Records

TIMBALAND

Shock Value

Interscope

Once in a while an album comes out that redefines how wack music can actually get. Remember Q-Tip’s 2001 jazz album that never came out? Well, here’s another perfect example. Timbo is arguably the best music producer of the last ten years and the fact that he managed to reinvent pop music in 2006 ain’t too shabby either. But the guy can’t make a solo record to save his life. From Justin Timberlake misses to autotuned Pussycat Dolls disasters, from horrendous rap-rock collabs to an unexplainable Elton John intro,

Shock Value

is one atrocity after the next. And then amid all this mess you have the first single, which is totally fresh. Go figure.

BUSTA NUT

BEST ALBUM OF THE MONTH

LAVENDER DIAMOND

WORST ALBUM OF THE MONTH

WILCO

BEST COVER OF THE MONTH

OOIOO

WORST COVER OF THE MONTH

CEX

DEVIN THE DUDE

Waiting to Inhale

Rap-a-Lot

Devin the Dude records are kind of a no-brainer at this point. The guy’s not topping 2002’s

Just Tryin ta Live

anytime soon, but you’re always going to get a couple of gems here and there.

On To tha X-Treme

from a couple of years ago, you had that charming James Taylor joint. Now on

Waiting to Inhale

, there’s “What a Job”: A beautiful ballad about how fun it is to rap featuring Snoop, who’s just as funky as he is washed-up, and André 3000, who decided to rap his tuckus off again. The rest of the album is a little boring, but good-boring.

WHOADIE ALLEN

REDMAN

Red Gone Wild

Def Jam

Now this is really sad. A decent album that’s got as much of a promo push behind it as recent Def Jam efforts by, let’s see, Meth, the Roots, LL, Bleek, Young Gunnas—in other words, everybody besides Nas, ’Ye, Jeezy, and Jay. And that’s zip-zero. I don’t know what they’re trying to do in that building. Remember when

Muddy Waters

came out? Red was stylin’ on ’em. Now I just feel bad for the guy. Like, I hate to say it and I hate this catchphrase, but is hip-hop really… dead? Weezy, hurry up and drop that Kanye-produced record already, cuz the game is hurting.

DAVID DASH

DJ SOUL

Assorted Donuts: A Tribute to J Dilla

Okayplayer

We’re just going to keep big-upping Dilla until the end of time, period point blank.

BLAQUE PAK

RICH BOY / MIMS

Rich Boy

Interscope

Music Is My Savior

Capitol

Rich Boy’s “Throw Some Ds” and Mims’s “This Is Why I’m Hot” (randomly A&R’d over six months ago on the

Vice

blog—seriously, look it up) are the year’s two biggest rap jams. So what happens when those guys proceed to drop albums? Nothing.

MACHO

DJ CRAZE

Bass Sessions

Disque Primeur

Due to the alarming lack of good rap albums this year, we’re going to start reviewing a few mixtapes again. Never mind Baltimore club, baile, or juke—what the game needs now is a proper and thorough revival of the booty clap. Finally stepping away from a genre of music that’s too embarrassing to even type, Craze delivers an in-depth and authoritative Miami-bass lesson, which undoubtedly gets the Pitbull stamp of approval. Listening to this you realize the slow joints are actually the freshest.

SMUTTY RUFF

CEX

Sketchi

Temporary Residence

I have no clue what the actual music on here sounds like, but covering the back of the CD with that virtual kiddie porn that crops up when you’ve gone too far down the bunny hole of internet-jack-offing is nothing short of genius. It’s like making the entire case out of scumbag kryptonite. Maybe someone without a bloody millstone for a browser history can tell you whether or not the album is actually worthwhile—best I can recommend is handing this to each of your friends and timing how fast their faces go from pink to sheet-white to crimson.

LEROY GUMPTION

KOSHEEN

Damage

Moksha

“Electronica” sounds like such an impressive musical niche to be couched in. It definitely has a better ring to it than “We sound exactly like the Eurythmics” or “We sound like Sade singing for Front Line Assembly… aka the Eurythmics.” At the end of the day, though, who effing cares—everyone loves the Eurythmics and so it follows that everyone will love Kosheen. One hundred percent not kidding.

TINGLY TOE BUTTER

JOE BEATS

Reverse Discourse

Bully

Yes, I admit I liked that Non-Prophets album. Looking past the obnoxiously boring and obvious lyrics, the production was AH-mazing. Finally, we get to hear some simple fuck-you beats without that fat bald sissy ruining it. Then again I could probably listen to anything dark and ambient right now and I’d be into it—I just got dumped. This is good self-loathing music to hate the world to. Also, I lost the button on my coat and I miss it.

