Skeleton Tree.
Feels like a long time since I last listened to a Nick Cave album; possibly the precursor to Skeleton Tree, 2013’s Push the Sky Away. Though the albums are similar in the use of drum machines and synthesisers, they differ dramatically on the theme front. Cave’s poetic, grief-laden lyrics deal with loss, ultimately prophetically with the death of his fifteen-year-old son Arthur during the recording process, a tragic event that led to the re-recording of some of the material that produces a raw, heartbreaking edge to Cave’s vocals. Musically, Skeleton Tree borrows aspects of ambient and electronica, combined with elements of the avant-garde and, as the title would suggest, a certain minimalism that leaves Cave vulnerable as he lays bare his thoughts on death. For all the dark, somber and morbidly eerie tracks such as “Jesus Alone” and “Girl in Amber”, there are the more pleasant on the ear “Skeleton Tree” and “Distant Sky”; though Else Torp’s angelic vocals and Cave’s line that “they told us our dreams would outlive us” on the latter are enough to produce a tear from even the most apathetic of individuals. A truly emotional work that is sure to leave its mark.
Blood Bitch.
Minimalist. Experimental. Dreamlike. Folk-electronica. Norwegian musician Jenny Hval’s 70s horror and menstruation inspired Blood Bitch is certainly unique. Opening with the dark, atmospheric, John Carpenter-gothic horror track “Ritual Awakening”, Blood Bitch is a personal, and yet also fictitious, journey through vampirism, pain and the female experience. On tracks such as “Conceptual Romance” and “The Great Undressing”, a vulnerable Hval reveals feelings of isolation, believing herself to be unloved and that mutual love is unattainable. A clearly self conscious Hval is seemingly ashamed of herself, her body and her music, ridiculing her own failures throughout the album. A special mention also for “The Plague” for invoking memories of that episode of Spaced when Brian’s ex performs the most pretentious, avant-garde art piece ever.
Lemonade.
I would have to have been living under a rock not to have heard the stir Beyoncé’s Lemonade caused when it was released back in 2016; scathing attacks on a philandering husband that left people dumbfounded as to why he would look at anyone else when he had Queen Bey, the baddest woman in the game, up in his sheets, and a worldwide investigation into “Becky with the good hair”. When the marketing and spectacle of the tour and accompanying film are stripped away from Lemonade, what is left is a musical therapy session concept album as Beyoncé explores a plethora of genres and emotions, with assistance from the likes of Diplo, MNEK, Father John Misty and Ezra Koenig on the thumping bass reggae banger of denial “Hold Up”, while Jack White’s fingers are all over the hard, angry rock of “Don’t Hurt Yourself”. After a few forgettable tracks in the middle, the album shifts again on the Motown, gospel, country track “Daddy’s Lessons”, the second half only let down by the immature trap track “Formation”. After being pelted by lemons, Beyoncé has made solid gold lemonade.
Atrocity Exhibition.
An album serving as a desperate cry for help, Atrocity Exhibition allows Danny Brown to reflect on his drug dependency, loneliness and inability to escape the lifestyle he finds himself in, over an eclectic mix of experimental techno, trap and hip-hop instrumentals. Tracks such as the creepy “Downward Spiral” and the krautrocky “Golddust” detail Brown’s depression, isolation and anxiety, while also telling of how his addictions to alcohol, among other drugs, are used to numb these emotions to make life liveable. “Ain’t it Funny”, a track built on a brash, invasive sound and teeth dislodging bass, reiterates the themes of addiction, depression and inescapability, the Jonah Hill-directed music video of which portrays how the self destructive behaviour and excess in hip-hop (and to an extent the music industry at large), is not only unacknowledged as a serious problem for the artists, but is in fact glorified to the amusement of the public. A masterpiece of inner contemplation, stemming from a frustration toward those who allow hip-hop artists to be in the situation Danny Brown finds himself.
A Moon Shaped Pool.
Incorporating elements of ambient and art folk with drum machines, synthesisers and piano and string arrangements, A Moon Shaped Pool is an album of indescribable genre that is undoubtedly, unmistakably, Radiohead. Thom Yorke’s lyricism is as poetic and mysterious as ever, with the exception of “Ful Stop”, an eerie, evil ambient track that devolves into chaos as Yorke regrets his broken marriage and reflects on the heartbreak of the defining relationship of his life; and “The Numbers”, a call to arms in a revolution to positively effect climate change: the topic of environmentalism is so hotly debated and the climate emergency is at such a crucial stage that the choice of lyrics are un-Yorkian in that he chooses blunt expressions and clichés that can’t be interpreted any other way than as he intends. A brilliant record that, much like other Radiohead albums, continues to impress with each listen.
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