Music did its best to try and apply soothing antiseptic to an otherwise frightening 2016. At least we had some sort of positive, yeah? The incredibly strong year for music has seen no issue carrying over, seamlessly, into the first three-plus months of the new year.
With spectral reverb, bleeding dyes, and a baritone inflection, Mike Turi’s project as Dream Joints is an effervescent mystery of lights and rolling smoke.
Yep Roc’s expanded 30th anniversary edition is a worthy thing to own. It’s not as hard to find as the old records, but there are plenty of extras, and the release captures Lowe’s lo-fi “bash out the tracks and meet up round the pub” philosophy.
With their latest release, Peach, The Total Bettys — Grabmeier, Bri Barrett, Chris Nolasco, Sami Perez — reinforce their contagious and unaffected fury with a collection of songs emblematic of the band’s saltwater and Pop Rocks sound.
With the hauntingly layered and chaotically cool release of 9 Bed, No Bath, Megan Hattie has launched the most entrancing and inimitable compilation of the year.
With last year’s Going Out EP, St. Paul, Minnesota’s Strange Relations created the perfect narrative of faded neon signs and corkscrewed cigarette smoke. Casey Sowa’s lyrics poured over compositions that played like eerie reveries.
The symphonic infrastructure of art across all mediums does indeed still exist in 2017, but it requires some digging beneath the surface to unearth, especially in music and cinema.
Of Ennui’s melodic discord channels My Bloody Valentine’s speaker eviscerating distortion, all while adding layers of viscous dread. There’s a defiant sense of peril, aggression, and intangible comfort throughout the record’s hypnotic running time.
Started in 2016, Angry Grrrl Music highlights “women, femmes, LGBTQ+, and minority movements in the punk rock & indie rock scenes,” and guests span from the musicians themselves to “supporting” members of the music industry like Jamie Coletta of SideOne Dummy Records and Sheridan Allen of mental health advocacy group Punk Talks.
Back before the earth cooled and life crawled from the primordial ooze, nightclubs dotted San Diego’s map. The Spirit (off of Morena Boulevard) always had great bands running through and if they knew my I.D. was fake, they never made a big deal out of it.