Category: Albums

Alice Phoebe Lou, Child’s Play (self-released)

I don’t like getting all class-war on an innocent album that never did anything to me personally, but sometimes weak albums released by highly privileged postmodern artists really get on my nerves, I have to tell ya. I do try to telegraph my moves in that regard, and I’d think by now you know I don’t trust most indie bands these days, given that the Pitchfork Media crowd has become the “essential art” dictators of the potty-trained “professional management class” that’s being bashed to smithereens in leftist intellectual circles. A big-time PR firm is handling this piece of junk, the latest album from this South African-raised white woman whose parents are documentary filmmakers; Lou’s voice was purported to “sound like Judy Garland, Kate Bush, or Angel Olsen” but “mostly her own.” They got the last bit right anyway; she’s a pretty unremarkable fashion-victim waif, and her woozy awkwardness (not to mention absolutely dreadful Lawrence Welk keyboard sound) had me reaching for the Off button every 10 seconds. She strikes me as a third-rate Kate Bush with a decent-enough ear for samples, but, as always, your mileage may vary. D

ABBA, Voyage (OK Good Records)

What a treat it was to witness the Pitchfork Media writer squeezing his brain for the requisite 1,500-word essay on this album! It’s the first one in 40 years from the Swedish pop group that basically owned the 1970s, and so Pitchfork Guy’s obscure shibboleths included nonsense like “glam boogie” and “scandi-disco bounce.” It was so rich and delicious to watch him squirm, when all that’s really to report is that the two dude songwriters still have it, and the singers all sound older. That’s it. There have been a couple of hilariously bad musicals based on the band’s million-year-old tunes, of course, all of which resurged in popularity after the 1990s ABBA Gold album, so it’s not that these people have ever disappeared. Anyhow, the first two songs threaten to go Celtic Woman, especially “When You Danced With Me,” which has an Irish jig feel to it, but most of the balance forward is the usual formula of all-hook tuneage fit for children’s dentist overhead speakers. Same as it ever was, really. A

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• It’s the least wonderful time of the year for people like me, music columnists who have to spin column-gold out of literally nothing, because there are basically no important new records coming out on Friday, which is Christmas Eve. And why? Well, because it’s time to forget about important things like redundant, overhyped music albums and instead — yuck — feel jolly and bright or whatever, and be sociable — with people! Gross! — and visit. It stinks, man, I just want some albums to write about, so I can fill this column with humor and fascinating news about whatever stupid pop diva or tedious Coldplay-clone-band band, because it’s my job, to fill this space with information and advice that you won’t follow anyway, but at least I try. But here we are again, with the never-ending culture war in happy détente, and me with no albums to write about, because only certified loons (and metal bands) (same thing) would put out an album on Christmas Eve. Fact is, guys, I’ve been through this for nearly 20 years now, scrambling for stuff to write about this holiday week. You see folks, here’s the thing: I must stop Christmas from coming. But how?

• No, seriously, it’s that time of year when I actually want to hear bad new albums from non-musically trained indie bands banging their ting-tinglers and disposable hit singles from whichever lollipop-brained Ariana Grande-of-the-month is honking her gong-zookas. But do I dare even bother webbing into the Album Of The Year site to look for an album to talk about here, or should I talk about my feelings? I don’t know, but here, fine, I’ll look. OMG, guys, I totally found one, it’s Tales From The Pink Forest, by some band or whatever called ID KY! I feel like Yukon Cornelius on that Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer show, like I was chipping and chipping at the barren Google wasteland and finally there it was! Silverrrr! Silver and gold! OK! Now, ahem, let’s just calm down and try to find out what an “ID KY” is; it’s probably something dumb, like some YouTuber playing Panic! At The Disco cover songs on a kazoo (I’m not expecting anything more artistic than that, honestly). OK, great, there’s literally nothing on Google or YouTube about this, so now I feel like Geraldo Rivera after he opened Al Capone’s secret vault and came out with a sales receipt from Walmart or whatever it was. Just great. OK, let’s pretend it was just really dumb polka played on a Charlie Brown toy piano. Aaaand we’re moving, people, let’s go.

