Author: Eric Saeger

Dummy, Free Energy (Double In Mind Records)

I’m usually not a big fan of bands that shift genres within albums, as it makes it hard for listeners to settle in; it’s not like we’re living in a terribly cerebral zeitgeist, more like a seriously dysfunctional era of art in which noise is often confused with signal. But this one grabbed me from the beginning and held on, starting with “Intro – UB,” a peaceful EDM joint that evokes Orbital and Aphex Twin while tabling some in-your-face drum sampling. I’d been warned through the informational one-sheet that there was some My Bloody Valentine vibe on here, which obviously isn’t wildly compatible with 1990s/Aughts techno, but it’s exactly that sort of bliss that happens next on “Soonish,” which, as it proceeds, may remind you of some of the harder stuff on Wire’s 2013 LP Change Becomes Us but with an REM tint to it. I really like what these folks are doing. A+

Egosex, 15 Minutes Of Fame [EP] (self-released)

Originally from Lagos, Nigeria, Wekaforé Jibril leads this Afro-tech wetwork outfit, which, it’s said, weaves an “abstract narrative that delves into the heart of modern society’s narcissistic obsession with recognition.” This ain’t your daddy’s Fela Kuti-style Afrobeat, of course, but it does have some deep roots in it, and those tendrils can be felt all through this release. I’m saying that it does have a deeply African sound, but when you turn up the vibe-ometer to see what Afrobeat has become in modern times, we hear Black Eyed Peas lurking around the corner (listen to “Yes We Are In Love” for proof), egging us on to dance blissfully, encouraging us to accept that our era’s sound may be rooted in ringtone-brained individualism but that there are good points to that. The trance- and dubstep-adjacent beats settle into hip-hop-infused tribal jams (“Can U Make Me Feel”) that feel urban-fashion-minded, which makes sense, given that Wekaforé is pushing his own clothing line. Relevant tuneage for hip outlet malls. A+

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A seriously abridged compendium of recent and future CD releases

• The brand new CD releases of Friday, Aug. 16, are upon us, guys, so it’s off to Metacritic we go, to see what unlistenable swill new music we will be subjected treated to this week, as the summer winds down and the autumn eyes us with its awfulness and threatens to unleash early ice storms and such! I am not sure what all my New Hampshire neighbors are listening to these days (I assume twerking music and Led Zeppelin). But as for me, for the past week, I’ve been back to listening to 1930s big band music from the likes of Al Jolson and Paul Whiteman, because I’ve been out and about driving far away to estate sales in such quaint New Hampshire towns as West Lebanon and New London, and there’s nothing more appropriate than 90-year-old tuneage playing in your jalopy when you’re hunting antiques! Oddly, while visiting these bucolic towns, where chickens and goats run around loose in the streets, I didn’t see WMUR’s Fritz Wetherbee hanging around at any general store. Remember last year when I wanted to ask him if I could co-host his New Hampshire Chronicle segments and a few people on the internet actually tried to help me add “TV star” to my resumé? My offer still stands, for the record, but what we must address now is F-1 Trillion, the new album from nice-enough person Post Malone! The teaser single, “Pour Me A Drink,” features a guest artist, of course, and — nope, it’s not Snoop Dogg — no, not Kendrick Lamar either, let me finish, it’s actually country music star Blake Shelton! This song is not your typical hip-hop fare, more like a honky-tonk song for drunken cowboy rappers; it’s so hated by undergrounders that some YouTuber named @BigPacVsAllYall went right to work releasing a diss track, cleverly titled “Diss Track,” in which he “spits rhymes” about how Post “hasn’t actually rapped in seven years” and is now “wearing farmer jeans” and a bunch of other hurtful stuff! It’s all dumb, I know, but chances are good that Post will catch wind of it, because somehow, BigPacVsAllYall was able to get his song to the very top of YouTube’s search results if one searches for “Post Malone F1 Trillion!” That, my friends, is trolling at its finest, you have to admit; you can hate the game but not the playah!

