The lifespan of the world wide web, from its genesis as an efficient way to network computers all the way up to its present day form, has been absolutely miniscule, especially within the overarching narrative of human technologies. Despite the rapid rate at which technology becomes obsolete, the internet is still in an infant state of sorts and these contrasting qualities leave it akin to parts of India, where the real estate costs paradoxically rise and plummet, and have the darkly comedic image of a shanty town sharing acres with ritzy new businesses imprinted upon the world. Once profitable online companies quickly see themselves bankrupt as others live the "Social Network" overnight success story. When considering the resilient piracy and memetic sharing of information as well, the web 2.0 appears to be even more like the old west than ever before.

And Rustie was like an electronic Lone Ranger. His first appearance came about as North Americans began discovering their limited form of dubstep (now known as "brostep"), yet his popularity became contingent on his smart foresight that the times were changing. Glass Swords feels removed from a linear chronology, taking classic dubstep, old skool rave and video game music and projecting them through a prism, birthing the maximalistic magic the album flaunts so garishly, from the first listen all the way to the 500th. There was literally nothing like it in the shifting online musical landscape for a while, and its popularity even survived the backlash against dubstep in the U.S. thanks to its timeliness and timelessness. Even Hudson Mohawke, the artist mentioned constantly in the same breath as Rustie, didn't exactly gel with the more introspective and nostalgic sound that made post-Glass Swords Rustie so easy to love.

Now, Rustie is living in the real world, and Green Language turns in all the maximalist, rollercoaster electronic giddiness of Glass Swords for flimsy loops and, well, trap. Trap is the word of the day for Rustie, and the collective power of his old influences have given way to a firm foot in Hype Machine territory, no longer unstuck in time. Sitcom themes from the 90's seamlessly chopped and screwed, nor samples from video games are to be found here. "Raptor" as a lead single foretold a change of pace, but its blaring headache synths and clunky kick combination strike me as a parody of Rustie's sound rather than the real thing. There is nary any real progression and the drop timing was embarrassingly off. Was Rustie's astoundingly fresh Glass Swords ghost-produced? I couldn't believe those thoughts even crossed my mind. What was going on here? Follow-up single "Attak" limps back and forth between two competing, unrelated loops while its only saving grace was in the form of Danny Brown's frenetic flow, throwing a James Joyce book's worth of unpunctuated paranoia to the wall and seeing what sticks.

Green Language proper goes through two intro-esque tracks of meandering synth wankery before "Raptor" shows up in all its undercooked glory. The album cycles through interludes constantly, with roughly half of the album being made up of these flaccid, pointless excursions. Few features other than Danny Brown feel appropriate, including Numbers protege Redinho going through the motions with repetitive talkboxing over a sleepy instrumental in "Lost", and grime heavyweights like D Double E giving one of the least compelling bars of the entire Green Language fiasco in "Up Down". Midpoint highlight "Velcro" is one of the few genuinely enjoyable tracks that appears to be a return to form, but even then its tendency to disengage with the listener as it approaches drops leaves those attuned to the ebb and flow of professional production cold.

The Lone Ranger has conformed to a dime-a-dozen cowboy, and the thought of that makes me incredibly upset; Rustie was the counterpoint to all the bullshit EDM crowding the electronic scenes, and now feels closer to them than ever. Plenty of other trap producers are finding fresh new avenues to travel, including TNGHT, lsdxoxo, and AMDisc's lineup of artists making "chill trap"; hell, even Rustie's own "Triadzz" won over a few fans on the fence last year. However, Green Language is not a convincing argument for him suddenly abandoning his main draw. A recent feature on Pitchfork had him mention how an album's worth of material was sidelined due to it being too similar to the "over the top silly" Glass Swords, in favor of what was achieved with Green Language. Such a shame. Now he is inching closer to his obsolescence date, as he begins to fall on his own glass sword.

