Tag: album-reviews

Schoolboy Q – Blue Lips: Review

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Though Schoolboy Q hasn’t been quiet, it’s safe to say there may have been reasons to be after the mediocrity of Crash Talk. Though it wasn’t some albatross of an album, it left little to the imagination, as if there was some fear of losing relevancy despite how much fans and critics loved Blank Face. Fortunately, he travels back and taps into what made him Q to offer something new and refreshing that fans have been most likely waiting for, quietly, with Blue Lips. Blue Lips is a return to form, as Q focuses more on the cadence and flow of what he sets up to deliver, a tour de force, giving way to re-establishing his prose and flows. Ab-Soul did so with his album last year, Herbert, bringing back a sense of familiarity as a means to sidestep away from what wasn’t fully working—the experimentations within Crash Talk didn’t feel all-natural, trying to push through sounds that didn’t all ruminate. Blue Lips is a triumphant upgrade that sees Q feeling at home as he reminds us who he is, and that’s the artist we got with Blank Face while also letting us hear him heal.

With Blue Lips, there is bravado, sadness, and the sheer will to deliver at peak condition without any sense of distractions through predominately tight-knit constructions. Q opens the album somberly and speaks loudly within its lyrics, all before coming through with a “skrrt” from the corner and toppling tracks with seriously bombastic work that makes you come back for more and more. When Q meshes mellower, more melancholic productions/songs within the fray, adding dimensions to the lyrics to give us something more to latch as we hear his words phonetically. As a fan, I couldn’t let go, keeping it on loop without hesitation, even when it’s not all perfect. Like Crash Talk, not every feature hits, and some feel mildly unnecessary towards making the song any different. It’s mainly the case with “Pop,” where Rico Nasty does little to move the needle, and her verse at the end doesn’t leave a memorable stamp. It isn’t like the Freddie Gibbs or Ab-Soul feature, who have an established chemistry with Q, which makes their presence more aligned and smooth. They, in turn, help deliver some definitive highlights, but the absolute highlights are from Q himself.

That isn’t to discredit Rico Nasty, who has delivered phenomenal work previously and whose vocals in the chorus have more of a stamp than her verse. Her verse is swift and doesn’t add much, especially as a final marker to the song, which is a disappointment because they could have concocted something more lavish, and instead, you get this abrupt verse before Blue Lips starts to churn. It’s the opposite with other artists, who have more of a trade-off, matching verses and having some ingenuity, like how Freddie Gibbs matches Q’s luxurious arrogance on “Ohio,” which is a testament to his successes while not caring about ever coming off as tone-deaf. It has three parts, and each tackles it differently with burgeoning and differentiating productions that add weight to the song opposed to the more homogenized work of “Pop.” The same for “Ohio” can go for “Foux,” “Love Birds,” and ‘Pig Feet,” where the featured artists make themselves stand as much as Q—despite the amount of time their presence radiates—not “Movie” though, where Az Chike feels like a minimal presence due to his sound levels, slightly becoming forgettable despite being the focal point of the track, like an interlude-esque that helps transition between two different tempos.

Bolstering it too is its production; though filled with a plethora of producers (30), it has a consistent streak that makes most of what he raps resonate, especially as he maneuvers through the apropos and the in-depth reflections, one of which could make any Mac Miller fan tear up. “Blueslides” is an ode to Mac Miller, a friendship Q has held close to his heart that we’ve seen his vulnerability show when talking about it. It’s a sentiment that stays close to Q as he balances the two subjects, and more so because of the production’s fluidity. There is a lingering synergy that rarely feels lost, even when the production isn’t always on par with the intricacies of Blank Face. It’s a commodification of understanding Q’s musical roots and pushing it forth significantly, taking unique turns we wouldn’t hear otherwise. That may be a smidge hyperbolic, considering the West Coast sound is very refined, and it’s more just one element that bolsters it. However, having that kind of equilibrium bolsters everything one should love about a new Q album, especially as it gets to the tail end. It makes circling back better as the penultimate full-track, “Pig Feet,” which is this hypnotic banger that drives home what it means to ascend as a closer.

Blue Lips is fantastic, and that may come from an internalized bias that rings from standards shifting from what was the more comparatively abysmal Crash Talk. It’s another sentence that may sound more hyperbolic because it wasn’t all bad, just more of a disappointing downward spiral with little juice. It was too much of a 180 from Blank Face that you couldn’t help but get turned off. It’s like seeing the fluidity between coming from Q rapping with legendary West Coast rappers to pushing forth relevancy with Kid Cudi or 21 Savage felt oft, but as Blue Lips showed us, artists can have their moments to flounder because they will eventually come back stronger than ever. Listen to Blue Lips; it’s fantastic.

