Records

JIM KREWSON

THE BLACK SWANS

HEALTH

GRIZZLY BEAR

Back in 2002, when Vice was basically an electroclash publication, I remember people walking around with t-shirts that said “Rap Sucks.” And I used to get really annoyed, cuz I was like, “What are you, kidding? 50 Cent’s ‘In Da Club’ just came out!” Well, guess what? The prophecy came true. There are literally three rap albums worth listening to this year, and Twista’s

Adrenaline Rush 2007

isn’t one of them…

BUSTA NUT

FABOLOUS

From Nothin’ to Somethin’

Def Jam

This came out a few months ago, but I just realized something: Fabolous is, like, the best rapper out. You think I’m joking? The dude is the most lyrical, radio-friendly, 14-year-old-chick-compatible rapper out. He’s like Ma$e but with crazy rhyme patterns. But you don’t notice because you think he just sounds like Ma$e. Except that he’s the best rapper out. I ain’t joking. Did I say that already?

MACHO

…Nor is this thing, for that matter. Although “I got my drink and my two-step” is a terrific joint. But that’s because of Swizzy. Swizzy’s great. You should cop his record, cuz that’s gonna go down as the most underrated album of the year.

The Barry Adrien Reese Story?

Not so much.

BUSTA NUT

HAVOC

The Kush

Nature Sounds

You got to love Hav. First, he’s a midget. Second, his older brother—rest in peace—was the biggest badass Queensbridge has ever seen. Third, his last name is Muchita. I mean, the list goes on. But most importantly, he’s got beats. And he’s had beats for years. I’d say he’s probably one of the most slept-on producers in this rap game, along with Q-Tip. Did you know that Q-Tip did all those Tribe beats? No Ali Shaheed, just Tip. But I digress. Hav systematically gets love in these pages, even with a so-so album.

WHOADIE ALLEN

This is still too good to shrug off, but I’m starting to understand what all those middle school teachers meant by “testing my patience.” Is it too much to ask for, I don’t know, some new songs instead of yet another EP of remixes? This one’s even got three Grizzly Bear covers by CSS and Band of Horses and the skinny guy from Deerhunter. Does that even count?

KELRON CHUBBARD

The musical version of the eternal head-slapper “HOLY SHIT, this smells awful! Dude, smell this—it’s fucking rank!” This is dance music made by Canadians.

I mean, what were you expecting?

THE PEET

When I think about how I used to hate Bruce solely because my dad liked him, I seriously understand why parents beat their kids. I vividly remember turning my Discman to 10 to drown out

Nebraska

on long rides to the shore (with what? NOFX, most likely. Jesus Christ). It wasn’t until college, living on my own and stumbling across a box of Springsteen vinyl at a stoop sale, that I was able to give it a fair shot—because I had “found it” on my own, I’m sure. Jesus, how obnoxious is that? Fuck kids. Anyway, at a time now when so many once-great musicians are tarnishing their legacies with ill-fated reunion tours and half-baked comeback attempts, it’s nice to see one who never left continuing to build his.

Magic

is a classic Springsteen record: timeless and smart and energizing. The nostalgically unironic fist-in-the-air rock vibe of

Born to Run

-era recordings has morphed into more understated anthems, driven by a thicker guitar tone and an E Street Band comfortable with picking their spots. Let’s hope old people hate it so the kids don’t have to wait as long as I did to appreciate one of the greatest American songwriters of our time.

ANNE DOOFAY

THE BLACK SWANS

Change!

La Société Expéditionnaire

I envision this band’s shows as being filled with men who wear sandals and women who love armpit hair. At least one of the musicians is 99.9 percent guaranteed to have retardedly overgrown sideburns at any given time, and while they quietly mumble and fiddle through the songs, every douchebag fan nods in feigned understanding while sipping Pabst and thinking about watching TV. If you can’t pass a bum without handing it some change (or maybe even a dollar if it happens to be holding a guitar or banging on a bucket), go listen to this while you jerk off to what a great person you are.

DICK LESION

WITCHCRAFT

The Alchemist

Candlelight

The next time one of these tiresome third-tier bar-rock bands travels back to the 70s to gather up a basket of influences, I hope they have unprotected sex and come back with AIDS (or GRIDS, as it was called then). Then they can slowly wither and die in their dumb fur-collared suede coats and paisley pants, and in the name of preserving the overall sense of authenticity, everyone will ignore and ostracize them. See also: Wolfmother, Rye Coalition, Monster Magnet. Pariahs, each and every one.

CHANTILLY LICE

CITAY

Little Kingdom

Dead Oceans

I’m sorry, but I just don’t have time for shit like this. Overly lush, psych-tinged tunes that don’t take many risks but do take entirely too long to develop. Then again, you’re a person who has time to read record reviews, so maybe you do.

