Fopp's Best Albums of 2016

ANOHNI has collaborated with Oneohtrix Point Never and Hudson Mohawke on the artist's latest work, HOPELESSNESS. Late last year, ANOHNI, the lead singer from Antony and the Johnsons, released “4 DEGREES", a bombastic dance track celebrating global boiling and collapsing biodiversity.  Rather than taking refuge in good intentions, ANOHNI gives voice to the attitude sublimated within her behavior as she continues to consume in a fossil fuel-based economy. ANOHNI released “4 DEGREES,” the first single from her upcoming album HOPELESSNESS, to support the Paris climate conference this past December. The song emerged earlier last year in live performances. As discussed by ANOHNI: "I have grown tired of grieving for humanity, and I also thought I was not being entirely honest by pretending that I am not a part of the problem," she said. “’4 DEGREES' is kind of a brutal attempt to hold myself accountable, not just valorize my intentions, but also reflect on the true impact of my behaviors.” The album, HOPELESSNESS, to be released world wide on May 6th 2016, is a dance record with soulful vocals and lyrics addressing surveillance, drone warfare, and ecocide.  A radical departure from the singer’s symphonic collaborations, the album seeks to disrupt assumptions about popular music through the collision of electronic sound and highly politicized lyrics.  ANOHNI will present select concerts in Europe, Australia and the US in support of HOPELESSNESS this Summer.

In November 2015, at the end of a ten month period which saw him play over 200 shows, Ryley Walker decided that he should probably head home. However you wished to measure it, he was surely due some sort of holiday. The preceding months had been extraordinary. In March, his second album 'Primrose Green', emerged to critical hosannas from the likes of NPR, Village Voice, Uncut, and Mojo – in the process, earning admiration of musicians who had chalked up no shortage of turntable miles in Walker’s life. Robert Plant declared himself a fan – as did double-bass legend Danny Thompson, with whom Ryley would later embark on a British tour. For all of that, a holiday was the last thing on Ryley’s mind – and certainly not a holiday in his adopted hometown. After a year spent on the road, all that Ryley could associate with Chicago was the emotional debris he had left behind. Indeed, anyone who caught his performances throughout the course of 2015, will attest to Ryley’s apparently effortless facility to conjure a breath-taking spectacle from a standing start. By the time of his 26th birthday last summer though, it became increasingly clear to Ryley that his recorded work was becoming less and less representative of the directions he and his close-knit group of musicians were taking in the live shows. Word of mouth and critical acclaim ensured sell-out audiences at his British shows, whilst a sprawling tour of the USA around 'Primrose Green' presented a perfect chance to workshop ideas for what would eventually become his third studio album, 'Golden Sings That Have Been Sung'. Last May, before an audience of “about four people” in Cleveland Ohio, Ryley remembers springing a new riff upon long-time guitar foil Brian Sulpizio, over which he found himself singing the line, “I only have a Christian education.” Over a period of successive nights, this riff, attached to a single lyrical fragment, broadened out into what would become one of the signature songs on the next record – with Ryley as much a fascinated witness to its creation as those who saw it taking shape. Of “Sullen Mind”, the song which grew out of those improvisations, Ryley explains, “I felt like I wasn’t raised to have to deal with negative, dark things in my life, but the reality is that I do. Everyone does. And a Christian education isn’t likely to save you from that.” Over the ensuing months, Ryley’s increasing desire to push himself beyond the strictures of songs he had already recorded, increased his hunger for concocting new material before ever increasing audiences. In September, over 1500 people turned up to watch Ryley and his band at Amsterdam’s legendary Paradiso club. “I didn’t really have any lyrics at that point. All I had was ‘You could find me at the Roundabout’. I was thinking about a bar just outside of Appleton, Wisconsin, called The Roundabout, that I’d sometimes go to with my parents.” What is ostensibly a song about “any of those bars in the mid-West where the beer is $2 for a giant glass of beer, and they’ve got chicken fingers and fries for $5” opens a portal into Ryley’s own blue-collar psychogeography, with inspired gambolling double bass from Anton Hatwich to help propel us there. If “The Roundabout” represented a symbolic return to Chicago, other songs were directly wedded to Ryley’s actual return there. Some of his formative musical memories had been shaped by the work of pioneering Chicago acts such as Gastr del Sol and Tortoise. “Jeff Parker was the guitarist with Tortoise, and I used to listen to him a lot,” recalls Ryley, who figured that, for the first time in his career, it might be helpful to enlist the services of a producer. With only one person on his shortlist, once again, all roads led back to Chicago. Ryley had been a long-time admirer of sometime Wilco multi-instrumentalist LeRoy Bach. Back in 2009, still in his teens, he had frequented the improv nights hosted by Bach at a restaurant/gallery space called Whistler. “For me, it was an incredible opportunity,” recalls Ryley, “…because you would sometimes also have Dan Bitney, the drummer with Tortoise, and I’d get to play with these people. I mean, they were twice my age. I’m sure they thought I was annoying at first, maybe some of them still do, but I kind of looked at them like gurus – and to have these old school Chicago heads taking me in was just amazing.” For Ryley then, the prospect of having Bach produce his album was something of a no-brainer. “It was everything I wanted it to be,” he enthuses. “I would go to LeRoy’s house every other day with a riff, and we would take it from there.” Perhaps more than any other song on the record, the somnambulant sun-dappled intimacies of opening track “The Halfwit In Me” most audibly bear the imprint of those Whistler sessions. “Absolutely,” concurs Ryley, “I have to give LeRoy a hand for that. He helped shape that song, especially the clarinet parts. We went into the studio over the Christmas vacation – in fact, I think we actually recorded that song on Christmas Day.” Here and elsewhere, it’s impossible to miss the concerted lyrical shift away from the rapt generalities of 'Primrose Green' and into avowedly personal territory. “Funny Thing She Said” is a case in point – an unflinching study of separation set to a shimmeringly supple ensemble performance, at times calling to mind David Sylvian’s late 80s solo albums or the humid euphoria of Iron & Wine’s best work. Perhaps the most exciting moment of these recordings though, came right at the very end, when he and LeRoy Bach assembled them in a line and began to realize the distance they had covered together. “It isn’t always obvious to you, when you’re in the thick of it,” he explains. “But, for the first time, I thought we had something that corresponds to what I was hearing in my head.” No less exciting for Ryley, and for those of us who have followed his path with increasing enthusiasm, are the new possibilities mapped out by these songs: the soft, slo-mo explosions of melody on “A Choir Apart” that intermittently burst through the distant thunder of the verses; the intriguing surreal images meted out by “I Will Ask You Twice”, like a malfunctioning slide projector; and, perhaps best of all, the stunning finale, “Age Old Tale”, which spiders out from an Alice Coltrane-inspired reverie into a sustained rapture that very few artists beyond perhaps Talk Talk on 'Laughing Stock', have managed to achieve. This is music made for the dewy magic hour when night and day have yet to meet and, as long as the song is playing, you feel might briefly leave the corporeal world with them. This is the music you might imagine the woodland animals making once the humans have left for the night. This is Ryley Walker’s coming of age.

