Genres

Released on September 24, 1996, Illadelph Halflife marked a turning point in the Roots’ career from free-spirited jazz-hop players to soothsayers of doom. Much of rap music was obsessed with the Y2K apocalypse, the New World Order, and the presumptive demise of hip-hop – see De La Soul’s pivotal single “Stakes is High” – and the Philly ensemble was no exception. More than just Black Thought and Malik B launching cipher battles on “Uni-Verse at War,” and waging jeremiads against rapper “Clones,” the album sounds cloudy and introverted. The beats seem to mostly consist of organic bass, keyboards and drums, resulting in blue beats as sparse as a Wes Montgomery jam session, and moodily ominous vibes similar to contemporaneous works like A Tribe Called Quest’s Beats, Rhymes & Life, the Pharcyde’s Labcabincalifornia, and Slum Village’s Fan-Tas-Tic. When neo-soul and jazz guests like Raphael Saadiq (on “What They Do”), D’Angelo (on “The Hypnotic”), and Cassandra Wilson (on “One Shine”) appeared, they contributed pained vocals that contributed to the overall sense of melancholy.As a clear product of 1996’s pre-millennium tensions, Illadelph Halflife may have not aged as well as the band’s next album, the more successful Things Fall Apart. Its deeply rooted entropy is more suited for late-night listening, or perhaps the kind of contemplative smoke-out sessions the Black Thought, Malik and Bahamadia rhyme about on “Push Up Ya Lighter.” However, it established a theme. Led by drummer and group mastermind Ahmir “Questlove” Thompson, the Roots have continued to assess cultural and political trends with skepticism and occasional hope ever since.

Whats This Playlist All About? The slick synth-pop soul man carefully compiles a mix to go along with his new fourth album, Caer. Or, in his words, "Sometimes we brace and then fall. Sometimes we dont feel right. Sometimes we dont fall at all." (FYI, "caer" means "to fall" in Spanish.)

What You Get: George Lewis Jr., aka Twin Shadow, is as slick and shrewd of a playlist curator as he is an artist, so expect a well-crafted mix that reflects much of his own work. Some of his more obvious 80s influences—The Cure, Prince, even Bruce Springsteen—make an appearance, alongside some chirpy Japanese synth-pop (Yellow Magic Orchestra) and sax-infused jangle pop (Orange Juice). But Lewis isnt completely stuck in that decade, including some soulful hip-hop from Australian band Winston Surfshirt and atmospheric rap from Young Fathers.

Greatest Discovery: The soothing, slippery, nearly psychedelic electronic sprawl of Montreal duo The Beat Escapes "Moon in Aquarius.” The track comes from their debut album Life is Short the Answers Long, which is releasing the same day as Caer.

Does This Mix Serve as a Good Companion to Caer? Absolutely. Springsteen prepares you for the swinging, shimmering, Heartland-leaning pop of "Saturdays," featuring lovable sister trio HAIM. Meanwhile, the moody hip-hop of 6lack, the dark ambient of Grouper, and the melancholic piano of Nils Frahm come together beautifully on the doomy, Auto-Tuned burner "Little Woman."

Southerners and Midwesterners can whine to the contrary, but let’s face it: Since the early ’60s, it’s the West Coast that has coughed up garage rock’s coolest and most innovative punks, brats, and sonic Neanderthals. Right now, as I bang out these words to the raging sounds of The Hospitals’ lost, twisted classic Ive Visited the Island of Jocks and Jazz, there are jean-jacketed snots all throughout the United States blasting the latest fuzz-soaked hits from John Dwyer’s Oh Sees, White Fence duder Tim Presley, and Ty Segall (who’s about to drop his latest slab, Freedom’s Goblin). Any survey of current, cutting-edge garage has to begin with this talented trio. And speaking of surveys, it’s the West Coast that’s responsible for building the intersection of garage and psychedelia: Southern California coughed up The Seeds, Love, Count Five, and The Electric Prunes, while the Bay Area gave us the acid dreams of The Chocolate Watchband and the wildly under-heralded Mystery Trend (some of San Francisco’s very first ballroom explorers).Right about now, the Pacific Northwest contingency reading this are starting to howl, “Hey know-it-all dork, what about us?” Good point. The land of suffocating overcast and rain indeed possesses a lofty place in the history of garage rock. After all, it gave us the movement’s very first bands, like The Fabulous Wailers, who cranked out a stomping, R&B-heavy sound punctuated with sax skronk as early as 1959. And then there’s Paul Revere and the Raiders, who possessed a wily pop sensibility, and The Sonics, furry beasts who sound as if they’re strangling their instruments. But the most infamous of all have to be The Kingsmen, whose “Louie Louie” really, truly established the template for the three-minute blast of sloppy distortion, slurred drums, and horny howls. Crank just about any tune from Segall or Oh Sees or White Fence—including their more out-there, Velvety throwdowns—and you’ll hear an unmistakable link back to this moldy oldie.

