News Analysis
Agenda
January 24, 2011
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Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Blaqstarr - The Divine EP
Album Review
SPIN
March 2011
Link
8/10
Bluntly moving booties and slyly haunting boudoirs
Charles "Blaqstarr" Smith is still the insular Baltimore club scene's best crossover hope. The ghostly, layered repetition and subwoofer thump of the DJ/producer's 2007 Supastarr EP still remain after a jump to M.I.A.'s label (he also contributed substantially to her last two albums). But on this follow-up, Blaqstarr artfully chops and manipulates his own vocals -- a soulful rasp, an Auto-Tuned robot cry -- while integrating more organic instrumentation that owes a debt to indie aesthetics. Eerie, empty spaces and guitars that range from bluesy acoustic to jet-engine distorted help transform The Divine EP into a mesmerizing, nuanced seduction.
SPIN
March 2011
Link
8/10
Bluntly moving booties and slyly haunting boudoirs
Charles "Blaqstarr" Smith is still the insular Baltimore club scene's best crossover hope. The ghostly, layered repetition and subwoofer thump of the DJ/producer's 2007 Supastarr EP still remain after a jump to M.I.A.'s label (he also contributed substantially to her last two albums). But on this follow-up, Blaqstarr artfully chops and manipulates his own vocals -- a soulful rasp, an Auto-Tuned robot cry -- while integrating more organic instrumentation that owes a debt to indie aesthetics. Eerie, empty spaces and guitars that range from bluesy acoustic to jet-engine distorted help transform The Divine EP into a mesmerizing, nuanced seduction.
New House Bill Seeks Full Dodd-Frank Repeal
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January 18, 2011
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January 18, 2011
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SEC Changes Course, Allows Vote on Parachute Proposal
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January 18, 2011
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January 18, 2011
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Directors Can’t Choose Lawsuit Venue, Judge Rules
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January 18, 2011
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January 18, 2011
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AMD Board Ousts CEO Over Strategic Concerns
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January 18, 2011
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January 18, 2011
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FDIC Expands Probe Against Directors
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January 18, 2011
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January 18, 2011
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J&J Directors Sued for Missing ‘Red Flags’
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January 10, 2011
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January 10, 2011
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Alcatel-Lucent to Pay $137 Million in FCPA Settlement
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January 10, 2011
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January 10, 2011
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Study Suggests CEOs Influence CFOs in Accounting Fraud
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January 10, 2011
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January 10, 2011
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Consolidation Among Proxy Advisors
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January 10, 2011
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January 10, 2011
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Have CEOs Become Permanently Risk-Averse?
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January 10, 2011
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January 10, 2011
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SEC Lags on Dodd-Frank To-Do List
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January 10, 2011
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January 10, 2011
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Bailout Rules Force Unique Clawback
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January 10, 2011
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January 10, 2011
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Regulators to Propose Bank Pay Rules in Jan.: Source
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January 3, 2011
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January 3, 2011
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Time Management Leads Marty Lipton’s Docket for Boards in 2011
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January 3, 2011
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January 3, 2011
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MetLife Shifts Pay Guidelines to Avoid Buffett Comparison
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January 3, 2010
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January 3, 2010
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Discover Cuts Executive Salaries, Links Pay to Benchmarks
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January 3, 2010
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January 3, 2010
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Thursday, January 6, 2011
CFCF - The River EP
Album Review
Pitchfork
January 6, 2011
Link
6.8
Mike Silver has left the bedroom and is now running up that South American hill. After an underrated 2009 debut LP of mostly instrumental electro-pop, Continent, followed by last year's slightly more scattershot Drifts remix EP, the Montreal producer known as CFCF takes inspiration for his latest from Fitzcarraldo, a 1982 Werner Herzog film about an Irish rubber baron who wants to build an opera in the Peruvian jungle-- but first must haul a riverboat up a small mountain. In keeping with its source, The River EP is cinematic, slow-paced, and more organic-sounding than previous CFCF releases, almost a mini-soundtrack in its own right.
Pitchfork
January 6, 2011
Link
6.8
Mike Silver has left the bedroom and is now running up that South American hill. After an underrated 2009 debut LP of mostly instrumental electro-pop, Continent, followed by last year's slightly more scattershot Drifts remix EP, the Montreal producer known as CFCF takes inspiration for his latest from Fitzcarraldo, a 1982 Werner Herzog film about an Irish rubber baron who wants to build an opera in the Peruvian jungle-- but first must haul a riverboat up a small mountain. In keeping with its source, The River EP is cinematic, slow-paced, and more organic-sounding than previous CFCF releases, almost a mini-soundtrack in its own right.
There are still moments of remarkable beauty here, but you have to wade a little bit deeper to find them. The River is at its best when its productions feel most contemporary. See "Frozen Forest", with its Fever Ray-frosty synths, José González-hued acoustic guitar, and R&B slow-jam breakbeats. Another standout is the six-and-half-minute title track, all panpipe-like synths and urgent tribal pounding until a sudden, exhilarating crescendo that might evoke the image of Fitzcarraldo's vessel finally cresting-- and tumbling-- over the hillside. Elsewhere, the EP's more directly nostalgic tracks, whether the krautrock chorale of "Upon the Hill" (which distinctly recalls Popol Vuh's soundtrack for Herzog's film) or the opening and closing ambient synth pieces, are no less elegant and foreboding, though they do tend to drag. For whatever it's worth, you won't find any of the movie's signature Caruso arias.
Like Fitzcarraldo itself, The River EP isn't a perfect, unified statement. The digital bonus version (included with vinyl purchases) swells to more than 50 minutes-- longer than many albums-- and includes two epic "Frozen Forest" remixes. Luckily, both Brooklyn producer/DJ Jacques Renault's no-guitars house rework and UK Balearic duo Coyote's elastic scrawl are rewarding enough in isolation. A catchy, concise remix of hypnotic ambient trip "It Was Never Meant to Be This Way" by Games, the duo of Oneohtrix Point Never's Daniel Lopatin and Tiger City's Joel Ford, similarly amps up the dancefloor potential. On the other hand, a big part of Fitzcarraldo's appeal is that its director was as mad as its protagonist, filming his story on location and without special effects. "It's a land which God, if he exists, has created in anger," Herzog would later say. CFCF has wrought a fine and auspicious record about that land, but something is missing; you can't hear the place itself. In more ways than one, The River EP seems like a transitional effort.
