Soft Sounds' Q3 2022 Favorites
Our favorite records from the third quarter of the year (plus some wildcards).
Q3 is usually a weird one for music. One of the classic pop music tropes we grew up with was figuring out what the “song/sound of the summer” was gonna be (spoiler alert: it’s “Get Lucky” by Daft Punk). But for albums, it’s kind of a dead zone at points as bands prefer to wait until the fall right before critics put plans into place for their end of the year coverage. But nevertheless, we here at Soft Sounds/Indieheads Podcast found a number of records to love from this quarter, and we’re about to talk about some of them.
The Mountain Goats - Bleed Out (Merge, August 19th, 2022)
John Darnielle has never been one to rest on his laurels, but the last four years represent a startling level of prolificacy even by his standards. Since 2019, he has released five albums with the Mountain Goats and four live albums (with more to come) under the Jordan Lake Sessions banner, and somewhere in between found the time to write and publish his third novel, Devil House. And yet, to some, this outburst of activity amounted to a series of base hits from a writer capable of producing home runs: the span from 2019’s In League With Dragons to last year’s Dark in Here certainly isn’t dire, and the boombox-recording revival Songs for Pierre Chuvin has its acolytes (present company included). But after the twin triumphs of the “tight concept” Beat the Champ and Goths, these more “loose concept” records could feel a bit too respectable, too safe. So thank goodness Bleed Out lands like a right hook to the jaw. Inspired by a mid-pandemic binge of action movies both classic and kitschy, and recorded with the assistance of Bully’s Alicia Bognanno, the dozen songs that comprise their 21st official album get the blood racing in a way that a Goats record hasn’t in quite some time.
Those looking for an entire album of songs like “Estate Sale Sign” or “Werewolf Gimmick” may come away from Bleed Out feeling shortchanged. Only the opening run from “Training Montage” to the excellently-titled “Wage Wars Get Rich Die Handsome” fits the mold of those songs by keeping the pedal to the floor for the stretch run. Some others manage to adhere to the action film conceit by other means: the saxophone that snakes through “Guys on Every Corner” evokes two masters of blockbuster tie-in cheese, Kenny Loggins and Glenn Frey. But, as Darnielle told Craig Jenkins, “It’s impossible to talk about action movies without getting into those notions of vigilantism, especially in America, and guns,” and so he works to undercut the actions and figures these films glorify. The crucial “First Blood” hinges on the line “John Rambo never went to Vietnam,” while the slow-burning “Hostages” paints a chilling picture of the lengths people are willing to go to in desperate circumstances: “We may run out of bullets/We’re never going to run out of hostages.” Then there’s the closing title track, which ranks right up there with “Ezekiel 7” in terms of bleak conclusions on Mountain Goats albums. Darnielle casts himself as collateral damage, a soldier dying alone on the floor, realizing not only that his sacrifices were all for nothing, but that there are others who will see his story and follow in his footsteps. “I’m gonna tell all my friends to go to hell,” he spits, he and Darnielle both knowing that soon all that’s left of him will be a bloodstain, and then not even that. It’s all fun and games until someone gets riddled with holes, and more than the cheap thrills, buckets of blood, and high-octane fretwork, that’s the message that lifts Bleed Out into Valhalla. —Zach
Mo Troper - MTV (Lame-O, September 2nd, 2022)
While I didn’t know it at the time, I fucking loved power pop growing up. A big reason why I couldn’t wait until we got to the end of the 90s Rock Number Ones podcast series is that we’d be entering that period of alternative rock where post-grunge/early butt rock lived in harmony with power pop revival. But while that revival was noted for its crystal clear hi-fi sound, MTV is notably more rough around the edges, mostly recorded to tape by Mo Troper at his lonesome after a grueling tour. Taking the approach and spirit of last year’s Dilettante, MTV focuses that album’s hapdash of ideas into something much more focused without losing that album’s unwieldy spirit. Even as Troper relays tales of lonely walks around NYC on “The Only Living Goy in New York”, depressing cigarette breaks on “Coke Zero” and longing heartbreak on “Royal Jelly” and “Waste Away”, there’s a childlike wonder to the way he puts together these tracks, making what would otherwise be one of the saddest albums of the year into one of its most re-listenable. And the best thing about MTV? It only feels like Troper is just getting started on this newfound creative streak. —Matty
WILDCARD: Ka - The Night’s Gambit (Iron Works; July 13th, 2013)
People are driven to think of solitude when they hear Ka’s music, and you can’t blame them for it. The rapper born Kaseem Ryan has tacitly invited that school of thought - his album titles and side projects have painted him as a martyr, a samurai, a hermit and a recluse in a two-for-one deal. I find his music is most potent late at night or early in the morning, times where his unhurried, seen-it-all voice can cut through the fog of exhaustion or waking like a knife. His presence on the mic is one that casually demands total attention, deft wordplay and finely-detailed narratives threatening to fade into the ether if you look away to check your phone. Of his catalogue, 2013’s The Night’s Gambit feels like his most insular work, which you could chalk up to the album’s central metaphor of chess. Chess requires you to think several steps ahead and from every possible angle; The Night’s Gambit is an album that was made in that spirit and asks a similar commitment of its audience. If you meet the album on those terms, you’ll find a treasure trove, a record that stands out even in Ka’s distinguished body of work.