After the lonesome folk and skeletal roadhouse soul of her debut album, 2012’s *Half Way Home*, Angel Olsen turned up the intensity on *Burn Your Fire for No Witness*, and she does it again on *MY WOMAN*. The title’s in all caps for a reason: The St. Louis, Missouri, native’s third album is bigger in both the acrobatic feats of her always-agile voice and the widescreen, hi-fi sound that Olsen and co-producer Justin Raisen bring to the table. With the very first song, “Intern,” it’s clear that Olsen has taken us somewhere new. A slow dance in a dive bar at last call, it might be familiar turf were it not for the synthesizers that cast an eerie glow across the song’s red-velvet backdrop. “Never Be Mine” harnesses the anguish of ’60s girl groups in jangling guitar and crisp backbeats; “Shut Up Kiss Me” couches desire in terms so heated the mic practically melts beneath Olsen’s yelp. Mindful of its ancestry but never expressly retro, the album is a triumph of rock ’n’ roll pathos, an exquisite dissertation on the poetry of twang and tremolo. And even if “There is nothing new/Under the sun,” as Olsen sings on the fateful “Heart Shaped Face,” she is forever finding ways to file down everyday truths to a finer point, drawing blood with every new prick. As she sighs over watery piano and fathomless reverb on the heartbreaking closer, “Pops,” “It hurts to start dreaming/Dreaming again.” But that pain is precisely what makes *MY WOMAN* so unforgettable, and so true.

