New York City has often been home to the freaks, and right now Geese are doing their best to establish that reputation for themselves. Having released one of 2021’s most acclaimed debut albums, they’ve abandoned their previous sonic palette in pursuit of pure experimentation. On ‘3D Country’, there are traces of the discordant post-punk they are known for, but this time far removed from any cliché of the modern genre. ‘2122’ has as much to do with Led Zeppelin or Creedence Clearwater Revival as it does Shame or Squid, and 7-minute epic ‘Undoer’ twists between a Stranglers bassline and Ramones power chords. There is nothing predictable about this album: ‘I See Myself’ is a soulful ballad that shows Cameron Winter’s voice as an underrated powerhouse, while ‘Crusades’ is a delight of Strokes meets Supergrass pop writing. For many bands, confidence means being able to be yourself uninhibited, but on ‘3D Country’ it seems to be the bravery to explore the unknown. The price of this is that the album suffers a few rough patches, but Geese have freed themselves from all expectations, which is a rare feat for a sophomore album, and worthy of high praise.
A glance at the tracklisting or the artwork for Westerman’s second album should give you a sense of whether it’s for you: esoteric, unusual shapes and words that don’t offer meaning on an initial viewing matching the tone and timbre of the songs within. Opener ‘Give’ is the benchmark, with percussion that refuses to settle on a single rhythm, played under stormy and unresolved chords. These are hallmarks of the album, as are Westerman’s rich vocal harmonies, in the vein of Fleet Foxes, which provide contrasting lightness against the brooding jazz piano and trumpets. It’s only four songs in that ‘CSI: Petralona’ provides a firmer foundation, also being barer and more intense in its instrumentation. Similarly, the Paul Simon groove of ‘A Lens Turning’ is the lightest moment on the album, and even then finishes on intrigue rather than rest. The refusal to offer any safe ground to the listener is reminiscent of how Kate Bush or Joni Mitchell would hop genres; indeed, Westerman may be less accessible than either artist, but his latest is just as notable in its ambition. ‘An Inbuilt Fault’ is an acquired taste, but well worth the effort.
Third albums are notoriously hard to execute – what balance does an artist strike between new, potentially alienating directions and wringing out the same old ideas? It’s a tightrope that LA Priest’s Sam Eastgate has managed to walk with precision on this new outing, replacing his signature synths with a style of guitar both familiar to him and unique to anything else. From the first notes of ‘On’, the woozy chords and melodies call to mind past collaborator Connan Mockasin, a fever dream of eerie calm. At a few well-placed moments, Sam breaks out concise numbers – ‘It’s You’ and ‘Neon’ both stand out – but that’s not really what this album is about. Where it breathes is in between these songs, where the guitars meander in ghostly meditations, where his voice fades away and what’s left behind is sparse and contemplative. ‘Star’ is the apex of this: in its absences are some of the deepest and most poignant moments of LA Priest’s discography. This album sometimes veers a little too close to jam-band territory, but its best ideas are transcendent displays of a fragile soul.
With just a scattering of releases so far, Prima Queen has thus far kept their cards close to their chest: vivid storytelling uniting songs that range from sparse rock to energetic country. Not much has changed on debut EP ‘Not The Baby’. ‘Back Row’ opens with beautiful harmonies over a driving backbeat, echoing Big Thief at their most insistent. By contrast, ‘Crow’ is withdrawn and vulnerable, using a broad palette of strings and trumpet to create a uniquely eerie atmosphere akin to Bon Iver. Given a project rather than a single, it seems the band are more willing to experiment with the range of their sound, although they still leave space for hook-led indie, best demonstrated on ‘Dylan’ and its cascading melodies. The joint lead vocals of Louise Macphail and Kristin McFadden are what shine throughout, and it’s only in spite of this that ‘Not The Baby’ sometimes drifts into the pedestrian. But when Prima Queen are in their stride, they have so many moments to prove they can match great songwriting with bold choices.
SBTRKT has returned after a six year absence with an album of epic proportions – 22 tracks across more than an hour. It’s also promised as his most adventurous album yet, a commentary on the music industry and social landscape heeding no sonic limits. It’s a surprise, then, when this turns out to be his slowest, emptiest record. There are good moments: ‘Demons’ has a creeping darkness to it that points at Mareaux, while ‘Days Go By’ seems more fleshed out in a Tame-Impala-meets-The-Weeknd jaunt. But these moments are rare, with most of the record dedicated either to miniature interludes that feel unfinished or anonymous slow jams that blend into one another. That social commentary is light on substance too, with many of the lyrics being trite jabs at the system. This is an album with so little to say, and so much time to say it in, that it’s hard to finish. Perhaps if it had been pared down, and freed from the expectations of a triumphant return, it could have been more of a testament to the sublime producer that SBTRKT has proven himself to be in the past.
Long-time Angel Olsen fans might be surprised by this EP, which can only be described as subdued lounge jazz. It’s a sign of her remarkable talent that she pulls this off without any hint of novelty, instead delving deeper into her trademark bittersweet songwriting. ‘Nothing’s Free’ opens proceedings with husky piano and drums, representing a strange departure from her usual dark pop guitars. Something has come over Angel’s voice too, with this outing seemingly more longing than on previous releases. She reaches Nina Simone heartache, or Elizabeth Fraser flourishes over the sparse percussion of ‘Time Bandits’, the latter demonstrating just how versatile a voice she has. Come closer ‘Holding On’, Angel gives us the closest thing to a typical song of hers, but the driving guitar never lets go of its fragility, only tantalising with occasional wisps of strings. Really, that is the secret of the EP: in its quietude, an unshakable tension builds that resists breaking into anything bigger. Perhaps a less confident artist would be tempted to finish on a grand crescendo, but Angel Olsen has made a masterful record that both requires and earns a little patience.
As her singles have suggested, Blondshell’s debut is not easy to place. Opening track ‘Veronica Mars’, with its stretchy Ellie Rowsell-like vocals and Tom Morello-style guitar solo over a grungy rock sludge, prepares you for a heaviness that never happens. Instead, it is followed by ‘Kiss City’, whose laid back vocals and lush arrangement could appear on a Japanese House song. This album is a prism and its only consistency is a dark intensity, both in music and lyrics, which Sabrina Teitelbaum frequently uses to discuss her struggle to get sober. And it’s in these intense moments where her talents lie: ‘Tarmac’ is raw and atmospheric in a way that feels effortless, an angst that few can achieve. Similarly, ‘Joiner’ offers the same driving focus that sets Phoebe Bridgers apart from the crowd. It’s a shame that the album isn’t consistently this fluid – in its weaker moments, it betrays a new artist trying to make songs with big choruses and relatable lyrics but falling short on both. It’s when Blondshell isn’t reaching so hard for something else that her vulnerability and grit shine through. If she can unearth that voice, whatever follows next will be remarkable.
James Hickey 