Artist: Kurt Vile
Album: B'lieve I'm Goin Down
Bitrate: 230kbps avg
Quality: EAC Secure Mode / LAME 3.98.4 / -V0 / 44.100Khz
Label: Matador
Genre: Indie
Size: 105.46 megs
PlayTime: 1h 00min 56sec total
Rip Date: 2015-09-25
Store Date: 2015-09-25

Track List:
--------
01. Pretty Pimpin                    4:58
02. I'm An Outlaw                    4:21
03. Dust Bunnies                     4:38
04. That's Life, Tho (Almost Hate    6:27
    To Say)
05. Wheelhouse                       6:14
06. Life Like This                   4:05
07. All In A Daze Work               4:59
08. Lost My Head There               6:55
09. Stand Inside                     5:12
10. Bad Omens                        2:50
11. Kidding Around                   4:27
12. Wild Imagination                 5:50

Release Notes:
--------
Kurt Vile has a persona, and you know him by now: He is the weird quiet kid in
the corner, the one who seems at first lost in his own world and disconnected
from everything around him, but turns out to be smart, observant, and low-key
hilarious. So while his albums draw you in with the vibeùthe impeccably recorded
and mixed songs that shuffle bits of folk, new wave, or country in the mix but
are always squarely down-the-middle rockùyou return to them for their human
qualities, the way they offer a manner of seeing the world, a glimpse at a
perspective that feels both voyeuristic and easy to connect to your own life.

You have to feel for Vile when he does early interviews for one of his records
and heÆs asked to characterize them. Music writers look for a story, an angle, a
hook, and he gamely tries to give them one, a reason why an upcoming record is
different from his last few. In the case of bÆlieve iÆm goin down, he pointed
out that it was darker, an album from the night, written in the lonely quiet
hours after his wife and two children had gone to sleep. (My favorite quote on
this came from his interview with Rolling Stone: "ItÆs definitely got that night
vibeàKVÆs Night LifeùitÆs my sequel to Donald FagenÆs The Nightfly"). But VileÆs
albums mostly vary in smaller details; they are collections of songs that
generally draw from a similar handful of influences, and VileÆs style as a
guitarist, songwriter, and especially a vocalist keep them relatively uniform.
His arc so far has been a process of refinement, of gradually figuring out
settings in which the songs work best.

On bÆlieve iÆm goin down, that means heÆs incorporated a bit of banjo and a bit
more piano and has eased off just slightly on the reverb. The essential quality
of his music is no different, but the banjo picking draws out a bit of
folkiness, and piano shifts things slightly from capital-R Rock to
singer-songwriter territory. But many of these songs could have just as easily
been found on either of his last two full-lengths, which in his case is not a
bad thing.

Something that has changed over the years is that Vile has grown steadily
funnier, and his lyrics have grown more sophisticated. Humor was always part of
his music, but on bÆlieve iÆm goin down itÆs an animating principle. Lines like
"When I go out I take pills to take the edge off or to just take a chillax,
forget about it/ Just another certified badass out for a night on the town" scan
as goofy on the page, but in the context of the arrangement of "ThatÆs Life, tho
(almost hate to say)" they become something else entirely. The song is a dark,
doom-laden thing, with fingerpicked guitar out of "CanÆt Find My Way Home" and a
bleak undercurrent of synth, something in the realm of Nick Drake in "Black Eyed
Dog" mode. In this setting, VileÆs tossed-off musings, where punchlines
alternate with striking imagery ("I hang glide into the valley of ashes"),
remind you that every sage worth a damn knew that life was absurdly funny and
tragic simultaneously.

The quotable lines are many. ItÆs been a while since I heard a description of a
hangover as evocative as "A headache like a ShopVac coughing dust bunnies"; "IÆm
an Outlaw"Æs banjo accompaniment might make you think of a folk ballad, but
VileÆs outlaw is like one youÆve never seen, one "on the brink of
self-implosion, alone in a crowd on the corner, in my Walkman in a snow globe
going nowhere slow." "Pretty Pimpin" describes a moment of existential confusion
in front of the bathroom mirror, with Vile brushing a strangerÆs teeth before
realizing "they were my teeth, and I was weightless"ùwhoops. "Lost my Head
there" has a piano riff like the theme from an early '80s sitcom, but played a
step too slow, like youÆre about to watch the usual ridiculous "ThreeÆs
Company"-style misunderstanding happening in drug-induced slow motion. But then
it turns out to be a tune about its own creation, and VileÆs description forever
colors how you hear it: "I was bugginÆ out about a couple-two-three things/
Picked up my microphone and started to sing/ I was feeling worse, than the words
come out/ Fell on some keys and then this song walked out."