Anyone reckless enough to have typecast Angel Olsen according to 2013’s ‘Burn Your Fire For No Witness’ is in for a sizable surprise with her third album, ‘MY WOMAN’. The crunchier, blown-out production of the former is gone, but that fire is now burning wilder. Her disarming, timeless voice is even more front-and-centre than before, and the overall production is lighter. Yet the strange, raw power and slowly unspooling incantations of her previous efforts remain, so anyone who might attempt to pigeonhole Olsen as either an elliptical outsider or a pop personality is going to be wrong whichever way they choose - Olsen continues to reign over the land between the two with a haunting obliqueness and sophisticated grace. Given its title, and track names like ‘Sister’ and ‘Woman’, it would be easy to read a gender-specific message into ‘MY WOMAN’, but Olsen has never played her lyrical content straight. She explains: “I’m definitely using scenes that I’ve replayed in my head, in the same way that I might write a script and manipulate a memory to get it to fit. But I think it’s important that people can interpret things the way that they want to.” That said, Olsen concedes that if she could locate any theme, whether in the funny, synth-laden ‘Intern’ or the sadder songs which are collected on the record’s latter half, “then it’s maybe the complicated mess of being a woman and wanting to stand up for yourself, while also knowing that there are things you are expected to ignore, almost, for the sake of loving a man. I’m not trying to make a feminist statement with every single record, just because I’m a woman. But I do feel like there are some themes that relate to that, without it being the complete picture.” Over her two previous albums, she’s given us reverb-shrouded poetic swoons, shadowy folk, grunge-pop band workouts and haunting, finger-picked epics. ‘MY WOMAN’ is an exhilarating complement to her past work, and one for which Olsen recalibrated her writing/recording approach and methods to enter a new music-making phase. She wrote some songs on the piano she’d bought at the end of the previous album tour, but she later switched it out for synth and/or Mellotron on a few of them, such as the aforementioned ‘Intern’. ‘MY WOMAN’ is lovingly put together as a proper A-side and a B-side, featuring the punchier, more pop/rock-oriented songs up front, and the longer, more reflective tracks towards the end. The rollicking ‘Shut Up Kiss Me’, for example, appears early on - its nervy grunge quality belying a subtle desperation, as befits any song about the exhaustion point of an impassioned argument. Another crowning moment comes in the form of the melancholic and Velvets-esque ‘Heart-shaped Face’, while the compelling ‘Sister’ and ‘Woman’ are the only songs not sung live. They also both run well over the seven-minute mark: the first being a triumph of reverb-splashed, ’70s country rock, cast along Fleetwood Mac lines with a Neil Young caged-tiger guitar solo to cap it off. The latter is a wonderful essay in vintage electronic pop and languid, psychedelic soul. Because her new songs demanded a plurality of voices, Olsen sings in a much broader range of styles on the album, and she brought in guest guitarist Seth Kauffman to augment her regular band of bass player Emily Elhaj, drummer Joshua Jaeger and guitarist Stewart Bronaugh. As for a producer, Olsen took to Justin Raisen, who’s known for his work with Charli XCX, Sky Ferreira and Santigold, as well as opting to record live to tape at LA’s historic Vox Studios. As the record evolves, you get the sense that the “My Woman” of the title is Olsen herself - absolutely in command, but also willing to bend with the influence of collaborators and circumstances. If ever there was any pressure in the recording process, it’s totally undetectable in the result. An intuitively smart, warmly communicative and fearlessly generous record, ‘MY WOMAN’ speaks to everyone. That it might confound expectation is just another of its strengths.

The Australian group finally returns with its long-rumored follow-up to *Since I Left You*, the 2000 album that earned them a ravenous following. *Wildflower* is a continuous mix of the wild and weird, another hallucinogenic collage of samples ranging from R&B to orchestral pop. From the calypso-klezmer \"Frankie Sinatra,\" featuring Danny Brown, to Biz Markie chomping over a Beatles sample on \"Noisy Eater,” it’s the tour de force soundtrack to music\'s past and present.

The wizards of gonzo guitar licks return with an eleventh album. And while there’s the usual undertow of fuzzed-up riffs (drink in the nimble-fingered splendour of “Tiny”) there are deft, delicate surprises too. J. Mascis cedes lead vocal duty to Lou Barlow on pleasingly mellow ‘70s noodler “Love Is…” and “Knocked Around” is that rare rock beast—a reflective slice of dim-the-lights crooning that still has the power to melt your face off.