What’s This Playlist All About?: Tycho’s own productions are the sort of sprawling, epic electronic instrumentals that make every moment feel like you’re watching sunrise at Burning Man, naked and under the influence of some fourth-generation hallucinogenic. He’s probably guilty of making the same song over and over, but it’s a really good song! What You Get: A playlist that captures whatever Tycho is currently listening to. He simply adds songs to the top when the muse strikes. It usually comes in clumps of 30 to 50 tracks and happens every three months of so. If you’re listening to this on Spotify, it’s interesting to see his taste progress through the years. In 2015, he was mainly listening to his own stuff, while 2016 found him branching off into Caribou and Lone, which really isn’t that much of a deviation, to be honest. Confusingly, his early 2018 additions include 2012-era indie darlings Atoms for Peace and Beach House.Greatest Discovery: The Rival Consoles track “Ghosting” initially comes on like minimal darkwave but opens up into a chimey midsection before ducking back down into flanged techno. Will This Make Me Want to Eat Peyote in a Desert and Find Myself?: No, but it might inspire you to buy a sweater at Urban Outfiters.

Weve spent the better part of a decade watching Tyler, The Creator grow up. On the early Odd Future mixtapes, he embodied a particular type of post-adolescent id—petulant, terrifying, frequently brilliant, and consistently offensive. He gobbled cockroaches, incited multipleriots, declared that “rape’s fun,” squabbled with LGBT activists, and, ultimately, was banned from the UK and New Zealand. Throughout these various ordeals, he used his age as both a weapon—taunting “40-year-old rappers talking about Gucci”—and as a defense, confessing, “Im not a fucking role model, I know this/ Im a 19 year old fucking emotional coaster”.This was at least somewhat tolerable because Tyler and his friends were talented, and, perhaps more importantly, it was all presented as a joke. This wasn’t the crack-era nihilism of Mobb Deep or the urban-trench warfare of Tupac. It was a lot more low-stakes than that. O.F.’s various offenses were wrapped in the detachment and filters of post-Tumblr irony. If you were offended, you didn’t get it, and, if you didn’t get it, you were old, irrelevant, etc. Yeah, Tyler was a serious person, but he was also very serious about letting us know he’s not particularly serious. The dynamic was both exhilarating and confounding, but it hit a dead end. Cherry Bomb’s mishmash of cloned, clamoring N.E.R.D. beats was nearly unlistenable, and Tyler’s shouted adolescent angst schtick was wearing thin. He was still squabbling with his critics over saying “faggot,” and there was one hackneyed line (“Im so far ahead you niggas, Im in the future”) after another (“The boys a fucking problem like turbulence, boy”). The initial shock-of-the-new transformed into the tedium-of-the-rote, and even his admirers begin to wonder if there was actually any there there.Flower Boy is supposed to be his coming-out party. This is the point where Tyler pulls off the bandages, and reveals a true(r), more mature self. And, for the most part, it works. He still has the same tools in his kit—he’s still ripping off the Neptunes, and he’s still a very self-conscious provocateur—but he does refine, expand, and, ultimately, negate his prior persona. It’s an exciting and unexpected transformation. For our corresponding playlist, weve collected the albums key tracks, as well as its influences, collaborators and sample sources.The album hits a high point with “911/ Mr. Lonely.” The song is restless, sonically and thematically, skirting between various movements and motifs. The first few seconds sound like a lark, a tongue-in-cheek riff on the sort of pleading R&B love songs that serve as a decades-spanning through-line for that genre. Over a trainwreck of stacked drums, vocalist Steve Lacey coos, “call me, call me sometimes,” before quickly adding the punchline, “911.” Then the song shifts; the drums fall into place, a lovely, melancholic piano melody peeks through the haze, and Tyler emerges to deliver one of the albums most startling lyrics: “My thirst levels are infinity and beyond.” The line is both corny and transcending, and, throughout the song, Tyler mines the space between kitsch and confession, declaring himself the “loneliest man alive,” while referencing Elon Musk, Celine Dion and Hasbro toymaker Arto Monaco. Later in the song, he’ll admit that “I’ve never been good with bitches,” because “I’ve never had a goldfish.” ScHoolboy Q briefly appears, and declares Tyler an “old lonely-ass nigga.”The track is surprising, funny, a bit unstable, and aggressively self-negating. It’s also revealing and shocking in a way that is not merely “provocative.” Tyler’s comfort with ambiguity is one of the album’s defining qualities, and Tyler uses these gray spaces to his advantage. Much has been made of Tyler’s line about “kissing white boys,” and whether or not this means that Tyler is queer. It’s what everyone is talking about, except Tyler. Ultimately, it doesn’t really matter who Tyler hooks up with—he’s found new, exciting ways to make himself vulnerable, and, ultimately, Flower Boy works because it feels high-stakes. Tyler understands the old maxim that he needs to destroy in order to rebuild, and the danger inherent in that process has pushed him to create his most refined, focused, and satisfying work to date.

