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Review: LL Cool J, Authentic

LL Cool J’s Authentic offers plenty of lyrical pleasures across 12 rather dense tracks.





LL Cool J, Authentic

Do the ladies still love cool J? His shredded torso still bedecks the covers of glossy magazines, he hosted this year’s Grammys, and more recently he kept bloggers in business by joining Brad Paisley on “Accidental Racist,” the timing of which was hardly accidental. Authentic exudes a comeback confidence that smacks of Dr. Dre in 2000, especially in LL’s curiously self-conscious moments: “Honestly, I was scared to come back/It was ugly not knowin’ how the game would react/They said, ’My old gym teacher ain’t supposed to rap.’” Not every line is sharp, but too much self-awareness would torpedo a mainstream hip-hop artist. The beats here don’t always pop, but Authentic offers plenty of lyrical pleasures across 12 rather dense tracks—less bloated than the garden-variety, 18-song hip-hop album, but with plenty of substance nonetheless. Maybe that’s why LL left the most memorable lines to Brad Paisley on “Accidental Racist”: His muse may have been temporarily pooped.

LL marshals his other guests with a satisfying conceptual consistency. He isn’t merely releasing a “comeback” album; he’s also crafting a tribute to the musical referents of modern hip-hop too often forgotten by latter-day (yes) “sucka-ass MCs.” This persistent notion of legacy explains various appearances by the old guard of R&B: two songs with Charlie Wilson, one with Bootsy Collins, one with Earth, Wind & Fire, and two very old-school cameos from Snoop Dogg. Eddie Van Halen, meanwhile, makes not one, but two appearances, his famous “brown sound” helping move things along on “We’re the Greatest.” Van Halen takes another solo on “Not Leaving You Tonight,” a schmaltzy slow jam that runs by the numbers for the first three minutes until Van Halen enters with a guitar solo straight out of 1974. It’s a throwback, for sure, but it’s also a sidesplitting union of unlikely sounds—as though Van Halen walked into the wrong cocktail party and got crabby about it. The comedy is unintentional, and inescapable.

As LL makes declarations about the game and his role in it, he also sounds like a man finally recognizing the uses of emotional intelligence. “Not Leaving You Tonight” is basically the obverse of Biggie’s “Fucking You Tonight.” It’s that rare asexual slow jam. Instead of rhapsodizing about the tightness of the “kitty-cat,” LL addresses a woman (one his own age!), offering a “shoulder to cry on” and a sympathetic consideration of her various plights: “The haters get cynical and call you spoiled/Not knowin’ ’bout the drama in which you’re embroiled.” On “New Love,” he pledges eternal fidelity during the honeymoon period of a fresh relationship, a vow the rapper knows is false but cherishes nonetheless. (He also finds time on this track to throw an odd, miniature diss in the direction of Xzibit.)

But the real point, naturally, is that LL is back, and you can thank him later. The hook to “Bath Salt” more or less encapsulates the sentiment: “Went back to the basement/Hands on my nuts—that’s product placement/The game lost its flavor/You know I wonder where the taste went.” The album’s blend of triumphalist forward thinking and nostalgic dues-paying is meant to establish LL’s own bona fides, taste-wise. The execution, it must be said, isn’t commensurate with the concept. “We Came to Party” is a hard-grind Southern beat that smacks of Atlanta even as the rapper enjoys bottle service with Russian oligarchs. LL sounds ambivalent about Georgia’s recent hip-hop primacy: “The game moved to the South, I just closed my mouth/Intellect like Belichick when he was switchin’ the routes.” Listeners can probably gauge the scope of LL’s intellect by noting that he chooses a football coach rather than, say, Kant or Patton or Einstein or Nate Silver.

There’s an unsettling sample from what sounds like Pier Paolo Pasolini’s The Gospel According to St. Matthew, in which the phrase “Before him all nations are nothing” echoes to ominous and distasteful effect. But this is the guy who gave us “Rock the Bells”; “Doin’ It,” without which far less of “it” would have been done; and “Momma Said Knock You Out,” an early and formative instance of a rapper responding to his critics in blunt but also considered fashion. Three decades as a wildly successful rapper/hip-hopreneur is hard to argue with. LL still has unquenchable ambitions: “I’m too old for the games/No time for the lames/Next challenge: Get the next generation screamin’ my name.” The next generation probably isn’t listening, let alone screaming. But older listeners will find a wistful pleasure in hearing what may be the most heartfelt effort of LL’s career.

