Songs of the Week 02/23/2024
Back on the wagon, baby!! Between a brand relaunch at work, Valentine’s Day, and grad school applications, I’ve been a bit too busy to make these reviews as thorough as I’d like, but I’m back with way more paragraphs than any of these songs warrant, so buckle up.
CIRCLES | Ron Forbes Last year, one of my video editing contracts was with the CU Natural History Museum documenting algal research in the Rockies. I wouldn’t blame anyone for missing the thrill in that concept—PR for algae is an uphill battle because they’re microscopic ninety percent of the time, and when they gather in large enough groups to be seen, that means the ecosystem’s in trouble. Perhaps that’s why they’re so woefully under-studied despite being so consequential—two out of every three breaths we take is oxygen from microscopic algae, and yet we only know to thank the trees. Trees themselves—in fact, their whole plant kingdom—is just the tip of the algae iceberg, a vast and expansive group of organisms landscaping whole worlds from within single dewdrops. There are algae with primitive eyes, algae with flailing flagella, algae that build floating cities with their young, algae that grow cells visible to the naked eye, but most aren’t in focus because they’re microscopic—we have no natural way of relating to them.
While looking for inspiration, my contractor sent me a short film called The Diatomist. It follows Klaus Kemp, one of the few remaining practitioners of diatom arrangement: a microscopic art form largely lost to the Victorian era. I myself have a love-hate relationship with diatoms, seeing as they’re the most reliably fossilized algae—it’s great news in concept, but after spending several weeks of paleobiology class scanning these simple shapes under the microscope, it’s easy for these silicate shells to lose their luster, especially when they’re used as tools for spotting oil. Seen through the separation of a microscope lens, I found it easy to forget what little miracles were before me—single cells that withstood the rise and fall of dinosaurs because they locked themselves in homegrown glass, so successful that they’re a telltale sign of entire eras and their accompanying ocean chemistry. Still, The Diatomist makes these ornate creatures seem so delicate, and that’s all thanks to its music choices. While I love the whimsy of Ryuichi Sakamoto’s “Grasshoppers,” when it comes to the scintillating beauty of diatoms, Cults Percussion Ensemble’s performance of “Circles” emulates it best.
Arranged by Ron Forbes, “Circles” defies everything I’ve come to expect from percussion ensembles—peace and love to all of my high school band friends, but having been to many a percussion competition, I thought these instruments were at their best beating in cacophonous school gyms. “Circles,” however, is about as abrasive as a tinkling, antique chandelier—its undulating marimbas and glockenspiels have an ethereal, underwater glow, almost like moon jellies, but Forbes manages to shrink these sounds even smaller still. It may just be the context of diatoms, but I swear there’s something intrinsically minuscule about this song’s production, with a sleepy, dated fuzz and muted acoustics. Despite the longevity of diatom skeletons, Forbes’s song struck me with the fragility of the long-deceased creatures that once lived within. I’m inexplicably touched imagining what glittery, adrift lives they must live; how beautiful it must be to feel sunlight refract through one’s skeleton. Though somehow timeless, diatom communities swell and sink with changes in the ocean’s chemistry, with acidity preventing the formation of their silicate shells. Their mortality is what makes them such good index fossils—when they disappear, they herald extinction and a new era thereafter from the very base of the food chain. That’s what’s so scary about climate change, I think—watching perceived constants suddenly shift. Kemp’s arrangements are stunningly geometric, but I think their real beauty is revealing the intricacies already present in creation—the frailty in their strength. Thank you Diatomist, thank you Kemp, and thank you Forbes for helping me empathize with the microbes I least expected to find inspiration in.
Pairs Well With: “Grasshoppers” (Ryuichi Sakamoto), “What a Wonderful World” (Louis Armstrong), “Reflections” (Carolina Eyck & Eversines)
LOW LIGHT | Soundcarriers I’ve blabbed about Jim Noir more than almost any other musician on this blog, but when I reviewed his most recent project, Co-Pilot, in my Songs of the Week Annual Review, I found myself woefully undereducated on his collaborator, vocalist Leonore Wheatley. I wouldn’t say I was hesitant to explore her discography, but the chance that Jim Noir wore the whimsical pants in their partnership had me worried that Wheatley’s work without him would be sorely lacking that bizarre, British psychedelia that made me love Noir (and Co-Pilot) in the first place. So, let’s get one thing straight: I should not have underestimated the weirdness of a woman who backed Jim Noir’s live band for over ten years, and not just because she’d have to be strange by osmosis at that point. Though not necessarily as quirky, Wheatley’s ethereal, 60s sensibilities stay strong through the surprising range of sounds she’s explored, and she’s got a signature of her own that stretches far beyond her work with Co-Pilot. As of now, I could take or leave what I’ve heard from International Teachers of Pop (a devastating blow to educators and Luscious Jackson fans everywhere), but when it comes to her first band, Soundcarriers… where have these guys been all my life?!
