2020 Album Preview Series Part 4: To Vet During the Threat

Previews of upcoming 2020 listening, including: Field Music – Making a New World (2020) DIIV – Deceiver (2019) Craig Armstrong- The Incredible Hulk Original Score (2008) Deerhoof – The Runner’s Four (2005) The Aristocrats – You Know What…? (2019) Shana Cleveland – Night of the Worm Moon (2019)


Relevant Links
Previous review of Field Music’s Plumb Previous review of My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless
Introduction to the Superhero Theme Project
Recalling a cold night with Deerhoof The 2020 Playlist grows:

Letting Up Despite Great Faults and the Emerging Synthgaze

It was the second morning of my CrossFit level-1 certification program, and I was feeling pretty euphoric. I had gotten up early, eaten a well-rounded paleo-zone breakfast, and studied my materials while listening to the Asian shoegaze compilation Half Dreaming. Stepping out of my hotel room, I was experiencing gratitude for the life I have, as well as the obstacles that were in my way that grant me the perspective to appreciate my good fortune. I was even thankful for the questionable cup of freshly brewed hotel coffee I balanced in my hand as I juggled my bags and keys.

Untogether, an album by a band called Letting Up Despite Great Faults, was in the CD player. This was a conscious, deliberate decision that I had prearranged the evening before. It seemed a fitting soundtrack for the weekend, because after all, the album was in my hands entirely due to CrossFit.

Activities like aikido and CrossFit are good for introverted people who like to be social (people like me!). In the dojo or at the box, a person’s identity in the “real world” matters less than what they bring inside. It’s possible to get to know people in these environments without really knowing much about them. In the course of my training, I discovered that a fellow CrossFitter in my box plays keyboards and sings for Letting Up Despite Great Faults. She was kind enough to give me a copy of Untogether, and I immediately put it into rotation.  Here's a "fan video" of sorts for the lead track, Visions.



In the weeks prior to my cert, I had already developed a strong appreciation for the way that Untogether buys into the romance of late 80s synth-pop with its conspicuous use of analog synth and gated drum sounds. The breathy delivery of the vocals and their transparent placement in the mix, however, is sullen and isolated in a way that is clearly reminiscent of My Bloody Valentine. I had heard a similar juxtaposition on M83’s masterful tribute to 80s nostalgia Saturdays=Youth, but Letting Up Despite Great Faults differentiates themselves by steering clear of grandiose cosmology. Instead, their overall sound is noticeably more reserved, engaging the more intimate potentials of an emerging “synthgaze” style.



On this specific occasion, however, I had an Indonesian contribution to Half Dreaming, a track called Unperfect Sky, still ringing in my ears from the hotel room.  Unlike many artists on that collection, Elemental Gaze prominently features keyboards.



Distracted as I was by exciting visions of perfect air squats and push presses, when Untogether burst forth from the stereo I thought that, for a fleeting instant, Half-Dreaming had somehow transported into my car. The impression was conveyed in nothing more than a momentary wall of timbre and passed at once, but it was visceral.

The roots of shoegaze extend beyond My Bloody Valentine, and although guitar effects were prominent in many of the bands that wore this moniker, many employed synthesizers, as well.  Despite coming from opposite sides of the planet, the timbral relationship between these particular bands is a reflection of a common interest in the potentials in their shared heritage.  Contemporary synthgaze projects like Letting Up Despite Great Faults seem to explore a parallel reality in which alternative music wasn’t overrun by Nirvana and, subsequently, grunge. Untogether is an appealing excursion into these potentials, and on that particular Sunday morning, it brought the prospects of the day ahead brimming to the surface of my awareness. 

The Peaceful Haze of "Half Dreaming"

I moved back to Austin in the summer of 2009 to an apartment complex that I now remember as idyllic. It was very clean and well-kept, our neighbors were mostly pretty realistic and mature, and my new wife felt safe enough to walk to the gym in the morning dark. It was quite perfect for us at the time, and it represented the promise of the new life we had begun to lead in Austin. Additionally, I was finishing my Master’s thesis in ethnomusicology, and I was riding a wave of academic momentum. As I began to break free of the constraints of my study, I focused that energy on the study of Asian music. I took Japanese language lessons the following summer and studied the shakuhachi as an investment in my potential future as an ethnomusicological scholar.

