Our Favorite Lyrics of 2018

This week is our year in review week at Not a Sound and we wanted to try celebrating a few things that don’t get celebrated enough. Both of our editors are musicians and/or songwriters outside of the blog and are passionate about the creative craft that goes into making good music. With that in mind, we thought it would be fun to do a pair of columns celebrating the craft of music rather than just the whole finished product. In this article we basically just wanted to geek out about a few of our favorite lyrics from releases in 2018, we hope you enjoy these songs as much as we do!

“Ghost Town”- Kanye West feat. PARTYNEXTDOOR, Kid Cudi, and 070 Shake

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070 Shake: “Oh once again I am a child / I let go of everything that I know / and nothing hurts anymore / I feel kind of free / we’re still the kids we used to be.”

“Ghost Towns” is the climax of Kanye West’s self-titled ye, in which 070 Shake leads the second half. Her child-like vocals soar over electric-guitar riffing, and when the instrumental cuts out at “I feel kind of free” leaving only her voice on the beat, it makes for one of the most triumphant, emotionally satisfying lyrical moments of 2018.

“Stay Down” – boygenius

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Julien Baker: “I look at you and you look at a screen / I’m in the backseat of my body / I’m just steering my life in a video game / similar acts in a different name”

The Julien Baker-led boygenius track “Stay Down” perfectly and simply describes the loneliness of life in 2018.

“2009” – Mac Miller

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“I don’t need to lie no more / nowadays all I do is shine, take a breath and ease my mind / and she don’t cry no more / she tells me that I get her high ‘cause an angel’s s’posed to fly / and I ain’t asking “why?” no more / oh no I take it if it’s mine, I don’t stay inside the lines / it ain’t 2009 no more / yeah I know what’s behind the door”

Released weeks before his untimely death, the penultimate track on Mac Miller’s final album is basically a perfect song, lyrically and sonically. In an album chronicling pain and rejection, “2009” looks beyond it all, accepting the past with a resolve to move forward. It is a true shame that he would not live to see this fully carried out.

“Lavender Burning” – Half Waif

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“I miss New York, but I don’t wanna think about leaving / I’m out on the road and it’s losing all of its meaning / Just tryin’ to fill this hole that once held my whole being / Is this all there is?”

The opening track to Half Waif’s critically acclaimed album “Lavender” is a stunning reflection on self and place. Invoking her grandmother’s practice of burning lavender as an image of home and identity, lyricist Nandi Rose Plunkett reflects on her life on the road and all that she left behind; those things that shaped her into who she is that she now feels distant from.

“With You” – Noname

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“I’m almost just as empty as you think I am, a penny for your thoughts / A witty pear of happiness, a pretty Ricky Ross / A maid black music, I woke up in my sympathy, became black Judas / All my everythings for sale / All my secondhand discoveries, Dungarees faded pale / All my halfway hallelujahs that tippy-toed in the mail / All the fluctuations on scales / And the missing therapy sessions of bullets treating me well”

It’s hard to pick just one lyric from Noname’s “Room 25”, an album that is packed with incredible lines from the moment it opens with “Self” to the moment it fades out with “no name.” I decided to go with the penultimate track “With You”, where Noname wrestles with her growing fame and influence and what it’s like to essentially sell your life experiences as art. This perpetual mental battle is one that all confessional writers face to one degree or another, and Noname nails the feeling with a lyrical precision and openness unique to her.

“Why” – Animal Flag

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“When your parents met, it was a lonely night / They figured yeah, who cares? People get married all the time / Then they made you up, and they brought you home / And they laid you down and said “God, what have we done? / What have we done?”

“Now you’re a speck of dust on a floating rock / You’re the fastest hand on the smallest clock / You’re a vapor bird in a body cage / And when you break out, it’ll leave everyone in pain /Oh, in pain”

“Why” deals with the ever looming existential question, “why are any of us even here?” in a way that is both artful and somewhat humorous. It opens with a lackadaisical, irreverent stanza about a married couple bringing a new child into the world before shifting into a stanza detailing the existential dread of being human in the most snide possible way. In what is perhaps it’s most clever line, Animal Flag describe the human essence, or soul as “a vapor bird in a body cage” before revealing the irony of death, that freeing that bird from it’s cage will leave everyone else in pain. What a drag.

Enjoy these songs in the playlist below.