Let's face facts -- in 2016 it is remarkable that there's a new Dinosuar Jr album to go ape over. After all, the original line-up of the band (J Mascis, Lou Barlow & Murph) only recorded three full albums during their initial run in the 1980s. Everyone was gob-smacked when they reunited in 2005. Even more so when they opted to stay together, as they have for 11 years now (on and off). And with the release of 'Give a Glimpse Of What Yer Not', this trio redivisus has released more albums in the 21st Century than they did in the 20th. It's enough to make a man take a long, thoughtful slug of maple-flavored bourbon and count some lucky stars. Last year, 2015, saw the amazing live shows Dinosaur Jr played to celebrate the 30th anniversary of their eponymous debut LP. There were too damn many guest stars poking their noses into songs and amps for some of us, but the shebang was upful enough, and the songs they were celebrating are amazing enough, that it was tough to gripe. But essentially that was a nostalgia fest -- a very fine nostalgia fest -- but it's the future that beckons the living. So you have to be pretty damn chuffed that the band has managed to pull another magnificent rabbit out of their collective hat. The songs on 'Give a Glimpse...' were recorded over the past year or so, again at Amherst's Bisquiteen Studio (located in a secret nook of J's basement). The sound is great and roaring with J's various bleeding-ear psychedelic guitar touches oozing their way into the smudge-pop modeling, while Murph's drums pound like Fred Flintstone's feet, and Lou's bass weaves back and forth between proggy melodicism and post-core thug-hunch. Of the 11 songs presented, nine are J's. Mascis has had so many projects going at various times -- from the retro glam of Sweet Apple to the metal dunt of Witch to the ostrich-rock overload of Heavy Blanket -- it's always a little shocking he can compartmentalize well enough to keep his tunes with Dinosaur Jr sounding so instantly recognizable. Which is not to say they're interchangeable, it's just that he has a very idiosyncratic way of structurally assembling and presenting the songs. Even when they're not being played in concert (with amps turned to 12, and vibrating 'til they glow red).the way he hits his guitar strings has a unique quality that immediately lets you know you're listening to Dino. It's a very cool trick, and something only a small percentage of guitarists ever manage. The other two songs here were written and sung by Lou, and they're quite great as well. Although Barlow's template and palette are more mercurial and shifting (as they are with his other ongoing projects, like Sebadoh), the two here have a consonant resonance. Both songs carry the same vibe as Roger McGuinn's great early sides with the Byrds (although this has to do more with spirit than specific notes), reminding us that albums like Fifth Dimension and Notorious Byrd Brothers were among the main models for East Coast bands like the Soft White Underbelly. “Love Is...” and “Left/Right” represent the same kind of style displacement. Mascis' songs offer a lot of formal style moves as well. Over the last three decades, J's songwriting has continued to pursue confusion, isolation and mis-communication as its main themes (which is one of the reasons he's always been the artist-of-choice for so many misfits), but he has really worked on the craft of songwriting, and he's constantly improving his ability to convey these feelings rather than merely inhabit them. “Lost All Day” might be the most eloquently sad of the songs on 'Give a Glimpse...', but my favorite is probably “Mirror,” which comes off like the best song Blue Oyter Cult didn't record for Agents of Fortune. The opening (and repeating) line, “I've been crawling around since I met you,” branded itself onto my brain the instant I heard it. But then, “Goin' Down” (not the Freddie King tune) is a stone classic as well. And “Tiny” has the prettiest pop architecture. “Be A Part” continually makes me flash on the first time I heard “Cowgirl in the Sand.” “I Told Everyone” is almost like a Bowie tribute when you hear it from another room. “Good to Know” has the record's most insane guitar solo. “I Walk for Miles” contains the most thuggish riffs. “Knocked Around” features the most elegant use of falsetto. And the whole damn thing is great. With all the insanity that is stalking the Earth in 2016, it's nice to have something to rely on. Who'd've dare to think it'd be Dinosaur Jr? -- Byron Coley

Goat – Requiem In a culture obsessed with content, saturation, and continual exposure, it’s rare to find artists who prefer to lurk outside of the public eye. Thomas Pynchon is perhaps the most notable contemporary recluse—a virtually faceless figure who occasionally creeps out of hiding to offer up an elaborate novel steeped in history and warped by imagination—but for crate diggers and guitar mystics, Sweden’s enigmatic GOAT may qualify as the greatest modern pop-culture mystery. Who are these masked musicians? Are they truly members of the Arctic community of Korpilombolo? Are their songs part of their isolated communal heritage? Their third studio album, Requiem, offers more questions than answers, but much like any of Pynchon’s knotty yarns, the reward is not in the untangling but in the journey through the labyrinth. Western exports may have dominated the consciousness of international rock fans for the entirety of the 20th century, but our increasing global awareness has unearthed a treasure trove of transcendental grooves and spellbinding riffage from exotic and remote corners of the planet. GOAT’s previous albums World Music and Commune were perfect testaments to this heightened awareness, with Silk Road psychedelia, desert blues, and Third World pop all serving as governing forces within the band’s sound. But GOAT’s strange amalgam isn’t some cheap game of cultural appropriation—it’s nearly impossible to pinpoint the exact origins of the elusive group’s sound. The fact that they pledge allegiance to a spot on the periphery of our maps bolsters the nomadic quality of their sonic explorations. With Requiem, GOAT continue to rock and writhe to a beat beholden to no nation, no state. GOAT’s only outright declaration for Requiem is that it is their “folk” album, and the album is focused more on their subdued bucolic ritualism than psilocybin freakouts. But GOAT hasn’t completely foregone their fiery charms—tracks like “All-Seeing Eye” and “Goatfuzz” conjure the sultry heathen pulsations that ensnared us on their previous albums. Perhaps the most puzzling aspect of Requiem comes with the closing track “Ubuntu”. The song is little more than a melodic delay-driven electric piano line, until we hear the refrain from “Diarabi”—the first song on their first album—sneak into the mix. It creates a kind of musical ouroboros—an infinite cycle of reflection and rejuvenation, death and rebirth. Much like fellow recluse Pynchon, rather than offering explanations for their strange trajectories, GOAT create a world where the line between truth and fiction is so obscured that all you can do is bask in their cryptic genius.

Michael Kiwanuka’s stunning second LP proves he’s an artist with something to say. *Love & Hate* is a timely and timeless set of slow-burning soul that recalls Marvin Gaye, Bill Withers, and Curtis Mayfield. Produced by Danger Mouse, it sounds of the past and present all at once—as it does in the string-embossed swing of “Black Man in a White World.”