A few months after that move, Mew’s album No More Stories are Told Today…… was released, which subsequently reignited my interest in the shoegaze bands that they cite as influences. I was already giving My Bloody Valentine a second run, but they had me banging my head against the wall. I could sense that Loveless had more going on than I understood, but I was still looking in the wrong places. I thought I would branch out, and, inspired by my increasing interest in Japanese music and a couple of great experiences with global pop compilations, I discovered Half-Dreaming, a collection of Asian shoegaze and dream-pop.

Considering what I had learned about global popular music, and contemporary Japanese music in particular, I should not have been surprised that Half Dreaming bears very few obvious markers of Asianness. If you are looking for a localized twist on shoegaze, this will probably be disappointing. Asian popular culture, however, has historically been very adept at consuming and repurposing cultural material. Viewed in this fashion, Half Dreaming is an engaging (if somewhat inconsistent) representation of a contemporary Asian style that emerged through the appropriation of a relatively small British scene.

Now I must confess that my experience and knowledge of shoegaze styles is quite blinkered. It was only this year that I finally began to see the fragile beauty of Loveless, so I am hardly an expert. My newfound appreciation for that landmark album, however, prompted me to revisit Half Dreaming.

Distorted, reverbed guitars are often foregrounded on the album, smothering the vocals in a dense fog. Of course, emphasizing effects pedals over vocals in this fashion was a trademark practice of My Bloody Valentine. Their innovation, however, was their ability to preserve a sense of melody without actually emphasizing the melodic material, creating a sublimely amorphous wash of fuzz with just a hint of singability. A few artists on Half Dreaming cover up the vocals by simply drowning them in the mix, which I think misses the point. There are several cases, however, that are able to capture this delicate, inverted balance.



The wall of sound that is associated with shoegazey music can detach the text from the listener, but it also harbors the potential to liberate as its hazy boundaries spill over and beyond the artists’ desire to subjugate it to their narrative. There are a few tracks, however, that apply this unique aesthetic to a more song-based approach, resulting in a compelling reinterpretation of 60s psudeo-psychedelia.



These tracks were the ones I more readily connected with back when I first got Half Dreaming, and now bring to mind otherworldly recollections of the white limestone walls and immaculate landscaping of that apartment complex.  Armed with a new perspective, however, my recent revisit to the collection has been more unilaterally gratifying.  

My Bloody Valentine's "Loveless"and B-Rate Horrors

The primary agenda of Horror Remix is to take stereotypically clichéd B-rate horror movies and edit them down to just the kills and pertinent dialogue, but it also often features music and video mashups. I have discovered several great bands through Horror Remix shows, not the least of which is M83.  A few years ago, I had the privilege of attending a Halloween party that also doubled as a private screening. It was here that I first took notice of My Bloody Valentine when the Best Man commented on the similarities in their sound to Mew, one of many bands that openly cite them as an influence. 


When I finally picked up Loveless a few years later in 2009, however, I just couldn’t get it to click. The vocals seemed too buried and out-of-balance to hold my attention. Still, Loveless held some fascination with me because ever since then, the album has been caught in a loose, elliptical orbit in my player, showing up once every few months.

Recently, I came across a review that reframed the overall statement and subsequent influence of Loveless in my mind. So, on a pleasant afternoon during spring break, the Little One and I went for a walk on a trail behind our apartment and I decided to again try to give it a focused listen, this time on headphones

Considering the context for Loveless is imperative. It came out in 1991 when I was a freshman at UNT. In the summer of that year, I had a job at the Hasting’s in Barton Creek mall. Nirvana would not break for a few more years, but there was a feeling that the sound of the 90s was yet to be defined.  During this gig, I was opening my ears to Public Enemy’s complex sampling approach and the possibility that Nine Inch Nails was more than just a dance band.  Generally, though, I was still predisposed to the technical and conceptual prowess of progressive rock.  I was certainly not in a place where I could decode My Bloody Valentine's innovations.

In retrospect, there wasn't anything else that sounded like Loveless.  It represents an entirely different concept of balance than I would have accepted back then.  Despite the overall “loudness” of the album, the voice’s placement in its opaque wall of sound is actually quite fragile. The vocals are immediately perceptible, but the details of timbre paradoxically blend in with, and are swallowed up by, the surrounding environment. Like a fish swimming under the icy surface of a frozen lake, they are intentionally submerged in a unique, delicate world just below the surface.