The DIY Deep Dive: 5 Small Artists To Pay Attention To

The DIY Deep Dive is a space to showcase impressive DIY touring artists who are in the very early stages of their career. These artists may not always have the most glitzy or refined recordings, but their underlying talent shines through their budget. To qualify for this column an artist must have less than 2000 social media followers and preferably be independent, while displaying the talent and creativity of acts much larger. Think of this as a column for early-adopters: get in on the ground floor with these artists and help them get to the next level.

Here are five very small artists who have released music in the last year that left a big impression on us, and one bonus album, our Subterranean Super-Cut, for those of you who crave really underground music.

The Sonder Bombs – Modern Female Rockstar

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“I don’t wanna be your merch girl, I wanna be your goddamn idol,” front-woman Willow Hawks declares on the cheekily named “Title”about halfway through an album that is equal parts bubblegum pop sensibility and fiercely unapologetic lyrics. Hailing from Cleveland, Ohio, The Sonder Bombs do their best to supplant and overturn everything you know about pop punk on Modern Female Rockstar, inverting the one-sided good-guy/bad-girl trope so common in the genre to provide a much needed counterbalance in perspective.

Where the album truly shines, though, is Hawks’ ability to avoid pigeonholing her lyrical character to create a nuanced emotional palette. Often she seethes with indignation, daringthe listener to underestimate her on songs like anthemic closer Twinkle Lights, but she doesn’t shy away from dipping into more vulnerable territory on the mid-tempo Something I Said and the slow-burn Dimly Lit. Hawks’ powerhouse vocals carry the album through each peak and valley effortlessly, dropping to low croons before climbing to a resounding bellow with just enough rasp to convince you she absolutely is the rock star she claims to be without ever jeopardizing the sing-along quality of each and every song. Modern Female Rockstar is a non-stop joy ride from start to finish, a high-energy soundtrack to the dismantling of the musical patriarchy.

Charles Walker – Whole Again, Split w/ Ben Trickey

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Though not as prolific a locale as Austin, Texas, or Nashville, Tennessee, or even Muscle Shoals, Alabama – Boone, North Carolina has the sound of a place where good country music could grow. That is where self-described “sad-twang” singer and prolific songwriter Charles Walker built his brand of alt-country/emo crossover that sits somewhere between the drawl of Southeastern era Jason Isbell and the depressive introspection of Turn Out the Lights era Julien Baker. In what may surprise some and validate others, these two styles meld seamlessly in Charles Walker’s two 2018 EPs Whole Again and a Split w/ Ben Trickey.

Whole Again leans harder in the alt-country direction, led mostly by acoustic guitars and embellished with beautiful string, horn, and vocal arrangements to complement Walker’s heart-felt, confessional lyrics. The EP sets the tone early and keeps riding it with stuck-inside-on-a-rainy-day melancholic lines like “I know you don’t hate me/Sometimes I wonder when I’m walking home”, “How you feel when I speak means a lot to me”, “I know what I did was wrong/That’s not the kind of thing you say when you love someone”, and the anguished cry of “How many God/How long must I suffer/I Just want to feel whole again.” Walker doesn’t deviate from the introspective gut-punches on the much more indie-rock Split w/ Ben Trickey, leading in with Crutch, a song that hits that perfect balance between sonic nostalgia and lyrical immediacy, crescendoing with the resolved group vocal “If there is hope left it evades me now.” With two solid EPs now under his belt, Charles Walker is an artist to keep an eye on going into 2019.

Shin Guard – Cerebral

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Screamo is probably the most unfortunately maligned genre-tag of the last 20 years, known more as dismissive boomer-speak for anything with harsh vocals than for its actual body of work. While the emo/posthardcore crossbreed has always had a niche audience in part due to its actual content, it’s hard not to think that part of its relegation to obscurity has to do with the unwarranted negative associations accompanying its unfortunate moniker. Fortunately the plight of the genre itself didn’t stop Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania’s Shin Guard from releasing one of the most inventive screamo records in years at any level this last Fall.

