07.17.2017
MIKE
May God Bless Your Hustle

MIKE is a teenager from Queens who I assume is named Mike, and he raps. I can't really pinpoint anything particular about his voice style, he doesn't have any particularly memorable lines to quote back to you, and nothing about his beats or hooks are hummable. But from the standpoint of artistry and honesty, May God Bless Your Hustle feels great. The beats, produced apparently mostly by MIKE and some character named Sixpress, land somewhere in the Madlib/Shadow sphere of rough, analog, introspective hip hop, without worrying too much about old school boom bap or modern day trap bullshit. The whole album just flows, with MIKE's vocals often pushed so high in the mix that his verses sound like late night audio confessionals rather than attempts at stardom. And even if his style isn't exactly flashy or unique, it works through pure honesty and thoughtfulness. Basically, this is a dude I want to root for over the next few years, hoping that he doesn't get caught up in the seemingly bottomless hip hop hype machine that turns every young Bandcamp and SoundCloud rapper into an overexposed sellout.

07.16.2017
Girlpool
Powerplant

Girlpool's first album was a surprise favorite of mine in 2105. It had this rough, tossed off vibe, sounding like two girls who decided to record an album together at the same time that they're just learning to play guitar, yet totally unafraid to just go for it, arranging their perfectly written songs to fit within the constraints of their limited chops, belting every melody in catchy 2-part harmonies, and not giving a damn that they don't know any drummers.

This new one, then, disappointed me at first. It sounds like a band. A band that knows what they're doing. With a quality set of distortion pedals and a drummer who probably teaches lessons on weekends. "And this is a bad thing?" Well, considering the charm of the first Girlpool album, yeah. The rough edges are generally gone, and their vocals have gone from joyous bellows to more generic breathy indie whispers. And yet. And yet it grew on me very quick. The songs and melodies are still fantastic, and their trademark 2-part harmonies are still everywhere. And the drummer kicks ass and it basically rocks. It was a quick turnaround from "Ugh, Girlpool just ruined their sound" to "Top ten of the year" in my book.


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07.16.2017
Sufjan Stevens
Planetarium

I'm filing this under "Sufjan Stevens," because it feels like his album, but in reality, Planetarium is a collaboration between Sufjan, Nico Muhly, and Bryce Dessner. That sounds like a perfect combination of collaborators, and an album where each song is about some different celestial object or idea sounds like a perfectly batshit dumb idea for Sufjan to absolutely pull off. And when you hit play, it works. It sounds like a beautiful surprise Sufjan album that basically came out of nowhere, and it's terribly exciting. But then it just keeps going, and nothing much happens. It doesn't build to anything great, no single song stands out from the others. It's just, sort of present. Like a lesserAge of Adz. Which sounds harsh, but I don't know if there's anything on here to even be harsh about. It just doesn't land.

07.16.2017
Cigarettes After Sex
Cigarettes After Sex

Cigarettes After Sex sound like some beautiful combination of Rhye and Mazzy Star. And if that sounds good to you, I agree. Album-wise, there's not a whole lot different happening from track to track, but whatever, because [re-insert first sentence here].

06.03.2017
Elder
Reflections of a Floating World

I haven't finished listening to this new (fucking killer) Elder record yet, so I can't really form any real thoughts about it (except that it's fucking killer). I just love the album cover so much that I want it on the top of the page. So here it is. Pretty sweet, right?

06.03.2017
Nightlands
I Can Feel The Night Around Me

Remember a few posts down when I accidentally bought the Cameron Avery album thinking it was a different album by a different bass player of a different popular indie band? Well I knew you were wondering, and here it is! The actual album I meant to buy! Nightlands' I Can Feel The Night Around Me! It's pretty good. Lots of (dare I say?) Beach Boys-y harmonies, chill moody washes, just barely funky. It's good enough.

06.03.2017
The Catherine Wheel
Ferment

Back in late high school I decided I should like the Catherine Wheel. I didn't. Then I tried again in college, still no. Once more around the early-oughts, no dice. But recently I woke up in the middle of the night, and could just feel it. "It's time," the voice told me. "You totally like the Catherine Wheel now." So I picked up Ferment, and I do!

