So many albums. So so many albums. So so many things, generally. The last few months have been a haze of essays, exams and mutilated sleep patterns, all soundtracked by a weird mix of Beyonce, Deerhunter, St.Vincent, Owen Pallett, songs from Adventure Time, and the occasional strategic burst of Future Islands to jump-start my mind. I also got to see Annie Clark roll around on the floor like a total idiot on Jools Holland and make me feel bad about yet another person I find cool; hear Kasabian’s new, dubiously dancey, horrifyingly laddish (well, the video anyway) single ‘EEZ-EH'(Christ); and, of course, see a bearded woman win Eurovision.
I also got to fall completely behind all musical developments except for the ones I really care about – by which I mean Owen Pallett. But that’s probably for the best, since, as my review of The War on Drugs will show, I’ve also become hopelessly bored by miserable, bearded white guys singing over slightly lo-fi music. Unfortunately that seems to constitute most music nowadays, or at least a weirdly disproportionate amount of the music that gets good reviews. That hasn’t stopped me listening to everything Bradford Cox does, though, but then again he doesn’t have a beard and his misery is sort of justified by being born with a deformity.
Anyway, a bounty of reviews. Too many reviews some would say. Most would say that, truth be told. Continue reading