How do you make a grand statement when you have nothing left to prove? On *Post Pop Depression*, Iggy Pop huddles with Queens of the Stone Age’s Josh Homme, Dead Weather’s Dean Fertita, and Arctic Monkeys’ Matt Helders. The results are wiry, muscular, and shape-shifting, much like Iggy himself. His unctuous cool drips all over slow-burners like “American Valhalla” and “Break Into Your Heart.\" “Vulture” sounds like Iggy reading a twisted campfire story. “Paraguay” and “Chocolate Drops” are as poignant as they are profane. Nearly 50 years from where it all began, *Post Pop Depression* proves that the punk pioneer can still cause a ruckus.

This loose, naturalistic set echoes Van Morrison’s early ‘70s albums, when he wove folk, gospel, R&B, and jazz into gentle, gold-tinted tunes. His taste and versatility shine on “Share Your Love With Me,” a Southern soul lullaby, and “Going Down to Bangor,” a rambling blues shuffle. More mystifying spells surround “Out In the Cold Again,” a crooner\'s ballad that Morrison slowly expands into ribbons of sound.

The L.A. indie-rock outfit return, refreshed. *Heads Up* finds the foursome melding their gauzy post-punk with elements of modern R&B, pop, and dance music for a set that shimmers and throbs. “You come along and wash away the rain,” they sing on “New Song,” their finest to date. “You are the sun that leads me back to where I belong.”

Cackling with energy and warmth, this debut album from the Madrid-based quartet is an effortless joy. Carlotta Cosials and Ana Perrote’s dual vocals circulate in a hazy mist around giddy guitars to produce gorgeous garage-pop gems like the woozy “San Diego” and bouyant “Warts.” But it’s not all sun-drunk and carefree. “Catigadas En El Granero” is a feverish riot while “And I Will Send Your Flowers Back” and “I’ll Be Your Man” reveal the band’s vulnerable—and joyously vengeful—side.

There’s a timeless quality to *Take Me to the Alley*—in the skillfully crafted lyrics that blur the political and personal, the band’s elegant accompaniment, and Gregory Porter\'s magnetic presence on the mic. He brings gospel-inflected fire to uptempo tracks like “French African Queen,\" but it’s the immaculate ballads—like the warmly soulful “Don’t Be a Fool” and the touching title track—that are filled with heartbreaking poignancy.

The avant garde Norwegian throws open a ghostly sonic sketchbook on this complex sixth album. Taking vampirism, gore, and femininity as her stated themes, Hval uses everything from percussive panting (the compellingly sinister “In The Red”) to distant, discordant horns (“Untamed Region”) to conjure challenging, dark dreamscapes. Thankfully, she never forgets the tunes. “The Great Undressing” is a propulsive art-pop jewel, and “Secret Touch” pits Hval’s brittle falsetto against hissing, addictive trip hop.

Jenny Hval’s conceptual takes on collective and individual gender identities and sociopolitical constructs landed Apocalypse, girl on dozens of year end lists and compelled writers everywhere to grapple with the age-old, yet previously unspoken, question: What is Soft Dick Rock? After touring for a year and earning her second Nordic Prize nomination, as any perfectionist would, Hval immediately went back into the studio to continue her work with acumen noise producer Lasse Marhaug, with whom she co-produces here on Blood Bitch. Her new effort is in many respects a complete 180° from her last in subject matter, execution and production. It is her most focused, but the lens is filtered through a gaze which the viewer least expects.

Sweeping, shambling, bleak, brutal, and epic. In other words, classic Swans.