Self-produced, self-released, and sold by Ka himself on the street in Manhattan where Fat Beats once stood, The Night’s Gambit is almost entirely a one-man show — when Roc Marciano appears on “Soap Box,” it feels as if someone briefly changed the station on the radio. The beats are sparse, almost minimal. There are moments of ear-catching beauty (particularly the punishing Black Sabbath sample on “You Know It’s About” and the wordless moan cutting through “Knighthood”) but several tracks, as is Ka’s custom, have barely any percussion at all, putting the onus of forward momentum on his words. Ka’s flows and vocal approach are stark and unadorned, which means his wordplay and double-meanings pop all the more: the closing “Off the Record,” for example, is an excellent spin on GZA’s classic “Labels.” But more often, the spare production and half-muttered delivery mean that his plainspoken tales of regret, narrow escapes, and betrayal hit closer to the bone with every listen. “You know the saga: block was tough, home was harder” is all the backstory he offers on “Knighthood,” and it opens up a world of grim possibilities in a listener’s mind, a glimpse into what it means to have to turn your life into a game of survival. The Night’s Gambit begins with a sampled quote from Enter the Dragon: “Your skills are now at the point of spiritual insight.” The ensuing 39 minutes prove that it isn’t an empty boast. —Zach
Jockstrap - I Love You Jennifer B (Rough Trade, September 9th, 2022)
Jockstrap’s early EPs intrigued me, but that’s about where my praise ends. They were clearly doing something worth listening to, but I can’t say I found much enjoyment in their work, aside from a club remix they did of one of their own tracks from 2020’s Wicked City. I’m not exactly sure what changed in their approach between Wicked City and their debut album, I Love You Jennifer B, but whatever it may be it’s turned my fascination into fandom. From the stuttering club beats of “50/50” to the bedroom city pop magic of “Greatest Hits”, Jockstrap sound dialed in, as their vision of pop music looks back at its past as much it focuses on the future that lies ahead. Also, gotta respect an album this brazenly horny but not all in embarrassing in the bad ways an embarrassingly level of horny can be, an extremely difficult feat it pulls off with ease. —Matty
Tyler Childers - Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven? (Hickman Holler; September 30th, 2022)
The last time we heard from Tyler Childers was 2020’s Long Violent History. Released with little advance warning that September, the album was a pivot: seven traditional bluegrass songs, one theater song turned into a bluegrass song, and the closing title track, on which Childers drew a direct connection between the Battle of Blair Mountain and the protests of police killings of unarmed Black citizens — particularly fellow Kentuckian Breonna Taylor, who he addressed in a video accompanying the album’s release — and asked his audience and fans how their ancestors could stand in support of the former, but they couldn’t stand for the latter. It was a bold decision by Childers, but one that left little indication of what his next move would be following the acclaimed Country Squire. If you come to Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?, his just-released triple album, looking for answers, you’ll likely walk away even more bewildered than before. Offering three takes on a set of eight songs, spread across a leisurely hour and 48 minutes, Hounds is a turn so far afield of Squire and Purgatory that at least one critic has suggested that its existence represents an attempt by Childers to get out of his contract with RCA.
Questions of the tail wagging the dog aside, the eight tracks on Hounds offer one cover (of Hank Williams’ “Old Country Church”), a reworked version of Childers’ own “Purgatory,” two instrumentals, and four new songs. The opening “Hallelujah” section presents these songs straight-up, with Childers and his touring band the Food Stamps in the mode they perfected on Country Squire; the second, “Jubilee,” adds more bells and whistles in choral backing, extended intros, horns and strings, and spoken word vocals to accompany the instrumentals. So far, nothing out of the ordinary. It’s on the third section, titled “Joyful Noise,” where Childers throws out the playbook and, depending on your perspective, either tries to chart a new path or throws up the double bird to all involved parties. “Joyful Noise” recasts the songs as ersatz electronic pieces, with stuttering beats and haphazard vocal samples mutating these once-simple country tunes into works with almost no resemblance to their antecedents. It’s a daring move into the unknown, one that has justifiably left many of his fans cold. Even I don’t quite know what to make of it, let alone what to make of the album as a whole on the heels of his heretofore stellar track record. But part of me can’t help but respect the sheer guts it took for Childers to crank the “IDEAS” dial this far, regardless of his motivations. Hounds will likely go down as a for-the-diehards curio at best, a mean-spirited con at worst, but for now, it stands as the most fascinating turn of his career yet, for better and worse. —Zach
WILDCARD: Teethe - Teethe (Self-Released, November 13th, 2022)
As you’ll notice, I didn’t contribute any other writeups this quarter (despite a wealth of releases I enjoyed and could have written about if I had more time and wasn’t so tired). But I’m choosing to pop in for this wildcard pick anyways because Teethe and their 2020 self-titled album has been my defining musical obsession of this past quarter and I simply had to go off.