Listening to Cerebral it’s almost unfair to limit its scope with a genre-tag. The album pulls sonic inspiration from all over the alternative spectrum, swelling into grandiose post-rock builds, delving into shoegaze-adjacent fuzz rock, and at one point, on penultimate track Intact, incorporating a banjo into what could best be described as post-hardcore without making it a gimmick. Lead vocalist Owen Traynor convincingly pulls off every contemporary vocal style sans rapping, once again without slipping into the realm of schlock: crooning on the emotional build of Intact, belting on the sing-along chorus of Cross Country, descending into primal screams on Carabosse, delving into several extended spoken word pieces including opener Forlorn, and even trying an ethereal, floating falsetto akin to Justin Vernon on the shoegazey Recant.

As if the sonic diversity wasn’t enough, Cerebral’s album composition is also top notch, comparable in musical scope, though in a different style, to The Hotelier’s 2015 classic Home, Like No Place is There. Each track maintains its own distinctive personality while each consecutive musical experiment contextualizes the next like progressing chapters in a novel. All in all Shin Guard’s debut LP stands as one the biggest hidden gems of the 2018 album crop: an impressive art-rock piece that should serve as the foundation for a newly blossoming band already flirting with greatness.

Appalachian Doom Gospel – Little Blue EP

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Award winning newspaper columnist Brian O’Neil once called Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, “the Paris of Appalachia.” One county over from Appalachia’s crown-jewel in the slightly more rural Butler, the seven-piece folk/country outfit Appalachian Doom Gospel are doing their best to prove O’Neil’s point with their debut Little Blue EP. As soon as guitarist/vocalist Zach Reed slides into the opening riff of Untitled (Grandma’s Song)it’s as if he transports the listener straight to a spontaneous community jam around a backyard bonfire. That’s not to say that the Little Blue EP feels unrefined, quite the opposite, but that for its 13 minute duration Reed immerses you in something so rustic, so old-timey, and so patently southern, that you won’t believe it came from the foothills of Andrew Carnegie’s city of steel.

Appalachian Doom Gospel is one of those artists that writes deceptively complex music. On first listen it is the overall vibe, carried by Reed’s smoky baritone and a group harmony ensemble courtesy of Cody Clark and Laurel Wain, that catches your attention. Only after a few listens does it truly become apparent that there are sevenpeople playing on these songs, creating an intricate web of acoustic and steel guitars, trumpets, washboards, assorted strings, and percussion all playing off each other like a well-oiled machine. This depth gives the EP continual replay value and makes each consecutive listen a sort of discovery venture, revealing new facets to the songs that may not have jumped out before. Overall, Little Blue EP is a solid debut that we can only hope is the first of an illustrious career.

Qajaq – A Canopy Above Our Endless Sky

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They’re tearing down trees night and day with the promise of great, mighty walls to come/ They’re scraping out all of the shade, but then crawling away when their towers fall far below/ There isn’t an anchor or slave, not an ocean or grave, nowhere to bury the pain/ But you seek nothing else despite all our wanting/ Your knife stays on your belt and your words are dishonest/ You seek nothing else, so we’re sleeping with caution and laying our burdens down at the place you depart” – Qajaq, The Bad Year

A Canopy Above Our Endless Sky jumps out the gate with the above run of lines, pulling together socio-political issues, personal strife, and the man/nature rift in a way that can only be described as spiritual. Over the course of the next ten songs Chicago, Illinois native David Shay, better known by his stage persona Qajaq (pronounced Kayak), delves deeper into questions about human nature, politics, God, spirituality, and reality at large, delivering line after line over a lush, expansive soundscape built from the bones of earthy folk music and celestial drone; two seeming opposites married in a way that makes them seem natural born partners. This sonic palette is itself the perfect partner and reflection of Shay’s lyrical style and chosen themes on A Canopy Above Our Endless Sky. The dusty earth of his folk leanings and the endless atmosphere of the accompanying drone sounds mirror lyrics that are simultaneously esoteric and grounded; fitting for an album that feels like it’s pulling transcendence from the earthly and the earthly from the transcendent.

At any given moment it seems that Shay is getting at something intangible in a way that feels personally confident, while simultaneously allowing the room for mystery to remain mysterious. Perhaps what is most impressive is that Shay accomplishes these lofty feats effortlessly, effectively shaping a world out of sound and inviting the listener to live in it for the duration of the album’s 45 minutes. In some ways this makes A Canopy Above Our Endless Sky more akin to a Hayao Miyazaki film that’s been distilled into audio than it is a traditional album of songs. It’s the kind of album that demands your undivided attention in order to truly appreciate it, but once you do, you will find yourself revisiting it again and again.

