a jarring transition on here. Take the lead single ‘T69 collapse,’ a spasmodic track with an equally twitchy 

. Despite the sputtering, scatter-shot drum patterns (if they can be called patterns), the first part has a relatively serene backdrop of distant twinkling synth melodies. It takes a dark turn halfway through, the synths filling with anxious dread and the drums pounding like your heart after a cup of coffee too many. Then out of nowhere the original theme returns, like a wide open view at the end of a long tunnel.

‘1st 44’ is an incredibly bouncy track, with hyperkinetic drums and rubbery bass dribbling like pinballs in a machine made entirely of bumpers. Foggy synths in the background create the illusion of a vast space beyond the frantic convulsions of rhythm in front of you. Some of the drum textures here sound similar to those used in Jlin’s recent work, industrial yet vaguely organic. The breakneck momentum of the EP continues through ‘MT1 t29r2’ and ‘abundance10edit[2 R8’s, FZ20m, & a 909]’ (an annoying name to type and a detailed description of how the song was made), each song a disorienting rhythmic vortex in its own right. But the rollercoaster ride of an EP slows down as it gets to ‘pthex,’ the one track where James doesn’t seem to have anything new to say and the chaos fails to materialize into anything memorable.

 EP is without question a thrilling work of IDM (kill me), but how does it stack up against the giants in Aphex Twin’s discography? It handily beats 

, the last EP he dropped. But while the programming is undeniably impressive, it fails to achieve the emotional potency that makes Aphex Twin’s best work stand out. The best Aphex Twin tracks feel like an alien probe into your amygdala, triggering amorphous and slightly unsettling feelings that elude easy definition. 

 is still a great EP and a dazzling technical spectacle, but nothing on it will haunt you like ‘Avril 14th’ or the 

Aphex Twin releases ‘Collapse’ EP

 when they’re experimenting, pushing their established sound into new directions while playing to the strengths of each member.

Returning from a three-year hiatus that saw several members of the band pursue their solo careers, the Internet picks up right where they left off with another album of funky neo-soul R&B. Thematically, 

’s focus on seduction and the intimacy that follows. The sound is just as sensuous, but the Odd Future spin-offs lean harder into the funk than ever before, with tight grooves all over the project. It may be a little bouncier, but it still goes down like white wine on the beach.

Quintessentially Southern Californian, the band’s approach seems implausibly casual. Yet the talent of each member shines through the relaxed atmosphere, balancing and complementing each other without showing off. Although Syd’s honey-glazed vocals are still the stars of the show, 

 sees guitarist Steve Lacy come out of his shell with some crooning of his own, building on the vocal talent he first showcased on his demo in 2017. Matt Martians’ unconventional drum loops propel the album, blending organic and synthetic textures with ease and laying the snapping, shuffling foundation for the band’s back-porch jams.

From the very first track, ‘Come Together,’ delicate flutes and Rhodes piano waft through the backdrop to let you know this is going to be a very chill record, and you might want to be outside to listen to it. It’s a strong start to the album, and it picks up steam on the next track ‘Roll (Burbank Funk).’ True to the title, it’s a very funky tune with an irresistible bass line. Carrying on into singles ‘Come Over’ and ‘La Di Da,’ the momentum through the first few tracks is undeniably one of the hottest stretches in the Internet’s career. Like a loose fitting t-shirt, it’s cozy, comfortable, and just plain fun.

But as the album goes on, it can start to feel a little too comfortable, as the band fall back on familiar SoCal neo-soul tropes they helped define. ‘Stay the Night’ doesn’t really bring anything new to the table, a whispered vignette of intimacy the likes of which Syd has practically built her career on. ‘Bravo’ is similarly tepid, with Syd lamenting a regrettable relationship over sparse rhythm and soft lit guitar. ‘It Gets Better (With Time)’ might be the least inspired song on the album, a languid pep talk with a rapped outro from bassist Patrick Paige that could have been cut from any neo-soul or jazz rap album of the last half decade. If you were expecting the energy of the singles to fill the whole album, you would be mistaken.

Although the music won’t always get you on your feet, with instrumentation this lush, you won’t mind staying in your seat. Subtle flourishes like soothing background vocals, warm horns and sunny guitars fill out the sound without crowding out the melodies. Post-production adds another layer of psychedelia, with strategic pans, filters, delays and reverb lending the sound a decadent richness. The band is easy on the ears from front to back here, especially on dreamy tracks like ‘Mood,’ ‘Wanna Be,’ or the satin smooth closer ‘Hold On.’

Several tracks have multiple complementary but distinct parts within a single track. ‘Next Time, Humble Pie’ starts off sunny, but liquifies into slippery trip-hop halfway through. ‘Beat Goes On’ is similarly trippy, with splashy, skittering drums laying down a tight, funky groove for Steve Lacy’s spaced out vocals.

 when they’re experimenting, pushing their established sound into new directions while playing to the strengths of each member. While some of the tracks on here might not be the most groundbreaking stylistically for the band, they sound more gorgeous than ever with significant improvements in production since 

It’s a promising update from the Internet, and the perfect album for the doggy dog days of summer.

The Internet release full-length ‘Hive Mind’

 had the potential to be a bloated listen. And with such a vast range of musical lineages running through the sonic fabric, it probably would be a bloated mess in the hands of less dexterous DJ. But DJ Koze’s knack for synthesizing intangible moods from disparate elements hold the 1 hour 18 minute behemoth together to the point where no track feels out of place.

Through his past few releases, DJ Koze has quietly established himself as one of techno’s most eccentric figures, painting vivid, club-ready dreamscapes with a colorful palette of sounds and samples. Whether he’s spinning techno, house or hip-hop, Koze is a wizard at conjuring up a vast depth and range of emotions, often weaving contrasting emotions together in the same song. His tracks can be euphoric, manic, fearful and deeply bittersweet, often all at this same time. On his last full-length 

, named after the brain’s emotional processing center, Koze crafted a strange and deeply psychedelic techno journey across the emotional spectrum, with hypnagogic grooves and bizarre, unsettling vocals from collaborators like Matthew Dear. On his next release, his entry for the DJ Kicks series, Koze drifted from techno into the realm of soul-sourced hip-hop beats. The resulting mix was incredibly joyful, breezy and nostalgic, like the memory of a warm summer afternoon. Koze followed that up with 

, another highly emotional mix that served as an introduction to the genre-ambiguous DJs on his Pampa label. On 

Koze goes 4 for 4, diving deeper into the wistful nostalgia of his previous releases and creating his most breath-taking musical pastiche yet.

The album is both more meticulous and unified in scope than his previous releases, without losing the emotional potency that made Koze stand out as a DJ in the first place. It’s an easier listen than albums like

, where Koze really let his oddball instincts off the leash, but no less intricate or surprising in his choices of textures, sounds, and samples. Koze really flexes his range here, blurring the lines between minimalist techno, French house, hip-hop, soul, disco and even folk. Pairing the sun kissed sounds of the 70’s with digital textures and rippling sub-bass, the album is firmly rooted in the past yet boldly futurist in its vision.

The opening track “Club der Ewigkeiten” creeps into focus with some eerie string textures and distant rumbling bass, before a vocoded wail cuts through the fog carrying a euphoric wave in its wake. Warm swells of flutes and digitized vocals glide over a mesmerizing string loop. The track sets the tone for the album with its delicate balance of dread and ecstasy. Even at the album’s most blissful moments, there’s a vague undercurrent of melancholy just beneath the surface, like realizing that every good thing that happens to you will one day be but a fond memory.

“Bonfire” begins with chilly, atmospheric synths and a minimalist techno rhythm, thrashed by a growling bass wobble and anxiously clamoring bells. Justin Vernon’s spectral vocals, lifted from the Bon Iver track ‘Calgary’, float through the gloom like a phantom. While outwardly cold, the track still manages to shimmer with optimism, a strange tension that gives the track an other-worldly feeling. Like many tracks on the album, “Bonfire” succeeds by progressively layering sounds and textures to give the track momentum, building gradually to a climax of emotional ambiguity.