Sophie is a producer working at the crossroads between cute and creepy; his enigmatic songs and shows are incredibly unique - sometimes scarily so - and it's comforting to see his profile rise with every new release. Lemonade/Hard, his newest 12" single, contains "Lemonade", a song that demonstrates beautifully the dichotomy of Sophie's music as it's comprised of two separate,
but ingeniously entwined, parts, with its verses featuring an ambivalent woman distortedly chanting "lemonade luh-luh-lemonade" to gurgling bass and sporadic, fizzling synthesizers, leading up to the listener being blindsided by a sugar-drunk chorus of feather-light hits and twinkling, euphoric plinks right out of a music box. The previously apathetic vocalist is rejuvenated, belting out lines like "I've got something to tell you/hope you understand/I never meant to hurt you/it wasn't in my hands," then, as quickly as this detour was introduced, it transitions to pure bass before going back to the "luh-luh-lemonade" verse. The entire song runs just shy of 2 minutes, and no matter how many times you replay the track, the mood whiplash never gets any softer.

It's this willingness to bend convention and fuse two disparate elements like cuteness and creepiness that makes Sophie such an irreplaceable gem of the electronic music scene, as what he's doing feels without precedent, and his live show completely encapsulates it. While most electronic music producers, specifically those in the EDM scene, stick to floor-fillers and staples of their respective genres to maintain the interest of the audience (which, mind you, is no easy feat), Sophie has never been one to compromise his vision; during #JustJam, a music festival in London, a video leaked of Sophie's 20 some-odd minute live set, and what the video contained was essentially 20 minutes of droning bass, wobbly, unstable synths, followed by pitch perfect abrupt shifts to unexpectedly sugarcoated bangers, most of them previously unheard. Audience response, as I found out, was that of confusion, frustration, and, apparently, amazement. The video ends with "Hey QT", a still unreleased bit of pure, gooey ear candy brilliance that caps off the set in a rush of "Hey Mickey" worship, sounding like a team of cheerleaders performing from within hollowed out speakers, and the dazzled crowd cheering as a host announces the end of the set. "Make some noise for for Sophie!" he cries, to a blip of uproarious applause before the video promptly ends. "That was some... next level shit!" Much like with post-rock/"punishing rock" band Swans, the experience Sophie peddles with his show is part and parcel to his music, even if you aren't enjoying it 100% of the time, and "Lemonade" is a perfect microcosm of what the #holyshit moments of #JustJam were about.

Sophie's resistance to being photographed, instead using press photos of a blonde woman in flamboyantly bright clothing, usually sipping on a similarly bright drink, makes the music singular as part of the "Sophie" idea, which also includes his delightfully abstract album art. This focus on aesthetics and music instead of personality or personal image is mirrored with miracle label PC Music, which excels in delivering the same uncannily cute combination of different media types (if you haven't heard of PC Music before, GO NOW TO THE SITE. Their music is seriously addictive, much like sugar itself.) Less intoxicated, less candy addicted naysayers may decry what I am about to say, but I firmly believe a "bubblegum-bass" boom is in the cards for this year. At least, I sincerely hope it is.

It's no wonder that professional weirdo Kyary Pamyu Pamyu found so much common ground with Sophie - enough so that they were recently in the studio together. Although I look forward to the fruits of their collaboration somewhere down the line with bated breath, for now it's good to focus on what is currently available; B-side "Hard", while fairly different from "Lemonade" on the surface, uses those same key moments of abrasive one second, toothsome the next during its chorus, and likewise finds success, maybe moreso than "Lemonade" as it feels more cohesive as a song, in addition to being a whole minute longer, leaving more to sink one's teeth into. Its buoyant, yet bladed, percussion and unhinged composition makes it more dance-friendly as well, for what that's worth, and contextualizes the Lemonade/Hard release as king of the 2014 dance sound. Along with PC Music, it shows a wonderful trend of electronic music moving away from boring, overly familiar sounds to fresh, new ideas that aren't afraid to trash expectations, with producers preferring to make music that genuinely excites and brims with pure creative energy. All Sophie needs to do now is announce an album and I will be eternally happy.

