Crack Cloud - 'Pain Olympics'

By Phillipe Roberts

Mind-bending polyrhythms. Crushing bass. Assertive vocals, yelping, howling, and roaring for attention above brutal noise. In the eternally escalating 2010s post-punk arms race, Crack Cloud “emerged” in 2017 to near-universal praise for both their total command of the genre’s instrumental tropes, and their uniquely gutting chronicles of escape from a host of addictions: drugs, possessiveness, and the parasitic fever dream of capitalism as a whole. So when, in the midst of a pandemic, their “debut” album was announced with the jaw-dropping title Pain Olympics, their fate as wretched rockers at the top of a brooding heap seemed an inevitability. I was excited. You were excited. We all braced for the onslaught.

What a sweet relief to be dead wrong. Rather than the pain-numbing exercise in frantic riffing that might have been suggested by the excellent singles that preceded the album, Pain Olympics instead finds Crack Cloud exposing its soft underbelly, reframing a call to arms as a declaration of rebirth. Throwing off the chains of expectations, the Vancouver collective runs absolutely wild, taking the Olympic theme quite literally as they deliver operatic anthems, juicy, synthesized funk, and devastating acoustic ballads on one of the year’s most vital records. Burn down your fears and fly into the post-truth future–Crack Cloud wait with open arms.

Nowhere is the gravity of their ambition felt more completely than on Pain Olympics’s opener, the dazzling “Post-Truth (Birth of a Nation)”. Hardly a minute into the song’s rumbling introduction–a blistering, tom-heavy charge into call-and-response screeches of guitar, held together by truly sinister sub-bass–the apocalyptic proceedings take a heavenly turn. Guitars fade into oblivion, replaced by an angelic chorus carrying a theremin-like melody reminiscent of a classic space opera score. When the dust settles after five delirious minutes of sonic experimentation that rattles through skronking horns, sampled laughter, and a smattering of industrial noise, it feels as if the curtain has been pulled back on an entire world, ripe for exploration.

Crack Cloud thrives in this nonlinear, open-world mixtape format. Across the album, similar textural trials leave the rhythmic obsessions of their previous works in the dust of time. Previously unthinkable flourishes like the robotic auto-tune crooning on “The Next Fix,” the dizzying mid-song drum solo on “Ouster Stew,” and the smeared guitar shoegazing of “Angel Dust (Eternal Peace),” coexist perfectly with urgent punk drive. Artful transitions between songs blur the lines of genre even further, softening up the mind for whatever curveball lies in wait. Where a lesser “band” might fizzle in attempting such a grandiose shift in tone, Crack Cloud uses their distinct advantage with a collective’s worth of ideas to harness, as well as their time-honed skill, to tame that sprawl with an exacting ear for melody and an eagerness to design a future unhinged from nostalgia.

This endeavor’s success is due in large part to frontman and drummer Zach Choy allowing a greater diversity of voices to take center stage on Pain Olympics. The aforementioned choruses in “Post-Truth” and “Angel Dust” are the most striking examples, but “The Next Fix” and “Favour Your Fortune” both reap benefits from the use of massed voices: the former finding healing in its soothing mantra-like coda, and the latter spiking tension with explosive rhymes that bounce and stretch within the stereo image, surrounding the listener like a ring of fire. When Choy does take control, he wields the mic with deadly conviction. Playing foil to the dingy strums of acoustic guitar on “Something’s Gotta Give,” his ragged inhalations and the way his voice just barely carries the tune of the song ensure that his anguished plea to “please be so kind” hits like a hammer. And in quintessential art-punk form on “Ouster Stew,” he sneers and barks with the best of them, sounding quite perfectly like the doomed, trenchcoat-wearing rebel leader that the song’s music video makes him out to be.

Do not mourn for the Crack Cloud of yesterday. Beneath all the brave, sweeping orchestrations (and sometimes above it, as in the blazing “Tunnel Vision”) they’re still the same triumphantly resilient punk powerhouse that they’ve always been. Through their commitment to unravel their own predispositions and gnaw constantly at the urge to remain landlocked in despair, they’ve vaulted past any notion of capitalist competition to become only more human, more empathetic, and more graceful than ever before. A humble document of the wisdom of collective resistance, Pain Olympics is an essential listen for weary souls eager to get back into the fight.

Corridor - Junior

By Phillipe Roberts

Thrilling down to its triumphant final fadeout, Junior is the brilliant finale of Corridor’s ascent from ragtag Montreal punks to SubPop’s first ever Francophone signing. Listening to their previous album–the shimmering, shape-shifting Supermercado–it’s hard to imagine Corridor taking their grounded, elemental rock and roll sound any further. An uncompromising stunner, Supermercado’s carefully-crafted eleven tracks formed a distinct, ornately-detailed sonic universe, dense with the kind of golden melodies that could make any one of them a hit. With Junior, Corridor have achieved a bold new evolution of their style and produced a cohesive, invigorating album that’s far too energizing to listen to sitting down. This is the one you dance to.