2CD, 2CD+DVD and 3LP available for order here: USA: Official Young God Records / Swans Store (all albums hand signed by M. Gira): bit.ly/1TznKrF Europe: Mute Records: bit.ly/1q1o0nw The Glowing Man will be available on double CD and deluxe triple gatefold vinyl, with a poster and digital download. In addition, there will be a double CD/DVD format, which features a Swans live performance from 2015. The Glowing Man, announced as the last album release of Swans’ current incarnation, will be followed by an extensive tour. The tour will unfold with dates beginning in North America in the summer followed by Swans first ever South American shows, before returning to Europe in the autumn. Announced tour dates are listed here, with more to follow. A NOTE FROM MICHAEL GIRA OF SWANS: “In 2009 when I made the decision to restart my musical group, Swans, I had no idea where it would lead. I knew that if I took the road of mining the past or revisiting the catalog, that it would be fruitless and stultifying. After much thought about how to make this an adventure that would instead led the music forward into unexpected terrain, I chose the five people with whom to work that I believed would most ably provide a sense of surprise, and even uncertainty, while simultaneously embodying the strength and confidence to ride the river of intention that flows from the heart of the sound wherever it would lead us - and what’s the intention? LOVE! And so finally this LOVE has now led us, with the release of the new and final recording from this configuration of Swans, The Glowing Man, through four albums (three of which contain more complexity, nuance and scope than I would have ever dreamed possible), several live releases, various fundraiser projects, countless and seemingly endless tours and rehearsals, and a generally exhausting regimen that has left us stunned but still invigorated and thrilled to see this thing through to its conclusion. I hereby thank my brothers and collaborators for their commitment to whatever truth lies at the center of the sound. I’m decidedly not a Deist, but on a few occasions – particularly in live performance – it’s been my privilege, through our collective efforts, to just barely grasp something of the infinite in the sound and experience generated by a force that is definitely greater than all of us combined. When talking with audience members after the shows or through later correspondence, it’s also been a true privilege to discover they’ve experienced something like this too. Whatever the force is that has led us through this extended excursion, it’s been worthwhile for many of us, and I’m grateful for what has been the most consistently challenging and fulfilling period of my musical life. Going forward, post the touring associated with The Glowing Man, I’ll continue to make music under the name Swans, with a revolving cast of collaborators. I have little idea what shape the sound will take, which is a good thing. Touring will definitely be less extensive, I’m certain of that! Whatever the future holds, I’ll miss this particular locus of human and musical potential immensely: Norman Westberg, Kristof Hahn, Phil Puleo, Christopher Pravdica, Thor Harris, and myself mixed in there somewhere, too.” …………. THE GLOWING MAN TRACKLISTING 1. Cloud of Forgetting 2. Cloud of Unknowing 3. The World Looks Red / The World Looks Black 4. People Like Us 5. Frankie M. 6. When Will I Return? 7. The Glowing Man 8. Finally, Peace. “I wrote the song ‘When Will I Return? specifically for Jennifer Gira to sing. It’s a tribute to her strength, courage, and resilience in the face of a deeply scarring experience she once endured, and that she continues to overcome daily. The song ‘The World Looks Red / The World Looks Black’ uses some words I wrote in 1982 or so that Sonic Youth used for their song ‘The World Looks Red’, back in the day. The music and melody used here in the current version are completely different. While working up material for this new album, I had a basic acoustic guitar version of the song and was stumped for words. For reasons unknown to me, the lyric I’d so long ago left in my typewriter in plain view at my living and rehearsal space (the latter of which Sonic Youth shared at the time) and which Thurston plucked for use with my happy permission, popped into my head and I thought “Why not?” The person that wrote those words well over three decades ago bears little resemblance to who I am now, but I believe it remains a useful text, so “Why not?”. Maybe, in a way, it closes the circle. The song ‘The Glowing Man’ contains a section of the song ‘Bring The Sun’ from our previous album, To Be Kind. The section is, of course, newly performed and orchestrated to work within its current setting. ‘The Glowing Man’ itself grew organically forward and out of improvisations that took place live during the performance of ‘Bring The Sun’, so it seemed essential to include that relevant section here. Since over the long and tortured course of the current song’s genesis, it had always been such an integral cornerstone I believe we’d have been paralyzed and unable to perform the entire piece at all without it. ‘Cloud of Forgetting’ and ‘Cloud of Unknowing’ are prayers. ‘Frankie M’ is another tribute and a best wish for a wounded soul. ‘The Glowing Man’ contains my favorite Zen Koan. ‘People Like Us’ and ‘Finally, Peace’ are farewell songs.” - Michael Gira 2016 The Glowing Man was recorded at Sonic Ranch, near El Paso, Texas, with John Congleton as recording engineer. Further recording was made at John’s Elmwood Studio, in Dallas, Texas, and at Studio Litho (Seattle, WA) with Don Gunn, engineer, and at CandyBomber (Berlin) with Ingo Krauss, engineer. The record was mixed by Ingo at CandyBomber and by Doug Henderson at Micro-Moose, Berlin. Doug Henderson mastered it at Micro-Moose. Here’s a list of the principal players on the record (complete credits and words to the songs available on request): Swans: Michael Gira – vocals, electric and acoustic guitar; Norman Westberg – electric guitar, vocals; Kristof Hahn – lap steel guitar, electric guitar, acoustic guitar, vocals; Phil Puleo – drums, dulcimer, knocks, vocals; Christopher Pravdica – bass guitar, vocals; Thor Harris – percussion, vibes, bells, dulcimer. Hit Man and 7th Swan: Bill Rieflin – drums, piano, synth, Mellotron, bass guitar, electric guitar, vocals. Guest Musicians: Jennifer Gira sings the lead vocal on ‘When Will I Return?’ The cello solo on ‘Cloud of Unknowing’ was graciously provided by the ferocious improviser, Okkyung Lee.

Eight albums and 20 years deep, a determination to stretch metal’s boundaries remains sacrosanct for the Californians. Another key Deftones tenet—bonding aggression with vulnerability—rages throughout an album that captures a band invigorated and reflective. “There’s a new strange, godless demon awake inside me” sings Chino Moreno on cacophonous opener “Prayers / Triangles” and it sets the rapturous tone. The juddering “Doomed User” amps up the drama while “Geometric Headdress”, “(L)mirl” and “Phantom Bride” are piercing examples of the band’s propensity for melody.