The evocative lyrics on this album are rich with imagery that echo the sentiment of the instrumentals. On “Moving in a Liquid,” over a sunny, blissed out house beat, Eddie Fummler sings about reality feeling like melting pieces of golden sand, sifting through his cold clenched hands, as waves of joy pull him under. Later on “Muddy Funster”, over a ghostly, twinkling ambient techno beat that feels like a slow motion death in outer space, Kurt Wagner sullenly croaks about one day simply closing his eyes and nothing happening. It’s one of the bleakest points on the album, yet hauntingly beautiful.

“Colors of Autumn” features Speech from Arrested Development on a gorgeous piece of maximalist R&B. With fluttering flutes, ephemeral vocal clips and bird coos, delicate strumming, a milky bass groove, and a slinky guitar sample repurposed from the opening track on Koze’s DJ Kicks mix, the track has all the trappings of a feel-good summer song from the 70’s. Yet despite the warmth of the instrumentation there’s still an unmistakable sadness. With the imagery of falling leaves, a colorful reminder of summer’s end, Koze evokes the fleeting nature of happiness. That same transient sentiment reappears on the album’s lead single “Pick Up” as a sample of Gladys Knight sings mournfully about “neither one of us wanting to say goodbye”. There’s an upbeat disco beat swinging behind it, but even the warm swells of guitar and string are detuned and tinged with sorrow.

Jose Gonzales lends his ethereal vocals for the feather-light “Music on my Teeth”. It’s one of the album’s dreamiest moments, with jangly guitars filtering through a haze of sticky sweet ambiance, faded like an overexposed polaroid. The track’s heady nostalgia and folk sensibility make it sound like it could be a B-side of the Avalanches’ 

, in the best way possible. Other tracks find Koze adopting the out-of-focus analog spookiness of Boards of Canada, or the alien atmospherics of Aphex Twin. But no matter what influences shines through, Koze retains his unmistakable voice across the album.

 knocks throughout, but the biggest banger of them all kicks in half-way through with “Illumination”, a luxurious house track with satiny vocals from Róisín Murphy. The track is irresistible but silky smooth, with punchy drums and organs propelling the track forward as fluttering strings of pearly synths percolate through. “Jesus” is another banger that, in a surprise twist, sounds like a Timbaland beat from 2007, with washes of vocoder crooning over shuddering bass and crisp percussion.

 had the potential to be a bloated listen. And with such a vast range of musical lineages running through the sonic fabric, it probably would be a bloated mess in the hands of less dexterous DJ. But DJ Koze’s knack for synthesizing intangible moods from disparate elements hold the 1 hour 18 minute behemoth together to the point where no track feels out of place. The music inhabits the grey area between the cardinal emotions we learned in kindergarten, and hints at nuances in feeling that words cannot express. It’s an ambitious project epic in the scope of its sonic richness and diversity, but the music never feels overproduced or impersonal. No matter how many layers of synths, samples, and warped vocal clips he piles onto a track, each element feels deliberately placed to touch a nerve you didn’t know you had. Not to only is it a beautiful and emotionally powerful album, but it’s also an undeniably fun and danceable record that will be sure to be featured on DJ mixes for years to come.

DJ Koze releases full-length ‘Knock Knock’

Folk singer Azniv Korkejian performs under the name Bedouine, a play on the Bedouin nomads who roam North Africa and the Middle East. As a nomad herself, it’s a fitting title; she was born in Aleppo to an Armenian family, grew up in Saudi Arabia, moved to America at the age of 10, and shuffled between Massachusetts, Texas, and Kentucky before settling down in Los Angeles. She’s not finished traveling, either, taking her wandering country-folk on the road in support of her self-titled debut. Her performance at Allston’s Great Scott was an intimate and soothing affair, like a warm cup of chamomile before bed.

Aisha Burns was first to take the stage, performing a series of slow-burning folk songs. She had a gorgeous voice reminiscent of Angel Olsen, wavering like wisps of smoke in the breeze. Her earthy vocals were backed only by simple guitar strumming, with just enough reverb to give the tracks a dreamy aura. Highlights included ‘Sold’ and ‘Mine to Bear,’ two songs off her beautiful debut 

 She played with poise and confidence, with the flawlessly refined sound of a headlining act.

The second opener, Domino Kirke, followed her predecessor with a similarly tranquil folk set. The show was very well curated, with all three acts playing complimentary variations on the theme of quiet folk with rich female vocals. However, Domino Kirke’s set was the least polished of the three, afflicted by out-of-tune singing and frequent guitar flubs. Despite the mistakes, her set was still quite pleasant, with some pretty vocal harmonies between Domino and her supporting guitarist, Jen. Most of the tracks were gentle lullabies off her latest album 

, including ‘Friend of the Family’ and ‘Pilot.’ She closed the set with ‘O’Kane,’ a delicately uplifting track that appropriated a melodic motif from The Beatles’ ‘Let It Be.’

Bedouine picked up right where her openers left off with a calming folk set of her own. With the exception of a few unreleased tracks, most of the tracks were off her self-titled album. She played fairly close to the record, although with a sparser sound stripped of her debut’s orchestral arrangements. What her music lost in intricacy was made up for in intimacy, with the resulting clarity bringing the focus to her warm vocals and gently finger-picked acoustic guitar. However, I couldn’t help but feel a little bored by the naked production. Not to discredit Korkejian’s charming songwriting, but without the rich depth of sound provided by the strings, brass, and woodwinds, the tracks felt a little two-dimensional.

Throughout her set, Bedouine nurtured a welcoming atmosphere, encouraging the audience to come in close as though they were gathered around a campfire. She was incredibly friendly, engaging the audience in free-wheeling banter between songs. The level of intimacy was par for the course for Great Scott, a tiny venue where headliners mingle indistinguishably with their fans and unassuming bar patrons.

I was particularly thankful for Great Scott’s barstools at this concert. For all the show’s pastoral beauty, the hushed folk had the tranquilizing effect of a melatonin suppository. The lack of deviation and in many cases simplification of the music on the record made for an underwhelming show that really hit the snooze button for me. If I was going to be lulled to sleep anyways, I would have rather heard the music in its full symphonic glory while lying in the comfort of my own bed.

Bedouine @ Great Scott

Like most people, when I first heard Yung Lean, I thought it was a joke. It was 2013, and my friend was showing me the music video for ‘Hurt.’ I laughed at the Swedish teen, dancing in front of a green screen with his Pokémon card collection and Arizona Iced Teas. He looked and sounded like any high school burnout with dreams of moving to L.A. and being a rapper, with lines like “Louis duffel bag filled with heroin” so grossly appropriating rap tropes, it bordered on parody. In retrospect, the song has grown on me. Despite amateurish production, the song has a ghostly trap beat that became a landmark in the cloud rap movement. And although the delivery was clumsy and indifferent, the detachment was an earnest representation of what a 16-year-old ‘Sad Boy’ would sound like.

Drugs and depression have always been Yung Lean’s muse. In 2015, his substance abuse and mental health got the best of him during a period of songwriting in Miami. He grew delusional, detaching from reality and winding up in a mental hospital. Since undergoing treatment and recovering in his Swedish homeland, Lean (short for his middle name Leandoer) has grown noticeably more mature. His latest album 

is his most refined work to date. The lyrics are more honest, his delivery is more melodic, and the chilly production is icier than ever before. While in the past he has received a fair amount of criticism for being an outsider coasting on the innovations of more talented American rappers, 

makes a compelling case for Yung Lean as a singular voice infusing hip hop with the sounds of Scandinavia.

On opening track ‘Muddy Sea,’ Lean reflects on fame and the destruction it wrought on his emotional wellbeing. “Fuck being famous I don’t need all that shit,” he declares in a drowsy cadence. His numbing self-medication in Miami is painted through vivid metaphors like, “In a Percocet river I got gills like a fish.” In contrast with his prior releases, Lean’s lyrics on 

 revel in an abstract expressionism that’s far more figurative than literal. Perhaps it’s the influence of his poet father, who nurtured Leandoer back to health in Sweden after his breakdown. The two had been estranged, but have grown close since reuniting under the unfortunate circumstances.