Junior’s laser-focused continuity could be boiled down to the duress under which it was created; a week was all the band had to produce the masters in time for a 2019 release. That urgency translates directly into the grooves on the record, as Corridor have never made an album that sounds so focused right out of the gate. Trading Supermercado’s winding elegance for suckerpunch immediacy, the band dives decisively into opener “Topographe,” laying down a lush thicket of guitars as vocalists Dominic Berthiaum (also bass) and Jonathan Robert (also guitar) spar in reverb-drenched call and response. Drummer Julien Bakvis blasts through the wall of sound with a melodic drum part–if Animal Collective ditched their samples for guitars once again for a louder Sung Tongs, this might be where they’d land. 

The next three tracks conjure up more familiar sounds for Corridor, as they dig down into the hook-laden, dreamy indie rock that they know best with a new vigor. It’s a breathless sprint: the mysterious riffing of “Junior,” the gritty krautrock pulse of “Domino,” and the rambunctious, seasick “Goldie” with its heavenly synthesizer jam and detuned, ambient outro. Guitars are everything in a Corridor song, and these three tracks are as much an exhibition for Robert and second guitarist Julian Perreault’s deft interplay as they are expertly crafted rock tunes. The pair have never sounded better, and they push each other to symphonic levels of bombast. “Agent double” is especially bombastic, the duo playing off Berthiaum’s bass for a climbing post-punk outro that suggests danger around every corner. 

True to the spirit of their rousing live shows, Corridor earns every second of these delirious jam-outs. “Domino” in particular feels like it could stretch out even further, invoking the measured lullaby of Deerhunter’s “Desire Lines,” while piling on the feedback at the pace of Parquet Courts’ Velvet Underground-worshipping best. You’re left with the sense that the band had to be reigned in just before disappearing completely over the event horizon.

Synthesizer additions and the gentle balladry of “Grand Cheval” aside, Corridor sticks to their guns throughout Junior, preferring to augment their guitar-driven sound with effects when necessary, rather than bow to the impulse to burn it all down. These experiments, like the race car crashing into the opening drum hits on “Milan,” or the arena rock drum fills and skronking sampler solo that kicks “Pow” into the great beyond, feel necessary. They never crowd the band out of existence, or suggest any hesitancy. On Junior, everything lands on sure-footed instinct, precisely on cue.

As the instrumental fireworks crest on appropriately-titled album closer “Bang,” sending the band off into the sunset with Spaghetti Western guitars and a positively tear-jerking synthesizer solo, I find myself reflecting on the first time I saw Corridor live. Packed beneath the hardly eight-foot high ceilings at L’Escogriffe in Corridor’s hometown of Montreal, the four-piece whipped our swirling mass of bodies into a frenzy, song after song. Now, as they soundtrack their own curtain call, fading steadily for over 30 seconds, it feels like the end credits to this chapter of a whirlwind underdog story. Here’s hoping that this release–and the next–launches them into an even brighter future, bringing new crowds to their feet and into the air for years to come.

David Vassalotti - The Light

By Jordan Feinstein

David Vassalotti’s “The Light” is a song about the very specific moment when someone has messed up and is terrified that it will end their relationship. But instead of anger at his partner, David experiences relief that everything is out in the open now, and he can now exist with and see them honestly.

“The Light” is filled with beautiful lyrics and sounds, both taking a quasi-psychedelic approach to its themes. “There’s no beast left to fear behind the door… it’s good to see you here // it’s good to be with you here // why did it take so long to turn a light on?” Describing this unknown as a feared beast behind a door is a beautiful and fantastical metaphor. They entered the room, turned the light on, and instead of a monster, they’ve only found themselves together in a new, well-lit room. This warmth and comfort is paralleled in the aural landscape of the song: a warm bath of guitar, drums, and gentle singing. A repeated “boom” sounds throughout the track, perhaps meant to be the revelation in the relationship. But it’s non-threatening, mixed softly under the calming guitars and drums–an explosion that wasn’t. The song ends with a psychedelic journey of sounds as they “go out the back door,” awash with potential and optimism for what comes next

“The Light” is a beautiful take on a moment that could have been terrifying, but instead turned mesmerizing and exciting. It’s a complex and mature conclusion from a songwriter comfortable exploring themselves honestly, and more than capable of translating it into a gorgeous song. It’s no easy feat, and makes me nothing but excited to hear what David Vassalotti does next.