• Good lord, anyway, what’s next, what could possibly — OMG, ha ha, look everyone, it’s last decade’s indie-pop darlings Foster The People, you can stop checking WhosAliveAndWhosDead.com, because they are very much alive! Their fourth album is Paradise State Of Mind, their first since 2017’s Sacred Hearts Club, which (if you were even aware it ever existed) stalled at No. 47 in the Billboard and received a lowly Metacritic score of 56, but who cares, let me go listen to something from this new album, which is said to be in line with Sacred in that it’s inspired by “late 1970s music with elements of disco, funk, gospel, and jazz.” Yep, the album starts with “Take Me Back,” a totally funky-poppy thing that’s too uncool for Jamie Lidell or even David Guetta, but your grandchildren might like it, I don’t know.

• Beabadoobee, aka Beatrice Laus, is a Filipino-born space-rocker who opened for label-mates The 1975 a few years ago. Her new LP, This Is How Tomorrow Moves, starts with “Ever Seen,” a really nice, poppy little number that combines Jewel-style acoustic guitar-pop with spazzy anime soundtracking. Normal people will like it.

• We’ll end the week with Brooklyn, N.Y.-based power poppers Charly Bliss, whose new album, Forever, includes the song “Waiting For You,” a ’90s-chick-pop-tinged tune that’s actually catchier than anything I’ve heard from Sleater-Kinney, which is the obvious motivation behind this.

Blue Öyster Cult, Secret Treaties (Columbia Records)

Last week I riffed on Sweet’s Give Us A Wink album as a public service to Zoomers and millennials who’re interested in expanding their knowledge of old-school, pre-ringtone-oriented rock; this time it’s Blue Öyster Cult’s third (1974) effort, the BÖC album I’d recommend if you were going off-grid. As a friend noted, BÖC was/is a bunch of New York slackers who could barely believe their luck in getting a big record contract in the ’70s; they uniquely straddled a line between serious hard rock outfit and joke band, which sort of continued here, with their usual acid-trip lyrical forays (“Harvester Of Eyes”) and such and so. But beneath their Dadaist conceptual approach there was some serious beauty (“Astronomy” is a perfect song for any decent baritone to try wrapping their voice around), some badass hard rock (“Dominance and Submission”) and a chaotic take on life with the German Luftwaffe circa end-stage WWII (“ME-262”). This LP was pivotal in setting the stage for 1976’s Agents of Fortune, which of course yielded their biggest hit, “Don’t Fear The Reaper.” By the way, the origins of the antique music-box recording of “Waves of the Danube” used in the intro to “Flaming Telepaths” remain unknown to this day, a tidbit I find seriously cool. A great snapshot of a band that was happily/painfully exiting adolescence. A+

StrateJacket, Bad Start (Edgeout Records)

Like so many others, the proper release of this album was in purgatory for a couple of years while America waited for Covid to become accepted as the endemic danger it is today, but all systems do appear to be go for an Oct. 11 street date, so here goes. This is a northern California trio that wants to be Green Day, which I can deal with I suppose (my inbox is always so overstuffed with Dashboard Confessional clones that really anything else feels refreshing and innovative at this point) but when I say they want to be Green Day, I mean they really want that. It helps that their stuff is catchy, of course; the title track has an infectious-enough holler-along chorus built for awkward incel culture (“A small brain, a big heart, a shut mouth, a bad start”), but unfortunately there’s a texted-in quality to other songs, like “Be My Drug,” which is actually kind of — and I’d never use this word without just cause — cringey. Another suburban rawk band heard from, I suppose. C

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A seriously abridged compendium of recent and future CD releases

