Pearl & The Oysters - "Coast 2 Coast"

by Dan Goldin (@post_trash_)

Last year Los Angeles via Miami via France’s brightest experimental pop duo Pearl & The Oysters followed the cosmic joy of 2021’s Flowerland by announcing they’d joined the ranks of Stones Throw Records (Automatic, Quakers, NxWorries), a home that fits the band’s penchant for deep artistic grooves and glistening sonic warmth. Coast 2 Coast, the band’s fourth album and first for Stones Throw, documents the band’s journey from their former home in Florida to their current home in LA, building a surrealistic odyssey of video games, ocean front beaches, and fantastical bliss. Moving from one vast ocean to the next, across the highways and .expanse of middle America, Pearl & The Oysters use their daydream psych to bring a sense of the majestic to the mundane.

Whether coming to terms with boredom and the endless possibilities of all we could be doing (“Fireflies”), two-stepping into cascading psych at it’s most saccharine sweet on a road trip where nothing seems quite as advertised (“Pacific Ave”) or preparing for launch into orbit (“Space Coast”), the duo of Joachim Polack and Juliette Pearl Davis are crafting intricate pop, with layers that reveal themselves in time. Created with hints of Stereolab and Broadcast’s retro-futurism and touches of French yé-yé music, the band sound perpetually carefree but the actual structures prove otherwise as they weave and manipulate deceptively sinuous synths and electronic nuances into every imaginative turn. The textures have been left out in the sun, the imprint of beach chairs and sand made a permanent fixture.

The record’s early singles - “Pacific Ave,” "Konami,” and “Paraiso” each offers a variation on the album’s meditative moods but the band always retain their dream-pop cohesion and space-age radiance. Their rhythms are as much about function as they are feel, the drums could make great hip-hop if they were isolated from the shimmering exuberance of everything else. Beats crack and slink in the pocket, dragging behind the sunshine reflections of squiggly synths, animated omnichords, flutes and a plethora of auxiliary textures, both percussive and melodic. It’s with the backbone of head-nodding grooves that the band are able to launch into deep cosmic Tropicalia, riding the relaxation of the summer as they melt away all concerns. Coast 2 Coast would rather be in the middle of the ocean, riding waves of lush harmonies and kaleidoscopic pop than give into the stresses of everyday life. Grab a drink with an umbrella in it. Put on a straw hat. Drift out with Pearl & The Oysters to an island of hazy comfort.

Poison Ruïn - "Härvest"

by Dan Goldin (@post_trash_)

Poison Ruïn are ready for the uprising. In the three years since Mac Kennedy recorded the project’s self-titled EP, the band grew into a quartet, released both Poison Ruïn II (later combined with the debut to make a triumphant full length of sorts) and Not Today, Not Tomorrow, and played countless shows. Their live sets are amazing, punk riffs so thick the audience seems mesmerized in head-banging unison. They’ve been working non-stop since their formation, working together with RoachLeg Records and Drunken Sailor on previous releases, catching the attention of Relapse Records in the process. Härvest, their second album overall (depending how you look at it) and first record together with their new label, retains the band’s flair for the medieval, distilled in the toil and struggle of the era’s poor and working class, a sentiment that hasn’t changed all that much in modern times.

Their chainmail adorned art and battle scarred sensibilities are far from the world of fantasy. There’s no dragons to be found, no wizards, and little proof of the existence of magic. The sound of Härvest is bleak, it’s an anthem for those left to dwell in the mud and the shit. The rallying cry for the hoards of peasants. They’re not out for blood and dismemberment, they just want their piece of the pie. The recording itself could be said to follow suit. There’s nothing flashy here, the band aren’t using the studio to create the impossible. Instead Poison Ruïn - Kennedy (vocals, guitar), Allen Chapman (drums), Nao Demand (guitars), and Will McAndrew (bass) - retain the lo-fi hiss of their roots, their brand of decidedly glamor-less punk self-recorded, awash in the din of the room. It’s a choice that keeps things raw, keeps the band entrenched among the common people. Even with mastering from Arthur Rizk, the cloud of dungeon smoke and basement grime refuses removal. It’s an aesthetic choice, and it’s one that fits Poison Ruïn to perfection. The songs feel tortured and anguished even before you dig into the lyrics. It’s also a lot of goddamn fun.

