Not My Tune: January 2018

Let's take a stroll down memory lane to the beginning of 2017. This blog has done a really poor job of showing it, but I actually listened to and loved a lot of music beyond new releases over the course of the year. While I was compiling my year-end Last.fm charts (for the entirely self-indulgent post that will shortly follow this one), I was seized by the desire to recount these musical discoveries because a lot of them feel very formative to where my taste is moving. What follows are 30 songs by 27 artists, some of whom I newly discovered this year, some of whom I simply continued past explorations of, presented in a loosely chronological order to somewhat recreate the natural flow of discovery over the months. I tried not to labor too intensely or extensively over the descriptions because I was hardly convinced by flowery commentary, and, in the end, it's all about hearing the music for yourself, which I hope leads you down some excitingly uncharted paths, too.

My year started off with a decision to more seriously delve into Joni Mitchell's discography. She's an artist I've always wanted to get into, but I've never seemed to be in the right mindset to fully appreciate her. Before this year, the only album of hers I knew well was Court and Spark. Over the course of 2017, I more closely acquainted myself with Blue, The Hissing of Summer Lawns, For the Roses, and Ladies of the Canyon - in that order. I enjoyed all of them, but Blue and Ladies of the Canyon have especially wormed their way into my heart. "The Arrangement" and "Rainy Night House" from Ladies of the Canyon contain, I think, some of Mitchell's most lovely and resonant melodies. They feel like companions to me, not just because they're next to one another on the track listing, but because they give off a similarly warm and home-y energy.

Laura Nyro is someone I used to adore, and I'm not sure why my love of her fell off so suddenly and drastically years ago. Eli and the Thirteenth Confession and New York Tendaberry are both essential in very different ways, the former feeling like a perfected encapsulation of late-60s era singer-songwriter pop and the latter feeling like a confessional self-exorcism way ahead of its time. The music-listening side of my brain was very pop-oriented in 2017, so I most fully appreciated songs like "Timer" that combine effortlessly memorable melodies with Nyro's eccentric and unrestrained vocals.

In 2016, I fell in absolute love with Nina Simone Sings the Blues, and I continued my exploration of Nina Simone's work in 2017. Of everything I've heard so far, Wild Is the Wind is absolutely sublime front to back. While there are moments of light playfulness, it largely sets a moodier, darker tone. Even though this mostly manifests itself in broodily romantic piano ballads, it's most incisive in "Four Women," a frank and brutal address on racism and its insidious impact on black women of all shades and experiences. The song still feels (sadly) vital today, and Simone's raw vocal delivery makes it sound like she's standing right in front of you, as alive and invigorated as ever.

I spent some time with Tracy Chapman's self-titled debut, which is remarkable in its balance between restraint and intensity; Chapman rarely raises her voice above a soothing croon, but her mastery of subtlety lets the listener know when she's saying something especially important. "For My Lover" is, at its core, a love song. But it's an extreme one, in which the protagonist is willing to do anything to defend and hold onto her love, even in the face of judgment and doubt. Chapman's easily soulful delivery adds to the sense of desperation without once relying on melodrama to sell it.

Perhaps less championed but no less influential, there's Edie Brickell & New Bohemians' album, Shooting Rubberbands at the Stars. I honestly don't know how this album was received at the time of its release, but it seems like it's been largely forgotten by now, which is a shame. You can really hear the prototype for artists like Liz Phair and Sheryl Crow in Brickell's sunny, hummable songs and easy, no-frills vocals. I remember hearing "What I Am" on some show about one hit wonders as a kid, and it's a good song with undeniable hooks, but the album goes a lot deeper. "Air of December" is gorgeous and atmospheric, not to mention so well-written that it overcomes the more dated elements of its production.

Every year, I've gotten a little bit more into Talking Heads, but this was the year everything really clicked for me in regards to their music. I first spent more time with Remain in Light, which I was already familiar with but not entirely sold on. This time around, though, I heard certain songs in an entirely new light, especially "The Great Curve," which I now believe is one of the greatest songs ever written - those polyphonic melodies! A few months later, I had my mind blown by their classic concert film, Stop Making Sense, and subsequently fell hard for Speaking in Tongues. All of its songs are of such equal high quality that it's hard to pick a single standout, but I've apparently listened to "Slippery People" the most, and it's certainly a good representation of how the album marries David Byrne's idiosyncrasies with world music influences.

