on the pulse - 2024 - #2 - future islands, the last dinner party, glass beach, ty segall, kyros, torres, willi carlisle, 2nd in command & amyfm

2nd In Command & AmyFM - PRISMATIC - Look, with 2nd In Command’s looser trap projects, by now you should know what’s coming: fast, well-constructed flows, wild, distinctly online and confrontational humour, more autotuned melody, and alcohol and drug-soaked gender-bending and debauchery. And given that 2nd has been tidying up the vocal mix alongside AmyFM’s better mastering, featuring blubbery bass and ethereal hyperpop synths balanced with ragged glitch, for as loose and freewheeling as this is, the progression and polish is tangible. And with AmyFM’s hook on ‘UREALLYTHOUGHT?’, this easily fits alongside Drain Gang and 2nd’s lyricism is way better, especially as between settling scores and fun flexing, the staggering yearning undercurrent is palpable. As a whole, I usually prefer 2nd’s serious bars or sheer pop gloss, but this is close to their best in this lane. I had fun with this, really solid tape!

Willi Carlisle - Critterland - Yes, I’m on my indie country bullshit again… although with Willi Carlisle, it’s a little more complicated than that. I had seen his name around the more acoustic, folk-leaning edges of the subgenre for a few years now, where I felt late only properly exploring his discography now… and man, I wish I had gotten to him sooner! His 2016 debut Too Nice To Mean Much was ridiculously charming, with a ramshackle organic tone where a terrific sense of humour and wry observation could compensate for some slightly clunky turns of phrase… which admittedly where his 2018 album To Tell You The Truth lost me a bit as it felt a little too shaky for its own good. But he won me back plenty with 2022’s Peculiar, Missouri, where his powerful empathetic ear especially for the fringe hustlers really stuck for me - should have covered it that year, it’s a great album. And thus I was very happy to see this get added to my schedule… and for good reason, it’s a pretty great project, albeit significantly darker and less whimsical than Peculiar, Missouri. If you’re looking for a modern indie country parallel, imagine Pony Bradshaw’s eye for complicated empathy and homespun detail, but with a mix that feels even more spare to match Carlisle’s winsome delivery that definitely owes more to freeform folk structures, down to an extended spoken word story that ends the project and reminds me of B. Dolan’s material in this territory for the challenging, very human nuance. And that minimalism cuts both ways - it focuses a lot of attention on Carlisle with just a banjo, guitar, violin, or even accordion, which for an album deeply embedded in the ragged fringe makes sense, and producer Darrell Scott is smart enough to get the most out of the organic pickups and get out of the way, even if it can feel like the vocal mastering as a whole can be a bit inconsistent depending if this album leans folk or country. And that also impacts Carlisle as well - there’s less humour this time in the subject matter and poetry, and for an album so stripped down, I’m not sure it always flatters his sense of theatricality, and the loneliness that stretches across many of these tracks feels palpable. And that makes sense when you delve into the lyrics, exploring the mixed feelings with the loss of parents with both nostalgia on ‘Dry Country Dust’ and something much less rosy on ‘The Arrangements’ before the confession of ‘I Want No Children’, and then we get to the songs surrounding drug abuse, addiction, and those stranded at the fringes as late capitalism leaves them behind - as much as the title track might try to draw people together, the rest of the album can feel the consequences of those driven apart. And man, it can be sad - the double meaning of ‘The Great Depression’, the ragged road story of ‘Higher Lonesome’, the ode to a friend who committed suicide on ‘Jaybird’, and the utterly devastating ‘When The Pills Wear Off’, which Carlisle has described as a more careful look at drug use compared to an early cut of his like ‘Cheap Cocaine’. And there is something deeply beautiful in processing these painful moments that might be small but can mean the world - and Carlisle is smart enough to frame the question of why these moments might be overlooked, who is allowed to be ignorant of consequence and thrive while those outside or stuck at the bottom of the hierarchy suffer; the political edge is most visible on the spoken word closer ‘The Money Grows On Trees’, telling the story of a rural drug dealer and the corrupt cop who form an unholy alliance that ends in tragedy and bloodshed, but the barbed question of who is allowed privilege in these stories colors the majority of this album. And as such, it is understandable why this album can feel fatalistic, good intentions where reality drags everything low, which I don’t always love and can make this a tougher listen, especially as stripped down as it is. As a whole, though, it’s a truly great singer-songwriter album - a more difficult listen than Peculiar, Missouri for sure, and I’m split on which is better, but I’d argue it’s Carlisle’s most refined and mature project to date; glad I’ve finally gotten around to covering him, excellent work.

