There’s a reason people love mixtapes. They’re fast and lose, and often bursting with the creative energy of an aspiring and hungry guest list. Noname’s record harkens back to the brilliance of the early Chance the Rapper mixtapes, and to a certain extent, Kanye West’s early records.

Despite that, there’s a clear difference here: Noname’s gender is an obvious differentiator. There’s a dearth of women in hip hop. It’s a stain on a genre that needs to be spending more time celebrating its diversity.

As a result, Telefone is a massive breath of fresh air. Noname is an excellent rapper, and her voice is easy to listen to.

There are so many standout tracks on the record. It would be shockingly easy to write something positive about every track. “Yesterday”’s breezy piano is charming. “Sunny Duet” is melodically stunning; “sunny” is a perfect descriptor.

For my money, though, “Diddy Bop” is the earliest standout track that might buy Noname more of an audience. The guest spot from Raury (who’s one of my favourite up-and-coming rappers) is great. The two of them have a similar style; their beats often feel like they straddle the sometimes-thin line between hip hop and R&B.

They both also share another important vocal quality. Noname, not unlike Raury (or Chance the Rapper), floats over her beats. Even when she’s being more rhythmic with her intonations, like on “Reality Check” (which features the sensational Eryn Allen Kane), it sounds easy and natural.

Like many Chicagoans before her, Noname is naturally proud of her city. But it feels like she’s more aware of its darker side, perhaps because she’s a woman. “Casket Pretty” is a heavy song about how many of her friends end up in caskets, and how “nobody’s safe in her happy city.”

That ironic twist is both a clever and sad line. The song is a telling moment for Noname: she’s not just incredibly skilled, but also self-aware in ways that some of her peers aren’t.

I would be remiss not to mention the mixtape’s closer, “Shadow Man”. I don’t have words to describe my affection for this piece. It’s the longest, most fulfilling track on the record. There’s a beautiful moment on the record that’s heavenly, and Noname never feels more on beat.

There’s a remarkable amount of restraint on Telefone. Noname saves the best track for last. But she also raps at the right times, and somehow “floats” when it’s appropriate. She opens the doors to collaborate with peers, and isn’t afraid to give them the space to do their own thing.

Noname is the most exciting rapper since Raury and Chance the Rapper. Telefone is sensational. It’s unfair to say this so early in her career, so I want to make it clear that I mean this to be encouraging and hopeful — but I desperately want to see Fatimah become the female role model in hip hop.

She could actually do it.

The post Noname: Telefone appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

Think about root beer. Have you ever met a root beer fan who doesn’t have an incredibly specific opinion on their favourite brand or variety of the drink? You might have drank hundreds of root beers, but you still know when you’ve found a special bottle of the stuff.

Why? It’s just got some kind of magical quality.

Les Deuxluxes is a “two-man” (one man, one woman) garage rock band from Montreal. You’ve heard music like this before (The White Stripes, The Black Keys, almost every other garage rock band ever). This isn’t the first time, or the last time, you’ll hear music from “a hip new garage rock outfit.”

But Les Deuxluxes have some kind of magical quality.

It’s more than their high-energy tracks (like “Queen of Them All”, which opens the record). There’s a magical quality to slower songs, too. Songs like “Bomb of Time” or “Bloody Queen” evoke everything from Led Zeppelin to Loretta Lynn, but have a spark to them that defies explanation.

That’s why I can say that I enjoyed “My Babe & Me” more than almost any other rock track this summer. There’s a spark there. I haven’t heard a spark like this since the early White Stripes records (obviously Elephant. I’m aware. I don’t care).

True, this is garage rock. I’ve heard plenty of music like this before. It doesn’t matter. Les Deuxluxes have a lot of charm, and a truckload of magic.

Besides, listen to “So Long, Farewell” and tell me if you’ve heard a single track this summer that has an ounce of the same amount of fun.

The post Les Deuxluxes: Springtime Devil appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

On One, their ironically-titled sophomore record, the Toronto outfit blazes through a set of (mostly) instrumental tracks. Often inspired by the psychedelic rock and heavy metal genres of the ’70s, but without ever aping them, One believes there are still uncharted lands and unanswered questions in guitar rock. The band improvs most of their music until arriving at the songs that you hear now on the record (and their live shows are supposed to be raucous musical events0.

Even on the rare vocal moments during the record, Fresh Snow is intent on mining those melodies in support of the overarching musical elements. Take “Mass Graves / Dance Caves”, which sounds like the dance track it’s perhaps meant to be spoofing. Using almost exclusively their guitars and a synth, Fresh Snow puts together a charming disco track. It’s great because it sounds like a spoof, but there’s something charming in its spontaneity.

I’m certain the band is more comfortable playing songs like “January Skies”, which apes psychedelic rock and Black Sabbath — along with a techno-inspired pulse — to create a sound that’s completely unconventional. It still relies on the riff, but it’s challenging our assumptions of where a riff comes from.

These songs challenge preconceptions of rock music. It’s easy to say that about most post-rock, but with Fresh Snow, the band playfully rearranges our notion of what rock music is. What’s more, they do it all without descending into electronica.

None of this makes Fresh Snow easy to absorb. Everybody talks about Fresh Snow as a Krautrock band. Krautrock was a German style of rock that was focused on improvisation. But the thing is, jazz came first.

Miles Davis was an improv guy (as were many of the greats who followed him). Jazz is the improvisational take on music — music’s greatest non-verbal connection to the spoken word. As a result, some of it wasn’t easy to digest. Miles Davis is responsible for the world’s most popular and approachable jazz record, Kind of Blue. But he’s also responsible for Bitches’ Brew, which is not a record you’d give to a jazz novice.

So much like the best jazz records, One is difficult to digest. Unlike most Krautrock records — which treat improv as an end rather than a means to one — One requires and rewards repeat listening. But that listening is rewarded by Fresh Snow’s ability to surprise. The album is a treat for fans of great rock and impressive instrumental music. It’s also a sign of Fresh Snow’s increasing importance in Canada’s rock scene.

The post Fresh Snow: One appeared first on Unsung Sundays.