Echoes of Silence opens with an explosion of energy and emotion, signaling immediately that it is an album of a much more volatile nature than Thursday. And Abel Tesfaye croons like before, but now without the weeping overtones. Instead, there are some distinctly Jacksonian dance and R&B beats that do more than merely ask for your poetic attention, they now demand it. "D.D." is a powerful and instantly catchy cover the Michael Jackson original is laden with pop sensibilities, but one that still tells the truth in that traditional (after 3 records I think it's fair to use that term) in The Weeknd way even if its not Tesfaye's. That's not to say that Echoes of Silence is all drive, surge and power compared to the previous two albums, but the theme here seems to be a healthy dose of slapping, metallic, sampled drums. Sometimes it sounds distinctly 1980s, but the vocals and lyrics remain straight shots from the hip, refreshing in their honesty and lucidity. Tesfaye remains completely uncompromising in his urgency and ability to wail effectively and overtly sexually.
"Montreal" and "Outside" recapture and re-emphasize the brokenhearted undercurrents throughout The Weeknd's previous tunes, too. With healthy doses of sensual French, "Montreal" is a mood piece that's also all about the girl thinking of the other guy, and Tesfaye, quite resilient and rebellious, stating that it doesn't matter because he wants her. "Outside" has more of a subtle, echoing, vaguely-Asian Traditional quality. But the large part is Tesfaye telling his object of affection what he plans to do to her, namely, sex her up, and eradicate all memories of her previous man in the process. "XO/The Host" with its party dynamic and clear visualizations of the party lifestyle's fallout is an epic, sprawling song that impresses, especially with its intricate layering of samples and tracks. The marching, speeding, rambling and energized "Initiation" is haunting and artistic, enjoyable, but a little rape-y and claustrophobic. But "Same Old Song" has a bluesy vibe, and in thoughtful fashion, recaps the same old songs of love and loneliness.
Essentially, Echoes of Silence is, for fans of The Weeknd, essential. It's a great third part to the arc Tesfaye began with House of Balloons, showing increasing experimentation, quality lyrics, excellent vocals and an ever-growing awareness of the darker sides of life, love and music. It's almost documentary. In the best way. Most of the tracks are below, but you can just download it for free, from the-weeknd.com.
In 2008 I picked up the self-titled Friendly Fires on sale from the now-defunct Virgin Megastore. It was one of those albums that I purchased based solely on a quick track scan, like a musical scavenger picking at the tasty surface meats that hung off of a delicious downed animal. But, it wasn't nearly as disgusting as that makes it sound, obviously. Mostly, I was instantly enamored with the super-catchy punk-dance beats and quality hooks. It was something that I hadn't usually gravitated to at the time, but now informs the majority of my taste. It's Britpop, it's funky and it's fun. And it's a lot like Chinese food, at least based on the common parable, it can be easily enjoyed and heard, but often leaves only a small lasting impression, requiring repeat visits to taste it again and again. Three years later, Friendly Fires returns with Pala, an album whose name comes from the Aldous Huxley novel Island, wherein a journalist is shipwrecked on a fictional island called Pala. In a lot ways, Pala feels like a shipwreck. Not because it is disastrous or flawed, but because it lays the travel and island references on thick, and while the music remains fun enough, it also may as well be deserted. Hearing it at first is a great experience of solitude, but some of the songs are so short that they lack proper sustenance. I imagine being stranded it that way. First, "Yay for freedom." Second, "Boo for lonely emptiness."
The opener "Live Those Days Tonight" is solid, peppy and somewhat innocuous. Not nearly the powerful starting track that "Jump In The Pool" was to the first album. "Blue Cassette" is intentionally lo-fi, telling a story about an old cassette that touches on nostalgia and rumbles enticingly with heavy-hitting drums and quality, echoing vocals. "Running Away" trickles and runs on funk with a touch of clanging bells. It's a fine track, but melodically seems to never quite grab the upper echelon of pop that it nearly reaches for, like the kid in gym who could never quite reach the top of the rope (and I was that kid several times so I know). "Hawaiian Air" is decent, sweet, but somewhat mediocre, trying to paint a sort of island-pastoral concept, but never completely succeeding. Finally, with "Hurting" the album reaches a level of lyrical maturity and compositional difficulty that really makes an interesting track. The repetitive synth and airy vocals, with some blue-eyed soul vibe sprinkled in, really makes the track feel like an '80s pop gem, but with enough complexity to feel new and bright. "Pala" also brings something interesting to the table, drawing on pseudo-darkness combined with bird sounds, camera clicks and shutters, to decorate a conceptual track that really does well. It's a slow dance number, crunchy and cavernous, that is so delightfully interesting it makes for a great experience. The only downside is finding that two of the best tracks are buried halfway into the album, but rest assured that they are worth getting to.