For some reason, I've always considered R.E.M. to be an ultra-corny band. I guess it's because I mostly knew them through "Everybody Hurts," which is a fine song but definitely a little heavy on the theatrical angst. I'm glad that my misconceptions were finally shattered via Automatic for the People. It's an excellent album with barely a weak track in sight, full of insanely catchy melodies while also managing to sound fresh and unique all these years later. Michael Stipe's voice is the perfect vessel for these songs, full of pure emotion. "Sweetness Follows" may be one of the most minimal songs on the album, but it sends a shiver down my spine every time.

I've loved Sleater-Kinney for a while now, but I'd never delved fully into some of their earlier albums until recently. This year, I listened to Dig Me Out and The Hot Rock a lot, both of which are excellent. Sleater-Kinney is one of those bands for me where nearly every song sounds great, so it can be hard to pick out specific favorites. Dig Me Out's closer, "Jenny," is one that I came back to more frequently, though. Its blend of heavy guitars, more expansive melodies, and Corin Tucker's powerhouse vocals perfectly hits the spot every time.

Gallowsbird's Bark by the Fiery Furnaces used to be my jam, and I'm not sure why I forgot about it for so long, maybe because I never found any of their other stuff nearly as engaging, as it's often so overwhelmingly dense. This album, though, is overflowing with two-to-three-minute pop gems, their insanely catchy choruses roughened around the edges by rock and blues influences. Weirdly, "We Got Back the Plague" is one of its less overtly poppy tracks, but it's addictive in a way I can't really explain, and Eleanor Friedberger's voice just always sounds so cool and bad-ass.

I've tried to get into Bloc Party multiple times in the past, and it's never really worked. Whatever time this was happened to be the charm. I still haven't listened to anything beyond Silent Alarm, but that album definitely deserves its status as a modern indie classic. "This Modern Love" is the obvious choice from it, but it's their signature song for a reason. It builds perfectly, relying on both the instrumentation's intensifying pace and Kele Okereke's increasingly frantic vocals to crank up the energy. Also, is it just me, or does its overall atmosphere sound incredibly similar to the 2003 track, "This Is Our Emergency," by Pretty Girls Make Graves? I like both songs a lot, but every time I hear one, I'm reminded of the other.

In many ways, Land of Talk absolutely dominated my year. In what turns out to be a disturbingly common turn of events for me, I once liked them a lot, but they managed to fall off my radar entirely for several years. In the lead-up to their newest album, Life After Youth, I decided to revisit their back catalog and, holy shit, have I been missing out. Applause Cheer Boo Hiss initially won me over, and it's still great, but the albums that followed, Some Are Lakes and Cloak and Cipher, are a million times better than I gave them credit for previously. Tracks like "Got a Call" and "Color Me Badd" are just top-notch indie rock songs, Elizabeth Powell's disaffected warble delivering cryptic barbs ("Even if I could get you back, I don't try/You weren't all that good, but I loved you like you were mine") over layers of deliciously noisy instrumentation.

Inevitably, I end up discovering certain albums a year or two late and then kick myself over the fact that I didn't find them sooner. Luckily, music sticks around forever, and the concept of hearing it in time to place it on an end of the year list matters very little in the grand scheme of things. I listened to Algiers' self-titled debut immediately after being blown away by "The Underside of Power" and ultimately ended up finding it more powerful than the follow-up they released this year. "Irony. Utility. Pretext." shows off the band's noisier, more industrial side, with Franklin James Fisher's soulful vocals presiding over a chilling and sinister instrumental backdrop.

After naming My Woman as my favorite album of 2016, I spent some time (re)acquainting myself with Angel Olsen's back catalog. I started with Half Way Home, which I had never heard before, and was quickly charmed by its rustic, lo-fi energy. Then I moved on to Burn Your Fire for No Witness, which I'd listened to several times before, catching onto one or two more songs with each listen. I think the relative subtlety of most of its tracks makes it feel like a longer, more taxing full-album experience than it actually is; taken as individual pieces, though, there are very few weak links. "Stars" was a particular standout this time around, for its impassioned vocal performance and cathartic outburst of a chorus.

Courtney Marie Andrews has the voice of a modern-day young Dolly Parton. She first captured my attention with a cover of "I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free," in which she entirely steals the show from her duet partner, Bonnie 'Prince' Billy. Her 2016 album, Honest Life, is another one I wish I'd heard when it was released. It's a simple but solid alt-country record, relying more on the strength of Andrews' songwriting and powerhouse vocals than any studio bells and whistles to leave a mark on the listener - and leave a mark it does. "Irene" is probably the album's most immediate track, its timeless melodies sounding straight out of the golden age of female country singers.