This is our track of the day. Be sure to subscribe to The Best Songs of 2018 (So Far)for regular updates.What It IsIn 2017, at the ripe age of 26, Tyler, The Creator seemed a bit artistically exhausted. His teen-savant Southpark-lite provocateur pose was becoming a drag, and his last album -- 2015’s Cherry Bomb -- was a pretty-much unlistenable hodgepodge of N.E.R.D. retreads. For a second, it seemed like he was best suited as a fashion magnette -- his clothing line Golf Wang was pretty fresh -- with a side career as a sub-Hannibal Buress sketch comedian. The 2017 Flower Boy changed that awfully fast. Full of uncluttered, delicate melodies and surprisingly mature emotional themes, the album was ambitious without being pretentious. If his earlier work was intentionally distancing, Flower Boy felt subtle and embracing. Kendrick Lamar’s DAMN may have been the most important hip-hop album of 2017, but Flower Boy was the most enjoyable, and surprising. “Okra” is his first song released since that album dropped.So, which version of Tyler shows up on Okra?This isn’t exactly the adolescent Tyler of old -- nothing here seems intentionally provocative, per se -- but this also feels like a bit of a retreat from his more emotionally nuanced persona of 2017. He talks a lot of shit. He tells critics to fuck off. He brags about his cars. There aren’t a lot of pretty melodies here.Is that a bad thing?Not really. The track bangs. Beneath a bed of churning, speaker-busting sub-bass, Tyler simply raps his ass off. It features some of the most dexterous flows of his careers, and it also pushes forward a couple of Tyler’s personal uber-narratives. He’s sexually fluid (he calls out Tim Chalamet from last year’s LGBT-friendly indie movie Call Me By Your Name). Odd Future is over (“Golf Be the Set/No More OF”). It feels more like a low-stakes victory lap than a big next step, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