The lyrical imagery is even sharper on the next track ‘Red Bottom Sky.’ On the hook, he sings, “Ice dropping, red bottom sky / Ice on my feet I keep slipping,” evoking a glowing sunset over a frozen landscape. Lean’s voice sounds more confident than ever here, singing a tender melody in a stylistic leap from the apathetic mumbling of his previous releases. He skates gracefully over an icy Yung Sherman beat, cold and barren yet hauntingly beautiful, like an aurora borealis over the tundra.

As far as Yung Lean has come in terms of both delivery and lyrical dexterity on this album, he still has the disadvantage of having English as his second language. Then again, Yung Lean’s success has always leaned heavily on the contributions of his producers Yung Sherman and Yung Gud. The impact of their wind-swept beats on this album cannot be understated, lending a chilling atmosphere that perfectly reflects the bleak desolation of Lean’s past. Like Clams Casino by way of Sigur Ros, the minimal sound is distinctly Scandinavian. The beats are stark and skeletal, with analog synths fluttering gently like a flurry of snowflakes.

‘Skimask’ is the only hard-hitting track on this album, featuring a jagged industrial melody that cuts like glass over skittering hi-hats and subwoofer-rattling bass. But other than that, every other track takes a more subdued approach. On tracks like ‘Metallic Intuition’, Lean inhabits a bone-chilling ambiance as he explores his inner darkness. The drums are sparse and muted, with glassy keys floating through reverb like bubbles trapped in a frozen river. Any sharp edges are sanded down to give the tracks a smooth finish.

The album isn’t without its duds, however. On tracks like ‘Push/Lost Weekend’ and ‘Salute/Pacman,’ Lean drenches his voice in auto tune, masking lackluster lyrics about girls, cars, money, and drugs. It’s a confusing choice, since Lean proves to be more than capable of singing without auto tune on tracks like ‘Red Bottom Sky’ and ‘Drop it/Scooter.’ Lean is at his least interesting when he dips his pen in the same boastful materialism as every other rapper. When he drops the façade and lays bare his internal torment, Lean offers a glimpse at his full potential.

Before the album was released, Lean admitted in an 

 that he wasn’t sure if he was making hip-hop anymore. Out of all the tracks on 

, ‘Agony’ strays the furthest from hip-hop, with nothing but an out-of-tune piano behind Lean’s forlorn verses. Far and away the best song on the album, the song explores Lean’s drug-induced psychosis in haunting detail. In a dark twist on 

, he sings about his furniture coming to life and dancing with a candlestick. It may be a reference to when he destroyed his condo during his psychotic break, which was triggered by video-calling his girlfriend and getting a nosebleed at the same time as her. Lean refers to his girlfriend in passing several times throughout the album, but his love is never more raw than on the refrain, as he cries out in anguish, “I adore you, the sound of your skin.” His voice chokes as he describes his mental isolation as being “alone in a hole in the ground.” The song ends with an unsettling Icelandic children’s choir that settles in like a cold fog. Lean is at his most despondent and vulnerable here, and it pays off. He’s always been a Sad Boy, but ‘Agony’ will make you a Sad Boy too.

Yung Lean releases full-length ‘Stranger’

 a few weeks earlier, I listened to so much of Kurt Vile and Courtney Barnett’s music that I honestly dreaded covering their Orpheum Theatre show. It was a shame; as a huge fan of both artists, the show had been on my radar for months, but the thought of rehashing my reviewing experience sounded like an exhausting ordeal. Luckily, my press pass got me prime real estate in the orchestra section, allowing me the rare luxury of sitting at a concert for the first time this semester. But even if I had been forced to stand, I still wouldn’t have any regrets about going to this show. In fact, I ended up standing the whole show anyways, captivated by the electrifying guitar work of Kurt Vile and his good friend Courtney.

 was defined by the endearing kinship between Kurt and Courtney, from which the music was just a natural byproduct. But with Courtney’s wife Jen Cloher joining the tour, Kurt was left to be the third wheel. It was probably for the best that Jen tagged along, having written her recent self-titled album largely about the loneliness, lost confidence, and bitter envy she faced as Courtney’s career took off touring 

Sometimes I Sit and Think, Sometimes I Just Sit

It can’t be easy for Jen to be with a songwriter as successful as Courtney Barnett. Despite comparable talent and a longer career, Jen has lived in Courtney’s shadow ever since she dropped her debut. Accordingly, Jen’s opening act was a cathartic release of all the painful emotions that come from playing second fiddle to the person you love. Her raw folk wrung out every ounce of her soul, with searing lyrics and a powerhouse of electric acoustic guitar. It was an emotional gut punch that left me on the verge of tears.

The feelings in the music were enriched by wry and unflinchingly honest storytelling between songs. Although some stories covered benign topics like her love for the Doors or meeting Patti Smith, she wasn’t afraid to open up about Courtney and the strain her fame put on their relationship. Standing before an audience of hundreds, she shared the details of her life most people wouldn’t even admit to themselves. The intimacy almost felt inappropriate in the context of the Orpheum’s neoclassical opulence, but she played her melodies with a brooding force that more than filled the space.

Kurt and Courtney opened their set playing the first six songs of 

in the same order they appear on the album, with the exception of ‘Outta the Woodwork’ trading places with ‘Continental Breakfast.’ The songs were offered with little embellishment, featuring the same muddy guitars and drawled vocals found on the record. Kurt cycled through three different guitars in as many songs, nailing a dirty solo in each one. With Kurt on lead and Courtney on rhythm, the duo hit their stride playing songs that all began with the two trading lyrics over a carefree melody, which would repeat endlessly until it got lost in a vortex of guitar fuzz. ‘On Script’ was an excellent example, during which the pair vamped on the same waltzing riff, tangling their guitars together like the Spanish-moss hair hiding Kurt’s face.

While Kurt and Courtney sounded great together, they would be nothing without the Sea Lice, their backing band. In what was their first banter after 3 songs, they introduced their star-studded supporting cast: bassist Rob Laasko of The Violators, Warpaint’s Stella Mozgawa on drums, and Katie Harkin of Sky Larkin on keys. Stella’s drumming was especially commendable, striking the perfect balance of shuffling steadiness and thudding force to push the tracks through thickets of brambly guitars.

The crowd lost their mind when Courtney finally busted out the opening lines of ‘Depreston’ after a half-dozen songs. Based on the crowd’s reaction, it seemed like more people came out for Courtney than for Kurt, even though Kurt had dominated the sound thus far with his untamable solos. It was refreshing to hear Kurt take on a more supportive role, adding harmonies that made for a fantastic duet with Courtney’s weightless vocals. While the songs they co-wrote sounded fine, they honestly sounded better playing on each other’s songs, whether it was Kurt’s ‘Pretty Pimpin’ or ‘Life Like This;’ or Courtney’s ‘Dead Fox’ or ‘Avant Gardener.’

If you were only familiar with Kurt Vile or Courtney Barnett’s solo work, this would not have been the show for you. It wasn’t a Kurt show or a Courtney show, but rather a show for the supergroup that forms when the two friends join forces. Unlike most supergroups, however, the collaboration didn’t feel forced or unnatural. Not only were their guitar styles complementary, but with their laid-back uniform of matching flannels and unkempt long brown hair, a person at the back of the Orpheum would be forgiven for thinking they were the same person.

