Every Wednesday, the ugly hug shares a playlist personally curated by an artist/band that we have been enjoying. This week we have a collection of songs put together by Brooklyn-based Or Best Offer
Days short of two years ago, Or Best Offer shared the project’s first official record. Composed of seven tracks that stretch, bleed and bend into one holistic experience, Center is a testament to the Brooklyn-based project’s expansive curiosity and experimental knack for texture. Center can be cold, provoked, and industrial at times, and warm and delicate at others; though these juxtapositions waver in the contrast they invite. Sometimes it feels abrupt, and sometimes the line between their differences blurs so thin you wonder if it truly exists at all. It is a beautiful and unsettling experience; eliciting a kind of familiar existential discomfort that truly can only be articulated and purged through nonverbal mediums.
About the playlist, Or Best Offer shared;
songs i find true & beautiful that to me embody mid winter feverishness, heavily featuring music I’m most excited about coming out of the northeast right now.
Every Wednesday, the ugly hug shares a playlist personally curated by an artist/band that we have been enjoying. This week we have a collection of songs put together by Albany-based band Bruiser and Bicycle.
I feel an advisory is required before peering into the world of Bruiser and Bicycle, an Albany, New York-based progressive folk ensemble. On October 8th, 2025, the band released an experimental approach to the traditional rural tunes of Americana, Deep Country. Their pastoral themes, intermingled with pop and rock, inform a new method of songwriting and production. A completely unique medley, belonging only to their name.
Flying freely in their whimsically constructed, musical plane, is “O’ There’s a Sign.” Gliding swiftly from start to finish, it lands in the third slot of the record, with a fast and abrupt arrival. The interior of the third track moves with fervor, featuring soft vocables that, unknowingly and excitingly, jump to overpowering proclamations and unheard-of questions like, “Who can flip a bottle on its side?” Bruiser and Bicycle never allow for comfort. There are too many moving parts to just idly sit by and passively consume their sound. To listen to the four-part ensemble, one should be keen and observant, on the lookout for the next unexpected, jerking turn.
With their closing track and record title, Deep Country, they continue to use whimsy to build their distinct image. Theatrical voices sporadically holler in the background of the melody, chiming in to spackle any holes of silence. But, one voice drives the album’s bucolic theme by slowly chewing through the lines: I’ve been out, in the fiery heat of the desert / There’s a peculiar rhythm / Arcadian or wisdom. Glistening at the tail end of the track: rapid strums and feathery adlibs to lighten its hefty precursor.
As a result of these humorous voices, the album gives the impression of a score. Playfully sounding over transient bits that feel awkward in the moment, but funny upon reflection. Films such as Juno or Little Miss Sunshine come to mind.
Proliferating from characteristics of the south, Bruiser and Bicycle portray themselves as a woven tapestry—a traditional practice blended with different materials. Their rustic-indie folk feel leans into a familiar sound, yet offers an exciting jumble of eccentric voices, introspective repetition, and jabbing humor. The unpredictability of the group amplifies any intrigue going into a listen. The chase of pinning down a meaning or general idea of the band will never tire you. Be aware, be alert, and be on the lookout for what’s to come from Bruiser and Bicycle.
You can listen to Bruiser and Bicycle’s playlist HERE!
You can find Deep Country and the rest of their discography below.
Every Wednesday, the ugly hug shares a playlist personally curated by an artist/band that we have been enjoying. This week we have a collection of songs put together by Texas/New York-based artist Lefty Parker.
Last month, Lefty Parker shared Ark via Airloom Records. The album was recorded in October of 2023 with Buck Meek – of whom Lefty has built a hearty collaborative and personal relationship upon the foundation of a shared love for songwriting, surfing, and tender creativity. The record’s live band also features Adam Brisbin and Jesse Turley, with additional contributions from Adrianne Lenker, Germaine Dunes, James Krivchenia, Michael Sachs, Mat Davidson of Twain and Michael Bushais.
Recently, I spoke with Lefty about seeking the same impact from music as the one experienced during one’s teenage years. It was a notion that resonated with me heavily, despite the fact that neither of us could quite articulate it in a way that surpassed the complexity of feelings that “music hit harder” amidst a more youthful time. Whenever I find myself enamored and vigorously moved by music, I notice that it’s a feeling I associate with being eighteen and “discovering” music for the first time. Perhaps there are nostalgia factors at play, but I also think it marks a time where one simultaneously develops in identity, and (at least in my experience), discovers music outside the realm of what is merely fed to you. Music that is not on the radio, perhaps music hatched from a slimmer budget, music that is not perfect and music that does not boast dozens of names credited behind it. Music that is complex, personal, interesting, humble. Music that makes you fall in love with music.