Rating: 8 out of 10.

Hurray for the Riff Raff – The Past Is Still Alive: Review

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If there is one thing I constantly marvel at when it comes to Hurray for the Riff Raff, Alynda Segarra’s everchanging style rooted in subtlety but speaks louder the more the album spins. With 2017’s The Navigator, we saw them take a more alternative approach to some of the indie rock influence coursing beneath the instrumentals; 2022’s Life on Earth was this uniquely entrenching nature punk, or punk that feels naturalistic due to the nuanced instrumental layers getting mixed while also grasping at its surroundings for a different atmosphere to engulf it in. 2024’s The Past Is Still Alive sees Alynda Segarra return to their roots in folk country and exemplifies growth within the genre they got their start in. That growth comes from exuberant production that floods the ears with raw realism and larger-than-life constructions that help color the canvas. It adds something that an album like My Dearest Darkest Neighbor didn’t think to do, especially with it being a modest cover album. However, it stands firm as an antithesis to growth, like the country-laced Young Blood Blues, which, in turn, makes The Past Is Still Alive this ethereal experience that takes all their best qualities forward.

As with some previous albums I’ve reviewed, one element that seems to flutter my expectations significantly is the establishment with the opening track; it lets the listener grasp at some of what the realm of its music-sphere will be and allows the artists to show you what they want to say. For Alynda Segarra, it’s reflecting on their career and life while giving us something as refreshing as ever. It’s in tune with some of their best qualities and explores them more thoroughly, especially the writing and what they develop with a construct that paints a picture instead of linear theme telling. The production is meticulously crafted and doesn’t wander into distinct territories, instead operating with sheer focus where the aim is to make sure everything gets elevated. “Alibi,” the opening track, is exemplary at such with its twangy strings and folk-cemented rhythms with the percussion. The blend of such isn’t new, but this is grounded, making it feel connected to their last album, Life on Earth, and how ingrained they were with these creative descriptors and story parallels. It’s  “Rosemary Tears” from Life on Earth, where the smell of rosemary becomes a dominant focal point to be keen on.

That continues here, where it doesn’t take the surroundings in their history for granted and sees it as a bonus to relaying their emotions. It’s why “Buffalo” and “Hawkmoon” next to each other add zeal, and you get lifted swiftly off your feet; they allow that creativity to shine without feeling like they are stunting popism; it’s fluid, and that continues with sheer consistency. Focusing on “Buffalo,” when one sees a buffalo in the wild, it acts as a sign of strength and unity—they use that as a focal point as some of the contrasts are delivered, like that of extinct animals. It’s about fleeting romances they want to extend longer. “Hawkmoon” explores elements of their roots and focuses on the parallels that came about between what they were told to avoid and what they became. It’s more biographical, and being so gives it some fresh air because it’s more than just linear emotions and more; Segarra wants to deliver this beautifully descriptive book and does so with captivating melodies and production. Even with some more tepid productions, it has a sobering synergy illuminating past the crevices, like with “Colossus of Roads” and “Hourglass,” where the vocals carry them past the minimalist motions of their direction.

That isn’t to discredit the work Hurray for the Riff Raff creates; however, when it’s connected with similar elements, you notice it treads smoother, like how “The World Dangerous” and “Ogalla” are tighter with its instrumentations as to shine on certain things, like “Ogalla” and its percussion and then jazzy outro. Fortunately, The Past Is Still Alive has a balance that radiates between more tempered and slower ballad-like tracks and some that are musically popping “Veviter,” where its musical complexions speak loud and radiantly through the whimsical and modestly classical country rock base. It gives us this sense of duality, where they aren’t confined to distinct genre conventions and are free-flowing with the liberty of being one’s authentic self. That country dynamic returns with the beautifully crafted “Dynamo,” which is more country-centric and lets the strings run the show. This balance radiates smoothly, and it’s a reason why some of the “lesser” aspects don’t emanate as graciously. As much as the performance encompasses that feeling of longing, it doesn’t carry such gravitas with the production. It’s about how it gets blended, and the tender “Buffalo” shows how to do so with minimalism. There’s a lot that one can unpack, but the music speaks more than just that, and it’s a leap I recommend taking.

I loved The Past Is Still Alive, and it may be an understatement; the music is so alive within its core that I couldn’t help but love the writing and much of the production. Is the album perfect? Not necessarily, as I have some minor nitpicks, and even then, it doesn’t hinder the project, instead encouraging the vocal performance as its most powerful component holding it together. It’s an album I can leave on repeat without any drawbacks, and that is enough to recommend because the journey is half the job and finishing it more rewarding than expected. It may not be for everyone, especially with a niche genre core, but it can be if you let Alynda Segarra take you away through illustrious scenes painted on a canvas.