Courtney Barnett & Kurt Vile @ Orpheum Theatre

[three_fourth]The first time I saw Giraffage, he was opening for EDM’s lightweight champion Porter Robinson back in 2014. Both artists were riding creative peaks at the time. Porter was supporting his career-defining debut 

, a lush pastiche of warped 80’s R&B samples. Fast forward to 2017, and Giraffage is on tour again to support his new album 

 With Giraffage as the headliner, the roles were reversed. Although Porter wasn’t on the bill, his brand of big tent N64 nostalgia was heard throughout the mixes of openers Wingtip and Sweater Beats. When they weren’t remixing Porter’s hits, it was the hits of his collaborator and sonic twin Madeon or other contemporaries like Flume and Chet Faker. Meanwhile, Giraffage was as vaporous as I remembered him to be, playing a sleepy bedroom mix more interested in lulling you into an 8-bit daydream than making you dance. The show was better for it: compared to his openers, Giraffage’s set depended less on the cheap thrills of EDM tropes that already sounded stale back in 2014.

Wingtip kicked off the show and his touring career with his first ever live performance. He played it safe for the most part, mixing universally palatable songs you might hear in a CVS. Dull bass plodded through his set at a steady pace, gilded in delicate arrangements of guitar, piano and dulcet vocal samples. It was all very pleasant, packing the canned sentimentality of a network TV show about parenting. Transitions between songs were seamless, but then again, beat matching is easy when all the songs have the same BPM. At one point, he warned the crowd that he would play a song that was a little hard, and it honestly could have been a little harder. Although I found myself a little bored, I was impressed by how smoothly Wingtip handled his first show. He had the remixing talent of a much more seasoned DJ, and I wouldn’t have known he was a novice if he hadn’t said anything. The crowd embraced him warmly, and he made a point of thanking everybody who came out to support him.

Having earned his name making people sweat in the club (before adding ‘Beats’ to his name so it would show up on Google searches), Sweater Beats had clearly been working the boards a lot longer than Wingtip. He knew all the hottest throwbacks and mashed them together in unexpected combinations, starting with a trap remix of Panic! At the Disco’s ‘I Write Sins Not Tragedies’ that flowed into Flume’s ‘Sleepless.’ Two days before Halloween, his set was a hedonistic binge of sugary rap and electropop hits, like eating all your trick-or-treating candy in one sitting. While the mix was bloated with bangers, none of the tracks had quite enough time to marinate. As soon as you got used to one song, it would be interrupted by the next, restlessly switched out after just a single chorus. And although the transitions were technically pretty smooth, the juxtapositions often felt jarring and careless.

I do have to give him credit for his versatility though. In addition to playing a wide range of genres, he juggled his laptop with a drum pad and a glammed out electric guitar that he shredded on for tracks like Kid Cudi’s ‘Pursuit of Happiness.’ Towards the end of his set, the iconic piano of ‘The Black Parade’ snuck in the backdoor of the previous song, and you just knew an epic guitar solo was coming. But Sweater Beats failed to capitalize, changing the song before he ever had a chance. While he did unleash a killer solo on the next song, the moment had passed. But given his stunted attention span, it was no surprise that he would miss such an obvious opportunity.

After Sweater Beat’s hyperactive set, Giraffage was a languid lozenge of relief. Clickity-clacking on an 808, he stepped onstage into an LED globe made from concentric rings of neon light. His first track was ‘Tell Me,’ a song as friendly and approachable as the wiggling Word-art lyrics flashing on the screen behind him. Honestly, the images on the screen stole all the metaphors I would have used to describe the show. Rendered in Kid Pix resolution, there were bubbles, clouds, and dancing animals that looked straight out of 

. Skeleton musicians kept things spooky for Halloweekend, appearing individually before uniting to form a skeleton super-group. Every animation was dancing, whether it was aliens, Geico geckos, or an anatomically-correct nude blue man. Pixelated puppies flooded the screen, clearing up to reveal a gorgeous digital sky. Rarely do stage visuals so perfectly capture and enhance the mood of the music.

Like the cybersurfing imagery behind him, Giraffage’s music channeled the nostalgic joy of being 6 years old and waking up at 7am on a Saturday morning to play video games. The trap beats at the core of the songs twinkled harmlessly, bubble-wrapped in glossy MIDI key melodies that sounded like they could have been ripped straight from the Super Monkey Ball soundtrack. Although I wouldn’t call it vaporwave, the set drew from the same hypnagogic vintage funk and soul textures you might hear in an Occupational Safety cassette from 1987. His beats distilled the comforts of the 80’s and 90’s and refracted them through a prism of 2002 computer culture, as if compressing them into a .zip file and releasing them into the ether of Internet Explorer.

Other than a few old favorites, most of the tracks Giraffage played were off 

including singles ‘Green Tea,’ ‘Slowly,’ and ‘Maybes.’ Things got a little ‘too real’ when he played ‘19 Hours,’ an ode to the millennial dilemma of living half your life in the virtual world of your cell phone. There were a few remixes thrown in to spice things up, including a barred-out version of Soulja Boy’s ‘Crank That’ that replaced the steel drums with an atmospheric cloud beat

While not every song was a total banger, Giraffage maintained an air of playfulness that kept the show interesting and full of life. I might have been a little drowsy by the end, but I sure had fun.

Giraffage @ The Sinclair

[three_fourth]It seems like a perfect fit. Both Kurt Vile and Courtney Barnett are lonely souls who love being lonely, lost in their own worlds and not caring enough to ask for directions. In their previous work, they both reached their creative peaks exploring their introverted lifestyles. Even their conversational lyrical styles are complementary, and 

 finally gives Kurt and Courtney somebody to talk to. But in bringing their talents together, the natural friendship neutralizes what set them apart.

The grunge attitude that made Courtney’s 

Sometimes I Sit and Think, and Sometimes I Just Sit

 such a fun listen is nowhere to be found on their collaborative effort, replaced by the rustic wandering sound of Kurt’s last few albums. Not that Courtney doesn’t sound perfectly at home in Kurt’s wheelhouse. But in accommodating her, the sound fails to reach the expansive heights it reached with Kurt alone on albums like 

. None of the songs jumped out as songs I would want to listen to repeatedly, and that’s coming from a person who used to start every day wakin’ up to ‘Wakin on a Pretty Day.’ But maybe I’m expecting too much. The songs on Lotta Sea Lice are still very good, and Kurt and Courtney are a great pair, but their comfort with each other becomes clear as they take fewer risks together than either took alone.

Every Kurt Vile album starts with a long rambling ballad that serves as the album’s thesis and ‘Over Everything’ is no exception. Balearic guitars layer kaleidoscopically over a sturdy theme that never loses its charm, more chilled out than ‘Pretty Pimpin’ yet more awake than ‘Wakin on a Pretty Day.’ Delivered in a deadpan stream of consciousness, the lyrics provide live commentary on the creative process. Kurt and Courtney banter about using music to cope with the ‘ominous cloud’ of negative emotions that hangs over everything, just as a haze of guitars settles in and hangs over the rest of the song.

The theme of songwriting is a common thread to their conversations. On ‘Let it Go,’ Courtney asks ‘what comes first, the chorus or the verse?’ to which Kurt replies that he’s ‘a bit blocked at the moment.’ They reach the same conclusion every writer should come to after spending more than 10 minutes staring at the page: ‘you’ve gotta let it go before it takes you over’, with Courtney promising ‘it will come back to you’ on the next song ‘Fear Is Like a Forest.’ Taking the listener behind the scenes once more, ‘Continental Breakfast’ discusses their mornings working on the album together from the lobby of a hotel in East Bumble, Wherever. While breaking the fourth wall might not be all that original anymore, their musings about the struggles of writing never feel like a cop-out. The lyrics come out as effortlessly wry and clever as anything the two have produced before.

Whether they’re harmonizing or trading bars, Kurt and Courtney’s voices are a snug fit. Her Australian accent and his sheepish drawl go together like vegemite on toast. That said, Courtney is clearly the better singer here. Her voice has a disaffected charm that still sounds beautiful even at its most casual. Capitalizing on her talent; Courtney takes the vocal lead on more tracks than not, even singing alone on ‘Peeping Tom’ and ‘On Script’. It more than makes up for her smaller fingerprint on the album’s overall sound.

Kurt and Courtney truly have a special connection. And while 

might not be a groundbreaking album for either artist, the genuine wholesomeness of their relationship will warm your heart.

