Pup – Morbid Stuff (Little Dipper)
The album: It’s my own ignorance that I can’t tell the difference between this and Sum 41. Musically, anyway: it’s clear that Pup wade into much deeper, darker lyrical territory, grappling with myriad mental health issues—could you tell from the title? Or maybe from the ferocious sounding “Full Blown Meltdown,” which is as heavy as it should be. As far as pop-punk with unison gang vocals go, this record is likely as good as it gets. My hang-ups with this album are entirely subjective and likely related to my age; it says a lot that my favourite thing about it is the accordion coda at the end of “Scorpion Hill.” Bonus points for having one song in 6/8 with a chorus in 5/8 (“Bloody Mary, Kate and Ashley”). Looking forward to hearing where these guys are in 10 years.
The chances: Nil. I do not think an all-boy, straightforward punk guitar quartet will ever win Polaris, no matter how good they may be. And no, please, for the love of your Christian god, please do not write an unreadable, interminable Quillette "think" piece about it.
Jessie Reyez – Being Human In Public (Universal)The album: This seven-song EP is a follow-up to her sensational 2017 EP Kiddo, which announced this major new talent to the world. She slayed on The Tonight Show and had a star turn with Daniel Caesar at the Junos duetting on “Figures.” Expectations were sky-high, and yet Being Human in Public sounds like Reyez slamming on the brakes and taking time to collect herself. She’s as fiery as ever on “Dear Yessie,” “Body Count” and “Saint Nobody,” all of which exude the confidence and prowess as a singer and rapper that set her far apart from her peers. “There is no template for Jessie Reyez: she is the template,” wrote Ryan Patrick in his Exclaim review—and yet “Fuck Being Friends” is almost a parody of herself. “Apple Juice” is a lovely soul waltz, and “Sola” is a solo acoustic number sung in Spanish (Reyez is the daughter of Colombian immigrants). Yet there’s nothing here that’s as bold or gripping as “Blue Ribbon,” “Figures” and “Gatekeeper,” the killer triumvirate at the heart of Kiddo, three of the greatest pop songs written in this country in the last decade. After arriving as one of the most original new voices in pop music—and a welcome antidote to the morose moping that passes for cutting-edge in both pop and rap—Reyez still sounds like she’s just warming up.
The chances: Slim. Reyez is a goddam superstar, but this feels like a mere stopgap.
The could’ve/would’ve/should’ve beens:
Orville Peck – Pony (Royal Mountain / Sub Pop)
The album:
From my May review:
Let’s say you’re a Toronto guy via Vancouver with a strong lower-register who loves country crooners. You’re also queer and you love Joy Division as much as you do Johnny Cash. At best, you’ll appeal to the same crowd as Timber Timbre, who certainly do well enough, but there’s a glass ceiling there. What do you do?
You dandy up in full rodeo regalia, develop a persona named Orville Peck and reveal very little about yourself—including your face, which you keep veiled behind a mask. The result: everyone is intrigued, no one asks about authenticity, and the music speaks for itself.
Start with the voice: Peck has a commanding presence, his low tenor enhancing the gravity of whatever it is he’s singing about. If we are to believe the little about himself that he’s revealed to the press, he’s a classically trained singer who did time on stage in London’s West End. It’s not hard to believe. There’s certainly some Ian Curtis in the mix, although Peck’s particular accent calls to mind a much more unlikely ’80s reference: Stan Ridgway of Wall of Voodoo. The ’80s loom large here: not just in the overall Twin Peaks vibe (Peck would be a shoo-in for a gig at the Bang Bang Bar featured in the series’ 2017 sequel), but in that decade’s reverb-heavy approach to country music in what was then rebranded as “roots rock”: Steve Earle, BoDeans, Blue Rodeo, R.E.M.
Twangy guitars alone do not country music make; no, it’s the melancholy balladry that puts Peck in a country tradition. A song like “Kansas (Remember Me Now)” or “Roses Are Falling” aches like Patsy Cline, devoid of the drippy string sections, as if Cline were produced by Lee Hazlewood and not Owen Bradley. And titles like “Queen of the Rodeo,” “Old River” and “Big Sky” don’t hurt, either.
There’s a danger that all of this could just add up to shallow shtick, a male counterpart to Lana Del Rey (against whom I hold no prejudice, but also have no love). But Peck is no cypher. The man’s voice has passion and personality to burn—there’s a helluva lotta Elvis in this here building. He sounds completely invested in every note here, as does his backing band (comprised largely of angular Toronto postpunk band Frigs). Even his whistling is on point.
Time to ride Peck’s pony.
Why it didn’t shortlist: I was convinced it would. Alas. Among some jurors there is some deep resistance to Peck’s shtick—why, I don’t know. I thought authenticity died sometime in the ’90s. I think some critics feel conned by someone hiding behind a mask; a journalist’s instinct is that the public has the right to know everything about public figures—especially in this era of excessive sharing, on social media or otherwise—and so when someone purposely messes with that, critics get their collective back up. Of course, plenty of people just subjectively don’t like Peck’s songs. I’m sure the mask doesn’t help. Yet I’m not sure this project would work otherwise; Peck’s vibe doesn’t fit into modern sounds in country and western music, and would likely fall through several cracks without some other way of getting your attention. Remember Daughn Gibson? Right, exactly.
Rae Spoon – Bodiesofwater (Coax)The album:
From my September 2018 review:
“Should I be an artist, even after I turn 40?” asks Rae Spoon, rhetorically, on a peppy song they titled “Do Whatever the Heck You Want.” The answer, as shouted back by a sudden chorus of onlookers on the track, is, of course, “YES!” Especially if, like Spoon, you’re just hitting your prime.
Bodiesofwater, however, sounds very much like the culmination of a life’s work, and not only just because it’s so good that it sounds like a greatest-hits, with pop melodies that rival Alvvays and other current master crafters. Spoon has successfully integrated their electronic influences, which in the past often felt like slightly ill-fitting clothes, into their often sparse, guitar-based arrangements with live drums. The one time they dive deep into the electronics, on the stirring, dirgey anti-pipeline protest song “You Don’t Do Anything,” they sound like the Eurythmics’ earliest work (i.e. “This is the House,” from 1983’s Sweet Dreams). As an arranger, a producer, a songwriter and a storyteller, Spoon is at the top of their game.
Why it didn’t even longlist: That’s a bit of a crime. All these songs are killer, not to mention total earworms. I can only guess that a prolific artist of Spoon’s age is easily taken for granted, and people with a set impression didn’t open their ears. Don’t make the same mistake. Unrelated: there’s been some internal Polaris jury discussion about the lack of longlisters from the Prairies, which is entirely valid. (See also: Christine Fellows, Belle Plaine, John Wort Hannam.) Rae Spoon’s inclusion would have made a difference. They have a brand new record, Mental Health, which is almost as good. Let's talk about it in the next eight months.
Tomorrow: our final look at the shortlisted albums, with Shad and Snotty Nose Rez Kids, along with two final should've-beens.
