Fronted by Diego Clare, a local spearhead to the New York community and a project of influence and vision, their penname D.A. Crimson has shared a new single called “Barrel to Heaven” this week, along with an accompanying music video. Within a controlled burn of sonic dismemberment, Clare’s performance withers and writhes in the face of loss and the complexity of familial altercations when emotions and memories begin to conflict.
Leaping in strides like a choreographed dance, “Barrel to Heaven” begins with a guitar that quickly establishes the thematic weight, further brought to life by an array of sonic voicings and deliberate timbres – dilapidated yet concise; harsh yet sobering when face-to-face with its grand scheme. “When I wrote it, my grandmother had just passed away after I’d spent a month staying with her and my dad at her house in Costa Rica. There was a lot of familial drama between her kids throughout this process, which I just found really upsetting,” Clare shares about the song. As the chorus follows the movement below, singular harmonics flash out at the end of each repeated stanza, “There’s a way out” – reverberating before screeching in exasperation – “Looking down the barrel to heaven”. “I felt especially attached to her home, my memory of which now feels sort of embedded in this song. In any case, those are the things that came through, or morphed into this kind of Hamlet-ass soliloquy about loss and what remains in the wake of it,” Clare finishes.
Along with the release of “Barrel to Heaven”, D.A. Crimson has shared an accompanying music video made by the creative duo known professionally as “The Valdez”, which features both Clare and movement by choreographer, J Gash. You can listen to “Barrel to Heaven” out everywhere now.
While history has proven that amity amongst band members is not necessary to create good music, it’s always special when the depths of a bands’ friendship is palpable in their work. Years of experience playing in bands like Sloppy Jane and Water From Your Eyes speaks to the technical talent of Al Nardo and Bailey Wollowitz, but it’s ultimately this sense of camaraderie that makes their prog-rock band, fantasy of a broken heart, so compelling. The duo’s collaborative friendship dates back to 2017, though up until now, fantasy of a broken heart was confined to a relatively low profile of house shows and occasional single releases. The time spent cultivating fantasy’s identity, or perhaps lack thereof, is discernible in their debut album, Feats of Engineering, a captivating experience doused in honest introspection and eccentric charm.
While fantasy of a broken heart claims that “only isolated artists make original material”, Feats of Engineering is a harmonious dialogue sung in a language that feels completely their own. Lyrically, Nardo and Wollowitz are masters at fusing vulnerable with whimsy. It would be easy to assume an album with imagery of Tony Danza preparing buttermilk pancakes and a possessed Evil Kenevil wielding an “as seen on TV magicians novelty arrow” would amount to a goofy but hollow listen, perhaps engaging in a bit of post-irony ridden social commentary at best. Instead, fantasy’s amusing tangents and bizzare imagery work to enhance the project’s emotional depth. In its entirety, Feats of Engineering is somewhat of an auditory hallucinogen, inviting us deep into an unrefined subconscious reality where the strangest of thoughts are met with rather hard to swallow existential notions. Instead of coming across as a joke you aren’t in on, the album’s vulnerability factor feels somehow amplified by each lyrical peculiarity.
In an auditory sense, fantasy is a maximalist quilt of 70’s prog-rock, 90’s dream-pop, and modern indie-pop, though if you tried to create a list of every subgenre their sound touches it would rival a CVS receipt. Each song on the album has a distinct identity, with its own unique formula of layered instrumentals and varied time signatures. However, amidst their most enigmatic structures, Feats of Engineering successfully stands as a holistic body of work, unified by a discernible sonic ethos and enriched by the soothing harmonies of two voices with an undeniable musical rapport.
