I posted the following to Facebook last month—I think it’s a good fit for this blog as well.

I recently listened to Devon Gilfillian’s excellent 2020 re-recording of Marvin Gaye’s legendary 1971 album What’s Going On. It’s one reminder of how much we still live in the United States of the late ‘60s and early ‘70s. Political texts from that era like MLK’s Where Do We Go from Here: Chaos or Community? remain cutting edge in their prescriptions for society’s problems. The political and social upheavals of that time were very much an unfinished revolution.

From What’s Going On, I was particularly moved by the track “Save The Children” with its simple and straightforward message that includes the lines, “Who really cares, who’s willing to try/To save a world that’s destined to die.” Considering today’s ecological crises, this bleak sentiment seems truer than ever. But I think Gaye intends “destined” to be read as hyperbole. What’s Going On strikes me as more hopeful than grim.

Most of us care about the planet and about each other. The world can be rescued and we ought to try.

The following was written in 2021 and published here for the first time.

Obviously begins with the exciting possibilities of a potential romance on the track “Hypotheticals.” Later, a relationship’s flame burns out in the wrenching “Anymore.” Lake Street Dive draw on a variety of genres including pop, rock, R&B, and soul. Different songs have different sounds (a relationship’s beginnings on “Hypotheticals” sounds different than its endings on “Anymore”), but they are not so different as to make the album seem disjointed, and lead singer Rachael Price provides an anchor.

A sequence of three songs—“Being a Woman,” “Making Do,” and “Nobody’s Stopping You Now”—explore the personal as political and the political as personal. In these songs, thematic and sonic power build on each other to stunning effect. On “Being a Woman” (about gender inequality) and “Making Do” (about climate change and other collapses that will worsen over time), the lyrics are simple, straightforward, and poignant. While there is nothing thematically cheerful about these two songs, “Nothing’s Stopping You Now” (about the opportunity to break out of gender norms) is clearly optimistic.

I had been meaning to dig into the Lake Street Dive catalogue for years, but this is the first full album that I’ve listened to. It’s (obviously) left me hungry for more.

The following was written in 2021 and published here for the first time.

Perhaps there is something inherently melodramatic about breakup songs, but Olivia Rodrigo’s debut album Sour is also notably balanced. “déjà vu” and “good 4 u”—both excellent tracks—are angry and sarcastic, but “traitor” opts for a sadder tone of devastation. On “happier,” Rodrigo seems mostly genuine in wishing her ex happiness in his new relationship, the song hinging on the clever line, “I hope you’re happy, but don’t be happier.” The blockbuster single “drivers license” is a slow burn, earning its moments of highest intensity—and its place as one of our era’s standout pop songs. “drivers license” is an ambivalent breakup song; despite her feeling of abandonment, Rodrigo is sorry that her friends will never know her ex like she did. But the song’s greatest strength is its relatability for many—it feels like what it feels like to be a late teenager disappointed in the suburbs.

Sour also achieves a successful musical balance, adeptly drawing on different shades from the palette of pop and rock to match each track’s subtly different mood. The album’s poignant closing song, “hope ur ok,” looks ahead with hope for two friends going through struggles. While in some ways a thematic departure, it is of a piece with the rest of the album in its attempt to come to terms with the difficulties of growing up. And on this final track, Rodrigo wishes her friends the best in charting a path forward. Sour is a strikingly well-conceived and well-executed debut—and you don’t even have to know anything about whatever drama there may be on the set of High School Musical: The Musical: The Series.

Three years to the day since our last post, Music, Etc. has returned! First, a trio of posts dipping back to the past. The following was written in 2021 and published here for the first time.

When I was having a plethora of problems this spring, the release of the singles “Safe Passage” and “Church Girl” by Laura Mvula seemed like a bit of a godsend. Mvula strives to “find a way to safe passage” in that standout track and, in “Church Girl,” asks “how can you dance with the devil on your back?” I knew that I couldn’t but thought the music might help me give the devil the slip. 

The full Pink Noise album was released in July, with songs addressing love, politics, and hope. Influenced by the music of the ‘80s, the album highlights Mvula’s strength as a composer as well as her vocal talent and versatility. Album opener “Safe Passage” is followed by the explosive “Conditional.” “What Matters,” a duet with Simon Neil, uses synths to set a calm romantic mood. On the blistering “Remedy,” Mvula addresses deadly white supremacy, asking “how many more must die before the remedy?” 