Headset listening is often a disorienting experience. Wearing Loveless as a halo of distortion as I walked a trail devoid of human presence jarringly inverted the ratio of sound to silence. The album’s impenetrable guitar sheen gave me the sensation that I was beset from all sides. As the trees choked out the sky, I began to feel a slightly paranoid (and protective of the Little One) about whatever clichéd B-rate horror movie monster might be lurking in the bushes.

Flip Sides: "The King of Limbs" and Philip Selway

No one can fault Radiohead for maintaining their fierce musical independence.  Sometimes, they seem to put out albums specifically to challenge their fans.  Of course, we (their fans) would not be so fiercely loyal if OK Computer had been The Bends part 2.  By the time Amnesiac rolled through, I felt that their sonic experimentation had begun to cloud their accessibility, and I began to fear that they had jumped the shark.  It was difficult for me to exchange the incredible songs they delivered on their early albums for their increasingly Brian Eno-esque soundscaping.

On 2008's In Rainbows, the band seemed to emerge from experimentalism to an extent and returned to playing their instruments in a live setting.  Of course, having done that, and being Radiohead, they would have little reason to do it again.  The King of Limbs again sees the group delving into electronic territory, but I think that it is distinct from earlier efforts simply because what is sonically accepted as “electronic” has changed in the past five to ten years.

Clearly, The King of Limbs is a bit of a throwback to their more conceptually dense and esoteric recordings, but I have been far more open to it than I was to Amnesiac.  In fact, I find it quite fascinating.  Songwriting is not totally abandoned on The King of Limbs: songs still lie at the core of every track.  The way the band accompanies these songs, however, is profoundly different than they have done in the past.  The clear-cut use of guitar riffs and drumset that is found in their more accessible work is replaced on The King of Limbs by a timbrally fantastic environment in which loops cast a hypnotic veil over song structure and whooshes of white noise have the same aesthetic value as pitched notes.  Thom Yorke sometimes contributes echoing layers of vocal sound, but never allows his lavender crooning to stray too far from its role as an expressive vehicle.  Simultaneously, bassist Colin Greenwood (who has long been Radiohead’s secret weapon) consistently provides melodic interest that is decidedly organic.

Each Radiohead album is probably best taken as a standalone project and accepted on its own merits, but any fan of the band will most likely have their favorites and where there are favorites, there are comparisons made to these favorites.  When the band is experimenting, some fans wish for The Bends, and when they focus on their accessible side, things are never as good as they were when Kid A was released.  The King of Limbs will, at the very least, take several listens before offering something to grab onto.  For fans of their more straight-ahead work, however, there is a solution that comes from within the ranks of the band itself.

Last year, Radiohead’s drummer Philip Selway released an album of acoustic-ish songs called Familial.  Superficially, it seems like an acoustic guitar album….in other words, pretty much the exact opposite of The King of Limbs.  Despite being somewhat stylistically distant from this recent Radiohead odyssey, Familial succeeds admirably in many regards in what it sets out to do.

Selway has an obvious comfort with songwriter-style guitar that more pedigreed guitarists would envy.  Aside from this technical aspect of Familial, though, there is a fascinating production depth that challenges its superficial simplicity.  Subtle whispers, strings, and alien keyboard sounds enliven Selway’s breathy delivery throughout the entire recording.  These ornamentations are not necessary to the songs, but are integral to the experience.  As a result, Familial seems to capture a mood that might seem familiar to fans of Radiohead's early atmospheric work.

It stands to reason that Selway could make a compelling solo album.  When you have been mentored by Neil Finn, collaborate with members of Wilco, and um, are freaking in Radiohead, it seems that doing a solo album with idiosyncratic songwriting and production depth would be more than possible.  What is really impressive about Familial is not that Selway plays guitar so well, or that his voice has such character, or even that he writes such compelling songs.  What really blows my mind is that, according to interviews, when he started on the album, he “was not even sure if he could sing.”  Considering the results on Familial, I find his humility and gratitude for its success to be refreshing.

The Beginner's Guide to Mew

Some people who I know love music feel like they are in a bit of a rut when it comes to keeping abreast of current music releases.  When finding music becomes your responsibility, where do you start?   Undoubtedly, there is great music out there, but it never seems to compare to the beloved soundtrack of yesteryear – particularly that of the teenage years.  Many of us cling to the music that is attached to that time of our lives.  Even in the event we do find something new, we find we prefer it because it is reminiscent of something that is already in the realms of our already fossilized tastes.

