Scottish Fish Album Release

Superchunk

Like every record Superchunk has made over the last thirty-some years, Wild Loneliness is unskippably excellent and infectious. It’s a blend of stripped-down and lush, electric and acoustic, highs and lows, and I love it all. On Wild Loneliness I hear echoes of Come Pick Me Up, Here’s to Shutting Up, and Majesty Shredding. After the (ahem, completely justifiable) anger of What a Time to Be Alive, this new record is less about what we’ve lost in these harrowing times and more about what we have to be thankful for. (I know something about gratitude. I’ve been a huge Superchunk fan since the 1990s, around the same time I first found my way to poetry, so the fact that I’m writing these words feels like a minor miracle.)On Wild Loneliness, it feels like the band is refocusing on possibility, and possibility is built into the songs themselves, in the sweet surprises tucked inside them. I say all the time that what makes a good poem—the “secret ingredient”—is surprise. Perhaps the same is true of songs. Like when the sax comes in on the title track, played by Wye Oak’s Andy Stack, adding a completely new texture to the song. Or when Owen Pallett’s strings come in on “This Night.” But my favorite surprise on Wild Loneliness is when the harmonies of Norman Blake and Raymond McGinley of Teenage Fanclub kick in on “Endless Summer.” It’s as perfect a pop song as you’ll ever hear—sweet, bright, flat-out gorgeous—and yet it grapples with the depressing reality of climate change: “Is this the year the leaves don’t lose their color / and hummingbirds, they don’t come back to hover / I don’t mean to be a giant bummer but / I’m not ready / for an endless summer, no / I’m not ready for an endless summer.” I love how the music acts as a kind of counterweight to the lyrics.Because of COVID, Mac, Laura, Jim, and Jon each recorded separately, but a silver lining is that this method made other long-distance contributions possible, from R.E.M.’s Mike Mills, Sharon Van Etten, Franklin Bruno, and Tracyanne Campbell of Camera Obscura, among others. Some of the songs for the record were written before the pandemic hit, but others, like “Wild Loneliness,” were written from and about isolation.I’ve been thinking of songs as memory machines. Every time we play a record, we remember when we heard it before, and where we were, and who we were. Music crystallizes memories so well: listening to “Detroit Has a Skyline,” suddenly I’m shout-singing along with it at a show in Detroit twenty years ago; listening to “Overflows,” I’m transported back to whisper- singing a slowed-down version of it to my young son, that year it was his most-requested lullaby.Wild Loneliness is becoming part of my life, part of my memories, too. And it will be part of yours. I can picture people in 20, 50, or 100 years listening to this record and marveling at what these artists created together—beauty, possibility, surprise—during this alarming (and alarmingly isolated) time. But why wait? Let’s marvel now.

Mum

Hallo. We are mum and thats who we are, (pronounced "miooyyuujm"). And now our new album is out and it's called "Go go smear the poison ivy", it's our fourth album proper and we are happy with it. Maybe it's a season too late, but we trust you to pretend it's not. That's about all we ask of you right now. But words can not express how thankful we are to everyone, everyones is the openest arms. But we are not medical practitioners, nor are we what is generally considered "hobos of leisure". We are conveyors of sound and a few things more and that's quite enough. Our first album is called " yesterday was dramatic, today is ok", our second one was called "Finally we are noone" and the third "Summer make good", but before and between these two we released alot of different things and played with many different people in all kinds of places. These were all what you would call "good times", even though everything always goes up and down in one way or the other.