Album closer “Before The Dawn” begins and ends with Fleet Foxes-style harmonies but sounds thoroughly ‘80s in the middle. Mvula thrillingly sings, “I been praying on the inside/for a sign on the outside/don’t doubt for too long/it’s the darkest before the dawn.” Her search for safe passage feels realized.

Stylistically era-spanning, Future Nostalgia is an appropriate title for this highly danceable pop album. The brilliant “Don’t Start Now” sounds very contemporary, although there are some throwback disco elements as well (Wikipedia describes the track as “nu-disco”), and it’s probably not a coincidence that the lyric “Aren’t you the guy who tried to hurt me with the word goodbye?” mirrors Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” (“Weren’t you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye?”). Warm synths, sharp percussion, and Dua Lipa’s urgent vocals animate “Cool”, a song-of-the-summer contender. I think I can detect some Carly Rae Jepson influence on “Cool,” while “Physical” is Gaga-esq. But make no mistake: Lipa is a unique artist, and the combination of multiple eras and influences creates an original sound. I suppose “Don’t Start Now” and “Cool” are my standouts, but each track brings something to the table, and Future Nostalgia gels together as a whole. So, throw on the album, dance with your friends on Zoom, and create some nostalgia for the future.

For parts of 2017 and ’18, I hosted a music program called Crossroads on WECI, my college’s radio station. One of the shows I enjoyed the most was Beatle-themed, taking a few tracks from Abbey Road and Let It Be as “points of departure” for selections from the solo work of former Beatles. I haven’t listened to the complete solo Beatles catalog so I can’t claim that this is the “definitive” best hour, even by my own subjective standards. However, I hope this gives a flavor of John, Paul, George, and Ringo’s individual accomplishments.

1. Across the Universe—The Beatles—Let It Be
2. Golden Slumbers—The Beatles—Abbey Road
3. Carry That Weight—The Beatles—Abbey Road
4. The Long and Winding Road—The Beatles—Let It Be
5. Run of the Mill—George Harrison—All Things Must Pass
6. Art of Dying—George Harrison—All Things Must Pass
7. Imagine—John Lennon—Imagine
8. Gimme Some Truth—John Lennon—Imagine
9. Watching the Wheels—John Lennon—Double Fantasy
10. Maybe I’m Amazed—Paul McCartney—McCartney
11. Hope of Deliverance—Paul McCartney—Off the Ground
12. Too Much Rain—Paul McCartney—Chaos and Creation in the Backyard
13. Time—Ringo Starr—Y Not
14. Everyone Wins—Ringo Starr—Y Not
15. Stuck Inside a Cloud—George Harrison—Brainwashed
16. Marwa Blues—George Harrison—Brainwashed
17. The End—The Beatles—Abbey Road

There was a period of time as a kid that I effectively refused to listen to anything but Elton John. This obsession began upon hearing the compilation Greatest Hits: 1970-2002 and led to purchasing CDs of John’s classic albums from the 1970s, such as Goodbye Yellow Brick Road and Don’t Shoot Me I’m Only the Piano Player. I also picked up Peachtree Road around the time of its release in 2004 and listened to snippets of 2006’s The Captain and the Kid on the music sampling device at my local Barnes and Noble. For me, these later albums formed a key part of the Elton John canon, a distinct but equal contribution as the music from his early-mid ‘70s heyday. Here, I’ll take a look back at those two albums, as well as 2001’s Songs from the West Coast, which completes the set of Elton John studio albums from the 2000s. 

Songs from the West Coast (2001)

Released before Elton John rocketed into my consciousness, this album is new to me. As the title suggests, Elton John and lyricist Bernie Taupin alchemize their personal American west; John’s characteristic smoothness is spiked with southwest seasoning. “I Want Love” and “This Train Don’t Stop There Anymore,” which were released as singles, are perfectly executed pop songs. But even these tracks are gritty, country-influenced and pessimistic. John is “shot full of holes” and wants “a love that don’t mean a thing.” On “This Train,” Taupin plays a clever trick, alluding to the heartstring-tugging melodies that he and John created over the years:

All the things I’ve said in songs/All the purple prose you bought from me/Reality’s just black and white/The sentimental things I’d write/Never meant that much to me

Lyric via Genius

Much of the rest of the album is stimulatingly off-kilter. From the rhythmic, and very early-00s sounding “Dark Diamond” to the blues-based “The Wasteland,” there’s a distinct element in just about every track. Some are imperfect, but that’s a result of experimentation, and the imperfection makes the album feel like an album. Also not to be missed are the epics “Mansfield” and “Ballad of the Boy in the Red Shoes.” 

