Williamsburg, NYC. Friday July 24, 2026. Brooklyn-by-way-of-Berklee indie rockers Trophy Wife are hitting the stage at Baby’s for the release of their newest record, Pathetic. It’s a sold out show. This is what’s referred to as a “full baby,” I’d learn later from lead singer/guitarist/brainchild McKenzie Iazzetta. It’s a practically perfect summer night in New York and the place is buzzing ahead of the show. Meg Elsier and her band are opening, and everyone’s hanging out around the club and connecting. I had not seen Trophy Wife before but I had an inkling that this show would be a wild one, and my suspicions were validated when half of Brooklyn started showing up an hour early. My friend and fellow Substacker, joins me and we watch the crowd gather as we catch up.

We somehow miss the opener, Or Best Offer, I think we were chatting too much and they went on like exactly on time or maybe even early. Not my typical modus operandi, but shit happens I guess. We make it in for Meg Elsier and she doesn’t disappoint. The art of the perfect grungy pop song. I’ve seen Meg a few times now and this Sub is focused on Trophy Wife, so no shade, I still love you, Meg!

Setup takes a while, and there’s a lot of jockeying for position in the sold-out room. Abby and I step out to assess the whole situation. She heads back in before me, and we somehow find each other in the now sea of people when I go back in. I summon her up to the railing, where I’ve landed basically the perfect spot. The band takes the stage and it’s immediately apparent that the crowd is made up of hardcore fans and friends alike. Tons of dialogue back and forth and a genuine sense of elation for this event, which feels a little bit like a coming out party. McKenzie admits it’s their largest crowd as a headliner, and I bet there were another 50 people that would have been in there had it not sold out.

The Kind of Girl I Am (Pathetic, 2026) at Baby’s All Right, 7.24.26

They played the entirety of Pathetic, plus a couple older songs off of Get Ugly and their early Bruiser EP. Someone posted to Instagram “Trophy wife is out here destroying us with Pathetic and we’re not even over Get Ugly,” and I feel that. The energy in the room was 10/10, the band was completely on fire, and it felt like at least half the room knew the words to every song. This was one of those shows that you just don’t forget.

Keep It (Get Ugly, 2024) at Baby’s All Right, 7.24.26 with lots of vocal help from the crowd

The (for all intents and purposes) original members of Trophy Wife (McKenzie Iazzetta, Christian Pace, Michael Martelli) met at Berklee College of Music in Boston, and migrated one by one to Brooklyn, where they brought on second guitarist Mena Lemos, who, coincidentally, they had already crossed paths with at Berklee. The auditory result of this stacked lineup is a super cohesive and totally fresh indie/grunge/punk/pop musical shot in the arm. Iazzetta’s songwriting, while being a collaborative process, is unique and bold. The songs are composed of catchy hooks, brooding, minimalist stretches contrasted by kinetic, high octane guitar driven blasts, painfully honest and often dark and sarcastic lyrics, and vocals with every possible emotion, sometimes veering wildly, all driven by crazy intuitive band dynamics.

Get Ugly (2024) and Pathetic (2026) are both, unbelievably, self-released albums, recorded by Charles Dahlke (Ashlawn Recording Co.), mixed and mastered by Alex DeTurk (Brooklyn) and Bradford Krieger (Big Nice Studio - shout out to Little Rhody!).

The overarching vibe of both albums is predominantly dark, having been written during moments of instability and trauma, but the music is delivered with such unassailable verve that it feels more like going 100 miles an hour through the city at night in a muscle car. Melancholy to piss and vinegar in under 10 seconds.

Trophy Wife’s live performance and band interview on Audiotree from August 2025. Someone buy the sound engineer a beer.

This band, given their current momentum and talent, are going places. I would absolutely not miss a chance to see them live, and SOON.

Linktree

IG: trophywifeofficial

Listen more, Judge less. That’s a good mindset to enter into just about anything in life. I’ve been an audiophile/music aficionado for most of my life, and one of the unfortunate but necessary evils associated with this is the tendency to judge things based on what we think to be true up until a given point in history. Hindsight is always 20/20, so it’s a recurring theme that music that was once niche or typecast winds up coming into wider vogue later on, or at least gaining acceptance across different listener bases and demographics. The kids that listened to Sabbath in high school would not have admitted to liking Prince at the time, for example, but at a certain point people figure out that music doesn’t have to fit into a box to be good, important, or impactful. Most of those kids, if they continued to listen and pay attention, now know that Prince was a groundbreaking artist and one of the greatest guitarists ever to live. This is a long way of saying that as a pot smoking noise/psych rock/punk/hippie kid of the 80’s, it took me a long time to accept certain genres as legitimate. I picked up on some things at an early age, but I fell into many of the same old traps that other 80’s Gen X kids fell into. I’ve been to a rave or three, and I’m not afraid to hit a dance floor from time to time, but ten years ago I wouldn’t have thought I’d ever be putting an electronic dance-pop album up as my Album Of The Year. But here we are.

The once-independent bedroom SoundCloud/MySpace mixtape recording artist Slayyyter (Catherine Grace Garner) has finally found her fully formed voice with her third studio album, Worst Girl In America (no shade to Starfucker and Troubled Paradise). I stumbled across the album by way of Instagram, and was initially drawn in by the cover art. A slightly-out-of-frame candid shot that captures a low budget middle America trailer park vibe and makes you somehow immediately want in. It’s dirty and vaguely taboo, and it screams “sex, drugs and rock & roll.” She had me hook, line and sinker before I’d even heard the first track.

The music video for the album’s opening track, DANCE, goes full Natural Born Killers right out of the gate

The tracks on the album run the gamut from electronic dance-pop vibes to gritty industrial noise and beats heavy enough to suggest a gravitational pull. She addresses equally heavy themes of depression, self-actualization, and the absurdity of fame from the perspective of a St. Louis-born kid with the all too common hypocritical forced Catholic upbringing. Throughout the album and her live performances, as well as in her recent interviews, she’s carrying the aura of a rags-to-riches girl that’s now a grown woman and doesn’t give a fuck. She fully embraces sexuality, imperfection, conflict, and fame across it all and it’s fun to watch. Like the somewhat unseemly album cover, the whole Slayyyter trip is strangely relatable and inviting.

Slayyyter’s interview with will fill you in with all you need to know to become an instant groupie

Listening to WGIA, I quickly picked up on a broad range of influences, many of which caught me by surprise… There are heavy grunge guitars, industrial noise-punk coupled with gorgeous melodies à la Robber Robber, the same industrial clang coupled with urgent, distorted vocals, dichotomies of pillowy dance music and borderline disturbing lyrics (never mind some of the visuals) and I’m sure much more that I just haven’t picked up on yet.

The CANNIBALISM! music video. Women taking back power. Fetishism. Murder. Viewer discretion advised lol.

I’M ACTUALLY KINDA FAMOUS live at Coachella 4.10.2026

Slayyyter’s live performances feature a full band with live drums, as well as electronic sampling and beats. She often accompanies her live vocals with the prerecorded vocal tracks, using them as a springboard to improvise off of, and to further illustrate that she’s unapologetically doing whatever the fuck she wants. I said this a couple months ago and I still believe it to be true… There’s still room left in the Slayyyter bandwagon. Get on.

It’s July 28, 2024. I’m at the New Hampshire Liquor Store/Rest Stop/Gas Station on 93 South, on my way back from Burlington VT. There’s a carload of 20-something kids at the gas pump next to me with a rack full of surfboards on top of their car. There’s some swell in the water and I’m hoping to get out somewhere later myself. I walk over to see where they’re headed and I realize they’re listening to the new Robber Robber album, Wild Guess. I just happen to be on my way home from the record release show at Foam Brewers the night before. These guys weren’t there, but even if they were, this would be a weird coincidence. Robber Robber vibes are in the air I guess.

April 24, 2026. I’m at the Burlington City Arts community center with just about every single local musician and music fan from the still-red-hot music scene in town at the sold out record release show for their much-awaited new album, Two Wheels Move the Soul. Front woman Nina Cates was just interviewed on the local news the day before, gushing about how the Burlington community has always been the foundation and fuel that fires their project, as well as the local scene writ large. So it only makes sense that the experimental art/noise rock groove project’s record release is happening here, at the community center. The place is bumping. Roost World opens with a psychedelic EDM set that has a slow, warm build that sets the stage perfectly. They’re followed by Massachusetts rockers and good friends of the band The Taxidermists, who whip up a grungy, pop-punk reverie that catches everyone’s attention.

The stage is in the center of the room, in-the-round, Lightning Bolt/TAGABOW style. Nina, Zack, Carney, Will and Owen all face each other, and at the same time the crowd beyond. The vibe is absolutely electric. Nina wasn’t kidding when she said the community is a grass roots part of their project… The psychic connection between the band and the crowd is palpable. They charge through their set with what feels like contagious joy that just keeps hitting better and better as they move through the songs. Everyone I see seems to be experiencing something intensely personal yet communal, and we look at each other with a look that says “You’re feeling it too, huh?” There’s a catharsis in the air coupled with a feeling of community pride for these members of the tribe and where they are going. This band is something for Burlington to be proud of, and they most definitely are. You can feel it in the room. They close the set with three of their heaviest hitting tunes, Mouth, New Year’s Eve, and Bullseye. In a cheeky but hilarious and all-too predictable outcome, they can’t leave the “stage,” and the crowd is definitely not letting them out without an encore. We got three. The re-entry came in the form of Seven Houses, which if you’re unfamiliar, is a blossoming bomb of a repetitive distorted guitar riff, somehow mechanical and organic at the same time, with Zack hammering eighth notes on seemingly the entire drum kit at once, Nina spinning an ethereal, melodic vocal melody over the whole thing. They followed it up with their stirring and slightly bizarre cover of Suspicious Minds by Elvis (Mark James), and their favorite show double-ender, Dial Tone. Catharsis indeed.

Sea or War, live at the Two Wheels Move the Soul record release show, Burlington City Arts, 4.24.2026

The show was a great representation of where they’re at currently, buoyed and rising with the hands and hearts of the community behind them. Two Wheels Move the Soul is a definitive exercise in further experimentation; a statement that they’re not wavering in their commitment to this radical and singular sound R&D project. It’s an obvious step further in their intended direction, which is towards a dystopian future that sounds like the aesthetic of Blade Runner. It smells of burning aluminum foil tinged by acid rain, with a panorama of hollowed out cities on the horizon. It’s beautiful and disturbing at the same time, but if you follow Nina’s voice, it’s all going to be ok.

Two years plus in the making, Two Wheels Move the Soul was written through a time of both hardship and growth for Nina and Zack. Having been forced out of their Burlington apartment after a fire ultimately necessitated a total building renovation, and unable to find housing on short notice in the already difficult market, they bounced from couch to couch to the spare rooms of their friends for months on end. This upheaval and uncertainty affected every part of their lives, including trying to write and create music. The band became the pressure relief valve and the songs the raw material that would eventually tell the story, or at the very least be informed by the chaos. It’s entirely possible that this type of domestic entropy could have fostered a fragmented and disorganized end product; I’m sure their life felt held together by duct tape and string, but instead it somehow forged something remarkably cohesive. The album makes total sense, which, given the situation, is somewhat extraordinary.

Building on their already avant-garde-yet-groovy library of sound, they have fired another shot across the bow of noise rock. Jagged, metallic guitars play wittily off of each other while maintaining critical negative space. Bass lines disappear and resurface wrapped around bold, gravid rhythms. Vocal melodies and patterns decorate the thing with nothing wasted, sometimes crackling with life, sometimes dreamy and atmospheric. I get the sense that the disregard for conventionalism that I credit their sound and aesthetic with is way more intentional than I originally thought; that there is a rebellion built into this art that is so profound that it affects every aspect of it, and as a result you can almost miss it because it’s the whole thing.

They’ve managed (again!) to create a sound that is completely novel, layering sounds you may have heard before over Zack’s driving, unusual beats, but juxtaposing them at unfamiliar angles and distances. Join them in the kaleidoscope hard drive. You had a dream that you’d fallen in love with a cyborg, but somehow it was ok. Track after track spool out like blast wires untangling, each one saying to the listener, “We’re not going back.”

Robber Robber’s spring tour starts soon, dates and tickets available here

It’s been a minute, but the world unsurprisingly did not stop turning. In and around the hundred or so rotations since my last stack, there have been some really exceptional releases, and the following are just a few.

Red Sky at Morning by h. pruz, released in November 2025 (Mountain Laurel Recording) is at the top of my list for exciting new music out there. It is a haunting collection of bright shiny objects that all at once thrill you and scare you with a measure of alchemy turning light to darkness and vice versa almost constantly throughout the album. Is this beautiful or terrifying? Joy or sadness? Eventually it’s just easier to relent, acquiescing to the innate duality of it all.

