In this new, pretty-regular column, I will pick through recently released singles and EPs. Today, like every other day of this decade, there’s some braindead beach pop.
Scraps– 7″
Brisbane is producing sum gr8 stff at the moment (Kitchen’s Floor, Blank Realm, so on), and Scraps is no exception. The first Scraps 7″ exhibits the upbeat side of Laura Hill And Her Keyboards, squeezing in three pop tunes that ditch the whole lo-fi thing (to some extent) for cleaner environs (to some extent). “Simple Minds” contains some of the best seconds I’ve had this year, when Hill harmonises atonally with herself after the chorus; oh man! The song itself is neat-o, crediting Simple Minds with making empires dance and perhaps (perhaps) lashing out at their lack of critical acceptance in the last two decades. But probably not. Also great is the lovely “1982”, wherein she serenades a computer (“touch your buttons/print out your name) over an enchanting an’ angular casio waltz. My only regret is that this 7″ is forcing me to reconsider whether I should be forgetting that Neil Hamburger ticket and acquiring her !great! Bedroom Suck LP Classic Shits toot sweet.
Diplo– “Express Yourself” b/w “Bird is the Word”
Major Lazer and M.I.A. connexions aside, Diplo has always struck me as the Graham Nash of electro-produxxion; coasting from association to association without ever doing something important off his own steam. “Express Yourself” is changing my mind, though, as it is some nasty-ass, bitch-slap firecracker stuff that refuses to congeal at any point, raping your furniture etc. I’m still reeling. Whether this is plain shock and awe or substance, I can’t tell , but he’s split my head open enough to not care for the time being. Ignore the flipside; it fucks with “Surfin’ Bird”, scanning like a youtube amateur makin’ a dubstep rmx of Peter Griffin being a jackass. Got to keep busy somehow.
SEAMS– “Magic Circle” b/w “Boomer“
With “Magic Circle”, clean-cut weirdos SEAMS have taken a step away from the ebullient dreamin’ of their first single (2011’s “Early” b/w “Cabinsong”) towards more ambitious and occult terrain. The band makes a strong bow on their first vinyl and label release, as the A-side is an impressive hybrid of laser gunplay and wide-smiled gamboling which shifts gears seamlessly (heh) between disparate feels. Imagine Mr. Bungle playing themselves some Syd Barrett (I can’t, but you might be able to) and you’re in the ballpark. It’s chopsy stuff, and one of their best songs to date (as well as in its own right); heck, I’ll even forgive them for rhyming ‘fire’ with ‘desire’. B-side “Boomer” is all suggestion and lean, moving between 6/4 and 7/4 with the phasers set to ‘jitter’. It doesn’t quite make good on its promise the way the a-side does, wearing a moribund feel in spite of all the rhythmic frenzy, and condescending to get loud instead of developing further. So it goes. Also that the group-singing at the close of the track comes off more like a bunch of third graders auditioning to sing the theme to a children’s TV show called “Boomer” (n.b. this series does not yet exist), which sorta guts the menace out. Still, the ambition and execution is good, if the ideas aren’t perfect. The Ourobonic Plague remix of the A-side which rounds out the single is sort of like putting your hand in a blender and pushing it deeper once the pain starts, but in a really benign way. (That’s not a criticism, exactly.)
Jack White– “Love Interruption” b/w “Machine Gun Silhouette”
You irk me, shaman! Jack White hasn’t been a guy whose mistakes have stuck to him too much. Who holds that godawful James Bond theme against him? Who didn’t chuckle about the Insane Clown Posse collab and let it go? Over the last six or seven years, he’s gotten away with making mediocre and “good… I guess” records because they’ve been Jack White + 3; his collaborators can’t be blamed for them being so-so because they aren’t Jack White, and Jack White gets a free pass because he has more cred than he can run through all at once.
“Love Interruption” might be the point where things get sticky for him though, since White has finally given us absolutely nothing to work with. Nothing happens. The most notable thing about the song is that he’s playing with a blue colour scheme in the video. Even the guest vocals aren’t worth a damn; just file ‘em under ‘sultry’ or ‘smoky’ or ‘pregnant undercurrent of sexual tension’, because they convey nothing in terms of meaning or feel beyond what they’re there to signify. His formula is starting to show itself, it feels. The song hinges on the phrase “I want”, yet for the first time, it’s kind of difficult to figure out what White actually wants, since it just seems like he’s settled on ‘placeholder’. I mean, if you like Jack White, you’ve already heard this song; and if you love Jack White, you bought it and didn’t care too much. Problem is, his peculiar brand of invincibility (born of reheating and reinventing the blues canon in a way triple j and NPR listeners can both agree on– a feat in itself) requires a constant stoking of the coals; if he keeps writing songs like these, he’ll soon become irrelevant.
Beach Fossils– “Shallow” b/w “Lessons”
Why are songs that are ostensibly about summer/the beach/feelings more sweatless than The Man Machine? Maybe this isn’t a quibble I should have, since Beach Fossils seem to have their eyes and ears set on making music that reflects the dazed, glossy reverie that can come from being depressed and Brooklynite in the sun. Yet, when the songs are this flavorless and reductive (do you like clean guitar lines? DO YOU?), trying to defend Beach Fossils on any other level than their (fleeting) surface pleasures feels futile. If Washed Out have provided us with a soundtrack for taking Ambien and watching porn instead of making lurv, Beach Fossils are for looking up the CliffNotes page for The Waves in lieu of being alive.
He made this in three hours and put it out on Superbowl Sunday, so I really should have known what I was in for. Pilot Talk I & II were great, but (dangit) if Curren$y isn’t going to put it out in a store on a label and stand behind the thing properly, I don’t know if I can be bothered, because you can really tell when he isn’t going for it properly. If I wanted to hear a pot-smoking dude talk lazy about shit to no real end or purpose for about fifteen minutes over some okay beats I’d buy one of my friends a bag and put some Ta-ku b-sides on shuffle. (The spirit hasn’t moved me to do that yet.) There’s nothing wrong or offensive with Here, but it’s overwhelmingly half-assed and unnecessary. He gets some good lines in, but they are easy to miss considering how disinterested his delivery is. When Curren$y is ready to make something full (and he will), take notice, but this EP basically boils down to #curren$yisstillhere.