The Subterranean Super-Cut: Jake Rozmus – View From Your Apartment

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Hailing from the town of Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania, Jake Rozmus’ gorgeous solo debut View From Your Apartment might be the most under-promoted album of the year. I’m pretty sure Jake played one-and-a-half shows in 2018. He barely told anyone about the record, which is a “bandcamp exclusive.” Despite the excavating it took to find it, those of us who managed to stumble across this gem were in for a rare treat.

In a style crossed between country, the soft-rock of the 1970s, and confessional emo sensibilities, Jake opens up his world, giving listeners vivid snapshots of moments in his life and the lives of those around him. Opening track Morning begins with a recording from a Christmas day long gone, when times and joys were much simpler, establishing bittersweet tone. This is immediately juxtaposed with the stream-of-consciousness Driving Old Blue, a reflection on change, “thoughts of younger days and forgotten names run through radio waves / and back through Old Blue’s rusted frame. It begs the question that haunts the whole record, “how did I get from there to here?”.

The fifth track, Second Wind, poignantly encapsulates this. In the last verse, Jake delivers the hauntingly beautiful lines, “Does the view from your apartment harmonize with your childhood window / like the memory of your mother’s voice / like our journey out on the town tonight.” It captures those moments when a memory hits you out of nowhere, causing you to pause and appreciate where you came from and where you are now, and the seemingly vast distance in between. This record is just that: a brief glimpse through a window, a familiar scent, or an old piece of clothing that makes you remember your childhood, ending with the simple yet profound musing, “I wish I was a kid / to be a kid.” Here’s to hoping this is not the last Jake Rozmus album because this conclusion leaves me dying to hear the next chapter.

Underrated Albums: Club Misery EP by Misery Club

Misery Club is an emo-rap supergroup comprised of Wicca Phase Springs Eternal (founder of hip-hop collective Goth Boi Clique), Lil Zubin (lauded by many as the Soundcloud Weeknd), Fantasy Camp (renowned underground producer and songwriter), and Jon Simmons aka Coward (former vocalist of Balance & Composure). The group quietly released their debut EP this past summer, and it’s probably been one of the most addicting releases of the year.

Produced by underground hitmakers Nedarb and Foxwedding, each of the four tracks sounds sleek, effortless, and catchy. The clean guitar samples are overlaid flawlessly with tightly constructed beats, which are some of the best produced I’ve heard this year in the underground. They do not go out of their way to pull off anything groundbreaking or abnormal, but provide the perfect soundscapes to let the vocalists shine.

And man, do they shine. Perhaps the strongest aspect of Misery Club is the diversity of singing/rapping skills and delivery. The lyrical, emo drone of Wicca Phase’s sing-rapping contrasts wonderfully with the pristine melodies provided by Lil Zubin. Fantasy Camp’s understated, soft delivery makes Simmons’ harsh auto-tune pop out in a way that would not be possible without the other. The four take turns in the spotlight throughout the EP; there is no definitive star in Misery Club. Each member gets a first verse on the project, setting their own unique mood on each track.

“River of Blood” kicks off the album as Zubin’s haunting voice floats over a detuned keyboard, “Oh the river of blood in my veins went dry / last night I went to sleep and died / ghost of Zubin / bring me back to life.” The line is hilariously self-aware (and EPIC) in how dramatic it is, and when the beat drops, it’s the first “oh shIT!” moment on the record. The other three members trade verses on the rest of the track, with Zubin coming back to offer a hook before Simmons closes it off. It’s a total banger, the type of funny, sincere, and incredibly ear-wormy writing that instantly gets you hooked.

“Left Side” is the Wicca Phase fronted track, beginning with a melancholy guitar riff and a slowed-down, minimalistic beat. His monotone vocal delivery fits perfectly with the vibe of the track, as the gloom sets in, “And one time I was so drunk off of red wine / so I could talk to you and with honesty / the problems only come up when I come down / and yet I’m fine when I finally get sleep. He is interrupted by Simmons, who’s soaring melodies contrasts beautifully with the previous verse, running right into Fantasy Camp’s smooth flow, finishing off with Zubin’s trademark vibrato, leaving the listener totally satisfied and sufficiently bummed out, but in a “yeah I’m sad but I still like to party” kind of way.

