Hawksley Workman: Milk
Hawksley Workman’s latest album Milk breaches new territory for the indie-glam-rock musician. Following the January release of his darker grunge album Meat, Milk takes on a completely different vibe, experimenting with synthesizers and quick-lip lyrics to produce a euro-pop sound. While Milk does not number among the best of Workman’s twelve albums, in taking a leap out of his comfort zone, he comes out with an album that stands on its own.
Milk’s concept is bold, unabashed lust and Workman’s use of strong rhythmic beats only emphasizes this theme. The album has a few softer and mellow tracks, like “Devastating,” a song that caters to Workman’s romantic, rather than his lustful side. For the most part, however, Milk is filled with fast-paced tunes and explicit lyrics that are clearly meant for sweaty gyrating on the dance floor.
The album has a rocky start, with many tracks that begin to dwindle and tire less than a minute in (the opening track “Animal Behaviour” being foremost among these). Milk starts to pick up steam half way through as Workman finds a happy medium between his new synth-based sound and the alternative musical style of his previous work, producing something more than the generic synthesized rhythms pumped out of club speakers. The album hits its peak at its finale with up-beat, infectious tracks like “Snow Angel” and “Not Your Parents’ Music,” tunes that are more than likely to soar high on the charts this year.—Ariel Lewis
M.I.A.: Maya
From the poptress who brought us “Planes Planes”, the world’s favorite truffle french-fry-eating-artist envelopes her third album in a caucophony of noise that’s sure to shock rather than please. The melodies of “Teqkilla” and “Story To Be Told” are almost undetectable beneath lavish layers of epileptic beats.
That being said, when M.I.A puts down her guns and addresses her man as opposed to the Man in “XXXO,” the track comes out crystal clear: a perfect mixture of the unexpected and listenable qualities that solidified her reputation as a popstar in past hits. “Born Free” however, while being more to the credit of Suicide’s “Ghost Rider” than M.I.A’s musical prowess, nonetheless demonstrates she can hone in her vocals, and offers listeners a heavy, violent breath of fresh air.
When disregarding the talents of producers Diplo and Rusko, she seems to fall flat on her face, pimpled with non-sensical trivialities and what seems to be a desperate attempt to justify her recent “life choices” with experimentation. “Meds and Feds”, might be her album’s shining moment in this experimentation, but a killer opening riff is tripped by the introduction of sonic disunity. Soon it all comes back together, guaranteeing concert-goers at least one genuine fist-pumper.
The rest of the album falls short. While M.I.A once demonstrated the skills necessary to rise above her peers, it now seems she’s on her own ladder, alone, avoided for fear of being contaminated with that shallow, loopholed fuss. Restraint imposed by third-parties would undoubtedly do her—and our ears—some good.—Daniel Portoraro
Dangermouse and Sparklehorse: Dark Night of The Soul
Much has changed since this highly collaborative and ambitious package first appeared on record store shelves over a year ago as a blank CD-R and a David Lynch helmed book of photography. Some contributors (Iggy Pop, The Flaming Lips’ Wayne Coyne) have made, respectively, fascinating and career defining records. Reversely, some, (Dangermouse & James Mercer) have continued to work together to produce a surprisingly underwhelming album, and two others (Mark Linkous, who effectively is Sparklehorse, and Vic Chesnutt) have committed suicide.
These recent recordings, as well as the inevitable revisiting of Linkous’ and Chesnutt’s discographies, alter Dark Night of the Soul into a surprisingly, if not disconcertingly, easy listen. The production flourishes of Dangermouse, while ornate and beautiful in their own right, don’t provide an affecting backdrop for the album’s intensely personal lyrical arc. Wayne Coyne on “Revenge” and Jason Lytle on “Jakyub” and “Everytime I’m With You” are too enigmatic in their own right to fully submerge themselves into the collaboration and all three tracks end up sounding like Flaming Lips or Grandaddy B-sides.
On “Little Girl” and “Angel’s Harp” performances from Julian Casablancas and Blank Francis are uncharacteristically stale. Only the title track, in which David Lynch sings (Chants? Gargles?) a distorted hymn over top of a hynotic film-noir loop, seems to capture the haunted intimacy and retro re-appropriation that make (or made) Linkous and Dangermouse such singular artistic voices in the first place. The whole record leaves me feeling kind of etherized, which perhaps, in light of Linkous’ untimely death, may have been the initiative all along.—Nick Mckinlay
