Reviews by kuvien

high k/d RIO-cabaret cosplay for people who've never heard Henry Cow.

"Inspired by Mulatu Astatke, Fela Kuti and varied western musical traditions"... yes, that much is clear. This album is lovely, easy to listen to, groovy, and a wellspring of expression. And as if the rest of the album wasn't already good enough, Meskerem Mees lends her beautiful jazz vocals to one of the tracks.

Though not as good as their debut, this album still has killer hooks and has enough corny moments to really endear it to me.

Hip hop is garbage as a genre, and acts like B.E.P. who rise above it are rare.

What the fuck is wrong with people?

This is one of the worst albums ever. The shitty, shitty end-rhyming is enough to convict the songwriter to life imprisonment.

Some people don't like evolution, and this isn't the first time I've been on the wrong side of a debate about a band changing sound. I like the Swans Swans' fans don't like, and I like this album way more than this band's previous two, which are, in my opinion, forgettable and uninspired. I love how one can't predict how the songs are going to unfold and develop, this album being more creative, more expressive. Part of what appeals to me is the strong quirky Moulettes energy in spots, and I'm a sucker for the way women sing like they do on this album. Rock, folk, and pop perfectly blended. Music that respects its audience, at once enchanting the heart and challenging expectations. And this is why I don't always give up on bands I have a feeling about.

This is the album of an ex-rocker who has grown old gracefully, who still has something to say, and is ready to sing it in subdued, profound, delicate Americana. This album is definitely the most beautiful music document Frank Black has ever created. A warm, mellow album of Americana crooned by the mature voice of the former Pixie. One of my favorite albums to listen together with my wife. The final song, “Sing for Joy”, is a kick in the head. This album perfectly follows whatever you played before it, either by complement or contrast.

Like Wardruna, obviously, but with guitars, thus keeping us grounded in our reality even as we take to viking ship back to the nights of savage Europe.

Boasting an insane number of performers and collaborators, from engineers, programmers, and beatmakers to brass, kora, and pipa, this album is meant to communicate the electricity of creativity that flows from the river of collaboration. Björk calls herself "the catalyst", and she's not wrong, for she's right there at the center of everything, unconsumed but necessary to get all the disparate influences to react with one another over the course of the album's runtime. From Iceland to the world and back.

The modified soundtrack to the divisive film Dancer in the Dark, which I like but so many people I know hate.

Björk is always a treat, her music being sexy and mysterious, and no matter how many times I listen to her albums, I always end up finding something I’d not heard before. Her music is lush and rich, and there’s always a lot to unpack. It's impressive how she deals with such an overdone topic as finding the ideal man, making the subject fresh again with her poetic lyrics and earnest yet quirky vocals.

This album is all over the map; strike that--you can't use a map where this journey takes you, to a darkly-lit faerie realm where beauty feeds on decay and produces illumination as a byproduct. I like how this music is comfortable both with beautiful, melodic violin phrasings but also with electronic donkey braying, expressive in its ethereal sonic meditations but also in its harsher electronic moments. Pitter-patter like Björk-rain on your roof; Björk creeping around you on bare, soft Björk-feet; face-slamming you with Björk-gabber.

Quetzalcoatl killed Dave for this insult. Straight to ziggurat!

Bittová on violin, Fajt on drums, the former striving for unresolved expression, the latter sometimes falling into a rock groove but more often apt to improvise his patterns and lean into the avant. Bittová's vocals aren't nearly as wild as they are on other recordings, and though I prefer her almost "unlistenable" experimentalism, the more standard vocal approach she employs here works for this collaboration.

There's almost as much fire here as on. Perhaps more percussion, but that doesn't mitigate the incendiary strings or the freaky, leaping vocals. This is an incredible debut. Theatrical quirkiness is right in the center of Bittová's wheelhouse.

One of those modern classical albums serious in its silliness, with a lot of longer tracks divided up into little vocal and string interludes. Folk meets the sacred, with flutes, strings, and children's toys. I'm convinced Bittová is part cat. I hate cats, but I'd like them if they were like Bittová. I wonder if a cat would like this album.

Iva Bittová, the musical. Iva Bittová, dinner theater.

This fiery, evocative album (typical Bittová) opens with a 14-minute title track that first appeared on another of her albums eight years before this, so we can guess how important this "personal folk music" is to her, this experimental, interior epic that caught the attention of the world's ear. Folk rooted in Moravian traditions rises out of Bittová's world where voice ignites violin and cello, somewhere along the path between sigh and moan, between chirp and whisper.

It's amazing what one talented, creative woman can do with just her voice and her violin. Bittová fills all this album without being overpowering. A beautiful journey down narrow, less-trodden paths.