Album Review: Purple Mountains - Purple Mountains

In 2009, David Berman, just a few years into his first shows with The Silver Jews, announced his retirement from music. It wasn’t too surprising. After all, it can’t be easy singing indie’s most introspective and anxious lyrics to a crowd of strangers night after night. However, it’s easy to forget that Berman didn’t inform indie rock like his buddy Stephen Malkmus did. Rather, The Jews are more aptly described as coming from a tradition instead of creating one. If it wasn’t clear that he was raised on country at the time, it certainly is now.

In 2018 Berman produced the glorious second album from Yonatan Gat, the criminally overlooked Universalists. Gat’s playing doesn’t mirror Berman’s style in any discernible way, but they made the collaboration work with bizarre combinations of recording and editing. A far cry from Berman’s traditional work, the record ebbs and flows with a fluid pace, never once letting you sink into a familiar songform.

In 2019, Purple Mountains was announced and released. Instead of feeling like he had to double down on Gat’s avant garde recordings, Berman made the most conventional record of his career. Following in a strictly country tradition, these songs continue to breathe fresh air into a genre that’s been revitalized around every corner in the last few years. Hell, a guy from Saskatchewan made the most authentic sounding country album of 2018.

But remember, Berman and the Jews made country cool in a time that was dominated by Garth Brooks, and Purple Mountains is a fabulous reminder of just how deeply we felt his every word in the 90s and 00s. The first three tracks are so strong, you wonder how long he’s been cooking them up. 'All My Happiness Is Gone' is the catchiest sad song this side of The Eels, and 'Darkness and Cold' has a haunting quality that’s only matched by a Nick Cave or Elliott Smith.

'Margaritas at The Mall' and 'Storyline Fever' showcase the cleverness we’ve been missing from Berman these last ten years. But if we were to discuss Purple Mountains strictly in its lyrical prowess, we’d be able to write a novel. It’s not that any lyric is particularly potent or individual, it’s just that he clearly writes his poetry from a deep understanding of what makes rock music work. “When you’re seller and commodity/You gotta sell yourself immodestly”' he rambles on 'Storyline Fever,' perhaps offering on a silver platter the exact reasons why he’s returned to the recording studio.

Whether he feels every emotion he’s describing or is putting on a mask, the songs remain enjoyable and lighthearted. 'Snow Is Falling In Manhattan' however is particularly honest. The observance of nature is a natural response to life’s difficulties, and Berman takes his time chewing the scenery. When a soft horn section enters in the choruses, you could dream away an afternoon as if Berman’s contemporaries Lambchop were arranging the tunes. It’s incredibly well done.

Although the songwriting is quality enough to make a lot of modern singers jealous, Purple Mountains is lacking in adventurism. You have to ask 'would I like it more if 2019 David Berman took more risks?' But, it’s more satisfying to have a comeback record that stands its ground instead of one that reaches beyond its limits.

The other nagging questions is that, despite the upbeat production, is David Berman still this upset with the world around him? Though he meditates so strongly on anxiety, heartache, and worthlessness, it’s hard to believe that things have been going so poorly for him. He’s been a married man for decades and has made quite the career for himself outside of music, so it’s more comforting (although potentially false) to assume that he sings about sadness because that’s what he’s good at. You’d hope his past is haunting him more than anything else these days.

In 2003, Berman attempted to kill himself with a combination of xanax and crack cocaine, demanding to get the New York hotel room where Al Gore had stayed before losing the 2000 presidential election - “I want to die where the presidency died!” he demanded at the time. You’d think a guy with such strong convictions about the state of society would lean all over the topic on a record in 2019, but Berman sticks to what he knows best. It’s another feather in the cap of Purple Mountains - that he knows his strengths and keeps to ‘em. Even though it’s been ten years since Silver Jews ended, Berman still sings with the flare and gusto of a classic, a term that’s much easier to pin on him after hearing this album.

Album Review: Yeasayer - Erotic Reruns

Yeasayer have made a sufficient pop album in the same way that Pizza Hut makes a sufficient meal. Each ingredient is identifiable as long as you don’t focus on it - there’s melodies, structure, and hooks. But the closer you squint at each piece of the recipe, the more saccharine and processed you realize those parts are.

There’s a lack of substance from the get go on the bands fifth album Erotic Reruns. ‘People I Loved’ is a one-size-fits-all intro, injecting pop tropes with a centimeter-wide needle. Just 18 seconds pass before a singalong chorus interrupts the funk: “why was I so hard on the people I loved?” A fair question for creatives and left-brainers alike, but it’s also a question that requires context to have meaning. Motivation and depth are further squashed by a “nah nah nah” bridge that cuts the track into bite-size pieces. Less than three minutes go by before a hard stop, which is a relief as much as it is a hindrance to the songs staying power. How do you ask is co-frontman Anand Wilder hard on the people he loved? Don’t look here for any answers.