One of the ugliest figures in rap is obsessed with some of the prettiest music. But we should expect nothing less from Tyler, the Creator, a self-described “walking paradox” whose music has been obscured by his public persona ever since he disrupted rap with his Odd Future crew in 2008. You could be forgiven for writing him off entirely after reading his notoriously homophobic Tweets. He’s since walked back most of that language, and has perhaps even come out as gay—or at least inhabits a gay character on his 2017 album Scum Fuck Flower Boy.As a rapper and producer, he’s been open about his influences since day one, and theyre all over the place: Pharrell’s sweet falsettos and uneasy chord progressions; the alien pop and library music of Broadcast; late ‘80s R&B (not a lot of that on Spotify, sadly); the harsh provocation and technical wizardry of Eminem; the stagey, orchestral hip-hop of Jon Brion-era Kanye West. He’s particularly into deep album cuts and soulful music with cinematic aspects.There is still nobody quite like him, even outside music, with his brightly colored fashion line and Neverland-esque penchant for throwing carnivals. And while his music has developed a capacity for gentleness over the years, he’s still a man who will shout vulgarities, if only to drive people away so he can sit at the piano alone with his jazz chords.At any rate, the most interesting paradox of Tyler, the Creator is that while he always seemed bent on fame for himself and Odd Future, he never “dumbed down for dollars” a la JAY-Z—or seemed to ever consider watering down his art in any way.

The Joshua Tree wasn’t one of those albums that quietly arrived on record store racks one dewy morning, attracting a few raves and then enjoying a gradual build before changing the world. Instead, U2’s fifth studio album elicited a reception that in contemporary terms would be described as breaking the internet ten times over.Speaking as an ‘80s kid who listened to his cassettes of War and The Unforgettable Fire obsessively and could sense that something big was on the launch pad, I can tell you that everything about the album felt massive from the get-go. Sending the mass media and the band’s fast-expanding audience into maximum overdrive when it was released in the spring of 1987, The Joshua Tree was the subject of heavy promotion and hype, such that U2’s music and image seemed everywhere at once. According to a Newsweek story published the same week the band made the cover of Time, Island spent $100,000 in 1987 dollars on store displays alone. Not even Bono’s cold-ravaged voice put a damper on the hysteria when the band opened its sold-out North American tour in Tempe, Arizona, on April 2. That show included the first live performance of “With Or Without You,” which became the band’s first American No. 1 single a few weeks later. It would help drive sales for an album that eventually shifted 25 million units worldwide.And the rest is history, which, if we know anything about history, means we shouldn’t be surprised that it’s repeating itself in the form of a summer anniversary tour this year. It too feels massive—over one million tickets were snapped up in the first 24 hours of going on sale—even if no rock act will dominate the pop-culture landscape as forcefully as U2 once did. Indeed, just about every subsequent effort to achieve the same level of impact by U2 or later contenders reeked of an unseemly hubris or—in the case of that iTunes debacle—sheer stupidity.Yet The Joshua Tree is still huge and intimate all at once, which is a testament to the production skills of Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois (whose thumbprints were far more overbearing on The Unforgettable Fire) and to the big leap in songwriting acumen by a band who had mostly got by on bravura up to that point. True, there were glimmers of what was to come on songs like “40” on War and “I Threw a Brick Through a Window” on October, which now seems like a dry run for “Bullet The Blue Sky.” But this album is where U2 indisputably became U2, achieving the greatest synthesis of their various punk and post-punk influences—especially Joy Division, Echo & the Bunnymen, and the sorely underrated The Chameleons—and the most anthemic rock of Springsteen and The Clash. Bono also talked up his blues, gospel, country, and folk inspirations at the time, but thankfully they had yet to result in the kind of stodgy Americana that clogs up Rattle and Hum. Here’s our exploration of the fertile ground around the biggest of U2’s big moments.Click here to follow this playlist on Spotify.

