Is it weird that the Haim sisters seem to all love the same songs? Anyone with a sibling who shouldn’t go anywhere near a Bluetooth speaker knows that the sharing of DNA has virtually no correlation with musical taste. At least a little disparity should be par for the course for Este, Danielle, and Alana, too. But on the matter of musical taste—as with so many other areas for the harmony-loving trio—HAIM are far more in the tradition of the Osmonds and Hanson than Oasis and the Kinks, putting the lie to myths about sibling acts and the likelihood that their members may attack each other with drum cymbals.Indeed, the women of HAIM present a surprisingly unified front in the opportunities they’ve had to present their predilections to the world. In the four years since they broke through with the irresistibly hooky contents of Days Are Gone, the playlists they’ve either curated together or individually are very much on the same page, with the sisters expressing their solidarity through their shared love of ‘70s and ‘80s pop, soul and disco crowd-pleasers (with an emphasis on all the ladies they love), party-starting hip-hop, more introspective singer/songwriter fare, and vintage California sounds from either coastline. (Their hero Tom Petty may live in Malibu but he’s still pure Florida.) They sound just as snug in the same pocket when performing covers, a diverse array that ranges from Fleetwood Mac’s “Rhiannon” (performed with Stevie Nicks, no less) to Miley Cyrus’ “Wrecking Ball” to Prince’s “I Would Die 4 U” to songs by pals-slash-inspirations such as Jenny Lewis and Julian Casablancas.Their savvy when it comes to mixing the old with the shiny and new is all over their second album Something to Tell You, too. To celebrate the arrival of what will surely be a summer soundtrack for the ages, we’ve got an extensive slate of HAIM-approved songs that you can enjoy with the relative of your choice.
The hot weather has melted our otherwise highly analytical, somewhat elitist brains, leaving us lounging on rooftops with a cold beer and humming the latest Future jam. Please join us in this blissful state of non-sentience with this handpicked selection of summery jams from SZA, GoldLink, Kendrick, Chronixx (pictured), Kamaiyah, and more.
I first met Janelle Monàe when she was 22 years-old and opening up for the Oakland neo-soul legend Raphael Saadiq at the San Francisco venue Bimbos, a mid-size club on the outskirts of that city’s North Beach neighborhood. A few months before, she’d released her debut EP, Metropolis: Suite I (The Chase). It was an exciting, groundbreaking collection. It combined the wild, post-rap funk of Outkast and afrofuturism of George Clinton with the tech dystopianism of William Gibson and a more formalalistic, Brechtian remove. For a kid weaned on semiotics and Gang Starr, this collision was enthralling, if a bit messy. Janelle’s voice was captivating, but the songs sometimes couldn’t keep up with her energy -- the backing vocals blurred together, and the choruses weren’t always memorable. In short, I liked the idea more than her music.Regardless, she was a dynamic personality, and I was excited for the interview. About a half hour before she took the stage, her manager took me backstage, where Janelle was cloistered inside of small changing room -- more of a closet than a suite. She was already outfitted in her signature white tuxedo shirt, with her hair was bunched up into its beehive coif. She was nervous, but friendly. She offered me a water, which was nice of her. I spent the first 10 minutes of the interview trying to place her in the lineage of afrofuturism, discussing Octavia Paz and Parliament. In retrospect, it was a dumb move -- I assumed that her reading of herself was the same as mine, and didn’t allow her to speak for herself -- and the strategy bit me in the ass when, with five minutes left in my appointed interview window, she, annoyed and maybe embarrassed, declared that she didn’t know much about afrofuturism, she’d barely even heard of it. I felt shitty and a little bit disappointed. I hated that I had put her in a foul mood, and, more selfishly, I had no idea if anything in the interview was usable.But her live show that night was rapturious, a prolonged ecstatic release of energy that found her bouncing, jerking, and bounding across the stage in barely controlled dance patterns. You couldn’t take your eyes off her. And though she doesn’t make dance music, you