Torres - What an enormous room - I knew going into this album that Mackenzie Scott would have two options: expand her more accessible indie rock bangers that she honed on Thirstier - which just so happened to give me two of the best songs of 2021 - or she would go back to the stalking, cyclical, meditative slow-burn cuts that have been her bread-and-butter throughout the 2010s that I often liked but didn’t always amplify her strengths to me. That was the thing about Thirstier - it absolutely was a divergence, but it highlighted how much her dramatic intensity could pay off a crescendo and climax, where the swagger took a leap and the sheer abandon was infectious! And thus it’s a little frustrating and disappointing that with What an enormous room, Torres is comfortably back in her comfort zone - and moreover, she sounds more confident, righteous, damn near imperious as she takes what sounds like a victory lap - thematically this is an album about potential, where such an enormous room is symbolic of how she can expand her power, where even if the room is dilapidated or damaged, she can fill it. That’s not saying there’s no dramatic tension here - there’s anxious fear at this newfound space, and legit anger at those who would attempt to diminish or leech off of her passion that attempts to balance out the relief and joy she might feel, and ‘Jerk into joy’ highlights how precarious that feeling can be - but it’s a tension that’s very familiar, Torres has locked into this groove before. And that creates a weird emotional discordance - for as limitless as she feels, the album has the tone of either not believing it or feeling so bemused at this newfound space that she can’t take the most advantage of it, which in terms of societal or feminist critique probably could use expansion that the album doesn’t explore… which is the poetic way of saying that this album doesn’t have anything close to her best climax points on Thirstier. But it also goes further than that - the synths and keyboards striking increasingly discordant melodies against the warbling guitars that evokes the late 90s in a way I wish was more flattering, the basslines never allowed to build much muscle, the drums and drum machines feeling stiffer and more hemmed in, a number of compositions feeling weirdly abbreviated where they feel like fragments of ideas that never take advantage of that space especially on the first half, and it’s a weird contrast with the themes, especially with songs on the last album serving as proof that she can convert potential into kinetic energy! It’s odd because this all feels so intentional to juxtapose this specific sound with these themes, where I’m almost positive the odd discomfort is the point, which means I’m more perplexed than annoyed - and hey, for fans of her older sound, I’m sure this’ll work just fine. But as someone who saw the heights of potential she did reach, and then to hear this where the content is all about that potential expanse and the music isn’t getting there… I just don’t like it as much as I wanted to. Probably will be best for the fans, if you’re curious it is worth a listen - I’m just not sure that in this enormous room, you might not start looking for the door.

Kyros - Mannequin - When I first reviewed Kyros in 2020, they made gloriously dense, 80s-inflected progressive pop rock with hooks for days but also stumbled headfirst into messiness. Since then, they got a new bassist and their lead singer transitioned, and I was curious how that might impact their sound - they did make one of my favourite songs of 2020… and while I don’t think they hit that peak, this is an expansion of their formula, closer to late 80s synthpop, funk, dance, and even new jack swing with so much vibrant careening energy. I wish they had more coherent transitions or a stronger sense of dynamics - this 80s era hasn’t quite aged past its cheesier, plastic side - but the existential struggle between a hollow exterior life bucking against internal emptiness, defining which of either is the real ‘you’, is a more potent thematic arc. Still a heady and occasionally frustrating album… but I think it’s an improvement.

Ty Segall - Three Bells - It’s been about five years since I last reviewed Ty Segall - you eventually run out of new things to say about his flavours of warped, self-aware garage or psychedelic rock - but after pushing out five more albums of varying quality, this was reportedly a step up, even embracing some prog elements. Which is… somewhat true in a tastefully produced, early psychedelic prog space as the guitar interplay and dynamics are more jagged and the compositions sprawl, or what might be an excuse for not writing strong hooks or singing like he really cares. It has the feel of a throwback jam band album with more focus on groove and percussion - which might be the reason why the lyrics toy between introspection, existential emptiness, goof-offs and a few love songs and wind up feeling a bit slight - but let’s not act like we haven’t heard this formula time and time again; generally fine, it doesn’t feel memorable.