The Texas slowcore group Teethe is composed of 4 musicians who also play together as Crisman, including vocalists Madeline Dowd and Boone Patrello. On the Crisman material - which I also love and sounds a bit more like Lomelda’s Thx or Frankie Cosmos - Dowd is the primary vocalist and creative force behind the project; but the magic of Teethe is the interplay between her and bandmate Patrello, who also records as Dead Sullivan. On their debut outing under this name, the lush indie folk sound of Crisman and Dead Sullivan’s more introspective singer-songwriter-slowcore join forces and are wrapped up in a blanket of gorgeous pedal steel. With Patrello and Dowd trading off vocal duties and frequently harmonizing together over a collection of twangy slowcore songs, it sounds like the dream country of the post-Slowdive supergroup Mojave 3 by way of the home recording and idiosyncratic style of early Alex G albums like Trick and Rules.
Teethe is a dejected and wistful album, with a pace that could generously be described as a trudging, but somehow it never loses my attention or becomes wallpaper. The most remarkable thing about it is that it gets in and out fast - on both a song and album level - establishing their thick, humid atmospheres immediately and drifting off to the next song after a few minutes to prevent things from ever getting stuck in the mud. This album glides along from vignette to vignette, and this may sound like a backhanded compliment, but I love the way this album’s sequencing constantly blurs together in my mind. When you listen to it over and over again as I have, these gorgeous miniature songs meld into each other in such a way that the album stops being a thing with a distinct beginning, middle and end and becomes non-linear soup you can get lost in.
No matter what time of day I’m listening, Teethe feels like the comfort of settling into your warm bed on a cold night combined with the disorientation of that moment where you’ve just woken up but your brain hasn’t fully clicked on yet – like the soundtrack to driving across the empty and sprawling highways of Texas at daybreak before the world has woken up. When I’m not listening to it, it feels like a dream I can’t quite remember beat-for-beat but has an overwhelming emotion that lingers with me long after I’ve woken up.
If this album and the two excellent B-sides from 2022 “Tag” and “Lucky” are any indication, this band is clearly set to be one of my favorite acts working in a genre lane I am growing more fond of by the day; while being radically different from other similar bands I love like the noisy shoegaze / alt country group Wednesday. Teethe presents itself in such an understated, yet immersive way that it feels like it exists in its own tiny, intimate universe, — one I plan to spend a lot more time getting lost in.—Jacqueline
Djo - DECIDE (AWAL, September 16th, 2022)
Djo's (aka Joe Kerry of Stranger Things) Twenty Twenty was a welcome surprise when it landed in the fall of 2019, as despite his time in Chicago psychedelic band Post Animal, most people weren't expecting Steve Harrington to drop a fairly formidable psychedelic pop album. But on DECIDE, he continues to build upon the self-aware debauchery Twenty Twenty's best songs dove straight into, bolstered by musician / engineer Adam Thein's strong hand adding some much needed power into the mix. While Twenty Twenty could get lost in the low tempos of a lounge singer, DECIDE feels like Keery translating his music to brighter and more colorful stages, fit for a Vegas residency. —Matty
WILDCARD: Panic! At The Disco - A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out (Decaydance/Fueled by Ramen, September 27th, 2005)
The first 3 albums I ever bought on CD were My Chemical Romance’s The Black Parade, Fall Out Boy’s Infinity on High and Panic! At the Disco’s A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out. While the former two have seen mostly positive critical reevaluations (especially MCR), Panic! At The Disco hasn’t quite joined them yet, for better or worse. While Fall Out Boy made a similar comeback to the mainstream like Panic! At The Disco by making some of the worst pop music of the 2010s, there’s a certain stink that’s clouded Panic! that hasn’t quite stuck to FOB as much. Maybe it’s because FOB has retained their core lineup while Panic! became a glorified solo project for Brendon Urie, or maybe it’s because FOB’s bad pop songs weren’t as bad as Urie’s bad pop songs, but whatever the case, A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out is not looked back on as fondly as other albums from that era.
And I don’t blame people whatsoever for that. A Fever is a fucking mess. It’s an album clearly made by high schoolers from its lyrical content, borderline amateurish songwriting and half-assed attempts to incorporate electronic sounds into Panic!’s emo pop-punk sound. It’s definitely nostalgia blinding me, but I can’t but love this album in spite of its obvious flaws. Even in its immaturity, Ryan Ross’ lyrics evoke some strong imagery and I can’t help but be emotionally gripped by what Urie adds to those lyrics in his performances. And even if their attempts occasionally fall flat on their face, Panic! were clearly ahead of the curve with how they incorporated electronic elements to their music, clumsy as they may be. Sorry not sorry, this is a foundational album for what now makes up Mattycore folks. —Matty