couldn’t help but move. It didn’t matter that here hooks weren’t quite there, or that she hadn’t yet been able to name her own style, the performance was special, even singular. Since then, she’s made some jaw-dropping tracks that’ve shown immense growth and refinement, but the music, though oftentimes very very good, has never quite escaped her heavy conceptual framework. Luckily, she’s entirely catches up with herself on Dirty Computer. The album largely, though not entirely, loses the funkified Android conceit of her earlier work. It’s both more personal and more self-assured. It glides where her other music tends to churn, and the hooks are immediately catchy, and stick in your head. It’s still occasionally directive of other people’s work -- “Make Me Feel” sounds remarkably like Dirty Mind-era Prince, for example -- but she entirely makes it her own here; the sums of her influence coalesce into something much more personal and singular. It’s the best work of her career, and may end up being both the most fun and important album of 2018.The album’s two opening tracks are among the most memorable one-two punch in recent memory. Brian Wilson’s vocal remain pop’s greatest invocation, and amidst his lilting, layered , the lead-off title resurrects Janelle’s dreamy, sensual landscape. She invites us to “look closer” at the “text message caught up in the sky.” Once again, she’s identifying with hardware (a dirty computer, in this case), but the vocals are warm and human, and, soon, we hear MLK reciting the Declaration of Independence. We’re onto “Crazy, Classic, Life” now -- one of the neat tricks the front half of the album pulls off is blurring the space between songs, so that it all sounds like one, long jam -- and Janelle quickly asserts a theme that will run through the album. It’s 2018 now, and her and people like her are no longer on the margins; they’re now the “rulers” and “kings.” “Im not Americas nightmare,” she coos on the song’s pre-chorus, “Im the American dream.”In that way, it resembles Frank Ocean’s Blonde, another coronation of a queer America that was curtailed by Trump’s election a few months later. Monàe’s work contains little of Ocean’s melancholy or ambience; Dirty Computer is pure pop music, euphoric and uncluttered. “PYNK,” which features Montreal steam pop producer Grimes, is a technicolor march down the broadest boulevards of American culture. The song hems together and subverts lyrical archetypes. Witness the pre-chorus:“So, here we are in the carLeavin traces of us down the boulevardI wanna fall through the starsGetting lost in the dark is my favorite partLets count the ways we could make this last forever"Taken out of context, this could be sung by Tom Petty, Britney Spears, or any number of chroniclers of main street adolescence. That Janelle is using this in the service of an anthem to pansexuality should be subversive, but, in 2018, it seems perfectly normal. This is a victory for all of us.Monàe’s previous music has always seemed to exist in a different time. The revved-up guitar riffs and funky drummer breakdowns place her in the ‘60s, while the lyrics’ runaway-Android lover motif put her firmly in the (20)40s. But Dirty Computer feels necessarily of this time. The world caught up with her. The techno-dystopian daydream of her earlier work has become a crippling reality, and, yes, that’s unfortunate. But the sheer, self-conscious otherness of Janelle, which ten years ago was a commercial liability, is not only permissible, but is celebrated, and this album is funky testament to this new freedom.
Jean Castelis a French multi-instrumentalist and singer-songwriter based in Los Angeles, CA who first debuted his Billboard-described "forward-thinking pop" in the form of his catchy single, "What Happened to Us?" earlier this summer. Now with his infections debut EP Orange & Yellow out, Castel created a playlist for The Dowsers exploring what went into the making of his music. Having worked with production group Infrared, a partnership with Spike Stent (Ed Sheeran, Julia Michaels) and mastering by Chris Gehringer (Vince Staples, Rihanna), its no surprise to see some of those artists name-checked by Castel. Listen to his inspired playlist right here and check out his resulting debut EP.Says Castel, "Here’s my playlist. I’ve called it “Orange & Yellow, The Sounds”. They are the songs that inspired my forthcoming EP. I’ve drawn influence from each and every one of these records."
