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Review: Paul McCartney, Egypt Station

Egypt Station marks a clean break from the music McCartney has been making for the last 20 years.




Paul McCartney, Egypt Station

At times during his post-Beatles career, namely during its first couple of decades, Paul McCartney has displayed a propensity to juxtapose infectious pop melodies with the absolute dumbest ideas he can think of—sometimes within the same song. By that standard, Egypt Station is inexorably “McCartney-esque.” With its contemporary production flourishes, weird genre experiments, and bouts of complete silliness, the album marks a clean break from the music McCartney has been making for the last 20 years or so, which may well have been the most grounded, consistent, and likeable era of his entire solo career. Instead, Egypt Station plays more like a McCartney album from late 1970s or ’80s, abounding as it does in whimsical flights of fancy.

In the current era of poptimism, a melody-is-king songwriting approach is no longer viewed as antithetical to high art like it may have been when critics were panning Wings in the ’70s. Which is probably why once-dismissed albums like Ram and McCartney II have earned cult followings in recent years. In this context, McCartney doesn’t need to make capital-I important music, but those effervescent melodies need at least some substance to prop them up.

When he succeeds, McCartney produces the likes of 1970’s “Maybe I’m Amazed” and Egypt Station’s “I Don’t Know,” a sublime mix of piano-based melancholy and glowing melodic refrains. It doesn’t especially matter what circumstances led to McCartney singing about “Crows at my window, dogs at my door”; the tonal seriousness and lack of empty platitudes is enough to lend weight to the hooks. While the loping acoustic guitar figure that drives “Happy With You” isn’t nearly as compositionally compelling, it’s one of the only other songs here in which it sounds like McCartney is actually singing about something real: “I used to drink too much/Forgot to come home/I lied to my doctor/But these days I don’t/’Cause I’m happy with you.”

There are a few other tonally comparable songs on the 16-track Egypt Station, but the rest are largely bogged down in some eye-rolling cliché of one kind or another: generic rabble-rousing on “People Want Peace”; generic pledges of love on “Hand in Hand.” Only once or twice are the hooks strong enough on their own to bore their way inside your skull; the tumbling chorus of “Dominoes” is inescapably infectious in spite of lyrics that appear to have no actual meaning whatsoever. On “Who Cares,” McCartney issues a series of facile anti-bullying bromides: “Who cares what the idiots say/Who cares what the idiots do,” he blithely crows, suggesting that he hasn’t quite adjusted since the days when mild zingers in Melody Maker about “Silly Love Songs” were the most toxic public discourse he was apt to encounter.

Still, drab and hackneyed is at least more tolerable than wannabe-frisky toss-offs like the shouty, percussive “Caesar Rock” or the miserable samba “Back in Brazil.” McCartney’s weakness for lightweight novelties has been seemingly ebbing away in recent years, but it’s on full display on “Come on to Me,” which sees him coupling his throaty, horny-old-man come-ons with hilariously overblown electric sitar, bluesy harmonica, and a braying brass section piled tactlessly on top of an unremarkable three-chord progression.

This is frustrating, as McCartney has the ability to channel even his most eccentric creative instincts into writing songs that are ambitious and tasteful, fun and sincere. Both over six minutes long and both adhering to multi-part suite structures, Egypt Station’s final two salvos, “Despite Repeated Warnings” and “Hunt You Down/Naked/C-Link,” rank among McCartney’s most exciting and grandiose efforts in years. More than the former’s vague political metaphors, it’s the latter’s delightful genre hopping, shifting from propulsive cello rock to neo-doo-wop to a bluesy orchestral coda, that are a frustrating reminder of what McCartney is still capable of.

Label: Capitol Release Date: September 7, 2018 Buy: Amazon



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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Review: Toro y Moi’s Outer Peace Bends Boundaries with Mixed Results

Chaz Bear’s sixth album as Toro y Moi bends the boundaries of club music, albeit with mixed results.




Toro y Moi, Outer Peace

Having already concocted brainy dance music under the alter ego Les Sins, chillwave trailblazer, synth-pop alchemist, and psychedelic rock enthusiast Chaz Bear fully embraces the dance floor on Outer Peace, his sixth studio album as Toro y Moi. Pulling from sources as disparate as R&B, tropical house, and trap, the California-based singer bends the boundaries of club music, albeit with mixed results.