“Bad Mood” begins similarly, this time with Simmons providing the hook, “Never leave you in a bad mood / girl, I promise if I had you / I’ll never leave you in a bad mood / all my life I wish I had you,” bringing Misery Club the closest to Backstreet Boys territory they have come yet. The song flows by with a similar mid-tempo, breezy feel to the previous track, but this does not serve to harm the record, building the consistency.

The final track, “Lifesaver,” starts off with nearly a minute of ominous droning and 808 hits, standing out from the slow build of the previous tracks. What follows is Fantasy Camp’s lead off verse, one of the most haunting lyrical moments on the album, “Now I’m lying on the ground, foreign objects in the sky / they shower me in blood while I try to rest my eyes / I see you in a vision and you slowly start to cry / I’m going far away now, and I always wonder why.” It closes off with Wicca Phase asserting himself as the king of darkness just before the 808s begin to fade, “I’m a high priest, I come from the fourth world / I come up with new words, even you don’t understand, no.” The EP concludes with the ghost of Zubin once again floating over the chaos.

Although this release is not necessarily groundbreaking either lyrically or sonically, it stands as one of the strongest testaments to emo-rap as a sustainable genre, and begs the question of whether emo as a whole will go in this direction in the next decade. The potential for popular appeal in this release is absurd. Between the addicting beats, #relatable lyrics and charisma, Misery Club could be America’s next boy band. With another EP on the way, and all of the members releasing their various solo music, I’m excited to see what they come up with over the next few months as this sub-genre continues to grow and evolve.

Underrated Albums: Extralife by Darlingside

It’s over now.” Normally these three harrowing words mark the end of something: the end of an era, the close of a traumatic event, or the white flag at the end of a long war. For Darlingside this phrase signifies all of the above, but it doesn’t signify the end of the story. On the contrary, these words open the Cambridge, Massachusetts folk quartet’s latest album Extralife, a concept album set on a post-apocalyptic Earth shortly after the close of the nuclear holocaust. It is on this scorched Earth, where life as we know it ceases and anything that remains becomes itself extra-life, that Darlingside begin their musical journey surveying the wreckage; probing for signs of life and reflecting back on the choices that led to such desolation.

On Extralife, Darlingside create a soundscape that is lush and vibrant, thanks in part to the beautiful melding of acoustic guitar, strings, woodwinds, and subtle electronic drones, each made more ethereal by a healthy dose of reverb. However, while the arrangements are stunning, what really seals the deal are the near constant four part vocal harmonies that could make even Simon and Garfunkel jealous. When combined, these two elements create a feel that is much more Narnia than Mad Max, though there is a noticeable melancholic bent to the otherwise mystical sonic palette. It is at once filled with immediate beauty and distant longing, the kind of album that one can appreciate equally when feeling sad or feeling happy. Armageddon never sounded so beautiful.

Though it would still succeed just on the merits of its immersive atmosphere and catchy melodies, Extralife also manages to be more than just a vibe album. Each song, or at least the discernable majority, starts contextually with the catastrophic nuclear event and becomes a snapshot of a particular experience. When put together the songs on Extralife form a sort of patchwork picture of an apocalyptic future, one where the narrators are aware of the overarching narrative, how this catastrophe arrived and all of the things left in its wake, but the listener is forced to piece together the story and its resulting message from fragments. In the title track we get a picture of the event itself as “Mushroom clouds reset the sky.” A few tracks later Futures flashes back to before the apocalypse with the words of a “Mrs. President” pleading in the chorus, “It’s not ever too late.” This refrain is juxtaposed with that of the next track, here presumably post-apocalypse again, where the narrator’s father urges him “hold your head up high”before the narrator concludes the vignette with “underground the new life thunders up and on.”

Despite predominantly leaning into their world and storytelling, there are several moments that remain poignant with or without their narrative context. Perhaps the most mesmerizing track, Old Friend, shows the narrator reflecting on an old friend who presumably has died. It is lyrically the shortest song on the album, only three stanzas of three lines each, but says all that it needs to say in just one stanza: “Old friend I/ Think of you still sometimes/ Sure as the river bending into the light.” Another theme that jumps beyond the story is the preeminence of history and what it means to find one’s place in it. In Singularitywe see a post-apocalyptic man “taking pictures of cement… for the history books on mother Earth.” On Hold Your Head Up High we once again see emphasis put on the ties between humanity and the need to preserve its likeness: “See that humankind is you/ Like all the rest, down to/ The scratches on the album that you’re singing to.” Darlingside probe at this question much more directly in Rite Hayworth, a song about famous, historical women in the early 20thCentury where the question of how one stands out “in a colorless sea” amounts to how one knows what it means to be loved. It is a fitting question for an album looking back at civilization from desolation, but also a fitting question in real, everyday life.