Rating: 9 out of 10.

MADI DIAZ – WEIRD FAITH: REVIEW

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Madi Diaz’s illustrious vocals and meticulously crafted writing have always been a defining aspect of her artistry, bringing a sense of bewilderment as she rarely opts for the glitz and glamour of superfluous productions to make sure her words get heard. It’s been a resounding connecting point that has attracted me to her music since her last album, History of a Feeling, notably because it asks us to sit back and listen to her vocals play the lead to the rest of the other instrumentations. With her new album, Weird Faith, Diaz digs deeper into her musical bag to waver through these varying complexions of indie pop, indie rock, and indie folk, all without hampering the transitional smoothness of the tracks as you maneuver through this journey of reflections. The more I played it, the more I kept returning because her voice was enchanting, her melodies were enriching and catchy, and the strings delicate, giving it gracious flows. It’s an album that can get lost with some mild homogenous complexions, but when it all clicks, you reel back and allow her tender voice to elevate you to a musical cloud nine.

Immediately, Madi Diaz delves into the confines of her emotional core while playing with sounds beautifully. It maneuvers these different flows and tempos that harness its strengths and show us where Diaz wants to go outside the spectrum of its more broken-down production. After the first song, “Same Risk,” which is a more stripped-down acoustic construction, it switches gear into these indie-pop/rock hybrids that flourish under the guise of her luminous vocals. Much of what she uncovers are themes/reflections on love, relationships, and her battle with faith and the humanistic teachings it gives. When it comes to the former two, she looks at different angles than just the delusion of happiness—with “Everything Almost,” she laments how her lack of awareness within a relationship, with “Girlfriend” is this messy reflection of a reminder about Diaz and her ex aren’t together, despite her reservations on returning. How she delivers them adds this unique touch that shifts them away from being ballads to more kaleidoscopic pop. As she continues to tread more toward acoustics later in the album, she does diverge back into these livelier notes, but as potent as the production is, it’s all about her writing and how she delivers her themes.

In a way, Madi Diaz is using this to get to know her better, so “Get To Know Me” comes as the fifth track of the album—setting up these conflicting emotions she has with love and herself previously, this adds definition to it, especially giving it a much-needed focus that opens the door further into her person. Through the rest of the album, you hear her questioning her faith and convictions and exploring how these emotions have significant representation than what she believes is on the surface. It gives the music an edge to get through the hump of the mild modest homogeny that can be tiresome, but she eventually kicks it back up by adding some more intrigue in the last third. As I commend the writing, Madi Diaz didn’t write all these songs by herself, as the flutter of words has these captivating melodies and harmonies. With “God Person,” you notice the sobering and slow meditation that sees Madi focusing on faith and where she looks for God’s vision in everything she sees, albeit with skepticism. Some of her cowriters have a history of working around a humanization of emotions and allowing them to come with sheer connectivity.

Those notions are reminiscent in a few tracks; however, it’s when it begins to tread into familiarity with the acoustics that there is a small part of you that yearns for a little more as sometimes having too stripped-down shifts the balance and puts more weight on Madi Diaz’s writing and vocals. Fortunately, it’s a resounding impact that carries you from beginning to end, especially when you break down the intricate themes she chooses to focus on, like faith in “God Person” or unbalanced thoughts perpetuated through the crass game of fuck, marry, kill, and finding balance on how to feel because of all these clashing emotions depending on the situation. In essence, it beautifully establishes the reality of relationships without trying to find ways to coat it beneath the verbose diatribe we usually get from the more poppy singer-songwriters, like post-debut Norah Jones or later albums by Wild Child. She establishes herself beautifully within the confines of the album’s direction, but when it comes to the acoustics, a small part of you may wish for a little more; however, you accept the artist’s direction and is it comes, you get drenched in fantastic music.

Kacey Musgraves makes an elegant and sobering appearance on the album, stamping a sense of whimsy to the fray and giving us something to remember. Her presence alongside Madi Diaz on the song “Don’t Do Me Good” adds ample depth to the themes surrounding love in a relationship, and here, it’s about the will to keep waking up in a relationship despite knowing it won’t get better. As Diaz would note in an interview with Pitchfork, “This song is about that person that we keep coming back to, no matter how many times they let us down…waking up every day and making the choice to love a person unconditionally while it’s simultaneously getting harder and harder to ignore that nothing is getting better in the relationship.” Musgraves’ presence adds more experience to the notion and establishes this lovely budding dual-ship that elevates the craft further without pushing each other away from its centralized core. That latter aspect is what I love the most about Weird Faith and something I know you’ll get out of, too. I loved how honed in the vocals are to demand attention, and gosh darn it, it got mine. I hope it gets you, too.