Courtney Barnett & Kurt Vile release full-length ‘Lotta Sea Lice’

featuring Carlisle Sound and Suburban Living

[three_fourth]The best part about Allston’s Great Scott is not the intimacy you get with the artists performing in this tiny bar, although that’s nice too. The best part is the freedom you have to sit down, grab a drink, and enjoy the show from a distance. It’s always a welcome relief from the tyranny of standing. Without the barstools, I would have had a hard time enduring the relentless drone of shoegaze acts Carlisle Sound, Suburban Living and Frankie Rose. That’s not to say the show was unbearable; in fact most of the songs had a cheerful dream pop charm that was hard to hate. But all three acts packed layers upon layers of reverb and delay into a sound so dense it could knock you off your feet.

From where I was sitting in the back, Carlisle Sound looked like a bunch of dads who started jamming over a few beers in the man cave. They could have been any age, but the vocals of frontman Casey Keenan carried the grizzled weariness of a man deep in his 40’s. His self-reflective lyrics touched on bittersweet themes like nostalgia and getting wasted in the park. The songs were often breezy and sometimes bluesy, with an undercurrent of math rock textures taking them in unexpected directions. I’m not exactly sure which Carlisle they’re supposed to sound like, but if I’m ever there I’ll recognize it by the band’s fuzzed-out surf rock jangle.

True to their name, the self-proclaimed “shoe glaze” outfit Suburban Living played a set so sentimental it could only have been put together by kids raised on the boredom of the suburbs. Sappy lyrics like “I miss you all the time” and “I’m not enough” might as well have been cried from the driver seat of the family minivan. With all the haze at this show Great Scott should have had a smog advisory in place, and Suburban Living was the biggest offender. The subtle movements of the guitars and keys were barely audible through thick clouds of sound. On the other hand, the whiny, Billy Corgan-esque vocals of Wesley Bunch had no problem cutting through and could have used an extra dose of reverb to balance out the mix. ‘Lovely Times’ was the best song of their set, with bright synth arpeggios that glazed a sugary veneer over what was actually a real downer of a song.

When Suburban Living left the stage, the girl who had been sitting on the barstool in front of me got up and took the stage with her friends. Turns out it was Frankie Rose the whole time! At this point, the Great Scott’s intimacy had won me over. I got up from my seat and walked through the sparse crowd to the very front of the stage, where there was still plenty of space. The show felt so casual, it could have been an open mic night. Frankie was cheerful and giggly throughout, as if she was already friends with everybody in the audience.

A thunderstorm of ambiance rolled into the room to start the set, breaking into a flash flood of drums and layered guitars for ‘Trouble,’ off Frankie’s latest album 

. Most songs played were either from that album or 

 was one of the most fun songs of the whole show, with a funky 80’s cruise ship vibe that could certainly bust a few hips on the Lido deck. She did a great job replicating the foggy 80’s new wave sound of her records, paying homage to her influences with a cover of the Cure’s ‘A Forest.’ Frankie ended the set on a spooky note with ‘Street of Dreams,’ reminding me that I still need to figure out my Halloween costume. With no backstage, Frankie and her crew were quickly reabsorbed by the crowd, stepping off the stage as casually as they had stepped onto it.

Frankie Rose @ Great Scott

[three_fourth]More of a dashboard hula girl than a full blown luau, the Shacks kicked things off with a hushed set of dreamy beach music that bathed the Paradise in a lava lamp glow. The lo-fi audio mix was heavy on 60’s electric organ, often overshadowing the whispered vocals of singer Shannon Wise. Sharp feedback occasionally pierced the beaded curtain of mellow ambiance, a problem that plagued the headliners’ sets as well. But more importantly, the Shacks set the tone with a chilled-out retro sound shared by all three acts.

For most of Khruangbin’s set, the only visuals were twirling projections of the saturated water-color sky from the cover for their debut album 

. The album was recorded in a barn in a rural area of the band’s home state of Texas. The trio retained the lofty comfort of that barn onstage, their expansive sound evoking the enlightened wonder of stargazing on a clear Texas night. Their incense-stick blend of Thai funk, soul, surf rock, and cowboy music made the Paradise reek from the heady late night vibes of the 70’s. Mark Spear’s guitar curled and warped like a paisley tie blowing in the wind, fluttering over Laura Lee’s moonlit bass and DJ the drummer’s crisp beats.

Khruangbin set the mood by opening with the first three songs off 

The album was featured heavily throughout, with a taste of future releases sprinkled in between. Most songs were entirely instrumental other than the occasional hushed coo, with the notable exception of a cameo from the organ player and singer of the Shacks to enrich the atmosphere on the mournful ‘Balls and Pins’. The backdrop provided by Lee and DJ played fairly close to the record, providing a starry canvas for Speer’s virtuosic noodling.

Despite his wiltering improvisations, Speer never lost control, maintaining a cool composure and mysterious aura behind his long black bangs. He wore his Texas swagger on his sleeve, rocking a decadent suit and cowboy boot combo and drawling like a late-night radio personality. At the end of the set, he launched into an extended monologue about getting to know your neighbor and buying them something from the merch table in what could have been a Matthew McConaughey Lincoln commercial.

When you hear Chicano Batman play live, there is an undeniable energy – a shaking and consuming feeling that only arises in the midst of something special. It only makes sense that de facto frontman Bardo Martinez is a former high school English teacher, given the fact that he and the rest of the band put on a clinic every time they grace the stage. Blasting right out of the gate with “Angel Child”, the immediacy of Chicano Batman’s deep rooted influences, in tropicalia as much as soul, came to life. The funk-infused, yet stoic guitar work of Carlos Arévalo appeared bright in the mix, as “Cycles of Existential Rhyme”, and “Flecha al Sol” featured a chemistry that can’t be reduced to logic.

While Martinez’s vocals smile and warm from above, the unique quality of Chicano Batman comes from effortless exchanges between Spanish and English. The baffling quality of this interplay, regardless of language, seemed universally understood–a message that certainly communicated its importance both during the show and in their newest release’s title, 2017’s 

. The band’s multidimensional rigor featured heavily in “La Manzanita”, where Eduardo Arenas traded in his bass for guitar to display his own set of pipes as drummer and chief rhythmic auteur Gabriel Villa held down the house. Chicano Batman functions as an almost separate identity from each of its members, where the amalgamation of talent and passion becomes fluid in demeanor, atmosphere, and expression– all with immense gratitude and thanks.

Though there was seemingly no easy way to end this evening of enlightenment, the encore revealed a layer of true showmanship that few contemporary acts keep. With enthusiasm bursting at the seam for the impending encore, a round of “La Jura” began to unfold in front of the mostly uninitiated crowd (save for one, whose occasional pleas for performance had finally been answered). After quick introduction and admittance that the band had gotten ahead of themselves, there was an unsurmountable stretch of tension and release for each countdown. As the show began to trend towards a 2am cap, “Magma” broke out to round out the setlist and night.

What went down at Paradise Rock Club will most likely be categorized as a Boston cultural highlight for the year. With spiraling and crashing intensity for the better part of 2 hours, Chicano Batman broke any and all music barriers – crafty solos, tasty bass licks, wild and crunchy organ tones, and of course, cowbell features. The only regret would be that of the B-line man who wanted to know if “that Chicano Batman guy” was any good. I assure you, my friend, that is the baseline accolade.

Chicano Batman @ Paradise Rock Club

[three_fourth]On the cover of her latest album 

, a cartoon of Jennifer Lee, the beatmaker behind TOKiMONSTA, lounges on a hovercraft cruising an extraterrestrial landscape. In the background, the titular red moon looms low in the sky. It’s fitting; after a brush with the rare brain disease Moyamoya, Lee became an alien to the world around her. The album is her first since a life-saving surgery in early 2016 stripped away her ability to speak, walk, and most devastatingly, hear music. But being alien is nothing new for TOKiMONSTA, who’s astral beats routinely blend the synthetic with the organic, and the abstract with the familiar. In an astronomical set at the Sinclair, she brought trap to places it didn’t belong, creating a lucid dreamscape that moved the crowd with a spiritual zeal. Like the sunrise of LEDs radiating behind her, the performance represented the promise of a new day following a nightmare, and the hope for reawakening after trauma.