Like Fitzcarraldo itself, The River EP isn't a perfect, unified statement. The digital bonus version (included with vinyl purchases) swells to more than 50 minutes-- longer than many albums-- and includes two epic "Frozen Forest" remixes. Luckily, both Brooklyn producer/DJ Jacques Renault's no-guitars house rework and UK Balearic duo Coyote's elastic scrawl are rewarding enough in isolation. A catchy, concise remix of hypnotic ambient trip "It Was Never Meant to Be This Way" by Games, the duo of Oneohtrix Point Never's Daniel Lopatin and Tiger City's Joel Ford, similarly amps up the dancefloor potential. On the other hand, a big part of Fitzcarraldo's appeal is that its director was as mad as its protagonist, filming his story on location and without special effects. "It's a land which God, if he exists, has created in anger," Herzog would later say. CFCF has wrought a fine and auspicious record about that land, but something is missing; you can't hear the place itself. In more ways than one, The River EP seems like a transitional effort.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
ceo - Halo (Beyoncé cover)
Track Review
Pitchfork
January 4, 2011
Link
Pitchfork
January 4, 2011
Link
Beyoncé's I Am... Sasha Fierce smash "Halo" has already lived a startling number of lives. Co-written by Ryan Tedder of Leona Lewis' "Bleeding Love" fame, this heavenly power ballad almost went to Lewis instead, as Tedder himself has acknowledged; Kelly Clarkson once complained Tedder gave her the same arrangement for her own "Already Gone". In addition to Mrs. Jay-Z's Grammy-winning original, Beyoncé has sung "Halo" as a Michael Jackson tribute and, with Coldplay's Chris Martin on piano, as a Haiti tribute. The cast of "Glee" blended "Halo" with Katrina and the Waves' "Walking on Sunshine", Florence and the Machine remade it as a soulful belter, and Major Lazer transformed it into a deliriously weird dancehall hybrid.
Still, no cover of "Halo" has been quite as inspired-- or as perversely logical-- as this wonderfully over-the-top take by ceo, aka Eric Berglund, aka one-half of Swedish agit-pop duo the Tough Alliance. Swapping Sasha Fierce's staid piano and trance-y synths for Spanish-flavored acoustic guitar, 1980s-TV-theme electric guitar, bumpy beats, strings, and even horns, Berglund builds on the original's all-encompassing surge, enunciating the lover-as-salvation lyrics with the same wide-eyed sincerity his former group brought to covers like "Lucky", "Mine Was Real", and "Velocity Boy". A heavily manipulated rapped outro reminiscent of Salem adds an appropriately swaggering conclusion: "We have never been cheap, we give it all."
Monday, January 3, 2011
Smith Westerns - Dye It Blonde
Album Review
SPIN
January/February 2011
Link
9/10
Spirited Teens
Windy City upstarts set their wide eyes on the stars
It's time to stop calling Smith Westerns garage rockers. On their self-titled debut, the Chicago foursome mashed Nuggets scruff and T. Rex/Bowie stomp into some pretty immaculate songs, usually about girls and/or dreams. They also nicked their cover art from Nirvana's Nevermind. These kids dreamed big.
For the follow-up, the band recorded in a real New York City studio, with a real producer, Chris Coady (Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Beach House). And the songs are even better. They're still usually about girls and/or dreams. But Smith Westerns no longer rehash niche genres -- unless early Oasis or Double Fantasy-era John Lennon count as niches. Adding considerable production gloss, they worship their heroes the most devout way possible -- by trying to top them.
"Is this fantasy?" wonders frontman Cullen Omori. "Or am I just lucky?" Whatever. Dye It Blonde should be the kind of smash not heard in the City by the Lake since Fall Out Boy, if not the Pumpkins. With searing guitars, swooning keyboards, and airy, not-that-innocent vocals, Smith Westerns unabashedly "want you to feel what it's like to be loved with all your might" ("Only One"). Their weekends suck when you're not here ("Weekend"). They're comfortable going a little bit disco ("Dance Away") and don't blink at acoustic breakdowns ("Smile"). When Omori slips in coy lyrical self-references, he's not running out of inspiration; he's creating the band's own mythology.
SPIN
January/February 2011
Link
9/10
Spirited Teens
Windy City upstarts set their wide eyes on the stars
It's time to stop calling Smith Westerns garage rockers. On their self-titled debut, the Chicago foursome mashed Nuggets scruff and T. Rex/Bowie stomp into some pretty immaculate songs, usually about girls and/or dreams. They also nicked their cover art from Nirvana's Nevermind. These kids dreamed big.
For the follow-up, the band recorded in a real New York City studio, with a real producer, Chris Coady (Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Beach House). And the songs are even better. They're still usually about girls and/or dreams. But Smith Westerns no longer rehash niche genres -- unless early Oasis or Double Fantasy-era John Lennon count as niches. Adding considerable production gloss, they worship their heroes the most devout way possible -- by trying to top them.
"Is this fantasy?" wonders frontman Cullen Omori. "Or am I just lucky?" Whatever. Dye It Blonde should be the kind of smash not heard in the City by the Lake since Fall Out Boy, if not the Pumpkins. With searing guitars, swooning keyboards, and airy, not-that-innocent vocals, Smith Westerns unabashedly "want you to feel what it's like to be loved with all your might" ("Only One"). Their weekends suck when you're not here ("Weekend"). They're comfortable going a little bit disco ("Dance Away") and don't blink at acoustic breakdowns ("Smile"). When Omori slips in coy lyrical self-references, he's not running out of inspiration; he's creating the band's own mythology.