Rating: 8 out of 10.

NewDad – Madra: Review

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When I first stumbled upon NewDad through recommendations based on listening habits via genre splits on Apple Music, I was with it; I quickly delved into their two EPs, and I found myself enamored by the cadence of the lead vocalist, Julie Dawson, who brings these melodies that feel like homages to the shoegaze and indie rock of yesterday, though more modern, which can be expected. Her vocals shine on NewDads’ debut album, Madra, a more tender, personalized focus on who we are instead of a more personal journal entry we can relate to, giving it an instant identity. As the band would tell The Fader, “Madra explores various difficult parts of the human condition and the idea of the title is that these feelings that come up are sometimes ones you can’t escape…We hope that people connect with the songs and that Madra can be a comfort to everyone who listens,”—Madra beautifully explores that idea, making the journey you take with them rewarding as their originality latches to a mount optioned with safe instrumentations, making the overall delivery with some songs disappointing, comparatively, but it remains a solid debut.

Though Madra left me wanting a little more, it’s hard to fault it, considering it has an identity on what it wants to say lyrically and instrumentally. Though the instrumentals can sometimes stay steady without expanding much, it shows room for growth that can leave anyone optimistic. It can make some moments feel slightly weak as Julie Dawson’s steady perspective running the hamster wheel doesn’t all get elevated from it, making some songs forgettable. Dawson’s vocals and it’s lyrics bring something thoughtful and insightful, giving the songs unique imagery, like “Nosebleed,” which uses the nerves that cause them to be an adamant component that shows the toxicity of the relationship, or “Sickly Sweet,” where the focus is on repetition, and how unhealthy patterns can be formidable to get through, almost like a sickness. As the band explores these ideas, you get an understanding of their delivery, especially when the first few tracks come ferociously before tempering and balancing between the two. It makes the lesser productions feel like they slightly waste the writing, but even so, they aren’t offensively flawed and more so leaning in the middle of interest.

Opening with “Angel,” NewDad doesn’t tiptoe around the avenues they want to reflect on, with the lyrics talking about self-harm, change, and self-worth, further bringing this enigmatic presence that brings an understanding of being and living instead of flaunting typicality, which would be making songs more centric the personal without much of the interpersonal. “Angel” speaks more about the kinship between two people who feel turbulence due to bad mental health on one side of the party, and its nuanced vagueness lets the listener adapt to it more seamlessly. Immediately, you continue to get some great stuff, but it begins to dilute itself by never taking that extra step on the songs like “Dream of Me” and “Change My Mind,” making the whole tread seem flat. Most of the album after the first three tracks are comparatively lukewarm in this regard, as NewDad isn’t doing anything new; however, the individualized talents that radiate through are still keen, like the Bass play by Cara Joshi on “Sicky Sweet,” Julie Dawson’s rhythmic strums and vocal cadence on “Nosebleed,” and the vivacious guitar and drumming on “Where I Go.”

Overall, Madra is this steady progression with a beautiful balance within the driven paths by the instruments naturally blending to keep the tonal motions from being too monotonous—the more raucous moments elevate the sentiments of the lyrics and vocal performances like “Sickly Sweet” and “Nosebleed,” where the lead guitar and percussion work are modestly louder and more pronounced, making these bops deliver the need for a stage as they will also hit live. It’s one benefiting parallel that gives the album a sense of whimsy, especially for those who love and have a fascination for the genre; for new fans, their sound isn’t complicated and a steady flow that functions like a meditation, where the textures are more calculated and allow for the spectrum of emotions from their perspectives. It’s a little more rugged in the beginning, giving us more direct and functional production that does its job to deliver what Julie Dawson wants to say. 

Unfortunately, being efficacious doesn’t always make it great, as some of its safer choices, like in “In My Head,” where the guitar and percussion don’t have much character, lacking the kind of creativity akin to the similarly enigmatic “Sickly Sweet;” it’s captivating verse to chorus transition, where it’s emotionally contained, despite the range. Or “Dream of Me,” where the steady production stales and without the vocal performance, it would become more forgettable. With these variations in quality, tracks become more take it or leave it, and all I can offer are my thoughts on the final product; maybe you hear what I do, but even through the weaker moments, the positives do outweigh the negatives, and it delivers something steady to build upon for the future. 

So sure, I was left wanting more, and it may lack that final oomph to take it over the top as you wish it did more with the pedals and other modifiers or incorporated different percussion than the snares—its bass grooves and vocals remain at a high that makes it an album worth checking out. As I leave you with these final thoughts, I encourage you to play that album and feel the glee that arrives with discovering something new. Newdad made me a major fan, and I’m left excited for their future releases as there is only one way, and that is up!

Rating: 6 out of 10.