The music, while claustrophobic and primal, is generally up-beat, metaphorically chopping heads with rusty tonality and gargantuan forward momentum. The guitars are all tightly coiled around the rhythms, pounding out unlikely hooks and sustained dissonance, ringing and clawing their way toward subtle grooves. The constant onslaught of revolt is only broken by the occasional dungeon synth segue, haunting but meditative, it’s a call to arms. The calm before the storm. The Philadelphia quartet is rallying the people, swinging the axe and scythe in resistance to our money-hungry politicians and the grip of upper class control. With a sound that recalls elements of Hüsker Dü, Wipers, and Crass, Poison Ruïn let their riffs buzz and sustain, the feedback whipping into a swarm. Their tone is locked in, it’s a beacon that cuts through mud. It’s time to rise.

Härvest tends to double-down on the band’s subtle but inescapable hooks. They find themselves buried under destructive scuzz and crusty overdrive, but they’re always lurking. Take the dystopian tone of the album’s title track, begun with cinematic synth dread and augmented with fury, Poison Ruïn come barreling in with a hook that sticks like glue. It’s a shout-a-long anthem delivered in earnest, the fresh air has turned rotten, and the workers are ready for retaliation. The rest of the album isn’t quite as catchy, but the earworms abound when you least expect them, there’s the proto-punk sway of “Frozen Blood,” the mutilated boogie of “Resurrection II,” and the hardcore stampede of “Augur Die,” songs where the guitars and drums do much of the heavy lifting, the melodies seeping in their way in. There isn’t a moment wasted, the band always aim for the throat, pushing their way to a better day, with the force of the people behind them.

Meyhem Lauren, DJ Muggs, & Madlib - "Champagne For Breakfast"

by Dan Goldin (@post_trash_)

We’ve said it before and we will most definitely say it again, Meyhem Lauren is the very essence of New York hip-hop. Lay out a beat for him and he effortlessly crushes it, bar after bar detailing accounts of exquisite living and devious behavior. He’s got an iron clad flow, absolutely bodying beats, shining like diamonds glistening from the shadows. While he will forever carry Queens on his back, the magic of his latest album, Champagne For Breakfast, comes as a historical West Coast moment, the first collaborative project between Madlib and DJ Muggs. A meeting of undeniable giants, the legendary producers, responsible for some of hip-hop’s all-time greatest efforts, work in unison together to design the wavy elegance and the minimalist psych-laced blueprint of Meyhem Lauren’s latest. Their collaboration behind the boards offers trademarks from each of their respective catalogs, merged together to give glimpses of both. Lauren has always represented the lavish style and hard-nosed bravado of rap’s glory years, and who better to arrange the score than Muggs and Madlib. Matching his larger-than-life charisma, their beats set tone and character, pivoting between glorious funk-strewn boogie and menacing minimalism, each rattling out the speakers with dusty perfection.

For as much as every MC would kill to have a production team like Muggs and Madlib, it should be noted that every producer probably feels the same about working with an MC like Meyhem Lauren, someone with the ability to stick like superglue to any beat. Over a swirl of apocalyptic grooves and psychedelic noir boom-bap, Meyhem Lauren does his thing, a living monument to the “fly shit”. While his lyrics don’t offer anything profoundly poetic or pointedly political, Lauren spits it as he sees it, all in the pursuit of the finer things that come within the lap of luxury. He brings a supreme confidence, a big body energy to the proceedings, a manifesto of extravagant meals, designer clothes, and exclusive rides, acquired at any cost. It’s the dream of the come up. Rising from humble means to a life where humble isn’t even in the vocabulary (“I’m an icon, pardon my confidence, dress code dripping got ‘em slippin’ outta consciousness”).