Tennis - Cape Dory
Album Review
SPIN
January/February 2011
Link
8/10
Tide is high for sprightly couple's bon voyage
The Mile High City isn't the first place you look for sweetly fuzzed beach pop. But with a handful of vinyl- and cassette-only tracks last year, Denver's Alaina Moore and Patrick Riley proved to be masterfully quick students of the genre. Though titled after the husband-and-wife duo's well-traveled sailboat, their debut cruises along due to its swaying girl-group songcraft, with Moore as the elegantly serenading siren. Cape Dory establishes an enviable fantasy: two lovers happily adrift. Where Best Coast is too cool for school, Tennis seem (almost) too good to be true.
SPIN
January/February 2011
Link
8/10
Tide is high for sprightly couple's bon voyage
The Mile High City isn't the first place you look for sweetly fuzzed beach pop. But with a handful of vinyl- and cassette-only tracks last year, Denver's Alaina Moore and Patrick Riley proved to be masterfully quick students of the genre. Though titled after the husband-and-wife duo's well-traveled sailboat, their debut cruises along due to its swaying girl-group songcraft, with Moore as the elegantly serenading siren. Cape Dory establishes an enviable fantasy: two lovers happily adrift. Where Best Coast is too cool for school, Tennis seem (almost) too good to be true.
GM CEO Calls for Looser Pay Restrictions
News Analysis
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December 20, 2010
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December 20, 2010
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Companies, Investors Debate Say-on-Pay Fine Print
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December 20, 2010
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December 20, 2010
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Morgan Stanley Readies Pay Cuts: Sources
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December 20, 2010
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December 20, 2010
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COSO Risk Oversight Surveys Reveal Need for Improvement
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December 20, 2010
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December 20, 2010
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Monday, December 20, 2010
Albums of the Year 2010: Honorable Mention
Feature
Pitchfork
December 15, 2010
Link
ceo
White Magic
[Modular / Sincerely Yours]
Keeping it real has been a successful marketing ploy at least since the first 1950s Volkswagen ads, which cleverly contrasted the humble "bug" with Detroit's falsely gleaming behemoths. But when Eric Berglund, better known as one-half of Swedish electro-pop duo the Tough Alliance, samples the words "I keep it real" on this solo debut, it sure sounds like he actually means them. Whether or not that's true, great songs like the intricately pulse-raising title track or twee S&M jam "Love and Do What You Will" don't lie. Indeed, the only thing modest about White Magic is its half-hour length, as electronic beats, indie-kid earnestness, hip-hop bravado, and all sorts of new-agey nature noises add up to one of the year's lushest productions. Berglund's cryptically rambling interviews send the same message as labelmates jj's cryptically terse ones: Music first.
Toro Y Moi
Causers of This
[Carpark]
Of all the dudes making hazy synth-pop in their bedrooms this year, Chaz Bundick might be the most versatile. The South Carolina electronic pop artist who records as Toro Y Moi has already flashed his dance-friendly side on a 12" under the alter ego Les Sins; his Body Angles cassette goes more for spiky distortion; and his next album leaves samples behind for "a more traditional approach." Debut full-length Causers of This is Bundick's spaced-out R&B record, and it's a beaut. Unlike so many similar projects, Causers can be enjoyed as much for its lusty, lonely songcraft as its dense atmosphere. "How can I tell if I love you anymore?" Bundick sings at one point, answering his own question: "Never mind/ I know I do." With soulful samples, funky bass, and palpable yet slightly oblique emotion, this is the breakup album for people who love makeout albums.
Pitchfork
December 15, 2010
Link
ceo
White Magic
[Modular / Sincerely Yours]
Keeping it real has been a successful marketing ploy at least since the first 1950s Volkswagen ads, which cleverly contrasted the humble "bug" with Detroit's falsely gleaming behemoths. But when Eric Berglund, better known as one-half of Swedish electro-pop duo the Tough Alliance, samples the words "I keep it real" on this solo debut, it sure sounds like he actually means them. Whether or not that's true, great songs like the intricately pulse-raising title track or twee S&M jam "Love and Do What You Will" don't lie. Indeed, the only thing modest about White Magic is its half-hour length, as electronic beats, indie-kid earnestness, hip-hop bravado, and all sorts of new-agey nature noises add up to one of the year's lushest productions. Berglund's cryptically rambling interviews send the same message as labelmates jj's cryptically terse ones: Music first.
Toro Y Moi
Causers of This
[Carpark]
Of all the dudes making hazy synth-pop in their bedrooms this year, Chaz Bundick might be the most versatile. The South Carolina electronic pop artist who records as Toro Y Moi has already flashed his dance-friendly side on a 12" under the alter ego Les Sins; his Body Angles cassette goes more for spiky distortion; and his next album leaves samples behind for "a more traditional approach." Debut full-length Causers of This is Bundick's spaced-out R&B record, and it's a beaut. Unlike so many similar projects, Causers can be enjoyed as much for its lusty, lonely songcraft as its dense atmosphere. "How can I tell if I love you anymore?" Bundick sings at one point, answering his own question: "Never mind/ I know I do." With soulful samples, funky bass, and palpable yet slightly oblique emotion, this is the breakup album for people who love makeout albums.
The Top 100 Tracks of 2010
Feature
Pitchfork
December 13, 2010
Link
80. The Radio Dept.
"Heaven's on Fire"
[Labrador]
Let's say you're one of your country's most underrated bands. Let's also say, hypothetically, you're a little irritated by that fact, but you're clever and talented enough to realize that nobody wants to hear a dreamy soft-rock band's sour grapes. For the Radio Dept., a long-running Swedish pop group that previously had their biggest international success with the Marie Antoinette soundtrack, "Heaven's on Fire" is a perfect solution. Originally titled "Spring Time", the song is as radiant as the season: all cheery keyboards, jazzy guitars, and muted reverb. But Thurston Moore's anti-capitalist opening rant-- omitted from a version I've heard over corporate airwaves-- isn't here just for kicks. "When I look at you, I reach for a piano wire," Johan Duncanson murmurs on the song's second verse. Later he worries that "everyone" seems to be siding with "charlatans." Hell is other people; this song is something else. Heavenly subversion.
The phrase "a more perfect union" is part of the Preamble to the U.S. Constitution, right after the "We the People" bit the Tea Partiers love so much. It's also the title of a speech that then-Sen. Barack Obama gave about race when his primary campaign looked most lost. As an indie rock song by Titus Andronicus, "A More Perfect Union" is ambitious enough for these lofty origins, and as down-to-earth as a college kid's face after one too many Four Lokos.
