Crystal Castles is an experimental electronica duo composed of producer Ethan Kath and vocalist Alice Glass. Oozing indie cred from every pore, it has enjoyed a great deal of media exposure since its debut eponymous record was released in 2008 and garnered rave reviews for its schizophrenic, seizure-inducing live shows.
Crystal Castles’ second album sees the band sailing further into uncharted electronica territory. Fainting Spells, the aptly named opening track, is a three-minute spin into mind-bending noise techno that pummels listeners into submission, while the album’s second track and first single, Celestica, is instantly likeable. “Follow me into nowhere,” Glass sings softly, atop rapturous synths driven along by a pulsing dance beat.
These tracks are a great entry point to the band’s music, as it is within the balance of two extremes — unflinching noise experimentation and readily accessible dancefloor loveliness — that Crystal Castles spins its charm. Bizarrely addictive soundscapes are created in tracks such as Not in Love, with its delicately detuned crystalline synths and heavily processed Alvin-and-the-Chipmunks-on-LSD vocals, and Intimate, where a tight dance beat meets dark bassy synth stabs before giving way to a bridge of skull-peeling noise.
Fans of the band will find this follow-up to be just what they had hoped for.
Caribou is the moniker of musician Dan Snaith, whose 2007 record Andorra was a critically acclaimed take on 1960s psychedelia. For Swim, Caribou’s newest release, Snaith said his purpose was to produce “dance music that sounds like it’s made out of water, rather than made out of metallic stuff like most dance music.”
There is certainly nothing metallic here. Swim’s rhythms and melodies are incredibly organic, and Snaith’s silky smooth vocal delivery feels like a slow ride on a riverboat. But this isn’t happy music, and his lyrics are often quite morose, revolving around themes of broken relationships and loneliness. Swim is a record that takes itself quite seriously, even as it pumps out eminently danceable tunes.
The album’s opener, Odessa, relies on a catchy bassline, while flashes of funky guitar dare you not to bob your head in unison. The next track, Sun, employs some fluid synth stabs and a no-nonsense four-on-the-floor beat along with the repetition of a single word, “sun,” over and over again, and to great effect. The album makes frequent use of cliched dance production techniques, including sounds processed through high- and low-pass filters to build tension and the one-by-one addition of percussive elements to create a sense of movement within a track. But these tricks are here packaged so tastefully they do their job well.
Snaith’s elegant craftsmanship and attention to detail have produced a special record, the kind that makes you want to listen to it again as soon as it ends.
Broken Bells is a collaboration between producer Brian “Danger Mouse” Burton, one half of the duo Gnarls Barkley, and singer/guitarist James Mercer from indie-rock powerhouse The Shins. Their eponymous debut record doesn’t sound like you expect it to, because much of what’s here is quite unlike anything we’ve heard from either artist before. Mercer often eschews the high-pitched emotive crooning that is so typical of The Shins’ releases in favor of a deeper, grittier delivery that is more suited to this project. Burton, in turn, treats the album in a wholly different manner from his slicked-up production work as Gnarls Barkley and with Gorillaz.
Musically, the Broken Bells is a hodge-podge of sounds and influences and has an easy but earnest feel about it. Some songs gain their footing with the help of an acoustic guitar, others are firmly rooted in synthesizer madness. Lyrically, however, the album is steeped in melancholia, even during its most upbeat musical moments.
The track Vaporize marches along with a happy chord progression and snappy percussion, but on top of this Mercer delivers lines such as, “I was lost then and I am lost now/And I doubt I’ll ever know which way to go.”
On the lovely and lazy Citizen, accompanied by simple percussion and swelling synthesizer pads, Mercer seems to be begging for answers to life’s toughest questions: “From the moment we’re born/till we’re old and tired/do we ever know?”
Still, there are moments where Mercer seems to find a reason to keep up the search for greener pastures, as on the relatively minimalistic track Trap Doors, on which, backed by synthesized organ and simple guitar strums, he sings in a distant, distorted voice: “Now that it’s over/you have to pick up/and start again.”