• Gather ’round with your tankards of smelly grog and let us sing a Song of Ice and Fire, ladies and gentlemen, because new CD releases, having recently been forged in the furnaces of Mordor, are now poised to spread their (debatably) musical horribleness over the land of etc. etc! Ack, ack, barf barf barf, August is slipping away from us, and with it the summer, I haven’t been to the beach enough times this year, why don’t we all just put up our holiday decorations and deploy our inflatable Santa Clauses right now and get it over with! Yes, fam, the next traditional CD release date is Friday, Aug. 9, and relatedly, I’ll bet there are holiday albums due out soon, like, has Cannibal Corpse ever done one, and if not isn’t it way past time? But wait, hark, the Frost Gods be praised, there’s another new album dropping from acid-dropping metal-or-whatever jackasses King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard, called Flight b741, fortune has smiled upon me once again this year, given that their band name takes up so many column inches that I’ll be back to watching World War II In Color in no time! I hope all the young scamps reading this are aware that American music has become so awful and hopeless of late that the mantle of loud rock ’n’ roll has been taken up by bands from far more deserving British penal colonies, specifically New Zealand and Australia, the latter of which is home to this band, to whom I’d refer as “the Gizzes” to save space, but that’ll never happen! Am I making any sense? No, because I am talking about King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard, a band that has never made any sense, for example, let’s go listen to their new single, “Le Risque,” and see if it’s the same sort of trippy joke-music they release literally every two months! Yup, it’s kind of like what you’d hear if Steely Dan and Flaming Lips had a baby and your cousin who’s an accountant thought it was the coolest thing they’d ever heard, which makes you feel sorry for that cousin but sad for them at the same time! There is no real reason for this song to exist, but if they keep putting out albums at this clip they’ll accidentally create a mega-hit at some point, just you wait.

• Japanese composer, pianist, record producer and actor Ryuichi Sakamoto died of cancer last year at the age of 71, leaving behind a lifetime of being rad as heck, doing things like hanging out with Devo, scoring films like The Last Emperor and The Revenant, acting alongside David Bowie and a bunch of other stuff. Opus is a posthumous album derived from a performance film of the same name, directed by his son, featuring Sakomoto playing solo acoustic piano. The test-drive track is “Tong Poo,” a pensive, heart-tugging but highly accessible pop-tinged piece that was originally recorded by Yellow Magic Orchestra, Sakomoto’s former band.

• Yee-hah, if there’s anything that happens almost as frequently as a new album release from King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard, it’s San Francisco garage rockers Orinoka Crash Suite (now known as Osees, formerly The Ohsees and whatnot) changing their band name again “in order to annoy the press!” Personally I’m not annoyed by it; it just makes me ignore them, so let me go listen to “Cassius, Brutus & Judas Single,” a song from the band’s new album, I SORCS 80. Wow, it’s buzzy, cool no-wave, too bad I’ll forget I ever liked it and simply resort to riffing on their stupid band name gimmick again next time.

• Lastly it’s lo-fi jazz-funk bro Louis Cole’s new LP, Nothing, which includes the song “These Dreams are Killing Me,” a great little tune that sounds like Justice trying to be a normal soundsystem. It has my approval. —Eric W. Saeger

Vaux Flores, Dawn Chorales (Audiobulb Records)

My 2024 Word Salad Of The Year award goes to this person for their unintelligible PR one-sheet, and I quote: “Travis Johns is a sound artist residing in Ithaca, N.Y., whose work includes performance, interactivity, installation, and printmaking, often incorporating eco/bio-based themes and electronic instruments of his own design.” That’s just the first paragraph, but what this all tells me is that this “Vaux Flores,” aka Johns, is a musical experimentalist with a serious case of OCD, not that one could tell by the compositions themselves, which are Tales From Topographic Oceans-style exercises in self-indulgence. Not that that’s a bad thing, of course, particularly if your jam is movie soundtracking, for which this stuff would work (think Arrival), and the synth work is indeed pretty deep, which is of course half the battle. And besides, he does go off on some EDM-ish tangents, producing beats that are almost danceable. It’s interesting, let’s leave it at that. A-

Kris Davis Trio, Run The Gauntlet (Pyroclastic Records)