With production, engineering and collaboration by Felix Walworth (Told Slant, Florist) as well as an ample lineup of other brilliant musicians, Red Sky at Morning was recorded over a month spent ruminating and exploring delicate sonic architectures at a forested home in upstate NY. The album is a cat’s cradle of simple threads that form complex patterns, simultaneously deconstructing and building in an almost cellular way. At once I find myself silently eulogizing the minimalism yet wondering just how many instruments I’m hearing; sounds woven together in ways completely natural yet somehow uniquely novel. Sweet, minimal arpeggios layered over each other backed with piano, organ, ambient guitars, synth (Buchla Music Easel, Emily Sprague!), spoken word, and much more provide a lush landscape of spellbinding sound.

Adding dimension to the project, Hannah has released a solo rpg module, A Sailor’s Warning, to accompany the album. Such a simple and low-tech accoutrement, yet it makes the whole so much greater than the sum of its parts.

The music video for one of my personal favorite tracks, Arrival, provides near-perfect companion visuals to the song with a sublime color palette and a production quality that gives an inexplicable sense of nostalgia.

Prewn (Izzy Hagerup) is at it again, with her steamrolling beast of a record, System (Exploding in Sound Records). She’s taken her tormented-yet-endearing vocal stylings to another level, and the orchestration, cohesiveness and arrangement of the album give it an atmosphere reminiscent of a haunted children’s book fairy tale, if you could turn that into music. Creepy, careful marionette-puppeteer-like rhythms give way to ass-kicking, chugging guitars backed with warping, distant vocal harmonies and seamless cello and string sections that will undoubtedly haunt your headspace well after the album ends.

The music video for the title track ‘System’ puts you squarely into a colorless yet evocative story strung together with compelling imagery that seems to lack a time and a place.

A little further back in late May of 2025, the UK eight piece sonic experiment Caroline released their second (self-titled) full length album, Caroline 2 (deluxe edition released in November - purchase on Bandcamp) on Rough Trade Records.

My immediate reaction to the first single off of this record, Total Euphoria, was that someone had perhaps accidentally torn the fabric of the time-space continuum. It’s like a mind-altering riddle of sound that keeps giving you chances to solve it, but the solution ultimately evades you, disappearing just around the next corner. Bursts of guitar, drums, vocals and horns appear out of nowhere and resurface in a kaleidoscopic swirl with an endlessly moving vanishing point.

Only a few albums have slapped me across the face like this one, with its super unconventional and non-linear auditory offerings. Maybe it’s moving and you’re not, like when the car next to you backs up slightly and you instinctively lurch for the brake pedal. Was that voice you just heard from in front of you or behind you? Caroline 2 shamelessly throws playful curveballs at you, occasionally landing on a point of reunion, but not for long. At times meditative, at times grandiose, the album is a wakeup call to remind us that avant-garde is still a thing. Give it a whirl, you will not be disappointed.

The music video for Total Euphoria perhaps confirms my theory about the time-space continuum thing, with a strange dichotomy of worlds existing at the same time… Or maybe there’s just a glitch in the matrix.

As someone who has never even downloaded Spotify nor listened to an algorithmically generated playlist, you could make the argument that I’m unqualified to write a Substack piece on modern music streaming technology and culture. Or you could make the argument that I’m just the person to do it. Either way, it’s something I have thought about a great deal in the past few years, and it turns out there are many much greater minds than I that have been pondering and dissecting the subject at a much deeper level than my cursory thoughts and daydreams. Having just finished Liz Pelly’s scathing exposé of Spotify et al, I’m a little wiser to the issues of modern digital streaming and the history of commercialized music, both recent and beyond. The book is a bombshell. In a sane and equanimous society, the information revealed would be considered incriminating evidence. But in today’s capitalist world where more is perceived as better and average people worship the ultra wealthy, touting and believing (incorrectly) the idea that libertarian bootstrap aspirations and ideals make anything possible to even the most resource-deprived populations, the people that have slow-grifted the very soul of art and humanity get little more than a sideways glance at worst from the general public. Their behavior has become the new normal.

Data, data everywhere and not a drop to drink

I will attempt to convey several points in this piece, that I believe will ultimately jell into a cohesive stream of consciousness. I’ll start with data collection and distribution, because it is far and away the biggest takeaway from Mood Machine. Pelly focuses on Spotify and their practices, and while they are most likely some of the worst offenders, a central point she makes in the book that I am using to illustrate my thoughts herein is that your data, including basically everything you’ve ever done online or with a credit card, has most likely to some degree been collected, sold, studied, compared, digitized, stacked, regurgitated and spit back out in thousands of ways that are used in an attempt to try to shape not only your world, but the world as we all know it.

If we accept that a computer algorithm cannot replicate or understand the overall human physical, spiritual and emotional experience, then no matter how much data it collects from your life and habits, there is no thorough or holistic summary of you that it can accurately provide, period. Programmers that aspire to create “real” Artificial Intelligence will tell you it’s possible, but it is not, and by its very nature, never will be. At best it projects a diluted and shallow picture of its subject, and at worst it’s wildly inaccurate.

Star Trek: The Original Series, The Changeling, 1967

What a computer algorithm winds up making with your data is a series of snapshots, or a screenplay of things in your life that have already happened. It’s a two dimensional look at your shopping habits, political views, desires, likes, dislikes, musical and artistic selections, and where and when it all went down. All of this information winds up in profiles that are used to predict what you (and your demographic) might want next. It is categorized according to qualities and values that have been assigned to it, either by programmers or other echo chamber algorithms, or both. So we’re starting from a faulty and flawed base, and building an edifice (artifice?) with ill-gotten materials.

“Algorithms are made by people and people have biases. There is nothing pure about data at all.” ~Taja Cheek (L’Rain)

But it’s more than an edifice, it’s an open-ended highway that the data lords want you to follow. And so many of us have been following these data paved roads into our futures for so long that we’ve allowed the data construct to create our present (I hate to tell you, but that pop star musician or band that’s the new rage just might be the result of a big snowball of digitally generated, advertising revenue-driven likes and streams that have artificially promoted themselves all the way to the Grammys). The following is a frightening quote from a young artist with regard to Spotify and how it has affected her career. She’s taking her cues and building an identity from a computer curated reality:

“It’s been really pivotal for me in this era of playlisting as an artist, because it’s helped me find my sound… As an artist, it shows me who my peers are as I’m looking at the landscape of artists and music.”

Anti-data

No matter how much data they collect, there will always be exponentially more moments, experiences and feelings of yours that cannot be assigned as data points. I’m calling it anti-data, or all the things about you, past, present and future, that the digital sieve cannot possibly catch.

As an exercise, picture all the data points collected about you from Amazon, Google, Meta, Spotify et al, and whatever else is out there, and put them on a blank timeline. The timeline shows what music you listened to, the books or podcasts you ordered, the food you consumed, maybe your opinions about current events, your hobbies, where you live, what you drive. If you had ten million of those pieces of information, could you recreate YOU? Could you describe what is in your heart and what makes you tick? The answer is unequivocally no. What you could create is a superficial picture that someone else (or a computer program) could evaluate and form a general profile from, but it is still just a two dimensional picture, projected on a flat screen. But turn it sideways, look behind the screen and imagine all the other indescribable things about you; the things that motivate and inspire you, that make you feel present and alive. This living, breathing amalgamation of feelings, emotions, hopes, intentions and desires cannot be captured. This is the three dimensional you that big data will never comprehend. This is your anti-data, and it is infinitely larger and more profound than mere information.

As an inherently social species, the idea that we can connect digitally with any significant degree of meaning is farcical. Emails, texts, likes and shares cannot convey real human experience. Like the song says, Ain’t nothing like the real thing, baby. Big data seems to think that they can convince you otherwise. Companies referred to as “data brokers” with names like Neuro-Insight and Mindshare are actively buying and compiling your data, building what basically amounts to a Sim, and selling this profile as you, the consumer. Spotify is currently attempting to patent what they call “Emotion Detection Technology.” Think about that. The hubris to think they can detect or predict your feelings. Pardon my French but they can fuck all the way off with that.

Resistance

On the other end of this spectrum we have actual humans interacting and sharing information through conversations, physical touch and movement, eye contact, group activities, concerts, baseball games, meals across a table. In real time. I never would have thought that we’d have to consider the value of these things contextually against a digital experience, but the data brokers are trying to convince us that what they’re dealing carries similar value, and you’ll be fine if you just keep scrolling and streaming. And the more you do, the more they get.

When you look at the size and scope of the data machine, coupled with a sort of shoulder-shrugging acceptance of this new paradigm as if it were completely inevitable without our participation, it eerily resembles some popular sci-fi metaphors, like Star Trek’s The Borg. They’d like us to believe that resistance is futile, but it’s not. If each of us steps up to support artists in grassroots ways, we can push back against the algorithmic tidal wave with small efforts that when combined can foster real change.

I have this dystopian image in my mind of live bands, zine creators, DIY venues, fans and artists of all kinds as a group of rebels actively pushing back against a metaphorical Death Star of greedy corporate Palpatines with every live show, flyer, hand crafted silk screen and cash transaction. Unfortunately I think my vision has become all too real, and this resistance truly necessary.

Robot Chicken, Star Wars Yo mama fight, 2010

Folks like Ceci Sturman and Hannah Pruzinsky are two people at the forefront of this battle. As the creators and stewards of GUNK, a free/donation-based monthly zine and show paper (printed at Secret Riso Club and assembled & distributed by community, volunteer effort) that highlights almost every small venue, indie and DIY show across NYC, they are making a huge off the grid impact in the music scene in New York and beyond.

GUNK No. 28, November 2025 (Side note: GUNK has dedicated considerable editorial space to voter education and the Zohran Mamdani campaign over the past year. Great work, everyone!)

Venues that pay artists directly and don’t take a cut of band merchandise are also helping keep money in the hands of the artists. There are so many ways to support artists that don’t involve Spotify, Apple Music, Live Nation et al, and they’re honestly not that hard to do. Go to a show, buy merch, buy digital and physical music on Bandcamp (on Bandcamp Fridays if possible), etc. Subscribe to a zine like GUNK or support a Patreon or Substack account, or just help promote artists through word of mouth. Excuses are few and far between to not participate in the resistance.

“Sort of like every other effect in every other industry, giving AI more grip and power into the music industry serves the purpose of greatly disconnecting us from each-other, and severely losing the humanness and community of it. Nothing can ever replace the feeling of going to a live show and hearing a band hit a fucking awesome instrumental together, feeling vocals echo through the walls and the floor, and looking at the people around you to be like okay that rockkkedddd, but GUNK tries to bring it a little closer to that and as far away possible as we can from a really stupid and lifeless streaming culture that is now just boosting fake songs so artists dont have to get royalties. We wanted to create something that existed in physical form that could be a gift and a resource to our community, uplifting local writers and creatives. People really just want to be close to each other and we’ll always go to bat for that fact in and of itself.” ~Ceci Sturman (GUNK, Sister.)

In my recent experience, I see bands becoming sounding boards for each other, as they cross-promote and support their collective work. Just from following a handful of artists from the NYC, Burlington and adjacent music scenes, I have discovered scores of amazing independent artists and bands that are shaping the future of music outside of the algorithm bubble. Make no mistake, this is the direct result of promotion by the artists and record labels themselves, and it’s a never-ending process of discovery if you’re paying attention.

Pelly’s book as well as some of the more recent developments around Spotify’s investment in AI weaponry have cemented my belief that the absentee listener, Matrix-like streaming model is not and was never good for the listener, the artists and their communities nor the art itself. The following quote from Mood Machine sums it up pretty succinctly:

“Spotify [has created a model that is] all bolstered by a data-optimized system where success is determined simply by whatever moves the needle or fills the background. Taken to its logical endpoint, that’s a mode of engagement that becomes hostile to art.” ~Liz Pelly, Mood Machine

We’ve already gone pretty far down the rabbit hole of an algorithmically created reality, but hopefully not so far that we can’t extricate ourselves and at least partially undo some of the damage already done.

His name was Mick, but everyone called him Rat. Which was weird because you could rob a bank with the guy and he’d never tell a soul. He was the one kid everyone spilled their guts to growing up; he just had that vibe. Anyway, there were six of them at the beginning when they planned this reckless adventure, but they all found excuses to bail one by one until there was just Mick and Jerry.