With darts shifting between gangsterisms of counting money and duffle bags of elicit product and his flair for expensive tastes, Meyhem is example of the ends justifying the means.More often than not, however, he can be found in the kitchen or at the chef’s table, appreciating an endless list of elegant meals. Throughout Champagne For Breakfast, Lauren is eating good, dropping references to octopus carpaccio, crawfish étouffée, shaved truffles, grilled lamb, monkfish ossobuco, porcini pesto, Calabrian peppers, saki, scallops, orecchiette, swordfish, yuca, salmon over rice, chimichuri topped skirt steaks, flan, sushi, hand-gathered muscles, ribs, shrimp, and rosemary portobellos… and we’re just scratching the surface. The endless list of food that Meyhem Lauren peppers into his songs probably outweighs all references to fast whips and the street life combined. This is after all, a celebration, a chance for Meyhem Lauren to be in love with the life he’s built. He’s doing his thing, and at the moment, life is good. Over the slamming break-beat jubilation of “Dom Vs Cris” (a truly glorious beat), Meyhem is “out here winning,” welcoming the Spring with new cars and “drinking champagne in the sunshine.” The clouds have parted, there’s nothing ominous about it, Meyhem is living his best life.

It’s not all food and bubbly though, Meyhem Lauren pays homage to hip-hop’s past, both with references to the legends (Biggie, Mobb Deep, Nas, Cypress Hill) and with the indirect homage that comes embedded in his timeless delivery. Like a living breathing “jackin’ for beats,” many of the album’s tracks change direction midway through the song, shifting tempos and tension as Meyhem remains forever unfazed. He rides beats with a smoothness in his flow that goes hand-in-hand with the otherwise gruff nature of his booming voice. Songs like “OD Wilson” and “Big Money” offer short fused beats with a tremendous evil, the type fit for a “Super Villain,” and while Lauren doesn’t often go abstract in the way that MF DOOM would, he does put these beats in a stranglehold. At times he weaves his words without a sense of urgency, like he’s got all the time in the world, and he wants you to hang on every lyric. On the flipside of the coin, Meyhem Lauren still crafts brilliant bars with complex rhyme schemes when the gets the itch. He digs throughout the record between tough and punchy enunciation and tongue twister acrobatics, treating songs like “African Pompano” with its sparse snaps and pulsating bass, to a slew of dizzying bars and rhymes that triple back over the beat.

In the same way that Meyhem Lauren gets to shine, so do DJ Muggs and Madlib, working together to dazzle at each turn, gliding between twinkling pianos and steely organs. Champagne for Breakfast is an album with tremendous flow, not just in the vocal delivery, but conceptual flow in the music itself. The producers piece the work together with a pair of instrumentals, the looped soul heavy “Triple M Airlines” with dusty snares, urgent strings, and a fiery crackle and “Pop Clink Fizz,” a sample heavy, patchwork instrumental that could have fit on Madvillainy. The beats are well crafted, with just enough composition to serve their hypnotic design, chopped and resonant, there’s a constant head nod in place.

Everything comes to it’s celebratory conclusion on the retro summer time soul of “Wild Salmon,” a track that’s lifted with nothing but good vibes. From the breezy ease of the beat with it’s bent guitars, funky bass, and layered soul, to Meyhem’s detailed description of a backyard barbecue, he grills up jokes and braggadocious boasts side by side, setting the scene as he recounts “I told Alchemist to put his shirt on, he’s looking too pale, get some sunlight, you’re scaring the kids” and later reminding us all “the pitbull eats better than your mother.” It’s all good times in the sunshine. As the beat rolls on, Meyhem concludes the record with some words of hope, “Life is one big BBQ, man. Shit got its up and downs but you whenever we bounce back, the mother fucking grill’s gonna be hot and the wine’s gonna be pouring.”