"Show Me Lights" continues that trend with raucous bass drums, crashing cymbals and overlapping vocals all set to a huge wall of consistent sound. One of the better written songs, lyrically, on the album, this one feels as much like a soul track as anything else. And despite a strong opening, "True Love" disappoints slightly once the vocals start. For all of its excellent musical merit, the lyrics lack depth. That's not entirely bad, but when the melody never escapes the music that greatly it leaves the whole song feeling a little bland. Still, it's as good or better than some of the earlier songs. "Pull Me Back To Earth," though is extremely interesting, overflowing with energy and sung over a plucky guitar lead. It builds and crashes and is mostly satisfying, though on repeat listens it becomes more enjoyable than the first time. "Chimes" and "Helpless" both have great moments, hitting on some beautifully paced dance and sweet, sincere, nearly-emo declarations of emotionality. But both of these, despite their notable moments of virtue feel a lot like some of the throwaway tracks from Friendly Fires. Sometimes, Pala feels like it has far more potential energy than it does kinetic. It strives for to be greater, bigger, and more memorable than it is, but it is nonetheless enjoyable.
Built for party music, Pala will serve as an excellent, well beyond suitable backing track to any gathering, shindig, or chaotic dance breakdown. It's a solid album that begs additional listens, and I will say that after a few times through, the more ornate touches stand out greater than on the first pass through. Perhaps it's not an album that will always demand your direct attention, but it is an album that could soundtrack activities very well. And because every song has a special little surprise worth finding in it, whether it's a chorus or a buried bridge, there's a lot to look out for and forward to. Give it a listen below.
If you asked me where the Strokes have been for the last five years, I'd offer the quaint answer that they've been costume shopping. After their long hiatus, the band returns with Angles, an album that appears to be a compilation of ways they could look at writing catchy, chameleon-esque music. The one-time garage rock revivalists now appear in a sort of multiple personality driven sonic variety show. They are one part '80s pop-punk revivalists, one part dance-rock junkies, one part solemn songwriters and all parts hook-driven wunderkinds. Angles doesn't pick a style or focus long enough to become any one type of record. There are moments that sounds like the Strokes are doing a Decemberists impression, others where it feels like late-period Cyndi Lauper, and others that offer flavors and mixes that smell distinctly like Cut Copy. In each case, though, we are tied to Julian Casablancas' iconic voice as the thing that reminds us that we're listening to the Strokes.
We only get 10 tracks, that's about two per year for the hibernating former cock-rockers, but each one is milled from different materials. If these were terrible songs, then the album would be marred by experimentation, as if a painter decided one day to just sculpt something, but had no concept of working in three dimensions. Instead, this album is sadly short. One trip through the track list will barely fill an episode of Popular Television Comedy X. But, a lot happens across the 34+ minutes to be proud of and enjoy because it's not just familial pride here, it's the real thing. The Strokes play with production, adding fuzz, electronics, broad instrumentation that exceeds their trademark guitars/bass/drums. The sound is lush, occasionally melodramatic and exceedingly haunting. But it continues to be fun. The only problem with the record is that a few of the tracks border on epic in scale, but end well before they even reach episodic. Still, I'd say something similar about the bulk of Elvis Costello's work, so this album holds good company.
The raucous fun opener "Machu Picchu" employs a funky, nearly UB40 reggae style that ensures the audience knows this isn't the Strokes of 10 years ago. The song build brilliantly and it's only then that we remember what Julian sounds like. Many of the vocals are buried in overdubbing and tricks. This is re-invention. "Under Cover of Darkness" is more traditional in the Strokes hook brand, but plays with a little rockabilly jangle. "Two Kinds of Happiness" seems to heart Cut Copy and Crystal Castles with its opening echo, but plays with conventional rock more and more as it goes on with decadent guitar solos. The next song, "You're So Right" does great work with production and utilizes the stereo speakers to move the sound back and forth, but also feels unfinished. It is a good song that they slathered with bright paint hoping it would be a great song. But that's only a temporary lull because "Taken For A Fool" hops back into a pop-punk vibe that is enjoyable, if slightly less than perfect. But then my favorite back to back happens with the electro-pop-dreaminess of "Games" and "Call Me Back." In both cases, the experimentation, the costumes the Strokes put on for these tracks just fit better. When they fail it's like they're wearing another band's clothes, but here, they got the new outfits tailored. Especially the transition of "Call Me Back"'s sad riff into the rest of the song.
"Gratisfaction" is excellent too, bouncy and familiar with a catchy chorus. The last two tracks, "Metabolism" and "Life is Simple in the Moonlight" are a bit of a toss up. The energy in the former and the gutsy riffs, combined with the theatrical echo make it beautiful, but also leave it in a place where it could easily a Bond movie credit song back in 1986. For the latter, it feels like a ballad that the Police would have done. And the piled up vocals are brilliant. This year seems to be a one for diversity in albums, and strong closing songs. Perhaps this is the umbrella these bands are putting up against the falling anvil that is the collapsing record industry. Either way, it's kind of nice not knowing what to expect from a band. I had feared that the Strokes would try to trick that old pony one more time, but instead they bought a completely different animal to ride. Maybe it's a llama, but I'm more comfortable saying it's something mythical like a Kelpie.
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