That is the true strength of Extralife, that the story is more than entertainment or a thought experiment, but as the final track, Best of the Best of Times somewhat reveals, it is very much real in its own right. While the chorus “We’re a long way, long way from the best of the best of times” is a proper reflection of the post-fallout predicament of the narrator, it is also buffered by images of clocks winding down, the world saying farewell, and a closing verse that begins “and I wonder/ whether our days are unnumbered” and ends with the dream of finally waking up to be pulled from a shipwreck “all equal and safe.” Here we find what feels like a real, pertinent warning that perhaps we are already a long way from the best of times in our current world and seemingly closer instead to the full collapse characterized throughout most of the album. This turns us back to the question of history and how humanity’s story will be preserved. It won’t do much good to take pictures of concrete once life is destroyed, but if we learn from our mistakes now then perhaps those who follow us won’t have to see what comes extra-life.

Underrated Albums: This Is My Dinner by Sun Kil Moon

Initially rising to fame in the 1990s as the frontman of slow-core kings The Red House Painters, singer-songwriter Mark Kozelek is now mainly known for his work under the moniker Sun Kil Moon.  Named after a Korean boxer, Sun Kil Moon’s sound has evolved drastically over the last two decades.  The band’s first album Ghosts Of The Great Highway (2003) sounded like a somewhat more folk-driven version of The Red House Painters later work, even recorded with many of the same band members.  2010’s Admiral Fell Promises saw Kozelek shedding the full-band instrumentation of most of his previous work, favoring a nylon-string guitar and his voice.  Two years later Among The Leaves was released, which featured more of the nylon-string style, but incorporated a stream-of-consciousness style of lyricism that stood in stark contrast to Kozelek’s previous writing, which was often sparse and riddled in metaphor.

2014’s Benji garnered widespread critical acclaim for Sun Kil Moon.  For the most part, Benji stuck with the same style of his previous two releases, occasionally incorporating full band arrangements, and using the stream-of-consciousness lyric style to great effect.  Most of all, listeners were affected by the brutal honesty of the songs, many of which deal with the loss of loved ones, from the perspective of a veteran songwriter who is coming to terms with being in the second half of his life.

Since then, Kozelek has struggled to gain acclaim.  2015’s Universal Themes and 2017’s Common as Light and Love Are Red Valleys of Blood received middling to negative reviews, as Kozelek delved even farther into the avant-garde, with both albums including many songs spanning over 10 minutes in length.  Listeners complained that Kozelek was no longer writing with the focus seen in his earlier work, and was just elaborating on self-centered minutia.

2018’s This Is My Dinner is no different.  The album spans an hour-and-a-half over the course of ten tracks, mainly chronicling Kozelek’s time touring Europe in November of 2017.  The first track “This Is Not Possible” features a laid-back, old school jam beat over top of which Kozelek talk-sings, beginning with a story about trying (unsuccessfully) to get into a Frankfurt venue, and ending (nine minutes later) with Kozelek singing about the process of recording the song itself.  Comedically, nearly every stanza of the song ends with the band softly chanting, “Yes, this is possible!” or “This is not possible!” back to Kozelek in response to a question in the narrative, almost like the chorus in a Shakespeare spoof.  Example:

Koz: Is it possible that my favorite meal is chicken and waffles?

Band: This is not possible!

Koz: Is it possible that the United States President needs to be admitted into a mental hospital?

Band: Yes, this is possible!

Koz: Is it possible that I’m singing this song in Berlin in front of a thousand people tonight?

Band: This is not possible!

On this release, Kozelek’s lyrics jump from the hilarious to the heart breaking very quickly in the span of a single track.  The title track finds him recalling a tour in Norway during which he received a call informing him that his beloved cat is near death.  He embarks on the flight home, racing death to see his pet before she dies, “The whole thing was so upsetting / and the anxiety was building so badly on the plane / and I kept writing in my journal / ‘please Pink, don’t die on me / please Pink, don’t die on me / please Pink, don’t die on me while I’m up here in the sky / I’ll hate myself forever if I could not kiss you goodbye.’”