• Hmm, it’s some other band-or-whatever-who-cares with a random four-letter name, this time MDMJ! I can’t wait to hear — oh, never mind, the album is called “Album” probably because it doesn’t have a title yet. I’m about to bag it, folks. Look at all you Whos down in Whoville, just laughing at the sad music critic clown making a fool out of himself, so that you can laugh and point. I can’t wait to stuff your Christmas tree up the chimney and have my dog drag it to the top of Mount Crumpit. OK, one last pass and I’m getting a drink, I deserve it.

• We’ll evacuate these dreary premises by closing with — OK, there are no other records supposedly being released on Christmas Eve. None. So let’s just get drunk and listen to the only thing that’s literally coming out on Christmas Day itself! Of course it’s a metal record, Sonic Wolves’s It’s All A Game To Me EP! Ha ha, these three people look like sleepy Hells Angels, and the EP is a two-song “tribute to Lemmy and Cliff Burton!” Figures, there’s no music for me to trash, um, I mean critique, so let’s do a last Jell-O shot and forget this column ever even happened. Happy holidays and whatever!

If you’re in a local band, now’s a great time to let me know about your EP, your single, whatever’s on your mind. Let me know how you’re holding yourself together without being able to play shows or jam with your homies. Send a recipe for keema matar. Message me on Twitter (@esaeger) or Facebook (eric.saeger.9).

Tulip Tiger x Garrett Noel, Synth Xmas II (Give/Take Records)

Funny, right after I wrapped up this week’s Playlist thingie, in which I bemoaned the fact that no public relations goblins had sent me any holiday albums to review this year, this one just came in, from a bicoastal lo-fi hip-hop collaborative duo. Just to put things in context, big-beat aficionado Tulip (Augustus Watkins) is based in Los Angeles and Prague, modern psychedelia guy Noel’s from Baltimore, and this is their take on a set of eight old Christmas classics, “reimagined in tranquil, instrumental, electronic arrangements.” Very true, that; the guys have selected from the chillest of vintage chestnuts: “O Come All Ye Faithful” and “Silent Night” to name two, rendering them in tasteful 1980s-synthpop cheese and adding things like glitchy noises, bell samples, etc. The overall effect is cloudy, woozy and, well, edgy, evoking high-end backgrounding for fashion outlet malls; in other words, it’s very unobtrusive but redolent of seasonal spirit. Very nice. A

PLAYLIST

• The new albums set to be released on Dec. 17 are in our scope today, folks! I haven’t even looked at the list yet, because that has as much appeal to me as watching my dentist prepare his syringe of Novacaine. Like, I know it’s coming, and there will be “bootleg” albums for collectors and massively expensive box sets for people who’d rather have albums than a car, but what’s odd to me is that I haven’t been made aware of any new holiday albums as of yet. OK, lemme go look at the list of — holy crow, there are almost no new albums coming out on the 17th, let alone holiday albums! What the heck am I supposed to do here? You know, that always happens during these last weeks of the year, and the only bands putting out albums are metal bands, because there’s a new metal album born every minute. With the big holidays coming so soon, the editors should just let me fill up this column with jokes, nursery rhymes and bedtime stories, so at least there’d be — wait, wait, I found one, Califas Worldwide, from California quartet Hed PE, a the band that’s known for “its eclectic genre-crossing style, predominantly in the fusion of gangsta rap and punk rock it has termed ‘G-punk,’ but also for its reggae-fused music.” Great, whatever, I’m just glad I have something music-related to talk about in this music column (I’ll bet next week is going to be even worse). So there’s a single, called “Not Now,” which features the mad metal-rappin’ skillz of some collective (or just one dude, it’s impossible to tell from their Facebook, which, trust me, annoys me a million times more than it does you) called The Final Clause of Tacitus. So the overall effect of the song is Rage Against The Machine with no budget; it’s not bad I suppose, but I’d have to say — oh, you don’t care about this either, it’s not Tom Morello or anything, just some guys who sound like they won a football pool and decided to spend it doofing around in a recording studio while the engineer ate Funyuns and took naps. Let’s forget this and try to find something normal, not that I think there’s a snowball’s chance of that happening.