First to perform was rapper KAMI, whose stylistic roots could be traced through Atlanta, Detroit, and his hometown of Chicago. His set closely followed industry trends, evoking Travis Scott with an auto-tuned howl on songs like ‘2 Td.’ On other tracks like ‘Home Movies’ and ‘Miami: White Limousines,’ his sound was glazed in 80’s synths. He was his own hype man, hopping around the stage and energizing a still-thin crowd. Despite his up-and-coming status, KAMI performed with the confidence of an established rapper, jumping into the audience and taking selfies with his new fans.

But for all of KAMI’s enthusiasm, it wasn’t a true party until Kingdom took the floor. In a departure from the dewy sound on his latest album 

, Kingdom’s DJ set pulled together trap, UK garage, 2-step, deep house and even moombahton into a potent blend that demanded to be danced to. There was a noticeable shift in the crowd as the pit filled in and people realized the front of the stage was the place to be. Normally my obligations as a critic would compel me to take notes, but this time my body was swept away in a white-water deluge of bangers, too entranced to do anything but dance.

Strung out from Kingdom’s euphoric mix, the revelers were desperate to keep the party going. But TOKiMONSTA had other plans, teasing her fans with 10 minutes of lunar ambiance as her logo creeped into focus on a screen behind the boards. Just when it seemed like she wasn’t coming out at all, the suspense broke and the tiny DJ finally came out. She seemed taken aback by the ensuing applause, as if it was her first time seeing her fans in front of her. Soon enough the red moon lit up the screen behind her as the beat dropped into ‘We Love.’ The party picked up right where it left off.

TOKiMONSTA played a mix of new material and old favorites, working in chart-toppers from the likes of Missy Elliott, Justin Timberlake, and Kendrick Lamar. Transitions were smooth to the point of imperceptibility. Danceable hits like ‘Steal my Attention’ and ‘Gamble’ retained their psilocybin sheen, giving the show an ethereal aura. However, fans expecting to hear her trippier beats a la Flying Lotus would be largely disappointed; her set consisted mostly of trap and EDM songs more at home in a nightclub than an Adult Swim commercial. By the end of the show TOKiMONSTA had ratcheted up the rave into a full blown electric daisy carnival, blasting festival ready EDM as a beach ball bounced around for a photo opp. Needless to say, the Sinclair got a lot sweatier than most nights.

The most emotionally charged moment of the night came when TOKiMONSTA played ‘I Wish I Could Be,’ the first song she wrote following her surgery. Despite a fairly soulless EDM core, the song packed a wallop of grief and frustration when set in the context of TOKiMONSTA’s impassioned introduction, detailing the struggles of her recovery. With lyrics like ‘I Wish I Could be Better’, the voice of Selah Sue wailed with the despair of a mind held prisoner by the brain.

Jennifer Lee has certainly come a long way since her surgery, rebounding from the total loss of her ability to comprehend music to produce a new album and take it on tour. Her miraculous recovery would not have been possible without the constant support of her adoring fans, many of whom were seeing TOKiMONSTA for the third or fourth time. She was sure to express her gratitude at the end of the show, reaching out and touching as many fans as she could.

TOKiMONSTA @ The Sinclair

[three_fourth]While Moses Sumney was the official headliner, the real star of the show was the expressive power of the human voice. Between the pungent purr of opener Xenia Rubinos and Sumney’s cavernous croon, the performances explored the earthen riches hidden in the nooks and crannies of everyday speech. Xenia jettisoned the support of any musicians that might distract from her rippling vocal runs, playing her first solo show in a decade. In a void of drums, Xenia’s angelic murmur resonated as though through a candlelit cathedral, buttressed by loops of organic snaps, claps, and the soft thump of a palm on the microphone.

The crowd was unusually packed for an opening act by the time Xenia started with ‘Don’t Wanna Be.’ Switching between bass and keyboard, she delivered a set that was raw and unapologetically experimental. Despite playing alone, Xenia still managed to pull off mashing a cover of ‘A Man of Constant Sorrow’ with Miles Davis’ ‘Maids of Cadiz.’ Precision was traded for fiery passion as she recklessly ripped at her bass strings and hammered on the keys. ‘See Them’ had Xenia frantically scatting and freestyling slam poetry over throbbing synths and a pounding drum machine. Her powerful voice trembled with rage, particularly as her music confronted racial injustice. On ‘Mexican Chef,’ she carried the indignation of the millions of people of color working thanklessly behind the scenes to keep America on its feet. At the end of her set, she payed respect to her island roots by collecting money to 

 the storm-ravaged people of Puerto Rico.

Soaked in blue light and drowning in a placid lagoon of reverb, the twinkling guitar arpeggios of ‘Self-Help Tape’ introduced the Sinclair to the aqueous hum of Moses Sumney. The sparse intricacy that defines his recorded music was blurred out in the live mix, oversaturated in atmospheric effects. It created a beautiful ambiance, out-of-focus and impressionist like Van Gogh’s 

. Songs floated through each other, with guitars that layered into a dense fog only to refract back to clarity for a new melody. It was the perfect backdrop for Moses’ ethereal voice, ageless and full of mysteries.

Before playing ‘Make Out in the Car,’ Moses gave a monologue about the inspiration for the song: the moment at the end of a first date when you sit with your date in the car as you drop them off and awkwardly try to kiss them goodnight. Despite their roots in lovelessness, the songs he played off his latest album 

all sounded quite romantic. Moses sang like a violin, as if setting the mood for a moonlit picnic paired with fine wine and seductive jazz guitar.

If he was as lonely as he let on in his lyrics, he surely didn’t show it, cracking jokes and engaging with the audience all night. In performing an unreleased track titled ‘Rank and File,’ Moses assigned vocal harmonies to the audience based on age, inviting them to add their own unique voices to the mix. The track itself was a churning protest march of a song, featuring one of the many whirlwind saxophone solos bleated out during the show. Moses kept things light and fun without sacrificing the depth of his music, adding a hypnotic house beat behind ‘Lonely World’ to close his set.

Storming the stage to raucous applause, Moses gripped the microphone and defiantly asked ‘are you not entertained?’ before taking requests for his encore. Not that it mattered; he settled on ‘Man on the Moon’ and ‘Plastic,’ two forlorn lullabies off his debut. Personally, I was very entertained. The songs glimmered with the same tear-stained opalescence that defined his set, aching from a place of desolate solitude.

Moses Sumney @ The Sinclair

[three_fourth]Take Me Apart is an immersive experience of lovelorn tracks flowing together and breathing the same air, demonstrating a mastery of the album format. There are so many recurring melodic and textural themes that pop up from track to track that it’s often difficult to distinguish a call back from a call forward. While no individual song stands out thanks to consistent production from the likes of Arca and Jam City, each track is its own world in Kelela’s universe, with a depth that rewards repeat listens. Audiences are finally tuning into what has been branded as “futuristic R&B” and this album is a crucial text with its complexity setting a new standard for the genre.

’s use of this song to soundtrack the climax of its most recent season might feel like a strange choice given its less intense build but, just like Kelela herself, this song makes you wait before showing all of its cards.

Bringing to mind the aerosolized house of Vince Staples’ 

, this track takes a subdued approach that breezes through the speakers like a summer daydream. Subtleties like distant bird chirps give the song a far-away feel, as if recorded deep in the forest with drums rustling like freshly fallen leaves. The remote sound is undercut by Kelela’s longing for intimacy, her vocals reverberating like the trapped thoughts in an isolated mind.

Transitioning from sparse to multilayered drum beats for the chorus of this song lets the vocally driven verses take a much needed spotlight. The accents in the bridge are reminiscent of vocal doo wop improvs and ground the track in a more R&B place. Kelela utilizes layered vocal harmonies as transitions throughout this album and does so excellently in this track as an outro.