There’s few people I would praise so highly having only heard four of their songs, but after sampling just the most-listened hits from their album Entropicalia, I had a hard time choosing one to talk about—they’re that good. “The Outsider” has become my very, very tentative favorite for its obscure, puckish sound—you know, like accidentally stepping into a circle of mushrooms and getting whisked away into fairyland. When it comes to introducing the Soundcarriers’ style, though, “Low Light” is the best ambassador (and my very, very tentative second favorite). This song has all of the hypnotizing hallmarks of the 60s that longtime readers know is like my personal flypaper—cheesy, gurgling synth, tinkling chimes, airy woodwinds, and swaying vocals galore. However, the real standout comes from the bass balancing everything else. I’m uncertain which mastermind deserves the praise for this part, as founding members Adam Cann and Paul “Pish” Isherwood allegedly “[switch] instruments and roles and generally [ignore] the conventions of what it means to be a band” (hippies). So, whoever is behind this bass does wonders for an already magical atmosphere. The depths it scoops toward ground this song’s spaced-out atmosphere, lending some contrast to its dappled-sunlight sound. There’s a similarly fleshed-out soundscape in every harmony that Wheatley leads, sounding cathartically choral at the end of verses like “It's not quite as it seems” or “Not as clear as the seas.” I really do mean it when I say every verse ends cathartically—I certainly find my heart swelling—but the song still builds towards something, as the punchy puffs on the pipes are soon joined by vocals in an almost-chanting build that fuzzes out towards the end.
Obviously, “Low Light” is dazzling 60s to its core, but like the best of its era, it doesn’t just flounder on the surface—its atmosphere is full. I think that’s why it can pair equally well with The Beatles’s “I’m Only Sleeping” and DEVO’s “Mongoloid,” although Entropicalia’s “Somewhere to Land” has an ending freakout that might be much for fitting for the latter. The Soundcarriers certainly live up to their name weaving this deceptively simple tapestry, and if the rest of Entropicalia is this consistently good, we’ll hear more from them on max todd dot com (Max! Todd! Dot! Com!).
Pairs Well With: “I’m Only Sleeping” (The Beatles), “One Note World” (Jim Noir) “Mongoloid” (DEVO)
DOGGY DIGS ME (BEATS N BOPS) | Littlest Pet Shop DS I have never owned a Nintendo DS. I have never played Littlest Pet Shop for DS. I have never even dejectedly watched someone else play Littlest Pet Shop on their DS at a sleepover. What I can say for myself, however, is that I have religiously watched Mulch Gang’s proselytizing content. All I can say for myself is that this chihuahua is zonked tf out.
Unfortunately, if you were hoping the original track is this bassy, I regret to inform you that it’s actually in a different key. Going to have to lobotomize myself to forget this.
#mulchgang4lyfe
Pairs Well With: “Debunking Theme” (Alan Melikdjanian), “Star Wars Theme / Cantina Band (12” Disco Mix)” (Meco covering John Williams), “Unicorns Die When You Leave” (Kishi Bashi)
DU HAST DEN FARBFILM VERGESSEN | Nina Hagen I’m always so hesitant to share international music here, but hear me out—I’m not a xenophobe, I’m just a monoglot American afraid of becoming the next “beep beep lettuce.” Oddly enough, a polyglot buddy of mine reportedly has the opposite problem—though he speaks three languages, he prefers music with lyrics he can’t understand (and considering he grew up with the full comprehension of Katya Lel’s “Мой мармеладный (Я не права),” I can’t blame him). Recently, he’s recommended lots of French pop, but this German one from 1974 is far and away my favorite—former Chancellor Merkel and I actually have that in common, so take that for what it’s worth.