The Baseball Project - Band

Pool Kids

Amythyst Kiah

 Produced by Butch Walker (Taylor Swift, Green Day, Weezer) and recorded at his Nashville studio, Amythyst Kiah’s new album Still + Bright explores the vast expanse of her inner world: her deep-rooted affinity for Eastern philosophies and spiritual traditions, a near-mystical connection with the natural world, the life lessons learned in her formative years as a self-described “anime-nerd mall goth.” In dreaming up the backdrop to her revelatory storytelling, Kiah and Walker arrived at a darkly cinematic and exhilarating twist on the rootsy alt-rock of her 2021 breakthrough album Wary + Strange—an LP that landed on Rolling Stone’s list of the 25 Best Country and Americana Albums of 2021 and drew acclaim from major outlets like Pitchfork. With its sonic palette encompassing everything from fuzzed-out guitars and industrial-leaning beats to gilded pedal steel and Kiah’s exquisitely graceful banjo work, Still + Bright fully affirms her as an artist of both daring originality and uncompromising depth.     On Wary + Strange, Kiah offered up a collection of spellbinding songs detailing her experience with grief and trauma and alienation, each illuminating the extraordinary impact of her songwriting. An electrifying showcase for her singular musicality and soul-stirring voice, Kiah’s Rounder Records debut soon found many leading critics hailing her as a formidable new talent, adding to a list of accolades that includes earning a Grammy nomination for her powerhouse anthem “Black Myself.” But when it came time to create her follow-up, the Tennessee-born singer/songwriter felt compelled toward a profound shift in her artistry. “On the last record it felt so cathartic to write about all the pain I was dealing with, but this time the songs came from a place of finding joy in the music,” says Kiah. “In the past I felt so mired down with anxiety that I sometimes held back from what I really wanted to write about; I felt like I needed to play it safe and keep certain thoughts to myself. But now I’m at a point where I’m confident in what I value and love, and because of that I’ve made the album I’ve always wanted to make.”     Although Kiah’s third full-length marks a departure from the anguished emotionality of its predecessor (an album informed by losing her mother to suicide at age 17), Kiah imparts all of Still + Bright with a hypnotic intensity born from boldly stating her convictions. To that end, the LP opens on the stormy grandeur of “Play God and Destroy the World”: an immediately captivating coming-of-age tale featuring guest vocals from Kentucky-bred singer/songwriter S.G. Goodman. With its title taken from a song Kiah penned and performed at a talent show in high school, the hard-charging track dispenses a bit of searing commentary on the hypocrisy she witnessed throughout her childhood—and ultimately speaks to the sense of hope and possibility she discovered in unexpected places (e.g., the humanistic sci-fi of The Matrix). “I grew up in a good neighborhood and had parents with good jobs, but in many respects my family was different,” says Kiah, who was raised in Chattanooga and later moved to Johnson City. “In order to fit in, you had to go to church and have conservative values—and I know that being Black wasn’t doing us any favors either. This song was written for the 15-year-old version of me who suspected that there was a big world out there that allowed for many beliefs and a more connected humanity.”     On songs like “S P A C E,” Kiah turns inward and ponders her search for peace of mind in times of maddening uncertainty. “As someone whose identity is tied up in being a touring musician, the pandemic created a lot of anxiety where I started questioning who I was if I wasn’t out on the road,” says Kiah. “There were moments when I dealt with that by scrolling through Instagram, but over time I started to treasure the quiet. Meditation became an important part of my life, and I eventually wrote ‘S P A C E’ about learning to be more present.” Partly written on banjo, “S P A C E” unfolds as a soulful outpouring laced with lush mandolin lines, lovely fiddle melodies, and a powerfully soaring vocal performance from Kiah. “One of my main goals for this album was to show a new side of myself as a singer,” she notes. “I’ve always loved really strong, gospel-style vocals, and I put a lot of work into increasing my range for this record.”     Another track spotlighting the stunning force of her voice, “Empire of Love” presents what Kiah refers to as “my personal theme song”: an impassioned statement of devotion to her journey as a spiritual seeker, gorgeously wrought in brooding guitar riffs and fiercely delivered poetry (“My religion is none at all/I build my own cathedrals and let them fall…I pledge allegiance to my soul/I’ll follow where she needs to go/I’m a pilgrim for the empire of love”). Inspired by her ever-deepening connection to the Appalachian landscape—and by her interest in Western humanities and Eastern religions—“Empire of Love” finds Kiah constructing her own belief system firmly rooted in compassion and curiosity. “I believe in carving a path in life that honors my own experiences in the context of the wider world,” says Kiah, who co-wrote “Empire of Love” with Sean McConnell. “As a seeker in the mountains, my sense of spiritual connection stems from nature, which is connected to all of the cosmos. And there is no religious or social dogma that can change that.”     All throughout Still + Bright, Kiah reveals her rare ability to spin her fascinations into songs uncovering essential truths about human nature. On “I Will Not Go Down,” for instance, she looks back on a barbaric moment in history and unleashes a furiously stomping folk epic, featuring background vocals and nimble guitar work from bluegrass phenomenon Billy Strings. “I read about the Crusades in high school, and I was disgusted at the prospect of coercing people into spilling an unimaginable amount of blood and brainwashing them into believing they were serving their god—when in fact they were simply doing the bidding of warmongers,” says Kiah. “I wrote the chorus in my high school journal, and it became a song about people-pleasing to a fault, then reclaiming your autonomy and finding a balance between serving yourself and serving others.” Meanwhile, on “Silk and Petals,” Ellen Angelico’s feverish guitar tones merge with strangely euphoric grooves in a gothic love song sparked from Kiah’s viewing of the supernatural horror-drama of The Haunting of Bly Manor. “‘Silk and Petals’ was inspired by the story of the Lady in the Lake, the ghost of a woman named Viola Lloyd,” Kiah explains. “After falling ill with tuberculosis, Viola leaves her chest of her finest clothes and jewelry to her daughter, then becomes violent as she witnesses the affection between her husband Arthur and her sister Perdita. While Arthur is away on business, Perdita smothers Viola in her sleep, only to later be strangled to death by Viola’s ghost. The Lady in the Lake then wanders the hallways for centuries searching for her daughter, killing anyone who moves into the house along the way. I wrote ‘Silk and Petals’ thinking about the idea of ghosts being unable to leave this realm because they’re hanging onto something they’ve lost, and the song came from being so intrigued by that very intimate intermingling of love and death.”     For Kiah, the making of Still + Bright involved a careful transformation of the songwriting process she adopted after composing her first song on a Fender acoustic at age 13. The latest turn in a dynamic career that’s included joining Our Native Daughters (an all-women-of-color supergroup also featuring Rhiannon Giddens, Leyla McCalla, and Allison Russell), the album marks her first time opening up her approach and working with co-writers, including punk legend Tim Armstrong, Sadler Vaden (a guitarist/vocalist for Jason Isbell’s 400 Unit), former Pentatonix member Avi Kaplan, and Sean McConnell (a singer/songwriter who’s also written with Brittney Spencer and Bethany Cosentino). “In a way I almost felt like I had to relearn how to write songs, because the experience had changed so much for me after taking better care of my mental and physical wellbeing over the past few years,” she says. “It felt completely different to write from a place of fulfillment and wanting to have fun with what I was creating.”     While Still + Bright undoubtedly finds Kiah pushing into new emotional and musical terrain, the album also makes for a vital new addition to a body of work largely dedicated to exploring the struggle and joy of true self-discovery. “With all of my music, I’d love to leave people with the feeling that it’s okay to go off the beaten path and to structure your life in a way that feels right to you,” says Kiah. “And just like with the last record, I hope that these songs can help people out if they’re going through a difficult time. That’s what I always hope for more than anything: for my music to continue to be a part of the healing process for anyone who might need it.”        

