We’re more than halfway through the list now. Let’s not waste time.
#15: Ela Minus – Acts of Rebellion
Part-electro, part-goth, all great. Ela Minus made us move, stand up and fight, and otherwise get off our collective duffs during a year when we needed to be shaken out of our funks.
#14: October and the Eyes – Dogs and Gods
Have you ever seen Cult of the Cobra from 1955? In that movie, a woman who can turn into a cobra tracks down the men who, for kicks, infiltrated her cult’s rituals, and kills them one by one. She falls in love with one of the men, however, and you can guess the rest. This album is pretty much what the Cobra Woman would have playing on her ear buds as she stalked and seduced her victims.
#13: Falle Nioke and Ghost Culture – Youkounkoun
“Barké,” a song from this EP, stopped me in my tracks the first time I heard it. The record mixes Afrobeat and electronica in perfect amounts, resulting in slick dance tracks and hypnotic songs.
#12: Kelly Lee Owens – Inner Song
Kelly Lee Owens makes electronic music that can make you dance, sigh, relax, or meditate – all sometimes in the same track. Her second album continues to set the bar high for others behind her. I say it many times, but I don’t mind repeating it – She’s both an inspiration for me to make my own electronic music and at other times throw my digital turntables out the window due to thinking, “Damn, that’s just not fair.” after hearing her tracks.
#11: Public Practice – Gentle Grip
Trust me, this post-punk debut album is as intriguing and sexy as its cover. I’d been waiting for a full-length Public Practice album since 2019 when they released a few singles and I saw them live in Chicago. The wait was well worth it. Gentle Grip is outstanding and leaves you eager for more.
The cover art of Public Practice‘s debut full-length album, Gentle Grip, is intriguing. It’s an abstract / pop art image of a woman’s head, eyes closed, lips and teeth parted in either a breathy sigh or ready for an embrace…and there’s that hand. A right hand with fingernails painted to match the woman’s lipstick has a (gentle?) grip on the back of where her neck would be. Is it the woman’s hand, giving herself a soothing neck massage? Or is it someone else’s, pushing her forward to something she wants but was hesitant to embrace without a little help?
I might be making too much of it, but the image is as intriguing as the album. The opening synth-bass and echoed guitars of “Moon” immediately hurl you into Blade Runner territory while singer / lyricist Samantha York sings of leaving this world for better things, but thinking things might not be better in the off-world colonies after all. Drummer Scott Rosenthal mixes hypnotic floor tom beats with wild full-kit drum fills to jar you out of the mesmerism that York can expertly cast upon the unwary (or, often, more than willing) listener.
The contrasting upbeat pace of “Cities” is a delightful surprise, reflecting the bustle of city life as York sings about the dark sides of some places needing to be brought to light. “Disposable” was one of the first songs released from Public Practice (in October 2019) – and with good reason. Drew Citron‘s bass thumps in your blood and Vince McClelland‘s guitar work is like a shuriken spinning toward you with multiple points. York sings about being careful what you wish for and how “You have it or you don’t.”
The tempo of “Each Other” is wonderfully bumpy and jagged. The whole feel of “Underneath” is undeniably sexy thanks to Citron’s excellent bass line and the vocal mix she and York. Rosenthal puts down a slick Blondie-like beat and McClelland’s guitar work is deceptively tight. “See You When I Want To” is a fun track – as the whole thing, including York’s lyrics, was improvised. “My Head” would’ve been a disco classic in another era. The song’s about creating a dance club in your head to tune out the 24-hour barrage of noise coming at us, so it’s perfect.
The first single off Gentle Grip, “Compromised,” is about the rough road of moral choices. “You don’t want to live a lie, you don’t want to pick a side, you don’t want to compromise. You don’t want to live a life, but it’s easy,” York sings while the rest of the band just cooks throughout the whole track. “I thought this would all fade away. Didn’t know you would stay so angry. I thought it was just a passing phase. Sure we could crawl to an understanding,” York, puzzled, sings on “Understanding” – a sharp post-punk track with McClelland’s guitar ranting like a drunk on a street corner (and I mean that in the best possible sense – McClelland’s mini-solos sound like mini-stories within the story of York’s lyrics.).
In a clever twist, the song “Leave Me Alone” might be the sexiest song on the record. The groove of it slinks around the room like a femme fatale convincing a hard-boiled detective to take the case of her missing husband. It’s the album cover in aural form. McClelland saves some of this wildest guitar work for “How I Like It” – which he also sings. It sounds like he stuck a Tesla coil in his guitar. “Hesitation,” the album’s closer, on the other hand, repeats the same three notes and creates a post-punk (and slightly goth?) banger.
There aren’t a lot of bands out there willing to experiment like Public Practice, which is a shame because the time is ripe for experimentation. We need intriguing records like Gentle Grip that nudge us toward things we want (not material things, mind you, but things like healthy relationships, self-care, and joy) when we need that guidance the most.
On their debut full length, Gentle Grip, Public Practice reanimate the spirit of late ‘70s New York with their playfully angular yet thoughtful brand of no wave-meets-funk and dark disco.
Magnetic singer and lyricist Sam York and guitarist and principal sonic architect Vince McClelland (who previously played together as members of the meteoric yet short-lived NYC post-punk outfit WALL) come to the table with an anarchic perspective that aims to eradicate creative barriers by challenging the very idea of what a song can be. Paradoxically, Drew Citron, on bass/vocals/synth, and drummer/producer Scott Rosenthal (both previously of Brooklyn indie-pop favorites Beverly) are uncannily adept at working within the framework of classic pop structures. But instead of clashing, these contrasting styles challenge and complement one another, resulting in an album full of spiraling tensions and unexpected turns.
Lyrically, York explores the complexities and contradictions of modern life overtop dance-inducing rhythms and choruses that disarmingly open up the doors to self-reflection. “You don’t want to live a lie / But it’s easy” York sings on “Compromised,” the record’s brisk, gyrating lead single. As York puts it, “No one’s moral compass reads truth north at all times. We all want to be our best green recycling selves, but still want to buy the shiny new shoes — how do you emotionally navigate through that? How do you balance material desires with the desire to be seen as morally good?” Towards the slinkier end of the album’s aural spectrum, songs like the supremely danceable “My Head” — which is about tuning out the incessant influx of external noise and finding your own internal groove — are more personally political while still hearkening the last days of disco.
But whether they are poking holes in commonly held ideas centered around relationships, creativity, or capitalism, Public Practice never lose sight of the fact that they want to have fun, and they want you to have fun too. After all, who wants to stand on top of a soapbox when there’s a dark, sweaty dancefloor out there with room on it for all of us?
Keep your mind open.
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