• Praise be, gang, there’s another one, titled Food For Thought, from some rapper lady named Che Noir! Unless the Brooklyn Vegan blog-site has no idea what it’s talking about (which is always a possibility), she is from Buffalo, New York, a place that Trip Advisor says is mostly inhabited by clinically depressed football fans and Loch Ness Monsters. OK, let me get down with this awesome tune. Hmm, that’s original, she starts out her rap by saying “Yeah,” you know, in this really rappy tone, and then she’s spittin’ mad words and swears. She’s pretty edgy I suppose, but her voice is gentle-ish, like if Dionne Warwick were a rapper. The beat is this dumb 1980s synth-cheese thing. I don’t hate it, mostly because I just feel sorry for it. Aaaand we’re movin’, folks, let’s keep trying to find something normal.

• OK, I give up, there’s not even a heavy metal Christmas album, just no albums at all. Looks like I’ll just do a bedtime story and then tuck you in. OK, so this little bear got lost in the woods looking for special mushrooms, see, and — wait! Wait! Look! Looky yonder! You’ll never believe it, a new album from 1950s rock ’n’ roll icon Chuck Berry, Live From Blueberry Hill! Why am I being given this gift of column-filling news? Well, it’s because the 17th would have been Chuck’s 95th birthday! It’s dumb but I’ll take it, this wonderful collection of live versions of “Roll Over Beethoven,” “Sweet Little Sixteen” and “Johnny B. Goode,” I will take it, as a Christmas miracle! God bless us, guys, every one!

RETRO PLAYLIST

I’ve obviously slacked this year as far as throwing you nice people a few recommendations for holiday music buying. I almost forgot again this week, which would definitely been bad, but by chance I happened upon a column I’d written this very week in 2009, and it started out with a suggestion for, of all things, a country music compilation, to wit: “Howzabout this for a compilation: Dim Lights, Thick Smoke & Hillbilly Music: Country Hit Parade 1951. Comes out on Tuesday [11 years ago, mind you], which gives you no time to find it, but you should try, so that you can hear awesome old garbage like “Shot Gun Boogie” by Tennessee Ernie Ford. We’ve all gone old-school anyway, so why not just reboot the whole thing and start off with bands that had to sing into toasters while sticking their fingers into light sockets so the tape-gizmo thing would record it, because they did not have our awesome technology, which has turned us all into people nobody can trust.”

Boy, could someone tell me when I’m acting cynical, would you folks, I can’t stop myself. But then again, I have every excuse in the book, because 99 times out of a hundred, holiday albums are usually just comprised of old bands doing versions of old carols you’re already sick of hearing. See, what I listen to myself this time of year is music that’s either Christmas-y sounding or actually peripheral to my chosen pagan frostbite-holiday. For the former, you can’t beat Enya’s Paint The Sky With Stars, a compilation of her more popular “hits.” As you may or may not know, she multi-tracks her voice hundreds of times in the studio, which means we’ll never see her play live, because you’d need 100 singing Enyas to accomplish it. But the music itself is reflective, pretty and spiritual. My holiday-sounding faves are “Anywhere Is” and “Storms in Africa,” but almost all are very nice.

As for the latter, the Boston Ballet Orchestra’s version of The Nutcracker is a CD I keep in the car every year, from Thanksgiving to Dec. 26. The CD is missing a few things, like the teddy bear’s dance, but other than that it’s such a peach, especially if you’ve ever seen it live. It seems to be out of stock at bostonballet.org, but it’s worth hunting down.

If you’re in a local band, now’s a great time to let me know about your EP, your single, whatever’s on your mind. Let me know how you’re holding yourself together without being able to play shows or jam with your homies. Send a recipe for keema matar. Message me on Twitter (@esaeger) or Facebook (eric.saeger.9).

Modern Nature, Island of Noise (Bella Union Records)

Here continues the saga of U.K. songwriter Jack Cooper, with whom you may be familiar if you ever indulged in the band Ultimate Painting, a garage-pop band whose best moments came when they were trying to write songs that were a few cuts above Pavement in the listenability department (which is of course one of the lowest bars to manage in art history). These days he’s regarded with some renown as an expert multi-winds player and a composer, and this project boasts help from such “free music” luminaries as saxophonist Evan Parker, pianist Alexander Hawkins, bassist John Edwards and violinist Alison Cotton. Other avant-gardists of non-musical disciplines hopped on this thing as well (Booker-nominated poet Robin Robertson, illustrator Sophy Hollington, polymath Eugene Chadbourne and The Lark Ascending author Richard King). Why? Well, it’s a box set that includes a bunch of songs, their instrumental-only versions and a book. The songs do have their cogent moments — “Dunes” and “Bluster” are graceful, pretty and pensive; “Spell” reads like post-bop quietude — but even with all the goings-on going on, it does get a bit repetitive, probably mostly owing to Cooper’s obviously limited (and apparently untrained) vocal range. B