Peachtree Road (2004)

On Peachtree Road, Elton John provides a brilliant example of a vocalist modifying their style to match shifts in their range. There are no falsetto la, la, la, la, las here; instead, John’s deep, rich lower register is the star. This time, John and Taupin conjure a version of the American south. Soul music is the predominant influence, although country still plays a role, especially on the excellent “Turn the Lights Out When You Leave.” The success of and problems with utilizing southern imagery are illustrated on “Porch Swing in Tupelo.” It’s an evocative, well-written track, but it is also, frankly, reactionary:

And this place don’t change/Some places move slow/I’m just rocking myself on this porch swing in Tupelo/I got nothing to do ‘cept hang in the breeze/Ghosts of the old south are all around me”  

Lyric via Apple Music

A papering over of oppressive histories is part of the package deal in evoking the myths of the American south and west, and it is the problematic element of John and Taupin’s outsider Americanism.

Peachtree Road is less stylistically diverse than Songs from the West Coast, instead setting an atmosphere diffused throughout the album by John’s vocals backed by guitars, orchestration, choruses, and, of course, piano. Two of the most affecting tracks are the love songs “My Elusive Drug” and “I Can’t Keep This from You.” Although the search for love remains, the album’s central message is one of earned contentment.

The Captain and the Kid (2006)

There’s a brilliant section of lyric in “Postcards from Richard Nixon,” the song that kicks off the album, in which Bernie Taupin seems to be cramming in as many California references as he can fit:

Our heroes led us by the hand/Through Brian Wilson’s promised land/Where Disney’s God and he commands/Both mice and men to stay

Lyric via Apple Music

That’s happy enough, but there’s a dark side, too:

Richard Nixon’s on his knees/He’s sent so many overseas/He’d like to know if you and me could help him in some way/A little camouflage and glue/To mask the evil that men do/A small diversion caused by two

Stylistically modified based on Apple Music’s lyrics

John and Taupin are, of course, the diversion, making “Postcards” a fascinating reframing of the songwriters’ own past. A feature of this album is limited production; John’s piano is the instrumental driving force, as showcased on the rollicking “Just Like Noah’s Ark.” “The Bridge” was the first track that captured my attention years ago, and it remains poignant, if melodramatic. The title track alludes to the 1975 Elton John album Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirty Cowboy. John is Captain (Fantastic); Taupin is The Kid/Brown Dirt Cowboy. Is the track self-indulgent? Sure. But it’s also catchy, comfortable, and well-written. 

As a whole, the 2000s section of the Elton John catalogue can be characterized as south-western geographically, backward-looking thematically, and innovative stylistically, incorporating new elements and setting new moods. Take a listen.

Twigs goes for a much more minimal approach of closely sculpted vocal passages with a tone poetry of electronic garnish. Her own voice drives the songs forward in subtle and strong movements, typically slow, precise and methodical, almost lurching. On “mary magdalene,” for instance, her “come just a little bit closer to me” is hung in the air by a playful stop-start. Additionally aesthetic development is part of her practice here. The outro to “fallen alien” is a Kanye-sized electro-adjacent victory lap, fossilizing the track with a mutated reiteration of its phrases. On “daybed” there is a slow and constant march of a vocal, slowly yielding an angelic profile always on the verge of evolution. 

Here’s an ambitious and moody piece, held together by an alluring, humid gothic atmosphere (most easily heard in the opening of “mirrored heart”) that allows her movements to simmer. It’s a visceral delirium. 

Its theming is more direct than her previous work and no less enlightening and uncomfortable. On “home with you” she’s in the process of peeling back the layers of her devotion on a sweeping chorus which alights pure, tender, selfless consideration (this is mostly contained in the very sound of this highlight). She recognizes neglect on the part of another (or others?), yet what she’s willing to give is disturbingly abundant. Twigs translates her tempered progressions into the most recognizably R&B performance on the album with “holy terrain,” and her forceful depressions are easily banger material. This track stands out as well in that two perspectives of a universalized relationship share their insecurities with its dynamic, in the process debasing themselves (Twigs may be easily taken advantage of as her “fruits are for taking”;  Future is desperate to display his worth and has to “throw gold on [her] just to fall asleep”). It relates to theme of the harmful idealizing of women which runs throughout the project. 