With The Shins having broken up and Gnarls Barkley on hiatus, perhaps that’s just what Broken Bells is all about: picking up and moving on.
The duo insists that the record is not a one-off, and that’s good news.
Completely Removed is the long-awaited follow-up to Medications’ 2005 math-punk debut record Your Favorite People All in One Place, and its second release on Washington, DC’s famous Dischord Records.
Math rock gets its name from its rhythmic complexity — the use of odd asymmetrical time signatures that sometimes change multiple times in the space of a single song.
Angular, dissonant melodies and technical virtuosity are par for the course within the genre, often lending the music a gritty feel far too edgy to be considered pop.
On Completely Removed, however, Medications attempt to bridge the gap between math and pop. In some ways, despite the loss of drummer Andrew Becker, the record isn’t too great a departure from what we’ve heard before from the band, as quirky rhythms and jagged guitars still pepper its songs. But what stands out is the band’s newfound love of infectious vocal melodies, and this makes all the difference.
At times, Medications manages to completely disguise itself as an indie-pop band, as on the track Seasons, whose verse is held together by a riff that could easily have found its way onto a Top 40 single. Brasil ’07 is, simply put, a lovely tune. Jazzy drums and chiming bells are paired with hushed vocals and a subdued brass section, calling to mind the work of Sea and Cake. The mostly instrumental track Kilometers and Smiles splits its time between a big, nasty sounding math rock riff and Beatles-esque poppy psychedelia, complete with harmonized “ooh” and “aah” vocals.
Though some may pine for a time when Medications maintained a harder edge, there is probably an equal number of fans who will enjoy the new direction it is heading in.
Nine Taiwanese nervously stand on an observation platform at Tokyo’s Haneda International Airport. It’s 9:20am on March 27, 1968, and they are awaiting the arrival of Liu Wen-ching (柳文卿), who is about to be deported back to Taiwan where he faces possible execution for his independence activities. As he is removed from a minibus, a tenth activist, Dai Tian-chao (戴天昭), jumps out of his hiding place and attacks the immigration officials — the nine other activists in tow — while urging Liu to make a run for it. But he’s pinned to the ground. Amid the commotion, Liu tries to
The slashing of the government’s proposed budget by the two China-aligned parties in the legislature, the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) and Taiwan People’s Party (TPP), has apparently resulted in blowback from the US. On the recent junket to US President Donald Trump’s inauguration, KMT legislators reported that they were confronted by US officials and congressmen angered at the cuts to the defense budget. The United Daily News (UDN), the longtime KMT party paper, now KMT-aligned media, responded to US anger by blaming the foreign media. Its regular column, the Cold Eye Collection (冷眼集), attacked the international media last month in
On a misty evening in August 1990, two men hiking on the moors surrounding Calvine, a pretty hamlet in Perth and Kinross, claimed to have seen a giant diamond-shaped aircraft flying above them. It apparently had no clear means of propulsion and left no smoke plume; it was silent and static, as if frozen in time. Terrified, they hit the ground and scrambled for cover behind a tree. Then a Harrier fighter jet roared into view, circling the diamond as if sizing it up for a scuffle. One of the men snapped a series of photographs just before the bizarre
Feb. 10 to Feb. 16 More than three decades after penning the iconic High Green Mountains (高山青), a frail Teng Yu-ping (鄧禹平) finally visited the verdant peaks and blue streams of Alishan described in the lyrics. Often mistaken as an indigenous folk song, it was actually created in 1949 by Chinese filmmakers while shooting a scene for the movie Happenings in Alishan (阿里山風雲) in Taipei’s Beitou District (北投), recounts director Chang Ying (張英) in the 1999 book, Chang Ying’s Contributions to Taiwanese Cinema and Theater (打鑼三響包得行: 張英對台灣影劇的貢獻). The team was meant to return to China after filming, but