glass beach - plastic death - The frustrating part of being late to an album that has been held up as a seminal, genre-breaking, entirely too-online cult classic - and to be fair I was far from the only one - is that pretty much every critique you might level is deflected with ‘that’s the point’ or ‘that’s part of its appeal’, which you might understand but if you know from where an act is drawing its influence, you have an idea of how it could work more effectively. the first glass beach album falls in that territory, a genre-blurring, undulating mass of terrific grooves and melodic/lyrical eccentricities heavily indebted to late 90s emo that could really be taken to the next level by mastering outside of one’s bedroom. But it still has a lot of homegrown charm and given I was so late to it, I figured by the time I got to their sophomore album I would have the time to appreciate it more in its year - and hell, getting Will Yip to engineer it is a huge asset! Granted, I also heard that this was adopting a very different tone and a more prog rock approach to its genre blurring, so I had no idea what to expect… and yet there’s a certain irony in how I think my original critique holds just as true this time around, and not only does glass beach understand that critique and not care, it becomes metacommentary that underscores a lot of plastic death! And hey, I respect that - I’m certain that glass beach weren’t responding directly to me on this, even if the sampled vocal at the beginning of ‘coelacanth’ did sound eerily like my voice and had me scouring my videos for if I ever talked about Banksy or Unus Annus, and I was the first person to ever really review Patricia Taxxon’s music of which there are some stark parallels here, if you know you know - but it does place this album in fascinating territory, a project where miscommunication and obfuscation aren’t just built into the album’s experience, but are thematic centerpieces, an album that for as much as it’s doing its own thing in its own space, it’s also in conversation with your experience of them and it has no interest in making that conversation easy! What this means is that glass beach is not interested in hooking you in a conventional space - they nearly cut ‘puppy’ for being too accessible and radio-friendly, so for an hour-plus dreamlike meander through watery swancore-inspired synth and guitar flourishes, wild transitions, blown out glitch, and increasingly indecipherable and abstracted lyrics where traditional melodic hooks are in short supply, that will be a tough sell, especially as I’ve never been that fond of J’s increasingly raw vocals, especially given how fidgety and filmy some of those tonal choices are. But again, that’s the point: right from the first track this album is challenging the engagement of mass culture with art, and the hostility that manifests when that culture is told ‘you won’t get what you want’ - and when you remember this album has a lot of stark parallels with the queer and specifically trans experience, the personal edge feels more visceral and matches language pulled from the horrors of war, built more for mood than literalism. And it’s intensely connected to the psychological toll of releasing personal art to be exposed like this, especially in the system that expects you keep churning to satisfy that audience as highlighted on the Kafkaesque ‘motions’ - Foucault’s panopticon being referenced on ‘the CIA’ - because of course - makes all the sense in the world, especially online - but they can’t imagine another way, and on songs like ‘slip under the door’ and ‘cul-de-sac’ it references nostalgic stagnation and madness that comes with not evolving, and the voyeuristic curiosity by the audience to engage with glass beach’s world, but never really go deeper and truly challenge their internal stakes in this… because if they do, they might come out the other side as someone they do not recognize, as ‘the killer’ describes in haunted, gory detail, tragically juxtaposed against that gorgeous strings section. But it’s important to highlight it’s not just about provocation of the audience or centering their experience - J has highlighted overlapping themes of the ‘the body, the virtual self, and the shadowy unconscious’, and as the queer artists in the picture, all three selves are wracked by clashing motivation where a symbolic plastic death and harrowing of hell is needed to get to the other side, and they don’t expect you to understand… although there’s a part of them that desperately wishes you would try - and not for nothing, it’s helped by the emotive climaxes on ‘commatose’ and ‘abyss angel’ in succession leading to an excellent album closer. Now do I personally think that this thematic arc could have been translated with more conventionally structured hooks or grooves, especially as it’s a bit bizarre that despite Will Yip’s production being more consistent the basslines feel less defined overall… I might think there’s merit in that for accessibility, but my angle in any queer framing doesn’t matter - in another parallel to Patricia Taxxon’s music especially Foley Artist or her more recent output the past year or two, glass beach is not about to compromise their visceral emotional truth to be subjugated as content, and even if the album doesn’t fully stick for me in execution, I respect the hell out of it. And while there’s a subsection of my audience that’ll adore this from the jump, I’ll still recommend everyone takes the time to really dive deep; absolutely a difficult listen… but I think for a lot of folks it’ll be worth it.