The album commences with the trance-inducing “Fresh”, a minute long track that starts off with a steady high pitch car beep, the one reminding you to buckle up or perhaps shut your door. Though the beep is initially attention-seizing, it is soon lost in a mesmerizing synthetic organ melody, and in a brief, word-less 60 seconds, the magnetizing pull of Feats of Engineering has begun. The vibrant “AFV” follows, providing an auditory finger snap to the meditative state induced by the intro song. At its core, “AFV” is a humorous tale of a romantic interaction gone wrong, a palm to the face detailing of a flirting effort mistaken as an attempt to buy weed. The earnest anecdote is paired with an uneasy chorus, as the two harmonize on the repeating lines of “All I wanted was a little sensation”, and “I thought a devil called my name”. Through satisfying hooks and a lavish layering of instrumentals, fantasy of a broken heart harvests structures of an addicting pop track, while balancing a lighthearted story with a desperate longing to feel.
It doesn’t take long to establish that fantasy of a broken heart has perfected the art of writing tearjerkers that pass as chic remixes of vintage television jingles. Loss is the archetype for this, offering a vulnerable testimony to the umbrella concept of “loss”, supplemented by buoyant guitar riffs and animated vocals. The track is burdened by the weighing question of “have you lost it”, but not without the comedic relief of “Where did you put the sword”. “Loss” is not the only song on Feats of Engineering where fantasy sugar coats dreary ideas in bubbly melodies adorned with quirky references. At a recent Brooklyn show, Wollowitz led with “this song is about Pizza”, before diving into “Doughland”, where the duo’s craving for inner peace becomes increasingly harrowing with every “I can’t stand this” they chant. In “Mega”, the toll of an ambiguous relationship dynamic takes the shape of a catchy tune about an extinct giant shark. The title track might hold the most intense juxtaposition of heavy and eccentric, with imagery of tiny men and their adorable miniature safety gear following shortly after a painful reflection of “thoughts of jumping off a broken bridge in Middletown”.
The compelling effect of Nardo and Wollowitz’s harmonies excels in “Ur Heart Stops”, a sonically melodramatic track about the tethers of depression and stagnation. When Wollowitz’s droning is met with Nardo’s shimmery vocals over a series of jolty instrumentals, the repetitive chorus of “Ur Heart Stops” becomes hypnotic, transforming a devastating existential dialogue into a catchy prog-pop masterpiece.
“Tapdance 1” and “Tapdance 2” are back to back tracks that take contrary approaches to exploring the crushings of doubt. In “Tapdance 1”, the lyrics rarely stray from “Nobody knows what you’re talking about”. In “Tapdance 2”, Wollowitz embarks on a tangent of reflective commentary and what ifs, confessing to a habit of overindulging in Pitchfork reviews and dwelling on a “surplus of vision”. In the midst of an excess of thoughts and questions, fantasy of a broken heart gets honest about the blurring between art and interpersonal, while once again toying with the idea that “nobody knows what you’re talking about”.
The album wraps up with “Catharsis”, an appropriately titled delicate ballad that matures into an impassioned crescendo of realization. Around four and a half minutes in, Wollowitz’ soothing vocals erupt into an emotionally charged shout, and the lyrics shift from guarded thoughts of “it means so much to me that it happened at all”, to fervent revelations of “Love is collision, destroying your soul for another”. The two offer one final harmony, repeating “catharsis of the heart is the narcissist’s nightmare” over a pulse-raising arrangement of drums and fierce orchestration. While the album hurdles through a docket of unresolved questions and heavy notions, the intensity of “Catharsis” offers closure to a lyrically and sonically consuming experience, solidifying that Feats of Engineering is not only a collection of quality songs, but an extremely well structured album.
Like many of their fellow Brooklyn-based genre-bending contemporaries, fantasy of a broken heart isn’t here to resuscitate a subculture from decades prior. At the same time, it is abundantly clear the duo has spent ample time listening and deconstructing the most successful structures and sounds, creating arrangements that are equal parts pragmatic and avant garde. Through every nonsensical twist and earnest turn, Feats of Engineering engages in sonic nostalgia while paving a completely original identity, verifying that fantasy of a broken heart is a major band to watch.
You can listen to Feats of Engineering out everywhere now.
