dellyhuerga

Some Great EPs that didn't cut it

by Inc.: Some down and dirty funk/soul. Sax included.

An Argument With Myself by Jens Lekman: It is a testament to this year when a release as good as this one can’t even make my list.

Ascent by Maths: For screamo fans with an affinity for the epic.

Awake byTrash Talk: It’s hardcore. D with it

Creature Dreams byTokimonsta: Chill vibes. Throw this on at your next rainbow party.

Darkbloom Split by Grimes/D’Eon: Exciting venture into “dark pop”, especially on Grimes’ side.

S/T by Darkside: Nicolas Jaar goes rock. At least he throws in a lot more guitar. This probably should’ve made the list but he’s on enough as it is.

Daytrotter Sessions by Anamanaguchi: Probably the only chiptune artist where it makes a difference if it’s live or not.

Enough Thunder by James Blake: A very dark take on his music. Interesting to hear him make harmonies and sounds that aren’t so sweet anymore.

Fleur Ep by Sepalcure: Really great sounds, much more pumped up than Machinedrum. I would say Sepalcure do much better in the EP format than LP.

Follow You by Fatima/Floating Points: Terribly gorgeous new take on soul. Highly recommended.

Family of Love by Dom: Happy, bright pop. The most fun EP of the year.

Freaking Out by Toro y Moi: More of what made Underneath the Pine great, especially “Saturday Love”.

Here by Deadboy: UK garage/funky/wonky/tonk/women

Home After Three Months Away by Empire! Empire! (I Was a Lonely Estate): An experiment in seeing how depressed you can be while still living the dream life of being in a husband/wife emo band.

Hypersleep Dialougues by BTBAM: They’re just too suited for albums. This is a cruel tease to me.

S/T by King Krule: For those who want the sounds of the lounge with the depression of the pub.

Love What Happened Here by James Blake. I’m not sure if I’m ready to handle “Curbside” yet. Regardless of whether it’s because I’m so shocked or because it’s good music, I do know that I’m enjoying myself while listening, however.

Lover’s Holiday by Theophilius London: Highly enjoyable rap-pop. Notable for the innovative song title “Girls Girls $”.

Mountains byDJRum: My favorite EP not to make the list. This guy will make you feel safe and comfortable with some nice strings but once he gets you home you’re in for quite a ride.

Mystic Places by Woodsman: Some good trippy nu-psychedelia

Ragysh by Todd Terje: Everything’s a bit overshadowed by the amazing “Snooze 4 Love”. That might have to get on my songs list…

Redux by As the Stars Fall: Has Maybeshewill’s skill for picking spoken word samples with a sound of his own.

Satin Panthers by Hudson Mohawke: Hip hop beats smeared with something new.

Street Halo by Burial: Not much new here, but nobody seemed to care

Those Who Didn’t Run by Colin Stetson: He went a lot further into drone on this one. Very interesting

What a Pleasure by Beach Fossils: Dreamy and pretty

Witchhunt Suite for WWIII by Ariel Pink: I watched this video on 9/11. It felt a little inappropriate. It felt a little too true.

With U by Holy Other: Like sex with a ghost

Undressed

“Snow,” the moon insisted (1)

But the rain came      O

“Well, no blame to be placed,” the moon thought, “simply a force of nature.”

Azure lands speckled the ground like swollen glands, reprimanding the sky for its clichéd choice.

“Least it’s moist”

No voice for the voiceless

Words often spoken, yet undressed

Salads spring from greener things but a grey demeanor means no sausage for wienter.

A house made of splintered boards.

It was like traffic spikes for youthful sock sliders, and we were tired of it.

The higher the air pressure, the harder to hear the cries, right next to you.       

I wish for a golden life, but absolutely a few flecks will do.

Insist.




Insist on a better tomorrow, despite having pissed yourself today.

Insist on a sweater tomorrow, even when your last lamb is bare of all wool.

The tools of your desire will ensure it

will be.

 

Insist on being the best COD player in a 400 mile radius, though now you’re the fucking worst.

Insist on being one of millions born at birth on some particular day, even if they got the month wrong.     

You’re special regardless.   

 

You’re the biggest fan of Downton Abbey, declare it so.

Today your foreskin’s looking flabby, let it go.

Everything here to stop you can’t hold a candlelit LED to what you are / will be.