06.03.2017
Father John Misty
Pure Comedy

I've always had a hard time appreciating Father John Misty. Which is odd, because he seems to fit right in to the Harry Nilsson / Randy Newman / Benji Hughes singer songwriter continuum that I'm such a sucker for. But this new one finally tipped the scales for me, and I'm totally sold on this thing that he does. I don't know if I'm ever going to just take it out for fun and enjoyment to listen to all that much in the future; this is some very specific, disruptive, thesis-oriented stuff that doesn't necessarily play well at parties. But to sit and listen to Pure Comedy is like reading a good book, or watching a good movie. Glad I did it, who knows if I'll need to revisit it in the future.

04.21.2017
The New Pornographers
Whiteout Conditions

The New Pornographers put out a new album, and look, it's not too great. It's good and competent like their last 3 or 4, but just doesn't have the highs of their best stuff. But more importantly, I finally managed to see them live! And even more importantly than that, I saw them live with Neko Case on the tour! Dan Bejar wasn't on this tour, but that's okay. To be honest, they all seemed a little bit tired and sleepy, looking a lot like a band that's been doing this for 18 years. But they still played great, they played the hits, and holy crap can Neko Case seriously sing. She's unbelievable. I'd follow her into battle.

04.09.2017
Future Islands
The Far Field

I'm super impressed by Future Islands' ability to stay the course. They easily could've gone the obnoxious route after 2015's "breakthrough", hiring big-name producers (Danger Mouse?) or bringing in bigger sounds (Danger Mouse and an orchestra?) or—mercy—partnering with Young Thug or something. But what they did is make another Future Islands album. And while part of me is curious about what exactly "next level Future Islands" might've sounded like, I'm perfectly happy just taking 12 more songs of Sam Herring—possibly the best voice in all popular music right now—singing over some steely driving indie new wave.


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04.08.2017
Mastodon
Emperor of Sand

Over the last 15 years, every Mastodon album has been something. Remission was the brutal and concise debut. Leviathan was the transformation from concision to confidence. Blood Mountain was the big weird bold step into 'anything goes and we can do it all.' Crack The Skye was the mellowed out prog concept album. The Hunter was an all-out refinement down to songwriting basics. Once More Round the Sun was seemingly an appeal to mainstream popular metal. Things were going so well until those last two. So I was a little nervous for the state of Mastodon leading up to Emperor of Sand... and I'm still a little nervous. I'm really not sure what this album is, how it fits in. If anything, Emperor of Sand is every Mastodon album at once—there's some Remission/Leviathan rage, there's some Blood Mountain weirdness, there's a lot of Skye vocal trading and layering, and there's unfortunately still plenty of Hunter/Once More 3-minute tunes potentially ready for hard rock radio. I don't know what to do with it. Luckily, Mastodon happens to be really, really good. So even if I'm confused by its mission, I still enjoy the hell out of this album.


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04.07.2017
Mount Eerie
A Crow Looked at Me

A Crow Looked at Me is such a personal record that I hesitate to even call it a 'record.' I hesitate even more to attempt to write a review of it—or at least I would if I wrote reviews professionally for some critical venue or another. It's probably the best Phil Elverum record since The Glow Pt. 2, and I wouldn't be surprised if I hear people say it's his best work ever, but even that praise feels imprudent. The situation is that is the man's wife died, and he wrote these songs to try to bear it. Some of them are journalistic records of post-loss minutiae, some are memories of the days and months previous, and some are urgent pleas to the universe to make sense of it all. It's all deeply moving and deeply personal, but written beautifully and honestly, prose poetry just barely formed into songs—and it's all written specifically to her, rather than to the listener or some omniscient third party. I'm not using hyperbole when I say that it's somewhat uncomfortable to listen to, as if these are private recordings not meant to be heard by anyone else. But Elverum released it because he wants to share, so I'm okay with it (although, in honesty, I haven't even turned the record to Side B yet. It's just too painful to engage with all in one sitting). Musically it's very pretty, free of nearly all of the instrumental obfuscation that he's practiced over the last decade, generally acoustic guitar and some assorted droning keys and basses. But lyrically, I think there's no question that it's the best work of his career, although again, even raising the question or placing these words in the same canon as his previous work feels entirely beside the point. The whole collection is wonderful, really, and while I'm sure Phil might appreciate hearing that, he almost certainly doesn't care. This isn't a record of music, it's a record of a man who is trying to cope by doing the one thing he knows best how to do: making a record.

