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One week before the standard edition's release (October 22, 2012), snippets of the album leaked online. Good Kid, M.A.A.D City is the second studio album by American rapper Kendrick Lamar. Kendrick Lamar - Good Kid, M.A.A.d City (Deluxe Edition).
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So you can excuse the duo’s healthy dose of skepticism — they’ve earned it.All of this makes follow-up Celebration Rock’s heart-on-your sleeve enthusiasm and new found vigor so spectacular. It wasn’t until they announced that Japandroids was breaking up after the Post Nothing tour that Pitchfork picked up on “Young Hearts Spark Fire,” and people took notice. Brian King and David Prowse had toiled in obscurity for years, their hopes dashed against the rocks of music industry stubbornness and the fickleness of the indie public. 19 songs Sherane a.k.a Master Splinters Daughter Swimming Pools (Drank) (Explicit Black.Japandroids’ galvanizing rock anthem “Young Hearts Spark Fire” revolved around a loaded statement: “We used to dream/ Now we worry about dying.” That song from 2009’s Post Nothing brought much deserved attention to the Vancouver duo, but also lent them a certain air of gravitas.
(Boucher recruited for the video on Twitter by asking for “hot girls who can dance & r willing to be zombie angels and blow up cars and televisions.”) But her odd indulgences as a visual artist are more than made up for by her ability as Grimes to translate the creative chaos in her skull into sonic constructs that intersect the world of pop, R&B, and experimental electronica. Her self-directed video for “Genesis” is absurdly bizarre — a California desert full of strippers wielding morningstars, sheetmail bikinis, and a white snake that may or may not have been used in an infamous Britney Spears’ VMA performance. Now King shouts: “It’s a lifeless life/ With no fixed address to give/ But you’re not mine to die for anymore/ So I must live.” It’s the sound of a young man coming to terms with his obstacles, his ennui and his mortality while facing the future head on — a massive fuck-you with purpose and a resolve to survive.You get the sense that Claire Boucher is thinking and seeing things that most of us aren’t. The album’s pinnacle “The House That Heaven Built” turns the table on “Young Hearts Spark Fire’s” nihilism. This feels like one for the masses, a manifesto whose devil-may-care bravado is forged by long nights of hell-raising, liquor cabinet raids, and self-destruction (King nearly died of a perforated ulcer on tour in 2009), and whose hopefulness is defined by surviving them.Prowse’s drums still explode and King’s guitar roars with needle-in-the-red saturation, but on the cusp of age thirty, the two can now appreciate the fact that they’re still standing. King and Prowse intentionally built more “Oh Oh Oh’s” and “Ahhhs” into these songs, priming them for maximum crowd participation at shows.
Listening creates a similar experience — at first you’re at a loss, repelled like an outsider by the records’ obliqueness, but with repeated exposure, you begin to hear nuances, patterns and compelling new variations on a traditionally limited art form. I was convinced my music was a gift from God.” Though the results are a product of complete sensory deprivation, they feel like a maximalist explosion of day-glo K-pop fed through a Pretty Hate Machine filter. The name is fitting, as Boucher explains: “You have no stimulation, so your subconscious starts filling in the blanks. She came out with Visions. Its warm synth hook floods under Boucher’s icy vocal lines like a breath of hot air on cold glass, creating a textured, melodic fog that’s equally eerie and elegant.It was created during a three week period in 2011, when Grimes cloistered herself in the her apartment with the windows blacked out, avoiding all human contact, fasting for two day periods at a time and fucking around with Garage Band.
In the context of the 12-minute “Ashtray Wasp,” there are abrupt shifts in tempo and tone, like you’re moving from antechamber to massive hallway to tight corridor and back again, each section draped with unique sonic trappings. Over the course of thirty minutes, its three songs reveal a complex architecture, filled with oddly connected sonic passageways, false endings and a labyrinthine sense of recursiveness.Each song’s composition resembles a series of rooms strung together within the catacombs of dance music’s history, littered with the reverential artifacts of techno, jungle, and rave filtered through the modern lens of garage and dubstep. These people spelunk in old subway tunnels, abandoned factories and other entombed spaces that time forgot, seeking to discover “hidden zones that lie beneath the facade” and “connect with the history of their own environments.” Burial’s work has always been music of the city, filled with the sounds of clinking metals, radio static and footsteps skittering in the dark, but Gibb’s comparison strikes a more literal chord on the Kindred EP. Will Bevan) is the sonic equivalent of so-called “urban explorers” — a rapidly expanding community that enjoys uncovering the buried underbelly of old cities.
For some, that contradiction hints at the dreary reality of post-millennial anxiety for others, it’s simply of a microcosm of the club scene itself —- an attempt to find a warm glow in the midst of emptiness. Because isn’t that what superb music does — make us think and feel things that mere words cannot? Within the crackle and swarm of noise, Burial seeks what all of these explorers of the past do — the lost lessons of those who came before, a connection with his ancestry and, by some extension, himself.Vocal samples float through these songs like ghosts, whispering phrases that hint at disassociation and loneliness (“I used to belong to you” and “When the darkness comes calling”) even though Burial’s trademark pitch-altered R&B tones imbue them with intimacy. There’s no live instruments or singing to speak of — everything is digitally constructed — but it stirs uncommon emotion.As a scathing Quietus follow up article points out, its difficult for reviewers not to engage in artistic “wankery” when describing Burial’s work — electronic music tends to lend itself to associations that are metaphoric at best, and some of the comparisons are patently absurd. “Loner” delves back into the black with a pounding four-on-the-floor beat, but unexpectedly circles around to the same bright keyboard tones.
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What’s amazing is that the first is a 10-minute three-part conceptual epic through electro-funk, grinding strip club beats and a John Mayer guitar solo so awkwardly sleazy it’s fabulous, while the second is an effortless, sun-kissed slice of Stevie Wonder-inspired R&B. Ocean gravitates toward more personal issues (self-denial, unrequited love, chemical dependency) but he explores them no less incisively, often through a lens tinted by the surreal.Take your pick between channel ORANGE’s “Pyramids” or “Sweet Life” — either could be song of the year. Ocean is charismatic, good looking and the best song on his last mix tape was called “Songs for Women.” Even more compelling is his sheer artistic talent and penchant for progressive thinking, characteristics found in the man who famously bucked the singles trend in Motown to release a concept album tackling violence, poverty and environmental destruction. And while I realize it’s premature to place Frank Ocean in the same zip code as R&B legend Gaye, the parallels are quite striking.
On the album’s closing tracks, he compares a woman’s vagina to a hentai character (“Pink Matter”), likens his aforementioned male lover to Greenbow, Alabama’s favorite son (“Forrest Gump”) and buries one of the album’s greatest hooks in a throwaway skit (“End”). The fact that Ocean’s pop instincts are so sinfully sharp only make his meanderings into the weird all the more daring and befuddling.
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