On this new LP, Grammy-winning jazz pianist Davis pays tribute to six of her heroes, pianists who’ve inspired her over the years. In specific we’re talking Geri Allen, Marilyn Crispell, Angelica Sanchez, Sylvie Courvoisier, Renee Rosnes and, in no-brainer news, Carla Bley. This new trio features bassist Robert Hurst and drummer Johnathan Blake, both of whom have plenty of room to stretch out. I got quite a jolt out of this one; if you compare jazz albums to scotch, this is no drinkable-enough, off-the-shelf Johnnie Walker special blend; it’s the top-dollar stuff, mathematically and physically ambitious, darkest-possible-roasted art that challenges the senses. Davis bonks, pounds, diddles and stress-tests the keyboard as if she’s trying to get it prepped to start its Ph.D. dissertation. In that, it’s obviously not for jazz-heads who just want to feel good that they’re listening to basic genre stuff; it’s enormously brainy while not indulging in an academic exercise. Yowza. A+

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A seriously abridged compendium of recent and future CD releases

• Aug. 2 is the next Friday on which you will feel pressure from your Spotify to remain plugged into our horrible excuse for an arts zeitgeist! The record companies will unleash terabytes of new-album spam, and it’ll be everywhere you look, and you will feel pressure to listen to many songs that have no redeeming aesthetic whatsoever to them. But you will be assimilated, and before you know it you’ll be part of the problem, like my boomer friends on Facebook, who enjoy arguing with me about how I should be listening to and publicly praising 60-year-old albums from the likes of Cat Stevens and Harry Chapin, artists that I ignore for no other reason than to trigger easily triggered people on the Facebook! Yes, I am a rascal, I was born this way, stop being intolerant of rascals, it’s not nice. In fact, let’s just drop the whole subject of my personal taste in music (regular readers will recall that when last we left the subject of my musical taste it had shifted to 1950s greaser-rock like Sha Na Na and Eddie Cochran, which is still current) and focus on the here and now, starting with the new album from endlessly irritating ’90s band The Smashing Pumpkins, titled Aghori Mhori Mei, a phrase whose actual meaning is being argued over by Pumpkins fans on Reddit as we speak, that is when they’re not complaining about Rick Rubin sticking his big fat nose into one of the album’s singles. It is basically a nonsense phrase, unless we interpret it as a purposely idiotic misspelling of the Latin phrase “agori mori mei,” meaning, as one r/SmashingPumpkins redditor explained, “I am about to die” or “I am working on my death.” OK, and with that, my real friends can tell by now that I already hate this album, but regardless, I will go through the motions and mention that the band hasn’t released any of the new songs to the public at this writing, so there’s nothing for me to report, and they are touring with Green Day this year. The internet has decided that the presence of an orchestra in one promo shot is evidence that there will be a symphonic angle to this rock ’n’ roll music album, while other folks are hoping that the band will go back to the rockin’ roots of their early days, when they inspired such wannabe acts as Live. I ever tell you about the time Petunia and I mooched passes to see Blues Traveler open a show with Live and Collective Soul and we left before Live came on to ruin everything? It’s true, we barely escaped in time. Anyway.

• Yow, L.A. punk legends X have been around for 47 years, guys, Forty. Seven. Years. Smoke & Fiction is their upcoming new LP, and I heard a live version of the title track, which is appropriately awesome in a Loreena McKennit-meets-Hole manner. Thankfully, Exene sings off-key through the mellow parts, who would want it any other way? (Side note to new punk-music listeners: Unlike Smashing Pumpkins, X will not be opening for Green Day, because they are still actually relevant.)

• Activist and two-time Grammy winning singer-songwriter Meshell Ndegeocello releases her zillionth full-length record on Friday! It is called No More Water: The Gospel Of James Baldwin, and the first track, “Love,” is a cool, laid-back, bass-driven soul track with a ton of harmonizing and some 70s steez. Full, thick, wide sound, good stuff here.

• Last but not least (depending on factors, of course) on our list this week is Stampede, the new album from country singer Orville Peck, whose gimmick is that he never shows his face, a stunt no musical artist has ever pulled, save for Kiss, Deadmau5, The Residents, Clinic and millions of others. His new tune is a cover of Ned Sublette’s 1981 Texas waltz joke song, “Cowboys Are Frequently Secretly Fond of Each Other,” an ode to, well, gay cowboys, which is always a timely subject.

