An Acute Case: 13 January 2023

Home(boy) economics, authentically ordinary Americana, more girls than b*tches, and billy woods as song and dance man

Blackpink: Born Pink
Only the opening three burst with enough sass to make me forget my reservations, despite the roll call of TRL era catchphrases: “I bring the pain”, “Straight to your dome”, “Get get em get em”. Maybe even because of them. * (“Pink Venom” “Shut Down” “Typa Girl”)

Fanfare Ciocarlia: It Wasn’t Hard to Love You (2021)
Their big new idea on a 25th anniversary release made possible by fans-turned-funders is a cover of “Just the Two of Us”, and it’s a goodun. It’s also not far off the number of tempos in their repertoire. Tunes, on the other hand, they've got for days. And while those might sound unvaried to a non-gypsy ear, they’re invariably fun, which is what matters wherever your ears are from. Finely tuned and impeccably timed, they manage to steer clear of the pomposity of a precision-engineered prestige act. Which isn’t to say they aren’t proud. Outside the jigs and romps, more than a few songs come across like spoof national anthems, and not just cause they made the opener for Borat. Even when the lyrics are just “tk-a-tk-a-tk-a” or “rum-pom-pom”, this is the sound of cultural identity living and breathing. Join them in celebrating it. A MINUS

Fox Green: Holy Souls
Maybe knocking on heaven’s door twice is a bit much, but since Greil Marcus compared Dylan’s most overplayed song (well, one of them) to “Row Row Row Your Boat”, some of the sheen’s rubbed off. And anyway, they put it to good use on the title track and “Flag Day In America”. As boogie is hardly their strong point—though note the ambition of glockenspiel and horns—I find myself cheering when they hit a groove all of their own on "Howlin' (Aka Howlin' Wolf Talking Blues)" and decide to ride it out for a full seven minutes. The attention grabber is Wade Darden’s voice, which might not suggest “duende” like the bio claims but does possess an authentic ordinariness—neither gruff or whiny, high or low—in keeping with their low-stakes subject matter. That includes rambles from lapsed alcoholics, one side of a phone call between separated siblings, love as measured against the number of stars in sky, a case study in the masculinity-sweet rims paradigm, and, on the closer, the time Wade discovered where his girlfriend really was when she said she was visiting her parents. It’s called “Jail App”. B PLUS

Homeboy Sandman: There In Spirit
Track listing says seven songs but I’m inclined to say three and a half because most of these feel unfinished. Only in this case that isn’t a problem because the half we get fascinate with the kind of probiotic production that promotes good gut health: scurrilous bits of sound bumping against each other with just enough force to make a beat, wriggling and writhing their way to the point of progress before flipping back on themselves like that thing in a petri dish you just prodded to check is alive and—hey, it moved! After permitting himself more bellicosity than is desirable on his last two releases, the effect this has on Angel Del Villar is heartening. He’s back to sounding as calm as Gandhi and as cool as an auntie, complementing the production with simple-by-his-standards rhymes that consist of finding something basic to riff on and throwing it back and forth until the petering out point is reached. Sample: “believe somethin’”/“seen somethin’”/“been somethin’”/“teen somethin’”. Other sample: “breathe alright / eat alright / sleep alright / deep alright.” He’s still got the odd epiphany in him, though: “Now you can go on Spotify and listen to Prince / At least that's what scientists are teaching to chimps.” A MINUS