In other words, this is an anthem for people who hate anthems, at once intensely personal and impossibly grandiose. There's room for the places and experiences of Patrick Stickles' life, from the Garden State Parkway to Somerville, Mass., by way of the Fung Wah bus. There's room for Billy Bragg and New Jersey patron saint Bruce Springsteen. And, in keeping with the grandiose Civil War concept of the album this song opens, there's even room for the Battle Hymn of the Republic. (Stickles' former high school drama teacher is here, too, meticulously reciting Abraham Lincoln.)
Most simply, though, "A More Perfect Union" rocks: a riotous seven minutes of raw-throated passion and ragtag righteousness, fiery guitar interludes and madcap drumming. It's not entirely clear which flag Stickles wants us to "rally around," but anyone who has ever felt the least bit of allegiance to what some marketer once called "Alternative Nation"-- anyone who has ever considered themselves an underdog-- well, please rise. The state of the union could always be more perfect. This song probably couldn't.
Pitchfork
December 13, 2010
Link
80. The Radio Dept.
"Heaven's on Fire"
[Labrador]
Let's say you're one of your country's most underrated bands. Let's also say, hypothetically, you're a little irritated by that fact, but you're clever and talented enough to realize that nobody wants to hear a dreamy soft-rock band's sour grapes. For the Radio Dept., a long-running Swedish pop group that previously had their biggest international success with the Marie Antoinette soundtrack, "Heaven's on Fire" is a perfect solution. Originally titled "Spring Time", the song is as radiant as the season: all cheery keyboards, jazzy guitars, and muted reverb. But Thurston Moore's anti-capitalist opening rant-- omitted from a version I've heard over corporate airwaves-- isn't here just for kicks. "When I look at you, I reach for a piano wire," Johan Duncanson murmurs on the song's second verse. Later he worries that "everyone" seems to be siding with "charlatans." Hell is other people; this song is something else. Heavenly subversion.
18. Titus Andronicus
"A More Perfect Union"
[XL]
"A More Perfect Union"
[XL]
The phrase "a more perfect union" is part of the Preamble to the U.S. Constitution, right after the "We the People" bit the Tea Partiers love so much. It's also the title of a speech that then-Sen. Barack Obama gave about race when his primary campaign looked most lost. As an indie rock song by Titus Andronicus, "A More Perfect Union" is ambitious enough for these lofty origins, and as down-to-earth as a college kid's face after one too many Four Lokos.
In other words, this is an anthem for people who hate anthems, at once intensely personal and impossibly grandiose. There's room for the places and experiences of Patrick Stickles' life, from the Garden State Parkway to Somerville, Mass., by way of the Fung Wah bus. There's room for Billy Bragg and New Jersey patron saint Bruce Springsteen. And, in keeping with the grandiose Civil War concept of the album this song opens, there's even room for the Battle Hymn of the Republic. (Stickles' former high school drama teacher is here, too, meticulously reciting Abraham Lincoln.)
Most simply, though, "A More Perfect Union" rocks: a riotous seven minutes of raw-throated passion and ragtag righteousness, fiery guitar interludes and madcap drumming. It's not entirely clear which flag Stickles wants us to "rally around," but anyone who has ever felt the least bit of allegiance to what some marketer once called "Alternative Nation"-- anyone who has ever considered themselves an underdog-- well, please rise. The state of the union could always be more perfect. This song probably couldn't.
IFRS Adoption: A Little Perspective
News Analysis
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December 13, 2010
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December 13, 2010
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SEC Covers Top Audit Issues in 2010 Comments
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December 13, 2010
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December 13, 2010
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The Return of the Hedge Fund Activist
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December 13, 2010
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December 13, 2010
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Pfizer, Massey Split CEO-Chair Roles After Exits
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December 13, 2010
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December 13, 2010
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Dodd-Frank Challenges Mount for SEC
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December 13, 2010
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December 13, 2010
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Mass. Pension Fund Seeks More Female Directors
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December 6, 2010
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December 6, 2010
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IRS Offers Last Chance to Fix Deferred Comp
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December 6, 2010
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December 6, 2010
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Financial Pay Practices Have 'Worsened' Since Crisis: Study
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December 6, 2010
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December 6, 2010
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Report Links SEC's Leniency on Merrill Deal to Bailout
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December 6, 2010
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December 6, 2010
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Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Miko - Chandelier
Album Review
Pitchfork
December 8, 2010
Link
7.5
Australia's Lawrence and Rebecca English have spent the past few years proving that the everyday can be avant-garde. The husband-and-wife pair run Someone Good, while Lawrence curates sister imprint Room40, a preeminent experimental label that has recently put out records by the ambient-inclined Grouper and Tim Hecker. The Aussie couple are also the curatorial minds behind Someone Good, an imprint that takes a more modest, domestic view of gorgeous textural abstraction, releasing music often by Japan-based artists: avant-twee couple Lullatone, piano minimalist Akira Kosemura, Tenniscoats offshoot Nikasaya. This is simple yet elegant stuff.
As Miko, Tokyo-based Rie Mitsutake assembles vividly mic'd piano, acoustic guitar, and off-kilter percussion-- along with field recordings and her own hushed vocals-- into languidly immersive sound worlds that make the familiar wonderfully strange. Her 2008 debut, Parade, successfully introduced the basic elements of Miko's developing aesthetic, but that effort placed a greater emphasis on glimmering electronics and at times used near-shoegaze levels of ear-splitting distortion. Sophomore album Chandelier, like Kosemura's excellent Polaroid Piano last year, takes a turn toward the organic. The result shapes restrained, homespun instrumentation into something at once quaint and futuristic.