"Chandelier" is a song so fabulous, it's not only Sia's best song to date, but quite possibly the best overall song of 2014. It's a cleverly subversive pop song that disguises its somber, achingly autobiographical lyrics with an upbeat, trap-and-reggae-infused pop instrumentation. Sia's lyrics about her addiction to alcohol and pills, filtered through a party atmosphere are poignant and effective, and totally brought to life with her incredible rhythm and ceiling-scraping range. It's, honestly, a surprise hit in a year of lackluster pop duds; Robin Thicke's unsettling creepy stalker album Paula tanked (with fewer than 54 sold in Australia!), Pharrell's newest album released to tepid reviews, and no album has yet to top Frozen's soundtrack in sales... even though it came out in late 2013. So, "Chandelier" is a lungfull of fresh air in a year desperately needing it, and obviously the song had therapeutic value to Sia as well.

Indeed, "Chandelier" showed the superb highs Sia could reach going full pop; Sia's previous releases only teased influence from the pop sphere, and had a transition from her original trip-hop style (OnlySee, Healing is Difficult) to an alt-pop one (Colour the Small One, Some People Have Real Problems). Since Real Problems saw release in 2008, she candidly made a career out of ghostwriting hits for more successful artists, including Rihanna, Katy Perry, and Beyonce, and after the surprise success of David Guetta's "Titanium", with her guest vocals, likely realized now is the time to market herself as a solo artist once more. Naturally, going pop was the way to go; unfortunately, 1000 Forms of Fear as a whole confirms the reservations her fans had about the change in the first place. It's a middling, seen-it-a-million-times, great-single-boring-album affair. With a handful of exceptions, the entire thing just reeks of mediocrity, from its run-of-the-mill production choices to even its lyrical themes and singing, which is the ultimate gut punch. Sia is nowhere near this average a pop star as many know, and the blandness at display here is the musical equivalent of trying to shove a cube into
a circular hole.

The motivation behind the stylistic change is understandable, and the lead single was fabulous. So, what went wrong? "Elastic Heart", a song first seem on the Hunger Games: Catching Fire soundtrack, along with runner up official single "Eye of the Needle" are two sides of the same problematic coin, showing that despite the variety of pop songcraft here, a lack of Sia's trademark quirk strips potentially good songs of their likability. "Elastic Heart" goes a similar route to "Chandelier", featuring an electronic/trap stuttering beat, and Sia similarly attempts to sing beyond her register. However, the melodies she works with, especially on the completely non-notable chorus, leaves this song stuck in the middle of the road. "Eye of the Needle" goes the other way with a pop ballad, but the same problems show up - there is nothing memorable here. The most memorable and catchy ballad of all time, "Nothing Compares 2 U", for example, is how you do this right with its soaring vocals, minimal but effective instrumentation, and utterly depressing lyrics. Sinéad O'Connor may have a flat-out better singing voice than Sia, but that's beside the point; all of the inspiration and lyrical depth were apparently depleted from "Chandelier", and the rest of 1000 Forms of Fear was churned out by just going through the motions, contrary to what Sia supposedly stands for.

Sia's respectable decision to minimize press interactions, hide her face, and not tour, as stipulated in her contract, was smart from a marketing standpoint, as despite her languishing album, this (lack of) PR brings more attention to 1000 Ways to D- I mean, Forms of Fear, without the topic of discussion extended beyond "Chandelier" to the rest of the music. Not to say I think it's a bad album, as there are some moments of inspiration on tracks like "Cellophane" and "Fire Meet Gasoline", but that's just what they are: moments. Beyond the pop masterwork that is "Chandelier", the rest is almost pointless and almost ALMOST takes away from "Chandelier" in its sheer mediocrity. Almost. But it doesn't. Because Chandelier is fucking great. Maybe Sia needs to be overcoming personal demons for her best work to be made. So, for our sake, let's hope she falls off the wagon so we can get a "Chandelier" 2.

