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.
It’s not common for electronic music to be accompanied by lyrics that go beyond trivial matters, but it’s even more complicated to mix dancefloor anthems with mental health or the loss of a father.
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.
When does a work begin? When does it end? Is the creator the only person who can give it meaning? Does a certain unconsciousness help to break down certain barriers?
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.
This is not an article about Zahara; we’re not dedicating it to anyone in particular. This is not an article about motivation, but it is about intention. This is not an article about past traumas, although they may be a driving force.
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.
The Inkwell is the quarterly post where we compile albums we haven’t highlighted yet, but which are highly recommended stops on your musical radar. The 113: The Hedonist The Hedonist de The 113 If one of the standout new voices of last year was To Combat Regret, The 113 returns to gift us another wonderful … Read more
The Hold Steady emerged in Brooklyn in 2003 amidst the explosion of so-called indie music. Unlike the usual timelines boasted by the rock genre, the guys got together already at 35 years old. They weren’t young, they hadn’t hooked up with the prom queen, but like the Mississippi, they carried enough defeats and highs to tell.