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Natalie Portman’s Shaved Head
Natalie Portman’s Shaved Head

A-
Natalie Portman’s Shaved Head
Glistening Pleasure

Team Swan Records

The whole ’80s thing is getting a little exhausted, in my opinion. And at the risk of sounding like a self-righteous asshole, I’m really quite over day-glow, wolf t-shirts and having to hear about obscure, crappy indie. Seattle’s electro-grunge quintet and Lilly Allen-openers Natalie Portman’s Shaved Head, at first, appear to be the last marketable lunge towards a saturated market of seizure-inducing irony, but this band is way more than Wayfarers and neon zinc. After listening to their record Glistening Pleasure, it’s blindingly clear that NPSH don’t take themselves too seriously—it’s entirely plausible they’re taking the piss out of this obsession with retro recreation itself.

And in that frame of mind, they become quite endearing. Their main thesis seems to be reminding people how stupid the ’80s were, singing about the hipster-life issues of beard control and picking up weirdo art girls with chiselled bangs. Their lyrics are unparalleled. “Beard Lust” discusses the perils of facial hygiene: “Where’d you get that beard / I grew it / How do you keep it so clean? / I shampoo it.” Their ridiculous single “Sophisticated Side Ponytail” deals with more day-to-day issues: “Want to go to Oysterfest? / Yes, oh yes / That’s the best.” This poetic introspection is couched in frenzied electronic beeps and nervous melodies—and at its base, it’s really entertaining.

—Tommy Morgan

A

The Decemberists
The Hazards of Love

Capitol Records

Once upon a time, the Decemberists released their fifth studio album, choosing this time to undertake a rock-opera of medieval proportions. Their story begins with a deservingly indulgent three minute “Prelude,” characterized by chugging riffs and heavy handed solos—a fitting prologue to their folklore set of music.

The table of contents was a tad more nebulous, what with seven of the 17 songs having nearly identical titles, and no pauses between each number. We’ll just call this a liberal use of stylistic device.

The Hazards of Love quadrilogy is a romantic, pastoral narrative that bleeds seamlessly throughout the easy strum of a guitar and slight twinkle of the embarrassingly underrated dulcimer. I spent much of my time anticipating a pied piper and jonesing for a festive dance around the maypole.

The vivid character development is the only feature that comes close to outdoing the colourful instrumentation—provided by everything from banjos and country fiddles to slinky distortion.

Along our journey, we meet “The Rake” who, in an eerily cheery tone, spouts off a sociopathic bachelor’s ode to irresponsibility. As he explicitly recounts his early marriage, his wife’s death by childbirth and his proud admission of filicide, you can’t help but realize nothing is taboo or right with this joker.

Then there’s the hapless “Margaret in the Taiga” who, in the course of this mid-length narrative, is abducted and held captive. And finally, we encounter the audibly evil, yet admirably sassy, “Queen” whose womanly wail is the soundtrack for sealing deals with the devil.

This collection, quite literally, has everything you would want in a good story: star-crossed lovers, a sexy but despicably evil monarch, a children’s choir and references to laying down in beds of clover and “wombs spilling out children.” Like falling into an operatic rabbit hole spiralling somewhere between the dirty ’70s underground metal scene and the romantic, but menacing society of Medieval England circa 1570, the Decemberist’s newest venture is quite a trip.

The Hazards of Love may be dangerous, but this only makes you want it more.

—Kate Underwood

B

Sahara Hotnights
Sparks

Stand By Your Band

An album composed solely of covers is never a particularly appealing prospect, even when it’s an album by one of chick rock’s most accomplished and engaging bands. From their first LP, C’mon, Let’s Pretend, released while they were still teenagers, to 2001’s Jennie Bomb, which saw the band swept up into the short-lived garage punk scene, to the sleek retro pop of Kiss & Tell, released in 2004 and their strongest effort to date, Sahara Hotnights have come a long way.

I wonder whether icy lead Hotnight Maria Andersson is out of ideas now that her romance with Hives frontman Pelle Almqvist, her lyrical fodder for years, is long since over.

In Sparks, the followup to 2007’s bittersweet breakup record What If Leaving Is A Loving Thing, Andersson’s big voice and endearing Swedish accent shine through.

Although the Hotnights are only in their 20s, they’ve been a band for well over a decade, and it shows. Their instrumentation, though never careless, is effortless here. The sound is simultaneously immense and restrained. Especially impressive is Josephine Forsman’s rock drumming.

Lead single “In Private,” a minor U.K. hit from Dusty Springfield in 1989, gives Andersson a chance to show off her emotional range and guitar solo skills and comes closest to capturing Sahara Hotnights’ halcyon years.

The band’s guitarist and bassist, Jennie and Johanna Asplund, are also able singers, and their sassy backing vocals, best exemplified by 2004 single “Hot Night Crash,” are used far too sparingly.

All but one song (“Big Me”) were previously unknown to me, which is probably a good thing. Although some, such as “Calm Down” and “Wide River,” fit the band’s style well, others seem gratuitous. Many of Sparks’s missteps stem from ill-considered song choices. A song that sounds amazing at one a.m. at Hultsfredsfestivalen doesn’t necessarily translate well to the sterile environment of a studio. Not even Andersson’s hypnotically sultry coo can save the meandering tedium of “Mess Around,” although I will say that “Can’t you see monogamy has always been so hard for me” is an awesome lyric.

“City of Brotherly Love,” a cover of an original by hipster nomad Cass McCombs, clocks in at just over six minutes and manages to remain listenable throughout.

“Japanese Boy,” originally by one-hit wonder Aneka in 1981, is a magnificently absurd bit of new wave fluff and stands out as one of Sparks’s best tracks.

It’s undeniable that Sahara Hotnights are immensely talented. But catchy basslines and throaty vocals are only part of what makes them great. Without Andersson’s clever, infinitely relatable lyrics, they’re just another indie band.

Sahara Hotnights still have another great album in them—there’s enough here to confirm that. But Sparks isn’t it.

–Lauren Miles

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