04.03.2017
Cameron Avery
Ripe Dreams, Pipe Dreams

Here's a funny one. I bought the wrong album!

What I thought I was buying was the new compositionally-rich and vocal-centered solo album from the bass player of The War On Drugs, which I'd listened to recently and found intriguing. What I actually bought was the new compositionally-rich and vocal-centered solo album from the bass player from Tame Impala, which I'd listened to recently and found intriguing. Imagine my surprise.

So what happened is that, yeah, both of those albums exist. And I think I listened to songs from both just a few days before. But instead of hearing the spooky and psychedelic choral swirls of the War On Drugs guy (Dave Hartly), I heard Cameron Avery's American-songbook inspired throwback crooning. But I don't mind, because it's good! And perhaps better than being "good," it's interesting.

The thing about this album is that it's a little gross. Whether he's writing these songs to be tongue-in-cheek, or ironic, or even experimental, there's a palpable machismo to the whole thing. Songs about lovin' and leavin' and sayin' "sorry babe" when you have to hit the road with your band, telling your girl to get her hair nice and pretty so you can take a drive with the top down—hell, just referring to her as "your girl". This is all stuff that was probably in music in some times and places, and you could probably hear far worse in any random hip hop album of the last couple decades, but there is something jarring about even hearing someone referring to "my girl" on what's ostensibly an indie rock record. But looking past the lyrics—which yeah, are interesting and impactful in their shamelessness, if a little bit blunt at times—the music here is very much inspired by classic American songbook fare, and not in some corny, Pat Boone kind of way—they're beautifully constructed tunes, and recorded with the earnest grit of a National or Walkmen album, not an ironic horn section to be heard. And what keeps this all from becoming just too much is that, shit, this dude can fucking sing. I'm not saying he'd win American Idol or anything, but he'd at least make it to Hollywood. Although beyond a couple tracks, he actually handles most of the vocals more in the Leonard Cohen (late 80s Leonard Cohen) vein. Really, the short version of this review is "Leonard Cohen performing A Little Touch Of Schmilsson In The Night with The National as the backing band". I can see a point six months from now when I'm sick of this album and never want to hear it again, but for now I'm absolutely fascinated by it.

07.18.2017 - by Steve
Pizza PartyBrooklyn
Pizza

I had more pizza at a bar called Pizza Party, which is this close to being an annoyingly twee hipster name, but I think is actually fun and charming. Anyway, the pizza reminded me of our beloved 'Minnesota style' pizza, if that's actually a thing. It was pretty good I guess. I don't remember what else I had to say about the place. Anyway.


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07.18.2017 - by Steve
San LocoBrooklyn
Tacos

After the disappointment of La Lupe, I still had a taco jones to fix. San Loco did the trick. This is a tiny little take-out counter that advertises itself specifically as "Gringo-mex". Or as I like to call them: "Mom tacos." Interesting see a non-chain place specifically advertise this sort of Americanized, Taco Bell style taco as a feature rather than a bug. But I guess San Loco has been around for quite a while in the Lower East Side in Manhattan, and had a good enough reputation. Anyway, I got the San Loco equivalent of a double decker taco (basically the most perfect fast food item ever created, in my opinion; a hard shell taco coated in refried beans and wrapped in a flour soft shell. Get one next time you're at Taco Bell. It's great). And hey, it was great! Ground beef and cheddar cheese and iceberg lettuce. Not trying to be a "real" taco, but absolutely satisfied me. Talk about authenticity all you want, but there's something to say about this global cultural exchange of ours.

07.17.2017 - by Steve
La Lupe CantinaBrooklyn
Tacos

La Lupe is a somewhat cool taco joint in Bushwick, but I'm not going to write much about it, because the service was unreasonably slow and the tacos were very boring. But the photo looks pretty, huh?

07.17.2017 - by Steve
Lucy'sBrooklyn
Smoked beef banh mi

You've already read my thoughts on the Brooklyn Vietnamese food scene. Actually, you probably haven't. Well scroll down to Little Mo and then come back up here maybe.