Meyhem Lauren looms large in his lyrics and he’s building the myth and magic of his presence ever larger. Steadily talking shit, immersed in culinary excellence with one foot in and one foot out of the “crime-related” lifestyle, Lauren is having a great time, “looking like a blend of old money and new money”. - DG

Shana Cleveland - "Manzanita"

Shana Cleveland described her third solo record, Manzanita, as “a supernatural love album set in the California wilderness,” a succinct description that sets both scene and mystifying tonality. The natural essence of the woods, mountains, rolling hills, and open skies, are apparent not from setting but from sound. Manzanita takes a spiritual journey free from the city, free from commotion, free from congestion. Cleveland, best known as the lead songwriter for the perpetually great La Luz, gives her surroundings a pivotal part to play, but the song’s are more than their scenery, Manzanita is personal, an album created with overwhelming love, written from the perspective of an expecting mother and elated partner. Throughout the record we’re brought along as Shana Cleveland steps outside herself to witness growing love and undying support, and spoiler alert, the music is utterly beautiful.

Cleveland’s prior solo effort, Night of the Worm Moon, was majestic and spiritual, like a vision trip to the desert as the sun sets over the boundless landscape, filled with scenic beauty and gorgeous arrangements. With Manzanita, we’ve left the desert for the front porch, a survey of the land as it lies, whispering into the twinkling night sky with lullabies and hushed twang. Released via Hardly Art (Lala Lala, La Luz, My Idea), the psychedelic nuances are still there, with proceedings adrift in ghosts, bonfires, and the gentle hum of organs and acoustic guitars, but the haze is cut with a serene nod to warm folk compositions and Americana. Cleveland’s lullaby-adjacent songwriting continuously reaches new heights, grappling with love at its most profound on early single “Faces In The Firelight,” a song she wrote while pregnant about the commitment between her and partner (and bandmate) Will Sprott. The sound of the composition matches the sentiment, awash in lush strings, delicate finger picked acoustics, and a tender rhythmic pulse.

It’s easy to let go of the world and fall into Manzanita, allowing yourself the time to zone out, to embrace the sentiment that Shana Cleveland has developed with stunning clarity. Her voice is as gorgeous as they come, delicate but arresting, we hang on each word and harmony, floating in a way that fits to perfection with the arpeggiated guitars, warbling pedal steel, glowing mellotron, and the soft thump of front-porch percussion. Everything finds its own space, coming together with a celestial grace, a natural patience, and an astounding resolve. Within the wooded atmosphere and vast reaches of the trees, Cleveland doesn’t just soothe, but takes us into another realm, channeling her thoughts into spectral experiences on tracks like “A Ghost” and the embrace of country solitude found in “Mystic Mine.” Manzanita is a complete vision of love wrapped in the wisp of the wind and the warmth of the glistening sun.

Ulrika Spacek - "Compact Trauma"

It never seemed as though the future was promised for Ulrika Spacek and their third album, Compact Trauma. The band started work on the album way back in 2018 shortly after the release of Modern English Decorations in a state of exhaustion. Their initial sessions began at the London based artist loft and studio that had been the headquarters and literal home was sold away as gentrification moved through the neighborhood and the things got progressively more uncertain. Displaced and spiritually fractured, hey moved the sessions to a proper recording studio, made half a record, and then shelved it. They were stalled but then a year or so later, so was the world. The pandemic and the inherent isolation that came with gave the quintet a chance to slow down, to reflect, to revisit what they had both written and recorded. Already deep into personal trauma that were tearing their framework apart, the global trauma in a strange way brought a new interest in finishing their record, and the band reconvened to finish the dazzling album, a personal record with a universal relatability.

Ulrika Spacek’s music, while easily digestible and friendly enough in the sonic sense, is never really reliant on pop. There are hooks, but they come with complexities. The songs are undeniably engaging, but require multiple listens to unpack. There’s an astute sense of purpose in their progressions and layering, but the band generally prefer fascinating expanse over the direct. While mainstream indie tends to favor the boring, the predictable, and the safe, Ulrika Spacek are making music for the rest of us, those who prefer dynamics, moments of intricate bliss, and a band that makes ambitious music by taking interesting routes to arrive from point a to point b.

