It seems Ty Segall only looks ahead. He cares about cranking out the hooks, not the critical reception of them. He cares about always performing with vigor, not the size of the mosh pit. Above all else, he cares about creative improvement, this muted confidence that’s beginning to define his career. It’s the type of confidence that brought Segall here, standing before his miraculous Jenga tower of songs, a precarious wonder of a catalog that shows no signs of collapse.
Fried Shallots, Ty Segall’s latest EP, consists of six tracks from “different times and places over the past few years” and all profits from its sales will be donated to the American Civil Liberties Union. It’s an organization he’s clearly fond of, and he offers up a comfortably familiar set of songs to guarantee some traction. “Dust” sounds like Goodbye Bread filler that’s vaguely unmemorable but saved by a blissful, classic rock guitar solo. Opener “Big Man” stomps through ‘60s fuzz with hushed “oohs” to balance the warped electronic synth that punctuates it. Even the lo-fi, scuzzy vocals on “Is It Real” feel right at home. Fried Shallots isn’t Segall’s best work, but it stays on par with the rest of his garage rock catalog.
It’s the genre-traipsing songs like “Talkin’” that contribute to Segall’s evolution, one ripe with power-pop melodies and McCartney-styled basslines. Before that, he gets caught in a quintessential Ty Segall chord progression on “Another Hustle,” where the acoustic guitar tangles itself in a bass line, climbing up a blues scale with an R&B swing. If Segall's self-titled full-length from earlier this year was new material disguised as a sampler of what he's been up to for the last half-decade, Fried Shallots is old material disguised as a sampler of what he could be up to in the future. After all, full-throated folk is a side of Segall worth welcoming, especially if it brandishes banjo the way “When the Gulls Turn To Ravens” does.
It’s these moments where the EP hits a notable stride. With over a dozen releases to his name since he started back in 2008—not including his work in Fuzz, GØGGS, and a handful of other groups—Segall re-earns the “prolific” badge each year. His talent isn't built on rehashing garage tropes, as it may seem, but rather his evolution. He freaks out morning news programs. He masquerades as an animated squirrel. He hosts an art exhibit of his paintings. Segall is at a point in his career where a random collection of outlier tracks and potential B-sides still sound fresh, and, once again, the way he stacks them makes for a marvelous listen.
