Deerhunter long for an alternative-rock utopia -- where record-collector geeks transform skewed underground sounds into a melodic group hug for the shit-upon. A fleeting vision, at best, over the decades, but Halcyon Digest's mournful rapture radiates like the beacon the Atlanta band always imagined. Frontman Bradford Cox stage-manages the action deftly -- from glitchy coos to Everlys elegy to Velvets drone to folkgaze séance -- but the album's expansive warmth is the sound of a band finally becoming their dream. C.A.
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Vince Staples is hardly the ingratiating type. “Don’t shake my hands unless you passing payment,” instructs the redoubtable young’un on “C.M.B.,” a paean to ruthlessly mercenary, Randian capitalism. “Keep your salutation / I need my 40 acres.” This ice-grilling Left Coaster is more Mack 10 than Myka 9, a verbal marksman who refuses to placate… More »