Someone Good is billing Miko's latest as a "new kind of folk music," and that's apt. Bird-like squawks and delicate vocals transcend their potential cutesiness to attain a sort of ascetic grace ("Sea House"); Talk Talk-inclined drums gently splash behind indie pop plinks and plonks ("Kikoeru"); saxophones drift past thrumming acoustic guitar ("New Town"). When Miko sings the word "America", on the hypnotic track of the same name, she conjures up a faraway place vastly different from the one I know. Compared with traditional folk song, there's certainly more attention paid to what words and sounds suggest rather than their literal meanings. (Apparently Miko chose the title Chandeliers as much for its spoken sound as for its associations with light and warmth). But there's also a sense of intimacy, of basic human connection, on which the old avant-garde might look with disdain. That would be missing the point.
Pitchfork
December 8, 2010
Link
7.5
Australia's Lawrence and Rebecca English have spent the past few years proving that the everyday can be avant-garde. The husband-and-wife pair run Someone Good, while Lawrence curates sister imprint Room40, a preeminent experimental label that has recently put out records by the ambient-inclined Grouper and Tim Hecker. The Aussie couple are also the curatorial minds behind Someone Good, an imprint that takes a more modest, domestic view of gorgeous textural abstraction, releasing music often by Japan-based artists: avant-twee couple Lullatone, piano minimalist Akira Kosemura, Tenniscoats offshoot Nikasaya. This is simple yet elegant stuff.
As Miko, Tokyo-based Rie Mitsutake assembles vividly mic'd piano, acoustic guitar, and off-kilter percussion-- along with field recordings and her own hushed vocals-- into languidly immersive sound worlds that make the familiar wonderfully strange. Her 2008 debut, Parade, successfully introduced the basic elements of Miko's developing aesthetic, but that effort placed a greater emphasis on glimmering electronics and at times used near-shoegaze levels of ear-splitting distortion. Sophomore album Chandelier, like Kosemura's excellent Polaroid Piano last year, takes a turn toward the organic. The result shapes restrained, homespun instrumentation into something at once quaint and futuristic.
Someone Good is billing Miko's latest as a "new kind of folk music," and that's apt. Bird-like squawks and delicate vocals transcend their potential cutesiness to attain a sort of ascetic grace ("Sea House"); Talk Talk-inclined drums gently splash behind indie pop plinks and plonks ("Kikoeru"); saxophones drift past thrumming acoustic guitar ("New Town"). When Miko sings the word "America", on the hypnotic track of the same name, she conjures up a faraway place vastly different from the one I know. Compared with traditional folk song, there's certainly more attention paid to what words and sounds suggest rather than their literal meanings. (Apparently Miko chose the title Chandeliers as much for its spoken sound as for its associations with light and warmth). But there's also a sense of intimacy, of basic human connection, on which the old avant-garde might look with disdain. That would be missing the point.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
The 40 Best Albums of 2010
Feature
SPIN
January/February 2011
Link and Link
"Hop in the blue, blue sky," sang avant-disco luminary Arthur Russell on 1986's "Let's Go Swimming." And with Swim, Dan Snaith does just that. The chameleon formerly known as Manitoba has explored shoegaze, IDM, krautrock, and shiny '60s psych-pop, but his latest dives into headphone-friendly dance music's deep blue. What does he find, amid floaty vocals, MDMA grooves, and poignant lyrics? "Sun, sun, sun." Add the vibrant pathos of "Odessa" and "Kaili," and you've got the first grown-up chillwave album.
Label politics kept the Aquemini-echoing André 3000-Raekwon collabo "Royal Flush" off this first official solo album by OutKast's street-savvier half. Lame? Yeah. Fitting, too. While Lucious is a great rap album in a classic sense, its heavy, heady funk never looks back. Guests kill: Gucci Mane on the soul-woozy "Shine Blockas," even dissolute producer Scott Storch on teeth-rattler "Shutterbugg." But "General Patton" prevails: "Let's be clear / I'm a leader, not your peer." Boi, don't stop.
SPIN
January/February 2011
Link and Link
CARIBOU
SWIMBIG BOI
SIR LUCIOUS LEFT FOOT:THE SONG OF CHICO DUSTY
Monday, December 6, 2010
Robyn - Body Talk
Album Review
Pitchfork
December 3, 2010
Link
8.7
"Fembots have feelings, too." When we first heard Robyn sing those words, on a single promoting what would become a three-volume set of mini-LPs all bearing the name Body Talk, it was easy to focus on the Swedish pop singer's quirky sense of humor. But on this new full-length edition, "Fembot" also reveals itself as a compelling statement of purpose. Playing off contemporary pop's age-old diva-as-robot trope and cautioning that fellow droids who "burn out" are "ready for demolition," Robyn is a pop star who first and foremost projects a need for emotional connection.
If that's Robyn's artistic credo, then Body Talk is living, breathing, cybernetic proof. Melding dancehall with bubblegum pop, heartbroken love songs with hilariously catty weirdness, and euphorically catchy melodies with propulsive rhythms, Body Talk-- which combines the five-song Body Talk Pt. 3 with, outside of Pt. 1's uncommonly wise "Cry When You Get Older", the highlights from the first two mini-albums-- is a deeply affecting pop record. Robyn may not have released three full albums this year as first implied, but her first true full-length in five years is one of the year's best.
What sets Robyn apart from her contemporaries is the three-dimensional complexity of her character, and all sides are on display here. There's plenty of don't-fuck-with-me attitude in the icy electro-throb of "Don't Fucking Tell Me What to Do", which introduces a shit-talking heroine who may be flawed but won't be anyone's pawn. And with production by Diplo, the mock-outrageous Jamaica homage "Dancehall Queen" proves she's not kidding. But she's also sensitive enough that, during one of Body Talk's most inspired moments-- the soaringly tuneful electro-pop ballad "Call Your Girlfriend"-- she tells her boyfriend exactly how to break it off with the other woman to inflict the least emotional damage.
However, the highlight from this Year of Robyn remains the gorgeous "Dancing on My Own". What's especially remarkable is that there was any room for improvement: The track appears here as an amped-up "radio remix" with bonus synths giving the lovelorn chorus an extra wallop. But then again, Robyn is a master of re-invention: "Indestructible" and "Hang With Me" were first released as emotive acoustic ballads, and later given revved-up Eurodisco overhauls that ramped up the intensity without sacrificing an ounce of their bittersweet charm. Those are the versions included here, and both lend further ammunition to Body Talk's already military-grade stockpile.
