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The best new albums this week

Our writers pick their faves from the week’s albums

Warpaint – Radiate Like This review

It’s been six years since their previous album, but Warpaint have kept themselves busy. In the time since Heads Up, each member has engaged in endeavours both artistic and personal. Theresa Wayman released a solo album in 2018 as TT, launched an underwear line with her mother and sister, and earned a role in the film adaptation of Kenneth J. Harvey’s novel Inside; Stella Mozgawa laid down drums for a range of projects, including The XX, Sharon Van Etten and Cate Le Bon; Jenny Lee Lindberg lent her melodic bass-playing to Phoebe Bridgers’ Punisher and collaborated with Depeche Mode’s Dave Gahan, while Emily Kokal gave birth to her daughter before the pandemic forced the US into lockdown, to name a few.

Even with all these extracurricular activities, their bond hadn’t wavered. The band started work on Radiate Like This in late 2019, and had completed the foundational tracking sessions until the pandemic forced them to work remotely. Undeterred by the separation, each member recorded their parts from their homes, with each track built and fine-tuned with care and precision. They might not have been able to create in the same room, but judging by the results, Warpaint are as cohesive and harmonious as ever. Better yet, they sound totally refreshed after their period of dormancy.

On albums prior, Warpaint have been content to lurk in the shadows. Heads Up shifted slightly towards a looser, poppier sound, but the brooding atmospherics remained. It’s why it’s so pleasing to hear the band indulge in brighter soundscapes on Radiate Like This. Right out of the gate, ‘Champion’ enchants you with its serenity; keys glisten like sunlight reflecting off a lake, as Kokal and Wayman reach out their arms in companionship (“And here it is I’ve got you/And here it is I’ll talk to you”). The layered production works a charm here, particularly with how Mozgawa’s and Lindberg’s muscular grooves compliment the song’s airier elements. There’s lots of deft touches that give Radiate Like This its depth too, most noticeably the steel drums on the achingly beautiful ‘Melting’, and the soaring strings on ‘Trouble’.

The optimism sweeping through these instrumentals is also reflected in the lyricism. A lot of the mystery and ambiguity that has defined Warpaint thus far has been swept aside in favour of tenderness and transparency. ‘Stevie’ symbolises the band’s new mindset, a hazy, mellow love song that’s equal parts flirty and touching (“You are one freaky mother/You give me happiness” Kokal coos at one point). The same applies to ‘Send Nudes’, which ambles along blissfully with its warm synths and crackly acoustic guitar. Platonic relationships aren’t ignored; Kokal described Radiate Like This as a “maternal” record in the build-up to the album’s release, with ‘Hips’ dedicated to her daughter (“She’s a little messiah/Jewel in the crown”). Yes, they haven’t totally ditched the vagueness, but the positive outlook, moulded by the evolution of their friendship and the changes in their lives, has made their music inherently more inviting.

Meticulous tweaking can often come at the expense of what makes a band special to begin with. However, Warpaint have shaken some of their most divisive tropes – the emotional rigidity, songs that resembled jam sessions as opposed to, you know, songs – while strengthening their inimitable chemistry and emphasising their mesmeric musicianship. Radiate Like This is a delightful record, one that refines a well-established sound, but takes it to bolder and more interesting places. More focused and detailed than its predecessors, it’s a celebration of growth and friendship, and how our experiences can ultimately shape us for the better.

MDW

Harvey Sutherland ‘Boy House Anxiety)

Mike Katz has made a habit of dazzling listeners with every stylishly cultivated release since his Harvey Sutherland debut arrived – via cassette – back in 2013. The Melbourne-based artist’s intelligently composed music effortlessly glides between stylistic realms, routinely hitting sonic sweet spots thanks to his jazz-funk accord and knack for constructing compelling melodies. Considering the depth and breadth of his musical aptitude, it’s perhaps surprising that ‘Boy’ arrives as his debut long-player of unreleased work. Packed with analogue warmth and dextrous live instrumentation throughout, the self-described collection of “neurotic funk” jams is, unsurprisingly, excellent and unquestionably a cause for celebration. The LP begins with the determined strut of ‘Jouissance’, where quirky synth lines blend with choral sweeps over a rugged electro-disco rhythm. Atmospheric and alluring, the brooding spell is broken by the celebratory jazz-funk flex of ‘Age Of Acceleration’, with trademark synth licks bursting over fizzing chords, slap bass and rolling drum fills.