Back? Good. Hi there. Thing is, I didn't love Lucy's. I don't remember the details of why I didn't like it, but the bread felt wrong, the meat was a little tough, and in general it just didn't come together as I'd like it to. But part of that might have been spoiled expectations, because: Lucy's is the best smelling restaurant I've ever been or walked past. Not exaggerating. The place is tiny—it's basically a kitchen, a counter, and one table. So you're a lot closer to the smells of a kitchen than you often might be, making the smells that much stronger. But even then, the aroma coming out of Lucy's front door is incredible. Because aside from the standard smells of a Vietnamese kitchen, that pho broth and lemongrass and fish sauce, Lucy's is smoking meats back there. It's magical. I bet the pho is amazing, but my sandwich just didn't live up to the smell.

07.16.2017 - by Steve
Little MoBrooklyn
Short rib banh mi

I was surprised at the number of Vietnamese places in Brooklyn. Well, maybe not simply the number (there are plenty more to be found in Minneapolis and St. Paul), but the number of cool Vietnamese places. Where most of the Twin Cities spots are hole in the wall, family affairs, the Brooklyn places seem to operate out of the "Hey, pho and banh mi are hot new food trends!" mindset. Which, sure, why not? Lucy's is the real hot spot (you probably scrolled past it already), but the best one I tried is Little Mo's. Not much to report in terms of the makeup of their banh mi—it's got all the stuff you want, and some nicely flavored short ribs—but the best thing about it was the bread. To me, the hard crunchy crust of the French roll that tops of a banh mi is often what ruins it. It shouldn't be painful to eat a sandwich! But Little Mo's bread actually had a nice softness to it, without feeling cheap or lesser. A great sandwich! Sadly: I overheard the cashier mention that the place would probably be closing soon. There's some elevated train construction happening nearby that's going to tie up that corner for months, and the owners just decided to shut it down entirely. So, you'll have to go to Lucy's instead I guess.

07.16.2017 - by Steve
Pearl'sBrooklyn
Jerk chicken bake

First world problem, sure, but I'm a little bummed that my first dinner in New York was maybe the best meal of my entire trip! Pearl's is a Caribbean restaurant tucked around a corner, just barely away from the mustached and braless masses of Bedford Avenue in Williamsburg, who specifically announce themselves as "Pearl's Bake & Shark"—a bake being a sort of Caribbean sandwich on a corn-based fry bread, and shark being, yes, that. I didn't eat any shark, because it kinda creeps me out and makes me sad, but I did have a jerk chicken bake, with a side of rice and beans. And there's not a whole lot to say other than that it was delicious! Not too spicy, not too "jerky", just a well balanced pile of flavors in a slightly-hard-to-eat package. Maybe not as mind-bendingly good as the best meals at Harry Singh's, but far more approachable and not nearly as olfactorally exhausting. Highly recommended!

07.16.2017 - by Steve
Roberta'sBrooklyn
Fennel sausage pizza

There's a restaurant in Brooklyn with no windows and no signs and they have their own radio station and a secret garden on the roof, where the bartender looks like Morrissey and you have to wait two hours to get a table. Well, there's actually probably a handful of those. At least one other one on the same block, I'd bet. But this one is Roberta's, and it's the shit and their fennel sausage pizza is pretty great.

07.16.2017 - by Steve
Northeast KingdomBrooklyn
Burger

For our second NYC dinner, we met up with Libby's old friend Chris (who, insanely coincidentally, lived literally around the corner from where we were staying), and went to his favorite local spot called Northeast Kingdom. The food was fine. All you really need to know is "duck fat tater tots." Yes. But more important for me to note about this place is how it represents a eye-opening and noticeable trend in the world of Brooklyn restaurants (specifically Bushwick, Brooklyn restaurants). Maybe it's a European thing or something, but the branding happening on new restaurants there is absolutely minimal. No signs, no logos, no awnings. At most, the name of the place will be hand painted in a small corner of a window. Or written on a chalkboard on the sidewalk. Maybe some gold leaf window lettering. But it's almost as if there's an unspoken competition happening about who can make their bar/restaurant more inconspicuous (see: Roberta's). The interiors are all similar, too; dark, bricky, woody, earthy, desperately trying to feel lived-in. It works though!

