Island Records/Courtesy

In a January 2013 interview with The Guardian, Aluna Francis, the vocal half of the electronic pop duo AlunaGeorge, described their music as “fat beats with songs on top.” After the duo’s 2012 debut EP, You Know You Like It, Francis’ description was accurate, but following the drop of their debut album, Body Music, the British electronic pop duo — made up of Francis and producer George Reid — have shown, in full force, that AlunaGeorge is much more than that. Body Music offers all of the “fat beats” and beautiful vocals that we heard on You Know You Like It combined with elements of R&B, more interesting production and even more electrifying songs. It’s unclear when the last great electronic R&B-pop album was released — or whether that’s even a real genre — but AlunaGeorge’s Body Music surely is the best in a long while.

Body Music is full of emotion and power, brought out in Francis’s high-pitched yet dynamic vocals and Reid’s straightforward yet remarkably elastic production. The album plays like it was produced by R&B and electronic veterans who have somehow managed to take old love-song themes — unrequited love, volatile relationships and broken hearts — and transform them into something new, exciting and fun. But Body Music isn’t a falling-in-love album, and it certainly isn’t a breakup album. It’s much more of a fall-in-love and a get-back-together and a realize-how-shitty-you-are-really-are-but-I-am-still-in-love-with-you kind of album. It’s an album that walks you through someone’s thoughts as they fall in love with a best friend, break up, get back together again, gain self-confidence and go through all of the other emotions that nearly everybody has experienced during a relationship.

And, even better, the mood of the music accurately fits the emotion that a character would be feeling. Francis’s voice produces such sadness in “Outlines” that you can almost imagine her crying while singing it. The production and vocals on “Best Be Believing” are so upbeat and fun that you can imagine Francis finally standing up for herself and leaving the person she had fallen in love with on “Friends to Lovers.”

If you’ve purchased the album, then you know that Body Music comes with a bonus track. It’s a cover of Montell Jordan’s classic R&B hit “This is How We Do It.” While AlunaGeorge have recorded some pretty phenomenal covers, like Frank Ocean’s “Thinking About You” and “I Wanna Be Like You” from Disney’s “The Jungle Book,” their cover of “This is How We Do It” misses the mark. It’s an interesting idea, but it’s a cover that will lose you 30 seconds into the song (which is really unfortunate, because it’s about time that we get a good cover the late ’90s backyard party anthem).

Disappointing bonus track aside, Body Music does something very important for the emerging electro-pop duo: It solidifies their skill, raising them above hype and noise of Internet music blogs. While their This is How We Do It EP may have raised many eyebrows, Body Music has carved out a definite place for the future of AlunaGeorge as a respectable act. Where other progressive electronic artists may be rejected as “too weird” or “too experimental” for mass audiences, AlunaGeorge straddles the line between progressive electronic music, traditional pop and R&B, giving them the ability to become massively successful. Perhaps most importantly, Body Music isn’t a difficult album to like. It’s not an album that will take you a few listens to get into. Francis and Reid have given us an album that is, from beginning to end, electrifying and fun.

Contact Samuel Avishay at savishay@dailycal.org.

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Hieroglyphics Imperium Recordings/Courtesy

After a decade of studio silence, Oakland-based hip-hop ensemble Hieroglyphics have released The Kitchen, an album that serves up a reminder of why the nine-man group has solidified its presence in the underground hip-hop scene and beyond. Though the album boasts a meaty helping of 17 tracks, each one is able to distinguish itself from the others as a sizable portion worthy of fulfilling any fan’s hunger.

While the lyrics and rhymes of the Hiero crew are definitely part of what keeps the album varied, the production is the secret spice to this record’s recipe. Each track offers a beat different from the last, chopping and cutting up a vast array of beats and samples. While Hiero deserve credit for the well-crafted beats, the album’s guest producers were the Sacramento DJs known as the Sleeprockers. Without a doubt, the production wouldn’t be as saucy or diverse if both parties had not collaborated the way that they did. Tracks like “Exciting,” with its synth hook, are reminiscent of an eight-bit video game gone thug with the Hiero crew laying down rhymes sharp enough to slice the track’s beefy bass. “All As Above So Below” uses soulful backing vocals over a thick beat with crisp chimes and a sample of the opening lyric from the Beastie Boys hit “Paul Revere.”