The instrumentals turn more inspiring in the back half with the fat bass groove of ‘Ohm Death,’ the electropop sheen of ‘Fluttering in the Floodlights’, and the album’s best song, ‘Let Me Listen In On You’, which consistently takes interesting turns in the face of Erotic Rerun’s rigid verse-chorus forms. As the title suggests, the album is largely about reigniting a romance. ‘Listen’ is by far the most honest: “We don’t make love like we used to/ we don’t read by candlelight.” A stacked bridge follows orgasmically, and you remember a time where this band were so exciting you could barely contain yourself.

Yeasayer, for all their early career hype, never had that one perfect record. Debut All Hour Cymbals was immensely promising with its group vocals (‘2080’) and chaotic shifts of psychedelic brilliance (‘No Need to Worry’). The following Odd Blood proved that the band could pen some damn fine pop tunes as well, still hinting at a potential that was ready to burst. The records since then get more disappointing at a staggering pace. Even though there are several ingredients that work well together, Yeasayer are afraid to take chances in ways that once worked so well for them. Looking at the track times for this record is proof enough that they’ve opted to settle. Nothing passes the 4-minute mark, and there’s only 9 tracks. You’d think the band were ashamed of themselves.

Not to say there’s anything wrong with writing a concise album. The problem is that Yeasayer are in the middle of an identity crisis. They want to share a psychedelic experience but seldom write anything someone older than fourteen would find strange. They also want to compose hooks, but proved themselves long ago as being more adept at a spiritual singsong approach. As a result, these songs don’t live nicely in any genre, and suffer under the weight of attempting cross-pollination no matter how much they ape Prince on single ‘Ecstatic Baby’. This track is an absolute goof - too short to prove that Keating had something important to say but too out of step with the rest of the albums narrative to blend in.

“You want as many people to like your music as possible without having to compromise,” explained  Keating in a 2010 interview with Rolling Stone, just as the band were crossing into pop territory. They were doing it quite well, stacking multiple arpeggiators and glimmering song structures on top of one another. When there’s this much fun in the instrumentation, any simple phrase can be something of beauty (like on Odd Blood standout ‘O.N.E.’). Erotic Reruns is not a compromise in the way that Keating was weary of, but it forces you to have to weigh it against not living up to your potential.

At best Erotic Reruns is tolerable - at least in the sense that ‘Ecstatic Baby’ could squeeze itself into a top 40 playlist without notice. At worst it’s an insulting cash grab abomination and a confirmation of mediocrity. Indie rock has long since become a commodified descriptor that now lands in the same grey area as college rock, alternative, or even new wave, and Yeasayer’s is one of the genres saddest tales. Still, don’t let Erotic Reruns convince you that this band never had anything going for it. Crank ‘Ambling Alp’ at the next house party you attend and you’ll remember why you’d like to give this new record a shot, but you’ve been warned.

Yoni Wolf and WHY? enter a positive new phase of their career on the headstrong Moh Lhean

Though Yoni Wolf always employs as many instruments as he can get his crooked fingers on, few of the sounds are unnecessary. From the toy pianos on Oaklandazulasylum to the full strings on his latest opus as WHY?, Moh Lhean, there’s care and attention in his arrangements. You could blame this on his wonderful list of collaborators. But, only his brother Josiah joined him for production, and they are here proving that they’ve been the band’s backbone all along.

The one thing that tops Wolf’s proclivity toward ornamentation is his lack of a filter. We’ve heard rants about the type of soap he’s used to masturbate, oral sex in order to gain fans, and the plans to utilize retirement to the ends of listening to Garrison Keillor while stoned. Incidentally, Wolf lives a succinctly healthy lifestyle outside of his lyrics. There is a lot of documentation of him working out; an essential element to combating his Crohn’s disease. Furthermore, the man doesn’t even drink.

On Moh Lhean, we are hearing from a Wolf that has synchronized his art and his reality. It’s all wrapped up on opening track ‘This Ole King’; Yoni’s thoughts are preoccupied with death, but entertain “this one thing” that can be relied upon for peace of mind. Time has worn on the guy, and he is greeting it with esteem: “We know who we are/ from beyond to the veiled intentions between our cells.” He’s even saluting his body chemistry, which left him staring at his reflection in disapproval on 2009’s Eskimo Snow.

Playing into this theme is ‘One Mississippi’: “I know I gotta submit to whatever it is in control,” says Wolf. Where he once audaciously fought the bleakness that Midwestern life threw at him, he’s now adhering to major religious tenets. It’s well known that Wolf grew up in a Jewish household, but there’s never been any direct information suggesting he followed it. It’s livening to hear him be so accepting of the world. Where Bradford Cox and Deerhunter had their Fading Frontier, a celebration of life having turned out as it did, Wolf has ‘The Barely Blur’, where Son Lux joins him for a séance to man’s mysterious beginnings: “What mad stork brought us/ with no schematic and no map/ where every perfect nest disintegrates/ into the barely blur beyond.”