Nah, I'm not that big of an asshole. It's possible Sia just flourishes behind the scenes rather than in front of them, hiding her face.

Bandcamp is home to several artists, with some of them prolific to the point where they release new material daily. As one would imagine, the higher their output, the more difficult it becomes to keep up a respectable level of quality, and yes, I've heard my fair share of shit on the site. However, there is a young man, Alex Giannascoli, also known as Alex G, who has, over the last couple of years, released a good few albums, EPs, and singles under his name, as well as collaborative releases with other likeminded bands and artists. He produces lo-fi "bummer pop", an endearing term given to those who chase a DIY, homemade aesthetic to their slacker-focused, romanticized pop-rock music, usually with a twee sheen to it. I'm not particularly privy to the style, but there's undeniably something special about Alex G that has spawned him a dedicated cult following. His charmingly quaint vocals, ramshackle guitar, and solid drum work aside, what has really sparked the imagination of his fans is his pure, unadulterated knack for making really fucking good pop songs, and maintaining a high level of personality and quality to every single one of his releases. It's his natural talent with melodies, harmonies, hooks and verses that made so many sit up and pay attention which brought him the relatively low-key success he's had until now, but with his true, label-affiliated debut album, DSU, he's aiming to break out of the Bandcamp scene and make an encompassing statement that will hopefully win him a few new fans and some critical accolades, all while showing newcomers what Alex G is all about.

DSU doesn't screw with the formula that made his previous releases work - to the contrary, actually.
Each of his prior releases built upon the one before it with stronger songwriting and catchier melodies, so DSU tries to illustrate this growth and the appeal of his DIY style, but with a bigger budget, professional mixing, and higher stakes. Alex G fully takes advantage of this opportunity by putting a lot of audible effort into both making the songs appealing to longtime fans, and accessible, much like his best work is, to the masses. Guitars peek from beyond their lo-fi roots, his vulnerable, coy singing and lyrics float atop dreamy, resonant instrumentation, and the additional drums give the songs a new dimension that makes them feel truly finished, rather than aimless bedroom experiments. The Alex G quirkiness is also on full display; the very first song "After Ur Gone", begins with twisted, reversed guitar strumming, almost as though you're listening to a tampered file, before suddenly blossoming into a psych-pop groove featuring a yearning electric guitar. This ain't your sissy brother's Bandcamp music, and DSU isn't afraid to play with expectations and throw caution to the wind.

The album so happens to be packed with some of Alex's most memorable compositions to date. "Harvey", one of the first tracks previewed from DSU and ostensibly an ode to an imaginary friend, begins with "success for my buddies/success for my friends/success is the only thing I understand." Set to a drum stomp, vaguely eastern-influenced guitar riffs, and a melancholic piano playing in the background, many components of the song bubble up into the foreground once the rest of the ruckus slowly fades away. The same trick happens with soft cooing that, by the end, becomes the central focus. The song may very well be a live representation of letting go of "Harvey", and it's these subtle touches underscoring the more immediately catchy, casually enjoyable songs that expose the breadth of meaning and insight Alex imbues in his work. Their lovingly handcrafted nature is hard to fault, and like with his previous releases, DSU pulls it off impressively.

Songs like "Promise", with its funky, kinetic, bassy groove, and "Axesteel", with its straightforward heavy psych/drone elements are certainly exciting, well-received depatures from Alex's previously established style, but it's the final song of DSU, "Boy", that shows such laconic promise. "Boy" features some of the clearest vocals of Alex's entire discography, plus a simple premise for its catchy hook, lyrics, and instrumentation; in spite of all that, though, it's the meaning of its track listing, in addition to its content, that makes it so exciting. As direct as it is, it's a fantastic pop song on it own terms, and, being the last of the 13 tracks here, heavily implies a change in direction for Alex G. If DSU doesn't get the attention it deserves, I have a feeling Alex's new direction, with its clearer vocals and accessible, yet still unbelievably strong, songwriting suggests that a bright, more monetarily rewarding future full of mainstream recognition may be just ahead.