The second half of the album sees Kozelek revisiting his childhood and the music that he grew up with that influenced him to be a musician in the first place.  In the song “David Cassidy,” he announces his intention to cover “Come On Get Happy” by the Partridge Family several times before the song cuts abruptly, jumping right into a one-minute rendition of the classic track.  After, he plays a long rendition of AC/DC’s “Rock N’ Roll Singer,” and then wraps up the record with two now “standard” stream-of-consciousness tracks.

What makes this record great is not it’s unconventional form, or it’s humor or tear jerking moments, but the way in which Kozelek’s writing style opens you up and immerses you into his world.  While some might view his writing as boring, tedious, and at times preachy, it offers a wholly unique perspective as you enter the head of a man who sees everything, and I mean everything, as significant and worthy of being written about.

When most of us look back upon our lives, we think of the big moments.  Graduations, weddings, divorces, moves, deaths of those close to us.  While those things are certainly significant, we often fail to recognize that the majority of life is lived between these moments.  Most of our lives are lived rushing to work, going grocery shopping, staring at our phones, talking to friends, waiting for the next moment.  Kozelek’s music makes every moment feel huge and this is where his writing succeeds.  He recognizes the intricacies of our lives and pays attention to them, honoring the quiet, busy, monotonous, and annoying moments as sacred.

This Is My Dinner is easily the most light-hearted album Kozelek has released, maybe ever.  He sounds like he’s having fun on this release, moving from story to story, detail to detail, reveling in the glory of all of it.  Aside from diehard fans, most probably will not bother with this.  If you haven’t heard a Kozelek album before, go back and listen to Benji, maybe a few Red House Painters albums, and then when you have an afternoon alone, sit down and crack open a beer and throw this on, and you’ll be surprised at how often you want to listen again.

Underrated Albums: On Watch by Slow Mass

The year is 2018 and guitar-driven music is once again in need of revitalization. A few years ago the 2010’s Emo Revival hit full swing, inspiring a new wave of pop-punk-but-this-time-it’s-dorky bands, twinkly math-rock depressed with the state of life in the American Midwest, and self-described loser-rock produced largely in suburban bedrooms and determined to self-destruct at all costs. Roughly a decade ago, when all of these sounds blew up they breathed new life into a musical medium that many had already declared dead. Now with the Emo Revival beginning to lose its steam, the realm of guitar music is once again due for new ideas. Enter: Chicago’s Slow Mass and their debut LP On Watch.

On Watch opens, after a brief intro, with the screech of guitar feedback and two dueling, distorted guitars laid over frenzied drumming courtesy of Josh Sparks (Standards – Into it. Over it.). It hits with the force of a car crash, sending the listener reeling before it retreats on cue to a subdued verse led by the soft crooning of bassist/vocalist Mercedes Webb. The transition is simultaneously drastic and effortless, somehow making what should be a jarring juxtaposition of sounds seem nuanced and natural.

Throughout the album, Slow Mass continue to hold these sounds and dynamics in contrast to one another, at times bordering on pure chaos and at times producing sounds that can’t be described as anything other than beautiful. On My Violent Years, a sparse acoustic arrangement suddenly flourishes with a myriad of woodwind instruments and ethereal vocal harmonies into a rising crescendo that never loses the gentleness of the piece as a whole. Three tracks later E.D. kicks down the door with its dissonant, frenetic brand of hardcore and lays waste to the room before handing the reigns over to the calm shuffling of The Author. Sometimes, like in the plodding Suburban Yellow, they move between both moods in the same song. In still other songs, like penultimate track Schemes, the instrumental and the lyrics seem to create different moods simultaneously. It is this masterful ability to create nuance out of something drastic and extreme that sets Slow Mass apart from their contemporaries. It is this very same ability that makes On Watch a clinic on album composition.

