Endless nostalgia beat repeat on feet - Frank Ocean: Blonde / Endless Album Review | Pitchfork


Anyone who’s gone to a Low End affiliated tour only to be surprised by how energetic the performances were compared to the stoned out tripiness of the records can attest that the Glitch Mob’s party-starting antics are an essential, if sometimes dormant aspect of the Beat Scene’s DNA. Sure, their sound was copied and pumped full of steroids by Americans white-washing Dubstep, and the “glitch” half of their name has aged about as well as Acid Jazz and Trip Hop, but The Glitch Mob played a key role in helping Los Angeles’ beatmakers figure out what they wanted to sound like and potential paths to avoid. – Son Raw

No, wait, hear us out. There’s more to this than underrated or misunderstood movies. The Tourist is indeed a Sisyphean trap of unending banality—that’s undeniable. However, this garbage fire managed to attract two of the biggest stars in Hollywood —Johnny Depp and Angelina Jolie (the latter of whom has become extremely selective in her film roles) as its leads.

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Frank is 28 now, and his voice has grown stronger and more dexterous, while some of his tales have become more abstract. “Skyline To” is essentially a tone poem about sex, summer, and California haze backed by mood and mystery. “Godspeed” nods to gospel but stays grounded in its prayer to steadfast but broken love; a short story in the magazine, also called “Godspeed,” reads like uncanny science fiction but is actually based on Frank’s boyhood. Certain things are clear, though. The big questions are on his mind. He’s aware of his mortality now. He’s thinking about families, about what it means to live outside society, whether that’s a sustainable goal. He contemplates settling down with “two kids and a swimming pool” on “Seigfried,” a song that works in words by Elliott Smith and ends with a spaced-out soliloquy about living life in the red before a random solar flare brings chaos unto earth. This is not light fare. But the touch is oh so feathery. On “Solo,” he contemplates various stages of singledom, from the jacket-throwing hedonism to the smoked-out emptiness, with nothing but a churchly organ backing him up. It’s a stunning piece of songwriting that ultimately finds some peace with being alone. It sounds like a friend.

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Endless Nostalgia Beat Repeat On FeetEndless Nostalgia Beat Repeat On FeetEndless Nostalgia Beat Repeat On FeetEndless Nostalgia Beat Repeat On Feet


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