An Acute Case: 14 April 2023

Queerness as surrealism, "tertiary dimensionalism", comic malignancy, and unrealistic expectations for social workers

Sabrina Carpenter: emails i can’t send
A winning combination of modern bummer aesthetic, Disney princess melodic sweetness, and song-writing-as-therapy—”I’m not catastrophising” indeed. The arrangements tend a little bashful about their Rodrigo/Eilish copyright infringements, which is cute. With vocal coaching from auntie Bart, she could distinguish herself yet. *** (“emails i can't send” “Vicious” “because i liked a boy”)

Eyelids: A Colossal Waste Of Light
Fourth album from supergroup of indie pop sidemen whose skills lie in propping up better [checks notes; sees Crowded House] more successful [check notes again; sees Guided By Voices] more cultish acts. As expected, it’s rotten with hooks; most you’ve heard before, but they’re all pleasingly well-turned. Vocal personality is wanting. Peter Buck produces, obviously. * (“They Said So” “Runaway, Yeah” “Lyin’ In Your Tomb”)

Fever Ray: Radical Romantics
The instrumentals are still bizarre creatures that sweat and breathe, gurgle and burp according to their own body rhythms. And though I haven’t counted, there’s no reason to doubt the clicks, clacks, tips, and taps are as abundant as on any of the predecessors. Yet the best album by the non-binary half of Sweden’s nonpareil cutlery set is above all the work of a singer-songwriter. From the creeping seductions of “What They Call Us” and “Kandy”, to the insect buzz of “Shiver”, to the sneering sarcasm of “Even It Out”, Karin Dreijer asserts themself as one of the most fascinating vocalists in any genre. Their lyrics rarely concern narratives or character studies, instead offering images of queerness as surrealism counterposed with nods and winks from everyday speech. Because they abjure explanation by design, here’s a handful with no helpful commentary: “Pull up a skirt / Grind the beasts”; “You had me on cuddle / Swallowing the buds from the puddle”; “Looking for a person with a special kind of smile / Teeth like razors fingers like spice”; “We run our bodies as we go to sleep / Tapping fingers as a way to speak.” A work of intoxicating subtlety and wry innuendo. A MINUS

Freedy Johnston: Back on The Road to You
Maddy walks into the room, puts on her best Sunday radio voice, and croons: "Eeeeeasy listening for the over thirties." Not much more to add. Treacly vocals, faultless craft. ** (“There Goes A Brooklyn Girl” “That’s Life” “The I Really Miss Ya Blues”)

Mach-Hommy: Notorious Dump Legends: Volume 2
Having pegged Mach as a brusque street reporter with a side hustle in Haitian cultural outreach, I’m as surprised as I am delighted that he’s developed into a full-blown free-associating word nut. Rapping over what are little more than instrumental skits left to run three minutes longer than intended, his feats of mental and verbal calisthenics are an ordeal and a pleasure to keep up with. In a single verse, he rhymes “body” with “body”, “rental” with “rental”, and “shotty” with you-know-whatty; mumbles "we'll have to arbitrate the corporal punishment"; slots in "tertiary dimensionalism" and “mitochondrial”; crams “continue”, ”spin you”, ”mental”, ”pencil”, ”stencil”, and ”credentials” into a scant few seconds; and declares "I’ve got gospel samples stuck between my cuspid and my wisdom." Meaning is secondary to rhyme, and even that’s being rapidly pursued by voice—whether he’s mumbling, croaking, lullabying, or crooning, his baritone is irresistible even if you’re not listening to the words. Kudos go to frequent guest and Illmatic disciple The God Fahim for keeping his head above water—next to Mach’s, his own rhyming adventures (“rodeo”, “yo-yo”, “promos”, “podium”, “sodium”, “pandemonium”, “nickelodeon”, “petroleum”) could easily fall flat. They don’t. A MINUS

Quasi: Breaking the Balls of History
Musically, defined by Janet Weiss’ drumming, which remains cyclopean, and Sam Coomes’ Rocksichord vamping, which is possessed by a spirit of joyful buffoonery. Lyrically, defined by the rock ‘n’ roll privilege to express your animus while not giving a fuck. Chief vocialist and song-writer Coomes is comically malignant, presenting his assorted barbs like sprays of wildflowers: “Need I remind you about the end? / The gaping void just around the bend?”; “You can walk on water if you so choose / In your made in the U.S.A. concrete shoes”; “If half a loaf is better than none / How bout half of a half of a hot dog bun?” While the content invites quibbles over cynicism, and the approach quibbles over the variable completeness of the songs, I say that lacks proper appreciation of their punk spirit, and pity anyone who isn’t satisfied with two almost-60-year-olds shoop-shoop-ing and oo-oo-ing in the face of the world’s ills. And as it closes with “The Losers Win”, how cynical can it be? A cruel and funny album. A MINUS

Star Feminine Band: Star Feminine Band (‘20)
In an act of selflessness that might not be met with unchecked admiration by overworked colleagues worldwide, social worker André Balaguemon moved to Natitingou, Benin in 2016 to start an all-girl band that would redress gender inequalities in his home country. After building two houses to finance his project, and with assistance from the mayor’s office, radio adverts were aired and girls recruited. Daughters Grâce (keybs) and Angélique (drums, the kit kind) were joined by Anne (guitar), Julienne (bass), and Urrice, Inès Bio, and Sandrine (drums, the kan’kare and kanganmou kind). The youngest was 6, the oldest 13. Two years and 40+ hours of weekly rehearsals later, professional trumpet player Jérémie Verdier overheard them while volunteering, fell hard for their charm, and bagged them a deal with the inappropriately named Paris-based Born Bad Records. The result is mostly highlife, the approach childishly simple. Obviously. While they’re far from finding their feet, the rhythms are steadfast—their vocal harmonies the highlight. When Anne solos, it’s pretty. When Grâce does, it’s with a lovely sense of drama. Full of the joy of discovery, they cram in as many ideas from their rumba and soukous lessons as possible, freely seesawing between styles. True to the original mission, the themes mostly concern women’s rights, though it’s worth noting that after just four years in the game they already had a song about the music business. Unsurprisingly, it’s not about uplifting origin stories. A MINUS

Star Feminine Band: In Paris
After the debut, Jérémie Verdier became their manager, and in 2020 worked his ass off to get them a European tour, despite the dual challenges of covid and acquiring night work licenses for minors who don’t even have civil status in their home country. But as succeeding against the odds is their vocation, they made it, and between being amazed by escalators and GPS, recorded this album. Their message remains unchanged: they’re Star Feminine Band; they’re musician sisters; good music is their job. In addition, they raise the profile of forced marriage, FGM, and children's right to education. More confident now, they control the density of their polyrhythms, regularly stripping things back to spotlight individual instruments, with Anne and Grâce playing particularly disobedient counterpoint. The riffs are louder, the drums bigger, the sebenes wilder—a sign that they’ve learnt from playing to new audiences. Slicker and less garage-y than the debut, their emerging virtuosity and professionalism does no harm to their vivacity. A MINUS