The musically rich fusion Katz creates endows his sound with a richness that helps set it apart from much of the current field, and his inspired collaboration with another vibe-igniting master of boogie-synth heat – the one and only Dam Funk – rises in as one of the album’s highlights. ‘Feeling Of Love’ explodes with synth-fuelled vigour, as soulful vocals and searing solos jet across sparkling chords and growling synth bass for a majestic electro-boogie blowout. The audio alchemy continues into ‘Holding Pattern’, with the analogue brew embellished with a gentle blend of yacht-rock salt, before the slap bass of ‘Michael Was Right About You’ ushers us further into balmy ocean sunsets via psychedelic lead synth and hazy vocal echoes.

The deviant groove of ‘Slackers’ rolls in as one of the most club-ready cuts of the album, before the post-punk angst of ‘Type A’ brings a dose of anarchic swagger to proceedings. Unfettered nu-disco finds room in the form of ‘Angry Young Man’, while the meditative meandering of title track ‘Boy’ is ripe for sprawling moments of thoughtful introspection. Finally, ‘Time On My Side’ glistens with expressive virtuosity, as the screeching synth lead darts over bubbling bass and soothing chords. Simply brilliant work from this unique musical voice, ‘Boy’ is an album to savour.

PC

Painting – Painting Is Dead (Antime)

Berlin-based trio Soft Grid were a modern synthprog act like no other, with their last EP ‘AGENCY’ (2019) dealing in sprawling vocal whispers, strange harmonics, and playful twists and turns. Their sound was precursory to electronic post-punk acts like In Tongues, and proved them a stalwart talent despite relatively little recognition.

Having packed it in, though, two of its core members (Theresa Stroetges and Christian Hohenbild) have since moved on to a new project. ‘Painting Is Dead’ eases much more into experimental electronic wackery, drawing on unconventional fusions on far-flung motifs from pop to jazz to the avant-garde. Absurdist themes abound, with Stroetges’ vocals flitting across each track’s faerylike mix like a neo-pastoral banshee. And that’s not to mention the oddness of the track titles. Track 2, ‘Maybe It’s Like Riding In A Little Jeep’, starts out sounding like something between Flume, Bohren & Der Club Of Gore, and a Gregorian chant, upending all expectations when it bursts into film-noir jazz at around its half-way mark.

To risk using a hackneyed music-reviewer phrase for an EP too good for it (or at least, so it seems), the most central theme ‘All My Eggs Go Down The Drain’ is its rattling hi-hats. But by golly, though, do they rattle; this instrumental rivals the work of even the savviest of UK drill producers. Sax undulates away, as Stroetges sings of diversifying her options, and the anxiety of loss that comes with it. An ambient interlude follows, before ‘Who Are The Pretty New Ducks The Pond’ closes on a sprawling note wirth an odd time signature to boot.

In combination with a new live show by ‘virtual room’ installer and performance artist Paula Reissig, watch out for this EP in its hybrid live incarnation, which creates an audiovisual spectacle like no other. If ‘Painting Is Dead’, then Mondrian must be spinning in his grave, as the ’Soft Grid’ technique they previously is no more!

JIJ

Mom Jeans – Puppy Love (Counter Intuitive)
Coinciding with the release of their much anticipated third full-length, ‘Sweet Tooth’, Berkley stoner-emo outfit Mom Jeans have opted to reissue both of their first two seminal records. 2018’s sophomore triumph, ‘Puppy Love’, made it clear that the happy go lucky slackers were far from a one and done act, sharpening their wit, sincerity and knack for noodling, jangly hooks tenfold. With lo-fi, bare bones production, a notable delve into darker, more dejected subject matter and self-analysis, as well as a purposeful masking of the vulnerability on display beneath idiotic in-joke song-titles, the ten-track, half-hour collection continues to justify its place as an essential component of 21st century emo-revivalism.