Slow Crush, Hush (Quiet Panic Records)

I roped myself into choosing this one to fill this space because it was touted as a “shoegaze” record. I suppose it is, in a way, but there’s quite a bit of neo-doom-metal going on here, which, if you want to stretch the definition, could fit I suppose. But I’ll not get pedantic; it’s good stuff for sure, and Isa Holliday’s voice is indubitably shoegaze, what with its distracted, unapproachable, heavily reverbed, sexy asexuality. The short version is that it’s a cross between My Bloody Valentine and Slowdive, but there’s more to it than that, especially given that the riffing tends to get rather animated, or at least compelling, in a slightly progressive way. “Gloom” is a kissin’ cousin to Io Echo’s “Shanghai Girls,” if you have any idea what that means; this isn’t simply a Jesus and Mary Chain copycat thing, put it that way, but it could have benefitted from a little of Io Echo’s majestic bombast. It’s structurally fine, though, definitely worth a listen. A-

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• Jeepers, guys, it’s Dec. 10 already, where has the apocalypse gone? I don’t know, all I care about is getting back to four-day work weeks for the summer, and I am literally counting the days, like, I wish I could be put in a people-freezer unit and left alone until the last week of May. There’s no point to this winter stuff, there just isn’t, and speaking of frostbite and pointlessness, looky there folks, it’s an electronic musician from Canada, named Jamison Isaak, who goes by the stage name Teen Daze! He has a new album coming out on the 10th called Interior. Wikipedia says that since 2015 Isaak has “shifted from an electronic-driven style with elements of chillwave, house, and ambient to more of an indie pop sound, adding his own vocals.” In other words he has given up his dream of soundtracking independent films that nobody watches and will now compete directly with M83 and every other band that’s trying to revive 1980s-radio-pop, which of course means every other band in the world right now. And etc., but for now I’ll give this fellow the benefit of the doubt and go listen to his new single “Swimming.” Huh, this isn’t that bad at all, sort of Aphex Twin-ish robot-dance stuff but with a bright Tiesto color palette. In other words it’s like Orbital; it’s not ’80s-sounding, more like ’90s, so I’ll stop being a hater and just dig on this electronic music, maybe even do a sprightly happy dance with my Roomba.

• Even if you hate hip-hop — and a lot of you do, which I know for a fact — Rick Ross’ forthcoming new album Richer Than I’ve Ever Been does have its irresistible moments of grace, especially the tune “Pinned To The Cross,” whose beat floats through the air like a butterfly while Ross spits the usual platitudes about living the weird duality of being Black and rich: “Now I’m in a McLaren, still racing those commas / I’m watching for Karen, she watching bird watchers” (the latter bit referencing the New York lady who called the cops on a Black guy who was just trying to bird-watch in Central Park). It’s really accessible, this tune, which also features the “I Wrote a Love Song”-renowned indie singer Finn Matthews warbling along in falsetto.

• Extra-weird singing person Moses Sumney has a film and a third album on the way, called Live From Blackalachia! The little I listened to doesn’t sound to me like a live recording, but I will take his word for it because I wouldn’t want him to have beef with me, because I think he’s crazy. He has a wicked high falsetto voice on the teaser track “Bystanders (in space),” which is based on the tune “Bystanders,” from his 2020 album Græ. Imagine the Stranger Things theme song, except some androgynous crazy person is singing over it in a really high voice, that’s what this is.

• Last but not least, I have to deal with Neil Young again, because he and his band Neil Young & Crazy Horse are releasing a brand new album just now, called Barn. A stand-alone film with the same title will be released on Blu-ray and directed by Daryl Hannah, who, like Neil Young, is a celebrity activist. Anyway, like all celebrity activists, Neil Young is widely adored for making lots of tweets but never donating all his millions to Greenpeace or mutual aid Twitter funds, so, as always, I am not wildly enthused about having to sit through another musical rant from him, but I will, of course, so that you don’t have to. The latest single is “Heading West,” the lyrics of which would appear to be centered on his youth, when he lived near some train tracks or whatever. As always, the soggy guitar riff was engineered to sound like your little brother recording himself on a boombox playing “Smoke On The Water,” but that is why Neil Young is so beloved: He is terrible, and people love that.