One band that seems to have broken into that upper echelon of artists for me over the past five or six years is the Danish band Mew.  They look forward and back in a compelling way that fits well in my musical conception.  I got into them in around 2006, and I rank them up there with Hall & Oates, Tears for Fears, Rush, and King Crimson(My elementary, middle school, high school, and college favorites, respectively).  Their work is consistently epic, melancholy, aggressive, and thought-provoking, and if their YouTube clips are any indication, they are a great live band, as well (which I think is important, but the irony of using YouTube as a measure of this is not lost on me).  If you are looking for new music that may not be mainstream, you could do a lot worse than to at least check them out.  This post is meant to provide a framework for getting into Mew’s oeuvre. 

A quick note before I continue: the “album” is my unit of musical consumption.  I don’t listen to singles, and I don’t use playlists.  I buy CDs and rip them for soft use, but I mostly use the six-CD changer in my Scion XA for listening purposes.  I keep liner notes around in case I need to refer to them.  I understand that some of my more technologically snooty friends scoff at such affectations, but all I have to say to that is – you are being technologically snooty, not to mention elitist.  I connect with my music, and it does not really matter if its part of some amorphous cloud of streaming information or an 8-track, does it?  

That being said, Mew has three “albums” that I suggest.  My introduction to the band was “…And the Glass Handed Kites,” released in 2006. I wrote an Amazon review of that one that I still stand by, so check that out for a more in-depth look.  For now, let’s just say that I listened to “…And the Glass Handed Kites” nearly every day for a long time, and after several months I feared I would burn it out.  I purposely stopped listening to it, and to fill the gap I purchased its predecessor, “Frengers.”  Usually, when I get into a new band, I favor the album that serves as an introduction, but “Frengers” confounds this tendency.

“Frengers” is a little more digestible than “…And the Glass Handed Kites.”  Whereas the latter is a bit more conceptual and complex, the former is a consistent set of free-standing songs.  There were tunes that I initially gravitated toward, the first of which, “156,” is still my representative single of choice as an introduction to Mew.  It showcases their atmospheric side right alongside their more aggressive riff-driven aspects, while singer Jonas Bjerre’s characteristically dreamy approach unifies the entire song by floating above it.  Mew is also great with hiding complexity within accessibility, and for those with an affinity for the subtle might raise an eyebrow at the asymmetrical time changes and melodic bass work hidden in the mix.

Although “156” is an excellent example of Mew’s approach, every single song on “Frengers” reveals different components of the band’s approach.  Eventually, they have all evolved into my “favorite track on the album” for different reasons. Rather than give a track-by-track, I’ll just get to the point and state that “Frengers” is the one to get.   I still like “…And the Glass Handed Kites,” and if you like “Frengers” you will like it as well, but if you want a place to start, here it is. 

Their more recent work, the exhaustively titled “No More Stories/Are Told Today/I’m Sorry They Washed Away//No More Stories/ The World Is Grey/I’m Tired Let’s Wash Away,”  released in 2009, is more atmospheric and complex than even “…And the Glass Handed Kites.”  It is great, and has its moments, but it lacks an inexplicable confidence that the other two exude.  Bassist Johan Wolhert left the band before this recording, and this may have had an impact. “No More Stories…” is also noticeably heavier on texture and lighter on intensity.  There is no “Snow Brigade” or “Special,” which I had a hard time adjusting to.  Don’t misunderstand, I do like and suggest the album, but in comparison to the other two, it might not be the best starting point.

Mew has also recently released a “Best of” compilation called “Eggs are Funny.”  The tracklisting is pretty substantial for this collection, but being an album guy, I rarely get into “Greatest Hits” releases - they always feel jagged and incoherent.  As a unit, albums provide me with a context that enhances all of its parts, so in my opinion, anyone who is genuinely curious about Mew should just get “Frengers” and go from there.

One last thing – I need to correct an unrelated oversight from the January Listening list.  After reading Paul Berliner’s “Thinking in Jazz,” I purchased Art Blakey and the Jazz Messenger’s “Moanin’,” and it turned out to be one of my favorite listening experiences early in January.  I put it away with the intent of letting it stew in my subconscious for awhile.  “Moanin’” is a great, classic jazz recording, and it is a travesty that I forgot to include it on the list.