While the album has a variety of flavors, some tracks share a few similar ingredients. “Livin’ It Up” and “Nano Salt” both share a funkalicious groove with the spicy horns on the former complementing the reverb-rich synth on the latter. Much like culinary recipes, though, a few common ingredients don’t necessarily imply identical dishes. Overall, with its smooth rhymes and crunchy beats, The Kitchen is a definitive reminder of Hiero’s stance in the hip-hop world. As the chorus of “Immortals” states, “Hiero ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Ian Birnam covers music. Contact him at ibirnam@dailycal.org.

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Anticon/Courtesy

If Baths’ Cerulean — released in 2010 — was a poppy, pastel love song, Obsidian is its antithesis, full of sharp edges, a glossy and enigmatic ode to suffering. The stage moniker of Will Wiesenfeld, Baths wrote much of Obsidian after an incapacitating bout with E. coli, resulting in an album that revolves around themes of death and apathy and leaves no lyrical landscape untouched. The Los Angeles musician describes in no uncertain terms the emptiness of a dead bedroom, unforgiving one-night stands and the depths of depression. In his unprecedented brutal honesty and full instrumentation, Wiesenfeld not only gives outlet to his desires and frustrations but also evolves into a more mature artist — one that has emerged from torment to create music more beautiful than ever.

Continuing to straddle the line between pop and electronica, Baths’ stilted beats and stripped-down vocals move from playful to unsettling throughout Obsidian. The opening track, “Worsening,” leads in with seemingly divergent threads that fall together unexpectedly in the bright, energetic chorus. As if to provide counterbalance, Wiesenfeld’s lyrics are almost mumbled over the track, with their apathy finding its way into every crevice: “Never prayed, never paid any attention/Never felt any affection/Never a lot of thought to life.” The album’s single “Miasma Sky” turns to despair in sleek synths and key modulations, while the following “Ironworks” stutters and sighs over a delicate piano refrain.

On Obsidian, Baths pulls inspiration from lofty places. Ancient chests filled with bones of the interred were the wellspring of “Ossuary,” where the effects of his illness are clearly at play: “Oh frailty,” he whispers, “What worse fates could you possibly show me?” Then, Greek mythology is brought to life in “Phaedra,” a doomed love story of suicide and mortality. In “No Eyes” and “Incompatible,” the coldness of anonymous sex disclosed in the former is brought home in the latter as the narrator finds himself completely indifferent to his lover (“First boyfriend / You live in my house and we share a toilet seat / And I am not the least bit drawn to your heat”).

In an interview with “LA Weekly,” Wiesenfeld describes his appreciation for anime and manga, saying, “It’s that perfect mix between very real human interactions and the outlandish. You feel like because there’s so much more happening in that world, your heart can just expand and experience so much.” Obsidian, much like Cerulean, takes the mundane and stretches it into poetry, compelling the listener to redefine the human and absurd in Baths’ dark and fantastical world.

Contact Mohana Kute at mkute@dailycal.org.

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XL Recordings/Courtesy

With their third studio album, Columbia grads Vampire Weekend have solidified a style that they have been perfecting over the course of the last five years. Modern Vampires of the City isn’t so much a departure from Contra and their self-titled album; rather, it builds off of the two albums to get a sound that is refreshingly new yet familiar.

Unlike past efforts, the overall tempo of this album has noticeably decreased. The number of “slow songs” or slow-building songs on the album is much more apparent than it has been before. Opening track “Obvious Bicycle” is one such song, with keyboardist Rostam Batmanglij playing a melancholy piano riff over lead singer Ezra Koenig’s crooning voice as he bounces to and from falsettos. Of all the mellow songs on the album, “Step” stands out, with Koenig’s soothing vocals over a medley of piano and synthesizer progressions. Drummer Chris Tomson keeps the beat so strong and steady throughout the track that head-nodding or foot-tapping is impossible to avoid.

Tomson shifts about five gears up for the following song, “Diane Young” — a track that, along with the speedy rhythm of “Finger Back,” would be easily at home in either of the other VW records. Single “Diane Young” feels like a modern-day adaption of the swingin’ big band songs, with Koenig pitch-shifting the lyric “baby, baby, baby, baby right on time” over groovy guitar riffs and rapid-fire drums. There’s even a “Wipeout”-esque drum and guitar roll thrown in — just in case your head and hips weren’t shaking enough.

