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
Although much of my music was initially composed in solitude, it only reached its final form as a result of being performed live. Just as with jazz and folk musicians, the idea was to throw everything into the crucible of a concert to see whether it sank, floated, or even took flight. How Music Works … Read more
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.
Back in 1996, Britpop ruled the rock planet, grunge was fading out, and the late-century MTV invasion of pop-punk and nu-metal hadn’t yet arrived. Impassive and solid as a rock, there stood the “old reliable” of alternative rock. Placebo debuted with a canonical album, throwing the genre’s basic principles into a blender alongside introspective themes of drugs, sexuality, androgyny, and plenty of melancholy and infinite sadness.
For several years now, if we want to trace what the British underground represents today, we must move to a plane that transcends the musical. As is almost always the case when discussing “scenes,” this goes beyond genres; it’s about postcodes and a specific venue that manifests as a sonic melting pot: The Windmill, a tiny pub in Brixton. With minimal dimensions and low ceilings, it possesses an undeniable mystique and an “open test laboratory” attitude that rivals the major urban centers.
Back around 1990, in the small city of Monroe, Louisiana, the Clay Bears were entertaining the crowd at Enoch’s bar with a drone1piece when, ten minutes into the performance, they were forced off the stage by the venue’s owner. “But it was only one note!” protested the band’s leader. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t a very … Read more
It has been a decade since the double and surprising release of Cada can que lamba o seu carallo and Os corenta e oito nomes do inimigo. How has their proposal aged with the passage of time?
Yeah, yeah, yeah… There was a time, back in 2008, when it seemed impossible to escape that catchy hum. You heard it on the radio, in bars, in commercials, on reality shows… “Mercy” was omnipresent, but never exhausting. There was something both genuine and vintage about it that made us wonder: “Are they trying to pass off the umpteenth reincarnation of Billie Holiday on us?” But no, there was something different. And perhaps because of that—precisely because of that—her subsequent story is so uncomfortable to tell.
In the early 2000s, independent cinema began nurturing a female character archetype designed to rescue emotionally stunted male protagonists from their own insecurities through eccentricity, vinyl records, and “cute” tunes: the Manic Pixie Dream Girl phenomenon. Notable examples included Kirsten Dunst in Elizabethtown, Zooey Deschanel in (500) Days of Summer, or Mary-Elizabeth Winstead in Scott Pilgrim vs. the World. Garden State (2004) didn’t invent the manic pixie dream girl trope, but it certainly popularized and fueled it in this scene between Natalie Portman and Zach Braff.
