Then We Came to the End

It is the nature of parties to end. The keg gets tapped, the speakers bust, the drugs run out, the girlfriend calls, the cops show up, the market crashes — it doesn't matter how. Sooner or later, the festivities come to a close. And usually, at least a few revelers are left to survey the wreckage and pick up the pieces in the cold light of day. If they're lucky, either it was worth remembering or they can't remember a thing.

The rest of my review of Goldfrapp's Seventh Tree is over here.

Grandmas and gold lame

Aging gracefully is hard work, especially for international mega pop stars. Just because Madonna makes it look easy does not make it so. The tension between artistic choices that flatter a star's abilities and history and ones that help them remain creatively vital and contemporary is pronounced. Kylie Minogue has historically performed better on this score than most — taking time off in the '90s to do some legitimately strange, commercially unfriendly yet fantastic work before returning to form and breaking America with shiny robotic disco was commendable — but her 10th album represents a bit of a misstep. Of course, since the dame turns 40 this year and was just awarded an O.B.E., and since this record is her first since a scary and public battle with breast cancer, audiences should probably cut her some slack. And provided you're capable of looking past the fact that some of the new crazy sounds of today look about as good on her as a gold lame tube top looks on your grandma, this record is plenty likeable.

The rest of my review of Kylie Minogue's X is yonder.

Sweaters

Let's be clear: John Darnielle (essentially, the Mountain Goat) is a monstrously talented guy, and his prolific output and willingness to revisit past themes are unquestionable virtues, at least for those (like this critic) who enjoy his skewed perspective. There are few lyricists working today who have anything approaching his facility with a phrase, and since his Dylan-at-Newport lo-fi apostasy in 2002, he's gotten a lot more adept at translating his compositions in the studio. Taken on its own merits, Heretic Pride is a success, anchored by some surprisingly assertive rock moments (the awesomely angular "Lovecraft in Brooklyn") and featuring all the hyper-literate nasal passion we've come to expect. Some people would kill to make this record, and if it came from an artist who hadn't already recorded eight jillion variations on this sound, it wouldn't bring to mind the old, worn, incredibly comfortable sweater that you no longer wear but keep around for nostalgia's sake. But it does.

The rest of my (actually rather brief) review of the Mountain Goats' Heretic Pride is over here.

The poles of grace and squalor

It's possible to take the title of British Sea Power's latest LP, Do You Like Rock Music?, as a sort of veiled threat: "Well do ya, punk?" seems like a natural subtitle, and not without reason. The loud Brighton foursome have always known their way around a chivalrous intimation of violence, as exemplified by the lyric, "I wrote elegiac stanzas for you/I hope and pray that they come true," from their last record. Similarly, their music charts a course between the poles of grace and squalor—an intricate tonal balance that pays off most satisfyingly on this, their most complex and accomplished album.

Go here to read more.

Coke-bottle glasses, calculus, and Prince

English dance-rockers Hot Chip have always seemed like the kind of nice boys who you might feel comfortable bringing home to Mom, provided that your mom likes coke-bottle glasses, calculus, and Prince. Sure, the title track of their breakthrough album, The Warning, suggested that "Hot Chip will break your legs/Snap off your head," but the song was so coy and burbly that it never really sounded threatening, evoking a nerd's under-breath schoolyard mutterings more than actual violence. Made in the Dark, on the other hand, means its menace.

You can read the rest of my review of Hot Chip's excellent Made in the Dark at Slant Magazine.