Good morning, The Rock*A*Teens

Good morning, The RockATeens, Sixth House. Of all the unbelievable 2018isms, this new album is the most welcome. The crooked cracked vocals, bombastic showtune anthems dredged through broken reverbed amps, soothe any aching-hearted optimist. A welcome addition to a band as American as there’s ever been: outcasts, underdogs, heroes.

The Rock*A*Teens’ Sixth House will crash into your life like this tree did to this house.

Good morning, Shellac, Dude Incredible. Twenty-plus years Shellac have pushed against convention with gentle force. Music still hasn’t caught up or fallen back yet. Songs about math, founding fathers, ocd, primal struggles, unions—these our histories, futures, aren’t these all thèmes américains? Universal themes? Themes for all earths, all times? Delivered with humor, unexpected twists, bludgeoning riffs, screaming clang—it shouldn’t be feared. Learn from the past, lean into the future. Every scene needs its own Led Zeppelin, after all.

Monkey lifts monkey upon hearing Shellac’s Dude Incredible

Good morning, E, Negative Work. Post-long weekend we may feel negative work, but you should feel Negative Work. Microtonal lines haunting the slashed ferocity of Zedek’s guitar and voice, over menaced drums. The work for this second album shows, an even fuller blend of their Come/Neptune/Karate/etc backgrounds. All those bands end with E, this week starts with E. Get negative.

E’s album Negative Work, pictured here in all its glory

Good morning, David Bowie, Diamond Dogs. 44 years old, and still confused after all this time. Birthed during dystopian 70s, dreaming of a 1984 musical, its birthday falls into a similar milieu (or worse). Always seems an autumn album, spring gives it a different cast. Hope? Maybe. Sweet Thing/Candidate/Sweet Thing (Reprise)’s dark politics all too fitting. Let’s all be Rebel Rebels this Memorial Day!

Bowie’s Diamond Dogs, shown here in all its carnivalesque hues.

Good morning, Unnatural Ways, s/t. Back into more Unnatural Ways. Unsettled times demand unsettled music. Throbs and incantations— ev-ry-thing-is-be-ing-re-cord-ed—reverb vaults, hammondy pulse, syncs with train-morn shake-rattle of transport, escape. Then waltz into our electrified past, ok?