As compelling as VileÆs words can be, much of the magic lies in his delivery.
Like Tom Petty, Bruce Springsteen, and Bob Dylan, VileÆs singing voice has
acquired an unstable accent of indeterminate origin that shifts to suit his
musical decisions, rather than connecting to genre or region or even his own
upbringing. Most often, heÆs got a nasally twang unlike that of any other native
Philadelphian, and it helps his low-key murmur cut through the wooly mid-tempo
haze. That twang makes his music feel more grounded and conversational, and
thereÆs also a bit of a "Hey, itÆs me again" quality the first time you hear it
on a new album, an aural watermark that never leaves you any doubt that you are
listening to a Kurt Vile record.

VileÆs signature qualifier is "I guessà"ùthe phrase shows up frequently in his
songs. ItÆs easy to believe heÆs never quite sure of what heÆs seeing or exactly
how heÆs feeling. VileÆs version of reality is always slightly confused, a
blurry approximation of whatÆs out there, one in a state of constant revision.
This could strike some as lazy, like he canÆt be bothered to whittle the blunt
stick of his music down to a fine point, and itÆs this perpetually fuzzy quality
that leads people to label Vile a spaced-out stoner. But from another angle the
uncertainty feels honest, an acknowledgement that a great deal of life involves
making it up as you go along. Or as Vile puts it on "Dust Bunnies", "There ainÆt
no manual to our minds, weÆre always looking, baby, all the time."

Vile now plays "rock" in the most '70s sense of the wordùalbum oriented, guitar
solo-friendly, very much about long-haired dudes sitting in a room playing
instruments. That heÆs hitting his peak as an artist at a time when rock music
of the type he practices is falling out of favor and is becoming just another
genre instead of the center of the musical universe only adds to his appeal;
this is not an artist concerned with being in step. VileÆs relevance to the
music world at large rises and falls, but he keeps plowing ahead, secure in the
knowledge that in an examined life there will always be more to explore, another
bleary morning with another unfamiliar face looking back at you over the
bathroom sink.



This NFO File was rendered by NFOmation.net

Artist: Kurt Vile
Album: B'lieve I'm Goin Down
Bitrate: 230kbps avg
Quality: EAC Secure Mode / LAME 3.98.4 / -V0 / 44.100Khz
Label: Matador
Genre: Indie
Size: 105.46 megs
PlayTime: 1h 00min 56sec total
Rip Date: 2015-09-25
Store Date: 2015-09-25

Track List:
--------
01. Pretty Pimpin                    4:58
02. I'm An Outlaw                    4:21
03. Dust Bunnies                     4:38
04. That's Life, Tho (Almost Hate    6:27
    To Say)
05. Wheelhouse                       6:14
06. Life Like This                   4:05
07. All In A Daze Work               4:59
08. Lost My Head There               6:55
09. Stand Inside                     5:12
10. Bad Omens                        2:50
11. Kidding Around                   4:27
12. Wild Imagination                 5:50

Release Notes:
--------
Kurt Vile has a persona, and you know him by now: He is the weird quiet kid in
the corner, the one who seems at first lost in his own world and disconnected
from everything around him, but turns out to be smart, observant, and low-key
hilarious. So while his albums draw you in with the vibe—the impeccably recorded
and mixed songs that shuffle bits of folk, new wave, or country in the mix but
are always squarely down-the-middle rock—you return to them for their human
qualities, the way they offer a manner of seeing the world, a glimpse at a
perspective that feels both voyeuristic and easy to connect to your own life.

You have to feel for Vile when he does early interviews for one of his records
and he’s asked to characterize them. Music writers look for a story, an angle, a
hook, and he gamely tries to give them one, a reason why an upcoming record is
different from his last few. In the case of b’lieve i’m goin down, he pointed
out that it was darker, an album from the night, written in the lonely quiet
hours after his wife and two children had gone to sleep. (My favorite quote on
this came from his interview with Rolling Stone: "It’s definitely got that night
vibe…KV’s Night Life—it’s my sequel to Donald Fagen’s The Nightfly"). But Vile’s
albums mostly vary in smaller details; they are collections of songs that
generally draw from a similar handful of influences, and Vile’s style as a
guitarist, songwriter, and especially a vocalist keep them relatively uniform.
His arc so far has been a process of refinement, of gradually figuring out
settings in which the songs work best.