You may not be as excited as a lot of people are to have Kesha Rose Sebert back in action. But even the very worst of haters ought to give her a chance to make a second impression after what she’s been through.After she spent the first years of the decade establishing herself as pop’s preeminent hard-rocking, fast-talking, tik-tok-ing party girl, things came off the rails when her already rocky relationship with producer Dr. Luke took a toxic turn in 2014. The charges and counter-charges—including sexual assault and battery, unfair business practices, and much more from her side—put her in the starring role in a legal drama so ugly, it made the “Blurred Lines” case seems like 10 benign minutes in traffic court. Though that drama is hardly over, developments earlier this year freed her from the conditions that prevented her releasing any new music for three years.During that time, she did her best to convey her feelings through other people’s songs. Of course, that was far from ideal for a singer who’s long prided herself on being a songwriter, too— she clearly took far more satisfaction in her co-writing credits for Britney Spears and Big Time Rush than for any hook-up with Flo Rida. But at least Kesha’s choice of covers on recent tours—a smattering that ranges from Lesley Gore to Eagles of Death Metal—has proven she has a wider, more surprising set of musical tastes than was evident from the over-abundance of would-be club bangers on her two albums. Nor should the abundance of Bob Dylan tributes over the years—like her exquisite cover of “Don’t Think Twice It’s All Right” from 2012’s Chimes of Freedom tribute—be quite so surprising given the number of times she’s namedNashville Skyline as her favorite album.In fact, Kesha’s been eager to show off her affinities for classic rock, punk, and alt-rock since well before it all went sideways. When not citing The Damned as heroes, she was palling around with Alice Cooper and getting assists from The Strokes, The Black Keys’ Patrick Carney and Iggy Pop. And while that fabled Flaming Lips/Kesha collaboration—nicknamed Lip$ha—may have been sucked into a legal void from which it has yet to escape, we still got a tantalizing taste thanks to her mind-bending appearance on The Flaming Lips and Heady Fwends.So as for all those haters and doubters who didn’t miss her, I say: You don’t know what you were missing. To mark the arrival of her third album Rainbow, here’s a set of her most adventurous and most surprising songs, and many more she loves, which should demonstrate there was always more to her than she got credit for… though maybe that’s about to change.
Lana Del Rey promised us everything from the start: "Its you, its you, its all for you / Everything I do," she sang on 2011s "Video Games." Since then, shes remained completely committed to that line, doing everything in her power to continue to shock and seduce us with her purrs, her pouts, and her pen. As a songwriter, Lana Del Rey is utterly fearless. Some have even suggested she may just be the American Morrissey. Sure, shes just as romantic and melodramatic. But shes also crude and brash, sexy and sincere, and her sardonic side is vastly underrated. Though her tragic tales may be rife with clichés, her evocative telling of them remains her most intoxicating trait. Her fantasies and failures come alive in every vivid color, but what keeps us coming back for more is her unabashed openness: Shell tell you exactly what she wants, when she wants it, and how shes gonna get it. Here are 10 of Lana Del Reys sultriest, most biting lines.
Dont fall for it. Shes not unhinged—this girls completely in control.
This is our "gangsta Nancy Sinatra" playing it coy.
Lana 101: Anytime you want to tease and provoke, you can always debase religion…
…or patriotism…
…or multinational corporations.
We wonder if she recommends dosing daily?
The femme fatale finds her weakness.
She knows self-denial is never a good look…
…neither is holding on to a low-down loser.
Only Lana can get away with tying you up then setting your hot summer fling on fire.
