Janelle Monae – The Electric Lady
The Electric Lady continues Janelle Monáe’s ambitious seven-part concept series, loosely based on Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, in which she stars as a time-traveling android named Cindi Mayweather, sent back in time to free her fellow cyborgs from the persecution of a secret society of tyrannical despots.
It’s high concept, to be sure, but Monáe’s talent and charisma have always grounded her gleeful musical experiments. The Electric Lady, her latest full-length, is no different.
Following on the heels of 2010’s The ArchAndroid, Monáe’s newest LP shares its predecessor’s boundless creativity and energy. With over 19 stellar tracks, she combines New Order synths, Curtis Mayfield orchestration, hip-hop beats, Jimi Hendrix guitar solos, strummed ukuleles and hot-blooded funk, among more than a few other genres.
I don’t envy record store owners who plan to sell — and surely run out of — copies of The Electric Lady: it doesn’t fit comfortably into “rock,” “soul,” “hip-hop,” or “pop” sections, although a strong argument could be made for its placement in each.
At the centre of The Electric Lady and its constantly shifting moods and genres is Monáe’s vocals — from passionate croons over lost lovers to bubblegum pop sing-alongs to rapid-fire rap verses — making her voice the most versatile tool in her impressive arsenal.
Elsewhere, the album’s trio of skits — featuring a fictional radio station run by androids, who serve as a metaphor for ostracized minorities — keep the album’s complex story arc from derailing.
Monáe makes it look easy. Like her tuxedo-clad image and her immaculately coiffed hairdo, her music seems at once carefully designed and completely effortless. The Electric Lady easily ranks among the year’s strongest releases, an inventive and self-assured mission statement from one of the strongest creative forces in the industry today.
Pixies – EP1
Like many Pixies fans, I have trouble reconciling Black Francis’ genius as a songwriter with his downright draconian rule as bandleader of the Pixies. Naturally, Kim Deal, the band’s long-suffering bassist, vocalist and secondary songwriter, bore the brunt of the abuse. After all, her songs were arguably just as good as Francis’, and her ambition made it so the two were barely on speaking terms by 1990.
So when the group reunited in 2004, I — like many others — wondered how long it would take before Deal left the band to focus on her own group, The Breeders. The answer was June 2013, and it seems fitting that the band would release EP1, their first new release in 22 years, following Deal’s departure.
With no one left to challenge Francis’ vision, EP1 bears a striking resemblance to Francis’ solo material as Frank Black, and though this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it certainly comes as a disappointment to those of us who thought “a new Pixies album” meant, well, a new Pixies album.
The band, whose new bassist is also named Kim, have done an admirable job updating their sound for a contemporary audience: their famous loud-quiet-loud dynamic and Francis’ screech have been replaced by studio sheen and surprisingly airy balladry, albeit with their lyrical perversity intact.
The only song on the four track EP that bears resemblance to Golden Age Pixies is closer “What Goes Boom,” which is reminicsent of “Gouge Away,” the closing track off the band’s 1989 masterpiece Doolittle.
Sadly, the simple truth is that the Pixies just aren’t the same without Kim Deal. Her clean vocal harmonies and economic basslines are sorely absent from slow-burners “Andro Queen” and “Indie Cindy.” Even a squealing call-and-response guitar solo in “Another Toe in the Ocean” — classic Pixies — isn’t enough to save EP1 from feeling like a stitched-together Frankenstein of this formerly great band. This monkey’s gone to heaven.
Elliot Smith – Either/Or
When I listen to Either/Or, I get to revisit my past selves who’ve done the same thing. I remember which lines hit me when I was 12, 15 and 18 years old, and I’m surprised at which ones hit me now.
I remember which songs have earned a place on one of my many mix tapes, and which songs I associate with people that I used to know. Listening to this record feels like visiting an old friend: like many Elliott Smith fans, I feel like I know him, if only by virtue of his honest — and often biographical — songwriting.
To speak in plain terms about the music on Either/Or is to scratch the surface of its impact. The melodies are textbook Tin Pan Alley, the vocals airy and unconfident. Drums and bass are present in Elliott’s songs for the first time on this LP, although they add relatively little to the mixture, and most of the album’s best tracks (“Between the Bars,” “Angeles”) retain the tried and true guitar-and-vocals foundation on which Elliott built his solo career.
But like The Mountain Goats or Will Oldham, Elliott’s music is first and foremost about the lyrics: the words on Either/Or are nimbly poetic and quietly heartbreaking, and any knowledge of Elliott’s tumultuous personal life or the circumstances behind his eventual suicide only serve to lend extra gravitas to the already devastating impact of his songs.
I think of Elliott’s final live shows, when he was too strung out to remember his lyrics; his fans would sing them for him. These songs, personal enough to be diary entries, take on new meaning for each new listener.
Though this album may be too melancholy for some, those who pay close attention will find a wealth of deeply felt songwriting from arguably one of the most beloved musicians of our time. Either/Or is the most cohesive and measured album that Elliott ever recorded, and more than 15 years after its release, it can still bring listeners to tears with a single chord progression.