On b’lieve i’m goin down, that means he’s incorporated a bit of banjo and a bit
more piano and has eased off just slightly on the reverb. The essential quality
of his music is no different, but the banjo picking draws out a bit of
folkiness, and piano shifts things slightly from capital-R Rock to
singer-songwriter territory. But many of these songs could have just as easily
been found on either of his last two full-lengths, which in his case is not a
bad thing.

Something that has changed over the years is that Vile has grown steadily
funnier, and his lyrics have grown more sophisticated. Humor was always part of
his music, but on b’lieve i’m goin down it’s an animating principle. Lines like
"When I go out I take pills to take the edge off or to just take a chillax,
forget about it/ Just another certified badass out for a night on the town" scan
as goofy on the page, but in the context of the arrangement of "That’s Life, tho
(almost hate to say)" they become something else entirely. The song is a dark,
doom-laden thing, with fingerpicked guitar out of "Can’t Find My Way Home" and a
bleak undercurrent of synth, something in the realm of Nick Drake in "Black Eyed
Dog" mode. In this setting, Vile’s tossed-off musings, where punchlines
alternate with striking imagery ("I hang glide into the valley of ashes"),
remind you that every sage worth a damn knew that life was absurdly funny and
tragic simultaneously.

The quotable lines are many. It’s been a while since I heard a description of a
hangover as evocative as "A headache like a ShopVac coughing dust bunnies"; "I’m
an Outlaw"’s banjo accompaniment might make you think of a folk ballad, but
Vile’s outlaw is like one you’ve never seen, one "on the brink of
self-implosion, alone in a crowd on the corner, in my Walkman in a snow globe
going nowhere slow." "Pretty Pimpin" describes a moment of existential confusion
in front of the bathroom mirror, with Vile brushing a stranger’s teeth before
realizing "they were my teeth, and I was weightless"—whoops. "Lost my Head
there" has a piano riff like the theme from an early '80s sitcom, but played a
step too slow, like you’re about to watch the usual ridiculous "Three’s
Company"-style misunderstanding happening in drug-induced slow motion. But then
it turns out to be a tune about its own creation, and Vile’s description forever
colors how you hear it: "I was buggin’ out about a couple-two-three things/
Picked up my microphone and started to sing/ I was feeling worse, than the words
come out/ Fell on some keys and then this song walked out."

As compelling as Vile’s words can be, much of the magic lies in his delivery.
Like Tom Petty, Bruce Springsteen, and Bob Dylan, Vile’s singing voice has
acquired an unstable accent of indeterminate origin that shifts to suit his
musical decisions, rather than connecting to genre or region or even his own
upbringing. Most often, he’s got a nasally twang unlike that of any other native
Philadelphian, and it helps his low-key murmur cut through the wooly mid-tempo
haze. That twang makes his music feel more grounded and conversational, and
there’s also a bit of a "Hey, it’s me again" quality the first time you hear it
on a new album, an aural watermark that never leaves you any doubt that you are
listening to a Kurt Vile record.

Vile’s signature qualifier is "I guess…"—the phrase shows up frequently in his
songs. It’s easy to believe he’s never quite sure of what he’s seeing or exactly
how he’s feeling. Vile’s version of reality is always slightly confused, a
blurry approximation of what’s out there, one in a state of constant revision.
This could strike some as lazy, like he can’t be bothered to whittle the blunt
stick of his music down to a fine point, and it’s this perpetually fuzzy quality
that leads people to label Vile a spaced-out stoner. But from another angle the
uncertainty feels honest, an acknowledgement that a great deal of life involves
making it up as you go along. Or as Vile puts it on "Dust Bunnies", "There ain’t
no manual to our minds, we’re always looking, baby, all the time."

Vile now plays "rock" in the most '70s sense of the word—album oriented, guitar
solo-friendly, very much about long-haired dudes sitting in a room playing
instruments. That he’s hitting his peak as an artist at a time when rock music
of the type he practices is falling out of favor and is becoming just another
genre instead of the center of the musical universe only adds to his appeal;
this is not an artist concerned with being in step. Vile’s relevance to the
music world at large rises and falls, but he keeps plowing ahead, secure in the
knowledge that in an examined life there will always be more to explore, another
bleary morning with another unfamiliar face looking back at you over the
bathroom sink.



This NFO File was rendered by NFOmation.net