Based in Brooklyn, New York, Youth Large is the solo project of Em Margey, who has returned today with a new single, “Warn Me, Hold Me”. Previously known as Emma Blue Jeans, Margey has become a staple in the intimate BK scene, both through their musical projects as well as coordinating and curating a monthly queer residency at venues such as Purgatory, Nublu, Trans Pecos, Rockwood Music Hall and more. Upon this return, Youth Large plays with articulated patience as they strip back their sound into a methodical burn on “Warn Me, Hold Me”.
There is an immediacy to the tension that “Warn Me, Hold Me” contrives, as it brings notice to the conflicting emotions within a relationship. The heavy thuds of a drum are deepened by the sparseness of instrumentation, as Margey’s instincts look every which way for a deliberate and cathartic release, singing “And every week / It creeps around the corner / we’re just saying things / you warn me, hold me.” The track’s emotions hit a peak as a harsh and swirling guitar rips through the space, as Margey repeats the very utterance, “warn me, hold me” – a clash between comfort and self-preservation as the song slowly burns out.
“Warn Me, Hold Me” is accompanied by a music video directed and edited by Margey. As a fun exposure to the rather melancholy track, the video plays with humor towards New York’s macho skate scene, even including a mustached stunt double filling in when needed.
“Warn Me, Hold Me” is Youth Large’s first release with New York-based tape label Toadstool Records and the track can be streamed everywhere now. Earlier this year, Toadstool Records also released a bandcamp compilation where all proceeds will be donated to The Freedom Theatre in the West Bank, Palestine, which you can purchase and listen to now.
Nara’s Room, the Brooklyn trio fronted by Nara Avakian, has shared two new singles “Holden” and “Waiting for the z” today as a precursor to their upcoming album, Glassy star out 10/18 via Mtn. Laurel Recording Co. Through the deliberation of sifting noise and strong lyrical intuitions, Nara’s Room has always circulated around the production of dreams and the reverie towards real life environments. With arrangement help from Ethan Nash and Brendan Jones and production by James Duncan, Nara’s Room return heavy handed, pushing the sonic boundaries of what we deem is possible while simultaneously defining their placement in an ever shifting world.
Gradually, “Holden” spirals into being through a rhythmic doom loop; constructed by the scrunchy mechanical noises and the unease that the sonic structure so easily brings out. It isn’t long before the industrial tones and gothic reverb open to a wave of jangly instrumentals, reminiscent of 80s pop and shoegaze classics, but with the trio’s own unique touches strung about. “How can we dream in a world we’re persistently being pushed out of?” Avakian asks in a statement about the song. As the chorus is emboldened by the distorted depths of the track, the band articulates every texture and sonic idea within, filling the void with individual voices as Avakian tries to define intense feelings of alienation and belonging.
In the same vein, “Waiting for the z”, lives in the balance between brutality and faith, trapped within its own confined and isolated space. With a brief spoken word piece, Avakian recites, “She led me out the door, “I can help you, it’s time to let go / Forgot what face I have on today, the clouds can tell you so,” over an eerie combination of pounding drums and a hollow bass that meanders with patience. As Avakian takes a pause, the shy words are soon succumbed to the sonic revisions of glitchy guitars and thrashing concussive drums, leaving your soul crunched and your ears tender, but in no way deterred by the experimental spirit and sincerity of the band at hand.
Each song is also accompanied by a music video made by Avakian, who has been specializing in VHS-type recordings under the project Foggy Cow. You can watch the new music videos below. Glassy star, out October 18 via Mtn. Laurel Recording Co., will have a limited tape run, which you can preorder now.
Full to the brim with brooding sonic plights and a soaring blend of alternative nostalgia, Dino Expedition share their new single, “Lose Your Mind”, as well as announce their debut album Thanks A Million. This release finds the Brooklyn-based band operating at their fullest, building from a solo project called Tahls, Dino Expedition is Tahlia Amanson (vocals/guitar), Aiden Velazquez (bass) and Frankie Adams (drums). Pushing potent orchestration to the edge of mutual discovery and reflection into moments of seismic growth, “Lose Your Mind” is a piece of the past that is meant to move forward, as Dino Expedition explode with new and dynamic life.