Modern Vampires of the City is the album that VW has been building up to. While it’s not always a constant ball of energy, the balance of warm melodies and funky riffs make for an appropriate and satisfying conclusion to the band’s trilogy.

Ian Birnam covers music. Contact him at ibirnam@dailycal.org.

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Glass Note/Courtesy

Heartbreak and loss — these are the experiences that remind us, more than anything, that we are human and that we are fragile. Daughter’s debut album revolves around these themes, and it’s definitely not an easy listen. Nevertheless, it remains captivating throughout. This is probably not the album you will be playing while kicking back with friends — it’s the kind that will make someone power through a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and regret not having bought a gallon instead.

“Winter” is appropriately placed as the opening track. It sets the somber tone for If You Leave. Igor Haefeli’s reverberating guitar kicks off the album, Elena Tonra jumps in with her vocals and Remi Aguilella percussion gently enters before all three break out into an anthemic song. Tonra’s aptitude for lyricism becomes instantaneously evident with the first lines, “Drifting apart like two sheets of ice, my love / Frozen hearts growing colder with time.” She establishes herself as a singer-songwriter to watch — the emotional honesty in both her lyrics and especially her voice is haunting.

For fans of their EPs, the withholding of tracks such as “Candles” and “Landfill” may come as a surprise. Furthermore, their biggest hit, “Youth” has been re-recorded. However, these decisions are not hindrances to the complete feeling of the album. After all, most of Daughter’s strength as a band comes from its predilection for restraint. The most poignant moments are the ones in which the blaring guitar dies down, the percussion becomes intermittent and Tonra’s voice is reduced to a whisper, sometimes even complete silence (though the album is not without their moments of all-out energy).

The album is worthwhile for anyone willing to put their heart through a listen. It reminds, relentlessly, that “underneath the skin, there’s a human.” Be prepared for goosebumps and a valid excuse to drink alone.

Contact Ephriam Lee at ephraimlee@dailycal.org.

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Rabid Records/Courtesy

Following seven years of relative dormancy, the Knife’s Karin Dreijer Andersson and Olof Dreijer have released Shaking the Habitual, an explicitly political record that forces listeners to adapt to its uncompromising, unconventional and seemingly inaccessible terms. The dense, sprawling work, with its politicized lyrics, industrial sounds and chilling ambience, is a notable departure from the band’s early work and also represents a significant shift in the Knife’s identity as a band.

Since 1999, the siblings have maintained a uniquely mysterious, rigidly controlled image in which they carefully avoid coming across as human in any way. In their rare live performances and public appearances, they conceal their faces behind a screen or with disturbing bird masks and face paint. In addition to hiding their faces, the masks function to obscure their gender, part of an ongoing interrogation of gender throughout their career. Since their conception, the band has warped and pitched down Andersson’s vocals to sound androgynous and almost post-human. Additionally, the early press photos for Shaking the Habitual showed the siblings from behind wearing long wigs, making it impossible to distinguish their gender.

When asked about their disguises, Andersson told The Guardian, “It’s always fun to try out different roles. I would like to quote (gender theorist) Judith Butler, who says, ‘We are always in drag.’ That has to do with the idea of authenticity: is there really any time when you are your true self? I would say that we’re always playing a role.”

The idea of roleplaying is expounded on in “A Cherry on Top,” in which Andersson sings of luxury in a heavily manipulated voice: “Strawberry, melon, cherry on top (…) The Haga Castle evening cream.” Dreijer explained to Pitchfork: “We’ve been talking about the importance of making your privileges transparent in order to be able to say something political.” Here, Andersson’s performance functions as a form of resistance, inhabiting the voice of the privileged to fiercely rail against extreme wealth. The siblings aim to bring cultural constructs to crisis by exposing their limits, shortcomings and blind spots.

The exploration of gender is a fundamental aspect of Shaking the Habitual. The feminist and queer theory Dreijer and Andersson have been studying in the years since Silent Shout inform everything from their lyrics and album artwork to their videos, which are directed by queer feminist porn director Marit Ostberg and gender activists Roxy Farhat and Kakan Hermansson. The lead single “Full of Fire” sets the tone as its outro paraphrases Salt-N-Pepa: “Let’s talk about gender baby / Let’s talk about you and me.” Experimental feminist writers Jeanette Winterson (whose book “The Passion” provides the refrain for “A Tooth for an Eye”) and Margaret Atwood (who is referenced in the interludes “Oryx” and “Crake”) also have a visible influence throughout.