With anticipation for her upcoming sophomore effort, Melodrama, at a fever pitch, Lorde has retreated back to her favorite place of solace—as an acute observer of everyone else. Even the title of her new Spotify playlist, Homemade Dynamite, feels a bit like a cheeky inside joke pulled from some faded memory. While the 20-year old artist is best known for layering her timeless, soulful voice over a nu-goth aesthetic, Lordes other essential quality is that shes unwaveringly sympathetic towards her listeners. While most of the songs on Homemade Dynamite could soundtrack a night at the club, Lorde takes the entire evening into consideration with the same meticulous attention to detail heard on her 2013 debut album, Pure Heroine. Similar to the compassionate but authoritative friend everyone should have, Lorde has already anticipated that you’ll need something to perk you up (Amine and Kehlani), something to help soothe your feelings at 3 a.m. (Bon Iver and Weyes Blood), and something to tell you that you are a million bucks the morning after (Santigold). Under Lorde’s curation, Future’s “Mask Off” and your dad’s favorite Paul Simon song, “Graceland,” feel cut from the same cloth; they are two tales of escapism designed to reach all corners of her audience. These selections are indicative not only of Lordes desire to address the extraordinary moments of relatively mundane affairs, but also affirm the experiences of her listeners in the process. Depending on which side of middle age you’re on, ordinary experiences are either aspirational or nostalgic. Lorde’s universal appeal derives from the fact that she consistently accounts for both.
I didn’t linger too long in front of the theater. A sign posted by the front door warned that the street was under surveillance, and I didn’t want to arouse suspicion. But I stayed long enough to take in the beauty and whimsy and power of it all: The hulking size of the building. The bright colors of the exterior, evoking a Moulin Rouge-esque festivity. The letters doing a merry jig above the front door: BATACLAN.It was early April and I was on a 13-hour stopover in Paris while on an overseas trip back to Los Angeles. For all of its romance and history, the French capital has never been one of my bucket-list travel destinations. But now that I had a chance, the first place I wanted to see (aside from the Eiffel Tower) was the 1,500-capacity Bataclan theater, site of the 2015 terrorist attack where ISIS gunmen killed 89 people during an Eagles of Death Metal concert.In front of the building, I thought back to the day when it all went down. I remembered driving my car around sunny Los Angeles, listening with growing panic and horror as news of the coordinated Paris attacks unfolded in real-time on NPR. Terrified reporters and witnesses were giving reports while barricaded inside restaurants as shooting went on mere blocks away. French president François Hollande was broadcast live giving a statement calling the attacks an act of war.Terrorism is a heavily symbolic gesture—it’s a spectacle meant to spill blood and cause carnage, but also to generate waves of confusion and panic, to undercut our sense of safety, elevate our sense of doubt, and make us feel ill at ease wherever we are. Now, in recent years, as a music journalist and longtime music lover, I’ve felt more and more so that my own community has become a target. There was the attack on the Bataclan. There were the jihadis aligned with Al-Qaeda who violently banned music in northern Mali in 2012—a region that has long enjoyed a rich overlap between religion and song. There was the mass shooting at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando last year, and the New Year’s Eve attack at a club on the Bosphorus in Istanbul.And then there was the bombing at the Ariana Grande concert in Manchester on May 22. The bombing killed 22 people, including an eight year old girl, and I struggle to imagine how far gone a militant must be, how many atrocities they’ve already committed, how deep they’ve sunk into their own numb and dead-eyed worldview, to be capable of carefully plotting out an attack like this: Targeting the fans of an artist whose songs are so expertly crafted that they always have a way of hitting right on the pleasure centers of your nervous system, an artist whose very name—“Grande”—speaks to the enormity of her personality and the power of her voice in conveying joy and release and love.The point of these attacks, of course, is to destroy lives and destroy what we love. To make us think twice about going to our next show. To make us look for the emergency exit signs every time we walk into a venue, instead of focusing on the great music unfolding onstage. But music is one of the most resilient human expressions, and this playlist—featuring Ariana Grande and Eagles of Death Metal, Mali’s Khaira Arby and Vieux Farka Touré, a release off Turkish label Drug Boulevard, as well as some classic Manchester bands—stands as a testament to the way music keeps us coming together even in the face of hatred.
