Albums

Bruno Mars’ 24k Magic, or How Peter Gene Got His Groove Back
Albums, Features

Bruno Mars’ 24k Magic, or How Peter Gene Got His Groove Back

Sometimes I forget that Bruno Mars is not a real name, the same way that I forget that he sang “Nothin’ on You” or that B.o.B. still makes music. Peter Gene Hernandez has come a long way since his humble but banal as fuck, fedora-wearing, piano-crooning days. He’s graduated from flannels and pompadours to cuban links and designer minks, and a brand new “player” persona.

Noname Confronts The Rogue Reality That Continues To Oppress, Threaten, And Intimidate On Her Debut Mixtape Telefone
Albums, Features

Noname Confronts The Rogue Reality That Continues To Oppress, Threaten, And Intimidate On Her Debut Mixtape Telefone

Because life is unforeseeable, and death, undemocratic. Because there are times you leave a party, unsure if your friends will make it home. Recall: writer Durga Chew-Bose’s 2014 Instagram post, a screenshot of safety check-ins that she and her friends routinely sent each other. This is a world that cannot afford the polite luxury of a “goodnight,” but rather one that dubs the textual confirmation of “Home! You?” dangerously necessary.

Forth Wanderers’ Slop EP is an Indie Dreamland
Albums, Features, Reviews

Forth Wanderers’ Slop EP is an Indie Dreamland

But sometimes I wonder how it feels to live in the slow-moving, indie-darling dream world Forth Wanderers insists on creating: you spend days staring out the dirty window of your Brooklyn apartment, gazing languidly at trees and thinking about heartbreak. You get high at a basement show and walk home in the rain and meditate on how no one gets you. You occasionally go to your classes, but mostly you just stay home to write poetry in an oversized thrift-store sweater. Or something like that.

Keep Portland Weirder: Blesst Chest’s Wish We Were There
Albums, Features, Reviews

Keep Portland Weirder: Blesst Chest’s Wish We Were There

Blesst Chest tests how far art can go before it stops making sense. There are no lyrics to guide us through the album, no unifying melody or tone. There’s no escape rope. You end up either reeling yourself back in and breathing a sigh of relief, or forging ahead blindly through the dark, nonsensical insanity that is Wish We Were There. Whether you like it or not, WWWT is one hell of a ride.

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