It would be a crime to let Alex G continue to fall under the radar. The fact that this album has been covered by prominent online and offline music publications is a great sign, for if any Bandcamp artist deserves it, it's definitely Alex. New fans introduced to Alex through DSU have a treasure trove of material to dive into afterwards, but as good as his other stuff is, DSU stands tall as his best release thus far. It is a self-contained experience, not reliant on knowing Alex G, but simultaneously rewarding those who do. His songwriting (and audio quality) has never been better, and it demonstrates that there are some DIY artists out there that can really, REALLY shine once you give them a chance to. I fucking hope Alex G keeps getting those chances, because he's all the proof you need that quality and quantity are not mutually exclusive concepts.

It would be naive of me to yet again bring up Lana Del Rey's authenticity, but it's the proverbial elephant in the room when it's time to analyze her music and develop an opinion on it. Despite her fans' insistence on the depth and intricacies behind it, the issue will eternally reside in the backseat compared to her image. Who "Lana Del Rey" is, unfortunately, is intrinsic to her career as a whole, and besides the talk of lips and nosejobs, there is the small matter of Lizzy Grant's questionable sincerity. This battle of authenticity and image made the music she made incidental, and ultimately, a casualty in her debut album Born to Die; a few years later, with Ultraviolence, Lana is making an attempt to put the album at the forefront of the discussion, but this has gone to bite her in her possibly augmented ass, as the focus on her music reveals its total lack of substance.

Stripping away the Tropicos and the music videos and the real names and the plastic surgeries leaves us with the bloated, inert pop under the Lana Del Rey name; Born to Die's theme of the day was strings abuse, whereas Ultraviolence decides to dive headfirst into atmosphere abuse. With producer and Black Key Dan Auerbach in charge, Lana's flimsy singing and misogynistic, nostalgia-obsessed lyrics muddily fuse with more ethereal, airy instrumentals. It's an almost admirable shift in tone, but one that does not pay off.

Thinking about it, "Video Games" was the perfect indie trojan horse, as its demographic crossover appeal was the jumping off point for Lana to infiltrate the zeitgeist and gain the fiercely devoted fanbase she now has. It had her trademark nostalgia-bating, but was far more elegant in its execution. The strings were supplementary rather than a crutch, and her lyrics were poignant, romantic, yet aloof. It was the perfect distillation of what she stood for, but all those elements were turned up to 11 on the full-length album it was on, almost making Born to Die feel like a parody of Americana through the lens of a laughably ignorant, ditzy, codependant, spoiled rich bitch instead of a loving homage to the style. And of course, the memetic qualities of her image spawned fans as likely to love it as they are to idolize Marilyn Monroe and Betty Boop, without even the vaguest understanding of why they should.

It's this holdover tendency from her previous album to be unbelievably vapid and cliche with her lyrics that really stinks up Ultraviolence to the point of no return. The aforementioned intention on making this record more atmospheric comes across as being somewhat futile when compounded with the lyrical problems - the floundering pop of "West Coast", for instance, just drowns in its fuzzy production, and instead of giving it any dreamlike qualities, it becomes more of a hazy nightmare, and Lana's shitty lyrics completely clash with what the actual music is trying to do. Her insistence on writing about wholy unlikable people, packed between asinine lines like "You say you miss me, and I say I miss you so much" sung with the passion of a rotting wildebeest carcass, has a similar amount of sexiness to it.

Taking all this in, it's all the more shocking when I say this is a step in the right direction. Sure, whatever Lana does will be hailed as genius no matter what, and considering her full-fledged status as an everyday pop star (in spite of what her fans would want you to believe), having the gumption to mix up the formula can't be all bad. Well, I mean, it is bad, but at least it's not as bad as Born to Die. And no, I don't mean the cool kind of "bad". The sooner she rids herself of her thematic and image-related crutches like that, the sooner she'll be making "good" music, even if she wants to keep playing the role of "Lana Del Rey".