08.24.2009 - by Steve
Oasis of WilliamsburgBrooklyn
Shawarma sandwich

I've had chicken shawarma before, and I've had plenty of gyros before, but this thing I ate at this randomly chosen Williamsburg deli was something else. It started as a standard pita stuffed with sliced shawarma--lamb and turkey in this case--but on top of that was a pile of red cabbage, some sort of peppered pickles (which, according to my research, may have been pickled gherkins), mystery onions, a tzatziki sauce unlike any I have ever seen, and a substance that can best be compared to Chipotle's hot salsa. It was like Egypt, Germany, and Mexico all crammed into one unfortunate pita. The meat, I'm sad to report, was a little bit dry, and the meat/veggie distribution demanded some creative bite-taking. But as I made my way to the middle, it was juicy and delicious and different. And just five bucks. I can't imagine finding a much better and equally filling five dollar meal anywhere, be it New York or wherever. Okay, so I could probably get a better deal on it if it was "Oasis of Cairo" (where it would likely be served to me by the immigrant deli owner, a guy from Kansas City named Andy), but the more I think about it, I don't know if I could ever find a similar sandwich in the Twin Cities. As soon as I get home, I'm storming into the Lyndale Deli and demanding gherkins, dammit! Gherkins!

08.22.2009 - by Steve
EggBrooklyn
Cheese omelette, candied bacon

The obvious first thought: "Oh god, someone opened a breakfast joint in the middle of Williamsburg and decided to call it Egg? Why don't you just shoot me in the head and feed my body to some free range chickens and get it over with? However, after eating there, I have nothing to complain about. For having the gall to name themselves "Egg," there was little or no sense of self-importance or preciousness in either the menu or the interior itself. The space was small and contemporary, but inviting--white walls, unfinished wood ceilings, reclaimed wood tables, that sort of thing, but lived-in enough that you wouldn't get kicked out if you spilled ketchup all over the floor (which I didn't do, thank you very much). The food was perhaps a little too pricey, but really no more than eating at French Meadow or such a place (and cheaper than Cafe Maude, although you should expect to pay a premium for suchcivilized leisure). I suffered major ordering regret--cognitive dissonance, if you will--about my omelette. I should've went with the biscuits and gravy, which Ben ordered and were spicy and just how I like them. The omelette was okay, a little too mushy in the middle, but the hashbrowns were fantastic. Very different, as well; they were basically a big ball of potato hash deep fried into what could easily be confused as a giant falafel ball. Crunchy on the outside, hash-browny in the middle. And of course, I wouldn't dare eat at this place without ordering their candied bacon, which sounds a lot more ridiculous than it really is. Basically, they cook up their bacon coated in maple syrup to create a nice layer of sweetness on the outside. Very tasty. All in all, it was probably a little too expensive, and it can be an awfully long wait to get in if you don't get there early enough. But I'd certainly go back there in the future if its space isn't taken over by a cupcake shop or discount keffiyah outlet. (Oh, and also, free homemade donut holes when you are seated.)

08.21.2009 - by Steve
Grimaldi's PizzeriaBrooklyn
Sausage and red pepper pizza

For the second time this year, I found myself standing in line with a horde of bitter people for a unusually long amount of time outside a highly-regarded pizza place in a very large American city. But unlike my experience with Gino's East in downtown Chicago, this time I actually left satisfied. Granted, Grimaldi's is a completely different beast than Gino's East; we're talking about a one-off, family-owned, coal-fired pizza joint who's popularity is based solely on its reputation and quality, not a mythic regional institution who filters millions of customers a year through its several locations in search of a pizza the size of a tractor tire. The fact that it is located practically underneath the Brooklyn Bridge (very impressive, by the way) certainly doesn't hurt, either. Thin, chewy, and fresh, the pizza was much more similar to something you'd get at Punch than any big greasy pie you might find somewhere (anywhere) else. And to be honest I have a hard time finding anything particular that distinguishes it from Punch. But if you were to set a Punch pizza and a Grimaldi's pizza in front of me right now, I'd choose Grimaldi's, hands down. It was just a perfectly enjoyable pizza with good sauce, good crust, and good cheese. As we were finishing up, we were kindly greeted by who I assume is the owner, a cartoonishly Italian Brooklynite who managed to disparage Bostonians, Asians, gays, children, and himself in about 1.5 minutes, in a way that would've been charming even to gay Asian children from Boston. I believe the staff of Gino's East simply turned the lights off and spit in our to go boxes as they pushed us out the door.