The feminism of Shaking the Habitual is especially striking in the modern, male-dominated world of electronic music. It is refreshing to see The Knife breaking the boundaries of electronic music amid the increasing popularity of superstar “EDM” DJs such as Skrillex, Aviici and Tiesto among raving MDMA-fueled frat bros, demonstrating that it is still possible to create intelligent electronic music.

Andersson and Dreijer recognize that in order to convey their political statement, their music must embody the same passion as the lyrics, so they experiment with form and composition to challenge conventions “on a structural level rather than a psychological level.” They achieve this by incorporating their progressive politics into the very structure of the music, including pieces such as “Old Dreams Waiting to be Realized,” a track consisting of 19 minutes of found-sound drones. These drone pieces act as intermissions, opening up empty spaces that require the listener to do the same. By locating a space of ambivalence, listeners can reflect on and acknowledge the intersections of power and the interactions between gender, race, sexuality and class.

Shaking the Habitual sounds as if it is immediately off-putting to listeners: It is 98 minutes long, six of its 13 songs exceed eight minutes and two of them are long drone pieces. However, it turns out that many of the things that seem inaccessible in theory are in reality those that hold the album together. The record moves fluidly from the electro-punk aggression of “A Tooth for an Eye” to the dissonant drone of “Old Dreams” to the sinister pop of “Raging Lung” and finally to the nightmarish deconstructed noise of “Fracking Fluid Injection.” The arresting combination of creaking homemade noises, pop sounds and progressive politics make for a seamless and staggeringly impressive work and recommend Shaking the Habitual as a contender for 2013’s best record.

Contact Meadhbh McGrath at mmcgrath@dailycal.org.

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Interscope Records/Courtesy

If there’s one problem plaguing the creative output of NYC trio Yeah Yeah Yeahs (and rest assured, there is likely more than one problem), it’s that they don’t have much to prove anymore. After ascending to notoriety with their gritty, minimalist debut Fever to Tell, they managed to conjure up a more anthemic blend of arena rock, turning themselves into a household name with Show Your Bones. Subsequently, they tore into alternative charts and NME accolades with the biting pop of It’s Blitz! before taking their longest break between records to date. Four years later, they return with their latest effort Mosquito.

For the first time, they seem to have released an album that doesn’t so much explore new terrain for the group as revisit an even blend of their old sounds. Not every trick they try works out for the better but, more often than not, Karen O and friends’ shenanigans manage to allure the listener via bombast, spunk and a touch of self-conscious camp. The lead single “Sacrilege,” for instance, has all of these. Karen’s vocals are tested but ultimately showcased, quickly changing from a delicate whimper to a robust yelp to a strained falsetto. The song’s garage funk morphs into bonafide plastic soul about midway through with a full gospel choir stealing the show.

The grungy dub of Fever surfaces on “Under the Earth” and “Buried Alive,” the latter featuring an out-of-place contribution by persona rapper Dr. Octagon. However, the highlight comes on the title track with straightforward hard rock bolstered by Karen’s boisterous violence/sexuality. Mosquito may be the least enduring Yeah Yeah Yeahs album to date, but it should thrill regardless.

Watch the music video for “Sacrilege” below.

Contact Erik Weiner at eweiner@dailycal.org.

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Warner Bros./Courtesy

The Flaming Lips have become something of a flanderized band. That is to say, much like Ned Flanders from “The Simpsons,” time has turned them into a caricature of what they once were. With each new release, this group of esoteric psychonauts becomes more exaggeratedly esoteric and psychonautical. Their 2009 album Embryonic marked a journey into a dark and dissonant sonic realm as the group immersed itself in an ethos rife with gloomy cosmic struggles and LSD-fueled examinations of the psyche. Following a Pink Floyd cover album and a collab-heavy project with guests ranging from Yoko Ono to Ke$ha, the Lips return with The Terror, an album ironically made sillier by its self-important existentialism coupled with droning instrumentation.

For an album of only nine songs totaling almost an hour in length, one might expect more substance than is found here. The opener “Look…The Sun Is Rising” is also the album’s high point, in terms of both quality and likability. Guitar work is minimal; like on all the other songs, the synths dominate. A mesmerizing beat backs the trippy melodies, which screech like alien bagpipes. “Love is always something / Something you should fear,” moans singer Wayne Coyne, maintaining his nondescript state of distress-cum-wonderment that looms over the record.