 

"I don't have money on my mind/I do it for the love." Yeah, right. That's how Sam Smith decides to preface his offensively inoffensive debut, In the Lonely Hour: with "Money on My Mind", an upbeat outline of his ambitions and motivations for making music. Funny enough, it also happens to be the only good song on Lonely Hour. The unfortunate truth is that Sam Smith outright lied to you; he is, indeed, in it for the money, and one only needs to explore the forthcoming dozen or so songs (15 mind-numbers in the deluxe edition) to see for his or herself.

"Money on My Mind"'s jaunty, hook-driven sound sounds effortless and it partly is. Between Smith's genuinely impressive vocal range and producer Two Inch Punch, the chemistry of their collective talents is on par with the magic Smith found featuring on Disclosure's surprise smash hit "Latch". Following that song's relatively unexpected mainstream success, Smith obviously found himself in demand, (which he followed through with on "La La La", a collaboration with another popular UK garage act, Naughty Boy). It's crystal clear that Smith both had a set of pipes on him, and that he worked far too well within the realm of electronic music. His premiere single confirmed as much, the slinky, jittery synthpop of "Safe With Me", NOT to be confused with "Stay With Me" off this record. With two chart toppers and a Pitchfork nod under his belt, Smith announced In the Lonely Hour for a tentative early 2014 release. The anticipation shared by the blogosphere and indie print community (along with yours truly as well) was sky high.

However, the Two Inch Punch/Disclosure/Naughty Boy-facilitated hits were all part of an elaborate ruse, for despite Smith's calling being practically written on the wall, he did a complete 180 and decided to pursue the pseudo-intellectual, middle aged soccer mom, Starbucks demographic with Lonely Hour, striving to have his CD sit on the front counter alongside such quality contemporaries like... James Blunt, and, uh, Coldplay, and Norah Jones (ironically enough the three top contenders for hotel chain Travelodge's poll of the bands most likely to put you to sleep). It's possible that it was largely my fault for missing the signs; I recently discovered an interview Smith did where  he commented that his preview EP, Nirvana, which contained "Safe With Me" and "Money on My Mind", was where he dumped his more "experimental" material. In a market where Rhye's Woman and, duh, Disclosure's Settle were profitable crowdpleasers, I don't know what brain damage Smith must have suffered to consider his previous singles to be experimental in the least.

Aforementioned "Stay With Me" finds a smidgeon of success using Smith's hopelessly anemic new sound with its ghetto-choir backing chorus and a halfway pleasing melody, plus its lush harmonies. Other songs, like next single and following track on the album "Leave Your Lover", aren't so lucky, as they ape the tepid acoustic pop of Jose Gonzales and Sarah McLachlan while, in an incredible feat and against all odds, managing to have even less bite. Most of the non-singles come and go without much of a fuss, but it's this passive, insipid, mediocrity-settling idea of pop masquerading as indie-friendly that feels like a towering middle finger squarely aimed at those who rallied behind Smith from day one. Even when the languid pace picks up with the addition of actual drums, a groove, and more fleshed out instrumentation, such as in "Like I Can" or "Restart", Smith can't seem to shake his
mainstream ambitions, forgoing flourishes like the playful down-pitching of his voice on the bridge in "Safe With Me", in favor of a shaky Michael Jackson impersonation such as on "Restart", (which does include voice modulation, but it's too little, too late).

It's truly difficult to even attempt masking my perpetual disappointment with this album. As much as it includes songs I loved when I first heard them, like "Money On My Mind", the vast majority of what's presented here is unbearably languishing. "Restart", one of the few tracks that at least attempts to capture what made Smith so endearing in the first place, is relegated to a bonus track, as is his heartfelt "Latch" cover, but then again, that was already on the Nirvana EP anyway. Smith has talent, I have no doubt about that at all, and similarly, I also believe In the Lonely Hour will sell frighteningly well in Starbucks and department stores all over North America and the UK, as much as I wish it wouldn't. I just hope he will realize his hypocrisy and go back to Two Inch Punch, or even Disclosure, again and make some music the original fans wanted. Maybe it will take some harsh critical opinions to make him do just that.