Robyn's willingness to experiment with album conventions may feel like an ingenious gimmick, but there's no artifice to the desire for human connection that underlies her vocal quiver and party-starting kickdrums. She communicates heartbreak so convincingly that some of her most devoted fans actually wonder online about her presumed loneliness. She also attacks the charts from the fringes. She explores the fringes from the charts. She should be universal. So why isn't she? With Body Talk, Robyn ups the ante for pop stars across the radio dial and raises her own chances of appearing on yours. And for all her three-album talk, she never forgets that cardinal rule of showmanship: Always leave them wanting more.
Pitchfork
December 3, 2010
Link
8.7
"Fembots have feelings, too." When we first heard Robyn sing those words, on a single promoting what would become a three-volume set of mini-LPs all bearing the name Body Talk, it was easy to focus on the Swedish pop singer's quirky sense of humor. But on this new full-length edition, "Fembot" also reveals itself as a compelling statement of purpose. Playing off contemporary pop's age-old diva-as-robot trope and cautioning that fellow droids who "burn out" are "ready for demolition," Robyn is a pop star who first and foremost projects a need for emotional connection.
If that's Robyn's artistic credo, then Body Talk is living, breathing, cybernetic proof. Melding dancehall with bubblegum pop, heartbroken love songs with hilariously catty weirdness, and euphorically catchy melodies with propulsive rhythms, Body Talk-- which combines the five-song Body Talk Pt. 3 with, outside of Pt. 1's uncommonly wise "Cry When You Get Older", the highlights from the first two mini-albums-- is a deeply affecting pop record. Robyn may not have released three full albums this year as first implied, but her first true full-length in five years is one of the year's best.
What sets Robyn apart from her contemporaries is the three-dimensional complexity of her character, and all sides are on display here. There's plenty of don't-fuck-with-me attitude in the icy electro-throb of "Don't Fucking Tell Me What to Do", which introduces a shit-talking heroine who may be flawed but won't be anyone's pawn. And with production by Diplo, the mock-outrageous Jamaica homage "Dancehall Queen" proves she's not kidding. But she's also sensitive enough that, during one of Body Talk's most inspired moments-- the soaringly tuneful electro-pop ballad "Call Your Girlfriend"-- she tells her boyfriend exactly how to break it off with the other woman to inflict the least emotional damage.
However, the highlight from this Year of Robyn remains the gorgeous "Dancing on My Own". What's especially remarkable is that there was any room for improvement: The track appears here as an amped-up "radio remix" with bonus synths giving the lovelorn chorus an extra wallop. But then again, Robyn is a master of re-invention: "Indestructible" and "Hang With Me" were first released as emotive acoustic ballads, and later given revved-up Eurodisco overhauls that ramped up the intensity without sacrificing an ounce of their bittersweet charm. Those are the versions included here, and both lend further ammunition to Body Talk's already military-grade stockpile.
Robyn's willingness to experiment with album conventions may feel like an ingenious gimmick, but there's no artifice to the desire for human connection that underlies her vocal quiver and party-starting kickdrums. She communicates heartbreak so convincingly that some of her most devoted fans actually wonder online about her presumed loneliness. She also attacks the charts from the fringes. She explores the fringes from the charts. She should be universal. So why isn't she? With Body Talk, Robyn ups the ante for pop stars across the radio dial and raises her own chances of appearing on yours. And for all her three-album talk, she never forgets that cardinal rule of showmanship: Always leave them wanting more.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Baths - Cerulean
Album Review
SPIN
January/February 2011
Link
6/10
L.A. beatmaking scene finds one-man Passion Pit
Will Wiesenfeld says he picked his nom de synth because, as a kid, he really liked baths. Though often lumped in with chillwave's warm, watery return to the womb, this singer-producer -- a classically trained pianist -- shows no signs he's bullshitting on his precociously excitable Anticon debut. Glitchy beats, hyperactive strums, gawky vocals, and eclectic samples pile up like notes in an augmented chord. Songs suit their titles: "Maximalist," "♥." How was Baths to know there was a chill-out party going on?
SPIN
January/February 2011
Link
6/10
L.A. beatmaking scene finds one-man Passion Pit
Will Wiesenfeld says he picked his nom de synth because, as a kid, he really liked baths. Though often lumped in with chillwave's warm, watery return to the womb, this singer-producer -- a classically trained pianist -- shows no signs he's bullshitting on his precociously excitable Anticon debut. Glitchy beats, hyperactive strums, gawky vocals, and eclectic samples pile up like notes in an augmented chord. Songs suit their titles: "Maximalist," "♥." How was Baths to know there was a chill-out party going on?
Monday, November 22, 2010
Nicki Minaj - Pink Friday
Album Review
SPIN.com
November 22, 2010
Link
7/10
Nicki Minaj has been putting the boys in their place with a series of schizoid guest verses, but on her pop-oriented debut, she rewrites the rules.
Nicki Minaj will not be contained. Not to 16-bar verses. Not to one persona. Not even to hip-hop. Brought up in Jamaica, Queens, and taught to be a star at New York City's "Fame" school (LaGuardia High School of Music & Art and Performing Arts), the MC born Onika Maraj has more alter egos than most pop stars have nicknames. With three promising mixtapes and a streak of spotlight-hogging guest verses, she's established herself as the best (avowedly bisexual) female in hip-hop's "no homo" boys' club. But anyone who comes to her official full-length, Pink Friday, expecting more of the raw, terrifically unhinged rhyming that stole Kanye West's "Monster" will be disappointed. Rap's most hotly anticipated debut works best if you don't think of it as a rap album at all.
That's no accident. No shame, either. Like fellow Young Money sluggers Lil Wayne and Drake before her, albeit with less Auto-Tune and a lot less innuendo, Minaj turns toward frothy, hooky pop on her new album. That means you'll hear her singing, which is nothing exceptional, as well as rapping, which is still spectacular: cartoonish, clever, and endlessly flexible. This move to the mainstream has led to speculation about dark corporate shenanigans. But it's really nothing more -- and nothing less -- than Minaj's latest reinvention, one she agonizes over here from start to finish. With savvy '80s-tinged samples, simple but convincing emotions, and a feature list that reads like a Billboard chart summary, Pink Friday is as self-aware is it is fiercely entertaining.