Primary songwriter Eric Butler dissects complex feelings pertaining to isolation, rejection and apathy in a manner simultaneously humorous yet devastating, such as “I always figured that I’d be smoking weed in front of the TV, eating shit until my arteries clog and I die,” delivered in the most anthemic of gang chants.

While eschewing the instantaneous hooks that made their debut so direct and memorable, but before realising their full potential as unsung pop-punk heroes, this second effort falls right in the middle, too dark in places, perhaps too lax in others. A nuanced, subtly technical, weighty affair disguised as tongue-in-cheek emo-pop, ‘Puppy Love’, has garnered immense underground praise for its unpretentious, grounded and painfully relatable musings on growing up, moving out and learning who you are, who you want to be and who you’re behaving like.

Striking a metered balance between absurdity and fragility, the midpoint two part excursion of the ludicrously titled ‘I Left My Towel At My Friend’s House & Then They Moved’ ends with the frail, consciously immature refrain of – “How dare you come in my life and make me rely on you? How can you live with yourself knowing you did this to me?”

By the time you’ve chuckled out the last dry morsel of humour from the title, you’re left with the cold realisation of how pleading the subject matter residing beneath truly is. Some might argue this is a tried and tested token of the emo and punk scenes, but rarely is it pulled off with such arresting dichotomy and maturing finesse.

ZB

Ibeyi – Spell 31 (XL)

Since breaking through in 2015 with their self-titled debut album, Ibeyi have confronted their anger and pain through a spiritual, meditative lens. Twin sisters Naomi and Lisa-Kaindé Diaz have tackled personal and generational trauma with a calm sense of defiance. Combined with a sound that fuses elements of their musical lineage with a modern sheen, it’s hypnotic, life-affirming stuff.

Spell 31 arrives at a time of intense global despair. But despite the bleak realities of the socio-political climate, Ibeyi remain steadfast in their quest for healing. Everything you’ve come to expect from them is here, from the tribal percussion to the slick production and the inimitable vocal harmonies, but it’s strewn with the maturity they’ve gained through their experiences. ‘Sister 2 Sister’ exemplifies this best; it’s a stirring rumination on the sisters’ relationship, which flickers through childhood memories, overcoming obstacles, and the strength of their love for one another. Meanwhile, the soaring ‘Creature (Perfect)’ finds them in a state of acceptance in spite of their supposed flaws – “I don’t have to be perfect/I finally see, I’m just a creature” goes the spellbinding chorus.

Ibeyi have always been enthusiastic collaborators, and the guest appearances on Spell 31 don’t disappoint. Delivering his most impassioned performance to date, Pa Salieu’s vocal elasticity meshes perfectly with ‘Made of Gold’s’ magical aura. BERWYN’s verse is full of fire on their cover of Black Flag’s ‘Rise Above’ (“If they decide tonight that they all wanted to fight/Then I’m the first guy that’s standing in line for the war”), while Jorja Smith lends her breathy vocals to the sensual ‘Lavender & Red Roses’.

Spell 31 is a compact affair, clocking in at 26 minutes. It’s the album’s only real weakness; the world that Ibeyi have created here is so purifying, so mystical, that it’s a shame that we can’t stay in it for a little bit longer.

MDW

Melchior Sultana ‘Self Reflection’ (Oath)

There’s much to admire about the musical output of Maltese producer, Melchior Sultana. Actively releasing well-crafted titles for the best part of 20 years – on labels including Underground Quality and Profound Sound and deepArtSounds – his evolving sound has journeyed through raw techno, trip-hop and soul-jazz before settling into the sun-kissed deep house grooves he’s become synonymous with.

The composer and multi-instrumentalist seems to find abundant inspiration in the warm climes of the culturally-rich island he calls home, and his eighth long-player is embodied with the gloriously free-wheeling essence of a shimmering Mediterranean summer. Though varied and nuanced throughout, ‘Self Reflection is a blissfully coherent collection of hyper-atmospheric tracks that skirt the line between agile musicality and sturdy rhythmic bump.