It’s risky to make your chorus so processed and layered that you lose your sense of place in the song; time and song structure blend together and add to the confusion that is echoed in the sentiment of the song. Everything only becomes clear again at the pained accusation of “telling her the same damn thing at the same damn time,” then once more at the question turned pleading, “will your love ruin my heart?”

The second shortest track, complete with shimmery chime effects, might seem like a throwaway in such a complex and dense album if it wasn’t sandwiched between ‘Enough’ and ‘Better.’ The album clearly needs a reset before the decisive yet reflective ballad to come.

The gorgeous, lush ‘Better’ ends at the beginning of its bridge; the up-tempo switch and reversal that follows is so abrupt and uncharacteristic of the album that I refuse to accept it.

The poor example execution of an uptempo switch in ‘Better’ is immediately followed by a stunning one – ‘LMK’ builds and doesn’t backtrack. It may not be that deep, but it’s so damn fun.

Almost every album has its lull, and this is where 

’s sets in. The subject matter of this song has me sold, but the songwriting just isn’t on the same level as the rest of the album.

The influence of Björk’s sensual introversion is felt strongly as Kelela sings of her thirst over drowsy synth leads and frosty percussion. This was an inessential cut for me, featuring the same bleary-eyed R&B utilized in more interesting ways elsewhere on the album.

While the previous two sleepers are slightly painful, Kelela digs herself out of that hole with ‘Blue Light,’ a sexy, sophisticated sister track to ‘LMK.’ She is able to do so much within the 3:37 runtime of this song; she starts off with long stretches of vocals then moves into pulsating background vocals, only to replace that with a drum track then adding on additional drums and vocal lines – all within the first minute of the song. This type of complex composition and arrangement sells me on this album. It is deft and effective without feeling blunt.

‘Onanon’ is Kelela’s most indulgent experimentation with rhythm on 

 but it works. The song itself is an argument for the click track; its internalized beat is exacted, and vocal runs are never cut short. What could easily be transformed into a techno track lets itself dwell on the outskirts of R&B by never approximating or showing its full depth of production.

Kelela turns to the ghostly sound of Grimes’ 

, her voice rippling over brooding strings. Cold and overcast, the song is a great foil to the sunny warmth of ‘Altadena’.

The song describes a toxic romance where the desire to prove your partner wrong overtakes any feelings of love or affection. The sparse production beeps intermittently like the life support keeping her relationship alive.

The closer is one of the most pleasant songs on the album. Slinky ’80s guitars float through partly-cloudy atmospherics, ending with faded keys that softly underpin Kelela’s layered vocals. It provides more comfort than the chillier songs that came before, leaving the listener to bask in the afterglow.

Taking Apart Kelela’s ‘Take Me Apart’: A Song-by-Song Breakdown

September 29th, 2017 @ Brighton Music Hall

poised to be one of the biggest blockbusters of 2017, it’s clear that 80’s sci-fi is coming back in a big way. The twilit electronic subgenre of Synthwave is part of this resurgence, taking its cues from the dark, synth-heavy soundtracks of 80’s sci-fi films. This sound recently contributed to the eerie ambiance of Netflix’s 

with a score by Kyle Dixon and Michael Stein of S U R V I V E. The same ominous synth atmospherics that make the series so spooky also make up the core of Perturbator’s dystopian dance music. His chilling cyberpunk onslaught has a surprising popularity among metalheads, who packed Brighton Music Hall last Friday night to witness Perturbator’s gritty-reboot vision of the future.

Perturbator wasn’t the only performer relying heavily on sci-fi tropes. Opener Protector 101 came on wearing what appeared to be a knockoff Daft Punk helmet. The bottom half of his face was awkwardly exposed, as if a tiny alien spaceship had tried to abduct him but his head got stuck in the opening. The music was as half-baked as the costume, with slow buildups of synth that fell out of nowhere into EDM-style bass drops. The music failed to match the hype that Protector 101 brought with his over-the-top stage presence, dancing like an A.I. that learned its moves watching EDM night at a frat house. The second opener, Das Mortal also played a set of sinister synth-house, although with a slightly crisper sound that gave the music room to breathe. He employed a wide range of textures, from squelching laser beam synths to the chirp of 808 percussion embellishments. His music was club-friendlier than the other acts on the bill, yet shared the same techno-goth aesthetic.

Perturbator came on stage with a hood shadowing his face like a stock photo of a hacker, playing atop what appeared to be a menacing next-gen server custom built to breach your firewall. A slow build-up of spine-tingling synth lines swelled into the cold-sweat banger ‘Neo Tokyo’. The crowd was rabid and restless and before long, push came to shove and a mosh-pit broke out. The whole room shuddered from the bass, blasting with enough force to soil a good pair of slacks. Between the oppressive synths and the synchronized lights strobing like a fire alarm, it was the sonic equivalent of the panic felt as a virus hijacks your computer.

Although you could probably find a setlist online, in person the songs just blurred together into a relentless industrial drone. Time slowed as reams of green light rained down like Matrix code. Each song was its own harrowing experience; a constant barrage of grinding, crushing and zapping over ceaseless 4-on-the-floor bass. But when every single song sounds like an apocalyptic robot rebellion, eventually the novelty wears off.

The show had all the gloss of a high concept sci-fi thriller but without any of the dynamic plot elements that make those films engaging. With so little variety between songs, my appetite for Perturbator’s heart-pounding retro-futurism was quickly satisfied. It might be entertaining to watch a 5-minute sequence of Tom Cruise sprinting across a circuit board city. But nobody wants to watch an hour and a half movie of Tom Cruise running through the same CGI environment. The excitement is unsustainable and quickly becomes exhausting.

Perturbator @ Brighton Music Hall

The Sinclair in Cambridge routinely offers an unparalleled concert experience, with rich acoustics, synesthetic lighting, and just enough space to foster an intimate connection with the music without feeling claustrophobic. It’s the closest thing to listening to the band on a hi-fi stereo in the comfort of your own bedroom, making it the perfect home for Jay Som’s introspective bedroom-pop. Fronted by Oakland native Melinda Duterte, the band headlined a night of bittersweet haze, smothering the venue like a warm blanket.

 opened the night with a set of languid lo-fi that quickly got the crowd bouncing lightly and nodding in approval. It was the perfect soundtrack for the humid overcast Tuesday. Sophie Allison sang with a heartbroken sadness that shone through the noise, wrenching with emotion like she was on the verge of tears. She sounded even better playing alone, pushing her plush voice into the spotlight and giving it room to breathe. While the music played with the full band was standard fare for an indie rock opener, Sophie’s solo performances stood out as exceptionally moving. Stripped down tracks like ‘Allison’ were achingly beautiful, steeped in the sentiment of nights spent staring at the ceiling and wondering where it all went wrong.

 inherited the sullen mood set by Soccer Mommy, propagating it with a downtrodden set of her own. However, while Sophie’s sorrow was sewn into the shoegaze fabric, Stef’s anguish cut through like a razor blade, bleeding with raw emotion. Her nasally voice warbled and wailed, wobbling with every vowel. The quivering made interpreting the lyrics impossible, like if Young Thug was a woman in her 20’s making angsty indie rock. The sound might as well have come from the bottom of a well, her froggy vocals paired with waterlogged Black Hole Sun guitars drowning in a shimmering delay effect. Highlights included ‘Human Being’, a stripped down number where Stef rationed out her vocal inflections for maximum impact; and ‘Messes’, which featured the fuzziest guitars of the set crashing over the audience like pounding surf.

From the moment frontwoman Melinda Duterte strode onstage in overalls and a little pink cowboy hat, it was clear that Jay Som would let in some much-needed light for what had otherwise been an oppressively gloomy night. Everybody on stage was clearly having the time of their lives, fooling around like a high school band playing in front of their friends at a party. They were remarkably lively and fun for a shoegaze act, a genre defined by lackluster stage presence. It was a testament to their undeniable chemistry, playing in perfect sync even through unexpected black metal breakdowns and drawn-out drum fills.