One of these things is not like the other: talent, unique style, critical acclaim, Skrillex. Okay, maybe I'm being a tad harsh (although if I were to write a review for Skrillex's debut album Recess on this blog, I can assure you it would be fiercely negative), but if there's one thing Sonny "Skrillex" Moore is good at, it's spotting talent. Hundred Waters, the strange, avant-folk electronic group, is signed to OWSLA for whatever reason, and have so far released on it their stunning, gorgeous debut self-titled record from 2012, and now, their 2014 follow up, The Moon Rang Like a Bell. Amidst their labelmates, they are the only artist on the roster that isn't peddling the same homogenous, dead-horse-affixed electro-brostep bullshit. Not only that but their style is pretty damn original.

Their 2012 album was a toy box of subtle, precise, pithy electronic voyages that constantly shifted and were hard to pin down to any particular genre. Their synthpop peers that attempt the same vague approach of quiet, idm-inflected electronic pop, like Austra, Blue Hawaii, and Damon Albarn's most recently released album Everyday Robots, frequently fall into the dreaded ennui valley, with Albarn's newest release being especially guilty. Yet, despite similar sonic elements, Hundred Waters are never boring. A small victory in and of itself, they go a step beyond and craft some of the most satisfying electronic music today. The Moon Rang Like a Bell ups the ante, and completely trounces their prior effort - the songs are catchier, the wealth of sounds are more expansive, and the musicianship behind the album better than ever. Critics who aren't already considering this for their year end lists are flat out fucked up.

Throughout the record, there is a clear dichotomy of analog versus digital; the warmth of real drums and guitars are clashed against the sparkling drones and sharp, slippery synths, and nowhere is that clearer than in the first full-length track, "Murmur". It works a slow build that masterfully layers these elements without sounding crowded, which is a trick that Hundred Waters are not shy about showing off, then the "drop" comes, and the subtle melodies get torn from the background and placed front and center. It's moments like this that really drive the point home just how talented these
kids are. Their classical training shines through on tracks like "Broken Blue", one of the twisted ballads of sorts on the record, with the hushed, out-of-focus piano hovering behind singer Nicole Miglis' whisper-chic vocals. Nicole is the real hidden weapon The Moon Rang has; her devilish, painfully self-aware poetry, performed in her perpetually quiet, yet impassioned manner, blends deceivingly well with the equally subtle music and gives it this difficult-to-describe power and immediacy.

"Xtalk", one of the singles, is also coincidentally one of the 'loudest' songs here. The twinkling pianos and swirling synths, riding the syncopated, shuffling drum pattern begs for people to pair up and boogie down. "I don’t know who you want me to be/But tomorrow I’m leaving/I won’t do it kneeling," Nicole sings in the bridge, which shows how misleadingly shallow the lyrics can come across as being. It's surprisingly easy to imagine vapid teenagers posting these lines on Twitter with the misguided belief that it represents their broken hearts, but what elevates lines like this is both the context within the song (a tongue-in-cheek look at a yelling match between lovers), and the way it is sung, with the nuances and fully human inflection. This is indeed electronic music, but it's far more human than one would expect.

Deeper cuts like "Chambers (Passing Train)" bring drones and choked up crooning, and first single "Down From the Rafters", with its punchy inverted strings recall just how superior this album and Hundred Waters in general are to the meager competition. Few do it so well and juggle the two portions of the genre "electronic avant-folk" half as decently, while keeping the quality above a simple musical curiosity. These guys are in it for the long haul, and whatever else they release next is sure to make The Moon Rang look like garbage, just as it does to their debut. Shit, that's pretty hard to imagine. Don't miss out on The Moon Rang Like a Bell. Seriously.