The plan was to drive the truck to the blown out bridge, throw everything in the Zodiac, paddle down to the river mouth and then hike the rest of the way from there. The spot was only known to hardcore locals (likely why the bridge was wrecked) and according to legend it was a fast, steep, barreling right that edged over a razor sharp reef before dumping into a cove with a sandy bottom. So they’d only need their short boards at least. And whatever meager provisions they could carry to get them through a three day weekend. Tent. Lighter. Ramen. Tequila. And hopefully they remembered the first aid kit.

When they got to the turnoff, Jerry made sure they were alone on the road before they swung the Toyota in between the low slung trees and started up the dirt track that goes a few clicks beyond the abandoned lighthouse. If anyone saw them go in, they might as well just put a sign up advertising their presence. Which would be guaranteed to end badly. They were persona non grata down here.

Rat was driving and had a good feel for the barely passable dirt road. He’d driven the Toyota in worse conditions, albeit not under this kind of pressure, and definitely not in the predawn moonlight like this. It took about an hour to get to the second turnoff past the lighthouse where they’d ditch the truck. They looked for a north facing spot surrounded by brush to give them the best chance of the truck not being seen for the next three days. They eschewed a couple almost-good-enough spots until they finally found a perfect little nook behind a stand of scrubby trees. They unloaded and got everything in the inflatable in short order, and were just about off when Jerry had to go back. “What the fuck, man?,” Rat groused. He was impatient at this point. Jerry came back smirking with his Bowie knife, which they’d definitely need if they caught any fish with the handline they packed. “Oh shit, good call,” said Rat, a little sheepish now.

Navigating the winding river turned out to be easier than they thought, as the tide was going out and the brackish backwater was pushing them along at a good pace. They made the river mouth in half the time they’d planned. They found a hiding spot for the raft, strapped on their boards and packs and moved quickly along the beachhead, staying in the early morning shadow of the cliffs. Another hour and they’d be there. The wave they’d only heard about in hushed conversations was basically a myth, and they were about to find out if the hype was real.

The tide had turned at some point while they wordlessly hiked, nervous and giddy with anticipation. When they came around the last crumbling cliff, they were practically blinded by the sun reflecting off of the wide white sand beach. Once their eyes adjusted they saw it. The cove curved inward and they were looking at the back of the beast. A big hulking train of turquoise that flexed as it ran along the rocks that formed the point before the beach swept around to the south and eventually east. It looked like it sucked up water so the trough was below sea level and out of sight until the lip folded over and exploded with a sound like a jet engine. They started running to get a better look, finally stopping at the inside of the cove, back in the shade of the cliff by a trickling waterfall. Fresh water. “The luck of the Irish,” Jerry said to Mick, with a stupid grin on his face. They stashed their gear, waxed up and found a proper channel, paddling out with dry hair. Jerry took off on the first one that came through as Rat watched from the channel. It was just like they thought. A hairball drop into a shallow, draining tube that you’d have to try hard to miss. As long as you made the takeoff it was fucking room service. Jerry hooted and hollered like an overexcited teenager that just got laid. Rat watched a couple roll through before he got up the courage for the drop, taking off on a set wave half again the size of Jerry’s. Holy shit. This was fucking Shangri-La. They traded perfect barrels with hardly a word between them for three hours before they decided it was a good idea to go set up camp.

They had no idea if anyone would show up, and they wanted to remain unseen, so they pushed a little further up the beach until they found a hole in the cliff, well above the high tide line. They could see back where they came in as well as up to the next outcrop, which was about as good as they could have hoped for. Rat wondered aloud if they could have a fire later without giving themselves away. “You’re paranoid,” said Jerry. “Who the fuck is out here, anyway? This place doesn’t even exist.” Rat thought he smelled weed.

They got in two more solid hours of surfing before the wind went onshore, so they decided to call it. Jerry went around the rocks to look for a trail up into the woods, hoping to find the source of the waterfall and maybe some firewood. Rat set up his hammock across the little enclave and drifted off to sleep.

When Jerry came back, he was animated. He woke up Rat, shaking him and yelling something about some hippies in the woods. That’s where the weed smell came from, thought Rat. “What the fuck happened, man?,” he said in an even but firm tone, trying to calm his partner down. “They didn’t see me at first… They were all huddled around in a circle, like they just found something,” said Jerry. “Then one of them turned around and spotted me… I saw what they were gathered around… It looked like a dolphin or a mermaid or some shit… I think it was having babies.” Jerry started to crack at this point. “WHAT THE FUCK WAS IT, MAN??? WHAT THE FUCK???” He was babbling and crying, and Rat noticed he had blood on his hands. “Dude, what did you do?” he said to Jerry. “What did you DO?” “I don’t know, man, they were like chanting and shit… I freaked out… One of the guys came at me. I think I killed him.” “WHAT? Are you fucking tripping man? Jeezus fucking CHRIST!!! We gotta get the fuck out of here!” Rat’s mind was racing. One second they’re surfing a wave out of their dreams, the next second he’s an accomplice to murder as far as he could tell. He was holding his face in his hands trying to make sense of the situation when he noticed that Jerry had quieted down. He looked up to see Jerry standing in the opening between the rocks, blocking his exit. He had the knife. Rat dove at him without even thinking and wrestled him to the ground. The knife was still in Jerry’s struggling hands, and way too close to his face for comfort. He jumped off of Jerry and ran out of the encampment and up the trail, as fast as his adrenaline charged legs would carry him. He clambered over the top edge of the cliff, rocks flying from under his bloodied feet. He could hear Jerry close behind him. He took the flattest looking trail into the woods and didn’t look back. He smelled weed again. The hippies! Fuck! Sure enough, he had run right up on them. They were apparently still in some kind of trance, and there was a woman half buried in fish carcasses and scaly flesh, gesturing wildly from a shallow makeshift trough dug into the edge of the woods. He kept going. He heard a harrowing scream just moments after he passed that bizarre scene. It was Jerry. It sounded like the hippies got him. He didn’t fucking care at this point. He had to get to the Zodiac and catch the incoming tide back up the river to the truck. He wouldn’t say shit. Just like always. “This motherfucker can keep a secret,” he said to himself, laughing nervously. I’ll just tell them we got separated on the trail… The locals are gnarly… “I’ll let the thing play out, I didn’t see shit.”

There it was. The Zodiac. He had somehow run all the way back like he was on autopilot, straight to it. His mind was still racing out of control. The tide was still coming in, so he pushed off and half rowed, half drifted upstream back to the shady spot where they left the truck. As he dragged the inflatable ashore, he heard something behind him. He turned to face whatever it was, but not in time. The needle hit the side of his neck like an electric shock, and he collapsed. Before his mind went completely blank, he thought he saw what looked like a man in a suit standing over him. But his head looked an elephant’s. Or an octopus. Weird pulsing light. Time slowing down and speeding up. What. The. Fuck. He blacked out.

When the cops finally showed up at the scene, what they found was puzzling. A dead guy in surf trunks; an entire syringe of PCP unloaded into his carotid artery. A lethal dose. Over the two way radio they heard what the detectives across the river had almost simultaneously discovered: Another dead surfer, covered in blood half his own and half someone else’s, at the bottom of a cliff, still clutching an eight inch Bowie knife with what looked to be some kind of crystal residue on the handle. And a strange hole dug at the edge of the woods, with a smattering of blood and fish scales left behind, still drying at the maggot ridden edges.

Trash Mountain, 2025 Lame-O Records

Music speaks to our sensibilities; the artist’s sentiments translated into composition of sound and words, chronicled as songs, to land in listeners’ hearts and minds as feelings once again. As with any art, the more capable the artist, the more seamless this line of communication, and Lily Seabird is about as capable as they come. Her authenticity and raw emotion are so visceral and plain that you can’t help but feel what she’s feeling in her songs. It’s involuntary. Lily’s latest work is a storybook; a journal of life lived in a time and a place that you’ll feel and understand as you listen to the album.

If you’ve tracked Lily Seabird’s musical journey, you’d know that she covers a lot of ground, constantly moving forward, exploring new sonic terrain, weaving around and between style and genre. Her previous album, Alas,, is a shape-shifting beast of a work; dirgey alt-folk rock that soars with ethereal and spooky ballads, dripping with emotion, and dives to extreme depths of exploding, feedback-rich walls of guitar heavy grunge. On her latest LP Trash Mountain (2025, Lame-O Records), she strips it all down to the simple and extremely honest core of her folk heart that, if you’re listening, was there all along. The first track, Harmonoia, cleverly teases you into thinking that the rest of the album might follow in the tracks of Alas,, with a slow building intensity and an outro that bursts into flames à la Waste, but it’s a red herring. The quasi-title track that follows, Trash Mountain (1 pm), sets the stage for the rest of the album, that eschews (but not entirely) the noisy guitars for a little more negative space, keyboards, harmonica and acoustic string sounds. The music video is a sweet romp around her adopted home of Burlington, and much like her, it’s equal parts silly and wistful. Artistically it has the same duality, with monochromatic backdrops splashed with color and some of Burlington’s majestic hills and mountains adorned with telephone wires and a touch of sprawl. As a metaphor, the song is about as profound as it gets… Trash Mountain is Lily’s home; a frayed and age-worn house built atop an abandoned landfill, painted salmon-pink and decorated with love. It’s an ad hoc gathering place for her community of friends, artists and loved ones where memories and emotions run deep. Trash Mountain is a testament to our ability to build something beautiful on top of humanity’s waste and the things we’ve cast aside and buried.

Trash Mountain (1 pm) - filmed and directed by Lily and bro, Jack Seward

Trash Mountain’s sound is also a story; one that I wrote about previously and which mirrored my immediate thoughts upon discovering the emerging Burlington music scene. I got turned on to Lily, and immediately thereafter discovered Greg Freeman, Robber Robber, Dari Bay, Lutalo and many more. The crossover between Lily’s supergroup at the time and all of these others was Byzantine, and I attempted to explain it here. What came to mind was “How the fuck are all of these musicians going to stay together?” because it was obvious that virtually all of them were on track for real success, and it was happening in the moment. I think Lily innately knew this, and pivoting to the stripped down arrangements (or at least a new paradigm) was a natural progression and borne out of what was happening in real-life, real-time. I remember talking to Lily in Boston after she got off stage playing bass for Lutalo Jones at the Royale. I commented about how difficult it must be touring with multiple bands including her own, and just how overwhelming it must be. At the time, she was getting pretty close to the end of that tour and was seriously looking forward to being home and focusing on Trash Mountain and what was next for 2025. She hinted at the inevitability of change, and I think we were both thinking the same thing. As the tracks from TM trickled out as early releases, it was apparent that Lily had reinvented herself yet again. Also, as an appetizer, she had released her Alas, (acoustic versions) EP, to prepare us for what was to come. While the new sound is more sparse, it is by no means less impactful. Her songwriting is showcased in the new arrangements, with every emotion, string pluck and perfectly imperfect vocal inflection reaching into your soul with her relatable ease.

So violently removed in the hottest of flames,

a departure where it feels like no truth remains,

and no one fully living can remain here

In the abyss of questions never answered

'“I didn’t see nothing sir I was only looking at her”

In the abyss of questions never answered

and everyone is covered in blood

~excerpt from ‘The Fight’

Trash Mountain is definitive proof that a feeling can be distilled into a sound. Each track has its own demeanor, from the faraway and lonesome other quasi-title track, Trash Mountain (1 am), to the upbeat and hopeful Sweepstake and the intensely tear-jerking It was like you were coming to wake us back up. It’s an elegant roller coaster of heartfelt emotions, all conveyed with Lily’s clairvoyant ability to render them into music. I followed along closely to each early released track, each one a gem in its own right. But upon listening to the album in its entirety, the arrangement and flow gave the songs even more depth and context. I’m a big believer in listening to albums front to back, and this one is a powerful example of how the whole can be greater than the sum of its parts.

Lily and friends have managed to crank out four excellent music videos to accompany the album, including vignettes of a snowstorm in New Orleans with palm trees and exquisite architecture (How far away, It was like you were coming to wake us back up), and PUPPETS!!! (Arrow).

Video credit: Jeff Caulo (It was like you were coming to wake us back up), Noah Lenker (Arrow), Dillon Delphic (How far away)

I was lucky enough to see Lily perform tracks off of TM both solo and with several versions of her full bands and duet mode prior to the album’s release, here are few home made videos with decent quality:

Harmonoia, live at Foam Brewers 11.15.24

Lily and Rick at Warehouse XI, 11.13.24, Trash Mountain (1 pm)

Arrow, Live at Foam Brewers 11.15.24

The Fight, Live at Foam Brewers 2.21.25

Lily and band are once again hitting the road for a fairly epic tour, see dates and venues below. They’ll be kicking it off with one to remember at The Avalon in Catskill NY on April 10 with Will Stratton and my homie Noah Harley:

All the dates and venues can also be viewed at Lily’s Linktree.