DWIGHT STRAWBERRY

JAPANTHER

Skuffed Up My Huffy

Exo

This third, fourth, or fifth album by the willfully confusing Japanther should completely hush all lazy sonic allusions to the improv, noise, or “outsider” (whatever the fuck any of those mean anymore) scenes, as it screams “Quirky pop! Quirky pop!” from start to finish. Within the context of Japanther’s discography, this is Top 40, but it’s still weird enough to keep it off indie-rock satellite radio, where you’ll never hear a song as catchy as “Mornings” anyway.

ANDREW EARLES

Finally, a band that can reference the classic 80s Boston hardcore aesthetic (even though they are from Virginia, but, um, anyway) without seeming beholden to its every nuance and going through the retro-thrash motions just to fit in. Play this record ten years from now and it will still make you want to smash yourself into people, things, exposed brick, whatever. And since none of us will be able to afford homes in 2017, that will probably seem like the most sensible thing to do. The subprime mortgage market: reinvigorating punk rock for future generations.

THANKS DAD

XASTHUR

Defective Epitaph

Hydra Head

Dear cheerless fuck: Thanks for making this record. It has been a succinctly life-ruining experience for everyone involved and a perfect antidote to the human race. I hope you are unhappy with yourself and continue to desecrate the very idea of music with your hateful melodies and desolate soundscapes. Whenever I hear your icy howls during “Oration of Ruin” I swear that I shall curse your name aloud. PS: Mom says hi and did you get the socks she sent?

MORTIIS MCFLY

NEIL YOUNG

Chrome Dreams II

Reprise

If you (like me) were expecting a long-overdue follow-up to

Trans

—Ol’ Shakey’s 1983 electronic album on which he robotized his voice in an attempt to communicate with his autistic son—I’ve got some bad news. I just did a quick scan of the album, and while it seems like there’s plenty of maudlin bluebird-on-the-hood-of-my-Ford shit, none of it appears to have been sung through a vocoder or even accompanied by a keyboard. Sorry. It’d at least be a decent consolation if it were hilariously bombastic like that “Kill Osama” album from a few years ago, but it’s not that either.

DENNIS SNORE

UNGDOMSKULE

Cry-Baby

Ever

I guess if you live in freezing-cold Norway where every girl is at least a 9 and you can go to the doctor for free, logic kind of folds in on itself and every bad idea seems like a stroke of mad genius. So when some guy wants to write a record that explores how the Moody Blues would sound with a urinary-tract infection, everyone around him nods excitedly and starts plugging in their equipment. Meanwhile, back on earth, this comes in the mail and we start to wonder how these people have survived for thousands of years, and if we should allow them to continue to do so.

FIN FANG FOOM

WOODEN SHJIPS

S/T

Holy Mountain

Not into a hammy Doors rip-off band with ten seconds of echo on all the vocals? Um, call me back after another couple pitchers and then we’ll talk. I doubt the staying power of these jams is going to carry the Shjips past the point where anybody’ll figure out how to pronounce their name, but for a bearded, 40-year-old-looking San Franciscan, we can all agree there are far gayer things he could be doing with his time.

THOMAS MORTON

WOODEN SHJIPS

S/T

Holy Mountain

Fuck you, Thomas, and fuck the Wooden Shu-jips, or however you pronounce their stupid nu-jame. The echo effect is ridiculous-ous-ous-ous-ous and who the hell wants to rip off the corniest band in the world? Hey, I think that Doors cover band the Soft Parade is playing next week at Kenny’s Castaways. Wanna go scope that out? Didn’t think so, ya hypocrite.

AMY KELLNER

Here’s what I want from music: More nouns. Less whining about love and mumbling meaningless nonsense about nothing and more lyrics about lesbian communes and bowlegged strippers and deranged old ladies named Dinah. What I love about Jim’s songs, besides the lovely guitar playing and familiar old-timey and sometimes cartoonish tunes, are the stories he tells, which are so full of vivid, tragicomic imagery they’re basically short stories set to music. It wouldn’t be an issue of Vice if we didn’t slobber over how much we love Jim Krewson’s art or music or whatever he decides to do when he gets up in the morning, so there you go. Jim! Jim! Jim!

MEG SNEED

SIX ORGANS OF ADMITTANCE

Shelter From the Ash

Drag City

Here’s a shocker—another really good, really morose album from Ben Chasny and whoever he’s been hanging out with lately. This one’s a lot more song-y and quiet-seeming than the last couple albums, but I think that might just be a ploy to get your head nice and close to the speakers for the few and sudden guitar weird-outs.

MINTZY CHALLSWORTH

VASHTI BUNYAN

Some Things Just Stick in Your Mind: Singles and Demos 1964-1967

DiCristina

Before Vashti became the quintessential whispery hippie godmother who sings so quietly that they have to turn the mic up reeeeeally high so it sounds like she’s gently lapping milk directly out of your ear cavity (ew ew ew), she did a brief stint as a 60s chamber-pop singer and recorded one kickass tambourine frenzy of a song called “The Coldest Night of the Year” with vocal duo Twice as Much. Sadly, soon afterwards, she fell in with Donovan and the Incredible String Band and went to live on a commune where she could ride around in horse-drawn carriages and sing in the meekest, most barely alive voice ever recorded… Did you know that sometimes before he plays, Devendra Banhart will write Vashti Bunyan’s name on his arm? These people and their cultivations.