A decade in, and Ben Bridwell’s voice still rings true. *Why Are You OK* sees the South Carolina singer/songwriter enjoying guidance from both Grandaddy’s Jason Lytle and guru Rick Rubin. The result is his rock outfit’s most confident LP to date, an effort that pairs their rootsy anthemics (and Bridwell’s haloed tenor) with lush sonics and a newfound lyrical focus: family. “Dull Times / The Moon” is a two-part, seven-minute opener whose rivulets of dreamy guitar eventually give way to a flood of Neil Young-ian distortion. “In a Drawer” features a stunning cameo from J Mascis and “Casual Party” a melody shot through with glimmers of “The Great Salt Lake.”

Cate Le Bon invented “Crab Day” as a cheery, eccentric alternative to April Fool’s Day. It’s a beautifully fitting name for her fourth album. *Crab Day* finds the Welsh artist in rarefied indie air: this is a playful, abstract record full of lyrical sharp turns, twitchy cleverness, and nimble post-punk grooves set off by those richly accented vocals a move to L.A. hasn’t dimmed. What her California emigration has provided is some sonic sunshine. The jiving title track, wonky “Wonderful,” and twinkling “Yellow Blinds, Cream Shadows,” in particular, feel like liberated recipients of some joyous creative abandonment.

"A coalition of inescapable feelings and fabricated nonsense, each propping the other up. Crab Day is an old holiday. Crab Day is a new holiday. Crab Day isn't a holiday at all." — C. Le Bon

Singularly skilled in sculpting arch synth-pop, Neil Tennant and Chris Lowe’s thirteenth album highlights middle age’s continued failure to blunt their edge. *Super* does allow some nostalgia—“The Pop Kids” and “Twenty-Something” are decorously detailed and gloriously autobiographical—but it’s an impressively urgent album. Masterful opener “Happiness” sounds like the pair bringing several generations of electronic imitators to heel, “Pazzo!” is a sinewy, insidious dancefloor banger, while “The Dictator Decides” and “Sad Robot World” are intelligent, somber polemics that never feel preachy.

Recorded at train stations between Chicago and L.A.—you can actually hear passengers bustling in the background—*Shine a Light* captures Billy Bragg and Joe Henry rambling through classic railroad tunes in fine folky form. They cover ramshackle blues with a ragged take on “The Midnight Special,” while their weathered voices mingle beautifully on the lonesome Americana of “In the Pines,” creating a somber vibe. The nostalgic “Early Morning Rain” caps things off with a pensive melody that conjures sing-alongs on a porch in spring.

Soundtracking “rousing sport montages” was not an ambition for Texan instrumental rockers Explosions In the Sky with their sixth album. We’re not sure they’ll avoid that honor entirely—“The Ecstatics” and “Tangle Formations” are spine-tingly enough to accompany most last-second heroics—but this panoramic, foreboding set certainly hits harder than previous work. “Disintegration Anxiety” is a fuzzy, muscular work-out, the ambient and glitchy “Losing the Light” haltingly unsettling, while “Colours in Space” cycles through the band’s full range of melodic shades before allowing “Landing Clifs” its gorgeous comedown.

The Wilderness is Explosions In The Sky's sixth album, and first non-soundtrack release since 2011’s Take Care, Take Care, Take Care. True to its title, The Wilderness explores the infinite unknown, utilizing several of the band’s own definitions of “space" (outer space, mental space, physical geography of space) as compositional tools. The band uses their gift for dynamics and texture in new and unique ways—rather than intuitively fill those empty spaces, they shine a light into them to illuminate all the colors of the dark. From the electronic textures of the opening track to the ambient dissolve of closer “Landing Cliffs,” The Wilderness is an aggressively modern and forward-thinking work—one that wouldn’t seem the slightest bit out of place on a shelf between original pressings of Meddle and Obscured By Clouds. It is an album where shoegaze, electronic experimentation, punk damaged dub, noise, and ambient folk somehow coexist without a hint of contrivance—and cohere into some of the most memorable and listenable moments of the band’s expansive body of work—“proper” studio albums and major motion picture soundtracks alike. The progressive ambience of early Peter Gabriel, the triumphant romanticism of The Cure in their prime, and the more melancholy moments of Fleetwood Mac all inform the curious beauty of The Wilderness. The uncanny ability to reconcile the tension between discordant, nightmarish cacophony and laid-back, Laurel Canyon-inspired folk-rock is a cornerstone of this album, and the center of Explosions In The Sky's remarkable evolution. If The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place was the defining album of Explosions In The Sky's career, The Wilderness is the band's [re]defining album.

Following the quietly great *Last Summer* and *Personal Record*, the former Fiery Furnace’s third solo album filters folksy \'60s- and \'70s-style rock (think Zombies or Bob Dylan) through the slacker brilliance of \'90s indie bands like Pavement. Wry, romantic, and written with enough offbeat detail to fill a Wes Anderson movie, *New View* captures the ins and outs of relationships in a voice that’s bittersweet (“Never Is a Long Time”), funny (“Cathy With the Curly Hair”), and, more often than not, both (“Sweetest Girl”).