Dead Gowns’ first full-length release comes complete with an aesthetic that feels as evolved and self-aware as the music itself

“It’s Summer, I love You, and I’m Surrounded by Snow” is a phrase that would likely confuse about 99% of those who heard it, but it’s eminently relatable to those northern New Englanders who have experienced just that. The vestiges of winter, lingering all the way into the third season like the old familiar voice of someone dear that’s left us. Maine singer/songwriter Geneviève Beaudoin has a way of telegraphing that feeling into her Dead Gowns debut LP’s songs, imbuing a type of slightly-haunting-slightly-joyful tone that feels exactly like the album’s name.

The coastal Maine native brings a personal touch to her songwriting that is painfully honest and open, inviting the listener into something more than just music, it’s a slightly opened door allowing the light from within to spill out and illuminate the hallway of your imagination. Her visceral and winsome vocal style ranges from whispering in your ear to belting out lines at full pitch, in the same song. The in-between work is just as remarkable, brandishing lyrical flourishes throughout the compositions that bridge musical phrasing and refuse to conform in the best possible way. There’s something comfortable and familiar about the songs, yet the album doesn’t fit into a simple category by any stretch. Grungy alt-folk-rock with a tinge of country pedal steel and some extremely catchy hooks all combine to make a musical amalgam that lithely dances around description. What it most certainly is, is emotional and stirring. I can almost guarantee that you’ll find at least a few goosebump worthy moments on the album, whether from a towering, unbridled vocal crescendo, an emotive, reverb soaked riff, or the sometimes heavy, wistful lyrics.

Raised in a Gallic family, Beaudoin decorates her compositions with the occasional French lyric, engaging the listener in a different way, à la Stereolab, another favorite band of mine that keeps it interesting by layering this type of textural interest to their songs. Whether or not the message is immediately understood, the simple beauty of the unexpected syllables and phrases is a welcome curveball in their already nuanced répertoire.

Their live concerts span the gap between something that fits comfortably with your local DIY art space and something you’d see in a crowd-filled arena. Honestly I can picture Geneviève and the band in front of 60 or 60,000; they’ve got that feel and adaptability. I’ve been lucky enough to catch them three times in the short span of less than a month, and the live shows are addictive. The band’s big sound and GV’s easy, nonchalant yet compelling stage presence draw you in and hold your attention with a listening experience that could be compared to watching clouds take different forms as they pass across a deep blue backdrop of sky, or engaging in a conversation that meanders through thoughts and feelings while you lose track of time and your surroundings.

Dead Gowns live at The Lilypad, Cambridge MA, 3/1/25

The band includes Geneviève and fiancé Luke Kalloch on various stringed instruments, keyboards and vocals, Alex Millan & Nat Baldwin on bass, Hamilton Belk on pedal steel and bass, Peter McLaughlin, Ben Combs and Ricardo Lagomasino on drums and Eliza Edens on backing vocals on the album. Prior to It’s Summer, the band released the five song How EP in 2022 (Later released on VMP as seven songs), and although a bit different, it holds up well and dovetails seamlessly with their new material:

GV and company have a few fun music videos out there too. Here are a couple that nicely convey the colorful but moody disposition of the acompannying music:

‘How Can I’ and ‘See People’ (2024/2025, Mtn Laurel Recording Co

Genevieve and Dead Gowns are currently on a short Northeast tour, and then heading to SXSW and a flurry of other Texas and Southern engagements including Passing Through and Southside Spillover, eventually making their way back Northeast supporting Fust. Dead Gowns are one of New England’s most dynamic and compelling new bands, and if they’re coming anywhere near you, I cannot recommend getting out to the show and supporting this band highly enough! You will not be disappointed!

Dead Gowns website

It has become more clear to me recently that I’m in a pretty vast minority with regard to how I use music streaming platforms. I have never used Pandora, nor am I a Spotify listener. I reluctantly began using Apple Music because I have been a Mac user for a couple decades and when the CD started becoming (relatively) obsolete, I uploaded everything to iTunes, and Apple Music was the next logical step for me (my iTunes library was automatically uploaded; some 400+ albums at the time). I looked at it as a tool, or a means to an end… $10 a month and access to a fairly vast library of music, both new and old. I never considered using it as a ‘radio’ or having it generate playlists for me. I guess that makes me a dinosaur but based on much of the feedback I’m hearing from longtime users, I may have dodged a psychological bullet. I’m hearing folks compare their experience to desensitization, dumbing down, feeling lost and out of context.

I do believe that there are some artists that create or have created albums whose songs can be cherry picked without missing a larger picture, but the older I get the more I think that this is by far the exception. Even if an artist didn’t have a solid theme or concept at the time of recording, there’s always a forensic approach to listening that can uncover themes that weren’t necessarily obvious or intentional from the beginning. Much like song lyrics that take on different meanings to the artist through time, a collection of songs can hit differently over and over as time passes.

In early 2024, Robber Robber, a post-punk noise rock band out of Burlington began releasing singles off of their upcoming (July’24) album, Wild Guess. Each of the songs was in its own right a mini masterpiece, in my opinion. They have a really fresh experimental sound that was right up my alley. The full album came out online on the day of their release party show at Foam Brewers, and I listened to it probably five or six times on the four hour drive from Rhode Island up to Vermont. Hearing the songs in the context of the full album put an entirely new spin on everything for me. The atmospheric, droning Seven Houses, juxtaposed with the hard hitting Mouth, followed up by the plodding, methodical march of Backup Plan, and Dial Tone up against Sea or War gave what I thought were already fully three-dimensional pieces yet another dimension.

Another 2024 release, Lily Seabird’s Alas,, simply cannot be completely understood without listening to the whole album. It’s a long, winding road that you might think is one thing, that once you get immersed in, you’ll find is something far more complex and nuanced.

These are just two recent albums that are great examples of the benefit of this experiential approach to listening, but I’d venture to say that most albums should be considered this way. With the rise of streaming services, playlists and sponsored content, artists’ works are being separated from their motherships and trotted out in endless parades of songs that become a droning brew of “Songs you might like,” tacked together end-to-end and unspooling through your speakers like a loose ball of yarn. I don’t think this is altogether bad, as I’m sure the listener is constantly exposed to new music when listening this way. It just seems to me (and this has been verified by dozens and dozens of friends and fellow music fans) that this approach inevitably leads to overexposure and tuning out what should actually be something new and fresh. It could just be my OCD but the lack of context drives me nuts. If I hear a new sounding band I’m like, “who is this/when is it from, and consequently, how was it informed?” I guess I just need answers to these questions so that I know what I’m listening to and how to refer to it in the bigger picture.

A few other great examples of bands/albums that absolutely must be heard end to end are Abbey Road, Jeff Buckley’s Grace, anything by Sonic Youth or Stereolab, Velvet Underground, Ty Segall and Pink Floyd, etc. I could go on but I’ll leave that for you in the comments section. What’s your favorite album front-to-back?

Take a look at any random new music playlist from your favorite source and there’s a good chance that a majority of it is written, performed and/or fronted by someone other than a cisgendered, straight, white male. And while this is completely my opinion, I’d bet that the real standouts on the list are also women and/or LGBTQ+ musicians. It’s no secret that adversity is the fuel of greatness, and let’s face it, if you’re a woman or LGBTQ+ person in the music industry, you’ve seen your share of it. But as Alice Walker said, You can’t keep a good woman down, and in this case I think queer applies as well. Coming out and announcing to the world who you really are is in itself a form of rebellion in our (still) heteronormative world, so it tracks that this demographic also has something more to say, whether it’s through art, literature, or for the sake of this Subby, music. Disclaimer: I am by no means saying that the struggles are equivalent across these groups, but the end result is in many cases the same - Great art.

Patti Smith - Privilege (Set Me Free) - 1979 - Capitol Theatre , Passaic

The feminist punk movement can be traced back to the 1970’s with artists like , Poly Styrene, Wendy O. Williams, The Slits, and a bevy of ambitious female artists that railed against establishment norms and showed the world what women were capable of. So many more artists continued to carry that torch forward, including Kim Gordon, PJ Harvey, Bikini Kill, Courtney Love, Thalia Zedek, Liz Phair, L7, Babes in Toyland, and on and on. In other words, this is not news. What is noteworthy is the nature of the movements and their messages across the decades. By sheer numbers there is of course still probably more music-as-protest out there now than there was in the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s, but what there is definitely also more of now is a general sense of belonging that I believe is part of a coming of age story not only of the artists themselves, but of society as a whole. Again, this is a generalization and not meant to diminish the very real and present struggles faced by women and LGBTQ+ artists. They no doubt continue.

Heavens to Betsy, Nothing Can Stop Me - Calculated (1994 - Kill Rock Stars)

From within the feminist punk movement, Riot Grrrl was born, giving a name to the evolution of the inevitable groundswell of creativity and angst that naturally arise from patriarchal oppression. An earlier movement that is ultimately more than adjacent to Riot Grrrl was Queercore (nee Homocore), that addressed similar themes of protest against societal “norms” and expectations. While the players don’t all intersect, some do, and their individual evolutions sometimes transcended what these movements represented (thereby ultimately changing the movements themselves). There were undoubtedly growing pains from within with regard to subjects such as homonormativity and complacency that I am by no means qualified to untangle, so I encourage the reader to explore these themes if they interest you (they’re totally relevant but would likely be TL;DR if I even attempted to decipher them here. Check out Carrie Brownstein for a primer). A short list of important Riot Grrrl and Queercore bands not already named includes Heavens to Betsy, Bratmobile, Excuse 17, Jack Off Jill, Sleater-Kinney, Le Tigre, God is my Copilot, Pussy Riot, and a number of adjacent ally punk bands such as The Apostles, MDC and 7 Seconds.

Le Tigre, My My Metrocard - Le Tigre (1999 Wiiija Records Ltd.)

It is because of these pioneers that the way was paved, brick by excruciating brick, for the artists that followed, and this continues to the present day. Having said that, I’d like to think that the answer to the titular question I posed is that we are there, or at least we’re across the moat and on the property. It is also true that complacency kills, so I believe there is and will always be room for protest and growth, but from where I sit it looks like we’ve hit at least a moderate benchmark of inclusivity. The content presently being written, released and performed by historically (and unfortunately still, by some) marginalized groups feels to me to be coming more from a position of authority and belonging, perhaps a little less motivated by the previous (and completely necessary) call to arms, with more space to be written from a place of acknowledgement, or at least not having to punch up so much. It has always been harder for women and LGBTQ+ artists to break through, be heard, and succeed, let’s be frank, but maybe just maybe we’re self-aware enough as a society that we’ve let go of some of the trappings of misogyny and exclusion and we (mostly) finally see ourselves as one?

“Gatekeepers and gatekeeping demographics have opened the door a little bit more in the cultural zeitgeist… There have always been A LOT of LGBTQ and women artists who just weren’t allowed to break through or to have their voices heard.” ~Carolina Chauffe (Hemlock/)

Perhaps part of what I see as a current movement can be attributed to the generations themselves. Opinion: Although the pioneers of the feminist punk movement were mostly Boomers, it’s been a steep learning curve across Gen X, with Millenials and Gen Z being mostly responsible for the current enlightenment of consciousness, at least as consumers and gatekeepers. Sorry Boomers and Gen X’ers, it’s not personal (I’m Gen X btw).

As I’ve stated before, I’m no expert music critic, I’m just an avid listener, always looking for the next new (to me) thing. Sometimes I’m on the train early and sometimes I’m behind the curve… That’s life. Luckily, throughout mine, I’ve had people with adventurous taste and access to a wide variety of music, and I’d like to thank them all for continually turning me on (That includes a good number of you Substackers too!). I’ve gone through peaks and valleys, embarrassments of riches and super dry spells, but on the whole I’ve been exposed to a huge and ever expanding catalog of cool shit, and that doesn’t seem to be stopping.

The impetus for writing this particular piece is that this most recent wave of music that I’m currently in the thick of discovering is quite conspicuously the work of female or female fronted and LGBTQ+ and adjacent/ally artists. Here’s a list of them in no particular order, several of whom you can read about in my previous Substacks:

Devon Ross

Margaux

Caroline Rose

Soccer Mommy

Hemlock

Lily Seabird

Loma

Packs

Hello Mary

Finom

Spoon Benders

Subsonic Eye

Bully

Momma

Astrid Sonne

Amyl and the Sniffers

Feeble Little Horse

Big Thief

Thus Love

Adriana McCassim

Tanukichan

Wednesday

Catmilk

Courtney Barnett

Meg Elsier

Sister.

