The past two Phantogram records have been fine, technically speaking. They’re fine indie records. But they’re original to the point that they’re bothersome. It feels like Phantogram tries too hard on them. I remember listening to Voices and being unable to recommend it here. I love weird music, but Phantogram just made me feel uncomfortable. Something was wrong.

With Three, I don’t have that feeling. The record is inventive without being polarizing. It’s familiar without ever being a retread. In short, it simply feels right.

“You Don’t Get Me High Anymore”, the album’s lead single, is a perfect example of this style. The duo’s energetic style translates perfectly to this rock-infused pop style. It’s got a great chorus, a great verse, and a fantastic flow.

The only complaint you could leverage against the record is that it feels stuffed with ideas. They don’t all work well, but so many of them do that it’s hard to hold the bad ideas against the band.

For those of us who have musical ADD, all these ideas make Three refreshingly interesting. Each song is different from then one that came before it. Eight tracks in, “Run Run Blood” is different from anything that came before (and still an excellent song, with a totally surprising verse).

For some people, though, I suspect it’ll be the quieter songs that are more potent. Tracks like “Barking Dog” are impeccably well written and emotive. “Answer” is a track that hits exactly where it hurts, with a piano line that wouldn’t be out of place in a soap opera. (That’s not an insult; music should make us feel this way.)

For Phantogram fans, Three won’t be what they expect. Some of them will acclimatize, and some will not. For the rest of us, I think Three might be their best record yet. Time will only tell. In the meantime, ignore the critics. This record is the most approachable Phantogram record. Three is easy to listen to, easy to love, and still different enough to surprise.

The post Phantogram: Three appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

The title of this record is significant: it’s not St. Vincent’s debut, so why would she give it her own name? Self-titling a record usually suggests that it should define what an artist is about. This isn’t an accident: St. Vincent is the very definition of what Annie Clark wants to be as an artist.

Rattlesnake shows her off, but Birth In Reverse is really the best intro to this record — and maybe a great intro to her discography. Huey Newton is a perfect example of the way her music can go from contemplative and even happy to dizzyingly heavy and fuzzy in but moments. Bring Me Your Loves is like a weird Lady Gaga side project. In similar veins, Digital Witness and Regret are pretty much perfect, but you could argue that St. Vincent is at her absolute heart-wrenching best when she slows down for songs like I Prefer Your Love.

And in each of these songs, St. Vincent is throwing weird sounds at the listener, and she’s so talented that it’s hard to tell if she’s using a synth or a guitar to accomplish the noise. It’s a guitar god record from a performer at her peak, but it’s also a master lesson in songwriting. St. Vincent is unpredictable, powerful, and completely disarming.

The post St. Vincent: St. Vincent appeared first on Unsung Sundays.