The only thing surprising about Mariah Carey’s residency in Las Vegas is that it didn’t start at an earlier point in the post-millennial extended-run boomlet, which was kicked off by Céline Dion back in 2003 and which had, before “#1 to Infinity” was announced in 2015, included retrospective shows by the likes of Britney Spears, Shania Twain, and Rod Stewart. One of pop’s premier divas skipping tour and beckoning her fans to come to her? Of course, dahling. Arranging the show so that it focused on her 18 chart-topping singles, an achievement that’s a rallying cry for her Lambs? [Whistle note here.]Mariah’s series of shows at the Colosseum in Caesars—the same theatre where Celine embarked on her extended run all those years ago—wrapped up last week. I caught one of the final performances, where she preened and belted through her biggest hits (and a couple of other notable tracks) while well-appointed dancers who could have been lured over from the Rio’s Chippendales revival flowed around her. James “Big Jim” Wright, a Flyte Tyme Studios alum who’s worked with Mariah since the Rainbow era, was the music director and, at times, the star’s soothsayer; Trey Lorenz, who became an MTV fixture when Mariah’s MTV Unplugged cover of the Jackson 5’s “I’ll Be There” hit big, sang backup. During longer set changes, a DJ would come out and try to hype up the crowd while running through megamixes of Mariah songs that had been hits, but not chart-toppers—hello “Can’t Let Go,” hi there, “Obsessed.” (Sadly, “All I Want For Christmas Is You” was missing, but Mariah’s holiday Vegas residency, set for Caesars this December, will no doubt rectify that.)A Mariah Carey show in 2017 not only gives one a chance to see her sing while sporting a fuzzy purple bathrobe that resembles an overly huggy Muppet; it doubles as a tour through pop’s last quarter-century. When she started out, Mariah was presented as a diva in the Whitney mold, a Long Island-born glass-breaker whose ability to leap octaves in a single bound was often the guiding force behind her songs’ arcs. “Vision of Love” and “I Don’t Wanna Cry” (produced by glitter-master Narada Michael Walden on record) updated the torch song for the MTV era, which was easier to get away with in the era when pop gave women more leeway about acting (and being) older; “Someday” and “Dreamlover” bubble and fizz, allowing for ample room to embark on gravity-defying vocal runs. “Fantasy” is a caesura for Carey’s career, its “Genius of Love” sample lending her a lighter-than-air platform off which she could vault and giving a shot of somewhat recent history to pop radio; its remix upped the Tom Tom Club quotient and dropped Ol’ Dirty Bastard into the mix for good measure.In the immediate wake of “Fantasy,” Mariah kept her big ballad quotient high (the chart-dominating Boyz II Men duet “One Sweet Day,” the diva showdown with Whitney Houston on “When You Believe”) but the taste of youth-culture fame that song had provided resulted in the production of varying clones, each with different old-school samples that suspiciously echoed “Genius,” each with different MCs serving as Mariah’s foil. It worked for a while, and the template laid down by these songs—gossamer vocals from singers bedeviled by dudes who were either lusty or self-obsessed, or both—calcified into an R&B norm. The Emancipation of Mimi—Mariah’s 2005 rebound from a rocky early-naughts period that included the megaflop Glitter and her multi-album contract with Virgin Records being canceled—broke the mold once again, allowing Mariah to show off her subtlety on songs like the gently tut-tutting “Shake It Off” and the passionate “We Belong Together.” While she was still flaunting her vocal prowess, she also reined it in at crucial moments, allowing the bruised emotions to take centerstage.Since then, Mariah has released a clutch of quality singles that have given space to her slightly maturing voice, which can still soar but which also has a bit more body in its low end, sounding a bit similar to the huskier affectations of Christina Aguilera. However, the tribulations of the music business—and those faced by female R&B artists in particular—have, sometimes unfairly, aced her out of the mainstream. “H.A.T.E.U.,” from 2009’s tumultuous Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel, got notice when it was remixed with Ghost Town DJs’ 1996 rollerskating jam “My Boo,” but received little pickup on radio. “#Beautiful,” her 