With a large presence from the get go, “Lose Your Mind” is heavy where it needs to be, and sincere throughout it all. With pounding percussion and conjuring low ends, the gentle, yet lush effect of Amanson’s vocals feel untethered to the weight below, while simultaneously flowing with ease to the driving rhythm. Recounting a story of watching her childhood neighbor’s house catch fire, she sings, “The glaring through the window shades / Will bring the light into the dark / Of the bedroom where you lose your mind”, recovering past memories and accepting their placement on a young mind now matured. It isn’t long until something ruptures inside, where melodic guitars and ecstatic dynamics seem to push through time itself, as “Lose Your Mind” relishes in the grandiose sounds of a band just getting started.
Dino Expedition is playing a single release show for “Lose Your Mind” at Purgatory in Brooklyn, NY on 8/14 alongside Whirlybird, Babe City and Mila Moon. Their debut record Thanks A Million is due November 15, with tapes available via TV-14 Recordings.
Brooklyn-based multi-disciplinary artist and queer flutist Cal Fish’s music is, perhaps predictably, eclectic. Aptly coined “flutegaze” on their Instagram, it calls to mind more organic strains of house like Call Super or Octa Octa, while at others it presents itself as a minimal art-pop sound most closely a la Bullion’s more recent works. Shades of Fifth Wave Emo’s experimentation also lend themselves to the project, with acts akin to Glass Beach and nouns seeming to share some DNA albeit with more angst and edge than Fish’s serene, self-assured delivery. Don’t let these cognates fool you, though: Fish’s music is wholly their own. They infuse this amalgamation of influences with a paradoxically shy take on maximalism– I probably shouldn’t add one more layer, but a flute solo mixed as if heard from two high school band practice rooms away would go stupid hard here, they seem to say – and the result is Cal Fish’s most recent album, Indecision Songs, a project that defies any presumptions of pretension by being tasteful, expressive, and just plain fun.
On the album’sopener “Twirling,” their voice is disarmingly plain in that enchanting sort of way some of the best indie singer-songwriters are. Snug as a bug, the vocals nestle between modular synth squelches, flights of flute, and warm subtonal bass that warps under the weight of the jam-packed mixes’ incidental side-chaining. I’d be remiss not to note the various Pokémon cries sampled that, somewhat unbelievably, subvert kitschiness altogether. The reedy, echoey Zubat call in particular sounds super dope, even in spite of the flashbacks it evokes of being perpetually confused in caves (because wild Zubats are the worst and also big stupid meanies). This Pokémon motif is pleasantly augmented by a heartfelt interpolation of the original TV show’s theme song. Rather than Pocket Monsters, Fish is concerned with “love and tenderness,” sweetly singing, “to forget them is my real test / to gain them is my cause” – a line that would strike the listener as cloying if Fish didn’t seem so dang genuine, or the surrounding sound wasn’t as phenomenal as it is. In all, the opening track is a cartoon maelstrom of raw creative expression, neatly tempered by a skillful sense for aesthetic and composition alike.
In a purely technical regard, Fish’s vocals are admittedly somewhat raw – but the distant, softened mix on them often suits their limited range well, and I found Fish’s delivery to be a perfect match for the tender lyrics and their instrumental nests beside. “2 Way Path (the dream is within u)” stands out in this regard, alliterative lines like “Heavy hearts, hurting hands / hungry for holding” a natural fit for Fish’s earnest delivery. “Patience flows / like muscle memory” is enveloped in a bashfully funkadelic house beat just before featured vocalist hi im home’s delightful hook, the title of the song’s parenthetical making for a perfect mantra. It’s all humbly wonderful, the way a recipe for brownies your family has made for about two-and-a-half generations comes out simply divine every time. So too does “When a Thought (feat. Alice Does Computer Music)” engage with this curated sense of sentimentality, aided by candid pop refrains generously layered in parking garage echo. A whimsical backing track highlights digital bells’ enchanting cerulean, paying homage to Super Mario 64’s “Dire Dire Docks. The tranquility is further enhanced by Becca Rodriguez’s vocals and their mixing. They’re lovingly tuned so as to not quite be swallowed by the surrounding colors, though only barely lucid and only at times. I’m reminded of grasping at diaphanous wisps of dialogue, remembered or confabulated, desperately trying to recall some fast-escaping dreamscape in the earliest moments of a morning.
