You can't really pin down M.A.G.S., the solo project of Buffalo-born, Los Angeles-based artist Elliott Douglas. Is it indie rock? Is it R&B? Is it alt pop? Is it punk? The answer is yes. Described as "a hybrid of Motown and Fueled by Ramen" — evidently owing its sound roughly equally to the psychedelic soul of Marvin Gaye and the boisterous pop-punk of Fall Out Boy — the third M.A.G.S. album, Destroyer, really does borrow inspiration from all over the place.
While he's flown under the radar of music critics and alt-rock scenemakers, M.A.G.S. has quietly put up big numbers; today, the chipper indie-folk tune "Drugs" has racked up more than 22 million Spotify streams since it first appeared on his self-titled debut album in 2017. There was more buzz when he followed it with 2021's Say Things That Matter, particularly the singles "Smile" and "Choked Out," and each release sounds more exciting and inspired than the last.
M.A.G.S. has been previously compared to Phoenix, the Strokes and the Vaccines; you could easily throw Tokyo Police Club in there, too. Those are reasonable reference points to pitch to an audience of elder indie-rockers, but they're also restricting, especially if they're being used to describe Destroyer. The title track opens the album with possibly the weirdest, quirkiest guitar riff you'll hear this year, a wiry, tangled oddball that stops, starts and sticks to you like a leech. From there, Douglas works his way through slow, dreamy sections, upbeat rock, more of that punchy riffing, and a shouty punk finale. It's a great opener, and not only because it lets listeners know that they should expect the unexpected.
"Wednesday" channels the atmospheric post-rock of something like Circa Survive, with a bridge that contrasts it with intentionally ugly, jazz-inspired chords. "Supermoon" begins with a floaty, ethereal section and then bursts into an electric-charged emo rocker. "Sins" gets treated to a couple of big, messy breakdowns, breaking up its catchy, propulsive choruses with healthy doses of chaotic noise. There's a hazy, sun-drenched quality that would make several of the songs great for a day at the beach… with a few modifications. If you swapped the guitar amps for acoustic strumming on "Floyd" or "Her," you might end up with something like Bahamas or Alex G — but Douglas hasn't done that, so you find out what happens when you take that vibe and crank up the volume. On the particularly adventurous cut "Swimming," he delivers hyped-up rap bars over chill, psychedelic funk, then he breaks for a chorus of cascading melodies, then he goes into an ambient R&B bridge, and then he ends it with a trap beat. Again, there's a whole lot going on. Just try to guess what's coming next.
On the whole, Douglas just about refuses to write, sing or play the guitar in a predictable way. He has a soul-jazz artist's ear when it comes to chord phrasings, he takes a noise rock or garage punk band's anything-goes approach to song structure, and there's a noticeable influence from hip-hop and R&B in his lyrical flow and rhythmic patterns. When he sings, it sounds like it comes from the worlds of Smokey Robinson and Anderson .Paak rather than, say, Arctic Monkeys or Kings of Leon. This last part is a lot deeper and more authentic than most rock bands' often ill-conceived attempts to incorporate those styles into their music; rather than clumsily stuffing a rap verse or a hip-hop beat into a cookie-cutter rock song, Douglas's ties to Black music are clearly embedded in the fibre of his musical identity, and the songs are better for it. One of the best showcases of that is "Elephant," a highlight full of crunchy, dirty riffing and vocal melodies that have the sweetness of Brian Wilson and the smoothness of Gil Scott-Heron.
While M.A.G.S. is a unique creative force of its own, it's easy to make a comparison to the work of Bartees Strange; both of them are genre-benders who are among the many newly established artists of the last few years who are carving out a space for Black artists in the traditionally white territory of indie rock, alt-rock, punk, emo and hardcore — and, in doing so, making them fresher and better. With Destroyer, M.A.G.S. isn't just challenging what modern rock music looks like, but also what it sounds like.
(Smartpunk)While he's flown under the radar of music critics and alt-rock scenemakers, M.A.G.S. has quietly put up big numbers; today, the chipper indie-folk tune "Drugs" has racked up more than 22 million Spotify streams since it first appeared on his self-titled debut album in 2017. There was more buzz when he followed it with 2021's Say Things That Matter, particularly the singles "Smile" and "Choked Out," and each release sounds more exciting and inspired than the last.
M.A.G.S. has been previously compared to Phoenix, the Strokes and the Vaccines; you could easily throw Tokyo Police Club in there, too. Those are reasonable reference points to pitch to an audience of elder indie-rockers, but they're also restricting, especially if they're being used to describe Destroyer. The title track opens the album with possibly the weirdest, quirkiest guitar riff you'll hear this year, a wiry, tangled oddball that stops, starts and sticks to you like a leech. From there, Douglas works his way through slow, dreamy sections, upbeat rock, more of that punchy riffing, and a shouty punk finale. It's a great opener, and not only because it lets listeners know that they should expect the unexpected.
"Wednesday" channels the atmospheric post-rock of something like Circa Survive, with a bridge that contrasts it with intentionally ugly, jazz-inspired chords. "Supermoon" begins with a floaty, ethereal section and then bursts into an electric-charged emo rocker. "Sins" gets treated to a couple of big, messy breakdowns, breaking up its catchy, propulsive choruses with healthy doses of chaotic noise. There's a hazy, sun-drenched quality that would make several of the songs great for a day at the beach… with a few modifications. If you swapped the guitar amps for acoustic strumming on "Floyd" or "Her," you might end up with something like Bahamas or Alex G — but Douglas hasn't done that, so you find out what happens when you take that vibe and crank up the volume. On the particularly adventurous cut "Swimming," he delivers hyped-up rap bars over chill, psychedelic funk, then he breaks for a chorus of cascading melodies, then he goes into an ambient R&B bridge, and then he ends it with a trap beat. Again, there's a whole lot going on. Just try to guess what's coming next.
On the whole, Douglas just about refuses to write, sing or play the guitar in a predictable way. He has a soul-jazz artist's ear when it comes to chord phrasings, he takes a noise rock or garage punk band's anything-goes approach to song structure, and there's a noticeable influence from hip-hop and R&B in his lyrical flow and rhythmic patterns. When he sings, it sounds like it comes from the worlds of Smokey Robinson and Anderson .Paak rather than, say, Arctic Monkeys or Kings of Leon. This last part is a lot deeper and more authentic than most rock bands' often ill-conceived attempts to incorporate those styles into their music; rather than clumsily stuffing a rap verse or a hip-hop beat into a cookie-cutter rock song, Douglas's ties to Black music are clearly embedded in the fibre of his musical identity, and the songs are better for it. One of the best showcases of that is "Elephant," a highlight full of crunchy, dirty riffing and vocal melodies that have the sweetness of Brian Wilson and the smoothness of Gil Scott-Heron.
While M.A.G.S. is a unique creative force of its own, it's easy to make a comparison to the work of Bartees Strange; both of them are genre-benders who are among the many newly established artists of the last few years who are carving out a space for Black artists in the traditionally white territory of indie rock, alt-rock, punk, emo and hardcore — and, in doing so, making them fresher and better. With Destroyer, M.A.G.S. isn't just challenging what modern rock music looks like, but also what it sounds like.
