By Max Hill
Daft Punk — Random Access Memories
We all knew this was bound to happen, 2013 seems to be the year of the comeback: so far Justin Timberlake, David Bowie and even My Bloody Valentine have emerged from prolonged hiatuses to critical and popular acclaim. Later on in the year, Queens of the Stone Age and Boards of Canada are expected to do the same, but not all of these rebounds could have been successful.
Cue Random Access Memories, Daft Punk’s first proper album since 2005 and easily their most bloated and uninteresting. The French duo have exchanged their house music roots in favour of an extended tribute to the music of the seventies and eighties. Disco, funk and jazz fusion are all attempted here, along with several other rarely revisited genres.
But despite these forays into uncharted territory, very little of the material on Random Access Memories feels like a risk taken or a boundary pushed. The majority of the album’s 13 tracks, which stretch out over an astounding 74 minutes, are either cheesy slow jams or meandering electro-funk. Each track seems to overstay its welcome by at least two minutes, and might feel more at home in an elevator ride than a modern club.
The duo’s over-reliance on vocoder and uninspired guest performances — never have Julian Casablancas and Panda Bear sounded less committed or present — give the tracks an emotional detachment that completely kills any attempt at drawing the listener in. Even album highlights “Giorgio by Moroder” and “Contact,” which both attempt to inject a little energy into this beached whale of an album, are instantly forgettable and only hint at the vitality of the band’s earlier hits.
Whereas many absentee artists have taken 2013 as an opportunity to prove they’ve still got it, with Random Access Memories Daft Punk seem to have inadvertently proven the opposite. The album’s superficiality and lack of character seem to suggest that the duo might have been better off quitting while they were ahead.
The National — Trouble Will Find Me
Trouble Will Find Me, the latest album by Brooklyn foursome The National, is a lot like their last three albums. The band found their musical niche early on in their career and have been reaping the benefits ever since: a tightly wound rhythm section, measured guitars and lead vocalist Matt Beringer’s smoky, low-register croon have served them well in the past, and the sound they bring to their newest LP is no different.
A natural, effortless mix of propulsive barn burners and piano bar ballads make Trouble Will Find Me another in a consistent stream of highly enjoyable albums by the band. Each song seems to stand on its own, leaving the album feeling less cohesive but more accessible than those that have come before it.
One of the reasons that Trouble Will Find Me, and the band’s approach in general, has yet to become tiresome is the subtle variations to keep their sound fresh and inventive. Beringer’s vocals here seem less effortless and more fragile, which contributes to the emotional gut punch of tracks like “Heavenfaced” and “I Need My Girl.”
Guest vocalists Sharon Von Etten and St. Vincent are used sparingly on tracks like “This Is the Last Time” and “Hard to Find,” never distracting from the album’s tone and atmosphere. Beringer’s lyrics are as evocative and multi-layered as always, and his authentic delivery gives emphasis to his more obscure lines: “I am secretly in love with/ Everyone that I grew up with,” he sings on the early single “Demons,” an admission that’s somehow equally funny and heartbreaking.
This album probably won’t change anyone’s life, and that’s okay. The National have made great albums before, and they’ll make great albums again. In the meantime, Trouble Will Find Me is an enjoyable LP, and more than enough to tide the band’s listeners over until they record their next Boxer. (We can dream).
Neutral Milk Hotel — In the Aeroplane Over the Sea
Jeff Mangum is a force of nature. His lyrics are kaleidoscopic and unapologetically awkward. His voice is broken, but he reaches for the high notes anyway. His band, bushily bearded and draped in hand-knitted sweaters, accompany him on horns, accordions, seesaws and fuzzed-out electric guitars.
In the Aeroplane Over the Sea is what it sounds like inside Mangum’s head, populated with two-headed boys in beakers, boys who play flaming pianos and communist daughters. The album is remarkably strange, disarmingly honest and completely, uncommonly brilliant.
Drawing from influences as varied as Eastern European folk music and The Velvet Underground-style psychedelia, Neutral Milk Hotel’s sound is all their own, and despite their unusual instrumentation In the Aeroplane Over the Sea sounds as though it couldn’t have been put together any other way. From the carnivalesque march of “The Fool” to the acoustic guitar-propelled “Two-Headed Boy,” each note on the album feels completely natural and effortless.
Mangum’s performance has to be heard to be believed: his conviction and energy rival the likes of Freddie Mercury and Mick Jagger in their heydays. It’s no surprise he suffered a nervous breakdown in the aftermath of the album’s recording.
His lyrics are revealing, but what they’re revealing is harder to pin down: his contorted accounts of sexual encounters and domestic violence seem to mix autobiography with childlike imagination, resulting in a completely unique worldview that sets In the Aeroplane Over the Sea apart from its contemporaries.
In the Aeroplane Over the Sea is at once an incredibly personal statement from one of the most eccentric men ever to pick up an acoustic guitar and a universal expression of growing pains, sexual awkwardness, and misremembered nostalgia. If there’s one album you decide to listen to for the first time this week, make it this one.