Sweet, Give Us A Wink (Capitol Records)

I’m still kicking myself for forgetting to mooch press passes to this seminal arena-rock band’s recent appearance at the Tupelo Music Hall (all the original members save Andy Scott are deceased), but this album still merits a few paragraphs for the edification of Zoomers and millennials, who need to understand that the ’70s weren’t just about Zeppelin and Skynyrd. It was 1976 and seemingly everything was under the influence of LSD, from the bands to the Lipton Noodle Zoopman; this album’s vaguely Zep-like sound was a new thing, heavy and progressive but the instruments were played so mechanically and succinctly that I’d describe it as a predecessor to today’s hard-electro, like that of Pendulum for example. The octave-level, Munchkinesque vocal harmonies took a little getting used to, although people were well-accustomed to them after their prior hit “Ballroom Blitz,” a more generic rawk tune that was nothing like the ones on this album, like the spazzing “White Mice” and “Healer,” their answer to Zep’s “Kashmir.” Anyway, this is one you’d want to be familiar with if you’re at a pool party and the old folks are waxing nostalgic about the days “when music didn’t suck.” A+

Brian Ray, My Town (Wicked Cool Records)

Decent rock ’n’ roll musicians are born swindlers, musical roustabouts whose importance exists only in their own minds; the trick is to get everyone else to believe in their trip. This 69-year-old guitarist’s papers check out; he parlayed his 1970s stint with Bobby Pickett (of “Monster Mash” fame) into a reputation that allowed him to troll his way into Etta James’ band and then Paul McCartney’s in 2002. As you’d guess, the credits on this record are decidedly too-long-didn’t read; Smokey Robinson, Michael des Barres and Gia Ciambotti turn in vocal contributions, just for starters, and I could go on, but as far as the demographic this might appeal to? I don’t know, maybe people who’ve never heard a Rolling Stones record before? I mean, that’s what it is, tempo- and vibe-wise; the guitar sound alternates between grunge and Kinks, which is fine, and at times the sound wants to be Weezer-ish (Scott Shriner is here, by the way), but ultimately it’s background patter for an ’80s action movie, and bloody disengaged at that. B-

_PLAYLIST

A seriously abridged compendium of recent and future CD releases

• At this writing the temperature is exactly one million degrees outside, here in sunny Manchvegas, New Hamster, and I have melted into a puddle of snark, so fair warning, all you new albums coming out on Friday, July 26, you’d better be good, or I’ll — why, I’ll — well, just you wait, ’enry ’iggins, I have plenty of outraged rage I’d love to direct at the wrong places, Given that my new book about social media and politics, My Year In The Online Left, just dropped a bit in the bestseller list, which means I can’t afford a trip to the North Pole! Yes yes, in my melted, snarky, basically liquefied state I am a loose cannon, and all I’ve been able to tolerate listening to lately is old — as in old — music, like, I made a mixtape for my car that has songs from Outlaws, Andrew Gold and Ace Frehley on it, and those are the most modern artists on the CD! The rest of it comprises stuff from the 1950s like Jerry Lee Lewis, The Dovells and Eddie Cochran, stuff that all the bros used to have playing in their souped-up ’32 Ford Coupes when they drove over to pick up Petunia and take her “parking” [nudge, nudge]. Yessir, 1950s greaser rock is all my delicate constitution has been able to tolerate lately, like, this week, Petunia wanted to catch up on the most recent season of Yellowjackets, and when I heard that stupid, sad, morose Radiohead song playing in the background during that one awful, disturbing, horrible scene, well, that was it, fam, something broke inside me and suddenly I had to hear “Sweet Little Sixteen” or I knew I would crack in half! But wait, don’t flip to Amy’s film reviews quite yet, I can still be as “groovy” as any other music journo; here, watch this, as I take a listen to the new Ice Spice single “Did It First,” from the TikTok/Nickelodeon princess’ fast-approaching new album, Y2K! Spoiler, it’s about romantic cheating and hawk tuah-ism, as always, but at least the beat is sci-fi and noise-garage-y, not that stupid wimpy trap stuff, like, this thing would totally shred the woofers in your totally keen souped-up Toyota Corolla to tatters if you cranked it while heading over to pick up Petunia and take her to the Twerk-O-Rama to watch her do her subtle, seductive mating dances! OK, may I go back to listening to The Silhouettes’ “Get A Job” now!

