An Acute Case: 5 November 2023

Pulitzer pop, southern comforters, skunk extermination, and more

Will Butler + Sister Squares
Rhythm-first, texturally rich, and largely continuous, this formal recognition of the touring band who’ve supported him since 2015 distinguishes itself from Arcade Fire’s dance forays with flourishes Butler learnt from his theatre forays, though the problems are the same—doesn’t really make you wanna dance. ***

Rhinannon Giddens: You’re the One
Though the first collection of originals from this former Carolina Chocolate Drop is still fundamentally rootsy, it’s unlikely to attract the same attention from prize panels as her opera librettos. But with pop guy Jack Splash emphasising the novelty of her musicological findings rather than burying them in the footnotes, this is where she’s finally able to enhance the profound sensitivity of her phrasing with the full range of her formidable voice. The result is that she’s become a better interpreter of her own songs than other people’s, withstanding comparisons to Bonnie Raitt even if her writing is less nuanced. Except for “Another Wasted Life”—a bitter prison protest inspired by Kalief Browder’s suicide two years after a jail stint for allegedly stealing a backpack when he was 16—the impetus here isn’t pointedly political or historical, though most songs come from not just female perspectives but feminist ones. “If you don’t know how sweet it is, get on out of my kitchen” is from the ingrate’s ultimatum; “I don’t care how big it is, just get it out of my way” from the hen taking over the fox house. My personal favourite is the social mobility meet-cute duet with Jason Isbell, though once you know the title track’s about defeating postpartum depression with nothing more complicated than love, it hits pretty hard. A MINUS

The Handsome Family: Hollow
Because husband-and-wife duo Rennie and Brett Sparks’ alt-folk is neither especially revivalist or notably modern, it can make be hard to contextualise—a confusion exacerbated by a vocal style so dour and unmodulated that the words occasionally register as lumps of text, and a musical style so ornately portentous you might prepare for a mysticism that isn’t there. But pay attention and you’ll find no shortage of cultural currency in these tributes to the oldest water on earth, the microscopic beings that dwell there, the old oaks your shiny phone can’t tell you about, and strawberry moon-lit nights. All of which points to an environmentalism that’s relatively unambiguous and—barring a “King of Everything” up to his eyeballs on pills and a literal advert for skunk extermination—relatively uplifting. Whether the circle “Joseph” is beckoned into will embrace his paranoias or relieve them is more ambiguous; the murderous intent of the penultimate song’s “Invisible Man” less uplifting. And though that rather darkens the tone of an otherwise whimsical closer where Santa sharpens his claws and goblins brush their teeth before saying “Good Night", it’s worth remembering that just because they tend a little deathy, doesn’t mean they're not also a little lifey. A MINUS

Vic Mensa: VICTOR
This 30-year-old Chicagoan is a great interview—expressing himself thoughtfully on everything from religion (says it’s used to mask evil but that doesn’t make it the genesis of evil; disagrees with some of it but says that doesn’t negate its intrinsic value) to using AI in music (er, basically what he said about religion)—but his music still has the edge because that’s where he has the good taste to intersperse well-meaning ignance amongst the sincerity. Kanye-schooled in more than just his drum choices, he attends to his contradictions as a means of self-knowledge—here, with sequencing that more or less goes thoughtful one, naughty one, thoughtful one, naughty one. As per self-titled-and-capitalised album norms, he soul-bears plenty, with his offerings on internalised self-hatred and atonement for misdeeds genuinely thought-provoking, and his choice of guests not only commercially calculated but a commitment to perspectives that enrich his own. The middle section dips, as middle sections will, and not all songs deliver on the event-album bombast. But the ambition lyrically and variety sonically rewards attention, as does his bloody-minded commitment to punning his way out of trouble. A MINUS

Nellie McKay: Hey Guys, Watch This
“So that’s her deal—she does originals that sound like covers?” To which the answer is yes, but but but good originals that sound like good covers. Though after a dozen or so listens, that’s only partly true. Because while half the songs on this 41-year-old former prodigy’s first collection of originals since 2010 are languorous, honey-dipped, dream-lined southern comforters, the other half are deceptively dark. Long-time admirers will recognise that as McKay’s original M.O., which she exercised with more subtlety than most publications were prepared to pay attention to in the 00’s, with the result that her last two albums of the 10’s barely registered on anyone’s radar. So while I encourage you to enjoy the wistful lilt and bob and literary flair of this one, be sure to also notice how she deals with heartbreak by first vowing to drink until she’s dead, then by comparing her inconsequentiality to a bump in the wall, throws a party for the fiery annihilation of our current era, slips in an abuse song that’s crueller still for how gorgeous it is, and caps it all off with an utterly bananas closer where a precocious gay black girl emulates Jeffrey Dahmer instead of aspiring to the presidency. Don’t expect subtlety on that one. Do expect drill sound effects. A MINUS

noname: Sundial
Over gospel-inflected beats heftier if less inspired than those on Room 25, Fatimah Warner continues to bend everything to her ineluctable sense of rhythm, with the consequence that her intent can be hard to perceive. While that gives proceedings an edge, it also leads to flatter spells; namely, the stretch from “beauty supply” to the one that’s so slight I can’t remember its name (okay, “afro futurism”, but I had to check.) Order and some excitement are restored for a finale that unites past and present good guys billy woods, $ilkMoney, and Common, each handpicked for the right kind of radicalism. Meanwhile, Jay Electronica—nutpicked for the wrong kind of radicalism—has his antisemitic verse placed directly after Warner’s criticism of white rap fans as voyeurs to black trauma, which is an effective if self-destructive shock tactic. But as she puts it: “We live in a momentary lapse of judgement.” Also: “We better when we admit we too can cause harm.” Judging by her muddled response to the backlash, she’s working on that one. B PLUS

ONETWOTHREE: Welcome !
Three Swiss bassists develop something between a philosophy and a code of conduct over fifteen minutes of all too minimal herky-jerk rhythm and blank chatter. *** (“Dark Humour” “Tonight The Blue”)

Jessie Ware: That! Feels Good!
As year-end approaches, disappointing re-listening begins. Here’s the first casualty, which I overrated in June after giving Ware’s wan personality the benefit of the doubt. I’d hoped it’d grow over time, but it’s all but vanished now along with grooves that are serviceable at best and indifferent at worst.