I dabbled in Ezra Furman's music in 2016 and was converted into full fandom in 2017. His most recent album, Perpetual Motion People, is a particularly fun ride that takes the listener on all sorts of unexpected twists and turns. Furman gleefully mashes up elements of garage rock and punk with influences as diverse as doo-wop, swing, blues, and Brill Building pop - so, basically, everything but the kitchen sink. This hodgepodge of references somehow comes together into a delightfully rambunctious and breathless aural collage with a whole lot of heart. On "Watch You Go By," a woozy, country-tinged ballad, Furman allows his vulnerable side to show, admitting blearily, "I've got a bright future in music as long as I never find true happiness."

I very rarely experience those spine-tingling moments on shuffle anymore where either a song I've never heard before or one I've never been particularly moved by comes on and suddenly seems monumental. But this did happen at least once in 2017, with Nadine Shah's "Big Hands," which captivated me from beginning to end and made me immediately seek out the album it appears on, Fast Food. Eventually, my discovery of that album got a bit overshadowed by the release of Holiday Destination, but I love it for being so velvety and sleek where that album is confrontational and gritty. The closing track, "Living," has a lot to live up to, following directly on the heels of "Big Hands," but it very nearly matches it in quality, Shah's vocals gliding effortlessly across dark, ominous synths.

My foray into the world of hip-hop started when I randomly decided one day over the summer, with absolutely no preamble, to listen to the Fugees' album, The Score. Honestly, I have no idea what prompted it, but I'm glad it happened because it very quickly became one of the best albums I've heard in a long time. It was one of those rare first listening experiences where every single song sounded mind-blowing in its own way and I just had to stop everything to listen in open-mouthed awe. Everything about this album works for me: the rapid-fire interplay between Lauryn Hill, Wyclef Jean, and Pras, all three of whom have their own equally compelling rap personalities; the funky, diverse, and ridiculously catchy melodies; the political and social commentary in the lyrics; etc., etc. It's just the complete package. For that reason, almost every song is a worthy pick for sharing. In the end, I went with "Ready or Not" because that hook is undeniable and Lauryn Hill's verse is legendary.

Speaking of Lauryn Hill, the next logical step seemed to be her highly-regarded album, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, which took slightly longer to grow on me as a whole but may have the edge now. Again, nearly every track is flawless and addictive. Hill is just as entrancing as a singer as she is as a rapper, which means that my favorites tend to be the tracks where she alternates seamlessly between both roles. "Doo Wop (That Thing)" may be the album's most known track, but it more than lives up to the hype. I've yet to listen to it and not want to listen again immediately afterward; it strikes the perfect balance between gritty and soulful. ("Everything Is Everything" is a close runner-up, though, for having probably the best rap verse on the album.)

I decided that I would continue to check off the list of what might be considered hip-hop "classics" with Midnight Marauders by A Tribe Called Quest. While not necessarily as deep or impactful as some of the other artists I've been exploring, it's an album that's a lot of fun to listen to and surprisingly catchy. For me, probably because I come from a more pop-oriented background, I tend to prefer hip-hop that's more melodic and borrows frequently from other genres to create a more diverse listening experience. This album doesn't necessarily have big pop hooks, but it does have distinct choruses that help to differentiate each song from the next. I found "Award Tour" incredibly addictive from the first listen.

Digable Planets are like a more laid-back and smooth Fugees, so, naturally, I immediately fell in love with their album, Blowout Comb. Like the Fugees, they have a three-rapper configuration (two male, one female) and are very socially conscious in their lyrical content. Their lyrics are also more abstract, though, as they often serve more to complement the relaxed and low-key jazzy atmosphere of the music surrounding them than anything else. Overall, the word I would use to describe this album is chill. However, it's far from boring, even at an hour long. I love almost all of it, but "The Art of Easing" especially epitomizes the album's style with its easy, effortlessly cool hook and the call-and-response style verses. Basically, it just sounds like a bunch of friends got together to casually freestyle over minimal, free-form jazz, and every second of it is enthralling.