Another highlight is the charmingly named “Big Bad Blanket of Protection.” As a noted weighted blanket enjoyed myself (sleep paralysis shmeep shmaralysis amiright), I was entranced by the track’s weighty, Cologne dance floor kick worthy of my blanket’s 8-pound heft, around which dance chiptune-adjacent synths and anon slaught of percussive stabs and hats. Caught in the song’s swirl are bit-crushed snippets of conversation, the pitch of which lends nicely to the sonic canvas, creating a lackadaisical sort of balance between the highs and the lows. The timbre and inflection of these vocals remind me of claire rousay’s introspective musings – an analog only strengthened by the following track “Longest Night of the Year” and its use of text-to-speech, notably used in a similar fashion on rousay’s excellent it was always worth it EP. But whatever sentiment present in the vocals here resting beneath the song’s sediment as they are, is ultimately indiscernible. The decadent leads and indulgent kits obfuscate the words’ edges, rendering them unintelligible – that is, until the last minute and a half or so of the song. The tempo suddenly dips, submerging the cacophony under distant David Wise-esque harps and the white noise of waves and thus allowing the delicate vocals to just barely rise to comprehension’s surface. Those too eventually fade out of sight, until all that’s left is the mundane found sound of a children’s toy that leaves me feeling forlorn, somewhat unsettled, and yet utterly satisfied. The song’s six-odd minutes fly by, time itself bending to the frame of a song with a title that sounds more like a homebrew DnD item than anything. It is, in a word, superdupercool.
Fish makes an impression with more than just their music. Their website greets visitors with impact font menus adorned with technicolor drop-shadows that coalesce Fish’s various creative endeavors. These include (but are certainly not limited to) clothing and sculptures for sale or commission and public sound installations. I thought their “Dynamic Listening Instrument” was particularly cool: It consists of a jury-rigged 8-track recording device mounted on what appears to be a car battery, all of which is in turn linked to several lengths of copper wire decorated with various pastel patterns. In the embedded video, Fish explains that a magnetic field generated around the lengths of wire allows for a white plastic bucket with a speaker mounted to the underside to play recordings as it swings through their area of effect. It’s a lot to take in, to be sure, and the slapdash appearance didn’t exactly inspire confidence–– but the device worked like a charm, reminding me of a room-sized, modular theremin, only controlled by the bucket rather than hands. The potential to program unique sounds or samples to each coil elevates the instrument far past mere gimmickry, in my opinion, and I found myself thrilled by the tech’s possible uses in larger scale sound installations such as those by Swiss artist Zimoun, or Aphex Twin’s swinging piano. If any of these ancillary projects were undertaken with even slightly less energy, creativity, or competency, it’d read as twee or eccentric; instead, Fish’s oeuvre is profoundly endearing and impressive to boot.
It’s these novel approaches to familiar realms of sound that seem to inform Indecision Songs as a whole. No better illustration of this exists than the penultimate (and my personal favorite) track “Rise Again (i knw u c what dreams are made of).” With an intro that wouldn’t be out of place on any of the late great Mille Plateaux’s “Clicks & Cuts” glitch compilations, it’s no wonder that an ethereal interpolation of the theme song from Nickelodeon’s iCarly is somewhat unexpected. But Fish doubles down: amidst fragments of bashful laughter, the track transitions into a ghostly rendition of Hillary Duff/Lizzie McGuire’s anthem “This Is What Dreams Are Made Of” and back again, the sitcoms’ melodies perfectly harmonizing with the inner child. It’d all be ridiculous, juvenile, or simple nostalgia-bait – if it weren’t for both Fish being so obviously and awesomely sincere. It’s a microcosm of Indecision Songs’ strengths, exemplifying Fish and their music’s remarkable ability to duck past saccharinity and successfully tap into those feelings of wistfulness, while still being upbeat, sweet, and forward-thinking.