• OK, spread out, let’s stop making fun of twerking princesses and get down to the real meat of the era, namely bands that are kind of fun in a Mungo Jerry sort of manner, you know, amateurish bands led by broke, smelly millennial NEETS (which stands for “not in employment, education, or training,” have you heard this 15-year-old expression yet?), for instance Los Angeles outfit Alex Izenberg & The Exiles! Yes, they are in my “You should talk about this band” list, but they aren’t recommended, because they are broke and slovenly, so let’s be rebellious and talk about the band’s new single, “Drinking the Dusk Away,” from their new self-titled album! Wow, I have to report that although the song is appropriately moronic to fit the times, the vocal harmonizing is pretty concise, and they use an actual dobro. It’s on Domino Records, which is all you really need to know; i.e., it’s good.

• When he’s not having anxiety attacks on stage, North Carolina dance DJ Porter Robinson releases albums, like his new one, SMILE! 😀! The tune I listened to, “Knock Yourself Out XD,” combines a Nintendo beat with emo and Beatles. It is OK!

• We’ll call it a column with New York twee/dream-pop band Cults, whose new LP To the Ghosts features the tune “Left My Keys,” which sounds like Bon Iver with a (slight) pulse, or a really uninteresting M83, take your pick.

Phish, Evolve (JEMP Records)

If you’ve ever read this column for comprehension, you know that I detest fedora-hat bands in general and jam bands in particular, but I’ve had a change of heart of late. This happened after I discovered that my favorite acid-jazz-fusion wingnuts Weather Report took in a lot of guys from Frank Zappa’s bands, which caused me to reassess my prejudgments about Zappa (most of which were based on listening experiences). No, I’m not saying the Mothers or Weather Report were jam bands, but they incorporated extended stretches of improvisation in their tunes, and since I’m looking to expand my listening sphere I figured I’d see what’s going on right now with this Vermont crew of Grateful Dead lampreys (no, I will never give the Dead another chance, no worries). In brief: This LP is, of course, about white-guy groove, pseudo-funk in desperate need of a jolt from cardiac paddles. “Hey Stranger,” for starters, is a politely bouncing, listenable-enough thing that had me going “OK, OK, I get it” 30 seconds into its uneventful five minutes (the drum sound is good, at least). “Everything’s Right” is 12-count-’em minutes of (I swear) the same tiresome ’70s-blaxploitation beat as “Hey Stranger,” and that’s where I gave up. There’s some decent noodling from guitarist Trey Anastasio, which I’m sure seems highly impressive to people who have no guitar player friends who insist on giving impromptu living room concerts to their unhappily captive audiences. B

IDRIS & Una Rams, “Go Deeper” (Defected Records)

Wow, I’ve been unplugged from the velvet-rope circuit for so long (no thanks to my local Manchvegas music scene — will we ever get a proper dance club in this town or what?) that I wasn’t aware that actor Idris Elba was a DJ of significant note. In fact, his music is, I’m told, dominating the scene, which is just another notch in the belt for the guy, who was voted People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive in 2018 and starred in such movies as Pacific Rim and Prometheus. OK, granted, anyone, even the sexiest guy in the world, could futz with ProTools and make a dance beat, so what’s so special about this, his latest track? Well, it’s the authenticity, really. Maybe you’re already used to the tribal house of DJs like Oscar G and whatnot, a sound that kept me interested in covering the beachside club beat for a couple of years, but this is definitely a step beyond that. Rams, Elba’s accomplice here, is a Grammy-winner from Makwarela, South Africa, and he adds some thick vocalizing to a track that would have been a bit pedestrian without it. As is, it’s otherworldly and completely immersive. A+