Not even a broken leg can stop Dave Grohl from rocking out—which is exactly what happened during the Foo Fighters’ 2015 tour of Europe. After a nasty tumble from a stage in Gothenburg, Sweden, sent him to the hospital mid-show, the dude then returned, and, chair-bound and coursing with meds, played for another two and a half hours. (Note: the Foos wound up cancelling the rest of the tour, so yeah, Grohl can be stopped, but like the Red Sox, who in fact had another game to win the 1986 World Series after this, the myth is far sexier than the truth.) I know Dan Auerbach and Jack White are super busy and productive, but they’re lightweights when compared to Grohl, a quintuple-threat singer, guitarist, drummer, producer, and filmmaker whose list of bands, collaborations, cameos, and cheeky Rock Hall induction appearances has grown exponentially since he joined the D.C. post-hardcore band Scream in 1988, two years before making history with Kurt Cobain and Krist Novoselic.Of course, all of us are familiar with the hard-rock portion of his CV: When Grohl isn’t banging out chart-topping records with Taylor Hawkins and the Foos, he has jammed with Queens of the Stone Age, Ghost B.C., Nine Inch Nails, Slash, and Sir Paul McCartney. (Their Sound City: Real to Reel collab, the “Helter Skelter”-like “Cut Me Some Slack,” most certainly qualifies as hard rock.) He also joined forces with Zep bassist John Paul Jones and QOTSA main man Josh Homme to form Them Crooked Vultures (who seem to be on hiatus nowadays—oh well). But this is just the tip of the iceberg. Grohl pops up all along the genre spectrum. In addition to serving as a one-man rhythm section for indie singer-songwriter Cat Power, he’s gotten his (new) rave on with The Prodigy and produced jammy, heartland twangster Zac Brown Band. He’s even laid down beats for some rapper called Diddy.Grohl’s omnipresence in rock music (mixed with his perpetually smiling, nice-guy persona) has annoyed more than a few critics, bloggers, and even fellow musicians in recent years. Google “Dave Grohl” and “annoying” and some awfully viper-like (and really quite clever) diss pieces pop up calling him both a punk-rock sellout and a phony. Outside of his teenage years, Grohl never was a punk; he’s been a rocker through and through. But that’s besides the point. The fact remains that Grohl will outlive us all and survive global warming. A century from now, he’ll be like Kevin Costner in Waterworld: sporting gills, sailing the all-consuming seas in a tattered catamaran, and jamming with any and every musician he encounters.

The late Ian Fraser Kilmister lived life as fast as Motörhead’s violently charging rock ’n’ roll. Of course, many readers will assume such a statement refers to the legendary bassist’s decadent reputation. After all, his appetite for drink, drugs, and sex (as chronicled in the 2010 documentary Lemmy) was insatiable and produced no shortage of outrageous tales (some false, but many quite true). But he also lived a fast life in terms of his art and creativity. As both a musician and actor, Lemmy was damn near everywhere. When he wasn’t leading one of the world’s most influential metal bands (who, it should be noted, dropped a posthumous covers compilation Under Cöver on September 1, 2017), he racked up an absurd number of side projects and guest spots onstage, in the studio, and on screen. Whether he was leading Wayne Kramer, Michael Davis, and Dennis Thompson of the MC5 through a raspy blowout of their proto-punk jam “Sister Ann,” popping up in Boys Don’t Cry’s cheesy “I Wanna Be a Cowboy” video, busting retro-rockabilly with HeadCat, unleashing the vicious “Shake Your Blood” with Dave Grohl’s Probot project, actually joining The Damned for a spell... you name it, he did it.Of course, all this action occurred after Lemmy had started Motörhead. Here’s the crazy thing: By the time he, “Fast” Eddie Clarke, and Phil “Philthy Animal” Taylor recorded the band’s thunderous, game-changing debut in the summer of 1977, he had already been in the rock ’n’ roll game for a dozen years. Most folks know he helped pioneer chugging space rock and proto-punk as a shaggy member of the mighty Hawkwind, but he also served time in two fantastic British Invasion-era outfits. In addition to playing guitar and singing in Sam Gopal (a deeply moody psych-rock outfit who released the cult favorite Escalator in 1969), he lent his services to The Rockin Vickers, a beat group unloading manic R&B rave-ups much like the early Who and Kinks. (They whipped-up a searing version of Pete Townshend’s “It’s Alright” in 1966.) And if all that weren’t enough, young Lemmy actually shared a flat with bassist Noel Redding, who helped him land a gig as a Jimi Hendrix roadie in the downtime between Sam Gopal and Hawkwind.Here’s to Lemmy—no human has ever embodied rock ’n’ roll abandon as passionately as you. Well, maybe Keith Richards. But as we all know, you were always a Beatles guy, one who just so happened to see the Fabs at the effin’ Cavern when you were 18. Insane!