JPEGMAFIA, Skee Mask, Paramore
Pitchfork #171 - 169
#171 JPEGMAFIA, Veteran
Rating: 3
Glad I stuck with this one - it grew on me after the first couple of tracks. Glitchy, samples music and noise. Vocally it's kind of an early Childish Gambino attack - a production-muted yell. Dark and funny. Some of the glitches and clicks can be brain challenging in headphones, I think it’s meant for that. It can sound like a bunch of short, is-the-record-skipping samples spinning in a blender. I think “Real Nega” is probably meant to annoy on purpose. The start of “Thug Tears” is bugs in your ears. One track "Rock and Roll is Dead" has a sample that sounds like you're inside someone's pharynx - it's like what it would sound like to get your head eaten. Wetly. It’s all over the place but it never really feels "not fun" and never really drops the beat. Horny not activist (“That p*ssy’s off the Richter…”) There’s humor in it. "Rainbow Six" is an ominous, moaning Glock-filled trap drive-by song out of nowhere, can't tell if he's doing satire or just telling everyone hey I can do this sound, too.
Pitchfork writers:
The Air Force vet’s chaotic stream-of-consciousness flow includes odd references—like to Macaulay Culkin, and to the wrestling theme song that doubles as his producer tag—as well as things he detests, like Morrissey (on a song called “I Cannot Fucking Wait Til Morrissey Dies”). Sometimes he spits with aggression over an airy instrumental ready to be embraced by the SoundCloud community, other times he scream-raps about Tinder and political figureheads over noise music. No matter the specific sound or subject matter, this scatter-brained album can’t help but leave you energized and ready to fight
#170 Skee Mask, Compro
Rating: 2
Glitchy, hooky, pensive ambient. Thought about Aphex Twin - this might be a little more towards checking in at the W (See “Flyby Vfr”). Some tracks would be expected during a massage. Ok, it's a LOT like Aphex Twin. Decent background sounds but doesn't really blaze any new frontiers. Gooey glass noises, muted frantic drum loops. You’re more likely tripping, or sleeping, than dancing. Could be a soundtrack for one of those video loops in an exhibit at the MCA. This album is named after BCG's system for calculating bonuses. Probably a coincidence. Pitchfork says this artist "doesn't build a world as much as he soundtracks its weirdly beautiful end." Which is ridiculous. Not painful, but I don’t really want to play it again.
Pitchfork writers:
The German producer uses the last 20 years of electronic music as a massive sandbox from which to create textured tracks that are familiar enough to be enjoyable, yet mutate enough to constantly surprise. Album opener “Cerroverb” is built on empty space: Cosmic blips burble and then fade away abruptly, like the track is decomposing as you listen. Later, “50 Euro to Break Boost” offers up a gritty breakbeat smeared with foggy synths that hover like a beautiful, toxic rain cloud
#169 Paramore, After Laughter
Rating: 2
Basically a Skechers commercial. Can practically hear the "25% off!" Very bouncy pop. This is a 2017 record, their 5th - I remember thinking their pop punk stuff was fun earlier in the decade, I liked it, candy pop with good hooks. Not sure why this one is the record they’ve picked for the list, but either I'm just older or it's not nearly as fun. It's very bland formula pop, vs. what used to feel like something more, can't explain but it's just way less compelling. It’s aggressively harmless, and it feels like music for children. Some of it feels like the end credits song after a Minions movie or something (“Told You So”). “Forgiveness” sounds like the hits they used to write for American Idol winners. “26” is a standard ballad with a string session and is all “Hold on to hope…” Maybe telling that the next record after this was her solo album.
Pitchfork writers:
Call After Laughter “emo for adults”: Williams wrote an album that feels like a perfect window into the inner turmoil that defines millennials’ state of extended adolescence [eye roll]. Maybe modern Paramore feels as urgent as old Paramore did once because the confusions of young life have lingered longer than expected; maybe no one really ever grows up at all. Or maybe the feeling of release—of clenching your fists and singing along with “Forgiveness” in your bedroom—is just an essential and eternal pleasure, one conjured better by no one than Williams