Cavern Of Anti-Matter are the new band from Stereolab mainman Tim Gane, now Berlin-based and collaborating with original Stereolab drummer Joe Dilworth, and synth wizard Holger Zapf. This is their first album proper following limited edition vinyl releases on Grautag, Deep Distance, Peripheral Conserve and Associated Electronic Recordings. Features contributions from Bradford Cox (Deerhunter), Sonic Boom (Spacemen 3) & Jan St. Werner (Mouse On Mars). "Cavern Of Anti-Matter are spectrum addicts, setting up tiny rhythmic cells and expanding on them in certain ways, splitting the melody and stretching out. The melodic movement is much slower due to the lack of words. At the moment, the Cavern sound is more what I want to do." – Tim Gane “Repaints the neon-lit underpasses of Kraftwerk and Neu!, while irregular, perverted, wavering synths recalls and elaborates on DAF and forgotten 80s electropop” – The Guardian Tim Gane is the leader of Stereolab (a band beloved by everyone from Pharrell Williams to Blur). He started his musical career as a purveyor of harsh noise in the early 1980s under the alias Unkommuniti releasing self-financed cassettes on Black Dwarf Wreckordings (recently anthologised by Vinyl On Demand). Tim was a key member of McCarthy from 1985-1990. In 2007 he composed his first film soundtrack, La Vie D’Artiste, alongside longtime musical collaborator Sean O’Hagan (The High Llamas), and has recently contributed keyboards to the latest Deerhunter album, Fading Frontier. Praise for void beats / invocation trex: “An expansive set of cosmic post-krautrock groove” – Pitchfork “A delightful head-trip” – Mixmag “Myriad exquisite moments” - The Independent “Catastrophically magical” – MXDWN “An uber-compelling meld of Kraftwerk/Neu!/Harmonia and early techno” - Shindig!

Rapper/singer Anderson .Paak’s third album—and first since his star turn on Dr. Dre’s *Compton*—is a warm, wide-angle look at the sweep of his life. A former church drummer trained in gospel music, Paak is as expressive a singer as he is a rapper, sliding effortlessly between the reportorial grit of hip-hop (“Come Down”) and the emotional catharsis of soul and R&B (“The Season/Carry Me”), live-instrument grooves and studio production—a blend that puts him in league with other roots-conscious artists like Chance the Rapper and Kendrick Lamar.

A far cry from their punky beginnings, Death in Vegas\' *Transmission* embraces chilly Euro synths and Ballardian drones. For their sixth album, Richard Fearless joined forces with vocalist Sasha Grey, who oozes cool all over the record\'s soft Italo disco (“Flak”), intense synth arpeggios (“Metal Box”) and malevolent techno. It shifts nimbly between monochromatic intensities: “Strom” orbits on woozy, circular whispers, but segues into “You Disco I Freak”, eight minutes of ricocheting mania.

Intoxicating future-jazz messages from a distant galaxy are beamed your way on this freewheeling psychedelic debut. Conceived as a side project for saxophonist Shabaka Hutching, TCiC benefit hugely from the fact both synth-specialist Dan Leavers and drummer Maxwell Hallett know their way around a 3am dancefloor. “Space Carnival” packs hyperactive afrobeat horns and “Lightyears”—augmented by Joshua Idehen’s charismatic spoken word—is a stunning nebula of frenzied improvisation.

The Comet Is Coming. Our saviours Danalogue The Conqueror, Betamax Killer and King Shabaka come bearing their debut album Channel The Spirits. A prophetic document. A celebration. The beginning of the end. Marvel! As it blazes a streak of phosphorescent beauty across the night sky. Listen! As a trailing meteor shower drops hot coals hissing into topographical oceans. Inhale! The burning funk of strange new flavours. The sound of the future... today. Channel The Spirits is shortlisted for the 2016 Mercury Prize.

The UK art-rock outfit’s brilliant new album. *Boy King* is that most satisfying of things. A daring step in a fresh direction that comes off beautifully. It’s a lascivious, muscular record, pulsing with crunching guitars and Hayden Thorpe’s prodigious falsetto. “Big Cat”, “Get My Bang”, and “He the Colossus” are the taut and slithery bangers, while closer “Dreamliner”—gorgeous and operatic—serves to highlight the far-reaching talents of a very special band.

The Scottish rockers move gracefully onto album number eight. Fran Healy and co. remain faithful to their blueprint—bittersweet and ultra-melodic mini-anthems—but there’s a venerability and warmth to this set, hard-won after 26 years at the coalface of British indie. “Idlewild”—not a tribute to their Britpop comrades but one of the more affecting songs they’ve ever written—features a stunning understated vocal from Josephine Oniyama, while closer “Strangers on a Train” shows the band’s future may lie in lonesome, glacial ballads.