Zeus - Say Us... 54/100

People often use the slang term “vanilla” to describe things that are boring, unadventurous, plain, etc. The problem with the term is that vanilla can be quite a delicious flavour, especially when it’s derived from real vanilla bean for homemade desserts. This being the case, I hesitate to use the word to describe this Toronto quartet’s debut long-player.

I could call it oatmeal, but even then, I’ve eaten some very flavourful oatmeal, so let’s kick it down a notch. What Zeus have created here is akin to a cold bowl of plain oatmeal. I’m not trying to be especially mean; I’m trying to draw a comparison here that conveys just how unoriginal and tired the sound of Say Us is.

The album’s all-over-the-map-ness indicates that Zeus just hasn’t settled on a sound yet. They want to be too many things at once, and they’re doing it in such a heavy-handed way that the whole thing just comes off as derivative. Most of Say Us falls somewhere between the Strokes and Sloan, but Zeus lack both the aloofness of the former and the charm of the latter to make the sound work, not to mention that they have neither of their knack for melody. Incidentally, the cheapest Strokes imitation here is certainly “Kindergarten,” on which singer Mike O’Brien puts on his best Julian Casablancas impression to croon the utterly empty phrase “all I want to do is clap, all I want to do is sing.”

When they aren’t channeling the spirits of their two primary influences, Zeus are ripping off other artists even more thoroughly. “The Renegade” is pure Beck, from the song’s opening guitar drawl through to the meandering guitar solo in the middle - hell, O’Brien even does his damnedest to sound like Beck himself. Elsewhere, “I Know” sounds like an OK Go b-side that just wasn’t catchy enough to make the album.

But in the end, it comes down to this: a good album is either engaging in a way that pushes boundaries and challenges the listener or it forgoes experimentalism for sheer melody and hooks. In some very rare cases, it can do both, but unfortunately for Zeus, it cannot do neither.

Joanna Newsom - Have One On Me [Disc Three]... 79/100

So maybe, now that I’ve been through the entire album, I should offer up some final conclusions about this album.

First, Have One On Me is incredibly consistent; seriously, there isn’t a bad track on the album. It’s a testament to Newsom’s songwriting ability that even the tracks that go longer than they should have a melodic spark that keeps them from ever going stale.

Newsom’s only failure here is to self-edit. Without an overarching concept or theme to tie the three albums together, it seems pointless to have released them all at once. Why not space them out so that listeners could focus their attention on just one at a time? Or, even better, get really critical and pare the songs that are good but not stellar down to a truly amazing double album, or a pair of single ones.

But it’s okay: What Newsom lacks in self-control she makes up for with track sequencing that could only be the work of someone who composes and arranges music. Her skillful hand in the matter ensured not only that none of the three discs was a dud, but that each of the discs was given a beginning, middle, and end. Each disc of Have One On Me works both as a single entity and as part of the greater album, which is important for fans who just don’t have two hours to spend hunkered down with it.

Have One On Me is more a showcase for Newsom’s consistency and immense talent than a superb, insular work of art. It doesn’t quite match the heights hit by previous album Ys, but that’s okay: Newsom has proven that she’s here to stay, and the next album could be her masterstroke.

Overall: 81/100

Joanna Newsom - Have One On Me [Disc Two]... 82/100

Don’t ask me which disc of Joanna Newsom’s fantastic Have One On Me is musically the best; I couldn’t tell you. She’s sequenced her albums in such a way that not only do each of the three discs work as an individual album with a beginning, middle and end, but the standout tracks are so evenly spaced over the three discs that there’s nary an argument to be made which of the three is made up of better songs.

Why then, if the songs themselves are equally rewarding and engaging, does disc two seem to captivate me more than disc one? It could only be the clever track sequencing.

Disc two begins with “On A Good Day,” by far the shortest song to be found Have One On Me, and it works effectively as a short introduction to the disc. The sweet ditty ends too soon, but being that it’s followed by the joyful, horn-aided waltz of “You and Me, Bess,” the listener needn’t fret too long.

The disc’s most seamless transition might be that between “Jackrabbits” and album highlight “Go Long,” who share a similar lyrical theme that the latter picks up from where the former left off. The cascading harp of “Go Long” brings the listener to album-closer “Occident,” whose sombre tone and minor chords truly feel like a farewell, which only serves to further accentuate the disc’s cohesion and perfect sequencing.