Of course, going (as I often do) by vibes alone, “Du Hast Den Farbfilm Vergessen” is about as whimsical as those words phonetically suggest. Though vocalist Nina Hagen and the band Automobil alike wrote rock at this time, this song sounds like a pouty march, with tuba providing foundations for Nightmare Before Christmas-esque saxophone blasts. Despite its punch, it’s a peppy piece through and through, which is why these angry elements stand out so much—it’s almost as if they’re unwillingly obeying a happy structure, and whining about it the whole way. Hagen’s vocals are especially impassioned, taking on a disdainful, growly quality. Coming from someone with no German experience beyond three seasons of Dark (watched twice, thank you very much), it might sound like I’m reaffirming the stereotype of German as an ugly, angry language, but I think it’s got lots of poetic sounds (“Barbara’s Rhabarberbar,” anyone?)—it just so happens that Hagen is deliberately spitting each syllable to great effect. It reminds me a bit of Kate Bush’s rock-leaning songs, like “Violin,” but more biting—a rough sound that I love even more with context.
I was pretty pleased with myself and the song when I discovered that every emotion I’d picked up had effortlessly crossed the language barrier, and with context, everything clicks into place. The angriness of the song actually is fighting against a traditional structure—that of schlager, a German fusion of pop and folk that was popular at the time, and that Automobil sought to parody. Similarly, Hagen’s angry vocals portray a woman threatening to leave her boyfriend after ruining a trip to the beach because, as she says, “du hast den farbfilm vergessen!”— “you forgot the color film!” Here’s where former Chancellor Merkel comes in, a woman who grew up in East Germany and worked as a barmaid while studying physics during the time that this song exploded. At that time, one of the many shortages in the scarce East Germany economy was color film—a bleak compliment to the colorlessness of life under totalitarian restrictions. Though it’s unclear whether lyricist (and convicted sexual abuser) Kurt Demmler was intentionally commenting on this, the parallel is nothing short of brilliant, and captures exactly the sort of resentment building at the time. Though Hagen has since been known for her, uh… we’ll call them fringe opinions (her daughter is named Cosma Shiva to memorialize a UFO sighting)… she’s certifiably badass in her contributions to music. Those disdainful vocals came in handy after she was forced to leave the country, landing her a foundational role in the UK’s fetal punk scene, where she earned the title “Godmother of Punk.” Certainly, there’s not as much growl here as I was expecting, but it’s a fascinating example of evolving past a chart-topping hit.
That said, I think it’s the layers of “Du Hast Den Farbfilm Vergessen” that elevate it beyond the rest—the tension between schlager and anger and the growing disdain for a suppressive regime give this piece a deceptive depth that resonates past the language barrier. Given that I’m unfamiliar with schlager, pairings for this one were a bit tough, with the exception of “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da,” which is the Beatles’s worst song, according to many joyless sods. The resemblance there is uncanny, albeit for different reasons, and the two are worth a listen together. That and, of course, these other… stretches.
Pairs Well With: “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” (The Beatles), “Delicatessen (Generique Fin)” (Carlos D’Alessio), “Thomas the Tank Engine Theme” (Mike O’Donnell)
WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO NOW? | Indigo de Souza Finally, we have a pick from my lovely girlfriend, who calls Indigo de Souza’s “What Are We Gonna Do Now?” “just a kickass fungirl song,” and you can quote her on that. Okay, she has more than that to say about it. After only catching the lyrics “I’m never cooking up what you’re craving,” I thought this was a breakup song, but she got me to look a little closer and realize that de Souza is, in fact, singing about weathering hardship with a relationship intact, which I find to be a far more powerful message. I’m getting ahead of myself, but Emily deserves her credit for making me, you know, actually listen to the lyrics.
Of course, we all know that’s not how I work—I’m a sounds-first sort of listener, and de Souza’s song immediately caught me despite starting with a slow build. This song’s sluggish guitar and trudging drums aren’t exactly built for a short attention span, but the key they’re in sets a mood immediately. For me, “What Are We Gonna Do Now” sounds like a sweltering summer evening where the humidity is too oppressive to let anything evaporate—neither brow sweat nor the day’s stress from a workday that was already overlong. It’s a decidedly beat tone that’s too tired to be sad, and while it could (and, for me, did) evoke slogging through an already dead relationship, the lyrics clarify that this is a late-stage capitalism lament.