“The Light” is from David Vassalotti’s new album Guitar Dream out on 1/25/19 and up for pre-order here.

PREMIERE: The Channels - See No Reason

Phillipe Roberts

Deeply apocalyptic and hauntingly personal, the no-wave clatter of The Channels will give you the creeps for days on end in the best of ways. Led by guitarist-vocalist Wes Kaplan—whose solo project, The Craters, also released a phenomenal record last year—the band creates roaring rhythmic conversations, locking into hellish, nerve-wracking grooves that call to mind noise pioneers Arab on Radar and DNA and grinding them to pieces with caustic precision. The sounds are metallic and abrasive, courtesy of prepared guitar techniques paired with a minimal use of effects that envelop them in a sleek alien sheen. Even for the initiated, alien is probably the best description of The Channels. On their upcoming album through Drop Medium, Double Negative, an extraterrestrial heart attack with eerie hooks in all the wrong places, their formidable howling is magnified to hypnotic new heights.

Our first taste of Double Negative comes wrapped up in the controlled chaos of “See No Reason,” one of the more straightforward numbers that can’t help but come off as lightly anthemic despite The Channels’ fascination with the grotesque. Kaplan’s distorted guitar sirens square off against the powerful rhythm section of drummer Nick Baker and bassist Ian Kovaks (formerly of Guerilla Toss), weaving a flurry of delayed notes in between their unexpectedly funky backbeat. “Everyone knows it’s a fucked up town,” he chants in the breakdown, yawning with detached slacker coolness, perking up into echoes of “I see no reason / To stick around,” as the track tears off into oblivion. Like sleepwalking through a nightmare, Double Negative dances on the edge of fear with supernatural grace.

Pre-order Double Negative here, out April 13.

REVIEW: KOKOKO! - Tokoliana / L.O.V.E. // Tongos'a / Likolo

Phillipe Roberts

Go ahead and drop those thoughts of trying to tie KOKOKO! down by boxing them into any lineage of influences. These Congolese DIY revolutionaries are their own heroes, positioning themselves at the forefront of a groundswell of artistic radicalism currently seizing their native Kinshasa. A loosely organized collective of musicians, their relentless grooves are quite literally designed from the ground up; without a speaker in sight, the crew assembled a small hoard of junk instruments using readily available metal and plastic scraps. KOKOKO! are purpose-built, recycling and refining yesterday’s rubbish into “the sound of Kinshasa’s tomorrow.” For now, that sound is distilled into a scant four tracks that manage to cover a tremendous amount of emotional and musical territory without skipping a beat.

On the two EPs that make up their current discography, the band is produced by French artist Débruit, an enthusiastic musical excavator whose last album, Débruit & Istanbul, fused his modern electronic and hip-hop sensibilities to collaborations with local musicians. Débruit took an even more active role here, playing in live incarnations of the band at clubs and street parties until those freeform jams crystallized into discrete songs. On the recordings, however, his influence is felt to varying degrees, and comes through more clearly on the earlier Tokoliana EP, where his thick slabs of synth lend some familiar tone and take a more commanding role in dictating chordal structure.

But even on his most pronounced turn, the title track, Débruit is keen to highlight the harsh textures and mangled beauty of KOKOKO!’s organic instrumentation. The track has a post-punk strut to it, courtesy of an scratchy one-stringed bass line that croaks with just the right amount of distortion, light reverb on the drums, and dark, insistent vocals from singer Makara Bianco that deliver a hypnotic warning in Lingala: “We are devouring each other.” A sharp staccato rhythm from an impossible “guitar” (made of what I imagine to be steel pipe) blasts along, adding a funky edge that makes “Tokoliana” their strongest candidate for neon-lit success. The B-side, “L.O.V.E.,” winds down the pace for a smoother vibe without sacrificing any grit. Live or sampled, the brittle bent notes and unpredictable harmonics played on the wire harp are unnerving but mesmerizing, snapping you to attention if you get lost in the whirl of R&B vocals panning from right to left.

Tongos’a, arriving two months after Tokoliana, throws a similar one-two punch, but the closer, “Likolo,” may be the most intriguing track of the handful. Showing off the band’s frightening versatility, “Likolo” rounds off those edges for a slow-burn, bass-heavy disco track that piles on the anthemic chanting to elevate existential lyrics to a collective battle cry. “We are all naked bodies under the sky,” Bianco cries, heart tearing at the seams, “We all know how it’s going to end.” Given how thrillingly unpredictable KOKOKO!’s journey has been so far, here’s hoping they keep that particular spoiler to themselves. Four tracks in, they already sound limitless.