"Hot Piss Takes, #1" by Griffin S.
Mean Reviews of New Albums by: 21 Pilots, Charli XCX, IDLES, Justin Timberlake, Vampire Weekend
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Griffin S. is a writer, visual artist and noise musician. You can probably find him manipulating samples, reading James Ellroy or Philip K. Dick and smoking. He lives in Los Angeles.
I try to stay in the loop with new music. While my tastes are solidified in the realms of indie, experimental, art pop, post punk and various strains of noise, I do like to venture my way to check out what is currently going around music-wise, for better or worse. My music reviews for most of my life centered around making snide remarks with my friends about artists I disliked and obsessively pushing my favorite bands onto these same friends. So, here it is, my thoughts on some newer records that seem to be topping the charts or circulating around blogs and sites I enjoy (and usually trust the taste of). I feel ridiculous even having to type this out but this is my opinion. If you like these artists, cool (unless it’s IDLES) These are just my own thoughts on these records. If you feel personally attacked, feel free to pan my upcoming novella.
21 Pilots — Clancy
This album feels less like the hipster yearning of The Postal Service (its clear pop inspiration) and more like the soundtrack to some awkward dance in a community church basement. I didn’t know pop punk, or music in the unflatteringly blithe spirit of pop punk, could get worse. Somehow, this record mixes in the worst aspects of the genre and strangely the vocal stylings of 2010s stomp-clap “indie” that middling bros (who somehow thought that wearing flannel made them as “in” as scenesters) have loved to torture their dates with. The gentlemen in 21 Pilots look like the types to want to haggle with kids stepped on molly at Warped Tour, and wax poetic about the various age of consent laws.
Charli XCX — Brat
I feel like Charli XCX mainly appeals to one neighborhood in Brooklyn, and this latest record seems like a strange way of trying to remind everyone who doesn’t in Bushwick that they are missing out. It is an attempt at FOMO distilled into audio format. The best thing I can say about this album is it feels like Charli’s genuine artistic vision, even if I do not enjoy it. It is not some weird pathetic money grab that manifests in jumping on dying trends long after they have fallen out of vogue, something her mainstream pop contemporaries are often guilty of. Charli does seem authentic in her artistry. Maybe I’m just not gay enough for this album.
IDLES — Tangk
Remember when some people in indie and punk adjacency were psyop-ed into thinking this band was saying something? Yeah, I do as well. I despise this band. IDLES is the musical equivalent of a t-shirt that reads “This is What A Male Feminist Looks Like!” I have no doubt the vocalist of this band has uttered the words “Where’s my hug?” to his nearest DSA canvasser. These boys are back with their on-the-nose shit lyricism, milquetoast instrumentation and putrid insufferability. I’d say you should recommend this album to the worst person you know, but chances are, they already own the vinyl.
Justin Timberlake — Everything I Thought I Was
Ah yes, the man who brought sexy back. But was it ever really sexy? You can count on an armless man’s hand the number of people who have gotten laid from Timberlake’s music. Justin’s recent DUI stop makes a lot of sense when you listen to this record, in the way that either a) you would have to be so fucked up to put this out, or b) you would rather crash your car than listen to another plastic synth line while picturing JT shaking his hips to this wretched crap.
Vampire Weekend — Only God Was Above Us
What a strange album title. With the music sounding like it does on this record, it seems like you can throw talent away with God too. I like some of Vampire Weekend’s early stuff, at least I thought I did until this record. This is simply one of those albums that are so earth-shatteringly bad, it makes one rethink whether the band was ever good in the first place. This record is the soundtrack to Ivy League caterwauling. That being somehow, it is in even worse taste than the band utilizing African instrumentation for songs about going to Columbia University.