H. Pruz

Mei Simones

Boo Boo Spoiler

Nilüfer Yanya

Rong (both)

Allegra Krieger

Julie

Robber Robber

Budge

Florist

Snail Mail

Squirrel Flower

Merce Lemon

Hammydown

Mannequin Pussy

Kairos Creature Club

Discovery Zone

Vega

Mingko

Slark Moan

Prewn

Florry

Liz Cooper

Julie Odell

A good majority of these artists and bands are currently or within just the past few years hitting their collective strides… If this is by any means a barometer for the music industry at large, it looks to me to have all the makings of another significant movement. History will tell, but in the meantime open up a playlist and let me know what you find!

Since I keep my music reviews to individual artists and bands, I expend a fair amount of effort on each one in an attempt to give the reader a well rounded assessment of the artists. Someday I’ll have enough time to write ALL the Substacks, but that time has not yet come, sadly. As a result, I wasn’t able to cover all of the music I would have liked, so I’m doing a roundup of my remaining favorites that I didn’t get to. In the interest of holding the modern adult attention span, bands and artists that I saw live will get a more thorough review, and those that I didn’t will get a succinct paragraph or maybe even just a single, possibly witty line to convey my thoughts, accompanied by a link so you can listen and form your own opinions. I hope you enjoy these ‘Best of the Rest’ artists… They all deserved a full ‘Stack but alas, I ran out of year.

Carolina Chauffe, all smiles

Currently on a relatively rootless, international “permatour” for over a year, Carolina Chauffe is the driving (see what I did there?) force behind the mind-bendingly beautiful music of Hemlock that is at once familiar and yet completely fresh. With lyrics that feel sometimes like off-the-cuff scribbled notes and other times heavy, emotional missives, their 2024 release, 444 arrives with birdsongs and easy but dynamic vocal melodies like rays of sunlight through your window in the morning. Hemlock is both a solo project and a full band that features collaborators from Free Range and Friko (Bailey Minzenberger, Andy PK and Jack Henry), the album weaving comfortably between the two with soft whispers revving up to grungy, distortion rich rock sounds, never losing its core of Chauffe’s unique and spirited vocal style. The songs are part of a larger ongoing project that seems almost impossible, given the continuous transient nature of their permatour. Started in 2019, the Song-a-Day project keeps Chauffe’s songwriting acumen sharp, while lending a more capricious aspect to the practice. In addition to 444, Carolina has released November, from 2024’s collection of Songs-a-Day, available on Bandcamp along with an extensive collection of other collected songs and releases.

Lake Martin, 444 (2024) Carolina Chaufffe, Bailey Minzenberger

Thus Love: L to R, Ally Juleen, Echo Mars, Louie Racine, Shane Blank

Bringing a super high intensity new wave punk rock that generates energy like a power plant and ricochets off the walls of contemporary post-punk, Thus Love are coming up like a tidal wave, and there’s not much anyone can do about it. With a contagious blend of attitude and talent, their brash and irreverent performances drag the audience into whatever this sonic revolution is that they’re perpetrating. Their 2024 release, All Pleasure, is a bold and joyful explosion of emotion that hits confidently right out of the gate with a blend of 80’s punk minimalism, Mars and Blank’s layered, seething guitar tracks, Juleen’s heavy overdriven bass and Racine’s hard-hitting power pop drumming.

The album is an instant classic, but if it’s possible to outdo themselves, they do it every time with their live performances. I was lucky enough to see them four times in 2024 (Stone Church Brattleboro, Spirit of Vermont Fest Williston, Elsewhere Brooklyn and Burlington Waterfront NYE Fest). I highly recommend getting to a show if they’re anywhere near you!

On the Floor, Stone Church Brattleboro 11.1.24

Allegra Krieger’s 2024 release, Art of the Unseen Infinity Machine, adds an ambitious layer of experimentation to her already spooky and contemplative sound.

As a kid, I used to dig through my mom’s vinyl looking for new sounds that might be hiding in there. I can remember certain discoveries that gave me goosebumps and the exciting sensation of a lyric or a minor chord scratching a groove in my eight year old soul, most of which persist to this day. I still pull those records out occasionally, and the feeling returns. It’s rare that a new record or artist will have that profound of an effect on me now. As we age, we experience more and more of what the world has to offer, making those moments less and less likely. Art of the Unseen Infinity Machine is one of those rare records that brings back that feeling of instant nostalgia. The album lures you in with a couple of slightly pop-sounding songs that cast long shadows and eventually reveal themselves as the inherently spooky pieces they are after all. The energy of the album continually dances a fine line between these territories throughout, with Krieger’s vocals consistently reminding us that things aren’t always what they seem. Her guitar playing is truly singular and daring, using tightly defined arpeggios and fingerpicking as a backdrop for her mercurial and meandering vocal stylings.

Came, Art of the Unseen Infinity Machine 2024 boasts dazzling, otherworldly vocal work.

Krieger is another artist I was able to see live multiple times in 2024, and her performances truly highlight her vocal range and impressive talent on guitar:

Into Eternity live at The Rockwell, Somerville MA 10.29.24

JJ Weihl of Discovery Zone creates a universe all her own using multimedia and audiovisuals packed with retro-futuristic psychedelia

The Spirit of Vermont festival at Red Barn Gardens was held on September 28, 2024, hosting a wide array of musical acts from country/folk to shoegaze and punk. What I wasn’t expecting was electronic/ambient cyberpunk dance music. Discovery Zone surprised me not only as a bit of an outlier style-wise, but with their hard lean into the genre and retro sound. Stacked with heavenly vocal melodies and synth, live drums and multimedia digital and animation graphics on a transparent screen in front of the band, the result was a full sensory experience.

I wish I took a complete video, but this short clip from Spirit of Vermont will have to do. The screen and graphics in front of the band create a trippy sci-fi atmosphere on stage.

Quantum Web (2024) is a complete immersion into Discovery Zone’s ambient electronic landscape

Mall of Luv, Quantum Web (2024) Anime/Blade Runner/8 bit video game vibes

Wooll are squarely in the middle of the Providence indie music scene revival

Falling somewhere between folk-rock and shoegaze, up and coming indie rockers Wooll are breathing life back into the once prodigious Providence music scene. Their 2024 debut album Unwind captures a vibe that is constantly but effortlessly spilling over from one sound to another, with sparkling production that gives it a broad yet uncomplicated feel.

Currently in residency at East Providence machine-shop-turned-honkytonk Myrtle, the quintet are headlining once a month live performances at the area’s coolest new venue with other local and national acts. They’ve also got a couple newer songs to be released on 7” vinyl in late January:

The newest EP, 2, from Austin TX melodic noise rock artists Queen Serene is a study in wailing, distorted, reverb-soaked guitar reminiscent of some of the best late 80’s - early 90’s art rock, with grungy but hypnotic and layered instrumentation and sweet, cascading vocals.

Crafty and charismatic Philly punkers Boo Boo Spoiler, current contenders for Best Band Name Ever™️, released their debut effort aptly named Boo Boo, last year. It absolutely kicks ass.

Nashville, TN power pop that you cannot resist, Budge’s 2024 EP, Hrtsrngs is cool and catchy and you’ll involuntarily play air drums to it.

UK based Drahla’s most recent release, Angeltape is what Robber Robber would have sounded like if they lived in the 1980’s.

I really try to avoid direct comparisons, but since I have the nod from the artist on this one, The Dead Shakers latest 2024 release, So I guess I Keep Making Albums Until I Die? is Syd Barrett-meets-Brian Jonestown Massacre, and oh so much more. There’s a lot in there, and I don’t mean just quantity. I barely missed them at Spirit of Vermont in September and am still kicking myself.

Brooklyn rockers Nara’s Room’s 2024 album, Glassy Star is a perfect and shameless clinic on 1980’s pop-meets-1990’s shoegaze. It’s nostalgic as fuck.

LA duo Magdalena Bay released a doozy last year entitled Imaginal Disk. It’s like warped Disco/EDM from a David Lynch film soundtrack. It’s complete genius.

Brooklyn rock trio Hello Mary’s 2024 album, Emita Ox could be described as polyrhythmic math grunge that grooves. Drummer/vocalist Stella Wave somehow finds a pocket while simultaneously cranking out complex layered beats and singing harmonies. You probably wish you could do that.

OK, so that finally puts a bow on 2024 for me. Although there were even more artists I loved, I had to pare it down somehow, so I picked the ones that I returned to most often. Last year will go down as the most fruitful year ever for me as far as music discovery; I can only hope that 2025 comes close to the abundance of 2024. ✌️

“Picture it so you’ll know” - Just one of many of Margaux Bouchegnies’ heavy, reflective lyrics flirting with the subject of death, the afterlife, and existence. Her insightful debut album, Inside the Marble, is a casual descent down the dark and mysterious stairway of the unsettling subject of what happens when we die. Eschewing metaphor, her songs approach the oncoming train with grace and equanimity, but they certainly don’t sugar coat the topic: “Open wide… It’s the end of your life… Take a look in the mirror… Hey Sadie, don’t fear.”

Sadie Something (Inside the Marble, 2024 Massif Records)

The composition and instrumentation on the album range from vintage 60’s-70’s psych-rock to ethereal indie folk, with throughlines of painfully honest lyrics sung with a delicate and beautiful vocal delivery that borders on spiritual at times. If you listen closely, you’ll find sonic treasures that will transport you to pretty unexpected places, all hidden in plain sight. The production (Sahil Ansari) is so seamless and smooth that I guarantee you’ll be genuinely surprised when you discover the array of instruments that appear on the album. I won’t spoil it for you… Listen first and then look for yourself.

It’s not all doom and gloom, however (and honestly, her take on our shared and inescapable fate is open to interpretation), as some of the subject matter deals with friendship, family, love and loss, and the vulnerability it takes to live an authentic experience on this plane. In ‘I Wouldn’t Want It Any Other Way’ Margaux addresses distance and reconnection, and how we can’t ever truly know how we’ve changed without some frame of reference:

I Wouldn’t Want It Any Other Way (Inside the Marble, 2024)

As an accomplished multi-instrumentalist (She’s the bassist in Closebye), Bouchegnies’ versatility is on full display on Inside the Marble. A look at the credits reveals a wide array of her own contributions to the album, including upright bass, piano/Mellotron/Farfisa/Moog/Wurlitzer, Glockenspiel, percussion instruments, and obviously, guitars and vocals. Like I said above, check the credits for a pretty impressive list of other instruments that cameo throughout.

An older tune that appears on 2024’s Inside the Marble, Midnight Contact addresses self-discovery and the feelings of solitude and helplessness that accompany the unknown. The production of the Paper Moon Session videos is exquisite, as is the accompanying guitar work by Izzy Oram Brown:

‘Midnight Contact’ (Inside the Marble LP) from the Paper Moon Sessions, Finn Vintage, Brooklyn NY

‘Hot Faced’ (More Brilliant is the Hand that Throws the Coin EP), from the Paper Moon Sessions, Finn Vintage, Brooklyn NY

Margaux’s live performances are a potent and distilled brew of her minimalist songwriting approach combined with her charismatic presence and spellbinding vocals. Small in stature, her stage presence becomes at once enchanting the moment she begins plying her craft. Anyone would be hard pressed to turn away from one of her performances. Bouchegnies’ on-stage demeanor is coy and innocent at first, but don’t be fooled… If you make direct eye contact you might get more than you bargained for.

Picture It, live at Union Pool in Brooklyn, Inside the Marble album release party. Video credit Jarrett Wolfson

Margaux’s 2019 five song EP, More Brilliant is the Hand that Throws the Coin, has all of the near-perfect production and genre-fluid composition as her 2024 release, and dovetails seamlessly despite the gap of time between them. The often orchestral arrangements dance efforlessly between some light-hearted grunge pop sounds and that slightly spooky folk-rock that shines through on Inside the Marble, and it deserves as much attention.

Sandwiched in between her two albums is a gorgeous if not slightly wistful single entitled Everlasting Snow, that captures a mood of desolation, solitude, shortening of days and lengthening of shadows.

