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J. Tillman at the Mohawk - Giveaway
The eponymous debut from Matador’s Brightblack Morning Light woozily stumbles out of your speakers, reeking of schwaggy weed and B.O. It's the aural equivalent of that mooching hippie your roommate had that brief fling with. Sure, they’re broken up now, but he’s trying to get on his feet while the jam band comes together. You won’t even notice him.
Trust us: the last thing you want is this thug couch-surfing at your place, raiding your fridge, and breaking your guitar strings. Soon, you'll be picking three different kinds of hair out of the shower drain, swearing under your breath.
Prevent this from happening to your ears. Brightblack Morning Light is as inconsequential and lazy in its arrangement and execution as that cheeze-doodle-craving houseguest. Song titles like “Star Blanket River Child” and “Black Feather Wishes Rise” suddenly become achingly annoying after you’re exposed to their foot-dragging sonic counterparts.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with repetition. There is nothing wrong with pot-fueled noodling. This disc has both in spades. One can even forgive nonsensical song titles written simply for the sake of nonsense. Maddeningly, though, BML still can't offer anything in the way of substance to make it more than the sum of its parts. As such, we must respectfully disagree with Will Oldham, the indie icon who “discovered” the band. It's beyond our ken how he could sit through three tours of this, let alone a single 50-minute record. Excepting “A River Could Be Loved," which (gasp!) adds an acoustic piano, each track is virtually indistinguishable from the last. Distant siren-like vocals warbled over bluesy keys will seem kinda nice on the album opener, but 45 minutes later you’ll probably forget you left this drug-addled snooze-fest on.
Brightblack Morning Light's Brightblack Morning Light is available in stores today, June 20th.
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sounds like an alternative review could be done in three words: "Brightblack Morning Shit."
To each their own - I find Brightblack's music soothing, organic, and blissful.
They're just as boring live, so there should be plenty more space for me to do the scooby doo.
I think you're supposed to forget it's on, because I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be having sex – or, at the very least, doing drugs – while it's on. It's basically hippie porn music, but hell, that's a niche. I feel like this review's holding what is essentially an ambient record to pop standards, but maybe that's just me.
I think I prefer the Sound Tribe Sector Nine end of the patchouli-porn spectrum.
its obviously not a pop record. furthermore, i wouldn't deign to call it ambient - its far too self-conscious for that. i do like the "hippie-porn" moniker, in that this record is expendable pap masqerading as a mind-expanding manifesto. just go to matador's site and read BML's bio. they set the standard with their thematic vanity.
I've read the biography, though I fail to see what relevance it has to the music itself. That an album innocuous enough to be forgotten while on would provoke such spleen is somewhat puzzling. I've let this album "happen" to my ears several times, and though it's certainly not for everyone, claiming that it will be anathema to all people seems a bit hyperbolic.
This site is a lot of fun very well designed. nokia6630
hey dudes i totally think that bright black morning light is rad.