Ignore the Ignorant - The Cribs

Another day, another Cribs album. This continues the upward trend for me of enjoyable listens, particularly from a distinctive era of 2000s British indie rock. I believe this might be the only album featuring Johnny Marr, and my goodness, it shows. In fact, I thought I picked up some Modest Mouse influence before I read that he was involved in this particular record. I really appreciate the way they slide in some longer songs amidst shorter ones, in a way that contributes to that art-y new wave atmosphere. There was a notable shift between the second and third record, and this fourth one builds on the previous, even if I didn’t get quite the same level of excitement out of it. Of course, I realize this is a disadvantageous way to go about listening to a band, doing a mostly passive cursory once-over through a complete discography, but it’s the way I do things. The immersion is making me eager to start over again and do some more closer listens, so there’s that.

Singin’ to an Empty Chair – Ratboys

Ratboys are from Chicago, but their sound should be able to confirm they are from the Midwest long before you know that detail. This band fits squarely into that alt-Americana of Big Thief and Waxahatchee, and not simply because all are fronted by female vocalists. I realize they are roughly contemporary with those other acts, but it is surprising they don’t get the same level of attention. This is a stellar follow up to their previous record, The Window, which felt like something was beginning to break through at the time. As a continuation, I hope this album elevates their progress even further. They are seemingly able to write simultaneously joyous pop pieces that feel breezy as well as longer epics that feel all-encompassing, and it changes from song to song. In fact, some of the more anthemic pieces are worth belting out. The music feels somehow both modern and timeless, but all songs are endlessly pleasant. Easily the first contender for my annual best of the year list.

Behind the Magnolia Curtain – Tav Falco’s Panther Burns

There are two types of Pitchfork Sunday Reviews: those that provide context for an already-known record and those which introduce a never-known one. In either case, there is a reason this has been part of my required weekly reading (and subsequent listening) for years now. This week’s review was an example of the latter, introducing a new-to-me album, a 1980s garage blues rock album reminiscent of rock and roll from thirty years prior. On my initial pass, I wasn’t a huge fan. The record was competent at making me consider classic rock and roll—Buddy Holly, Link Wray, Bill Haley—but ultimately, I would have rather listened to any of those artists instead. Musically, there were a few tracks which impressed me, but the vocals took me out of the experience, and I found myself wishing for more of the dirty, fuzzed out instrumentals. As an experiment in nostalgia, I found it interesting, but the novelty wore thin after some time. I fully admit, however, that I have basically no exposure to the source material of Memphis rockabilly referenced in the initial article, so I can't hold my own lack of nostalgia against the music. I will probably take songs from this record in doses, but I don’t see myself returning to the album as a whole in the near future.

Flesh - David Szalay

I used to enjoy stories about nihilistic, mundane characters, such as Holden Caulfield or William Stoner. Turns out, I still do! Istvan is the latest in that archetype for me, bouncing chaotically between affair and violence, never quite seeming to settle into a comfortable life. Even the moments where things do seem to be going right, there is always an atmosphere of unease. For a mostly bleak story, however, the pacing was incredibly quick, as so much narrative was told in rapid dialogue. There were bright spots, though. For one, the love Istvan felt for his wife was truly evident, even if his response to her fate was not handled well. The other was that Istvan's mother weaves her way throughout his life in ways that mostly went unnoticed by me, until the end. Of course that resonated with me, to the point that I went back and re-read the opening few paragraphs immediately after finishing. That Istvan was able to forge those two deep emotional connections amidst an otherwise gray existence was beautiful, inspiring, and, honestly, life-like. This was possibly my favorite ever Booker winner, though I would have to reconsider Shuggie Bain.

Men’s Needs, Women’s Needs, Whatever – The Cribs

I’ve been meaning to check out this band knowing Jeff Rosenstock name-checked them in one of his best songs. Anything Jeff endorses is good enough for me. As I do with such things, I work through in chronological order, so this is the third record of theirs I’ve listened to this week. This approach is proving to work for me, because each album is growing on me, naturally as the band’s sound evolves. I got the sense this was the big release for this band, so I was eager to get to it. It is the first one that has made me want to dive back in for another listen. I have to say, it sounds very “of its era,” but I mean that as a compliment. Thinking about the other records coming from the UK in the mid-00s, this feels perfectly in place. I’m still not ready to claim fandom for the group, but I haven’t hit anything that’s made me want to quit either. Incidentally, this is the first album of theirs where I can really hear a sense of the Rosenstock sound coming through.