I’ve had a pretty good year with regard to new music, and finding Margaux’s new album was no exception. I was lucky enough to see her three times this year, in Brooklyn, Boston and Burlington Vermont, and I’m looking forward to future shows, hopefully soon! 🎄

Margaux’s Linktree

Something different today! A fellow Substacker brainstormed an idea to expand readership and outreach using the platform itself as the engine. and I were part of an earlier cross-pollination that put us in front of each others’ work, and she has taken it a step further to create a single shared post highlighting multiple writers. There’s a wide array of styles and subject matter, so take some time to check them all out! Thanks to everyone in the group for lifting each other up! ✌️

Crew: @⚡Thalia The Comedy Muse⚡ @Alexander Semenyuk @Samuel Clemenstein @Thomas Morra @Kathy Enriquez-Nguyen @Brie-Anna Willey @Rebecca @The Brothers Krynn @Renee Green

Why Aren't There Any Female Joe Rogans?

I write about capturing the messy, real and sometimes magical world of healing, growth, and change.

A story about faith that can help you face life's toughest challenges
Ukrainian author of 30+ books including hits such as “Paradise Harbour” and “A Peaceful Town”.

Only Praise Allowed for Genomic Sequencing

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On business for nerds, we nerd out about business, video games, and other topics we enjoy. I believe we all nerd out about something. What do you nerd out about?

Struggling to write Dialogue in your stories? Well look no further.

The purpose of this guide is to teach you to write speeches, orations and otherwise point you in the right direction if you're really serious about writing great dialogue.

The Secretly Racist Trader Joe's Products That Joe Doesn't Want you to Know About!

Trader Joe has been flavoring his exotic treats with SLAVE LABOR, THE TEARS OF THE OPPRESSED, and PAPRIKA! *Note: These claims have yet to be substantiated by literally anyone else. Please do not come after me, Joe.

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1 cup of fiction. 1 cup of horror. 2 cups of cat content. Sprinkle in a dose of WWE. To taste, add a bit of F1.

YOU DON’T SAY

A look at a few simple twists of fate that will hopefully help you remember your own interesting tales or lucky breaks

fluke¹ noun: fluke; plural noun: flukes

1. an unlikely chance occurrence, especially a surprising piece of luck.

2. a flatfish, especially a flounder.

If you’ve followed my Substack, you’re probably already aware that a number of my early posts comprise a winding story about connectivity. I like to reflect on the things in life that cross over and connect us together in ways we could never have expected, as it happens a lot (at least to me), and it’s sometimes easy to forget these little treasures, or at least forget how significant they felt at the time they occurred. My most recent tale of serendipity is actually directly connected with the Burlington music scene story, and in fact is just a continuation of that. There are some interesting layers to this one, so listen closely because it gets a little complicated.

Back in January, you may recall, my arborist buddy Mac from Burlington hipped me to some really good music that started a chain reaction of discovery that’s actually still ongoing to this day. It started with Lily Seabird, then Greg Freeman, Robber Robber, Merce Lemon, Squirrel Flower, Lutalo, Hemlock, Sister., Daribay, Benny Yurco, Vega/Sheepskin, Prewn, e…. t…. c… So many incredibly talented musicians and bands, all tangentially connected to one degree or another. This story starts in the middle of that chain, at the point where I discovered Benny Yurco’s most recent album, You Are My Dreams. As has been the case with so many of these artists, the music resonated with me immediately. Each time I discover a new artist, I typically try to find them on Bandcamp, where I can support them by purchasing digital and/or physical albums and merch, if available (I would encourage the reader to go drop a few bucks on some music/merch by your favorite artists if you haven’t already). Anyway, Benny’s album was available on vinyl, but I got distracted and didn’t complete the purchase at the time. A couple days later I went back to the site to finally buy it, and I had missed my chance. Out of stock. Out of print. Not available.

Fast forward several months, and we’ll also pivot to another storyline here. Through social media and the whole Vermont scene, I had ‘met’ the Burlington punk icon Peg Tassey of the current feminist punk rock band The Loud Flowers and several other lineups dating back to the early years of the movement.

Side story: Peg Tassey posted online about an album release and live performance by another Vermont legend, Tom Banjo, who has been entertaining folks around the state and beyond for over a half century. As a longtime fan of the Grateful Dead, I couldn’t help notice his name, which appears in the lyrics to their 1969 spacey-electric-acoustic dirge Mountains of the Moon.

At first I assumed that the name “Tom Banjo” was a traditional moniker or nickname, maybe for an old timey folk singer or something, but I had to find out what the deal was. After a little research on the goggle machine, I discovered that HE is HIM. He’s THE Tom Banjo from the song. Robert Hunter had attended the University of Connecticut at around the same time that Tom Banjo was playing gigs and parties around the college (he was already somewhat legendary, apparently), and he wrote him into the song lyrics. WHAT.

Peg had recently posted online about the extremely sad and untimely death of Jon Williams, formerly of The Volcano Suns and Fort Apache Studios in Boston/Vermont. He had been living in Albany, Vermont, and operating a small but dynamic recording studio out of his house, called Vortex Studios. Coincidentally, the band I played with at the time, Squeaky Fromme, had recorded a six-song (unreleased) EP with Jon at Vortex back in 1993. Peg and I already had a dialogue going through Instagram messaging, talking about music, gardening, trees, and the general plight of humanity, so when she posted about Jon I immediately messaged her both with condolences and to ask about her relationship with Jon and how she knew him. It turns out that she and Jon were good friends, and Jon had recorded a good deal of music for Peg over the years. Damn, what a small world.

Peg Tassey (The Loud Flowers) and Jon Williams (Volcano Suns, Fort Apache, Vortex Studios)

Pivot again: I recently got to see a few of Lily Seabird’s shows in Boston, Burlington and Brattleboro, and spent a fair amount of time talking with Lily’s partner Rick, who plays guitar in several bands about town in Burlington, including The Wormdogs. At one point we got to talking about Benny Yurco, and I recounted my misfortune of barely missing out on getting a copy of Benny’s album. As luck would have it, Rick had been record shopping recently at Autumn Records in Winooski, where he was pretty certain he’d seen a copy of You Are My Dreams. I wasted no time in reaching out to them, and the owner Greg was happy to tell me that they did indeed have a copy, and boom, just like that I had found my coveted copy. Throughout the process, I got a little dialogue going with Greg, which we’ll return to in a bit.

Back on Instagram, and probably about a month out from the initial post about Jon’s passing, Peg posted another story, this one a bit more fortuitous, about how Jon’s partner Ellie had found and delivered all of the Vortex Studios archives to none other than Greg Davis, owner of Autumn Records. He had managed to find all of Peg’s recordings that Jon had saved, and (since they apparently know each other) returned them to her. How cool is that? Having an open dialogue already going with Greg, I messaged him to tell him that we had also recorded with Jon, and to tell him how cool it was that he was able to get Peg her old reels (he had also distributed many more to the original artists, including Cul de Sac, Antietam, Möl Triffid, among others). When I mentioned that we had recorded with Jon back in the day, and what a funny coincidence this all was, he asked, “What was the name of your band?” Well, wouldn’t you know it, Greg also had the Squeaky Fromme DAT recordings from our sessions so many years ago, which he has since generously digitized for me, as well as sending me the originals by mail.

Vortex archives: Peg Tassey reels and Squeaky Fromme DAT mixes, inexorably back in the hands of the artists after over three decades

So, to recap: Mac brought me to Lily, who brought me to Peg and Rick, who connect in multiple ways with Greg from Autumn Records, who connects between Jon and Peg and Rick and me, and if it wasn’t for those first couple links, I’d never have come into possession of our original recordings from 30 plus years ago. You really can’t make this stuff up.

BONUS MATERIAL - MORE STORIES OF SEEMINGLY ALTOGETHER IMPOSSIBLE HAPPENSTANCE:

Vague Bullseye - Pin the tail on the donkey, Quantum Physics version

A very old friend of mine, Alex Weinstein, whom I have written about previously in an earlier ‘Stack (Transporté sans bouget), recounted the following truly incredible story of serendipity that is almost too strange to be real:

Several years ago in Los Angeles, through a trade for one of his fine art paintings, Alex had come into possession of a collection of vintage 1950’s Emeco Navy Chairs that he was looking to find more details about for the purposes of authentication. These chairs are highly collectible and there are numerous counterfeit versions out there that sometimes make proper ID more difficult due to multiple factors including changes to the original manufacturer’s processes and identifying marks. His chairs appeared to be authentic, bearing some of the telltale clues, but he wanted to be 100% sure so he began looking into the matter, ultimately finding contact info for a representative of the company itself.

The correspondence started as an email exchange with some general information shared back and forth to lay the groundwork for authentication. At that time, the Emeco representative was in the US, but she was traveling to Europe over the course of the dialogue, which protracted the process given the time difference and her actual travel through time zones from New York to Stockholm. Eventually the two made contact by telephone, where it was determined that the chairs were indeed authentic Emeco Navy chairs. The representative had gotten Alex’s information as part of the inquiry, and while they were talking asked him if he was “Alex Weinstein the painter.” He said that he was indeed a painter and visual artist from LA, to which she replied by telling him that she was in a rented condominium in Stockholm, looking at one of his paintings, literally as they were speaking. It just so happened that the owners of the condominium she was renting are Alex’s parents, and they have some of his work hanging on the walls.

What are the odds that this woman that Alex had exhaustively sought out online to help identify a set of chairs he had traded for a painting would ultimately, at the time of their phone call, be sitting in his parents’ condominium halfway around the world, looking at one of his paintings? 🤯

Spot Marks the X

My brother John was in a band back in high school, and he and one of his bandmates went to a local venue to see the 70’s classic rock band Blood, Sweat & Tears on a warm summer night in Rhode Island. The opener was a solo act; a local folk artist that played acoustic guitar with a singing dog. Yes, you read that right. How he got the gig opening for Blood, Sweat & Tears is still a mystery, but suffice to say it happened. My brother’s bandmate Dave made a point of mentioning the oddity, and I think they got a laugh out of it.

Several years later, John moved out to Michigan, where he formed another band with a guy named Jason. John and Jason played for several years around in various clubs with moderate success, but eventually Jason moved away to California and the band took on a different look. Out in California, Jason eventually met and married Exene Cervenka of the iconic Los Angeles punk band X. File under strange coincidences, brushes with fame, interesting anecdotes, whatever.

John eventually moves back to Providence where he rents an apartment from a guy (we’ll call R) who turns out to be that opening act from the Blood, Sweat & Tears show all those years before. Small world, right? As John and R develop a relationship over time, John eventually tells him the story of Michigan and Jason moving to California and marrying Exene, and R tells his own story of living in California in the 70’s, and actually being the person who introduced Billy Zoom and John Doe (R was Billy’s roommate). In other words, X would not have existed if it wasn’t for the weird folk dude with the singing dog. And somehow my brother wound up being one degree of separation from multiple members of X, through two different people in his life.

Originally hailing out of Boston (fuck yeah), Berklee grad and now Nashville based songwriter and visual artist meg elsier has been slowly working things out on an existential level through her maturation and her relationship with songwriting and performance. A once reluctant storyteller, despite knowing she had something to say, she’s definitely found her voice, and it’s extremely compelling.

Spittake was a long time coming, but once she found her footing and her ability to trust herself and producer Ryan McFadden, things really came together. The two got to tinkering, and the album began spilling organically out of an intense collaboration over meg’s raw ideas and vestigial sketches of songs. Multiple demos written and recorded solo by elsier over a significant span of time eventually transformed into a solid yet bespoke reflection of their cumulative vision and meg’s persona.

A little self-deprecating, a little sexy, and a lot pop-savvy muscular guitar grunge, the album moves effortlessly through colorful shades of self-aware anxiety and big, real life issues including identity and purpose. McFadden and elsier are clearly a fluent in-studio team, because for a debut album, Spittake flaunts a seriously major league and sure-footed sound. Waxing and waning with cavernous combinations of reverb and overdrive, the crumbling, distortion drenched guitar and keyboard tracks blend together seamlessly as they collide at the upper extremes of the available sonic headroom. The vocal tracks skillfully manage to sometimes mingle with the extra-large sound and other times completely stand out from it, despite whether she’s whispering sweet nothings or belting out an offering to the heavens.

iznotreal seems like a good introduction to the whole package that is meg elsier. Video credit Jacqueline Justice

Disobedient pop stylings and gnashing, industrial-traffic jam guitar noise are layered over an almost orchestral, atmospheric backdrop of sound, giving the album a profound and sometimes disorienting vibe that I can’t really get enough of. It’s one of those albums that you can play on repeat and lose track of whether it’s played once or three times. There’s a lot in there, and you’ll keep finding new twists and turns the more you listen to it.