The set opened with ‘Everybody Works’, whose titular lyric looped and decayed to give way to the jangly ‘Ghost’, off Jay Som’s debut, 

. ‘Baybee’ was a bubbly prosecco dance party, with shuffling synthetic drums and funky guitar lines rendered in sun-bleached denim. The song featured one of many crunchy solos from the mustachioed lead guitarist, packed with a ridiculous ’80s Glam Rock overdrive that matched his endearingly goofy aesthetic. Introduced as “a song about feeling a little emo sometimes”, ‘(BedHead)’ was met with huge applause from the emos in the audience. With just Melinda’s aching voice over her own droning guitar, it was indeed quite emo. One of Jay Som’s greatest assets as a live band was their seamless transitions, making it impossible to determine where one song ended and another began. ‘(BedHead)’ was no exception, overflowing into a drum solo that built in intensity before slamming into a full-band wall of sound. The resulting sludge was hard to identify at first, until an almost unrecognizable “I’ll be right on time” vocal line drifted out of the murk to tag it as ‘For Light’.

‘The Bus Song’ came on to the most crowd participation all night, with revelers singing along and some even going as far as dancing. The track featured an adorable moment where the bassist playfully strummed Melinda’s guitar and they switched places on stage. The band got experimental on ‘Remain’, starting with a three-part noodle symphony that swelled like a balloon heated by the ever-rising flame of an accelerating drum crescendo. The guitarists had some fun on this one, with both musicians kneeling down to twiddle with the knobs on their effect pedals as the drums cascaded into a percussive supernova. The resulting stardust twinkled into a Balearic rendition of ‘I Think You’re Alright’, with a long guitar solo blending into the dreamy closer ‘Lipstick Stains’ as Melinda’s support left the stage.

For their encore, Jay Som returned with ‘1 Billion Dogs’, a song dedicated to the dogs of the world. As the song faded into what seemed to be an extended ended, the guitarists began taking turns playing canonical riffs from well-known songs. It felt very off-the-cuff and spontaneous, so it was a total surprise when the medley somehow warped back into ‘1 Billion Dogs’. Playful reinterpretations like this are what make Jay Som such a fun band to watch live. Despite her sentimental lyrics, Melinda and her friends brought a contagious joy to the stage that lifted the shroud laid down by the opening acts.

Jay Som @ The Sinclair

The music of Dev Hynes as Blood Orange is a celebration of self-acceptance. Three albums in, his catalog stands as an open invitation for anybody, no matter who they are or what they’ve been through, to shed their insecurities and just dance. His unconditional embrace of the people around him and effortless comfort in his own skin are what make Dev Hynes one of the coolest people in the music industry today. Hynes’ gospel of self-love followed him to the stage on Saturday night as he performed for a sold-out crowd eager to share in his tender vulnerability. His set was buoyant and intimately luxurious, bathing the Paradise Rock Club in the polaroid glow of ’80s funk and R&B.

 opened the night with a brief set consisting of just one song, a soulfully slowed down cover of Cher’s “Believe”. It was a loose interpretation, featuring sparse organic instrumentation and a focus on Isiah’s syrupy vocal runs, fluid and aching with raw emotion. Isiah blended the original lyrics with his own politically charged refrains, calling out the cops for “killing everybody everyday”. By the end of the song, the crowd was cheering with a fervor unprecedented for an opening act, let alone one so brief. Breezy cool jazz filled the air as the crowd got another round of drinks in anticipation for Blood Orange.

Ian Isiah was not long off the stage, returning to thunderous applause to support Dev Hynes with his vocal talent. Once the champagne bubble bath of a show got started, it quickly built an irresistible momentum that carried effortlessly through the set list. An early highlight was an Eddie Hazel-esque shred sesh, with the whole band jamming over a meaty “Love Supreme” bass line. Double-threat-Dev on the keys and guitar dueled his saxophone player, playing with the energy of an exorcism to summon the ghost of John Coltrane.

The funk groove boiled over into “Augustine,” off his most recent album 

. Despite a plexiglass barrier to mute the sound, the live drums imparted a humanity missing from the cold rigidity of the ’80s era drums programmed into the studio version. However, the sensitive vocals and tender keys of the original were only amplified on stage, with a vulnerability that would make Prince shed a single tear.

“Uncle ACE” was another foot-through-the-floor funk-driving joy ride, going 90 on the highway with the crowd in the backseat. But then again, even lower-wattage songs like “Better Than Me” and “You’re Not Good Enough” were supercharged on stage by the kinetic force of a talented team of musicians feeding off each other’s energy. There was a palpable air of positivity on stage, with Dev clearly relishing in the successes of his collaborators. His self-confidence was undeniable, with a remarkably natural and uninhibited stage presence that set everybody at ease. Dev wasn’t afraid to dance either, twirling and bobbing gracefully across the stage. He even broke out the SpongeBob Dance at various points throughout the night. But who could blame him? Those grooves made everybody move.

The set finished strong with “It Is What It Is” followed by “E.V.P,” both verified funk odysseys. For his encore, Dev returned alone to perform a silky-smooth cover of Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Happening Brother,” gliding across his digital vibraphone to kiss the audience goodnight.

Blood Orange @ Paradise Rock Club

On Wednesday, October 26, Alex Crossan walked onto the stage of the Sinclair as Mura Masa, the up and coming British DJ who is making waves with his richly textured beats. Taking an obvious influence from festival mainstays like Flume, the DJ’s sound is exciting and very danceable without the aggression of other EDM. With buttery samples and warped vocals bouncing over clanking percussion, it’s the perfect soundtrack to a summer porch party or a trip to H&M.

Providing a glimpse of the digital sounds to come was opening act Michl, who filled the space with his auto-tuned croon for the better part of an hour. Working two keyboards simultaneously, Michl painted a lush sonic landscape of ethereal R&B. While the songs’ content was often emotionally sensitive, the heartfelt daydream was frequently shattered by traditional bass drops that clashed with the mood, sacrificing the integrity of his music for cheap festival thrills.

After a brief intermission, distorted lullaby keys floated over a dark stage. Suddenly, the bass dropped into the beat of the Spotify chart topping hit “Love$ick” as the stage was bathed in glowing blue light to welcome Mura Masa to the stage. Filling in for the guest vocalists featured on Mura Masa’s records was his protege Bonzai, who is signed to Mura Masa’s own label Anchor Point Records. The duo combined their talents perfectly, energizing the crowd with Mura Masa’s shimmering electronic hip hop beats and Bonzai’s diverse vocal talents, singing soulfully on “Firefly” before rapping on “Nuggets”. Although Mura Masa opted to stay in the background where he kept a relatively low profile, he flawlessly worked his magic creating kinetic music the crowd danced to beat by beat. His multi-instrumental talents were on full display, juggling his computer, his keyboard and the electronic drum kit that he spent much of the night pounding away at to form the intricate percussive backbone that sets his music apart. Making up for Mura Masa’s mysterious, backstage persona, Bonzai exuded vibrancy and enthusiasm. As she sauntered across the stage, she riled up the audience with her infectious stage presence. Throughout the night, Bonzai refused to allow the energy level to dip, keeping the crowd engaged and moving. Some fans got a little too enthusiastic, a group of rowdy minors spent the entire night waving their arms at the performers and obnoxiously shouting “beantown”, giving Bonzai some serious competition for the audience’s attention.

While the show began largely as a showcase of Mura Masa’s earlier tracks from 

, playing popular tracks such as “Lotus Eater”, “Hell”, and “Cloud Claps”. These earlier tracks were kept mainly instrumental with a trap baseline, but moving past his songs from 

, Mura Masa got the crowd hyped by playing his classic hit, “Firefly”. Knowing every lyric, the crowd sang and danced along to the smoother beats of the track paired with honey-like vocals, a perfect end to a set that encompassed all of Mura Masa’s unique creative explorations.

Mura Masa @ The Sinclair

Fantastic Negrito
October 10th, 2016 at Cafe 939
By: Robert Kerstens