2013 collaboration with the ever-omnivorous Miguel, was absolute candy, its simple guitar lick and swaggering beat seemingly adding up to a lock for song of the summer. That didn’t quite work out. (“Blurred Lines” hogged the headlines; “Get Lucky” got the nerds excited.)The setlist for Mariah’s Vegas show, as a result, halted at 2008; even the gangster-era throwback YG, who appears on her latest single “I Don’t,” was relegated to sitting on the bed that serves as a set piece during “Touch My Body,” Mariah’s most recent chart-topper. (That was one of two beds involved in the evening’s festivities, both of which were motorized so that she could enter while seated. Other modes of on-stage transportation included a jet ski, a motorbike, and a pink Cadillac a la Christie Brinkley’s big entrance in Billy Joel’s absurd video for “Keeping The Faith.” When a diva is given the choice between wearing arch-contorting heels and walking on stage like a common person, there’s only one real option.) It was mostly fine, with Mariah dipping into the audience to say hi to her lambs a couple of times; why anyone wants her to perform choreographed steps, especially given her choice of footwear, is odd. And besides, she was always more of a bop-along type, as her early videos show.While the retro bent of the show was in keeping with Vegas traditions, it was also a moment to wonder what might need to change in order to allow the pop world to allow women over 30 back into whatever mainstream exists in 2017. A splintering of the Hot AC format—so that one type of station explicitly caters to, and even at times programs new music by, grown women—might seem like a desperate solution, but it’s one that would have at least allowed “#Beautiful” and other recent, and more than decent, songs by Carey’s peers and immediate heirs to get a little shine.
September 2017 will see the release of Michael McDonald’s Wide Open, his first solo album of original material since 2000’s Blue Obsession. Following that record, McDonald reoriented his solo career around a series of albums in which he recorded tasteful tributes to Motown Records, cementing his position as one of the most respected “blue-eyed soul” singers of all time. But that career path, however lucrative it may have been, only served to make a fairly uncool pop star of the ’70s and ‘80s seem even less cool.McDonald’s status as a pop-culture punchline is perhaps best epitomized by the 2005 comedy The 40-Year-Old Virgin, wherein an electronics-store employee played by Paul Rudd squirms with annoyance as a Michael McDonald live DVD plays on a loop at work. In 2007, I saw McDonald in concert and filed a review for my local paper, and the next day my editor sidled up to me with a smirk and said, “So...Michael McDonald, huh?”But in 2017, Michael McDonald is about as cool as he’s ever been. The “yacht rock” sound with which he’s associated (thanks to his work with the Doobie Brothers, Steely Dan, and Christopher Cross) has become a renewable source of inspiration for dance and hip-hop producers. And over the past decade, McDonald has collaborated with a number of hip younger artists that appreciate the distinctively smoky grain of his voice, including Brooklyn indie bands Holy Ghost! and Grizzly Bear. L.A. future-funk bassist Thundercat even reunited McDonald with longtime collaborator Kenny Loggins on his acclaimed 2017 single “Show You The Way.”This newfound appreciation of McDonald didn’t happen overnight, and in fact there’s no one particular tipping point that turned him from camp to cool in the way that The Sopranos helped rehabilitate Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.” But the seeds were laid by hip-hop, particularly when McDonald’s 1982 solo hit “I Keep Forgettin’” became the bedrock of Warren G. and Nate Dogg’s G-funk smash “Regulate.” De La Soul sampled Steely Dan’s “Peg” and Meek Mill sampled the Doobies’ “Minute By Minute” on hit singles, and dance producers like Grant Nelson have remixed tracks like “Yah Mo B There,” McDonald’s 1983 duet with James Ingram. But McDonald himself has also demonstrated himself capable of surprising displays of good taste, like his killer cover of Neil Young’s “Down By The River.” And the sheer range of artists he collaborated with in his heyday, from Van Halen to Patti LaBelle, has placed him at the intersection of rock and soul, and continues to inspire a wide swathe of music both popular and underground.