Oldnews hits like a pop song that went to prison and is back to visit for family dinner. Video credit: Jacqueline Justice

Her music videos, made in collaboration with Jacqueline Justice, are visually eccentric and delicious works of art, which comes as no surprise given the creative drive that they both share. There’s a thread of mystique running through all of them, almost thematically. The costumes, lighting, performance and production, just like the album, have a swagger about them that feels finely polished and fully fledged.

ifshitfuq leans in on the fun pop sounds without betraying the album’s edge. The video is infectious. Video credit: Jacqueline Justice

Meg and her band are about to kick off a tour with the Chicago based lady-savant powerhouse Finom, starting in Detroit, running up around through Canada, down through New England, New York and Pennsylvania. You will absolutely, one hundred percent kick yourself if you blow the opportunity to see this lineup.

Tour dates and info

What are you here for? Is there something inside you that you hope to see reflected in someone else’s thoughts? Do you hope to find others that divine joy from the same things as you? Wait, what am I here for? Am I sending messages in bottles out, hoping for a reply, hoping to appeal to your sensibilities? Every keystroke a plea, a little salvo over the wall of not knowing, hoping someone might uncork the bottle and read the dusty script, and maybe even relate to it. Is every interaction in life a small-scale version of this? Checking to see what we have in common; what our differences are, so that we might bridge the gap? Birds of a feather, forming thought-flocks as we go along through life, perhaps?

Let’s say for the sake of argument that we never did this. The guy in Wooden Ships might not have asked about the purple berries. Or the other dude might not have shared them. Every creature down to protozoa, meandering through the universe with no outside information about what works and what doesn’t. Granted, maybe that doesn’t exactly equate to a search for joy, but I don’t know, I think the argument could be made that finding a good source of water or some purple berries that aren’t poisonous is an occasion to be celebrated.

At some point a zone of comfortability is reached that no longer necessitates the need for new information from others; we’ve got enough members now in our tribe that we can get what we need to sustain ourselves and sharing could become detrimental to the group. That last bit, that’s the part that eludes me. For a while, the others are assimilated, but eventually there’s a cutoff point. No more. A line in the sand. When do the others become others? When does our information become proprietary?

We know that we have developed and evolved through fear, that the unknown could possibly kill us, so that’s a check in the box for otherism being a survival tool. But ultimately we’re better at sharing, so why the exclusivity and tribalism? We currently sit high atop the food chain (at least when we’re out of the water), so why can’t we fucking share? What’s with the built in hoarding tendencies?

Anyway, that was a bit of a digression… I’m trying to make an argument in support of communal sharing, and we’re on Substack reading each other’s minds (the parts we decide to share, anyway), so I’d like to focus on the positive. For instance, let’s look at what’s at the root of a music recommendation. Why do we share the things we like? Hey, check out this new band I found, this music makes me feel good, and hopefully it will do the same for you! Does it make us feel validated when the answer is yes? Of course it does. Each new person you ‘turn on’ is now part of your tribe of musical sensibility, which you’d like to think you also share with the artists themselves. With art and music however, there’s no line, no hoarding. It’s all sharing, for better or worse. [Insert philosophical argument about art being spiritual here.]

Speaking of the artists, I think that the song or work of art itself is the original version of this, both historically and metaphorically. Art tells a story that (obviously) the artist wants others to hear and see, so that they might relate to its message. Sometimes with music it’s also nonverbal as it is with visual art, and the ‘message’ is a feeling, or some type of inspiration. The artist does not necessarily know who will resonate with the ‘message,’ and so as the (totally tongue-in-cheek) quote goes, When the artist finally finds his audience, it is an added disappointment. Like a game of telephone, though, songs and art inherit mutating interpretations through time and translation, but the same can be said for facts.

If we think of art and music as a signal, this sharing takes on the characteristics of language. When you share, you’re asking if someone speaks the same tongue, or at least dialect, as you. If they don’t, are you hoping to convert them? What would be gained from that? Is it really just the selfish form of validation we get from being acknowledged as correct or cool? I’d venture a guess that it’s more than that. By building a squad of like-minded individuals, we can raise our smoke signal to a higher ridge, possibly reaching more people. Although not an obvious benefit, I see this as directing attention back at the artist, and if they are recognized more, they would hopefully be empowered to create more of what brings us joy. Selfish-Not selfish, I suppose. A rising tide lifts all ships.

Say, can I have some of your purple berries? Yes, I’ve been eating them for six or seven weeks now, haven’t got sick once… Probably keep us both alive.

Photo credit: Silas Ray Burns

4th Wall is a DIY venue located inside the Capitol Theater in Arlington MA that hosts live music, with lighting and graphics by Digital Awareness projected onto the screen behind the performers. It’s a unique experience and for sure a fun and fresh way to see live music. I recently dragged my brother up to see one of my favorite new bands, Robber Robber out of Burlington. There was a pretty stacked lineup with Mingko and Pet Fox as the other acts on the bill as well as a solo guitarist set to warm things up for the full bands that would eventually bring the noise.

A movie theater is not what I’m used to for a live show, so it took me a little milling around to get oriented, kinda like a dog spinning in circles, perfecting their landing spot before they plop down (it felt like everyone else was having the same experience too). Anyway, we got there early and chatted up my friends from Burlington, so we were slow to get situated, but we eventually figured it out.

I’m 54 years old, so you’d think by now I would know enough to not judge a book by its cover or let personal biases from past experience color my thought processes, but no. I’m still a judgemental idiot sometimes, and this was one of those times. I saw the young woman setting up on the stage below (remember, we’re in a movie theater) and thought to myself Oh great, solo guitar sad girl… This should be exciting [eye roll]. Someone please remind me to not do that again.

She started picking and the sparse arpeggio guitar notes echoed out into the theater space, a little lonely and low octane, sort of wobbling into place. It felt like there was some uncertainty in the room, like How’s this gonna go? Then she started singing. I think everyone was as unprepared as I was for what they were hearing, or at the very least they had misjudged what they were about to experience, because there was a palpable awe that swept over the place in those first few moments. I turned for a look at my brother to see his reaction and to make sure it wasn’t just me, and his look told me it wasn’t. From that point forward the crowd was totally transfixed; I honestly don’t think anyone moved until the set was over.

Izzy Hagerup (Prewn) has a voice that is hard to describe but I’ll venture a handful of adjectives for the sake of it: haunting, evocative, mysterious, unnerving, unpredictable. It makes sense to your brain in context after you’ve heard it, but there’s a moment where you have to process what is coming from her vocal cords across the room to your ears and eventually your nervous system. She’s got a demeanor about her that’s sort of spooky-chic, and she takes you as her captive passenger for a bewitching ride in the Prewnmobile until she says it’s over.

Machine, live at 4th Wall. Video credit: Osprey Media Corporation

Her songwriting style and sound are as unique as her voice, leaving you wondering if you even know what you’re hearing. What exactly is it? Maybe it’s sardonic, macabre electric indie-folk? Or maybe it’s the doomsday mix of the soundtrack to Macbeth… Either way, it’s wonderful and disorienting at the same time, and you probably haven’t heard anything quite like it. The subject matter is heavy, and the lyrics are unapologetically bleak, triste and compelling. As a solo act, her guitar playing and vocals come across as more than simply two things. The guitar by itself is sometimes sparing, sometimes distortion driven, but with the addition of her dynamic vocals the combination has a range of sound that engages your full attention with its depth. Complement that with her band and the intensity ramps up for a cranking, grungy brand of her already heady sound.

Her song But I want more is the story of her Father’s battle with Parkinson’s Disease, and is a profoundly sad and moving tale told through his eyes:

Video credit: Stone Church

Her album Through the Window was conceived and created during the pandemic and released in August of 2023, and she’s been touring on and off both solo and with her band ever since. The album was released on vinyl in August 2024 on Exploding in Sound Records, around the anniversary of its debut.

Top to bottom it’s a fully three dimensional work, with good helpings of spooky, folk-styled storytelling, guitar heavy grunge, and experimental noise rock, with her trademark haunting vocals leading the way throughout. Between its willingness to go to dark places and the fearless ambition for unconventional song structures and sound, the eight track LP is a bold first effort that listens like abstract art, leaving a distinct impression with its smouldering, melancholy vibes.

This live performance of Perfect World from The Knitting Factory has all the elements of her lyrical venom and signature slow burn, gradually building and getting its hooks into you:

Video credit Jarrett Wolfson

Izzy’s propensity to tackle difficult themes like human greed, environmental disaster and death impart her music with a visceral honesty and moxie that confront the listener with often discomfiting truths. In doing so, I prefer to think that rather than trying to shock her audience, she is allowing us a glimpse at her experiences and perspective, laying bare things that are so much easier swept under our collective rugs so that we might learn something and maybe even grow. That, to me, is the essence of art.

She’s got a couple upcoming appearances at Boston Fuzztival with the full band on 10/19 and solo at Iceland Airwaves on 11/8. Her album Through the Window is available digitally and now on vinyl through her Bandcamp page and in person at her shows.*

Additionally, I have it on good authority that there’s new music forthcoming, so keep your eyes and ears open. Follow her IG page @prewn_music for the latest updates.

Check out some other Izzy/Prewn reviews and articles here:

Pitchfork

Stereogum

Post-Trash

ourculture

*All in-person album purchases come with a logo-engraved nail clipper/bottle opener keychain that Izzy refers to as a 2-in-1 tool that will change your life. I disagree that it’s a 2-in-1 tool because in addition to being a Life-Changing** nail clipper and bottle opener, IT’S ALSO A KEYCHAIN.

**The claim that the clippers are ‘Life Changing’ has been tested and verified by me.

Stories, for me, are always better when there’s a plot twist or a layer of the unexpected. I definitely adore me some symbolism, metaphor, character development, tension and suspense, but when there’s a wrinkle like a doorway in the back of [The Lion, the Witch and] the Wardrobe, I’m truly all in. Ruth Ozeki’s third novel, A Tale for the Time Being (2013) has got all of the above and more. It’s tough to review this one without spoilers, so this will be a relatively short piece that will hopefully serve as a siren song to lure you in to Ozeki’s world of wonder.

The story begins with Nao, a 16 year old Japanese American girl who grew up in California but finds herself and her family back in Tokyo after her father becomes unemployed in the States. Being raised in the US with a limited grasp of Japanese language and culture, in Japan she feels like a stranger in her own ethnic land. Combining this with her father’s unemployment and depression and her dysfunctional family life, she herself becomes despondent and eventually suicidal. Her voice in the book is a narration of her diary through her times of despair, disorientation and growth through her myriad life challenges. Prior to her loosely plotted suicide, she stuffs the diary into a ziplock bag inside of a Hello Kitty lunchbox and hurls it into the sea, hoping that someone will find it and empathize with her disenchantment or at least relate to her story.

On the other side of the Pacific in British Columbia, a writer named Ruth (self-inserted) with existential troubles of her own, finds the lunchbox washed ashore and embarks on a fervent investigation into the diary’s cryptic contents. As she reads more about Nao and her family’s struggles, she becomes aware of the girl’s unfortunate plight and her intention to end her own life. Having very little information as to the when of the journal, she becomes increasingly curious; borderline obsessed to find out if Nao is still alive, and sets about a search that ultimately yields only meager results. Despite the dearth of information, she perseveres as it becomes clear that the answers she seeks and whether or not she finds them will affect her own uncertain trajectory and existence.

Along with the diary, the lunchbox contained a watch that belonged to Nao’s great uncle, a Kamikaze pilot conscripted against his will during World War II. Going back to that symbolism I mentioned earlier, the watch becomes a significant metaphor for the passage of time, time running out, and our constant denial of and battle with this reality. Along with the watch and its reminder of our limited existence, the story of Ruth and Nao slowly unfolds as a tapestry of important life lessons for both the characters and the reader, and Ozeki employs a conspicuous metafictional dialogue between Nao and the reader that acts as a constant reminder that this tale is written for you.

Kanji for “Being-Time” from Zen Master Dogen’s ‘On Being and Time’ (the Shobogenzo)

Throughout the book there are themes that are artfully laid out for the reader to learn compassion, to listen, and to slow down, hopefully to better understand themselves and their place in the world. As Ruth and Nao’s worlds edge ever closer together, there is a building suspense that draws the reader in as the passage of time reveals to Ruth bit by bit the account of Nao and her family’s ongoing struggles to understand each other, slowly unveiling the events of their ever expanding timelines.

Packed with philosophy and sardonic humor, A Tale for the Time Being is a brilliant thought experiment that delivers simply as an enchanting story for a summer read or a profound book of metaphor realized on multiple levels, and truly anything in between. I’ve come back for a second read recently and found insights and angles that I missed on the first, and I plan on revisiting it again in the future, hopefully for yet more perspectives.