Things Fall Apart by The Roots is an interesting album because it's so varied in sound. There aren't any other albums I can think of that end on an extended spoken word piece with minimal instrumental backing ("Return to Innocence Lost"), not to mention one so raw and chilling and intense that it becomes one of said album's best tracks. My clear favorite here, though, is "You Got Me," a smooth and soulful ballad featuring Erykah Badu. It's hard for me to describe what I find so appealing about this song, except that it's just very calming and pleasant to listen to. There's a sprawling, cinematic atmosphere about it, but it never oversteps its bounds, relying instead on subtlety to sell its emotions.

I'm fairly sure I listened to Noname's mixtape, Telefone, around the time it was released and quickly decided I was bored by it. Sometimes I wish I didn't have such a knee-jerk reaction to things because this little half-hour collection of songs is actually incredibly beautiful and moving. Noname's delivery is refreshingly soft and vulnerable while, at the same time, maintaining enough gravitas to command the listener's attention; at times, it's reminiscent of spoken word or poetry, and the serene minimalism of the backing instrumentation only heightens its impact. On "Forever," her quietly incendiary verses are accompanied by a lush, dreamy chorus courtesy of R&B singer Ravyn Lenae.

It sounds melodramatic, but it's at least partly true: SOPHIE changed my life in mid-October with "It's Okay to Cry" and shook me all over again with "Ponyboy" at the beginning of December. After that, I decided to check out the compilation of her past singles, Product. The thing about SOPHIE is that, at first, you have no idea what you're hearing, let alone whether or not you like it, but it's intriguing enough to want to hear again. Then, all of a sudden, you're a dozen listens deep and nothing else makes sense anymore. The ultra-high-pitched vocals, bizarre synth sounds, and aggressive beats that initially seemed so jarring start to come together, and you realize how clean, controlled, and precise her form of chaos actually is. "Bipp" is a good entry point, as both her first major single and one of her more accessible creations.

Hannah Diamond is PC Music's flagship pop star, taking the cutesy earnestness of early-2000s bubblegum pop and pushing it to its absolute extremes. She sings in a youthful, bubbly coo that sounds almost uncanny, like a computer-generated siren, pouring her heart into bursts of intense, desperate hopefulness in the face of unrequited love. Her earlier songs are cute and all, but she and producer A. G. Cook have absolutely perfected the art of pop songwriting and production since last year. At first, her music sounds ironic, but then you're hit by the purity of human emotion behind it all. "Make Believe" utilizes digital vocal manipulation in the most genius way possible, to the point where it sounds so unnatural that it becomes weirdly touching, a human voice disintegrating into incomprehensible warbles as it reaches emotional heights previously out of reach.

After being utterly charmed by Pop 2 and Number 1 Angel, I was hungry for more "weird" Charli XCX. Her 2016 EP, Vroom Vroom, seemed the logical place to go, since it also features production by SOPHIE. At the time of its release, it received a pretty mixed reception, but I find it catchy and fresh as fuck (though I still think their best collaboration to date is Number 1 Angel's "Roll with Me"). I particularly can't get enough of "Paradise," a strange but oddly compelling blend of chipmunk-voiced future-pop and subdued piano balladry. Hannah Diamond even shows up to deliver the second verse with as much coltish charm as she can muster, and she's the perfect fit for its frothy romantic sentiments.

Danny L Harle is another PC Music producer, and his music is probably among the label's most immediately accessible. It veers closer to traditional EDM, making only sparing (but effective) use of the more polarizing experimental elements favored by many of his label mates. Most importantly, it's catchy as hell, as he has a keen ear for choosing songwriters and singers to work with. Right now, I'm partial to "Ashes of Love," an insanely infectious Caroline Polachek feature that is just immaculately-constructed dance pop. But you could literally pick any Harle-produced track out of a hat and be dancing and lip-syncing your heart out to it in no time.

I know I said this was about non-2017 releases, but let me have this one, since I discovered it too late to incorporate it into any of my other posts. Rina Sawayama's EP, RINA, hearkens back to the cluttered, overstimulating production style of late '90s/early '00s bubblegum pop while also sounding forward-thinking and new, particularly in its lyrical content. "Tunnel Vision" is a sultry R&B collaboration with Shamir, and their voices blend so well together that I didn't even realize it was a duet until about three listens in. It's also the de facto neurotic millennial love anthem because just look at these lyrics: "Emotions are too much for me/So I spread my love through likes/I didn't even leave my house last week/But I know what you did last night." Too real.

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