Upon first listen, it seems like Outer Peace colors a rough sketch of a dystopian future where the material is mistaken for the immaterial, technology becomes a gateway to the metaphysical, and fleeting pleasures, prompting ever greater hedonistic pursuits. It doesn’t take long to realize, though, that this dystopia isn’t some future prospect, but the present moment. With lines like “Mystic staring at his phone for oneness,” Bear masterfully defamiliarizes our world, exposing the absurdity of the digital age.

Bear charmingly pairs this oft-heavy subject matter with club-ready grooves. The existential crisis of “Who Am I” is juxtaposed with sweetly pitched-up vocals and a fizzy patchwork of synths. Bear’s playful approach to house music ensures that no amount of existential dread and doom can dampen the mood he creates throughout the album.

Bear’s tinkering, however, isn’t always transportive. The rather vanilla tropical house beat of “Baby Drive It Down” recalls Drake’s dancehall-lite, with a lifeless performance from Bear. His experimentation with trap is at first promising on “Monte Carlo,” with the support of a dreamy pillow of vocal samples, but coming in at two minutes, the track feels one note, lacking any tempo changes or even a bridge, suggesting it was perhaps better fit for an interlude.

The cover of Outer Peace depicts Bear gazing intently at a computer screen, surrounded by instruments in a clean, sterile room. He reportedly created the majority of the album during an unaccompanied two-week retreat off Northern California’s Russian River, and this isolation can be felt throughout. The album’s title represents the remarkable possibility of finding freedom from the outside world by letting loose on the dance floor and experiencing liberation in a crowd of strangers. Bear certainly takes the album there at several points, but in the limited scope and cerebral slant of these too-brief songs, he loses that outer peace.

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

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Review: Joe Jackson’s Fool Is a Concise and Punchy Nostalgia Trip

On Fool, Joe Jackson sounds younger and angrier than he has in years.




Joe Jackson, Fool

Joe Jackson has spent the better part of four decades trying to put some distance between himself and his debut, Look Sharp!, a collection of acerbic new-wave pop songs that earned him the label of “angry young man.” But on his 21st album, Fool, he sounds younger and angrier than he has since 2003’s deliberately retro Volume 4. Maybe it’s a symptom of nostalgia: Fool, after all, is being released almost 40 years to the day after Look Sharp!, accompanied by a tour that promises to draw from Jackson’s entire career.

The album’s first two singles, “Fabulously Absolute” and “Friend Better,” both seem to deliberately rekindle the spirit of 1979: the former with its wiry post-punk guitar and synth riffs, the latter with its snotty vocal cut from the same cloth as early Jackson hits like “Is She Really Going Out with Him?” Even the refrain of the opening track “Big Black Cloud”—“No luck, no money, no sex, no fun”—is torn straight out of the London punk playbook.

Not all of the album calls back so specifically to Jackson’s debut: With its jazz-inflected piano and flute, closing track “Alchemy” is a welcome return to the moody sophisti-pop of 1982’s Night and Day. More often, however, Fool‘s refined pop-rock recalls an amalgamation of styles from Jackson’s “classic” era while also reflecting his late-career maturity. Tracks like the elegiac “Strange Land” marry his long-standing jazz and classical ambitions with his undeniable knack for pop melody in a way that doesn’t shortchange either.

Jackson, though, still hasn’t quite shaken his tendency to overextend himself. The title track is well-played, with some virtuosic runs by longtime bassist Graham Maby, but it also careens from Jackson rapping into a megaphone to a madrigal-like bridge to a synthesized surf guitar solo. The Beatles-esque “Dave” holds together better musically, but its character study of a pure-hearted but simple-minded everyman, who could have something to teach us about slowing down and enjoying life, feels cloying and condescending.

If Fool doesn’t quite measure up to Jackson’s sterling early work, it’s still more concise and punchy than 2015’s Fast Forward and less self-consciously arty than his late-‘80s and ‘90s work. By now, Jackson has surely come to terms with the fact that he’ll never be able to outrun his new wave days; keeping it as just one of the tools in his expansive arsenal is a fine compromise.

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

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