Jeremy Mock has been a secret weapon to many bands up and down the East Coast (Bloodsports, Wesley Wolffe, Antibroth) for some time now. As a classically trained guitarist, Mock has offered performances ranging from clicky math rock riffs and rippers, acoustic runs and arpeggiated folk pickings to brash punk-loving, muscle-spazzing noise rock that adds texture and context to each band he plays in. But on his debut self-titled album, performed under the moniker of his Brooklyn-based solo project, face of ancient gallery, Mock plays to the somber intricacies that relish in our stillness, as his musicianship and storytelling filter through the bliss and anguish of day to days.
Although sparse in complexion, Mock pulls every emotion out of the simple atmospheric backdrops he conjures. With loose and alluring melodies and incredibly articulated guitar parts, Mock embodies the cerebral functions that shiver when left unattended. The steady guitar runs of “peregrine” and “laundromat” are haunting, but ground themselves in the physical foundation of the song – finding a balance between both the heavy intervals of loss and the honest reflection of healing. “Holding” is lighter, as distant synths build a natural, almost minstrel-esque affair of feeling stuck. “untitled” germinates with a steady eeriness, enticed by a lucid cello played by Chaepter Negro. The song soon blooms into a beautiful decree of self-prescribed patience, a recounting of one’s ability to be grounded within their changing surroundings.
“He took a face from the ancient gallery” always felt like a remarkably potent line written by Jim Morrison, muttered at the midpoint of The Doors’ epic album closer “The End”. Told to be following Oedipus Rex, a story foundationally flawed and greatly recounted, face of ancient gallery becomes a retelling, recounting that fine line between a fated fall and the path of free will that got you there. “infinity speak” toys with the word forever, when left to its own accord, can lose the weight of its very meaning. Even the album closer, “i’m going to go back there someday”, originally made famous by The Muppets, finds Mock’s presence immovable – the simple chord progression and shaky melody feels to slip away with each breath, but the gasps soon mark an individual effort to make it back.
Face of ancient galley is a perception – moments where constructed time doesn’t matter much anymore, but rather the shifting souls that live within these songs are the markings of presence. The opening track “Fever Blue” was written back in 2020 when Mock was only 19. Years later, the song is no longer attuned to his current worldview, yet keeping the original lyrics is a plea for honesty, a portrait that this project will learn to represent for years to come. In a gentle and earnest melody, “fever blue” is sobering – love in the face of an inevitable end, and in the wisp of Mock’s musicianship, it is a very welcoming place to be.
face of ancient gallery will be celebrating the release of the debut record with a show on 7/28 with Paint Horse and Alice Does Computer Music at Kaleidoscope in Brooklyn, NY.
Raavi, the Brooklyn-based project fronted by Raavi Sita, have always held an ear to earnest performance – the disciplined, yet expansive sonic approach tailored to fit neatly under Sita’s equally engaging lyricism has turned some heads the past few years to say the least. Today, Raavi has shared with us a new single, “Henry”, taking a more mellow path of contemplation than before, yet at no expense to the weight it holds. Along with the single, Raavi has announced their forthcoming EP, The Upside, set to be released September 13 via Mtn. Laurel Recording Co.
Under two minutes, “Henry” is a brief formulation of personal meditation and elegant musicianship that animates the revelations of sexuality and identity that Sita has encountered over the years. But leaning back into the stepping pattern of dancing guitars and flowing with the grace of traditional folk senses, “Henry” is ultimately a patient song – the ethos of collapsing time into a minute of cathartic bliss is something that feels ambitious in practice, yet so effortless at the hands of Sita’s storytelling.