The author discusses her experience writing the book as well as her methods, processes and relationship with writing in general in an interview with Author Magazine’s Bill Kenower here:

Part two of the interview can be viewed here.

Ripped straight from her bio on her web page, Ozekiland:

Ruth Ozeki is a novelist, filmmaker, and Zen Buddhist priest, whose books have garnered international acclaim for their ability to integrate issues of science, technology, religion, environmental politics, and global pop culture into unique, hybrid, narrative forms.

Her new(est) novel, The Book of Form and Emptiness, published by Viking in September 2021, tells the story of a young boy who, after the death of his father, starts to hear voices and finds solace in the companionship of his very own book.

Her novels, My Year of Meats (1998), All Over Creation (2003), A Tale for the Time Being (2013) and The Book of Form and Emptiness (2022) have been translated and published in over thirty countries. Her third novel, A Tale for the Time Being, won the LA Times Book Prize, and was shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize and the National Book Critics Circle Award. The Book of Form and Emptiness is the winner of the 2022 Women’s Prize for Fiction as well as the 22nd Annual Massachusetts Book Award, the BC Yukon Book Prize, and the Julia Ward Howe Prize for Fiction.

You probably wouldn’t be surprised if I told you that my next Substack profile starts with a peculiar story that led to the discovery of the artist and their music. Spoiler alert: It does.

Back in early 2005, a local ballet company formerly known as Festival Ballet (BalletRI now) was running a television commercial for a production they were putting on. The ad was extremely tastefully done, featuring a couple dancing Mambo in period-styled clothing, possibly filmed in black and white if memory serves. [Currently in search of said video; will include here if and when I locate it.] The music was a dramatic-but-velvety sounding female voice singing in Spanish over a distinct and punctuated piano riff. As a nascent learner of Spanish at the time, I was game for any and all learning opportunities, including and especially music. I saw the commercial a handful of times and the song really caught my ear, but being pre-Shazam, I was at a loss to name the tune. My curiosity ultimately got the best of me so I called the ballet company to inquire about the mystery song in the commercial. The answer, I’m embarrassed to say, was Melao de Caña by Celia Cruz. Of course I had heard of her, but I wasn’t familiar enough with her music to make the connection, as I had a different idea in my head of what her sound was. It turns out that she covered a lot of ground and her voice and style evolved greatly throughout her career, with some profound variations adorning disparate parts of her musical galaxy (As a result I’m giving myself a little bit of a pass for whiffing on her sound initially). Being the early 2000’s, locating the song wasn’t just a snap of the fingers as it is today, so I went to a local record store and ordered a compilation CD that included Melao de Caña. This was the beginning of a years-long exploration of Celia Cruz’s life and musical trajectory that I will chronicle, at least partially, for you here.

Celia Cruz began singing as a young child around the house, at school in Actos Cívicos, and with and for her cousins and siblings. With her mother’s and cousin’s encouragement, Celia entered herself into a Radio Garcia-Serra contest for vocalists in the late 1940’s entitled La Hora del Té (Tea Time), which she handily won. This was the beginning of her dipping her toe in the cultural and musical waters of Castro’s Cuba at the time. While it was a bit of a circuitous route, her little initial victory had buoyed her confidence and ultimately led to her pursuit of a career in music, despite her father’s wishes for a more traditional vocation as a teacher.

To get a sense of how she sounded in the early days, here’s the song that she gained much of her early fame with as a teen and young woman (She’s several years older at the time of this recording, which is historically credited as her first with the iconic band Sonora Matancera):

For various reasons, not the least of which being the nature of Communist Cuba at the time, the history of her early work is not completely clear. For instance, her Wikipedia page lists the date of her first album as 1958, but we know she was recording with Sonora as early as 1950 or 1951. Some of this lack of clarity can be attributed to the post-revolution nationalization of Cuba’s music industry and the dearth of information from before that pivotal moment in time, and some is a direct result of the Castro regime’s attempts at erasure of her legacy after she was exiled from the country in 1960 for ‘dissent.’

It may be an unpopular opinion with fans of Celia, but I am overwhelmingly partial to the music she created in these early years between 1950 and 1965. The predominant narrative among experts is that the maturation of her voice in her later career imparted a certain je ne sais quoi, improving it like a fine wine through the years.

While that is most certainly true, there is no substitute for the elemental purity of her voice as a younger woman, and as it is impossible to retrace our steps through time, her path was forged but once. Her dynamic early recordings with the band stand out as truly singular efforts that simply cannot be duplicated. The combination of her emerging talent, the band’s well versed and unique sound, and the earnest, low fidelity flavor of the earlier material really moves the needle for me, hitting different in a way that her later more cleanly produced recordings just cannot. The sound is dripping with a nostalgia that you didn’t even know existed until you hear it:

Gaining fame in Mexico and eventually what would become her home country of the US, Cruz had an incredibly prolific career, recording more than 75 albums including 23 that achieved Gold status. Given her popularity across these Christian-Catholic dominated nations, I find it extremely ironic that she rose to stardom singing songs about the Orishas (Gods) of Santería, a commonly misunderstood religion in both countries.

In the era of the advent of modern medicine, another curious contradiction between her popularity and her subject matter is that of herbalism as medicine in the 50’s and 60’s. The title of the following song (Modern Herbalist) was likely construed by many as a cute, nostalgic joke, given the time period of its release:

Much of her career was defined by her later collaboration with the world-famous musician and producer Tito Puente, but she along with her band Sonora Matancera performed and recorded many vocal duet pieces including this early one with Bienvenido Granda, where they repeatedly test the headroom of the primitive recording equipment, especially at about 1:40:

Although she is commonly known as the Queen of Salsa, throughout her career she mastered a wide variety of Afro-Cuban musical styles including Guaracha, Rumba, Son, Afro, and Bolero. Between these styles and her Santería recordings, her discography covers an expansive territory of modern and traditional Latin music that is undoubtedly one of the most complete by any musician, Latin or otherwise. This ‘stack is already heavy with links, so here’s another, a taste of Son:

Another very early recording, this is surely one of the first attempts at syncing music and imagery to create a rudimentary music video:

Last but not least, the ‘title track’ to this ‘stack, No Hay Nada Mejor, one of my most beloved songs in the whoooole world… If anyone is actually listening out there, please play this one at my funeral:

One of the principal goals of this post was to draw attention to Celia Cruz’s early music, as so much has historically been focused on her later career and performances. While much of this music is now readily available, there is still not a great deal of context, making it difficult to understand a timeline of her early development as a rising star. In 2005, when I began treasure hunting for her early recordings, many of them were not available or were near impossible to source. I discovered the track linked earlier, Guede Zaina, sitting at an outdoor restaurant in Mexico. I petitioned the waiter and asked about the music playing on the system and he came back with a Salsa: 36 Hot Latin Dance Tracks compilation CD, which I promptly purchased upon returning to the states (Again, ordered through a local record store). Luckily now, most of her work is more readily available, albeit as stated, without a ton of context. Así es la vida.

This profile is cobbled together from my random knowledge, talking with folks who know more or different things than I, and of course the always-questionable Google machine. I gladly welcome additions, links, insights or corrections to any of the above information, provided they are verifiable or at least able to be triangulated. I should probably read a biography at some point too, hit me up if you know of a good one.

Celia Cruz Wikipedia

State Pier No. 5, aka Monahan’s dock in Narragansett is a popular spot for locals and tourists alike to breathe the ocean air, watch or maybe even surf the waves when it’s firing, or to just take in the idyllic coastal scenery where the rugged shoreline meets the sea. For me it’s a wave I have been working on demystifying in one way or another for at least a half decade. The crowd, the tide, swell direction… What makes this place tick? is the question I’m continually trying to answer. Sitting here in the same spot where I originally met photographer and surfer Chelsea Mandes, we both agree that the place has a combination of challenges that give it an elusive quality. A basic tenet of her approach to photography may well be the key to dialing this spot in, ultimately:

“Having a connection with your subject matter allows you to more easily capture its essence rather than it being just a thing that exists.”

As a lifelong surfer since the age of eight, she’s had a camera in her hands for almost as long. Acknowledging Chelsea’s affinity for the arts at an early age, her father bought her a camera when she was ten, and as the kid in the neighborhood with the skate ramp in her driveway she had plenty of subject matter, literally on her doorstep. Repeatedly running into the house to offload her pictures and free up space on the camera for more, she quickly developed a knack for shooting in the moment and embracing the role of the staff photographer with her skate crew.

Chelsea began water shooting in 2013, and has been carefully refining the craft ever since. As an avid surfer and an accomplished photographer, it would be easy to connect the dots to her photographing the sport, but out in the water she finds the ocean itself to be the star of the show:

“Ocean shooting for me is for empty waves. Looking at an empty wave is a universal experience if you know what it’s like to be in the water. Without that person being in there I feel like you can more personally connect to the image, rather than a wave with some random surfer doing a cutback. That’s cool for them to have that but I never felt anything from it.”

This approach to nature photography leads to some heavy ponderings that as we talked I couldn’t help but associate with the ancient philosophical principle of dualism; the seer and the seen as applied to our presence in nature. Are we in it or are we it? Are we witnessing it or is it one with us? Viewing an image of an empty wave and identifying with it feels to me more like the latter; an emotional and spiritual connection with the natural world.

While we were waxing philosophical, Chelsea and I discussed another vexing question with regard to photography: How does the medium stand up to other art forms? Are you simply capturing something in front of you rather than creating art out of nothing? The takeaway covered more ground than I thought it would. Firstly, consider the vision and perspective of the artist. Five different photographers with the same tools and the same subject matter will literally never render the same results, as there are just too many variables, not the least of which is the eye behind the lens. Secondly (and here’s where it gets philosophical again), the camera is simply a tool to express what is inside the photographer and their connection with the subject matter. Where do you draw the line between what is in the artist’s mind and what is produced as a result of it?

“You’re capturing something from your perspective rather than someone else’s. You’re trying to somehow convey the essence of it rather than just a thing that exists. Obviously the subject matter exists but you’re capturing it based on your perception of it which will never be the same as anyone else’s.”

Out of the water, Mandes maintains a robust practice with the slightly more traditional disciplines of event photography, including live concerts and weddings, as well as portraiture, and her preferred subject matter of nature without man (see: empty waves).

She recently returned from a cross country photo-inspired road trip, with National Parks and the parts of the country whose beauty and grandeur have enchanted explorers since time immemorial as her ports-of-call.

In today’s current climate of global unrest and what feels like never-ending ecological disaster, her goal was to travel and document these places of wonder and majesty while they are still intact. Before the world burns. She quickly admits that this could be construed as an entitled point of view, as many parts of the world are actively burning, or in some cases, already incinerated. I point out that you can only play the hand you are dealt, and a moment in time is just that. There’s a parallel that emerges here with our previous discussion of perspective and theme that seems apropos: Immortalizing the present moment.

Grinnell Glacier, Montana, 2024

As someone who believes in using the correct tool for the job, she employs a combination of film and digital to capture her subjects, depending on the situation and the amount of latitude involved in any given project. Digital when more predictable outcomes are desired and film as a more capricious approach that relies a bit more on instinct and feel. Film can also offer the ability to over and under expose settings to compensate for less than ideal conditions when pushing conventional limits can be the secret sauce.

Tim Kasher at the Space Ballroom, Hamden CT, 2024

Mannequin Pussy, Higher Ground, Burlington VT 2024

Haley Henderickx, Knickerbocker Music Center, Westerly RI 2023

For event and wedding photography, Chelsea offers digital as the staple with film as an add-on option, and she enjoys eschewing the trappings of traditional approaches when her clients are inclined to allow for more candid documentation. She likes to think that there’s a bit of a trend towards this technique occurring, and she doesn’t disagree with my speculation that maybe there’s a mini-impressionist revolution underway against the status quo.

Her passion project, SALT, focuses on creating a safe and empowering experience for women who are drawn to the ocean, with the goal of documenting feelings and lived experiences, especially in significant moments of achievement, transition or growth. I feel like this project could truly demand its own chapter and any abridged attempt at conveying the nature of it here will simply not do it justice. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so I’m going to rely on that old axiom and let an image do the talking:

Izzy Carey, SALT, 2019

Chelsea is a regular footed surfer that loves surfing on her backhand. When asked her preference on type of surfing/surfcraft she practically cuts me off with “Shortboard forever!” which is my sentiment exactly. She claims to be chicken when it comes to bigger waves but her Instagram says otherwise. Her upcoming show entitled ‘Before the World Burns’ will open on October 4th at Westerly Camera and Darkroom.

Website: Chelsea Mandes Photo

Instagram: @chelseamandesphoto_