Some will be drawn to To See the Next Part of the Dream for its darkness-even the acoustic songs, like “Extra Story,” are undergirded by a paranoid twinkle-but the dread lingering in every moment of beauty on this record only adds to the sense of hope emanating from its very existence. The album was self-released by an anonymous music student living in Seoul, who quite possibly recorded every part themself the little that is known about its background comes from a note on Parannoul’s Bandcamp, about memories that never existed and rock-star dreams realized, “the wide gap between ideal and reality.” With this context in mind, you can’t help but hear the album’s scale-the textural layers of sound and static, the cinematic swirl of influences, the crushing breakdowns-as a statement of intent, an artist putting everything on the line. To See the Next Part of the Dream is Korean indie rock informed by UK shoegaze, Midwest emo, ’90s alternative, modern-day bedroom pop, the popular anime Neon Genesis Evangelion, M83’s early masterpiece Dead Cities, Red Seas & Lost Ghosts, and a dark Japanese film about bullying and teenage fandom.
Self-released 파란노을 (Parannoul): To See the Next Part of the Dream Reports of the death of rock have been greatly exaggerated: Afrique Victime is a uniquely vibrant and kinetic recording, one that proves that the future of rock music exists far beyond what any genre or geographic borders can define. Its title track is a pure thrill, detonating as Moctar’s cohort locks into a churning groove from his sung invocation and only growing wilder from there. The band charges through energetic and lightly psychedelic numbers (“Chismiten,” “Ya Habibti”), and find more knots to untangle in their quieter asides (“Asdikte Akal,” “Tala Tannam”).
His solos rip like lightning bolts across a storm of melody and rhythm, with Mikey Coltun’s bass roiling in ecstatic complement. On Afrique Victime, his first release for Matador, Moctar chases lively arrangements even further while excoriating the traumatic legacy of brutal French colonialism in Africa. Since then, he’s continued to find electrified approaches to the vernacular music of his Tuareg background with uninhibited guitar. Mdou Moctar first riveted listeners as a wedding performer in his home country of Niger his live recordings circulated over shared SIM cards. It is a beautiful, adventurous album from a band who is letting their music fall into disorder and who, in doing so, have never sounded more in control. But with producer BJ Burton, Sparhawk and Parker interrupt and distort themselves, filtering their stark, psalm-like compositions through the kind of processing that makes a guitar solo squeal into feedback, or the sound from your speakers clip into static. In fact, most of the songs tease that kind of delivery: Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker’s voices arrive in unison like folk singers, stripped of effects and clear in the mix, every word audible and sung in simple, hummable melodies. It is easy to imagine any of these 10 warped, noisy pieces of music in stripped-down arrangements. Nearly 30 years into their career, Low have moved beyond simply writing great songs: They are now focused on the way those songs travel from the speakers to our ears: a strange, circuitous journey that makes HEY WHAT feel like genuinely new territory. Within Shaw is a voice of a generation distilling how it feels to be alive right now: “Do everything and feel nothing.” –Simon Reynolds It’s no coincidence that the most exciting rock record in years is about the inability to feel excitement. There’s a personal dimension to the inner emptiness (a sapping break-up), but because New Long Leg’s release coincided with the depressive pall that swept over the world thanks to lockdown, Shaw’s interiority synced up perfectly with exterior conditions. The lyrics infest your brain with quotables that reverberate for days, but more than the words it’s Shaw’s intonation that’s so funny and so heartbreaking: the grudging cadences, the way she can inject an unreadable alloy of earnestness and irony into an inanity like “I can rebuild.” The self-portrait painted here is of a burned-out shell drifting numbly through a life that senselessly accumulates irritations, humiliations, discomforts, chores, and interpersonal skirmishes, offset by the tiny comforts of Twix bars and artisanal treats. This album is not the type to be nominated for a Grammy, but it really ought to get Emmys for writing and acting.
#Alan walker on my way alternate how to
One way to hear New Long Leg is as a cringe-tinged dramedy-like Fleabag or Girls-with Florence Shaw as the performer who knows exactly how to deliver her own script.
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