Tony Stamp reviews Idaho indie, Spanish percussion jams, and Glaswegian dream-pop.
Heaven is a Junkyard by Youth Lagoon
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Trevor Powers certainly has a way with words. And not just in his songs. The Idaho musician has been making albums under the name Youth Lagoon since 2010, and after declaring the project dead, recently returned from an eight-year hiatus with a new album, and more typically well-phrased quotes.
He described the collection as “Stories of brothers leaving for war, drunk fathers learning to hug, mothers falling in love, neighbours stealing mail, cowboys doing drugs, friends skipping school, me crying in the bathtub, dogs catching rabbits, and children playing in tall grass."
Heaven is a Junkyard has been hailed as a triumphant return, garnering Youth Lagoon some of their best reviews. It’s an album of piano-led indie pop adorned with Powers’ curiously-pitched voice, and an overall atmosphere that’s welcoming and warm.
He had called it quits in 2016, with another choice quote that read “I’ve reached the top of a mountain, only to then be able to see a much larger one I want to ascend”.
That resulted in several increasingly experimental outings under his own name, and then, perhaps prompted by a health crisis that saw him lose the use of his voice, a return to the moniker he once described as “a leash around [his] neck holding [him] hostage”.
Now, Powers sounds glad to be back. He was presumably happy to be singing at all, following a reaction to an over-the-counter medication that he says turned his stomach into “a nonstop geyser of acid”. He lost over ten kilos, and eventually his voice, unsure if it would ever come back.
It’s touched on in lyrics like “My mouth is on fire” in ‘Trapeze Artist’, but mostly these are third-person stories, like the dark tale in ‘Idaho Alien’. There’s the line “Daddy’s on junk”, and a repeated refrain of “blood filled up the clawfoot bath”, lyrics which jump out thanks to their cosy surroundings.
The album was co-produced with Roderick McDonald, a Scott who’s worked with Adele and The xx, and brings a welcome sense of space, as well as RnB touches like the pitched vocal loop in that track.
It was interesting going back to reviews of the first Youth Lagoon album from 2011, when bedroom recording was hardly new, but still treated as a novelty. Now the term is shorthand for an aesthetic that’s welcomed here (even though Heaven Is a Junkyard was made in a studio): intimate vocals, lots of separation between elements, and liberal use of effects.
It’s all aurally exciting, as is Powers’ command of pop structure. His is a unique voice, and it’s never been as weird, or as welcoming, as it is here.
Cluster 1 by Mioclono
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There’s a certain type of instrumental music, that’s perhaps less interested in making people dance, than in opening their minds to previously unheard combinations of sounds. Big on vibes above anything else.
Spanish producer John Talabot has been making this type of thing for years, and on his latest release, has teamed up with fellow Spaniard Velmondo.
Both these guys have shown an interest in hypnotic repetition over the years, and they double down on it here. The project goes under the name Mioclono, with this album Cluster 1 being their opening salvo.
It’s darker and more dirgey than anything either has done before, but the aesthetic choice that jumps out first is the use of live percussion, pleasantly frictive next to the rigidly programmed drum machines and synths.
Any sense of melody is almost absent, jumping out mainly in resonant basslines like the one on ‘Acid Rain’.
This conjuring of atmosphere and mood is impressive throughout, and at times slightly claustrophobic. ‘Pell De Ser’ is maximally ominous with a minimum of notes, and a series of ghostly wheezes.
There’s a slight feeling of triumph that creeps in there when those bass notes hit, like you’re approaching the end of a trek through treacherous terrain. Throughout Cluster 1 the duo use duration to their advantage, with the shortest song over six minutes, and the longest over sixteen.
When done correctly this type of thing gains a certain power as it goes, and on the following track, ‘Birth of a Robot’, it’s done to a different effect, altogether more hopeful. There’s metronomic xylophone and acid bass, the track staying on two chords over and over, becoming more engaging as new elements enter, and evoking the great synth composer Jean Michelle Jarre.
The project was named Mioclono after a type of epilepsy that both members experience, which causes twitching in certain muscle groups. Knowing that does add new shading to this music, incessantly rhythmic and combining inhuman sounds with the constant thump of live percussion. The result doesn’t quite sound like anything else.
Secret Measure by Cloth
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Sibling outfits always have a certain mystique and an assumption that they’re operating on their own perfectly synched wavelength. Cloth, a Scottish duo formed by twins Rachael and Paul Swinton, make music so ethereal and perfectly formed, it raises questions about musical telepathy.
Hailing from Glasgow, they released their debut album in 2019, with an aesthetic that’s transferred to Secret Measure. Rachael’s voice barely rises about a whisper, while Paul’s guitar provides crisp accompaniment.
Other elements like real and programmed drums are tastefully curated. It’s a sound defined by its big empty spaces, like each track was pared back to its essential elements.
The record is out on Rock Action records, owned and run by post-rock legends Mogwai, but while Cloth’s debut had more of the sprawl and volume of that genre, this one heads in the other direction.
Both siblings acknowledge Cocteau Twins as an obvious influence, and it’s hard to escape more recent ones like The xx. Regardless, their lean into pop structures yields ample rewards, like the yearning, lush chorus at the heart of ‘Never Know’.
In their teens the Swintons were apparently heavy metal devotees, which might be the last genre that springs to mind listening to this extremely withdrawn music. But listen with that prior knowledge and the influence becomes apparent: the odd distorted bassline or odd time signature, or most prominently, Paul’s fondness for clipped, circular guitar riffs.
There’s a moment at the end of the title track when during a spoken word section Rachael says “I had no idea what you were thinking/ I remember hoping it was something happy”.
The songs can be icy, but they’re often reassuring. Paul says the idea was to place the listener somewhere they can “sit comfortably with the unknown and know that, whatever you’re feeling, it won’t feel like that forever.”
They realised this with the help of rising producer Ali Chant, who houses those extremely intimate vocals in expansive, comforting soundscapes.
The sweeping chorus in ‘Ladder’ is another welcomely cinematic moment, creating maximum feeling with minimal notes, with a lyric that starts like a job interview before spiralling off somewhere more exotic, as Rachael sings “Where do you see yourself in the long run, with those glorious intentions”.
In general Cloth’s lyrics can be hard to parse, but the music swells with so much feeling, their intentions are always clear.