Label: 429 Release Date: April 30, 2013 Buy: Amazon



Review: The Dandy Warhols’s Why You So Crazy Is Eclectic but Unmemorable

Neither the album’s eclecticism nor its polish can make up for its lack of memorable songs.




Why You So Crazy

The music video for “Be Alright,” the lead single from the Dandy Warhols’s Why You So Crazy, takes the viewer on an interactive 360-degree tour of the Odditorium, a city block-sized building in Portland that was purchased by the band in 2002 in order to serve as their headquarters and recording studio. On one level, it’s clever viral marketing, as the Odditorium is a commercial space, with booking information available online and a public-facing wine bar in the corner. But more importantly, it’s also a revealing glimpse at the cloistered conditions that have produced the last 15 years of the Dandys’s increasingly insular music.

Why You So Crazy unfolds in what is clearly meant to be a dizzying array of styles: from the 1930s Hollywood gloss of opening track “Fred N Ginger” (complete with an artificial 78 r.p.m. vinyl crackle), to the campfire gospel of “Sins Are Forgiven,” to the warped synth-pop of “To the Church.” Minute production details abound throughout: a stray melodica amid the tightly coiled electro of “Terraform”; a spectral, high-pitched piano line floating above the churning guitars of “Be Alright”; a general cacophony of Eno-esque electronic gurgles on the country pastiches “Highlife” and “Motor City Steel.” In short, the album sounds exactly like the product of a band with their own personal recording complex at their disposal and only the most nominal commercial pressures to fulfill.

Unfortunately, neither Why You So Crazy’s eclecticism nor its polish can make up for its lack of memorable songs. For all their stylistic diversity, most of the tracks here ride a single musical hook, like the metronomic bassline that opens “Thee Elegant Bum,” until they’ve reached an ostensibly acceptable length. It’s to the Dandys’s credit that their definition of acceptable song lengths no longer extends to the seven-, nine-, and 12-minute dirges that dominate 2005’s Odditorium, or Warlords of Mars, the album that not coincidentally put an end to their short-lived major label phase. But this is cold comfort when the four-and-a-half minutes of undulating synthesizer and droning guitar feedback that comprise “Next Thing I Know” seems to stretch into a small eternity.

Even frontman Courtney Taylor-Taylor, not exactly a high-energy singer in the first place, seems to sleepwalk through much of the album—an impression enhanced when keyboardist Zia McCabe takes the lead for “Highlife.” Not only does McCabe’s Dolly Parton-ish chirp provide a welcome respite from Taylor-Taylor’s laconic drawl, but it makes for an instructive comparison with his blasé performance on the stylistically similar “Motor City Steel.” Neither song does much with the country genre besides wallow in its clichés, but while McCabe commits to her performance, Taylor-Taylor remains distant, exaggerating his pronunciation of Paris’s “Charlie DO-gal” airport as if he’s afraid of being taken too seriously. Similarly cloying is “Small Town Girls,” a paean to provincial womanizing that would feel trite had it been recorded when Taylor-Taylor was 21, let alone his current age of 51.

Of course, aesthetic distance isn’t necessarily a sin. Just ask Bryan Ferry and Mick Jagger, to name two of the Dandys’s more obvious influences. Nor, for that matter, is self-indulgence without its artistic virtues. Jack White—another survivor of the early-2000s alt-rock scene with his own recording complex (two of them, in fact)—released an album last year that Slant’s own Jeremy Winograd described as “at times close to unlistenable,” but at least it provided the creative spark White seemed to be looking for. The Dandy Warhols, by contrast, just seem to be treading water: releasing an album because they can and, with 2019 marking their 25th anniversary as a band, because they think they should. And while there are no wrong reasons to make music, there may be no reason less compelling than obligation.

Release Date: January 25, 2019 Buy: Amazon

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Review: Cherry Glazerr’s Stuffed & Ready Rages Against a Hostile World

The L.A. trio’s third album is a cathartic expression of estrangement in a cruel world.




Stuffed & Ready

Clementine Creevy has always had a playful streak. At 15, she recorded her first songs under the name ClemButt, and her current outfit, the Los Angeles trio Cherry Glazerr, gained notoriety for a spaced-out, miniature ode to grilled cheese on their 2013 EP Papa Cremp. With Stuffed & Ready, Creevy’s signature irreverence has been transposed into scathing exasperation. The album rages against a hostile, misogynistic world, and then directs its venom inward.