Homeboy Sandman: I Can’t Sell These
Having collaborated with one beatmaker at a time on his last six releases, it’s ironic that this collection of ten years’ worth of songs he can’t sell because they contain samples he can’t clear turns out to be Angel Del Villar’s most conceptually unified output. With even more supreme self-possessession than usual, he purloins instrumentals from fusioneers de jour Khruangbin, Cuban honker Paquito D’Rivera, 1972 cosmonaut Angel Rada, Fiona Apple's contribution to a Judd Apatow soundtrack(?!), some 60’s Israeli rock, the Last of the Mohicans and Parks & Rec themes, and two Sault and J Dilla joints apiece—plus three beats from producers “who attempted to waste my time” and “a couple of songs produced by folks I do know but still can’t sell because art and money make for strange bedfellows.” By giving them away gratis he draws attention to how much his material is dominated by the concept of freedom—most often by waging war with its archnemesis. Amongst the dozens of epigrams on that subject, these three from “$” are permanently lodged in my mind: “Make other people miserable pay off all the principal”, “I just want you to know money doesn’t help you play in the snow”, “You can't squeeze no life out dead presidents”. Only available on Bandcamp, where you can choose to pay for it. And if you’re unsure why you should when he holds money in such contempt, note the following from a song titled “Flat Pockets”: “When I see someone needy I don’t call em a bum / I take my wallet out my pocket and I give em a sum”. So sling him some summum malum. A

Homeboy Sandman: Still Champion
More linguistic calisthenics than his other mini album if only because the Daisy Age beats from Aesop Rock soundalike Deca permit him so much time to stroll around and practice his rhyming, e.g. “indomitable foe”, “abominable snow”, “water buffalo”, “cup of joe”. Main takeaway from his 2022 release glut (including this “Twelve Days of Christmas” thing that just popped up): his voice is getting sexier. Though maybe not when he turns “yerp” into a hook. ** (“Satellite” “Fresh Air Fund” “News To Me”)

Lizzo: Special
Retro only not because she’s re-evaluating the past or authenticating her stylistic purity, but because in a Pop present still in thrall to quietism, disco diva is the scale required to contain her world-beating personality. Max Martin’s squeaky-clean production is shamelessly derivative. So much so that the synthetic glitz plays out like a challenge to the manifestly unfake star. And while Lizzo’s naked truths and pep talks don’t provide the full redemption arc, the hits (the Beasties snatch on “Girls”, the heartfelt “I Love You Bitch”, the cadence on “About Damn Time”, “I don’t break up twice” as a usable phrase) outnumber her misses ("There's a mona Lisa moaning in the room”, the “Birthday Girl” hook, Coldplay). And unless I’m miscounting, so too do her “girls” outnumber her “bitches”. Among her many displays of self-improvement, that may be the most significant. A MINUS

No Age: People Helping People
Even when they’re minimal going on full blown abstract, few are better equipped to present their microtonal cast-offs and convulsive beat spasms as an album and mostly get away with it. * ("Compact Flashes" "Plastic (You Want It)" "Violence")

Caitilin Rose: Cazimi
Does everything with her country twang, jukebox tune sense, and subtle phrasing except put some muscle behind it. ** (“Getting It Right” “Nobody’s Sweetheart” “Gemini Moon” “Holdin’” “Only Lies”)

Lainey Wilson: Bell Bottom Country
A weak end and a heart like a truck can’t be easy to live with, though neither appear to obstruct her tender twang or rockist arrangements, both of which pick up after a first half mired in conventionality. * (“Me You and Jesus” “Hold My Halo” “Heart Like A Truck” “Atta Girl”)

billy woods X Messiah Musik: CHURCH
Premier in media res rapper returns with another helping of disarming verse openers. “When the revolution was over they gave em half what they promised.” “She said ‘Come get me and I'm yours’ and the line went dead.” “This thing was broke from the jump / No point going back and forth over who did what.” Like that. More rooted in the here and now than on Aethiopes—which I suppose means his time-travelling exceeds a hundred years less often—woods’ quotidian concerns include table manners at his cousin’s house and the cost of copay. Even if just by dint of shorter run times and more abrupt track changes, Messiah Musik’s production tends slightly more aleatoric than Preservation’s, with woods balancing things out by tending slightly more hooky. And not just in his stubbornly recitative way. “The weeds overgrown, the weeds overgrown, the weeds overgrown” is characteristically plainspoken, but “I hope there’s nothing but hoes in paradise” is positively wistful. Next thing you know he’ll be singing. B PLUS