The best movies, the best albums, the best horror, and the best catty side-swipes at whatever’s annoying me at the time of this writing. Happy New Year!
It’s never too late to take a minute and jot down some thoughts about one of 2019’s best country records, y’know.
If there is a dad joke, and I can get away with making the dad joke, I will always, always, always make the dad joke, even dad jokes about Free Nationals albums.
If you put a set of explosives in the water and a massive tidal wave formed, you would get…a really bad joke. Also, this album kicks ass.
A new Juliana Hatfield album, following the other new Juliana Hatfield album, except *this* Juliana Hatfield album is The Police.
Last week, for The A.V. Club‘s weekly A-Sides feature, I had the good luck of writing about the new FKA twigs album, Magdalene, essentially her way of working through her breakup with Robert Pattinson, which I know little about*, other than it resulted in a really great album by an incredibly talented artist. I also know that I’m …
In which Andy makes the pickiest of nits about an otherwise rock solid album about how much it sucks to have your heart broken when you’re the big brain type and you know that people leave but memories remain.
The odd case where I feel like I am, by own disappointment, disappointing the people whose art I’m critiquing.
What do you do when the tide creeps in and washes away your sand castle? Make another one. Then make an album with your sibling about growing up on the Isle of Man.
Instead of gazing at one’s shoes, one should gaze at their personal past. That’s a way better source of songwriting inspiration.
It’s a deer! On a beach! Only in Michigan, I’m telling you.
I don’t know what I can say about this record that I don’t already say in the kicker to my review, but gosh I guess I’ll try.
Well, as long as the reruns are erotic, then I don’t mind if I do.
One easily distracted ADD person + one other easily distracted ADD person = a very good conversation about the endless intersections between the act of creation.
Put away your soaps and bath bombs and shampoos and other scented sudsy sundries, this is a music review, not a tutorial for custom at-home spa treatments, good lord.
What do you do when a band you’ve followed for years makes a new album and it’s…kind of bland?
Not a steak, nor a relative of Carol Burnett, but rather an album whose thesis essentially is that the world sucks, life sucks, people suck, but don’t worry, we’re all going to die someday or something.
An album whose title belies the somewhat not-very-modern style of the band. But in a good way!
Andy gets to write about a new thing by Les Claypool (and also Sean Lennon (but for Andy, mostly Claypool (no offense Sean))), and he is excited about it.
A lovely album loaded with lovely music, but of course Andy being Andy, Andy had some struggles with it. (Andy.)