We were not doing an interview, this was merely a fleeting conversational moment I pocketed in between visits to the heaps of overstimulating dollar stores on Broadway, but when I sat down to write about Lefty’s latest record, I found myself returning to my own conclusions about music’s potency and adolescence. Ark is an album that sneaks up on you; it’s warm and grounded, it’s raw, but approachable. You do not quite notice the ways it burrows further upon each listen until it’s too late. Until you feel completely ambushed by the intense emotional weight within Lefty’s unfettered vocals, and their subtle but profound shifts. Until you find yourself entirely enamored by the airy strings and stunning woodwind accents. Until the vulnerable vignettes of Ark feel like your own.
Ark is the kind of album that turns straw to gold. It’s a familiar twangy silhouette, relying on organic instrumentation and mosaics of heartache you have likely heard before. And yet, it manages to strike in a way that feels almost foreign, in the way that powerful art can elicit a feeling of hearing music for the first time. It’s a meandering tale of the diligence of experiencing life, of the never ending cycle of getting lost and finding yourself, of seeking guidance in things that feel larger than us. It’s a beautiful and comforting and human listen, and it’s one that can touch you regardless of the chapter of life you are currently amidst.
Every Wednesday, the ugly hug shares a playlist personally curated by an artist/band that we have been enjoying. This week we have a collection of songs put together by the New York-based band Docents.
Docents is a four piece with a knack for carving out an eccentric fun house experience in both their live sets and recorded discography. The project was conceived in 2018 in Upstate New York, and today exists as a Brooklyn-based four piece consisting of Noah Sider, Matthew Heaton, Will Scott, and Kabir Kumar-Hardy. In May, Docents released Shadowboxing; the EP a winding mixed bag of theatric, eccentric, and angular sound paired with lyricism that bends back and forth from earnest to outlandish. No matter what sound they are chasing, or how unpredictable their music may seem, it all feels tethered to some sense of reality – it’s as honest and sincere as it is fervent and tumultuous. Today’s Guest List consists of five picks from each member of Docents.
Every Wednesday, the ugly hug shares a playlist personally curated by an artist/band that we have been enjoying. This week we have a collection of songs put together by Providence / Brooklyn-based band Dogs on Shady Lane.
Today, I found out I can fit three listens of Dogs on Shady Lane’s latest EP into my commute from Brooklyn to Midtown. It was not a calculated experiment, rather a product of the EP’s cunning structure and how its wistful textures pair so perfectly against a rainy New York morning. I was lost in it from the second I twisted the lock on my apartment door to the broody intro chords of “Knife (Lady)”, until the inflamed final moments of “Basement” accompanied my departure from frenzied train stop to umbrella-clad Manhattan streets. Fronted by Tori Hall, who started the project in 2018, Dogs on Shady Lane is a Providence / Brooklyn based four piece that now includes Evan Weinstein (guitar/synth/vocals), Calder Mansfield (bass/vocals), and Grace Gross (drums). It is impressive how deep cut their 2024 release, appropriately titled The Knife, manages to cut within a timeline just shy of 14 minutes (or 42 minutes depending on your self-control). As withering introspections surrounding a brittle heart tread in fuzzy alt-folk sea, Hall’s honeyed vocals are at times complemented by the twinkly instrumentals they coincide with and at times engulfed by fervent and frothy riffs. It is a stunning and cathartic listen, one certainly representative of the dynamic quality of Dogs on Shady Lane’s discography, the captivating nature of their live sets, and surely any future projects they may have in store.
Every Wednesday, the ugly hug shares a playlist personally curated by an artist/band that we have been enjoying. Starting us off, we have a collection of songs crafted by the Queens based singer-songwriter, Hannah Pruzinsky.
Last week, Pruzinsky released their stunning debut LP, No Glory, under their growing project, h. pruz. In a celebration of patience and space, No Glory builds upon this dire urge to stay present, regardless of the shifting ground and passing reflections that disrupt our existence.
In spirit of the record, Pruzinsky offers a collection of songs, some transitional, some instant, others invincible, that they have used to feel rooted into their surrounding world.
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