The ’90s have never sounded better than they do right now—especially for modern-day indie rockers. There’s no shortage of bands banging around these days whose sound suggests formative phases spent soaking up vintage ’90s indie rock. Not that the neo-’90s sound is itself a new thing. As soon as the era was far enough away in the rearview mirror to allow for nostalgia to set in (i.e., the second half of the 2000s), there were already some young artists out there onboarding ’90s alt-rock influences. But more recently, there’s been a bumper crop of bands that betray a soft spot for a time when MTV still played music videos and streaming was just something that happened in a restroom. In this context, the literate, lo-fi approach of Pavement has emerged as a particularly strong strand of the ’90s indie tapestry, and it isn’t hard to hear echoes of their sound in the work of more recent arrivals like Kiwi jr. or Teenage Cool Kids. Cherry Glazerr frontwoman Clementine Creevy seems to have a feeling for the kind of big, dirty guitar riffs that made Pacific Northwestern bands the kings of the alt-rock heap once upon a time. The world-weary, wise-guy angularity of Car Seat Headrest can bring to mind the lurching, loose-limbed attack of Railroad Jerk. And laconic, storytelling types like Nap Eyes stand to prove that there’s still a bright future ahead for those who mourn the passing of Silver Jews main man David Berman. But perhaps the best thing about a face-off between the modern indie bands evoking ’90s forebears and the old-school artists themselves is the fact that in this kind of competition, everybody wins.
It may be that 2019 was the best year for ’90s metal since, well, 1999. Bands from the decade of Judgment Night re-emerged with new creative twists and tweaks: Tool stretched out into polyrhythmic madness, Korn bludgeoned with more extreme and raw despair, Slipknot added a new drummer (Max Weinberg’s kid!) who gave them a new groove, and Rammstein wrote an anti-fascism anthem that caused controversy in Germany (and hit No. 1 there too). Elsewhere, icons of the era returned in unique ways: Nine Inch Nails’ Trent Reznor scored a superhero TV series, Primus’ Les Claypool teamed up with Sean Lennon for some quirky psych rock, and Faith No More’s Mike Patton made an avant-decadent LP with ’70s soundtrack king Jean-Claude Vannier. Finally, the soaring voice of Linkin Park’s Chester Bennington returned for a moment thanks to Lamb of God guitarist Mark Morton, who released a song they recorded together in 2017.
Taking a look at the playlists for my show on Boston’s WZBC might give the more seasoned college-radio listener a bit of déjà vu: They’re filled with bands like Versus, Team Dresch, and Sleater-Kinney, who were at the top of the CMJ charts back in the ’90s. But the records they released in 2019 turned out to be some of the year’s best rock. Versus, whose Ex Nihilo EP and Ex Voto full-length were part of a creative run for leader Richard Baluyut that also included a tour by his pre-Versus outfit Flower and his 2000s band +/-, put out a lot of beautifully thrashy rock; Team Dresch returned with all cylinders blazing and singers Jody Bleyle and Kaia Wilson wailing their hearts out on “Your Hands My Pockets”; and Sleater-Kinney confronted middle age head-on with their examination of finding one’s footing, The Center Won’t Hold.
Italian guitar heroes Uzeda—who have been putting out proggy, riff-heavy music for three-plus decades—released their first record in 13 years, the blistering Quocumque jerceris stabit; Imperial Teen, led by Faith No More multi-instrumentalist Roddy Bottum, kept the weird hooks coming with Now We Are Timeless; and high-concept Californians That Dog capped off a year of reissues with Old LP, their first album since 1997. Juliana Hatfield continued the creative tear she’s been on this decade with two albums: Weird, a collection of hooky, twisty songs that tackle alienation with searing wit, and Juliana Hatfield Sings the Police, her tribute record to the dubby New Wave chart heroes (in the spirit of the salute to Olivia Newton-John she released in 2018). And our playlist finishes with Mary Timony, formerly of the gnarled rockers Helium and currently part of the power trio Ex Hex, paying tribute to her former Autoclave bandmate Christina Billotte via an Ex Hex take on “What Kind of Monster Are You?,” one of the signature songs by Billotte’s ’90s triple threat Slant 6.
