From its first note, “Mini, Midi, Maxi,” the opening track off Bourj Hammoud Groove, Habibi Funk’s new Ara Kekedjian retrospective, will transport you to another time and place. You don’t know where in the world you are, but it’s somewhere around the end of the 1960s and you’re feeling very jet set as you shimmy against psychedelic lights in your Paco Rabanne fit while smoking a really long cigarette. The band is giving Jacques Dutronc energy with a song that falls somewhere in between “Mini, Mini, Mini” and “Et Moi, Et Moi, Et Moi.” You don’t really understand the lyrics, but it doesn’t matter. Vibe transcends language at the global disco-a-go-go.
If there is one song on Chin Up Buttercup that summarizes this fifth full-length album from Austra, it’s “The Hopefulness of Dawn.” The six-minute epic opens with a cavernous, echoing intro that plays up the ethereal quality of Katie Stelmanis’ voice. Then, at about two-and-a-half minutes into the song, the raver synths kick in, rising with her voice as a new rhythm overtakes the song. Stelmanis’ name-checks Ray of Light as an influence and, indeed, “The Hopefulness of Dawn” does play out like Austra’s twist on the title track from Madonna’s era-defining 1998 album in that it’s an ecstatic, almost spiritual, slice of dance music.
It’s late. The club has ended and I’ve been in the DJ booth all night, so I’m both exhausted and loquacious. We’re talking music and the conversation jumps from Fontaines D.C. to Kneecap to Bob Vylan with a hundred different asides. My mind is a jumbled reflection of my Instagram feed, which is how the English duo came up in conversation. My friends don’t know too much about Bob Vylan, but they’ve been high on my timeline for months, so I get into the whole story about the Glastonbury incident and how they don’t have a tour visa for the U.S. now. It’s all documented in this story from The Guardian, but the details sound particularly absurd when you’re recounting them aloud. Then again, just about everything in the news sounds more absurd out loud these days.
Last week, Ultra Sunn released The Beast in You. While the Belgian duo’s sophomore album isn’t quite a departure from previous club hits like “Keep Your Eyes Peeled” and “Broken Monsters,” or last year’s debut full-length, US, it shows some welcome growth from the EBM outfit.
Heavily influenced by European dance music of the late 1980s and early 1990s, Ultra Sunn excels at songs that bridge the old and the new. It’s no wonder that they’ve been one of the most requested artists I’ve seen while DJing. Most of their songs are around 124 or 125 BPM, which is solidly mid-tempo when you’re DJing a darkwave night, and they fit perfectly in between Front 242 and Nitzer Ebb classics and more recent bangers from Boy Harsher and Sextile. This kind of consistency makes Ultra Sunn songs ideal for club play, but it’s also what makes them less interesting for at home listening. That’s very common amongst artists who work in hyper-specific niches of dance music, but, nonetheless, I can’t help wondering what it would sound like if Ultra Sunn stepped outside of the comfort zone.
On her latest album, Amateur, Molly Nilsson considers how a word that is derived from the Latin for “lover” or “admirer” came to mean a lack of experience or professionalism. “I see ‘amateurism’ as a delighted, even foolish, protest,” says Nilsson in a statement on the album’s Bandcamp page. “Protest against everything. Of what’s expected of someone, or expected of someone to desire or strive for. To be elite, to be expert, to be professional, to be a master, to excel and succeed. Where’s the joy in that?”
Goths for Palestine, Vol. II includes music from Nuovo Testamento, Leæther Strip, A Place to Bury Strangers and More curated by Suzi Sabotage
Late last year, Finnish singer Suzi Sabotage curated the first Goths for Palestine compilation, a 30-track collection featuring contributions from an international group of artists, including Belgrado, Zanias, Dancing Plague and Taleen Kali, and with proceeds benefiting long-running relief group Anera. Earlier this month, Goths for Palestine, Volume II hit Bandcamp.
It’s all about the title track on Antidepressants, the latest album from Suede. The tension is thick and the song vacillates between death rock verses and the boisterous punk chorus. Brett Anderson’s voice takes on a ominous as he digs into bourgeoisie paranoia. “I look in my house, it’s a luxury design, but there’s shit on the walls that I’m hiding behind,” he sings. “There’s a room at the back in case you get scared. Prisoner.”
Antidepressants is the 10th album from the English band and touted as their “post-punk” collection. After my first listen, I took that to mean that Richard Oakes leaned harder into the John McGeoch influence and Simon Gilbert lays into the drums with more of a doomy, tribal, Budgie feel. So, you could also maybe say that this is Suede’s Siouxsie and the Banshees album. Since this review is written by someone whose teenage bedroom boasted both Suede and Siouxsie and the Banshees posters in it, you should consider that a recommendation.
Neil Hannon is a genius. The Northern Irish force behind The Divine Comedy has been writing albums full of poignant, literate baroque pop since the 1990s. On Rainy Sunday Afternoon, his first full-length in six years, Hannon bestows another 11 gems upon us, including the masterful dunk on MAGA, “Mar-a-Lago By the Sea.”
The song itself is drenched in oceanic kitsch, stylistically reminiscent of mid-20th century exotica albums. Against a backdrop that evokes images of sandy beaches and coconut cocktails, Hannon croons recollections of past holidays as if he’s singing to a supper club full of seniors. “Mar-a-Lago, dare I dream/That someday I will be/Within your walls again,” he sings. Then, he drops the bombs.
I’ve long been a fan of Modeselektor, but when I think about the German DJ/production duo, the one release that always pops into my head is their 2009 installment for Get Physical’s Body Languageseries. Somewhere in the last 20 minutes of the mix, a space techno woosh morphs into Animal Collective’s song “My Girls.” It was completely unexpected and made me fall for a song from a band that I was otherwise ambivalent about. The best DJs do that and Modeselektor are still amongst those I would consider the very best.
Cover of International, the final album from Saint Etienne
At a certain point, getting stuck at JFK isn’t so bad. By midnight, the crowds are gone. After 2 a.m., most of the few travelers left are sleeping. I don’t know how they do it. The chairs at the gates are uncomfortable and I can’t bring myself to stretch out on carpet that people have been trampling over all day. So, I pop in my earbuds and finish an assignment that’s due on Monday while bobbing my head along to the Bob Vylan and Kneecap albums on my laptop. Then I remember that Saint Etienne’s latest, and last, album, International, came out on Friday, so I look it up, buy a digital copy, and tune in.
International is a perfect finale for the long-running, British indie pop trio and, really, the ideal music for this very strange night. Saint Etienne have spent the past 35 years making music, and creating an image, that blurs the past, present and future. Their breakthrough single, “Only Love Can Break Your Heart,” was a cover of a Neil Young song reconfigured with a Burt Bacharach-meets-Stone Roses sensibility. From there, Bob Stanley, Pete Wiggs and Sarah Cracknell made mod pop and house jams, flirted with Eurodance and experimental electronic music and played with psychedelic and ambient sounds, all the while showing a real reverence for both the most commercial and underground histories of 20th and 21st century music. As International is an intentional final album, it draws from all of the influences that have appeared in Saint Etienne’s music since the dawn of the 1990s.