‘The Water’ is similarly submissive; a lurching bass reminiscent of Alopecia’s hip hop backdrops hovers over the song. Just when you think Wolf is ready to rap again, he sagaciously shrugs off the urge and tells a simple story: “out on the water/ me and my little brother/ we don’t say shit for hours/ maybe even longer.” The minutiae of this tale are akin to the hyper-specific set of details Wolf usually rolls out. The exception here is that there are far fewer words.

There’s a grace to the brothers Wolf having pared things down like this. You won’t find wordless tracks on previous WHY? records, but here there are two of them. So, even though we’re not hearing nearly as many sentiments, Moh Lhean sounds just as complete as any other WHY? record. This album is the mark of a man who knows where he is in life.

Laura Marling's gorgeous meditation on femininity is perhaps her finest work to date

Neither the pacing of Once I Was An Eagle swallowing Laura Marling whole, nor the forcefulness of Short Movie are present on her latest album Semper Femina. Marling has dovetailed her arrangements with her lyrics, leaving these two elements alone on the dance floor for a well-rehearsed recital. If the strings rise in dynamism, as do the lengths of the vocal phrasing. If a bass line broods and threatens the peace (‘Soothing’), Marling will approach it with a caution and grace unheard in similar arrangements that attempt to pull off the jazz/folk combination.

This dance of music and lyrics is most complex on ‘The Valley’, where guitar arpeggios meet Marling’s words like dawn: “I love you in the morning/ I love you in the day/ I love you in the evening/ If only she would stay.” Marling not only acknowledges the beauty in the valley, but recognizes it as fleeting, granting her a maturity she’s always hinted at, but never quite slam-dunked for an entire album’s length.

Semper Femina isn’t without brashness, either. ‘Wild Fire’ has Marling coaching a past lover for reassigning life’s trials to her: “I hear your mama’s kinda sad/ and your papa’s kinda mean/ I can take it all away/ you can stop playing that shit out on me.” Even her potty mouth sounds like a breeze under the song’s sizzling waltz and delicate production. The language is simply part of her lexicon, and isn’t used here for anything apart from service to the song. Such is the case with most of the elements on Semper Femina, be it the lyrics, production, or her masterful guitar performances. The words on ‘The Valley’ and ‘Next Time’ are meant to be rapturous, so the guitars follow orders and play off each other in dizzying beauty. “I can no longer close my eyes/ while the world around me dies/ at the hands of folks like me.” sings Marling on ‘Next Time’. If the world is indeed dying, we’ll need voices with character like the one presented here.

It’s an important transition that Marling is going through here at album six. She isn’t battling the world and people around her; instead she’s spending as much time being grateful for the moments she is given, addressed most directly on ‘Wild Once’. No longer decrying an urban and fussy love like on her debut Alas, I Cannot Swim, she’s looking back on the past with a gumption for the future that could have been overlooked after writing as many songs as Marling has.

On ‘Nouel’, the dance between Marling and song turns into that between Marling and Marling. “She sings along to ‘Sailor Song’/ in a dress that she made/ when she’s gone I sing along.” Marling describes, addresses, and even gives a name to the act of creation. Not only do we get a sneak peak of her own songwriting process, we get a snapshot of a musician in the throes of her prime. With Eagle already standing as one of the peaks of modern folk music, we would not necessarily have expected to hear another knockout record from her, but there’s no denying Semper Femina stands toe-to-toe with her opus. Whether addressing herself or her entire gender, the list of sagacious observations goes on: “She’d like to be the kind of free/ woman still can be alone/ how I wish I/ could flip the switch that/ keeps you from being gone.”

The list of comparison artists on Semper Femina is a lengthy one. Marling encapsulates the modernity of Conor Oberst, the tenderness of Leslie Feist, the production chops of Ryan Adams, and so on. On closer ‘Nothing, Not Nearly’, she goes full Jeff Buckley mode. The guitars sway in a casual waltz with an ever-expanding vocal line, eventually culminating in a guitar solo that focuses on one note at a time, thus striking a chord with minimalist rock as well as the other genres in the album’s toolbox. “We’ve not got long anymore/ to bask in the afterglow/ once it’s gone it’s gone/ love waits for no one.” Though it’s unlikely Marling will discontinue her hot streak, she’s still reminding us that we may as well enjoy the sublimity of Semper Femina while we can.

But, comparing these tunes to past rock greats misses the point. Only in hindsight do the mirror images of this record present themselves. While listening, however, the swirl of guitars and melodies is all that matters. You’ll blink your eye, and all of ‘Next Time’ will have gone by. By the third or fourth listen, this trance will include singing along in a singsong, White Album kind of way. And there’s another reason Marling’s current state of affairs will stand the test of time. One can hardly bring it up without having to mention something already widely appreciated and loved. It’s a journey beyond explanation Marling is taking us on.