Today, as the Mastodon hype has settled into a more breathable comfort reserved for loyal fans, we discover that metal never needed to be validated by academia, and that, just like in horror cinema, this genre doesn’t have to be elevated to be relevant.
2928 miles (4712 km in civilized measurements) is the distance separating Grace Potter’s current home, Topanga Canyon, from her native Vermont; a journey she has made several times by car and which serves as the common thread of this road movie she presents to us.
In this second installment, we continue to search for those artists who, due to talent, hype, context, or simply bad luck, seemed to have the future in their hands. And, as often happens with the future, it ended up taking another path.
Six years have passed since Punisher made her the great icon of contemporary melancholy. With all this baggage comes her third work, an ambitious and complex piece.
For a brief moment, it seemed they were going to be the next big band. But then, almost always without much fanfare, they stopped being the future.
The tongue of the boomerati refuses to be silenced. The end of cultural consensus—chiefly derived from an era and a generation that either no longer exists or is dying off with remarkable resistance—drags us toward a cultural landscape where hours have lost their clock (in the words of Grafton Tanner) and nostalgia is, perhaps, our most precious and overexploited commodity. It is amidst the death throes of the canon that The Rolling Stones are playing their hand.
Approaching a new Elder release always sparks a certain unease. Not due to doubts about its quality, but from the vertigo of not knowing what direction a constantly mutating band will take. Over the last decade, their journey from monolithic doom/stoner to progressive rock, psychedelia, and space rock has been fascinating. Since Reflections of a … Read more
Back in 2004, on the television schedule of Spain’s society of prosperity and abundance, a high school drama series appeared, following the adventures of some very handsome Californian students and their trials and tribulations in love, luxury, and other matters. The series in question was The O.C., and one of its protagonists, besides obviously carrying … Read more
Since 2004, with their already famous “Moqueta,” the band from Boiro (A Coruña) has been an relentless steamroller ofindie rock, post-punk, shoegaze, and whatever else comes their way, if it bothers them. The now trio formed by Rodrigo, Isa, and Rafa release a new album, “Mi Catedral,” where they delve into their soundwith their characteristic defiant attitude, and where the influences that have marked their trajectory dilute to sound like nothing less than themselves.
There is a starting point in the history of American Football that in itself puts us in absurd territory. A band with barely two years of life, which released a single album in 1999 with little impact and split up without making much noise, has ended up occupying a capital place in the imagination of several generations, as they have not only made their debut a classic, but have retroactively redefined what we understand by emo, indie, or even nostalgia. In that sense, American Football are more important as a perception than as a musical phenomenon; their relevance is beyond what they did, it is in how it has been listened to afterwards.