CondĂ© Nastâs gutting of the Pitchfork staff last week, along with the publisherâs announcement that it was folding the music site into GQ, has once again spurred talk of the death of music criticism and the dwindling number of non-algorithmic ways to find out about new music. Without belittling the loss hereâitâs bad, itâll get worse, and the decline is systemicâI like to take the long view of the situation.
The thing about music critics is, nobody has ever liked us. Weâve always been slighted by our bosses, even the ones who kinda liked us. In the âgood old daysâ of alt-weeklies, before Pitchfork was even born, editors and publishers were constantly pressuring us to run less criticism and more phoners with touring musicians while regularly cutting back on our allotted pages.
Me, Iâve been as true a believer as there ever was in the value of music crit for a quarter-century now. Iâve never expected anything but a fight to do what I wanted to do. And I hope I can do my little part here at Racket to keep the spark alive.
Local Picks
Taylor James Donskey, âDiogenesâ
Over nicely layered guitars that drive the track forward, the singer-songwriter has a few questions for the ancient Greek Cynic, such as âIs your whiskey barrel-aged?â and âDo you sleep all day?â And then he probes deeper.
Once again, â80s synthpop revivalism done right, as Patrick Donohoe aches with stylized desperation and Jeff Cornell makes all the right noises, especially that dry synthbass.
Porcupine, âCharacter Flawsâ
A knotty little rocker that burrows inward on its verses and that furls outward on its choruses, equally memorable in both instances and spiked by adroit guitar noises and brawny drumming.Â
Rudh may dive voice-first into the Auto-Tune, but thereâs nothing hyper about this punsterâs pop. Witty, playful, even silly, he claimes âLove is just a numberâ while asking for just a fraction of yours. And he makes it count.
Vial, âFalling Shortâ
A headlong punk tune about not measuring up to some loserâs expectations, with a chorus thatâs eloquent in a way that only a sentiment as exasperated âWhatever/I donât care anymoreâ can be. From their upcoming album burnout, due at the end of March.
Nonlocal Picks
Tom Breihan compared the anxious, distorted squiggle ânâ stutter of this track to Playboi Carti, and why not? As on her 2019 solo LP, No Home Record, Gordonâs working with Justin Raisen, whose credits include Lil Yachtyâs much-praised Letâs Start Here and work with Sky Ferreira back when she was making music a thousand years ago. Someoneâs figured out that the avant-garde is hardly limited to fellas with mistuned guitars.
Adrienne Lenker, âSadness as a Giftâ
Lenkerâs solo material can be more straightforward, even craftier, than her work with Big Thiefâwhat seems to emerge from the group gestalt there really does sound like more of a practical, individual effort here, offering another side of a songwriter whoâs enjoying that golden moment when inspiration feels unlimited. Big fan of that country fiddle, too.Â
Nia Archives, âCrowded Roomzâ
Whatâs great about the still ongoing jungle/drum ânâ bass revival, from this non-clubberâs perspective at least, is how pop it is. This UK singer/producer feels lonely in the club, which is maybe why this one sounds like its meant to be danced to at home. I canât promise that sheâll follow PinkPantheress to the top of the charts, but I hope the algorithm is nudging âBoyâs a Liarâ addicts in her direction.Â
Shygirl feat. Boyz Noise, âTell Meâ
On the third single from her upcoming EP, Club Shy, due on February 9, the singer coos âIâll do anything you wantâ with a seductive compliance thatâs far from passivity. She makes the most of a production assist from the featured German producer, whose hi-hats slice against tactile, bubbly synths to evolve into perky house track.
Yard Act, âWe Make Hitsâ
Self-referential lot that they are, the British are always giving songs winky little titles like this; fortunately, these Leeds lads have only tautened their rhythm section since their debut, The Overload. âI'm still an anti-C-A-P-I-T-A-L-I-S-T/It just so happens that there's other things I happen to be,â James Smith protests, while giving himself an out with this coda: âAnd if it's not a hit, we were being ironic.â
Wanna get a local song considered for the playlist? To make things easy on both of us, email keith@racketmn.com with MONDAY PLAYLIST in the subject header. (Donât, as in do NOT, DM or text: If Iâm in a good mood, Iâll just ask you to send an email; if Iâm in a bad mood Iâll just ignore it.)