If you’re in a local band, now’s a great time to let me know about your EP, your single, whatever’s on your mind. Let me know how you’re holding yourself together without being able to play shows or jam with your homies. Send a recipe for keema matar. Message me on Twitter (@esaeger) or Facebook (eric.saeger.9).

Naked Raygun, Over The Overlords (Wax Trax Records)

This Chicago post-punk band never struck me as “post” anything, just punk, but whatever; half the time, reviewers and music pundits just make stuff up when they want to sound smart. If you’re young and confused, this is a legendary band; two of the guys were in Steve Albini’s seminal no-wave band Big Black (drop everything you’re doing and go listen to one of their records), and their cult following includes Dave Grohl and Blink-182’s Matt Skiba. If you’re not young and confused, you may know these guys from their decently produced tuneage of old, so, this being their first album in over 30 years, you’d be expecting better production along the lines of Ramones when they worked with Phil Spector and all that, and you’d be right: this is still basic punk stuff but it sounds better. I love all of it, starting with “Go The Spoils,” a typical three-chord complaint into the hopeless abyss. Can you possibly put away the emo albums already and get a little fed up, kids? A

Josh Caterer, The Space Sessions (Pravda Records)

Oh, hooray, more from the frontman of Smoking Popes, the glorified fedora band that was basically like Barenaked Ladies but without the money. You can take it from right there, to be honest; either you like bovine American pub-rock or you don’t, and, as you should know if you’ve ever once read this column in your life, I sure as shootin’ don’t. I mean don’t get me wrong, Smoking Popes could be a little edgy, almost ska-like at times, but Caterer’s fetish for writing melodies that were completely “I know I’ve heard this before but I’m way too busy hate-reading my Facebook to Google it” was their Achilles heel. That’s heard here as well; the songs are solid, Caterer’s uninspiring tenor is more hearty and robust than usual (think Frank Black with a couple of voice lessons), but man, this has been done and more compellingly. There’s a retread version of the classic bum-out song “I Started A Joke” on here for some reason, and no, I don’t know why. B+

PLAYLIST

• As we move into the home stretch of 2021’s retail sweepstakes, our thoughts turn to the Christmas elves, who must load all the new albums into Santa’s sleigh, for delivery to all the Whos down in Whoville. Maybe you are a Who who plans to buy an album or three for your loved ones, and now’s a great time to do it, because a bunch of new albums will come out on Dec. 3, and you should probably buy some of them before the Impractical Jokers manage to get another gigantic cargo ship trapped in the Suez Canal and nobody gets anything for the holidays at all, except for maybe pine cones or old used tires. Echo is one of those new releases, a new album from Costa Mesa, California-based Of Mice & Men, a band that started out as a “metalcore/post-hardcore” troupe, and then, after getting the news from their parents that they wouldn’t be paying for their Vans slip-ons anymore, decided to make more melodic (but equally unlistenable) music, specifically nu-metal! The first single was “Fighting Gravity,” which evidenced that they’re going a little bit emo in the hope that some wrestler will pick one of their songs as an entrance theme, but this tune is all disjointed, running around like a drunk squirrel, a little Good Charlotte, then some screamo, then some Coheed & Cambria, and so on and so forth. If you’re going to give this to your monstrous high-schooler for the holidays, just tell them that it’s really horrible and in response they’ll probably listen to it at least once.

• Shrinkwrapped, inordinately famous country-pop star Blake Shelton will release album number who-cares this week, titled BodyLanguage! Shelton is now on three, count ’em, three different Hunger Games-style singing talent shows that are only watched by boomers and the billions and billions of record company-paid Twitter bots out there in fake-fandom land; all the shows are of course focused on finding singers who can do the the closest possible imitations of Adele or Adam Lambert, and if they fail to sound exactly like them they end up being sent back home to work on their karaoke skills for the entertainment of local drunks. Now that Shelton has found a new future-ex blonde missus in Gwen Stefani, he is gracing us, the little people, with the totally hot new single, the album’s title track, an OK song that sounds suspiciously like an amalgam of stolen pop songs from actual artists that were released over the last 30 years, but I can’t quite put my finger on what songs are being ripped off — wait, the hook is definitely from an old Human League song, that’s it. Let’s go, get this nonsense out of my sight this instant.

