NEW MUSIC

MTA2: Baptized In Dirty Water

(Universal)

David Banner lives in a world where the marks of oppression are still clear as day and hip-hop never scaled the heights of marketability. It’d be a mistake to slot his music alongside more pedestrian bids for mass appeal. Last year’s Mississippi: The Album would have sounded curiously wrong to heads raised on boom-bap, full of blues chords and unearthly bass tones grafted to low-riding drums so nuanced they bordered on expressionistic. But with Outkast as crunk music’s ambassadors, few probably listened anyway. Suitably, Banner makes jams above all for himself, his crew, his hometown, the bitter South.

Banner’s sequel embodies the redemptive themes of its predecessor. At times MTA2’s spiteful rhymes and often tuneless tunes uncomfortably evoke thoughts of slavery—functional, slow and relentless like dirges, with scarred chants serving as choruses. There’s little time for bling-bling hedonism; at best Banner and clique wallow in their grim depravity with a smirk. Crunk ballads (!) such as “My Lord” are overshadowed by workhorse tracks like “Crank It Up” and the “Like A Pimp” remix. If the first Mississippi: The Album was cathartic and empowering, then this one only finds relief in a dull sort of violence.

Ready to collapse under its own weight, MTA2 would be utterly dreary without Banner’s acute skill on the boards—check “Talk To Me,” whose clenched modem whine actually carries a hypnotic melody buried underneath the buzz. The music and message offer few answers outside of blind faith, but manage to turn things beautifully awry.

—Ryan J. Kuo

Preston School of Industry

Monsoon

(Matador)

A few years ago, ex-Pavement guitarist Spiral Stairs released All This Sounds Gas, a wonderfully post-indie record that was equal parts Neil Young and early U2. Comprised of shaky-yet-deeply-felt lyrics and guitar lines that lazily pointed at the sky without ever gathering the momentum to soar, the music lodged in the brain despite its modest ambitions.

Unlike Gas, this year’s outing, Monsoon, never really shakes the feeling of aimlessness. According to the liner notes, the album “was recorded in a dark unfinished basement.” Perhaps this is some justification for Mr. Stairs’ wandering songwriting that chugs along on a predictable guitar strum.

One of the best things about Gas was that it definitively wasn’t a Pavement album. The same cannot be said of Monsoon. Though Stairs rarely achieves Malkmus’ free association lyricism, his decidedly indie delivery is couched in undistinguished material that sounds like Pavement B-sides. There are some more upbeat moments: “Caught In The Rain” features one of Stairs’ bummed-yet-cheery choruses while “Line It Up” musters a strut that the rest of Monsoon only gestures towards.

Stairs has written an album with an elegant air of vague melancholy, but it never entirely delivers on its promise. “So Many Ways,” with its wistful chorus of “So many ways, so many ways…to lie about this,” is the emotional high point of an album painted in quiet tones. Monsoon may grow on you, but only if you have the time to wander down into Stairs’ basement.

—Andrew R. Iliff

The Walkmen

Bows and Arrows

(Record Collection)

Bows and Arrows surpasses the Walkmen’s stellar debut, the intermittently charming and haunting Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me is Gone—and that’s saying a lot. Equal parts lilting lullaby and drunken caterwaul, Bows and Arrows sounds like the demented brainchild of a beer-spattered New York hustler with only his inflated sense of self-importance for company. But through each bout of sonic schizophrenia, the Walkmen’s intent and delivery shine clear: each arrow reaches its target with the precision of a Tolkien elf to create gorgeously ethereal, emotionally wringing music.

Songs on Bows are cinematic—thick, sweeping layers of piano, guitar and organ produce compelling vignettes that dwarf the simplicity of lyrics. Hamilton Leithauser’s vocals glide and soar behind a scratchy veil, adding poignancy to the mundane actions and thoughts he sings about. On break-up lament “The North Pole,” he sounds on the verge of shattering as he howls, “Everybody knows / That’s the way it goes.” But the childlike “New Year’s Eve” finds him sweetly singing alongside a naive female voice and playful piano tingling. Innocent and wistful, he lulls, “But the more we talk the less we understand.”

The Walkmen sound achingly lonely, but underneath the forlorn abstraction of Bows and Arrows exists a strong sense of worth and grandiose awareness that saves them from ever falling into the grating woe-is-me whine that drowns lesser bands.

—Sarah L. Solorzano

Volcano, I’m Still Excited!!

Volcano, I’m Still Excited!!

(Polyvinyl)

The debut album from Volcano, I’m Still Excited!! is hard to really hate. The songs are tight, hook-filled and melodic. And when so many terrible voices rise to fame for the sake of their uniqueness, it’s nice to hear a traditional rock singer who can actually sing with confidence. The influence of conventionally gifted rock bands like The Wrens and Spoon is all over the place. The band seem to genuinely want to put together an album showing their deep association with everything that stands for indie rock today. Carnival casio synth, unexpected drum machine beats, interweaving vocal lines and stupid lyrics they probably regard as esoteric make it seem they might be trying too hard to capture this sound. Take for example “Trunk of My Car,” which starts out in a ghastly a capella round with lyrics awful enough to match. The two-minute “In Green” is the best track on the album, and only because it sounds like a lot of other better bands, distorted vocals bopping up and down a melodic line with falsetto “ahs” in the background. This illustrates the central problem with the album—at its best points, it’s simply derivative. Add annoying instrumental interludes and the idiotic “Two Exclamation Points” and the unfortunate result is a hard-to-hate album that you somehow still manage to hate.

—Christopher A. Kukstis