As an MC showcase, though, the album falls short, with no verses as memorable as those she dropped for Robin Thicke, Usher, Trey Songz, Ludacris, or Mariah Carey. But this self-styled Harajuku Barbie certainly can compete with the big boys, and she doesn't let anyone forget it. "I am not Jasmine / I am Aladdin," Minaj declares over pulsating Swizz Beatz strings on "Roman's Revenge," employing her Roman Zolanski alter ego to try and out-nasty Eminem. Slim Shady lands a knockout blow with an epic metaphor involving "two pees and a tripod"; his use of an anti-gay slur on gay-friendly Minaj's track signals the bout is no-holds-barred. But she proves almost as twisted, brashly reclaiming another derogatory slang term ("cunt"), before veering off into an outlandish British accent. Minaj's best rapping comes over the whirring synth drone of the Bangladesh-produced "Did It in On 'Em," where she pulls out an imagined "dick" and pisses on a washed-up rival.
But Pink Friday makes a point of shifting the terms of engagement to less-macho terrain. Opener "I'm the Best" floats on triumphant synths and snapping drum programming from "Bed Rock" hitmaker Kane; it's at once origin myth and glass ceiling -- "I'm the best bitch doin' it" lacks the oomph of boss Weezy's "best rapper alive" boasts. Minaj appends a possible clarification: "I ain't gotta get a plaque / I ain't gotta get awards / I just walk up out the door and all the girls will applaud." In other words, if male hip-hop heads don't clap along, that's okay; Minaj is poised for something bigger: the pop realm.
"You sing along with a pop song, you turn into a girl," Rob Sheffield writes in his recent book, Talking to Girls About Duran Duran. On "Your Love," Minaj's highest-charting single, she basically does just that. Goofily doo-be-doo-ing along with Annie Lennox's "No More I Love You's," Minaj redirects her own absurdist elan into uncomplicated bubblegum: "When I was a geisha, he was a Samurai / Somehow I understood him when he spoke Thai." Yup, Thai. Ballad "Right Thru Me" winningly reveals this brain-eating rapper's vulnerable side, though she's no Stephin Merritt when it comes to pop songcraft: Check the rote inspirational platitudes on Rihanna-assisted "Fly," or Natasha Bedingfield's forgettable hook on finale "Last Chance." Still, even the corniest tracks -- take will.i.am's Buggles-sampling "Check It Out," which could be second-tier Black Eyed Peas -- have her charismatically colorful, larger-than-life personality all over them.
Pink Friday directly addresses the gap between Minaj's present and past selves on the beguiling "Dear Old Nicki," acknowledging, "In hindsight I loved your rawness and I loved your edge…but I needed to grow." And grow she has. Ultimately, the album is a budding artist's love letter to pop -- well-wrought and exuberantly penned, with skulls and crossbones in the margins and little pink hearts over the i's. Maybe the divide between underground rapper and pop starlet will be her most compelling split personality yet. The men don't know, but the little girls understand.
SPIN.com
November 22, 2010
Link
7/10
Nicki Minaj has been putting the boys in their place with a series of schizoid guest verses, but on her pop-oriented debut, she rewrites the rules.
Nicki Minaj will not be contained. Not to 16-bar verses. Not to one persona. Not even to hip-hop. Brought up in Jamaica, Queens, and taught to be a star at New York City's "Fame" school (LaGuardia High School of Music & Art and Performing Arts), the MC born Onika Maraj has more alter egos than most pop stars have nicknames. With three promising mixtapes and a streak of spotlight-hogging guest verses, she's established herself as the best (avowedly bisexual) female in hip-hop's "no homo" boys' club. But anyone who comes to her official full-length, Pink Friday, expecting more of the raw, terrifically unhinged rhyming that stole Kanye West's "Monster" will be disappointed. Rap's most hotly anticipated debut works best if you don't think of it as a rap album at all.
That's no accident. No shame, either. Like fellow Young Money sluggers Lil Wayne and Drake before her, albeit with less Auto-Tune and a lot less innuendo, Minaj turns toward frothy, hooky pop on her new album. That means you'll hear her singing, which is nothing exceptional, as well as rapping, which is still spectacular: cartoonish, clever, and endlessly flexible. This move to the mainstream has led to speculation about dark corporate shenanigans. But it's really nothing more -- and nothing less -- than Minaj's latest reinvention, one she agonizes over here from start to finish. With savvy '80s-tinged samples, simple but convincing emotions, and a feature list that reads like a Billboard chart summary, Pink Friday is as self-aware is it is fiercely entertaining.
As an MC showcase, though, the album falls short, with no verses as memorable as those she dropped for Robin Thicke, Usher, Trey Songz, Ludacris, or Mariah Carey. But this self-styled Harajuku Barbie certainly can compete with the big boys, and she doesn't let anyone forget it. "I am not Jasmine / I am Aladdin," Minaj declares over pulsating Swizz Beatz strings on "Roman's Revenge," employing her Roman Zolanski alter ego to try and out-nasty Eminem. Slim Shady lands a knockout blow with an epic metaphor involving "two pees and a tripod"; his use of an anti-gay slur on gay-friendly Minaj's track signals the bout is no-holds-barred. But she proves almost as twisted, brashly reclaiming another derogatory slang term ("cunt"), before veering off into an outlandish British accent. Minaj's best rapping comes over the whirring synth drone of the Bangladesh-produced "Did It in On 'Em," where she pulls out an imagined "dick" and pisses on a washed-up rival.
But Pink Friday makes a point of shifting the terms of engagement to less-macho terrain. Opener "I'm the Best" floats on triumphant synths and snapping drum programming from "Bed Rock" hitmaker Kane; it's at once origin myth and glass ceiling -- "I'm the best bitch doin' it" lacks the oomph of boss Weezy's "best rapper alive" boasts. Minaj appends a possible clarification: "I ain't gotta get a plaque / I ain't gotta get awards / I just walk up out the door and all the girls will applaud." In other words, if male hip-hop heads don't clap along, that's okay; Minaj is poised for something bigger: the pop realm.