• If you like symphonic euro-metal and have been wondering where Angra’s singer Simone Simons has been, she’s the frontperson for Dutch band Epica these days, when she’s not busy working as a style influencer on her SwoonStyle blog. What all this adds up to is another band that would be Trans Siberian Orchestra right now if they’d only invented heavy metal and Christmas before those guys did, so let’s go look and listen to “Kingdom of Heaven Part 3” from the band’s new live album, Omega Alive! Ah, it’s Cannibal Corpse except with Simons’ opera-lady vocals, and there are flames and Flying V guitars and there’s a chandelier of contortionist hotties hanging from the ceiling. You know who’d like this is basically everyone, because it’s both super-classy and completely idiotic at the same time.

• Last but not least, it’s Chrome Sparks & Reo Cragun, with an EP called Void. Sparks is from Pittsburgh, Cragun is from Vancouver, Washington, and their collaboration mixes neo-soul with underground noise, as heard in the single “Blood,” which switches back and forth between Drake-ish chillout and floor-shaking cacophony. It’s interesting.

If you’re in a local band, now’s a great time to let me know about your EP, your single, whatever’s on your mind. Let me know how you’re holding yourself together without being able to play shows or jam with your homies. Send a recipe for keema matar. Message me on Twitter (@esaeger) or Facebook (eric.saeger.9).

Papercuts, Baxter’s Bliss EP (Psychic Friends Records)

Papercuts is the stage name of Jason Quever, San Francisco-based dream-pop guy who was last heard from in 2018 in the Slumberland Records-released full-length Parallel Universe Blues. He’s produced records from the likes of Beach House, Luna/Dean Wareham, and Sugar Candy Mountain, and between that and his very agreeable tuneage his resume is pretty formidable if your thing is tasteful, non-posturing indie. Like a lot of indie things that have appeared on my desk recently, it has light-headed singing, but steeped in obeisance more for Simon and Garfunkel soundscaping than the half-cocked Beach Boys stuff that was all the rage for what seemed like forever. “A Dull Boy,” the opening track of this five-song EP, is wide, lush and comforting, reminiscent of Clinic but with much less of an unstable edge. “Try Baxter’s Bliss” is even dreamier, tabling so much lazy beach vibe you can practically smell the vinyl from your childhood blow-up raft. The spell is broken somewhat when a cover of Leonard Cohen’s “The Partisan” appears, with its folksy examination of fascism, but you could still tan yourself to it. I’d recommend it, sure. A

Curtis Roach, The Joy Tape (self-released)

Today I learned that TikTok view counts can be a little — OK a lot — deceiving. See, when you land on a TikTok video, it counts that first play as a “hit” and then every replay that follows, if any (once a TikTok video plays, it’ll go right back to the start and play again). I can’t remember a time when I watched one of those 5- to 15-minute clips just once, especially if they were funny, so, again, TikTok hit counts are deceptive, including the eleventy-billion views this laid-back Detroit rapper racked up for his 15-second “Bored In The House” clip, which became one of the big coronavirus mini-anthems in 2020 and subsequently led to a cooperation with Tyga, who knew a fast buck when he smelled it and partnered with Roach for a three-minute version. Cut to now, with Roach fully branded as a blissfully phlegmatic-sounding emcee with, ahem, anxiety. Oh, it’s all good, I don’t have a problem with this record; there are clamorous beats everywhere, woofer-blasting thumpings and whatnot, and his nasal what-me-worry flow is totally inviting. Brands gotta brand and all. A-