Lyrically, On Watch often leans into the Jeff Tweedy school of cryptic and somewhat obscure. Like Tweedy, however, it is apparent that the lyrics are rarely if ever meaningless, rather they seem to dance around the subject, perhaps giving the listener its general shape but never exposing it in clear terms. In this way deciphering what the songs are about becomes a bit like the old grade-school illustration of feeling an elephant with your eyes closed and trying to explain what you feel. For the ever-shifting, somewhat mysterious feel of the album as a whole this brand of lyricism works quite well, in part because though the lyrics may be cryptic they are not vague. The imagery on On Watchis often vivid, with lines like “a walled up border collie”, “spray painted scenester/ king of the bottom feeders”, “a newborn fib/ and a loser’s lisp”, and “you peel me off like dead skin.” In the few moments where Slow Mass give you something direct it is usually simple, but impactful, such as the central line in closing track G’s End: “All I’ve wanted to say/ is I hope you find peace today.”

Here in their lyricism Slow Mass once again showcase both the tension and the compatibility of extremes, creating a lyrical atmosphere where obtuse images are juxtaposed with direct, easily intelligible phrases such as: “There’s nothing like getting up before dawn to start wasting your life.” Alongside the ever-changing, constantly metamorphosizing music, the lyrics help create an album that seems to have it’s finger on something real, but intangible; everyday, but mysterious; pretty out there, but still grounded somewhere. It is the kind of album that is both mechanically innovative, but also emotive and thoughtful; an album that is unapologetically artsy without feeling overly self-indulgent. Perhaps it is exactly the kind of album that we need to jolt the guitar music world back to life.

Mapping the Zeitgeist: 2018 in Music

After a somewhat down year in 2017, 2018 proved to be a monumental year for music. The sheer volume of incredible albums across all contemporary genres this year would be the most of the current decade if 2016 weren’t such a watershed year for album-oriented music. Unlike 2016, however, 2018 was also a monumental year for the non-artistic sides of music with huge moves in the business, political, and socioeconomic components of the industry. Though our primary focus here at Not a Sound is the creative end of music, there were two big changes in music as a culture this year that we’d like to touch on briefly.

 

The Music Modernization Act

 

On October 11, 2018 the 115th United States Congress passed The Music Modernization Act, a three-part bill designed to update music copyright law for the age of streaming services. The MMA was one of the most sweeping updates in copyright law in decades and received support from musicians, producers, labels, and streaming services alike for streamlining and enforcing the payment process for music recording royalties. Perhaps the most important of the three sections of the bill is the first, which would create an independent, non-profit agency in charge of maintaining a database of mechanical license ownership for sound recordings (the license that covers the composition and lyrics in a recording) and then charging a blanket royalty rate to streaming sites who use the database. It also ensures that songwriters get paid a portion of their mechanical license royalties and enforces this by contract. Also included in the bill is a requirement to pay producers, sound engineers, and mixers who were creatively involved in a recording a piece of the royalties as well. This is the first time that producers have been included in the royalty discussion.

 

Women in Music

 

2018 was a watershed year for women in music. Referencing Metacritic, a site that compiles the aggregate critical scores of albums, female artists or groups with at least one woman member topped the majority of all genres across the board this year, even in genres that are typically male dominated such as metal, where English band Rolo Tomassi released the critical consensus best album by a wide margin, and also hip-hop, where Chicago-based rapper Noname released not only the most critically acclaimed album in her genre, but the most critically acclaimed album overall of the year. Other notable releases included Kacey Musgraves, who topped the critical charts in country music, Half Waif in synth-pop, Slow Mass and The Screaming Females in rock/alternative, and Lucy Dacus in the lyrical alternative/singer-songwriter mold. Dacus also recorded the incredible Boygenius EP with fellow female superstars Julien Baker and Phoebe Bridgers, perhaps the most lyrically proficient super-group of all time, and, continuing the theme, comprised entirely of women.

 

The list of critically acclaimed albums that women were involved in this year runs deep down the line and reflects a growing upward trend in female participation in musical genres previously dominated by men. A study by Fender this year showed that for the first time in history exactly half of new guitar players in both the UK and the USA were young women. Although the trend had been moving in this direction for the past few years, many naively wrote it off as “the Taylor Swift effect”, a surge in guitar purchases driven by the fanatical culture surrounding the young country star. However, years after Swift traded in her acoustic for pop beats and synths, we can see clearly what anyone who had been paying attention in the first place knew all along: girls just want to play guitar too.

 

In 2018 we are finally beginning to see a more even distribution between male and female artists, at least on the critical level. Though we still have a long way to go to remove stigmas and barriers, we are finally starting to see real ground broken in creation and critical coverage, and if 2018 is any indication, the results are going to be great for music.