Reviews by kuvien

Dank.

I know this kid who whines if an album is over 35 minutes long, but that same mfer will 5-star every Swans album.

The music in part contains the recognition of the lamentable paradox within yourself of having eyes but not seeing and having ears but not hearing, and the subsequent bafflement that leads to the inevitable slide into despair.

The other part is despair at the death of a world you cannot save, complete with all the attendant feelings of meaningless.

What I love most about this music is the traditional form of singing that involves a long, half-chanted phrase followed by an exhilarating wail that half-frightens half-delights. Add in pounding percussion and fiery fiddles, and you've just perfected a recipe that'll lure me every time.

There's nothing wrong with floating on your back down the river, your hair splayed out like silk behind you, as long as you remember that the river doesn't care about you the way you care about it.

The magic starts at bedtime, when the world has grown dark and peaceful, and the mind turns to the power of story.

I browsed porn while listening to this.

The more pastoral the flautist, the more I’m going to like the prog rock, and this album’s flute work creates a beautiful, gentle atmosphere, the keyboards following suit with the whole motif. It’s not all soft, though, as they mix a healthy dose of The Mothers of Invention into their Soft Machine. The ambient experimental ending of the epic third track is always interesting, especially as it leads into a more rock-driven ending to the album.

This is an incredible debut. They’ve got a great sound, like they’ve been playing together for a while. As always with the Canterbury scene, this band couches humor in complexity.

Hey this has the song at the end of Hot Fuzz! Also, a girl back in university made a mix tape for me way back in 1996, and I listened to the hell outta that cassette. This song was on that tape, but until this moment, I didn't know where "Alright" came from.

If you're looking to explore music beyond your borders, don't pick this album. I should've checked the tracklist. It's all just covers of American and UK songs. This is so fucking lame.

This album is almost completely about death. The first three songs are directly about death—Kozelek even imagines death when it hasn’t happened yet, pre-grieving the passing of his mother. That track is a strange one for me, and it’s uncomfortable listening to a man vocalize what’s already played out in his mind, the details of how he will grieve when his mother dies. Every time I hear this one, though, I always think: “you’ve not considered the possibility that you could die first.” The fourth track is an enumerated recollection of sexual explorations and exploits, and the parallels of sex and death have been well documented across the years in many artistic forms. Musings on mass shootings follow as Kozelek guilt-trips us all for daring to enjoy Christmases and weddings. Death pops up again in the heartbreaking story of Jim Wise, a man on house arrest awaiting trial for the murder of his wife. Or was it murder? Kozelek calls it a mercy killing. Jim Wise shot his wife in her hospital bed and then turned the gun on himself, but it jammed, and he failed at suicide. Not every song on this album is about death, but most of them are at least somewhat associated with the theme.

I'm a huge Sturgill fan, so I went back and listened to his pre-solo career band. What a delight to hear an early version of "Oh, Sarah", a track that shows up later re-imagined with more soul on Sailor's Guide. The tracks here are rougher around the edges with a more indie alt feel than what I'm used to with Sturgill. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, "My little Sturgill-pooh can do whatever he wants." Whatever he does, though, there is a world-weariness throughout. The last track in all its lonesomeness is a preview of what's in his heart.

I love how this one can go from mind-bending psych to wide-open spaghetti-western music and then back to a zen room with no walls sat in the middle of the jungle. I also love how this album has no business being a part of the early 90s, what with all the chickens pecking dirt in the middle of the dusty village road.

All right, folks, enough silliness for a minute. We're gonna slow things down... this next album is for couples, backward skaters, and dead drummers, only.

I hear this as an intentional butchering of musical forms through droning improvisation. It’s silly, and they know what they’re doing, so it’s all good. Some of the chords are so delightfully off kilter, the phrasings gloriously envelope-pushing. Listen to this one while you’re stoned, and listen with friends you can trust.

No one has abused falsetto this egregiously since The Bee Gees.

The accessibility of this music doesn’t mitigate against its artistry, and though some of the tracks would be highlights in any “feel good” playlist, there are plenty of musical moments of unexpected complexity to pull one out of a mere “uplifted” mindset.

Fuck you, guy who finished the 1001+ album listening challenge and then submitted this trash to the hall of fame.

I'm stunned at how bad this is, at what a rape has been done here.