While the age of this song’s couple is never clarified, there’s something undeniably twentysomething about it. An environment where “[they] still haven't cleaned the kitchen,” “[they’re] still on hold with the nurses,” and they’re “sleeping in bed with [their] day clothes on” is unfortunately lifelong for many, but acclimating to the despairing realization that this could be all there is to life is decidedly new adult. It’s a place I’ve been in since before graduating last year, which I was transparently working through in another Emily recommendation back then—Haley Heynderickx’s “The Bug Collector” [Reviewed 01/20/2023]. While I’d like to say I see my future more optimistically these days, with a Groundhog Day election around the corner, an ongoing Palestinian genocide in progress, and that ever-present climate crisis looming above it all, I can’t say I’m feeling great about it. Indigo de Souza taps into some Haley Heynderickx to portray this not by emulating “The Bug Collector,” but one of her more positive songs instead—“Oom Sha La La” [Reviewed 05/26/2023] and its sudden, explosive ending. Even when the world has beaten everyday workers into submission, the body isn’t built to keep emotions pent up, and the crisis beneath the tiredness in “What Are We Gonna Do Now” comes crashing through in the second half of the song. As electric guitars jangle, de Souza mourns that she’s “never cooking up what you’re craving”—her protagonist can’t be what their relationship needs as conditions tighten around them. This moment is where she “wake[s] up / in some cubicle cell,” and with tearjerker harmonies wailing in the background, it’s a fittingly emotional awakening, though not so overpowering that it’s not fun—de Souza’s spoken delivery of “oh my darling” never fails to make me crack a smile, and the whole thing just rocks too hard to make me feel defeated.
I think that’s why this song isn’t as much of a bummer as it could be—after working up strength in the build, its crescendo is too strong to be suffocated. Being a sensitive little snowflake man, this song certainly tugs some of sadness out of me, but I’m happy to say that I don’t feel much like giving up. Looking forward to a future I’m already living with Emily, I know we’ll be constricted by a worsening world ripe for revolution, and especially as an artist, hard times are ahead. Still, just as the relationship in “What Are We Gonna Do Now?” rallies for an awakening, I think we’ll make it in the end—we’re stronger than a little late-stage capitalism.
Pairs Well With: “Oom Sha La La” (Haley Heynderickx) [Reviewed 05/26/2023], “Stick” (Snail Mail), “Do You Love Me Now” (The Breeders)
THE SPRINGWING | Wayne Barlowe I’ve showcased Wayne Barlowe’s jaw-dropping Expedition many times now—in case it wasn’t clear, this one’s a mainstay in my brain. While every piece in this book is a stunner, there were a few creature designs that I (at first) felt were too Earth-like for my taste. I mean, yea, this is an eyeless tripod, and yea, I have no language equipped to describe whatever organ or plumage juts from this critter’s shoulders, but to me, the Springwing just looks too much like a unicorn. I’m not trying to shun the unicorn girlies and boylies with this take, I promise—I just found the familiarity in those outstretched hooves too distracting for Darwin IV’s design language. Of course, it does bring to mind an idea I’ve found disappointing (but increasingly more likely) as I’ve studied biology: if Earth-like conditions are the only place life can arise, then aliens will look just like Earth’s life. Unrelated lookalikes are so common on Earth that we have a name for how they arise: convergent evolution. This is the process by which animals with the same lifestyles are molded into similar shapes by natural selection. There’s a reason why ichthyosaurs, sharks, and dolphins all look the same despite being reptiles, fish, and mammals, respectively—there’s only one body type that best suits their niche. Even on another planet with a completely different tree of life, if conditions are the same there as they are on Earth, its life will also seem familiar.
As someone who likes wacky little weirdo freaks, I’ve often been a bit put-out by this idea, just because it fails to account for all of the variation that could occur on exoplanets while still making them (hopefully) habitable. If Earth’s conditions really are the only way to go, though, there’s still one thing I’ve found transcendental about it: Earth is alien. The more I learn about life, the more I am blown away by its versatility—if something can live in a certain place or a certain way, some organism has already done it, and often multiple times. All of this, too, from the same stuff!! The same building blocks!! It’s insane!! Every variation in the human imagination effectively already exists somewhere, and often weirder than we’d ever imagined—we just have to look for it. Earth!! Is!! Alien!!