Posts Tagged ‘’70s pop’

Ty Segall – “My Lady’s On Fire”

Well I’m a sucker for a soft Segall ballad, that’s for sure. The parts of his previous S/T record that hit me hardest were the moments when the lights went low and the volume got bumped a touch out of the redline haze. “My Lady’s On Fire” kicks in with the same intentions – jangles leading the charge and feeling every bit the folk-popper in the making. Segall takes a swerve though and blows this up to a sunset ’70s showstopper full of horns and a swaying chorus that proves he’s getting comfortable in his role as a topline songwriter. There’s a something here that’s chasing the infinite classic, a Last Waltz ensemble piece that’ll someday bring the house down in tears.

Still not sure what this blocked primary release schedule is leading up to, but Januarys are becoming traditional months for Ty to release a new album so there’s always hope that this is pointing that direction. If it’s just a good shake on the bag of tracks without a home, though, I’m not going to complain either.




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Mikah Wilson – “Cassingle”

L.A. songwriter Mikah Wilson indulges in a brand of earnest ’70s pop that’s not removed from some prevailing winds (see Tennis, Weyes Blood, The Lemon Twigs, Tobias Jesso Jr.) but while he’s captured the crystal shimmer in the production, he’s also found a breezy simplicity that pushes him further from the Harry Nilson / Randy Newman / Joni Mitchell crossroads of ’70s FM. Perhaps that’s why the label is selling this as power pop and while there’s certainly a plainspoken appeal that hearkens to Big Star or Shake Some Action-era Flaming Groovies, it’s not saddled with the same lusty ambitions or tough/tender tension that either of those embody.

Instead Wilson is working from a sunshine soul that creeps into ’70s mainstream pop rock. Taking early Rick Springfield (talkin’ Mission Magic years here) on a lovelorn wander through the transistor wires, Wilson has created a vision of honest pop that’s echoing The Raspberries and Badfinger in the best ways. In every sense of the phrase, “they don’t make ’em like this anymore.” Wilson has wrestled mining the ’70s from the hands of hipsterdom, he’s gone feral in his wide-eyed sincerity. Both sides of this cassette are a genuine love-letter not only to those artists that laid their saccharine souls down all those years before, but to pop as a statement of purpose. On every level, I just want to hear more of this and soon.




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