“mary magdalene” is the centerpiece of the major idealized woman theme. She presents an ambiguous glee, at one point relishing the power “a woman’s touch” has while identifying the expectation that she selflessly devote herself to lifting a man higher. She combines her perspective with that of the idealized figure, and it’s an evocative mutation. 

“Cellophane” is the most plainly gorgeous and emotionally raw track which consolidates major themes into a sense of melted longing. Coupled with its dissonance of cold electronics and her warm crystal vocal, it’s a bona-fide sculpture. 

We stan the boundless enchantment of Hounds of Love, and like that one The Sensual World is one of the best packages of music we’ve ever heard. This one takes a decidedly more streamlined approach, and makes up for that sense of direction with wild, innovative ideas realized with turns of disarming beauty, indescribable heights alike to the earmarks of her definitive work a few years before.

Tracks move intuitively. Bouts of choppy abruptness eventually become tight structures of clashing cycles. “Heads We’re Dancing” has a malleable texture, almost loose (not to mention its bonkers story), but its progression of sounds and peculiar repetition make a simple sense. This goes for every other track, not short on surprises but ever turning toward the correct next step. What really makes this piece a microcosm for the album is that it completely earns its cinematic drop-off. 

“Rocket’s Tail (For Rocket)” consolidates some of her new sounds and proceeds to go nuts in a pretty uncomplicated way. This white-knuckle burn is critical and powerful (and my favorite track on the album if anyone’s asking). 

Sometimes it’s the perfect piano-led pop grooves of “Reaching Out” and “This Woman’s Work” that are really what’s special, but then there are the tracks which forge new aesthetics. I’d believe it if Grimes, Laurel Halo, FKA Twigs, and probably a number of other vital auteurs studied this album closely. The synthetic swell on “This Woman’s Work” wouldn’t sound a bit out of place in Sophie’s catalogue. 

There are tangible storybook turns in sound, smooth introductions of new worlds, purposeful beats and distant pictures. “Deeper Understanding” represents an evolution in Bush’s wordless ethereal vocal waves, this time with an eerie perfection that’s not enough like a robot and too much like a spirit. Bush is clairvoyant. 

This album is pop in its lush production and Bush’s ecstatic command as a singer, a swaying queen. But she can also do the strange, disembodied storyteller from behind the wind’s walls. Everything is huge, conceptual, and utterly, sickeningly expansive. It may be a product, but its boundless, effortless sound sends it above itself. I find myself incredulous at its goodness. 

“Running Up That Hill” and “Hounds of Love” are a one-two punch of sweeping beauty, seismic turns and exhalations. The former’s perfect chorus can hardly be held back as Bush longs for power in an oppressive relationship. The latter creates a dust-shattering upfulness (it’s the kind of thing that truly, if for just a minute, replaces malaise), expanding on eager strings and vocals happily swinging around while she begs for help with her emotional growth. I can’t do Bush’s winding performances much justice as she digs in. 

“The Big Sky” runs with this riff and soars, entirely unburdened and shooting off into choral soul swells and topped with a post-punk freakout. But the track is most successful maybe in carrying its image, wherein a neglected lover gazes at infinite possibilities and at one especially rapturous moment tunes out the emotionally bankrupt person holding her back: “What was the question? I was looking at the big sky.” “Cloudbusting” matches it with its telling of the plight of psychoanalyst figure Wilhelm Reich, concentrating an impression of his ambition as an opener of clouds into the workings of a house music queen, even as violins work out organic sublimity: “Every time it rains/ you’re here in my head.” 

These tracks duly represent Bush’s artistic command, her ability to write songs that are held down by nothing, where in fact her preoccupations with iterations of love good and bad are just an aspect of her gale force. And so they open an odyssey of powerful concepts. There the time she gives into weakness on “And Dream of Sheep.” “Watching You Without Me” is too close to home (there’s a sense that

No feelings are off limits) and represents one of the album’s greatest tricks: pulling out eruptions of latent, wordless beauty. This happens on “Hello Earth” as a kind of environmental refrain to a guttural chorus on an ancient spaceship. 

Thankfully Bush has crystallized these encompassing scenes.