_PLAYLIST

A seriously abridged compendium of recent and future CD releases

• Like a relentless tsunami of cultural inertia, a fresh storm of music-albums will bum-rush our cockeyed zeitgeist on July 19, scrabbling and shrieking for attention from a citizenry that’s no longer paying any attention whatsoever to “what’s hot” in the milieu, since the only thing that’s generated any mainstream rock ’n’ roll headline activity for months has been people arguing on social media over whether or not Taylor Swift’s last album, Whatever-its-name-who-cares, is a good thing. The weighing-in continues unabated; the other week, Dave Grohl from Foo Fighters told insinuated during a concert that Taylor lip-synchs during her shows, according to assorted media.

Past all that, like I said, there are new albums to deal with this week, including one from mummified ’70s arena-rock band Deep Purple, which uses an actual church organ in their heavy metal tuneage for some reason, don’t ask me why. The title of this new album is =1, which is funny, because =1 has never been recognized as an official internet emoticon like 🙂 or =^). I can guarantee you it’s not, because I asked Google’s “artificial intelligence” if =1 is an emoticon and it told me to go jump in the lake. But whatever, let’s keep in mind that the fellas in Deep Purple are all in their 80s and thus probably all have Earthlink email addresses; let’s just proceed to listen to “Portable Door,” the band’s hot new single! Wow, drummer Ian Paice, bassist Roger Glover and singer Ian Gillan are still here! Ha ha, Gillan looks like Bill Murray does today, but belay all that, ya swabs, this isn’t a bad song at all if you ever liked Deep Purple, like, the main riff does have a pulse. I give it a =) emoticon reaction and want to remind you that Ritchie Blackmore hasn’t been in the band for decades now because he is literally one of the worst people ever born.

• Rapper Childish Gambino initially earned his fame for his tertiary role on the endlessly irritating TV show 30 Rock, do any of you people even remember when network television was relevant, do I really even have to talk about this dude? Fine, whatever, his new album, Bando Stone & The New World, is the soundtrack to an upcoming same-named film. It is the final Childish Gambino album, because Donald Glover (his real name) is as sick of the joke as everyone else and hence he’s retiring the moniker. I don’t know, the movie trailer seems fine, it’s an apocalyptic comedy that I’d watch, and his joke hip-hop songs aren’t any worse than recent serious ones.

• Los Campesinos! (remember 15 years ago when indie bands used dumb punctuation in their band names?) are back, with a new LP, All Hell. The single, “kms,” sounds like a drunk Aubrey Plaza singing with Pavement. Yes, it’s literally that awful.

• Finally we have Glass Animals, an English indie band whose 2020 boyband-chillout single “Heat Waves” went viral on TikTok. The guys’ new album I Love You So F***ing Much features the wistful “Creatures in Heaven,” which reads like an Imagine Dragons arena-ballad, not that I’m trying to discourage you.

The Mystery Lights, Purgatory (Daptone Records)

This Salinas, California,-based band aims for a mid-’60s Kinks and Easybeats-inspired sound, which is evident from the start of this, their fourth album. They’ve been around the block many times, first with a few independently released EPs, and then a single on Daptone’s rock imprint, Wick, in 2015, and that should suffice for the inside baseball nonsense; the upshot is that they could certainly give Black Lips a run for their money, given that they incorporate Howlin’ Wolf, Screamin’ Jay Hawkins and (of course) Creedence Clearwater Revival into their unabashedly ’60s-rock chi. Their brains are in their pants, which is admirable these days, at least in my book, starting with album opener “Mighty Fine & All Mine,” with its bouncy and boneheaded two-chord shuffle, just what the doctor ordered. “In The Streets” fuses Gang Of Four angularity with Bon Scott-era AC/DC transgressiveness’ “Sorry I Forgot Your Name” is prehistoric rockabilly the way the Pixies would have built it. Obviously very fun stuff. A

Matt Wilson’s Good Trouble, Good Trouble (Palmetto Records)

