I’m trying really hard to get into the swing of these weekly playlists, but it feels like there’s always something that pulls me away. Maybe that’s why my list for June is so short — I just haven’t really had the capacity to really dig in to anything. On the other hand, there hasn’t been much that’s really moved me. Call me a grouch, I suppose. Yet the music that spoke to me this month is all over the place: Nicki Bluhm’s deep dive into soul, Mylo Choy’s explorations into indie pop and electronic textures, and Alex Riggs’ swashbuckling experimentalism on themselves. (PS — I interviewed Alex on my new podcast Rainbow Rodeo.) What holds all of these together is, as always, an intense devotion to lyricism and getting at the truth of the things we can’t describe.
- Nicki Bluhm (Avondale Drive) — Nicki Bluhm’s been playing with 1970s sounds since way before it was cool. Avondale Drive is a smooth, glossy tour of country soul. Even as Bluhm contemplates life’s disappointments, she doesn’t dwell there, instead choosing to focus on the upswing. The album’s highly polished feel sometimes works against itself, such as on the impassioned protest track “Mother’s Daughter,” which, in my mind, feels tonally similar to the strident “Learn to Love Myself.” Maybe I’m too much of a bummer. But there’s no question Avondale Drive is a mature, self-assured album that is as healing as it is fun.
- Dave Goddess (Back in Business) — Sometimes, basic is a good thing. Dave Goddess’ album Back In Business scratches an itch that can never be fully satisfied: straight-ahead, meat-and-potatoes rock’n’roll about the down and out having their day a la Springsteen and Petty. Goddess and his band have an exuberant approach to their music, eagerly anticipating the parties to come.
- Alex Riggs (themselves) — This album is a farewell to the idea of al Riggs. (Alex and I talk about this and their transition on the Rainbow Rodeo podcast — yes, I’m linking to it twice.) The album imagines six artists in the bardo, what they remember, and what they hold on to. Alex explained the back story behind “No Moral,” one of the more personal songs on the album. It’s also one of the more rock-focused: the rest of it is a swirling maelstrom of electronic music, evoking the mysteries and shifting tides of the afterlife.
- Reilly Downes (Spent) — This is a lovely EP that is lacking in only one way: there aren’t 5 to 6 more songs. Downes’ rich voice is resplendent in sorrow, diving deep into heartbreak and yearning. Maybe it’s the ever-present pedal steel, or Downes’ expertly deft handling of grief in song, but Spent sounds like what early Karen and the Sorrows could have made with a higher budget. Downes and her band craft a luscious Nashville Sound to buttress her Southern gothic musings on heartbreak and resilience.
- Von Bieker (Will You Still Love Me) — On Will You still Love Me? Von Bieker gives vent to all of his insecurities. But, because it’s Von Bieker, he approaches it with his characteristic sweetness and effortless cool. The EP is a fine example of pop at its best: each song pulls you in to its irresistible hooks, pulling you in to their individual tides and gently washing you up on the beach until the next one.
- Mylo Choy (SUMMER PROJECTS pt. 1) — [”Lost”] What always strikes me about Mylo Choy’s music is its sense of radical acceptance. Choy calls heavily upon nature in their work, and, for the most part, their songs feel as present and matter-of-fact as the natural world. On Summer Projects Pt. 1, Choy used their pandemic downtime to experiment with synths. Some of these songs, like “Lost,” feel heavy and oppressive. Mylo talks about their process in yesterday’s interview.
- Wes Collins (Jabberwockies) — [Under My Fingers] Woof — Wes Collins can suck you into a song. Collins’ command of the English language is indisputable, turning a phrase like “Look out for the ones you love” from inspiring to menacing. On “Under My Fingers,” Collins sucks you in from the first line, mourning the demons we call upon as we fumble to communicate with each other. Jabberwockies is a study in lyricism: the music is direct folk, nothing fancy, and Collins uses his voice to gently deliver bitter medicine. The words matter here — just as they do in real life.