Pitiless Censors is a sparkling album, a lo-fi synth pop masterpiece that manages to give endless aural delights while still being intellectually engaging, and despite having been caught at the center of a whirlpool of current movements, all of which reflect some aspect of Maus’ style, he has only cemented his identity as a singular, unimpeachable figure.
As difficult as it might be to find fresh plaudits with which to laud Deerhunter, they continue to deserve every single redundant bit of acclaim.
For all the scorn and fireworks, LEMONADE is maybe most remarkable for its capacity for healing ... It’s a work that relishes in the movement of emotionality, the contradictory wrecking-ball feelings that spring from disappointed love, that could turn you to drought if turned from. And it never loses its focus.
The themes run from menstruation to vampires to capitalism to loneliness to pap smears, and any thread you pick can take you to the core. You have been invited in.
Sometimes you have a dream and it’s not bad. It’s not wish-fulfillment, but you feel more alive for having had it. The memory of the dream’s worth nothing, but you’ll chase the feeling all day. This album is a lot like that.
A memorable, impermanent joy, it restores, rather than disturbs, the equilibrium — a feat of engineering in the service of artistry.
Beach House have reached the point in their career where achieving grand melodic climaxes seems to come to them effortlessly, and on Teen Dream the climaxes are as thrilling as ever before.
So no, Public Strain isn’t the manic, dirty opus Women was. But it’s still Women. And I’m still in love with it.
Like a good drama, the most enthralling moments of Burn Your Fire occur in the most unpolished and ambiguous facets. Each song is familiar at first listen, only to transform into intricately indelible settings the more you follow their path.
With efforts like this one, Panda Bear and his coterie have established a genuinely avant-garde movement in America.
COIN COIN Chapter Three: river run thee is infinite and indispensable in its cultural worth and true-ly timeless and comprehensive in its scope. A masterwork of human history, still in progress.
Jeremih’s a night owl, not a lark, and on Late Nights: The Album — his first in a lustrum — he retreats even further from the spotlight he seemed predestined for, carefully crafting an album that surprisingly finds tranquility in the 28-year-old’s thrill-seeker ways.
Pop music is often at its best when it seek to challenge its own established tradition, and imbued with a timeless feminine cultural residue, Vroom Vroom does just that. This is pop music reinventing itself, reasserting its autonomy.
Wrapped in a overwhelming number of influences, Oh No vaults across an infinity of cultural milieus to find itself. Soft and sensual, alone in a room of millions, Lanza weaves past and present, dance and desire as one in a dizzying, strenuous aesthletic attempt at its future.
Half Free is a dudless, succinct record with nonetheless staggering scope.
With If You’re Reading This, there is union between his effort to “mythologically aggrandize” himself and to relieve creative pressure by half-redundantly (and “meaningfully”) delivering what people what: Drake content, Drake lyrics, Drake beats… a Drake album.
Melodrama overwhelms me. It reaches me at that weird and fragile center. The part of me I consider irreconcilable.
Throughout these 12 songs (often bi- or tripartite), Lamar reshapes and improves upon enough modern rap tropes to at least partially justify the “unique” and “forward-thinking” mantles that have been placed upon him.