Canon Fodder #5: What A Time To Be Alive
Hot Chip - In Our Heads
I spotted this used at Amoeba for a fraction of what I’d just given Domino Records to mail the CD from across the Atlantic, but - ecological footprint aside, I’m alright with that. The symbolic gesture of buying a physical copy of the best Hot Chip album on Bandcamp Friday was important to me. As I said in my valentine to their oeuvre, In Our Heads is the disc where the ballads & bangers truly flow, rather than co-exist. Briefly acknowledging the album, Robert Christgau suggested being “possibly the world’s most thoughtful and loving dance band” “tragically as usual, often [isn’t] as exciting as one might hope.” And I’ll understand if they don’t do much for people comparing them to the peaks of techno. But in my schlub kingdom, they more than hold up to the peaks of Wilco. The pint's on me, guys! At least for one of you.
Superchunk - What A Time To Be Alive
Aging punks having a good time protesting: so much better than aging punks angrily wondering why nobody protests anymore. Not that Superchunk staked their 2018 album on its ability to spark a revolution. What A Time To Be Alive simply conveys a considered, spirited “dream of the ‘90s” response to the nightmare of an ‘80s joke becoming a ‘10s despot. Explicitly rebuking nostalgia (“to tell the truth/ there was more than one Reagan youth”) without sliding into cynicism & false equivalence (“I’ve got a lifetime of shit decisions/ I might never learn from them/ but all your bad choices/ are gonna cause suffering, yeah”), it’s almost miraculous how this album combines the anthemic pleasures of their old singles comps with a more coherent, reflective perspective than they ever had back in the day. If we’re going to put up with the same old bullshit, only more so, why not have the same old fun, only more so?
!!! - Wallop
Another remarkably solid “dance band” I need to write a post about. But where Hot Chip came to the dancefloor out of British bedroom indie-pop, !!!’s core members were part of the Northern California art-hardcore scene, more inclined to hammering beats and sardonic slogans than tender crooning over modest blips. As with In Our Heads, 2019’s Wallop is a late-period highlight (my favorite since their 2000 debut!) because it offers a little more flow than the norm. There’s fewer catchphrases to lock onto as !!! bounds past in a blur, but their standoffish confidence remains: they’ve known working in obscurity and they’ll know it again. $50k couldn’t buy them off, but $50 million might. You’re the one that’s paranoid. The view’s just stunning when the shit gets out of control. Wallop feels shorter than it is, one reason I’m glad I ordered the CD. Easier to loop.
Sault - Untitled (Rise)
No, this isn’t the Swedish grunge band from 1996, back and better than ever. This is a semi-anonymous, remarkably prolific British R&B collective specializing in black-centric collages of beats, jams and spoken word. You know, olds…like Soul II Soul. Except their Jazzie B, allegedly the producer Inflo, doesn’t pose for photos, try to sell clothes and explicitly take credit for other people’s work. I’ve been impressed by everything I’ve heard, but this is my favorite of the bunch. Maybe a touch more exuberant or inspiring, climaxing with “Little Boy,” a parenting prayer if I’ve ever heard one.
Told Slant - Point The Flashlight And Walk
I swear I listen to new music that isn’t made by decades-old bands. It’s just not as likely I’ll feel compelled to buy it and have an easy time finding a physical copy. I maintain a private playlist of recently hyped business to shuffle for surprise discovery, and Point The Flashlight And Walk quickly caught my ear in 2020. I did some research and it turns out Told Slant dropped their debut in 2012. Huh! Supposedly their sound has always been derivative of Bright Eyes, Death Cab For Cutie, and other examples of aughts indie crossover. So maybe it’s not so impressive I latched on. But bandleader Felix Walworth, like fellow indie true believer Adrianne Lenker of Big Thief, has the vocal & lyrical charisma to make their familiar sensitivity and hooks signify (assuming you bother to push past any “sorry, but I gave to Saddle Creek twenty years ago” reaction when their fragile voices peek out over those gentle guitars). Walworth sings like someone who could really use a hug if not a weighted blanket, but the lyrics betray an atypically thoughtful clarity: these aren’t frustrated vents or declarations of mindless devotion, but vulnerable pleas for connection and reciprocated effort & honesty. I don’t remember as much of that back in the day.
(Hot Chip's In Our Heads is currently ranked number 210 on my favorite albums on My Favorite Albums Of All Time list, between The Fall's Hex Enduction Hour and Low's I Could Live In Hope. Superchunk's What A Time To Be Alive is ranked number 298, between Hot Snakes' Automatic Midnight and The Bangles' All Over The Place. The latest, only slightly outdated posting of the Top 300 - no 'Chunk! - is here. I'm telling you this because I've found people are more inclined to discuss and share reviews if there's a quantitative element at the top or bottom they can easily debate. Prove me right!)