 

Insist you’re arty, even when Will’s being me(a)n.

Insist on every goodbye meaning something, even though there were like ten today and many more lined up in time.

Time tells us it doesn’t have to be so hard, that shaken, stirred and scarred we still go on to spit bars or see stars or at least park cars at theaters showing the latest one, making it

all worth it all over again.

 

1. Martin, George R. R. A Dance With Dragons. New York: Bantam, 2011. 51. Print.

 

At the Races

If there was a chord to match one tenth of your beauty

If there was a star cluster even nearly as stirring

Was there a swan worth one quarter your grace

Then I’d let my mechanics keep on whirring 

Inner demons can’t breach the seal of kiss

If there was a bedding comparably soft

If there was a fire remotely as giving

Were this moment to become a memory

Then I’d let my life just keep on living

I’m going to be trill with everyone and come out and say it: I do not like songs. To me, they are simply not capable of the artistic statement that an album is. I mean, even Britney Spears can put out a good song. But to have the consistency to put out a good album takes the skill of a great artist. These were the songs that I resentfully made exceptions to my rule for. These songs are capable of standing on their own as a powerful artistic statements. I will maintain my steady diet of about 95% of my music listening being in the album form, but these songs will have a firm place in that five percent.

Stream my top 25 songs here

A great part of music’s beauty lies in its equalized playing field. There’s no formal education system required to be recognized. There’s no expensive capital needed like in film. It’s all there, in your hands an voice. The most neglected, uneducated human can express him/herself as eloquently as the rest, sometimes even more so. It is one of the most essential common human ties.

Toilet paper rolls are sold as convocations

There are razorblades in my parsecs

The lemon of tomorrow is marketed as fresh fish, sold a dime a dozen

Who speaks the final language?

The one which will be used to sell the last gumdrop

The one comprising the chants of the ultimate youth’s scum pop

Drummed melodies impishly flop over blank canvas

Vasectomy rates are shooting up, ironically

Calypso music has become obsolete, the codec no longer exists

But progression plows on, indifferent to frivolous sentimentalities

Not that that that is a bad thing

There’s a movie called the bling ring

But I won’t watch it

Popular culture cries on beneath my feat

Like subdued lava

It’s subjugated to my personal underground

An undergrowth of Overgrown has yet to flourish

The richest get access to fluoride

“I can only afford the best,” tan their hides!

Snide comments will be ignored

Fatal functions but they’re still bored

Boarded up by lack of housing

Silent graves aren’t all that rousing

You judge until you try

Then you see all the reasons why

It’s tough for moles to fly

Holing up inside

Too often filled with pride

Too often idly standing by

When we could be on the range

Beleaguered by our sight

There’s too many things out there to right

So we don’t write at all

I hope it’s tonight when it falls

A dawning sensation

That we might have been too patient

And we’ll realize

It’s time to tie all of our knobbly knuckles together

They’d fit so well, could have never fit better 

Banshees on the West Coast

I once had a dream

Things split at the seams

To carry our weight

We didn’t have the means

Because I took off all the pressure from myself

Despite the doctor’s warning: It was bad for your health

And I don’t want to give you osteoporosis

But I’ve already poured this cup, so the more that I insist

That I have the right way to live 

I hope my infinite forgiveness will let you forgive

The time when I pushed you and you pushed back

Oh all these memories are suddenly flooding back

And I wish I hadn’t right then

I didn’t even accept the softness of your skin

And I don’t know why I did these things

Something about the polluted air must’ve caught my satan rings

The air’s cleaner now but you’re not here

Ironic how the cure’s not found til you’re in Algiers

But I hope I find you on the way back

With a broken cellophone it’s hard to keep track

Of who is in and who is out

All these social fads make me want to shout

But I know you’re in and always will be

I guess that just leaves the question of…

Breathless

Breathe out

Don’t inhale

Fear of stale memories cropping up in the back of my bank vaults

Smell sticks me into silly situations of longing

Of lust

Distrust the forward progression of time

Hindsight should have been a must

Musty clothes are used to dry off

No towels in the land of the free

Delving deep in collegiate bowels

One day I’ll finish that book at Powell's 

TAO LIN makes the LINT IN my surrogate toiletry seem not so bad

Maybe I should call my dad

I wonder if art history was just a fad

The mystery of day to day life has sparked again

Hello there, my old friend