"You sing along with a pop song, you turn into a girl," Rob Sheffield writes in his recent book, Talking to Girls About Duran Duran. On "Your Love," Minaj's highest-charting single, she basically does just that. Goofily doo-be-doo-ing along with Annie Lennox's "No More I Love You's," Minaj redirects her own absurdist elan into uncomplicated bubblegum: "When I was a geisha, he was a Samurai / Somehow I understood him when he spoke Thai." Yup, Thai. Ballad "Right Thru Me" winningly reveals this brain-eating rapper's vulnerable side, though she's no Stephin Merritt when it comes to pop songcraft: Check the rote inspirational platitudes on Rihanna-assisted "Fly," or Natasha Bedingfield's forgettable hook on finale "Last Chance." Still, even the corniest tracks -- take will.i.am's Buggles-sampling "Check It Out," which could be second-tier Black Eyed Peas -- have her charismatically colorful, larger-than-life personality all over them.
Pink Friday directly addresses the gap between Minaj's present and past selves on the beguiling "Dear Old Nicki," acknowledging, "In hindsight I loved your rawness and I loved your edge…but I needed to grow." And grow she has. Ultimately, the album is a budding artist's love letter to pop -- well-wrought and exuberantly penned, with skulls and crossbones in the margins and little pink hearts over the i's. Maybe the divide between underground rapper and pop starlet will be her most compelling split personality yet. The men don't know, but the little girls understand.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Monday, November 8, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
Säkert! - Facit
Album Review
Pitchfork
October 27, 2010
Link
7.6
Pitchfork
October 27, 2010
Link
7.6
"Good writing cannot permit itself to be contained within checkpoints and borders," English novelist Zadie Smith writes in the preface to a recent European short-story anthology. If nothing else, unlikely Swedish pop star Annika Norlin is a very good writer. Her albums as Hello Saferide, both 2005's Introducing... and 2008's tellingly named More Modern Short Stories From Hello Saferide, demonstrate an unusual aptitude for pitch-perfect fictions. Norlin finds the sublime in everyday life and shows strength by being unafraid to bare weakness. Her first Swedish-language album as Säkert!, an eponymous 2007 release of homespun indie pop, went gold in her native country and won two Swedish Grammis, including an award for lyricist of the year.
Norlin returns to the Swedish language on her second Säkert! album, and once again her songwriting deserves to transcend cultural boundaries. Musically, Facit is more richly arranged than its predecessor, but also darker, with minor chords even among the fast songs. Henrik Oja, who again produces and now also gets co-writing credit, can count free jazz among his recent work; here he favors a dusky, approachable jangle that puts the focus on Norlin's conversational vocals. So sooner or later you're going to have to try to understand what she's singing about, whether a holy misfit with the same first name as the prime minister, a young rebel who reminds the narrator of her own faded idealism, or an insecure woman who can't help but go back to a former lover, like Liz Lemon returning to loser boyfriend Dennis Duffy in old episodes of "30 Rock". Non-Swedish phrases jump out here and there: Rosa Parks, Lonely Planet, Rotary. If you can watch The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo with subtitles, then you can wring a whole lot of enjoyment out of Facit, but it sure helps to follow along by mousing over the lyrics in Google Translate.
It turns out there's a wedding song, "Dansa, fastän", where horns, handclaps, and Daniel Berglund's subtle drumming nicely frame Norlin's romantic disillusionment. There's a funeral song, "När du dör", where a whispery Norlin imagines a dead lover turning into a tree, so future generations can meet him, or else that tree getting cut down to make paper, in which case she'd write letters with pen again-- she'd write poetry. And best of all, there's an unrequited-love song, "Får jag", where a couple go to a Stockholm bar called Dovas, watch hockey on TV without watching hockey, and lean in close to each other right when the score reaches 2-0 versus Finland: a stomach-tingling moment that, like the inland simplicity to which it hearkens, is doomed not to last. There was a minor Swedish media frenzy this summer after a magazine reported that Norlin would be quitting music. She has since dismissed such rumors, but Facit makes it easy to see why people might want to believe them. Although obviously crafted with great care, the songs here feel tremendously naked and transparent, even to someone who doesn't speak the language.
Norlin returns to the Swedish language on her second Säkert! album, and once again her songwriting deserves to transcend cultural boundaries. Musically, Facit is more richly arranged than its predecessor, but also darker, with minor chords even among the fast songs. Henrik Oja, who again produces and now also gets co-writing credit, can count free jazz among his recent work; here he favors a dusky, approachable jangle that puts the focus on Norlin's conversational vocals. So sooner or later you're going to have to try to understand what she's singing about, whether a holy misfit with the same first name as the prime minister, a young rebel who reminds the narrator of her own faded idealism, or an insecure woman who can't help but go back to a former lover, like Liz Lemon returning to loser boyfriend Dennis Duffy in old episodes of "30 Rock". Non-Swedish phrases jump out here and there: Rosa Parks, Lonely Planet, Rotary. If you can watch The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo with subtitles, then you can wring a whole lot of enjoyment out of Facit, but it sure helps to follow along by mousing over the lyrics in Google Translate.
It turns out there's a wedding song, "Dansa, fastän", where horns, handclaps, and Daniel Berglund's subtle drumming nicely frame Norlin's romantic disillusionment. There's a funeral song, "När du dör", where a whispery Norlin imagines a dead lover turning into a tree, so future generations can meet him, or else that tree getting cut down to make paper, in which case she'd write letters with pen again-- she'd write poetry. And best of all, there's an unrequited-love song, "Får jag", where a couple go to a Stockholm bar called Dovas, watch hockey on TV without watching hockey, and lean in close to each other right when the score reaches 2-0 versus Finland: a stomach-tingling moment that, like the inland simplicity to which it hearkens, is doomed not to last. There was a minor Swedish media frenzy this summer after a magazine reported that Norlin would be quitting music. She has since dismissed such rumors, but Facit makes it easy to see why people might want to believe them. Although obviously crafted with great care, the songs here feel tremendously naked and transparent, even to someone who doesn't speak the language.
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