Reviews by kuvien

This is the catchiest country album I've ever heard, and it's certainly one of the most self aware. I mean, she's proud of who she is and where she's from, and it is from that place of security that she can poke fun at not only herself but her heritage. She's white trash, and she's okay with that. This is such a fun, warm album that everyone should give a chance. Kacey is weed-smoking trailer-trash, but she's 100% real. Like in "Old King Coal", she doesn't try to romanticize small towns like so many country singers in the past have. Look, people, Ms. Musgraves (the Ms. Texas that never happened) actually does care about world peace, but the problem is that she’s just not sure how she’s supposed to fix it while wearing a swimsuit on a stage.

Taking music from traditions all over the world, this album defies genre. I mean, it goes from wild Japanese folk vocals to Alpine throat singing, all intermixed with the artists' ambient compositions. Brilliant stuff here.

These ragazzi clearly don't care to stick to one kind of music or influence and are happy to shove everything into the kitchen sink, then rip it from the wall and toss it across soft, straw mats, just to hear how disparate sounds blend in unexpected ways.

It's pretty easy to go through life thinking you've got things under control, or rather, that you're in control. Even our language reinforces this idea: "that guy's really got his feet on the ground", meaning he's got his life under control. Feet on the ground. Not realizing that wherever we stand, we're hanging upside down on this little ball of nickel and iron, spinning and hurtling at speeds we cannot possibly fathom. We're just too small to understand, too out of control. Well, I guess we can start to understand our helplessness a little bit, but it requires a radical perspective shift. We could start by coming out of our cave walking on our hands. Then we'll see the world for what it really is. The trees aren't growing up. They're growing out. They're hanging upside down, just like we are, dangling over infinity, completely out of control. Then, maybe then, we can start to understand what dependence is. Maybe then we can grasp the only point of control we actually have in this vast, measureless universe: our own choices.

I think I like this one slightly more than their debut, especially because of songs like "Ghosts That We Knew" and "Not With Haste". Music that deals with the theme of hope but doesn't sugar-coat it, instead balancing it against the harsh realities of life... and memory. If you're still scratching your head at the "pastiche" of this reviled band, join a book club.

This is a double album. Rich Mullins went into an abandoned church with a tape recorder to lay down his demos for this album. But he died in a traffic accident before he could get into the studio. To me, this is both tragic and serendipitous. It would have been nice to hear what he would've done in the studio with these songs, but having these demo tapes as the last thing he did in this life is a raw, haunting testament to his faith journey. A bunch of CCM artists got together, took his demo tapes, and recorded studio versions of them. They're nothing compared to the demo tapes, where Rich Mullins left his heart and soul.

This is an album at once earnest in its intensity and laid-back in its approach to delivering the Good News. Make no mistake, as a Christian, his intent is to evangelize, but this album is not merely proselytizing. Rich Mullins is pouring his heart out here. His love is on full display, and he stands unashamed in his bold, counter-cultural beliefs. Some of the tracks are just him singing to God alone, like "The Color Green", which is nothing more than a psalm.

Playful, unexpected, complex, unapologetic. Every avant-prog influence from the Scene itself to RIO giants Henry Cow is here. And it's front to back brilliant, complete with some Morse code-esque shenanigans on either the piccolo or the pennywhistle.

My thought process while listening to this for the first time... (1) "fuck no" (2) "ugh" (3) "all right I'll give it until I get to the other building" [I was walking across campus], "and if it's not improved, I'm stopping listening" (4) [in other building] "ok what's going on here? this could be cool" (5) [drop off bag, take a piss] "fuck yes".

Back before Moby-Dick became ensconced in the upper echelons of the canon of American literature, it was, in the late 1900s, loved by a small but rabid group of fans from all walks of life--from academics to stevedores--and one thing they liked to do was recommend the novel to people without comment. The other's reaction would tell them everything they needed to know about that person. Kind of like a hipster litmus test.

I was talking to one of my music nerd friends about how I do the same thing with music, recommending Night in Galicia without comment. Whether someone has the taste and perception to make it through "A-A-A O-O-O Eh-Eh-Eh EE-EE-EE OO-OO-OO / ААА ООО ЭЭЭ ИИИ УУУ" tells me all I need to know about that person.

Disco Volante is my friend's litmus test for people, and this album has as many disjointed digressions as Moby-Dick. I approve.

The “no homo” opera, par excellence.

Though released in 1972, this album was recorded in December 1971, thus technically putting it within the magical time-frame of that peerless year of music. Perhaps I'm as big a fool as Malvolio, "and yet to crush this a little, it would bow to me". This album is genius, just like its predecessor, from the album art down to the silly little avant-prog notes, and what results is the perfect union of melody and complexity.

Another piece of evidence confirming that 1971 is, indeed, the greatest year for music so far. Everything about this album is cool, especially in its silliness, like the ridiculously long drum solo or the quoting nursery rhymes in weird kid-like voices.

OK. At this point I'm pretty sure everything this guy does is trash.

"Recorded music is a statue of a waterfall."

He gives direct homage to a Björk song on this album, and when I realized it, I fell into dismay and confusion. All was black and noisome, and I was as the damned in the pits of Hell.

This is humans singing fae music, so it has the beauty but lacks the raw power of that mirror realm. It is therefore safe. "Songbird" is the perfect example of what I'm talking about. It has an otherworldly beauty to it, but it’s not performed by the otherworld denizens from which we have learned it.

At this point, Moulettes has evolved to embrace the progressive side of their music. It's on full display here in their engaging, interesting, and sometimes surprising pop tunes. This album has a more primordial feel, too, since it delves into the depths of the sea.

Yet more down to earth than their sophomore album and also more progressive, for it's more rooted in this realm. This quintet is so damn talented, bringing in a lot of instruments you rarely hear in pop, such as the dulcimer and the bassoon.

Chaotic, self-referential, experimental nonsense, and it's all glorious. There's really only one way to listen to this album: don your dog mask (whatever breed you like) and hit shuffle. The shuffling is important, since, as Zappa said, this album can be cut up with a razor blade and put back together in any order, and it's still the same thing.

Feels like experimental compositions, not songs. Belongs somewhat in the realm of avant modern classical, in my opinion. So why are tracks A1 and B2 so different from the rest of the album? It's the difference between the bread of the sandwich and the meat in the middle. Since this album was released by Zappa after he'd already dissolved The Mothers, and since he used some live versions of songs as well as tight studio tracks, this feels more like a cohesive compilation, showcasing Zappa's skill to vault dig and piece together something that holds together.