Whole lot of fun, this album from jazz drummer Wilson’s new quintet, which features players who, unless I’m mistaken, have all been featured on this page as bandleaders. Wilson likes swing, but it’s also obvious he’s spent a good amount of time digging on more proggy groups like Pat Metheny and whatnot; a lot goes on here. Tia Fuller’s alto sax holds down the upper-middle end of the mix in glorious style, while Dawn Clement’s piano stands just to the right of it, alternately doodling and bonking at the right moments — OK, what I’m saying is that the mix is exquisite and expansive. We’ve talked about clarinetist Jeff Lederer here before of course; here he adds a lot to the complicated but relatable twists and turns, thickening them out in unique and friendly fashion. On “Be That As It May,” Clement adds a vocal that far surpasses the phoned-in performances I hear constantly within this genre. A great one for summer drives. A+

_PLAYLIST

A seriously abridged compendium of recent and future CD releases

• July 12 is approaching, like a cat in the night, preparing to steal off with half the summer, we’re already halfway done with it before the winter comes, guys! Adding to my misery is the fact that I need to talk about one album in particular that’s streeting on that date, specifically a new album of caterwauling nonsense from 1990s annoyance Ani DiFranco, titled Unprecedented Sh!t (yes, that’s her actual clever censoring of the title, so much for freedom of speech, folks!). If you can’t tell yet, I am not a fan of Ms. DiFranco, which makes me sort of normal, given that I’m not the only person to have written about her super-annoying music; I could cite articles from Reddit, MetaFilter, ilXor and dozens of others that support my position, but you either already know all about it or you only enjoying listening to annoying music, which means you might like her. She is a nepo baby of sorts, born to a couple of rich MIT grads, but the little ingrate hated being told what to do by her parents, so much so that she left her mom’s apartment in 1985 to become an emancipated child at age 15, does anyone remember that hilarious ’80s trend? Anyhow, despite her being an unemployed teenager, she was somehow able to sell enough Girl Scout cookies to start her own record company, Righteous Babe Records, through which she’s released all of her “art,” including this new album. Oh, well, at least she uses some of her riches to back various grassroots cultural and political organizations, supporting causes ranging from abortion rights to gay visibility, like, at least we know she’s not just another Gwyneth Paltrow or Ghengis Khan. So, if possible, let’s belay all the hating for the moment and go check out the first tune from this album, “Spinning Room,” so we can just move past all this. It’s a gently rolling number, led by a monotonously bonking piano, the beat waxing Beatlesque. A lot of people might actually like this, and I have no control over that.

• El Paso, Texas, is home to dream-pop band Cigarettes After Sex, whose singer, Greg Gonzalez, has a very androgynous voice. The band’s new album, X’s, is on the way to your Soundclouds and whatnot, and I heartily recommend it if you like Portishead, because that’s what the leadoff single “Baby Blue Movie” kind of sounds like, although it’s even more squishy and dream-poppy. Others have used words like “ethereal” and “limerent” to describe this band, so today I learned that “limerent” means holding “romantic feelings for another person, and typically includes intrusive, melancholic thoughts, or tragic concerns for the object of one’s affection.” Usually I just say “hopelessly hormonal,” but you do you.

• Cassandra Jenkins is an ambient/folk-pop singing lady from Brooklyn, N.Y. Her new album is My Light, My Destroyer, sounds a bit conflicted, wouldn’t you say? In 2022 she opened for Mitski in a few U.K. shows, which is encouraging; her dooming habit is that she takes way too long between albums. This is only her third in eight years, but forget that, music is more about quality than quantity; the single “Delphinium Blue” is like a cross between Enya and Goldfrapp, anyone who’s normal would probably like it.

• We’ll end the week with a look at an artiste who was talented enough to get on TV. In 2014, while she was a senior in high school, Palo Alto, California,-born singer Remi Wolf appeared as a contestant on American Idol but didn’t win. Her second album, Big Ideas, is slated for a Friday release, and the LP’s first song, “Toro,” is pretty neat, combining Janet Jackson with Ke$ha. It’s OK!