The Last Dinner Party - Prelude To Ecstasy - So this is one of those acts that seemed to build buzz from out of nowhere, especially in the UK, which sparked a lot of discourse a year or two ago as to how they managed to nab so much industry traction and backing support without having cut any songs to record or a huge social media profile. From what I can tell it was borderline old-fashioned: they met going to black midi and HMLTD shows, formed a band, had a few very minor gigs, they got the attention of a pretty exclusive PR firm - which to me is the interesting link, how did that connection happen - that got them a deal with Island, and they’ve spent the past year releasing singles, backing up some much bigger names, and winning some industry awards until they could release this. And for the record, Island is under Universal, and considering The Last Dinner Party are one of the extremely few acts that is allowed to release an album while UMG openly feuds with TikTok, thus depriving them of that promotion - forget ‘industry plant’, this is about as ‘sink-or-swim’ as any major debut is going to face right now! So now that we’re through all of that nonsense, how is the music? Well, my first observation was that it’s now very funny that the opulence-with-dubious-production-budget theaterkidcore of the late 2000s paired with the baroque pop revival of the very early 2010s has now slipped into the nostalgia window, because The Last Dinner Party’s influences shine through vividly, specifically Florence + The Machine and especially that first Marina + The Diamonds album, but with the boon of plentiful vocal harmonies, being produced by veteran James Ford and an opulent strings section that reminds me a lot of his recent work with the Arctic Monkeys. It’s also where I’m going to push back against some critics’ comparisons with early St. Vincent or Julia Holter and that very specific art school set - there may be some parallels in orchestration but the tone, song construction, and lyrical stylism feels different; over-the-top pop decadence and high melodrama is the name of the game here, where the band has described the album as trying to hit the crux point between passion and pain, riding on the intensity of that emotionality where the HMLTD connection makes all the sense in the world, and I’m definitely one to get onboard with this… so why am I a lot less impressed? Well, part of it is the haphazard sense of momentum and some underpowered hooks, but there’s also the long shadow of their influences - they don’t have Florence Welch’s raw power, they don’t have Marina’s go-for-broke camp, and while the expensive production is obviously here, it often feels too tastefully arranged and midtempo to make the most of it - or with ‘Caesar On A TV Screen’ and ‘My Lady Of Mercy’, really inelegantly mashed together ideas - which is why I also don’t really buy the Kate Bush or PJ Harvey comparisons; I wish the glamour had more teeth beyond solid basslines, an occasional spark of guitar smolder, and occasional wiry synth underscoring, that there was a more tangible sense of risk. This is of course where the lyrics come in… where again, I’m less impressed than I want to be, mostly because there’s a framework of interesting ideas that really could use a few more drafts to pull them coherently together. Part of the problem is that The Last Dinner Party don’t commit to owning their melodrama - the album is literally bookended with ‘Burn Away’ and ‘Mirror’, wanting to highlight the commodification of their pain, which feels askew when you have later tracks pushing a more sincere stylized romanticism of these often bad relationships; I know the ambiguity of this romance and its artistic portrayal is the point, but they don’t do as much with it as they could. They’ll also take jabs at delusions of grandeur, and men costing on opulence and privilege like in ‘Caesar On A TV Screen’ or ‘Beautiful Boy’ or the second verse of ‘Portrait of a Dead Girl’, but it comes across as less commentary on the system and more a backwards-looking desire so they can indulge the power dynamics to the same extent. And hell, that makes sense - Lana Del Rey did that all across the 2010s, the mood board parallels are obvious, and I’m not even against it the way I was ten years ago especially as The Last Dinner Party are obviously more self-aware in playing up the heady bombast and fantasy - but I’m not sure how far that self-awareness extends and it feels like punches were pulled. And it’s frustrating because the seeds of interesting ideas are here, in both the rampant hedonism or the other underlying themes of feminine legacy, especially within family on songs like ‘The Feminine Urge’, where they’re also clearly aware of the women who walked this path before them in order to make that deconstructive commentary, but it becomes clear there’s more of a subtextual emotional throughline than one in the text, more gestures than direct stabs, and I think that diminishes its power - a prelude to ecstasy that never actually gets all the way there, but certainly has some ideas why that’s the case… and doesn’t really explore them as deeply as it could! And look, I know I’m being hard on a debuting act that with the benefit of age and time will likely pick up more of that nuance… but at the same time, when the ambition and industry backing is so prominent, I’m going to put in the work and once you dispel the glamours, there’s just not as much here as you’d hope. That’s not saying this is bad - it’s not, it’s pretty decent, their first two singles ‘Nothing Matters’ and ‘Sinner’ are great, but the polarization of opinions and discourse around this band and album hasn’t helped at all. If you’re into very stylized, expensive-sounding baroque pop with a bit of an edge, you’ll have fun with this - a little compromised for my taste, but there’s enough potential to convince me they’ll do better on their next project; again, if it’s a prelude to ecstasy, I’m comfortable with delayed gratification.

Future Islands - People Who Aren’t There Anymore - The indictment of this band over the last ten years is that as a 80s throwback synthwave group, if you can get into Samuel Herring’s uniquely craggy voice, you’ll find remarkable consistency but few standouts. So I tempered my expectations for what some were calling their best since Seasons… and even if the gauzy flutters of uncanny analog synths and coursing grooves are familiar, I’d still agree because of its sense of urgency. Faster tempos, bigger hooks, and lyrical stakes that earn Herring’s stately theatricality, the breakup of a long-distance relationship in devastating slow motion and the quest to not succumb to old demons and move on, with framing that’s mature but allows for real human ugliness. It definitely runs long and the album’s bisected recording creates a weirdly disconnected ending emotionally, but it is Future Islands’ best in a decade - really strong stuff!