MARY MCPANTS

MIKE BONES

The Sky Behind the Sea

The Social Registry

We did a huge gushing interview with Bones two issues ago, and now that his debut album is officially coming out we’d just like to summarize it for you again: Respected New York guitar shredder surprises all by trading in hot licks for a more understated, moody Leonard Cohen vibe, and we love it. Gush, gush, gush. There, now you’re all caught up.

DINK DOINK

At 4 PM on a cloudy afternoon in my office, this is passable banjo strumming at best. However, if I had precisely six beers and three whiskey shots in me and walked into a bar where these guys were playing, I could easily see them being my favorite band. So, using a new technique called Predictive Reviewing, this gets a smiley guy.

DARRYL GOODEN

JANA HUNTER

Carrion EP

Gnomonsong

Holy shit, it sounds like a 60-year-old lady whispering into a pay phone, but in reality it’s a cute 20-something girl with a press kit! Wow, who would have guessed that the affectation of willful obscurity would be the next hot trend in minimalist faux-folk. I’m so enchanted by this breathtakingly bold new musical plateau that I might just go take a dump and then sit there in my own stink. Because apparently that’s something people do.

SASSY CUPCAKES

WHITE MAGIC

Dark Stars EP

Drag City

See, take White Magic. I love Mira Billotte’s voice because it’s not high and it’s not whispery. It is a strong, somewhat deadpan voice, and it goes to show all these hippie chicks that you don’t have to be a fragile little flower to be “mystical” or whatever you call that vibe that all these nu-folkies are going for. Surprisingly, the last song features Doug Shaw speak-singing for the first time, and it’s great! His high notes are even higher than hers and together they rise like beautiful, pillowy steam from the corpses of a thousand shitty freak-folk bands. Hahaha, sorry, good music makes me corny.

MARY MCPANTS

NICK DRAKE

Fruit Tree

UME/Fontana

Um, I already have these albums. Nick Drake only recorded three albums, the last of which was over 30 years ago. Then he died and it was sad. Now every few years they unearth some shitty cassette of him farting into a tape recorder and they release an elaborate new box set and the world rejoices! Oh wait, this one doesn’t even have any demos or outtakes. It just has a 108-page booklet of “song analysis” (hahaha) and a DVD of a documentary where you learn very little about a man about whom very little is known. Thanks.

RANDY MEEKER

LA-based Health make extremely pleasant noise music. How can such a thing be, you ask? I don’t know, really. I’ll take a stab at it. First, the drums are insane. They are right there in your face going, “Hey, remember drums? You forgot that drums are magical, didn’t you? Ha!” Then there are well-timed shrieks and chanting and buildups and moments of respite and dancey moments and then it all goes “WAAGH!” again. What is it with the all the great LA bands lately? Who knew that LA stood for Land of Awesome? (We thought it was Leathery Assfaces.)

JOJO MAHONEY

MOUTHUS

Saw a Halo

Load

I was just on a flight this weekend, and you know how they play a bunch of advertisements and shitty music over the PA during take-off these days instead of letting you freak out in peace? Well they were doing that, and all of sudden, right after some loud spot for Outback Steakhouse, they started playing the new Mouthus. Or at least I thought it was the new Mouthus, but then I realized the 20-year-old loudspeaker had just finally shit the bed and was ridiculously trying to fuzz its way through some John Mayer song. Man, I love these guys.

BUSTER GAYNE

David Cotner (see

Mail

) is the world’s foremost expert on experimental, conceptual, and all-around-obscure weirdo-art-noise music (probably). I can’t begin to wonder where he gets all this stuff, but here he has curated a 25-song CD and accompanying booklet filled with “songs” you’ve never heard of, by bands you’ve never heard of, and it is some seriously fascinating and odd stuff. The funniest-named bands are Dissonant Elephant, Ecclesiastical Scaffolding, the Mystical Unionists (which is actually Becky Stark from Lavender Diamond), and Lovely Midget. The ones you might’ve heard of if you frequent places like Other Music are, um… maybe Karlheinz Stockhausen and Faust? Faust are actually the most normal, rock-y guys here. There’s also a piece by the drummer of Napalm Death that contains no drums (and not much of anything else, actually) and a pretty piano piece by Lee Ranaldo overlaid with recordings from Japanese subway-station announcements. Oh, and a sound piece by artist Michael Prime that consists of “live bioactivity sounds of shiitake mushrooms triggered by movements of people in the room.” If you’re bored of normal music (and who isn’t?), this will make you not bored. You might even begin to consider that music has the possibility of meaning something new. Can you imagine?

KELLY AMES