RENDEL KATLEY

DINOSAUR JR

Beyond

Fat Possum

Well, color me a cynic! I would have thought a reunion album by the reconvened Dinosaur Jr. “classic lineup” wasn’t cause for much besides practicing my “I don’t care” face, but I’ll be damned if this is not only mostly listenable but at least half-good! J Mascis (who looks disturbingly like my grandma) steady shreds on most of these jams, Lou Barlow manages to exhume his shriveled corpse of a heart for one solid number, and Murph seems to have lost some weight. I just did the math and this is the fifth-best Dinosaur Jr. album.

NAMEY MCNAMES

MACHINEFABRIEK

Slaapzucht

Root Strata

Perfect, an album of German droning noises. I was really hoping for something like this because one of my favorite pastimes is pretending to have tinnitus. I can put this on and spend the day walking around the house asking, “Hey, do you hear that? Wait… How about now?” It would be so much fun except that I live alone.

NOISE NERD NELLY

THE HORRORS

Strange House

Stolen Transmission

Fuck it, I’m backing this—music, fashion, the whole shtick. Is it too much to ask to have a little side of showmanship with our tunes nowadays? I’m not asking for everyone to revisit eight-foot liberty spikes and nut-cupping bondage pants, but I would like to be able to tell the difference between my favorite band and a camp counselor get-together. Can we please bring back the sass?

JIM RICE

GRAILS

Burning Off Impurities

Temporary Residence

This would make a great Mother’s Day present if your mom got into yoga or smoking pot after the divorce. If not, I would stick with one of those fancy baskets of gourmet apples. They’re a little more expensive but she won’t give you that why-are-you-giving-me-an-instrumental-acid-rock-CD look. Trust me, it just happened to me a few minutes ago and I felt totally awkward.

TRICKLE PANTS

EARTH

Hibernaculum

Southern Lord

Just as the world had given up on Dylan Carlson, he struck a deal with the guys at Southern Lord, came off heroin, and started recording some of the best music of his career.

Hibernaculum

is three of Carlson’s old songs redone in a spun-out cosmic country style, plus a song called “Plague of Angels” you probably know if you saw Earth play shows with Sunn 0))) a year or so back. Everyone complains about the drumming on the recent Earth stuff but I’m pretty sure it’s actually supposed to sound like she’s falling asleep at the kit.

OLI TAPISTONUS

DUNGEN

Tio Bitar

Kemado

Damn good elfrock here, and versatile, too—suitable for pleasant afternoon orgies in the dappled sunlight of a wooded grove, the occasional occult ritual, or for sitting around playing Final Fantasy. Makes you wanna sip dandelion wine and ask your girlfriend to let her armpit hair grow. Not a bad vibe at all. The world needs more stomping hippie fuzz like this.

GANDALF JOHANSEN

CLUTCH

From Beale Street to Oblivion

DRT

Hang on, aren’t these guys supposed to be some sort of sludge legends or mainstays or whatever? Why does this sound like Lenny Kravitz sitting in on Blues Tuesday at the Dirty Bird with my Uncle Millard and a Dom DeLuise look-alike wearing sunglasses on bass?

TAD REFRENSKI

THE LOCUST

New Erections

Anti

The thing with making yourself a ridiculous cartoon of a band and taking every aspect of the scene you’re from—in this case the aggro-cum-sissy speed, violence, and vanity of late 90s grind-/spazzcore—and pushing it to the point of caricature is that it can only really last as long as the scene does (see, for example, Thor). The second you pass that point, it’s like the demon you bargained with waves his magic staff a second time and you revert from a pack of scary, manic dynamos to four pudgy guys in bug costumes playing in front of an empty audience with your instruments unplugged (even the drums somehow). The spell is broken, is what I’m saying. It may not seem fair, but it’s the circle of life, and adding all the “version 9.9.9”s in the world to your name ain’t gonna do nothing to stop it.

OIL CAN BOYD

VOXTROT

s/t

Beggars

If you spend most of your days riding a unicorn into the enchanted forest to ask very polite questions to baby deer about the meaning of rainbows, you might want to steer clear of this one—little pussy-ish for your tastes.

WADE BOGGS

LAVENDER DIAMOND

Imagine Our Love

Matador

That “You Broke My Heart” song was amazing the first kajillion times I heard it. I’m just a smidge over it now so I’m glad to have a whole new bunch of pretty prettiness to make my heart sing. Careful though: If your head’s not in a totally calm place, Becky Stark’s sometimes glass-shattering voice might be the last thing you hear before they find you walking the railroad tracks three states over carrying an oilcan filled with something frightening.