Best experienced in full, Compact Trauma is an evolution for the band, warping and weaving through loungy psych and fragmented art rock to create something glowing and evergreen. It’s an album detailed in inner struggle, fighting demons of self-doubt and addiction, wrestling with defeatist mentalist issues and finding its place in the world. Ulrika Spacek rarely take the straight forward route, everything is delivered into an esoteric shimmer, the pieces laid into place with a nervy complexity. The thread linking it all together is the album’s majestic charm and whirring warmth. There’s plenty to take in, and in time, the album opens itself up, each new layer finding its home, its essential place in the structure of the record as a singular vision.

The London based quintet experiment with genre, blending psych pop melodies into propulsive motorik forms, fever dream evolutions of noise pop and the fuzzier edges of post-punk. Their influences are recognizable, but Ulrika Spacek travel their own celestial path, tangling themselves into unique progressions, getting jazzy (“Lounge Angst”) while reshaping the relationship between beauty and dissonance (“Compact Trauma”). Songs ring and chime in open spaces, colliding headfirst into climatic anti-hooks (“The Sheer Drop”) and swirling shoegaze adjacent density. It’s all played impeccably tight, and the band manipulate extended run times (“Stuck At The Door”) to dive into cosmic instrumentals, wrenching between tension and eventual release. Where they go next we can’t guess, but we’re grateful for the commitment to Compact Trauma.

Mach-Hommy & Tha God Fahim - "Notorious Dump Legends: Volume 2"

One day after the release of a three part interview over at The FADER, the private and willfully elusive Mach-Hommy released his first new record of the year in the form of Notorious Dump Legends: Volume 2, a collaborative album together with Tha God Fahim. The original, released back in 2018, remains an early highlight of the pair’s work together, an album that merged the Fahim’s sage simplicity with Mach-Hommy’s artistic poetry, at times abstract and artistic, at others hard yet humorous. They are a great duo, whose styles and voices fit together with aural perfection, melodic but focused, slick but raw, with their stream-of-conscious rhymes seeming to bring out a rare spark in each other.

The legend of Mach-Hommy continues to grow, creating music regarded as timeless art, with LPs sold as investments (and at investment prices), but his lyrics seem to come from the opposite side of the spectrum. Mach-Hommy’s music isn’t solely about stacking paper and living fly, it’s about his community, growth, intelligence, power, and overcoming poverty’s deep roots. With Notorious Dump Legends: Volume 2 the duo come out swinging, with an urgency and sharp words delivered throughout the ominous opening track, “Pissy Hästens,” a song that feels like a work already in progress. Mach-Hommy and Tha God Fahim rip their respective verses with braggadocios flair from the get-go, weaving together shadowy verses that detach as enunciations flip and waver over backwards drifts of shaky synths and minimalist bass.

From there the record opens to sunnier skies, with the angelic loops of “Bad Hands,” a song focused on rising above (and towering over) the haters, and the tight skittering horns of “From Vailsburg to Vaudeville,” tracing a bit of Mach-Hommy’s history, loaded with movie references and a taste for the big come-up. The two find themselves in straight lounge mode by the time of “N*ggas Sooooo Good,” capturing a celebration of summer time excess and the ability to shine bright against the doubters. It’s a track that resembles beautiful beaches and laid back bliss, the work of two legendary underground MCs with nothing to prove. They keep with that attitude throughout the rapid fire assurance of self found on “Cold Milk,” the psychedelic and dusty punchlines of “Olajuwon,” and the steely hip-hop-at-it’s-best essence of “Everybody (Source Codes),” a song that unravels to find Mach-Hommy so glued into his flow that even as the beats fades out, we’re graced with an a cappella that twists between esoteric and philosophical.