Vieux Farka Toure

Tropical Fuck Storm

Tropical Fuck Storm is an Australian band from Melbourne, Victoria formed by Gareth Liddiard and Fiona Kitschin after taking a hiatus from the art-punk psych band The Drones. Lauren Hammel, from the band High Tension, plays drums and Erica Dunn, from the bands Harmony and Palm Springs, plays guitars, keys and other instruments.

Delicate Steve

“In a time where nothing makes sense, or when everyone is trying to make sense of everything, even the right idea might not make perfect sense to everybody at that moment.” Steve Marion, the songwriter, guitarist, and producer who has made four studio records of primarily word-less, guitar-first music as Delicate Steve, is talking about the bifurcated and reactionary culture of the moment. But by no coincidence he’s also describing musical moments that helped to inspire Till I Burn Up (Anti-, 2019) his forthcoming LP. The album name comes from a line in Dr. John’s “Walk on Guilded Splinters” where Steve misheard John’s actual phrase “Tit Alberta” as “Till I Burn Up.” But more than fodder for an album title, John’s Gris Gris, and records like it, informed a new frame-of-mind for an artist who has historically set out to make a predetermined statement with every recording. “The idea of this young freak making Gris Gris in LA, and nobody knowing what to do with it in 1968… He gave me confidence to be a little more freaky and abstract instead of quirky and nicely-packaged like my last album was.” Steve goes on to cite early records by Iggy Pop and Dylan and The Band’s electric tour that were panned at the time and lauded in hindsight. “There is a confidence that comes with abandoning the idea of wanting to create something that everyone might like to check out.” But all is not bifurcated, and we know two things can be true at once. The confidence necessary for Steve to make Till I Burn Up could also be self-inspired. Now nearly ten years into his career, Steve is a cult artist of his time who has been called to record with his heroes (Paul Simon, Kanye West) and contribute significantly to his contemporaries’ modern masterworks (Amen Dunes, Freedom), all the while recording and releasing his own critically hailed work and sharing the stage with Tame Impala, Mac DeMarco, Growlers and others. The artist whose songwriting and playing has been marked through by transcendent moments of buoyancy and joy has created a pulsing and propulsive record in Till I Burn Up. He put up at a studio in Woodstock and found himself playing Freddie Mercury’s Oberheim synthesizer and his guitar plugged into Robbie Robertson’s Fender amp. With the intent to turn away from the times, Steve managed instead to document the sound of this moment — the ever-undwinding feed that feeds the feedback loop of talking heads, twitter tick-ticking like a bomb, the timed drip- like morphine- of news breaking in our hands, the party before the shoe drops, our interior dialogue, all the contradictions… A song called “Freedom” is underpinned by a grinding circular guitar line interrupted by what sounds like synthetic warning sirens. “Rat in the House”, “Rubberneck”, and “Madness” are blinkered dancefloor rippers suited for a bunker party. “Selfie of Man” recognizes the pervasive behavior and its result, as a literal portrait of our times. It moves along in marched lockstep, with inversely reflecting guitar lines. The album’s closer ‘Dream’ allows Steve and his listeners some free range. Until then, each song is self-contained and self-referential — an ouroboros within a greater ouroboros called Till I Burn Up. There are turns on Till I Burn Up as dark as anything Delicate Steve has recorded, but not without reminders that a joy ride into an apocalypse is still a joy ride. Like the harrowing moment it documents, Till I Burn Up would not be true if not imbued by contradiction. True to form, this Delicate Steve record is a distillation.