That rage becomes the operating principle of Stuffed & Ready, which is Cherry Glazerr’s most mature and complex album to date. The opening track, “Ohio,” is a barometer for the ensuing ferocity, as a brief, lo-fi prelude crumbles into propulsive guitar noise. The music video for lead single “Daddi,” in which a solitary orange humanoid navigates a turbulent sea of blue creatures, captures the sense of alienation, confusion, and self-abasement that permeates the album. “Who should I fuck, Daddy? Is it you?” Creevy sneers in her characteristic falsetto. Her lyrics often vacillate between affirmation and uncertainty, probing for empowerment in a world that consistently renders her existence invalid. On “Self Explained,” she confesses, “I don’t want people to know how much time I spend alone.”

Under the direction of Carlos de la Garza, who also produced 2017’s Apocalipstick, Stuffed & Ready is Cherry Glazerr’s most sonically sophisticated effort yet. Musically, “Stupid Fish” is a gripping mash-up of the Smiths and early Sleater-Kinney, with sulking distortion interspersed with melodic bursts of Johnny-Marr-inspired guitar play. “Juicy Socks,” perhaps the album’s one moment of breathing room, finds Creevy playfully quipping over a shimmering guitar and florid bassline, “I don’t want nobody hurt/But I made an exception with him/I’m so lucky I can breathe/When the others cannot swim.”

Stuffed & Ready’s fiery denouement, “Distressor,” oscillates from an arpeggiated guitar and rolling drumbeat to a headbanging refrain. “The only faces I can see/Are the faces I pushed away from me/So I can just be,” Creevy wails, repeating the word “be” like a mantra. The album isn’t always hopeful, but it isn’t hopeless either, as it consistently provides a cathartic release for Creevy’s fury.

Label: Secretly Canadian Release Date: February 1, 2019 Buy: Amazon

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Review: Guster’s Look Alive Is the Sound of a Band Rejuvenated

Guster’s eighth album buzzes with inventiveness, charm, and youthful dynamism.




Guster, Look Alive

Guster has long been associated with “college rock,” and not without reason. Even though every member of the Boston-based band is now over 40, they still make bright, hyper-polished alt-pop tailor-made for campus radio. The band’s eighth album, Look Alive, adds synths and contemporary production flourishes to their sonic repertoire, but all the hallmarks of their sound remain: winsome melodies, soaring hooks, and tight, immaculate songcraft that combines the best of Britpop, 1960s folk, and post-grunge.

Like most Guster albums, Look Alive has a few duds, a few modest successes, and at least one showstopper—a song that makes you wonder why the band was never more successful. On 2006’s Ganging Up on the Sun, that song was “Satellite,” a shimmering power-pop masterpiece that split the difference between the Shins and Neutral Milk Hotel. Here, it’s “Hard Times,” which also happens to be the least Guster-like track on the album. Drenched in Auto-Tune, buzzing synth frequencies, and stadium-ready percussion, the song doesn’t sound anything like “Satellite,” let alone like the band’s output before 2000. Yet, true to form, it’s a remarkable piece of pop. “Sinister systems keep us satisfied/These are hard times,” Ryan Miller wails. It’s a simple statement, but it makes for a stunning chorus, and Miller’s effusive delivery renders it the most cathartic moment on the album.

On “Not for Nothing,” the band ventures into dream-rock territory, surrounding themselves with icy synth textures that wouldn’t sound out of place on a Wild Nothing track, while “Hello Mister Sun” is unabashed bubblegum pop that pays homage to whimsical Paul McCartney tracks like “Penny Lane” and “Good Day Sunshine.” Likewise, the sprightly “Overexcited” bounces along with a spoken-word verse and pounding, piano-centric chorus. While none of these tracks tackle complex themes, they’re playful, infectious, and eminently listenable.

Many of Guster’s best-known songs delve into same subject matter: newfound love, crippling heartache, the pain of being young, restless, and alone. Yet much of Look Alive is more elliptical. “Maybe we’re all criminals and this is just the scene of a crime,” Miller sings ambiguously on “Terrified,” forcing the listener to fill in the blanks. “Summertime” similarly defies easy explanation: Brimming with obscure religious imagery, whispered background vocals, and references to an unspecified war, it follows no logical narrative, instead allowing the track’s mood—a feeling of triumph over some great adversity—to tell the story.

For better and worse, Look Alive’s production mimics the spacious, ‘80s-inspired aesthetic that pervades much of contemporary indie-rock. “Don’t Go” transplants a prototypical Guster melody into a synth-soaked songscape, while the title track seems expressly engineered for Spotify’s Left of Center playlist. Still, the album never feels like the work of aging musicians struggling to stay relevant; it buzzes with inventiveness, charm, and youthful dynamism.

Label: Nettwerk Release Date: January 18, 2019 Buy: Amazon

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