What The Terror lacks in immediate or even eventual spark, it makes up for in consistency. The only guests featured are Phantogram, whose presence is barely felt on the 13-minute would-be epic “You Lust.” Coyne has been freed up to do what he does best, namely producing carefree psychedelia, but sadly, he doesn’t deliver. Constricted by overly affected production, the songs manage to take long and winding journeys without really leading anywhere.

Contact Erik Weiner at eweiner@dailycal.org.

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Republic Records/Courtesy

James Blake has always been somewhat of a musical dichotomy. Since his debut release nearly four years ago, Blake has been carefully straddling the line between the UK post-dubstep scene and his own pop music leanings, a feat evidenced by arguably his most popular single to date, the wobbly, earth-shaking remake of Feist’s “Limit To Your Love.” With his second full-length album, Overgrown, the English phenom combines his innate soul sensibility and his origins in downtempo production for a result that is both more organic and cohesive than his 2011 self-titled debut LP but lacks its abstract intrigue.

Blake’s trademark crooning carries the first three songs on the album, a beautiful and stunning run of tracks that meticulously navigates emotional peaks and troughs. The title track builds to a supremely satisfying sweeping synth finish. The follow-up “I Am Sold” delicately plays with the line, “Speculate how we feel,” warping it with vocal filters to great effect. “Life Round Here” makes sonic references to Aaliyah’s smooth R&B melodies.

Then, out of nowhere, Blake is abruptly interrupted by RZA on the dark hip-hop backdrop of “Take A Fall For Me,” an awkward break in the album’s flow but an interesting one nonetheless. Some will see the inclusion of the Wu-Tang legend as a mark of the singer’s rising stock; others will see it as a serious misstep in an otherwise solid set of tracks. Either way, the anomaly is quickly forgotten among the likes of lead singles and synth masterpieces “Retrograde” and “Digital Lion,” the latter of which features the much more welcome inclusion of ambient music forefather Brian Eno.

The album is a moving, sometimes surprisingly aggressive and exciting experience (the repeated refrain of “Voyeur” eventually becomes a dubby club banger). Yet, for all of its merits, the oddly unique production style of his debut is mostly absent. The choice to move toward a more unified R&B sound is an honorable one, but like watching a bird leave the nest, James Blake’s growth as an artist is bittersweet.

Contact Damian Ortellado at dortellado@dailycal.org.

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Mom + Pop Music/Courtesy

Recent articles in music publications have decried the state of indie rock, declaring that is has gone “soft” and become too “wimpy.” While these sentiments may be extreme, it’s true that indie has trended less toward the rock ‘n’ roll of Pavement or the White Stripes and more toward the ornate eccentricities of Animal Collective and Grizzly Bear.

If you agree that current indie rock has lost its edge, look no further than Wavves and their new release, Afraid of Heights. It’s snotty and abrasive, but it’s also equal parts catchy and endearing.

Wavves entered the scene with a hazy, dirty, lo-fi sound. But on Afraid of Heights, frontman Nathan Williams decided to make full use of the studio. The sound is clean and well-produced, but — luckily for us — it’s no less punchy, loud or potent.

Afraid of Heights gives us all the grungy guitar riffs and self-loathing lyrics of Nirvana but with the pop songwriting sensibilities of Weezer. “Sail to the Sun” hearkens back to Wavves’ 2010 single “King of the Beach” with its relentlessly fast guitar and anthemic melody. It’s the perfect adrenaline-pumping album opener. Other highlights include “Demon to Lean On,” with its guitar sound lifted from Nirvana’s “Lithium,” and “Dog,” with its slinky bass riff and subtle xylophone accompaniment. Lyrically, Williams wallows in despair and self-hate — on “Beat Me Up,” he tells a girl, “I just want to spend some time with you” before retreating and suggesting, “Or, you can beat me up.”

Unfortunately, Afraid of Heights becomes a bit repetitive. As we pass the halfway point of the album, the songs begin to drag as they offer us recycled ideas. But then it gets back on track with the last two songs — the hard-charging “Gimme a Knife” and the acoustic, Beck-like “I Can’t Dream.”

Afraid of Heights is more than worth your time — the musical high points are incredibly high, and the emotional low points are incredibly low. Kurt Cobain would be very proud.

Contact David Bradford at dbradford@dailycal.org.
Check him out on twitter at @catchadave.

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