The LP launches in the gentlest of fashions, with sultry vocals hovering over sumptuous chords and head-nodding drums on the aptly titled ‘Chill’, before the extraterrestrial acid funk of the electro-themed ‘Mirage’ daintily lifts the mood. The 303 refrains continue into ‘Switch Up’, undulating over jerking drums and evocative synth chords, while ‘You & I’ assumes a heavenly deep house grind, with robust drums combining with ethereal pads and funk-coated synth licks. The sparkling motifs of ‘Conclusions’ maintain the heads-down course, with carefully orchestrated instrumentation woven over thick bass and shuffling drums.

The energy is lifted via the retro house organs and growling bass of ‘Dogma’, with virtuoso leads soaring over a solid four/four groove. ‘Heads Up’ extends deeper into US house territory, before the primal aesthetic of ‘Remember The Floor’ strips things back for a stand-out deep house meditation. There’s a sense now that the sun has set, and the square wave bass and twisted synth work of ‘Don’t Look Back’ usher in the twilight with palpable nocturnal intention. Finally, the machine soul of ‘Module’ welcomes the dawn’s early light, with expressive synth threads interlaced over stripped drums for a timeless psycho-spiritual experience.

PC


Ibaraki – Rashomon (Nuclear Blast)
Trivium frontman/founder, Matt Heafy, has served as a major player in the mainstream metal circles for almost two solid decades. An astute listener and observer to all prevailing sub-genres within the scene, his guitar playing dexterity as well as penchant for expansive, theatrical songcraft has awarded his tenure with an esteemed following.

It’s somewhat refreshing, yet of little surprise then, that after all of these years, Heafy has found himself collaborating with one of his darkest, most unlikely peers; Emperor mastermind Insahn.

While never fully exuding much black metal influence, it’s not so difficult to recognise the lessons absorbed from the Norwegian scene of extreme music, with atmosphere, complexity, and malevolence all intrinsic characteristics to the Trivium sound, whilst arguably never plummeted to the eager depths displayed on ‘Rashomon’.

Leaning into his Japanese lineage, Ibaraki operates as a curious experiment in black metal composition, samurai folklore and dynamic collaboration.

There are some natural features, such as Insahn himself lending vocals to the malodorous ‘Tamashii No Houkai’, or genre royalty Nergal of Behemoth appearing on the groove-laden, downtrodden ‘Akumu’.

Most alarming, and arguably the centrepiece of the project, is ‘Ronin’; a nine-minute opus featuring My Chemical Romance frontman (and emo heartthrob turned sage-like elder) Gerard Way flexing his most caustic, unsettling vocal delivery to date, with shrieking howls offsetting Heafy’s nuanced, clean vocals.

Speaking of which, many might have reservations surrounding whether or not Ibaraki stands on its own as an accomplished work, or if Heafy is merely cosplaying within a scene he feels isolated from, due to his mainstream position.

While admittedly never reaching to the blackened abyss where acts like Mayhem or Darkthrone reside, there’s a methodical delicacy to not alienate past fans with a vision too far removed from familiar patterns, yet Heafy does his utmost to subvert his own compositional pitfalls and reward his new labour of love with enough of its own ghostly independence.

ZB

Jaymie Slik – The Rise & Fall of Jaymie Silk & Rave Culture (Shall Not Fade)

Paris-based Jaymie Silk is blazing a trail through contemporary house music which shatters the formulaic hum of overworn tropes and returns the genre to its potent roots. Appearing on Shall Not Fade certainly places him in the cut and thrust of modern house, but this eight-track LP has a lot more to say than classically styled garage bumpers and the like. True enough ‘The Heat’ has feel good piano chops and diva samples, snatches of breaks and more besides, but Silk’s approach to these sounds is chaotic and unrehearsed. In the same way early Chicago house sounded like they were figuring things out direct to tape, Silk sounds like an artist that couldn’t bring himself to knock off an established style even if he tried. That’s no criticism either – it’s an indication of an authentic voice plotting his own path instead of working to a blueprint.

