But nuts to that: with Rips, Timony, Laura Harris, and Betsy Wright made themselves an all-killer, no-filler power-pop record, the kind that's far too fun to get bogged down with details like "who’s ripping off whom?" or "want me to call you a cab?" Rips is a promise delivered, a dozen songs you swear you’ve heard before but you never quite seem to get sick of. This is the point where I remind you of Timony's long tenure as a musician, scratch my head over the untimely demise of the one-and-done Wild Flag, or rattle off all the Ford-and-Carter-era classic-rock touchstones to whom Ex Hex raise their denim-encircled fists. This seems to happen a lot the leadoff track to Ex Hex-Timony's 2005 solo LP, from which her newest band took their name-found Timony stepping over a warm body en route to the Corn Chex and, nine years later, there they are again, sprawled out all over Rips highlight "Waterfall". Andrew NosnitskyĪnother bleary morning, and Mary Timony finds herself with some joker passed out on her floor. It's a record about a life from which escape (or even escapism) is not an option, where one's best hope is to live long enough to apologize.
Despite its turn-up functionality, My Krazy Life is a tragedy at its core. That's roughly the path his thinly constructed storyline follows, too, from neighborhood anthems to carefully executed heists to the inevitable sad phone calls to mom from lock-up. YG maximizes this minimalism with snarling flows and writes in a smart, simple voice that serves pride, drama, and regret in equal doses. But he saves his best work for the homie here, and fleshes that skeleton out with an appropriately haunting layer of wheezy G-Funk nostalgia. This is narrative, panoramic, and consequence-driven hip-hop in the vein of '90s legends like MC Eiht and Spice 1.įrighteningly efficient hitmaker DJ Mustard handles the bulk of the production and, as with everything he has thrown to market this year, these are sparse and formulaic party records-four to five notes played with one finger that hang in the air until his ubiquitous Mustard on the beat, hoe! drop summons the 808s. This is not the all-too-common contemporary sort of braggadocious street rap where death and wealth are used as competitive or stylistic props.
(And the way the triple beams have been tipping, it might also be the last.) It meets both the literal definition of the genre-YG boasts constantly about his Blood affiliations-and also the classical one. In fact, his debut album My Krazy Life is the first pure gangsta rap album to be released on a major label in many years. YG hails from Compton, California and, like more than a few of his fellow Comptonites, he is what you would call a gangsta rapper. She enters a hyper-intense world on Bestial Burden, and you are right there with her. But if you're wired a certain way, Chardiet's noise music is relatable. It explains how harsh tones can obliterate thought and become meditative. One of the paradoxical qualities of extreme noise music is that when it reaches a certain volume, you feel utterly alone, cut off from the world. It's music about living inside your body and feeling revulsion, but despite the horror, there's also something comforting there, a shared space for raw experience that feels transformative. On her second LP, Chardiet coughs, hacks, spits, and screeches, as metal-on-metal clangs hammer beneath her. There's a mysterious connection between pain and sound: When our bodies experience trauma, we remember buzzes, bells, clicks we remember our own voices, even when they sound like they come from far away. Her grisly album covers (featuring maggots and animal organs), song titles ("Body Betrays Itself"), and frank interviews provide context for her particular take on noise music, but even without all that, it's obvious that this is music about pain. Diamanda Galas once said, "My voice was given to me as an instrument of inspiration for my friends, and a tool of torture and destruction to my enemies." Margaret Chardiet of Pharmakon understands this.
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