with the ninth pick in the twenty-first round of the 2013 Desert Island Music Draft, i select...
Astronautalis - This is Our Science (09/13/11):
01 The River, the Woods
02 This Is Our Science (feat. Isaiah Toothtaker and P.O.S.)
03 Thomas Jefferson (feat. Sims and Mike Wiebe)
04 Measure the Globe
05 Dimitri Mendeleev
06 Midday Moon
07 Contrails (feat. Tegan Quin)
08 Holy Water
09 Secrets On Our Lips
10 Lift the Curse
11 One For the Money
Genre: indie hip hop, historical fiction hip hop, indie rock, folk rock, blues, country
here is my 2011 review of This is Our Science:
How does one begin to describe Charles Andrew Bothwell? He's Andy to his friends and Astronautalis to his fans. I can only speculate about how his mother refers to him. As far as I'm concerned, though, Astro is some kinda alternate universe's amalgamation of Tom Waits, Eminem, and Johnny Cash. He's a wordsmith and a storyteller crafting songs in a long-winded tradition of American storytelling, and his new album, This Is Our Science, represents the absolute peak of his body of work to this point.
Opening salvo "The River, the Woods" wastes no time in carrying Astronautalis' whiskey-addled voice along a rusty-*** railroad track, as he begins, "Wherever we go, we'll never be lost." It's an explosive, beat-driven song full of all sorts of feverish hi-hat f***ery. Every element, from the keys to the drums to the backing chorus of whoa-oh's, propel the rasp in Bothwell's voice forward in an almost-jarringly aggressive manner. It's effective, as his shotgun blast of verses build upon each other with a snarl, "An anchor’s just a coffin nail, waiting for the hammer drop." The concerns of "The River, the Woods" also serve as the lyrical backdrop for the entirety of This Is Our Science. Astronautalis is no longer crafting the tales of others. He's considering his own story in full, which includes seven years of life lived on the road, without an anchor. Second track "This Is Our Science" doesn't let up on the urgency, either: "We chase lightning, 'cause we need to move." It's exemplary of just how well Astronautalis has honed the craft of merging roots rock with hip hop's lyrical and rhythmic structures.
Lead single "Dimitri Mendeleev" represents the catchiest moment on This Is Our Science. It opens with it's chorus, which I dare you to keep out of your head after you actually pin down its lyrics: "I dreamed up the maps. Give me the charcoal and the paper now. We invent paths they cannot see, and they're to scared to walk. Between my hands rest fifty-two plain old playing cards, and I trapped God somewhere between trump and the king of hearts." Location, direction, and movement reign supreme in This Is Our Science. As do drums. They are, in a word, BIG. In the song's first verse, Bothwell brings new listeners up to date: "I'm made of mountains, made of metal, made of whiskey and waves," then he shifts into spitfire mode in the second verse, drawing potential comparisons to Eminem, while also dwarfing Em's most classic examples of incomparable flow in combination with lyrical dexterity: "It's strange how you can waste away, pained with one thing. The watchmaker breaks sweat, he can't tame a dumb spring. Then one day it's as plain as the nose above your smug grin, like, look what the cat dragged in." It's a pleasure to listen to Astronautalis trading barbs with a snare drum.
Tegan Quin (of indie darlings Tegan and Sara) makes an appearance on "Contrails," which sees Astronautalis blending his rootsy hip hop leanings with a more streamlined indie rock approach. Elsewhere, on "Holy Water," Astro channels his inner baptist preacher, if that baptist preacher was Tom Waits on the back-end of a bender. It's some real bible-thumping, lost-inside-a-persona s***: "Well, one drank up the holy water, hoping for the light, while another slipped a sewing bodkin right inside his eye." And the drums are absolutely enormous, as if to match the fire-and-brimstone quality of the lyrics. This song is vicious. Where the whoa-oh's in "The River, the Woods" lent the song an epic, urgent quality, the whoa-oh's (and accompanying tambourine) in "Holy Water" imbue the song with a congregation's worth of fierce affirmation.
On "Secrets On Our Lips," Bothwell engages in some hip hop balladry. It's a gentle song that opens on a softly-bouncing synth, as Bothwell tackles a regret: "We can't go on like this." The verses float between the keys of some rather Elton John-esque piano jabs, while Bothwell's lyrics betray the complicated nature of balancing love and lust: "We work in secret under cover of darkness, hands steadied by the weight of our lie. With broke branches, codes, and chalk markings, I'll leave a trail only you can find." Astronautalis returns to those notions of direction and movement. Despite the tenderness at the song's center, the drums are still absolutely MASSIVE, as they are on most of This Is Our Science. It's some stadium-ready s***. The fact that these songs will likely be played primarily in dive venues makes it even more colossal.
As affecting as "Secrets On Our Lips" may be, more effective is penultimate track, "Lift the Curse," one of the most glorious songs Astronautalis has ever composed. It opens with understated strings, quiet plinks of the piano, and skittering hi-hats, as Bothwell laments, "Everyone who's drinking, is already drunk or sleeping. Everyone who isn't, is just too political to talk to." It's an unapologetic pub anthem: "Another summer evening, and the city's barely breathing. It just ain't the same, just ain't the same without you." An acoustic guitar and a programmed bass drum interjects, as this barstool yarn slowly pulls the listener in closer to its sobering whiskey breath.
Despite the melancholy, "Lift the Curse" eventually builds to a resilient declaration: "I'll keep singing y'all these spirituals, and pray it lifts the curse that keeps me chasing ghosts of dreams from funerals to birth, in reverse." Few tracks from 2011 will manage to reach the heights of the uproarious, unpretentious crescendo that follows, and ultimately, it lifts This Is Our Science to a final note of triumph, slamming the bottle against a brick wall and echoing an authentic sense of victory back through the entirety of the album. It's the concert closer. Without question. No encore, please. Except for the 10-second outro to the album, "One For the Money," which serves as an epilogue of sorts. Bothwell pitch shifts his voice into an unrecognizable rumble, as he admits, "What a helluva way to make a living." I believe it, man. And what a helluva way to spend forty minutes.