And yet, The Rise & Fall of Jaymie Silk & Rave Culture feels deeply rooted. He’s not the first to use a Malcolm X speech sample, but he hammers home the “Freedom for everybody or freedom for nobody” line with sincerity and purpose. ‘Bad B’ has fun with some ghetto house vocal play but frames it in a mutant rave context. The repeated mantra on ‘Take Time To Breathe’ feels loaded in the wake of George Floyd’s murder – a reminder for self-care from an artist explicitly invested in the Black dimension of his work. The ideas and ingenuity across the album place Silk alongside so many of the great Black innovators of house and techno, wrestling new forms out of the culture by simply being himself. 

OW

Serpente – Dias Da Aranha (Discrepant)

Bruno Silva has recorded a lot of music over the past 10 years. Much of that has been as Ondness, bringing mutant experimental techno forms to labels like Where To Now?, Seagrave and Sucata Tapes. In recent times though he’s been growing the Serpente project with a more focused, knotty rhythmic approach that’s landed on Ecstatic, Alien Jams and now Discrepant. If those labels suggest leftfield sonic hi-jinks are afoot, then you’re on the right track with Dias Da Aranha.

Sinking into the labyrinthe ‘Meio Ondness’, which features Maxwell Sterling on bass, one can hear the patina of post punk in the clattering found sound percussion, while the seasick rhythmic dissolution reminds at times of Burnt Friedman’s dogged escape from Western drum norms, albeit rendered here in a sparser, more lo-fi way. The drums and Pedro Sousa’s upstart sax on ‘Simbolo IV’ almost hint towards some kind of danceable thrust, but that’s soon dissolved by the messy clamour of ‘Simbolo V’. For all the odd angles and determined technique, there’s a spaciousness to Serpente’s sound which helps it land even as things fall apart. It’s an assured and confident album that sits comfortably in the constantly intriguing world of Discrepant.

OW

Arovane – Tides (Remastered) (Keplar)

From the edgier clicks of his early work on Torsten Profrock’s DIN label it wasn’t immediately apparent Uwe Zahn would evolve as he did. As Arovane, he helped characterise the sound of electronica at the turn of the millennium, during that shift towards more purely in-the-box processes, when ideas about listening music expanded beyond chill-out room club inversions and classical musicality became a valid input alongside the shock of new electronic processes. By the time he released Lillies on City Centre Offices, Zahn was heading well away from crunchy drum programming towards a beauteous strain of compositional experimental music with as much organic as electronic timbre in its genetic makeup.

Dialling back for a minute to 2000’s Tides and you catch the mid-flight Arovane when there was still plenty of space for a spiky beat in his plaintive sound. ‘Eleventh’ rides a crisp, digital hip hop beat which wouldn’t have sounded out of place on Skam, although the gnarly rave and electro tendencies of that operation would have been too rough for Zahn’s delicate creations. For the most part, it’s the melodic content which defines Tides.

Funnily enough, beatless vignette ‘Tomorrow Morning’ actually sounds like it prefigures Boards Of Canada’s Tomorrow’s Harvest in its mood, but it’s quickly swept aside by the treated guitar tones of ‘Seaside’ which has a glacial post rock quality not a million miles from Stars of the Lid. Those pieces might nod more clearly to where Zahn was headed, but as such it’s the fuller productions which hold a special charm in hindsight. ‘A Secret’ is a dusky, aloof piece which comes on like Plaid if they didn’t get quite so giddy. ‘The Storm’ does a fantastic job of marrying baroque harpsichord to a perfectly squashed and suffocating beat, coming up with a sound which nods to illbient and the Ninja Tune school of beatsmithery.

The reference points are hard to shrug off because this is a record so much of its time, and while there’s music from years ago which loses its charm or simply fades from view, Tides sounds crystal clear and so very welcome upon its return.

OW

This week’s reviewers: Oli Warwick, Zach Buggy, Jude Iago James,