TRIPP JONES

BRAKES

The Beatific Visions

Rough Trade

Self-described “country-punk” translates to me as “yawn fart” since neither “country” nor “punk” are terms that hold any meaning whatsoever in 2007. That said, this is surprisingly not shitty. My initial impression is that Brakes’ music is earnest without any of the bashful indie-rock chicanery I was braced for. Assuming I am right and they are not total dicks, I’m going to allow myself to like this.

COWBOY CRUSTY

PAGE FRANCE

…And the Family Telephone

Suicide Squeeze

I don’t know when I would listen to this. It sounds like a frog dishing about all his best friends at a party where he was invited partly because he is a nice guy and everyone wanted to see him, but also because they were kinda hoping he’d talk shit. It’s silly and whimsical, with no more staying power than the Moldy Peaches. But, aw, it’s endearing.

LOU WEED

PAUL DUNCAN

Above the Trees

Hometapes

If you like your Nick Drake 40 years late and with a dollop of boring mixed in, then run, do not walk, to your local nouveau-folk purveyor and snatch up this violin-sodden masterpiece. Here’s a quote from the genius himself: “I make music to appease the devil in me. He never sleeps.” (Without a drop of irony. Not one.)

MUJAHID QUEBEC

LOVEDRUG

Everything Starts Where It Ends

The Militia Group

A sampling of the poetry included in the very colorful book found in the intricately decorated, de-embossed cardboard CD case: “If you are the cloud, then I am the snow/ If you are the rain, then I will not grow.” Yikes. The singer gets so carried away with himself, he keeps yelling “Yeah!” any time the music gets intense. There’s also a lot of falsetto, then growling at the height of a song, whenever he has to hold a note. Like in Christian rock.

BRUNO RETURNS

WILCO

Sky Blue Sky

Nonesuch

Hey, everyone who likes this band: Fuck you. You might as well listen to the Eagles. You also might as well sterilize yourselves, because if you have kids they are guaranteed to be assholes too. Sure, that might seem drastic but is it worth the uncomfortable phone call in 20 years to tell me I was right? Spare yourself the trouble and get it over with now. It’s what your parents should have done.

ARTIE PHILIE

THE CLENTELE

God Save the Clientele

Merge

When I write screenplays, I like to start with the soundtrack and work from there. Like that genius, Sofia Coppola. In accordance with God Save the Clientele, my movie would go like this: The protagonist, Jake, is having some bad luck. He has to go home and visit his dysfunctional family, who have lived in the same small town their whole lives. While in Riverton, Jake reconnects with Tracy, with whom he shared an unspoken romance in high school. She’s a waitress. And it’s Christmas!

ARMY MANN

AU REVOIR SIMONE

The Bird of Music

Our Secret Record Company

Does anyone else hear the Cranberries in this? Eh, pretty vocals either way. Just OK enough to squeak out of the coffeehouse. But they are very pretty and on the back of the record there is a cool photo of them in their underwear near a pool, like they’re about to go skinny-dipping together, which I’m sure they do all the time.

L. ROB & SON

PEEL

s/t

Peek-a-Boo Industries

You can’t go wrong with a bunch of jolly honkies from Austin who play pop songs with fuzzy keyboards. I bet they love sharing strawberry milkshakes at the local soda fountain and “being good.” It’s like Stephen Malkmus and Belle & Sebastian adopted a litter of wiry, freckle-faced redheads and, instead of receiving severe beatings for the rest of their lives, the kids were taught how to play indie 90s tunes that don’t make you feel gay for listening to them.

LAMAR LIVINGSTON

OOIOO

Eye Remix EP

Thrill Jockey

Eye Yamatsuka remixed two songs off OOIOO’s last album and guess what? It is a sumptuous feast of roast pork loins for the ears. It is a group hug from 50 baby pandas while a marmoset French-braids your hair. There are more good vibes in the 20 minutes of this EP than in an entire army of bearded grade-school art teachers driving their beat-up old trucks down to the recycling bin. So recommended, you don’t even know.

MEG SNEED

KNIVES OV RESISTANCE

Prisca Sapientia

Aurora Borealis

Soundscapes are bullshit—white noise to be listened to on an airplane when you want to read in peace but need something to focus on besides the baby crying a few aisles away. Knives, however, does its best to dig fingernails into your brain’s outer layers as well as provide a canvas upon which one can vividly depict a screeching child being devoured by worms. Or, you know, whatever else you’re into.

SHORT EYES

GANG GANG DANCE

Retina Riddim CD + DVD

The Social Registry

We love these guys. Everything they do has an air of “wow, totally” to it. Brian Degraw has made a hypnotizing piece of video art here, splicing bits and pieces of weird moments, pretty nature stuff, performance footage, home movies, kaleidoscopes, and funny bits into a visual and audio collage of nonheavy radicalness. It’s what you call trippy. I think I watched the whole thing without blinking once. I feel bathed in a glow of sorts.

MEG SNEED