Piu Piu - Nightintale

Piu Piu occupies a uniquely 21st century niche, both in sound and story, that illuminates the brave new world of music--one that defies any real genre-definition, coloring both inside the lines and out, where anyone with an explorer's spirit can reconfigure the landscape just by putting two things next to each other that shouldn't be. Ostensibly hip hop with elements of trip hop and personal, indie-ish presentation, this "french uruguyan singer, songwriter and DJ based in Paris" picks and chooses from a familiar bag of tricks and presents them with differing emphases, with mixed, but overall positive results.

After a lulling spoken word intro, bouncy, sproingy bass anchors the first half of Nightintale, like hearing classic hip hop through the veil of the car behind you at the stoplight. This characteristic brings buoyancy to some of the heavier-handed elements of "Baller," and essentially double-bounces highlights like "The Melt II" and "Bussin At Em" right into radio-single-ready stratospheres. "Creep" lifts heavily from the TLC track of the same name, but it's not quite a sample, nor a cover, and that creeping (sorry) familiarity transforms what could have been a straight-edged tribute track into something spookier, like a half-remembered dream.

Another spoken word interlude kicks off the second half of Nightintale, where it melts into Portishead territory, slowing down the tempo and softening the spring of the rhythm section. One of the big boasts of Nightintale is a plethora of producers (including Grimes and Frank Ocean collaborator Ryan Hemsworth) who all bring a different sense of mood to Piu Piu's beat-based lounge-crooning. It's not a wide range, but it's the subtlety of the shifts in tone that work in making Nightintale feel like an album rather than a mixtape. The Hemsworth-produced "w_o" utilizes the (perhaps synthesized, but still) sounds of plucked strings and Radiohead-ready computer moans while Paris DJ Myth Syzer's "Red" slinks through your speakers with a saxophone backing track, and somehow none of this seems at odds with itself.

Heard out of context, a few of these tracks would fall flat ("Desire" particularly feels like some sort of atonal experiment that doesn't push the boundaries quite far enough), but as a whole Piu Piu's strong vocals and adventurous spirit bind the thing together. Reprising a first half highlight, "The Melt I" is a worthy callback that completely submerges the memory of the first track into a new world of kick drums and mandolin. And it's followed directly by "B.M.F.", which could easily be mistaken for a collaboration between James Blake and M.I.A. were it not for Piu Piu name-checking herself between badass posturing. It's this not-quite-jarring left turn sensibility that digs Nightintale a cozy niche in your mind and proves that sometimes even the smallest surprises can resonate the most.

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Available via Bandcamp, or whispered softly into your ear as you drift through the dreamscape.

Manicorn - We're Manicorn

The words "rock and roll" bring with them certain connotations. You can't have rock and roll without attitude, without sneers or arrogance. It's just built in to what rock and roll is and has always been. The term that once served as code for gettin' it on now serves as code for the very attitude that enables rock stars to get it on in the first place. Manicorn uses this both earnestly and not, playing the line between golden gods and merry pranksters to great effect. Lyrically tongue-in-cheek with the instrumental muscle to make it feel almost real, We're Manicorn inhabits a playful, energetic space that rock and roll should shoot for more often.

I'm not saying that Manicorn simply parodies the great range and nuances of 60s and 70s pop-rock (although the album begins with "An Idea," a track whose first line name-checks John and Paul before clarifying, "...The Beatles," as if Manicorn knows more than we do). In fact, most tracks pay homage without devolving into pantomime. Much of this is due to commitment to the genre and what is obviously a true and deep love for the aforementioned Beatles, as well as (I imagine) Zeppelin, the Stones, and the Beach Boys among countless others. It's a pleasing pastiche, occasionally even coalescing into something more than that. Standouts include "Wild As A Dingo" and "Lighten Up," functioning as a duo with infectious energy and whiplash-inducing tone shifts that blur the line between the two tracks. "Di Di Du Du Di" hits the surf rock section of the record store while "Cheap Talk" and "The Doctor" are all Jagger swagger and Bonham stomp. That's the beauty of rock and roll in general: it's a tried and true formula with it's own language and signifiers, but with a little bit of persuasion (and some background beatboxing to lighten the mood) it can reawaken and transcend beyond what our moms and dads might recognize as their own childhoods into something uniquely suited to the 21st century.

