FIONA APPLE: The Idler Wheel ... 

Epic, 43 minutes

Rating: 3/5

I went to sleep around 1998, woke up a few weeks ago, and discovered Fiona Apple is some minor music icon. Having heard nothing of hers since “Criminal” and remembering little about it save its passing role in my development of puberty, I found this turnaround intriguing and a little suspicious. Surely she hasn’t been completely forgiven for spewing some of the most self-satisfied nonsense I’ve ever heard come out of a musician’s mouth? Surely getting pissed on by a major label in this day and age doesn’t qualify as martyrdom?

Her fourth album The Idler Wheel ... (fully, The Idler Wheel Is Wiser than the Driver of the Screw and Whipping Cords Will Serve You More than Ropes Will Ever Do, because who knows) doesn’t clear the picture one bit. It’s a pleasant enough piano-pop nuthouse, albeit the kind I could hit with a dead cat pretty easily. The first four tracks alone – “Every Single Night,” “Daredevil,” “Valentine,” “Jonathan” – follow the most blandly inoffensive formula of any critically adored album in recent memory; Apple practically alone at her piano, occasionally warping and straining her voice, content to let the melodies hang around and dance instead of, you know, develop.

The Idler Wheel’s second half is stronger. “Left Alone” tempers Apple’s woe-is-me manic poetry (see: her album titles) for a more relatable tale of romantic strife. The album’s shortest track “Werewolf” is also its best, and most to-the-point. Closer “Hot Knife” suggests the more intriguing pop album Apple’s supporters believe she’s made.

There’s nothing particularly wrong with The Idler Wheel ... but chances are you’ve read two or three reviews praising it more than I ever could. Their enthusiasm might be genuine, but it’s still confusing.

JUSTIN BIEBER: Believe

Island, 48 minutes

Rating: 2.5/5 



For your benefit I have now listened to an entire Justin Bieber album twice, an act more embarrassing than unpleasant. While I hesitate to admit it Bieber isn’t the worst (or fifth-worse) pop singer in the world. For a young dude with too much pressure, and a tendency to get hit in the head, he seems pretty self-aware. He can actually sing, and his evolution from grade-school platitudes in a bowling alley to legal adulthood isn’t as horribly awkward as it’s been for some other unfortunate souls.

More than casual observers might care to admit, Bieber’s third album Believe faces something of an uphill battle. In 2012 two things are definitely true, and both work against it: hip hop is much more popular and trendy than teen pop, and hits make stars, not the other way around. A few underperforming singles and the kid would be out on his ass faster than would be the case even 10 years ago.

Believe is a largely Europop-inspired record, negating the recent tendency for major pop acts (Rihanna being the biggest offender) to mindlessly grab at genres and dump out the most incoherent records imaginable. Only the intriguingly weird lead single (whale calls on the Hot 100, eh?) “Boyfriend” and R&B cut “Right Here” (with Drake, never one to phone it in) deviate from expectation. A few acoustic ballads bring Bieber back to his relatively humble beginnings. Remember that pop found him, not the other way around.

I’m so far from the intended audience for this thing it’s not even funny, but in wondering if it meets their standards I can offer a solid “probably.”

PEAKING LIGHTS: Lucifer
Mexican Summer, 44 minutes

Rating: 3.5/5

Peaking Lights play a mix of tropical dub and psychedelic folk music, styles largely ignored by anyone not performing them exclusively, all the time. Their breakthrough album 936 (2011) was a pretty great listen, and offered assurance there are still many genres left to be explored by this generation of musicians.

The duo’s follow-up Lucifer is much of the same, an extended mood piece wherein “songs” are mostly formalities. It is music with a fairly obvious purpose: to relax, sedate, or otherwise soothe the listener. Bass and percussion grooves loop into seemingly endless patterns, guitar notes twitch in and out, and Indra Dunis‘ soft vocals keep the human element intact. At times Peaking Lights music can feel a bit slight when it comes to melody and alternation of tone, but there are rewards in its stubborn repetition. Chiefly, a sense of healthy and legal intoxication.