Disc two is also the shortest of the three discs, by around nine minutes. That the delicate centrepiece “In California,” whose sparse harp plucks are punctuated by a rolling timpani, is the longest track on disc two speaks to that succinctness. This brevity, like the disc’s opening track, leaves the listener wanting more and thus, might be the most effective of Have One On Me’s three discs.

Just don't call it the best.

Joanna Newsom - Have One On Me [Disc One]... 80/100

Joanna Newsom has come a long way from her days as The Milk-Eyed Mender, when she was known equally for her vocal idiosyncrasies as for her musical brilliance. For many listeners, her voice was a stumbling block that just couldn’t be overcome.

Her 2006 follow-up, Ys, was an epic, orchestrated affair that saw the singer tone down her high-pitched nasality in favour of a more “Bjorkian” timbre. The album was far less divisive and met with near-universal acclaim.

Those looking for another epic are in luck: Have One On Me is a whopping triple album that, at six lengthy songs apiece, is a veritable musical feast that matches the intimacy of Newsom’s first record with the scope of her second.

Disc one is opened by “Easy,” a dramatic song that almost sounds written for the stage with it’s constantly ascending and descending scales and quickly shifting moods. Jabs of flute and horns nearing the end of the track give the track added dramatic flair.

The eleven-minute title track exemplifies Newsom’s knack for keeping the listener ever-intrigued: clever melodic twists, multiple song movements and dynamic, soft-loud vocals ensure that not a minute of the monumental song drags.

Joanna Newsom’s hook is that she imbues her songs with a lingering sense of melodic familiarity while always seeming strikingly unique musically, most notably on the gorgeous tip-toe of disc highlight “’81.” Newsom wears her influences on her sleeve, but never crosses the line between resemblance and plagiarism. On the rollicking first half of the piano-led “Good Intentions Paving Company,” she channels the charm and effervescence of a young Joni Mitchell, while the sombre and melodic “No Provenance” whiffs faintly of Kate Bush, albeit without her synthesized sound.

Of all six tracks here (which average more than seven minutes apiece), only closer “Baby Birch” drags slightly, and it’s only partially salvaged around the six minute mark, when a hand-clap suddenly turns into an enjoyably uptempo, harmonized ending.

On the whole, though, disc one of Have One On Me is a cohesive and consistent affair that sets the plot of the album in motion. And though it could arguably stand as a great album on its own, disc one’s sense of intimacy and spaciousness is best enjoyed as a prelude to the rest of Have One On Me, and incidentally, on headphones.

Xiu Xiu - Dear God, I Hate Myself... 79/100

Xiu Xiu has been one of the mostly quietly prolific bands of the 2000s. Since 2002, Jamie Stewart’s baroque experimental pop outfit has been not making headlines making consistently rewarding avant-pop albums punctuated by Stewart’s spine-tingling wail and raw production style.

Dear God, I Hate Myself is no exception to Stewart’s rule of excellent albums, but there are two things missing in this collection of fifteen songs that just won’t stop niggling me: cohesion and spontaneity.

The former is forgivable. While I prefer an album that holds me close while it sashays around moods, tempos, chords and rhythms, I’ll take a consistent if not meandering collection of experimental pop songs any day of the week.

The latter is less so. Stewart has obviously matured over the last eight years, but his music reflects that maturity in an obvious way that hinders the album emotionally. On Dear God, I Hate Myself, Stewart has seemingly eschewed noise, atmosphere and catharsis in favour of precision in the form of relatively uncluttered, straightforward three-minute songs.

In the case of most artists, this would be a good thing, but not for Xiu Xiu; their characteristic emotion-driven caterwaul was one of the band’s best distinguishing features. Like Bright Eyes before him, Stewart was able to express himself almost without restraint, which for the listener was strangely co-cathartic (if that is a thing). It follows, then, that the most unfettered songs, like the jerky “House Sparrow” and the mid-tempo stomp of “The Fabrizio Palumbo Retaliation,” are among the strongest here.

That said, there are no filler tracks here, so yeah, Dear God, I Hate Myself is another success for Xiu Xiu. But with just a little more of that unbridled expression, it could’ve been even better.