Finally, I wouldn't be surprised if the closer "Bonus Track" isn't so named as yet another jab at the many shortcomings of rock stardom that Manicorn is able to circumvent by virtue of allowing a discerning Bandcamp listener to name their price. Pay what you will, you'll still get "Bonus Track," a goofy mash-up of Marley riddims and Dylan cadences that serves as an oddly refreshing palate cleanser--one last wink to camera that earns a laugh while still worming its way into your brain surprisingly easily despite all the thrash and clash of the preceding ten tracks. The reggae route proves that an idea to write a song for John and Paul can lead beyond simple pop hooks or technical noodling. Rock and roll's reputation precedes itself, and We're Manicorn gives an all-too-brief history of that reputation in all of its different permutations.

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Available via Bandcamp, or on vinyl if you travel back in time to 1973.

Darn Felski - Arid Airs

I can't say for certain if my opinion of this album would be any different did I not know Darn Felski personally. I like to think that Darn Felski's (née Daren Sprawls) punk-rock stylings, wry and dry sense of humor, and mid-20s ennui would appeal to me even if I hadn't gone to college with the man and seen exactly where many of these personal flourishes stem from (and felt many of the same trials and pressures in my own life). Of course, I've been listening to Darn Felski for almost ten years now in the form of demos, EPs and G.O.O.D. Friday-esque recording sessions under many different monikers--including the overarching Ghost Island concept, which calls fellow musicians and friends out to the California/Arizona desert in a sort of cult-collective of freaky experimentation--so perhaps I'm biased. But I choose to believe that had I stumbled across this "debut" release all on my own, not knowing the man under the hat, I'd still be compelled to start a blog just like this one just to air my (very positive) opinion.

In a seemingly endless search for human connection, the persona of Darn Felski gets in fistfights (one-sided fistfights, and not in his favor, but still), moves back in with mom and dad, and more or less exclaims his own significance toward a dark and uncaring night sky. But whether imploring the listener to "speak to [him] like a human being" on "Let's Stay Quiet" or "call [him] up sometime" on "Introduction," there is a hard edge to this person, an unapologetic tendency to be unapologetic about who he is or his own shortcomings (of which he is the first to admit there are many). If you did end up speaking to him like a human being, he promises to listen, but he can't promise he'll care. The best reason he can give you for calling him up is that he'll ruin your life. He offers a bleak, fuck-the-world-we're-all-dying-anyway kind of excitement, punched up with grungy guitars and squelchy solos.

But after the initial indie rock earthquake (shades of Sparklehorse and Modest Mouse abound!) that are the first three tracks, the album (EP? LP? It feels too complete to be anything less than a fully formed record) shifts into Neil Young territory with the ballad "Sucker Boy," laying out all of the fears and insecurities, desires and fetishes that most folk not holding a guitar might keep to themselves. This moment of soul-baring gives way to the screechy verses of "Damage Done" and the sarcastic aggression of "Volveré ." "Volveré" serves as the thesis of the piece as a whole, with barely masked resentment toward hometowns and higher education ("Home / Sorry home / Care to look at my degree? / Paper proof that I ain't no dummy") echoing, amplifying the malaise of all 8 tracks before metaphorically killing everything and everyone, burning it all down in a wash of pure anger at the sheer stupidity of it all. And after tearing the system down (and a brief, ringing silence), there's a turn. Because while wallowing in despair can be an effective way to kill time, there's no good that comes of it; there can be no despair without the hope of something better.

"No Way Jose" takes that first hesitant step toward the lighter side, channeling the catchy repetition of Titus Andronicus and essentially refusing to take no for an answer. We can't be friends? No way Jose. This relationship isn't going to work? No way Jose. The hidden (or perhaps more accurately: postmodern) duality of the title is exactly the joke. And it's this deceptive positivity that carries us to the close: "Desperation Row." Being truly heartfelt while still being funny--and after so much sarcasm and defense mechanisms--is the real magic trick of "Desperation Row" and of Arid Airs as a whole. The final track is a picked-and-strummed number with hints of salvation through a higher power, which suggests Darn Felski may very well find peace by the end of it all as a choir of angels joins their voices to his on the very last note.

The hope underneath all of this self-loathing is that there's someone else out there who might be equally self-loathing--someone to support all the sagging parts of Darn's psyche, because he'll die doing the same for you. After all, aren't we all looking for someone to commiserate with?

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Available via Bandcamp or out of the back of truck somewhere between Los Angeles and Blythe, CA. For more from Felski and Friends, check out Ghost Island on Soundcloud.