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• Heyyy, it’s Thanksgiving, ya turkeys. Ha ha, I’ve always wanted to write that! I doubt there will be a lot of new albums for me to insult, I mean briefly critique, here, but I shall go look, in the name of duty and humanity. Many people will be spending Thanksgiving at home, so maybe the record companies are putting out some albums and I can put an end to this mindless riffing and get to some business here. Ack, nope, there are only three albums on my radar for Nov. 26. That seems kind of stupid to me, like, wouldn’t you think Black Friday would be a great day for new albums? No? Well I would. You know, go to the mall, eat a fancy pretzel, get some coffee that doesn’t taste like the rat poison you have during the morning commute and buy some albums. No? Well, what if one of the albums was called Ascension Codes, and it came from a band called Cynic? That’s reason enough to go to the mall and get triggered by all the people who are/aren’t wearing face-bandanas, isn’t it? What’s that you’re asking? No, I’ve never heard of them either, but we need to start somewhere on this album-less album-release Friday, so let’s slog over to see what Wikipedia has to say about this band, shall we? Hm, they’re from Miami, and they are a progressive metal band, which I never would have guessed from the album title, which totally sounds like some egghead catch-phrase that only astronauts ever use when they start heading back to earth, not that I care either way (you don’t either, right? Good). So anyway, one of the songs from his album is called “Mythical Serpents,” and it’s actually not that bad, for a band that uses heavy metal guitars to make fusion music. It’s complicated and rather cool, like imagine 1980s-era Return To Forever except with nothing but heavy metal guitars and a few Cookie Monster growls — wait, there’s some actual singing, the guy sounds kind of like the Smashing Pumpkins singer, which isn’t something I’ve ever heard before. Maybe there is hope for this egghead-metal band and their fusion-metal and their stupid astronaut album title, go hear it for yourself.

• Shows you how lame Deep Purple’s public relations people are, they never even told me about Whoosh, their 21st album, last year. I feel besmirched, because I would have been happy to give it the thorough trashing it probably deserves, but it’s too late, and I only talk about new things in this space, and one new thing is their latest album, Turning To Crime! Yow, look guys, it’s an album of nothing but cover songs, probably all from bands whose members are even older than the guys in Deep Purple, if it’s even possible to be that old. Like, the single is Love’s “7 And 7 Is,” a song that was probably really groovy to listen to if you were driving an Austin Powers Shagmobile in 1966. But Deep Purple gave it a jolly good try, so their version isn’t hilarious, just mildly amusing.

• Hard-rock-metal whatevers Black Label Society‘s new LP, Doom Crew Inc., is on the way! Spoiler alert: Zakk Wylde still sings like Ozzy, and the single “Set You Free” sounds like a filler track from when Ozzy really became boring. So psyched!

• Last stop, kiddies, let’s have a quick look at NOËP’s new EP, No Man Is An Island! NOËP is an Estonian, Andres Kõpper, and his new single is “Kids,” featuring singer Emily Roberts, who, like everyone else on Earth, sounds exactly like Lorde. The song has an LMFAO vibe, but it’s not very fun, but by all means be my guest.

If you’re in a local band, now’s a great time to let me know about your EP, your single, whatever’s on your mind. Let me know how you’re holding yourself together without being able to play shows or jam with your homies. Send a recipe for keema matar. Message me on Twitter (@esaeger) or Facebook (eric.saeger.9).

Blonder, Knoxville House (Cool world Records)

At this writing, this debut record from Long Island native Constantine Anastasakis isn’t due out until February 2022, so there’s obviously an initiative to get the buzz going as quickly as possible before reviewers realize how much it sucks and tell people like you about it. I mean, Pitchfork Media will probably love it, as it conjures images of Pavement reborn as a half-synth-powered cyborg, and basically every song has a woozy, discombobulated feel to it, everything wandering in and out of pitch like a vinyl album that was left on top of a radiator for a few hours. Think of it this way: Brian Eno and Manchester Orchestra reinterpreted by the dumbest college student you’ve ever known, mixed into a hybrid no one would have ever asked for, except the melodies aren’t all that bad. Better than Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr. accomplished, which is simultaneously the closest stuff to this, and yes, the faintest possible praise I can muster at the moment. D

Salt Ashes, Killing My Mind (Radikal Records)