In an instant, the song begins with a mutual understanding; “Don’t worry Henry / Your secret’s safe with me,” playing to a safety blanket, one with its edges frayed and its thinning, itchy material lacking substance. But as her bright and contemplative voice command’s the open space, singing to Henry in conversation, there forms a separation between the warmth of the tune and the suffocating feelings from the story within. It’s not long before the dialogue shifts, “Oh Henry you’re no friend of mine”, only heightened by the underlying string arrangements (Nebulous Quartet) that characterize the melody as Sita’s presence matures into where she is now.
Speaking on the song, Sita shared in a statement, “it’s about realizing I wasn’t being seen by the boys and men in my life as just myself, but as a girl first. I grew up androgynous, able to act like a chameleon to fit in with my male and female friend groups with relative seamlessness in which my tomboy gender expression, while definitely acknowledged by my peers, also gave me a freedom to exist in both gendered worlds to some degree. At some point this reality came crashing down on me.” She adds, “I experienced what I think a lot of gender nonconforming kids go through in that I went from being viewed as Raavi, to Raavi the girl and all the implications that being a girl comes with.”
Watch the official visualizer for “Henry” made by Callan Thomas.
Raavi will embark on a week-long run of tour dates with labelmates Sister. on 9/4, including a festival performance at Otis Mountain Get Down. The Upside is due to be released on 9/13 off of Mtn. Laurel Recording Co. with a limited-edition run of 7″ vinyl available for preorder now.
Written by Shea Roney | Feature Photo by Veronica Bettio
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 singer-songwriter, Nisa.
Crafting a career out of skies-the-limit songs, finding a beautiful blend in the harshness of garage rock, the glittery gaze of power pop and the undeniable release of a good dance track, Nisa released her debut full-length album, Shapeshifting, off of Tender Loving Empire Records earlier this year. The album carried its name sake in both the sonic explorations and narrative feats as Nisa wrote from the freights of a moving identity; one that is no longer fitting – while in line – the next is not yet attainable.
Sharing this week’s Guest List, Nisa says:
“This playlist came together in a secret garden I found near my apartment. I wish I knew it existed before this week, but I’m also enjoying the excitement of a new place to sit. Some of these songs have been swirling around in my mind as New York enters brain-melt levels of heat, while others felt connected to my neighborhood / built environment. Also, the Durutti Column is one of my favorite bands, and listening to them feels like endless sunshine…”
Nisa will soon be playing two shows supporting King Hannah on 7/1 at Johnny Brenda’s in Philly and 7/2 at Elsewhere Space in NYC. Shapeshifting is out now on all platforms.
Grumpy is back! The Brooklyn-based project of Heaven Schmitt has returned to earth with “Protein”, the first new song shared since embarking on a four year side quest, marking a triumphant return and a huge step forward for all things Grumpy. The primarily self-produced track is a beautiful lumpy mass – a body kept alive by electro-pop ligaments and meaty distorted muscles, as they pump blood into an autotuned lament of digital longing.
Echoing a lone drum beat, Schmitt sings, “I got your message and you’re suddenly confessional/ you want to keep things strictly professional” – a chromatic plea of disappointment with the noticeable gap of digital intimacy. The chorus is loose and playful, utilizing the hyper-rock backdrop of heavy guitars and running synth licks as leverage to its dreamy and melodic palette.
“Starving for attention in a protein bar” – Grumpy thrives in the surreal, blending personal insecurities and unfiltered introspections that thrive in the absurd, telling an honest and compelling story of regret and heartbreak – a type of writing that is emotionally applicable, deeply relatable and sticks to your bones with every listen.
“Protein” is best ingested with the accompanying music video directed by Sarah Ritter (Surf Curse, Samia, Cherry Glazer). The video depicts an extraterrestrial story of obsession and longing, with a spout of alien warfare and Martian-like-wonder to highlight this new idea of futuristic vulnerability.
As Grumpy enters a new realm today, it is wise to let them show us the way. “Protein” is sincere, eclectic, introspective and irresistible, showcasing the evolution of Grumpy’s artistry and influences as they learn from, and further build out their craft. You can listen to “Protein” on all streaming platforms now.
the ugly hug 