The stage name of Brighton, U.K., singer Veiga Sanchez, Salt Ashes is diva pop with a good amount of retro house, tunes that are form-fitted for velvet rope clubs but could also work as soundtrack for a beachside Tilt-A-Whirl. “Love, Love,” the touchstone single, is pure Mariah Carey meets Janet Jackson, which is about where her voice fits. Unsurprisingly, she digs ’80s floor-filler stuff, checking off Giorgio Moroder, The Knife and Fleetwood Mac as influences; she’s been a dance-music player since her 2016 self-titled debut album, which was produced by the late Daniel Fridholm (a.k.a. Cruelty). Her lyrics deal with a laundry list of things that aren’t wildly unique to today’s young women: unrequited love, sex, anxiety, relationships, mental health, sexual harassment and such. The LP kicks off with a foggy, steam-driven, goth-infused electro-dance joint, “Lucy,” which is more Kylie Minogue than anything else. “Mad Girl” is ’80s as heck, down to the busy organic synths; “I’m Not Scared To Die’ covers the obligato ballad entry with aplomb enough. B

PLAYLIST

• Nov. 19 is here, and with it some new rock ’n’ roll albums. Some will be good and some will be bad, depending on one’s individual tastes or lack thereof. I’m looking at a rather large list of new albums, and I’m sure there will be something that won’t make me power-guzzle a six-pack of Pepto Bismol, but you never know. We can be nice and casual this week, because there is a plethora of albums to choose from, starting with Phantom Island, from a band called Smile, a project from Björn Yttling (Peter Bjorn and John) and Joakim Åhlund of the Teddybears. I think this will probably be safe for me to check out, because the Teddybears are awesome, so I’ll take my chances on the latest single at this writing, “Call My Name.” This song features vocals from mononymed Swedish singer-songwriter Robyn, who isn’t a very good singer, but the tune is a low-key, piquant, very pleasant blend of ABBA and Miss Kittin, very 1970s-radio if you can get past Robyn’s not-very-great voice. There’s a snowy, upbeat feel to it, which is just what the doctor ordered if you need something smooth and cocoa-y to wrap your ears around as we descend into the frozen North Pole of yet another New England winter.

• Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it. Hmm, dum de dum, why don’t we — wait, hold everything, here we go, a new album from Elbow, called Flying Dream 1, why didn’t someone tell me about this before? Elbow is one of the few indie bands in the world that still tinkles my jingle bells; they are from Bury in Greater Manchester, England. If past is prologue here, this will probably be awesome; their previous stuff has been like a cross between We Were Promised Jetpacks and VNV Nation, and — wait, I did a fly-by, didn’t I; you haven’t the foggiest idea what that even means. Unfortunately I do, so I’ll try to translate. Picture a stuffy literature professor starting a mildly aggressive rock band but never doing anything really punky, sort of like a British version of Bruce Springsteen except the singer doesn’t suck and it’s mostly mellow-ish, and the tunes are really catchy and cool. That’s Elbow, at least up until this moment, when I’m about to find out if their single “Six Words” is any good. OK, it is, it’s a mellow, almost Coldplay-ish tune comprising a synth arpeggio but without being annoying like Coldplay. It’s awesome, mildly mawkish but ultimately upbeat and very pretty. I so totally love these guys.

• Not bad, I haven’t even thought about uncorking the Pepto Bismol during this exercise at all! I’ll tell you, gang, this may be my lucky — oh no, it can’t be. Do you hear those booming tyrannosaurus footsteps, coming for me, to ruin my day? Yes, look, it’s the hilariously overrated Sting, smashing buildings as he strides toward me, holding out some awful new album! The LP is called The Bridge, and it has a single, called “Rushing Water.” Oh jeez, oh jeez, this sounds like like every boring elevator-music song this egomaniacal Matrix-clown has ever foisted onto listeners of dentist-office-rock, basically a souped-up version of “Every Breath You Take” except with some rap-speed lyrics. Don’t worry, you’ll probably only hear this once, either on Jimmy Kimmel or The Today Show; it’s definitely not interesting enough to warrant anything more “hip” than that.

• We’ll wrap up this week’s business with 30, the new album from Adele, whose hobbies include publicly sucking up to Beyonce and being this decade’s Celine Dion. “Easy On Me” is a depressing but powerful pop ballad as always, and she does some high-pitched professional singing. As if you couldn’t guess, it is a song that will be loved by 20-somethings who don’t trust their boyfriends, and with good reason.

If you’re in a local band, now’s a great time to let me know about your EP, your single, whatever’s on your mind. Let me know how you’re holding yourself together without being able to play shows or jam with your homies. Send a recipe for keema matar. Message me on Twitter (@esaeger) or Facebook (eric.saeger.9).