Issue 155 - Kamasi Washington

PUBLISHING

Crack Industries Ltd

15-16 Brunswick Square, Bristol, BS2 8NX

For any publishing enquiries

please contact publishing@crackmagazine.net

DIRECTORS & CO-FOUNDERS

THOMAS FROST tom@crackmagazine.net

JAKE APPLEBEE jake@crackmagazine.net

COMMERCIAL & EVENTS

Director LUKE SUTTON luke@crackmagazine.net

Head of Advertising and Partnerships

OSCAR HENSON oscar@crackmagazine.net

Advertising Executive CHAMA JEMMALI chama@crackmagazine.net

Product Manager

CHARLOTTE JACKSON charlotte@crackmagazine.net

Marketing Coordinator

HANNAH WHITE hannah@crackmagazine.net

CREATIVE

Design and art direction by PLINTH. Visit plinth.media for more details

Art Director MICHELLE HELENA JANSSEN michelle@crackmagazine.net

Senior Graphic Designer FEMKE CAMPBELL femke@crackmagazine.net

Junior Graphic Designer LEAH FOSTER leah@crackmagazine.net

Creative Lead MANU RODRIGUEZ manu@crackmagazine.net

Head of Video Production BENJAMIN BROOK

Senior Developer SAUL MARTIN

OUR MONTHLY MAGAZINE IS STOCKED IN OVER 500 LOCATIONS

ACROSS THE UK

Crack Magazine is distributed emission-free to venues across the UK. We use compostable packaging for posted copies and our covers are printed on sustainably sourced paper.

#NOMUSICONADEADPLANET

©

Printed

SELECTED STOCKISTS

PARADISO Amsterdam

RADION Amsterdam

HARDWAX Berlin

REFUGE WORLDWIDE

Berlin

FUSE ART SPACE

Bradford

PATTERNS

Brighton

RESIDENT

Brighton

BENE CULTURE

Birmingham

THE CHRISTMAS STEPS

Bristol

COOSHTI

Bristol

ARNOLFINI

Bristol

GLITCH Bristol

THE RED CHURCH

Bristol

EDITORIAL

Editor-in-Chief LOUISE BRAILEY

Acting Editor EMMA GARLAND

Sub Editor CHRIS PARKIN

DIGITAL

Projects Director DUNCAN HARRISON duncan@crackmagazine.net

Digital Editor ROSIE BYERS rosie@crackmagazine.net

Staff Writer / Editorial Creative ISAAC MUK

Staff Writers

DEMAJERLE MYERS JONNY DAVIS

Social Media Editor

SOPHIE LOU WILSON sophie@crackmagazine.net

Social Media Producer JESSICA ELI HILL jess@crackmagazine.net

Content and Social Media

Assistant MAYA ELLWOOD

Distribution

ROUGH TRADE

Bristol

TOBACCO FACTORY

Bristol

MICKEY ZOGGS

Bristol

CHAPTER

Cardiff

SPILLERS RECORDS

Cardiff

JUST DROPPED IN

Coventry

ALL CITY

Dublin

CLYDE BUILT RADIO

Glasgow

LA CHEETAH

Glasgow

THE SHIPPING FORECAST

Liverpool

DIG VINYL

Liverpool

JUMBO RECORDS

Leeds

ATIKA

London

CONTRIBUTORS

Words AMMAR KALIA, FRANCIS BLAGBURN, RHIAN DALY, THOMAS HOBBS, EMMA MADDEN, IANA MURRAY, ADAM QUARSHIE, MEGAN WALLACE, AMRIT BAINS

Photography

DANIELA GERMADE, NICK WALKER, RYAN MORAGA, TEREZA MONDILOVA, LOUIS HEADLAM, TJ SAWYERR, NIALL HODSON, JESSICA HILL, FENN O’MEALLY, VALESUCHI

Style

SEBASTIAN HAAS, OLIVE DURAN, MARVIN GLISSMANN, SANDRO DE MAURO, DAVID DINIZ, RACHAEL BIGELOW, DARYON IMPEY, ALEX WILSON, IVAN WEST, JOSHUA KINU, NIALL HODSON, ELLA PERRY

Illustration MAX MIDDLEWOOD, BOBBY REDMOND

Respect ABIGAIL JESSUP, JON WILKINSON, ISIS O’REGAN, SAM HADELMAN, BILLY WILLIAMS-BURRELL, MARK @ DISCONNECT, GENEVIEVE TAYLOR, LEWIS LLOYD-KINNINGS, CLARKE SONDERMANN

ADVERTISE WITH CRACK MAGAZINE ADVERTISING@CRACKMAGAZINE.NET

ROUGH TRADE EAST

London

PHONICA RECORDS

London

ROKIT TRUE VINTAGE London

CENTRAL SAINT MARTINS London

DALSTON SUPERSTORE London

GENESIS CINEMA London

NOW GALLERY London

COLLECT Lisbon

ISLINGTON MILL Manchester

PICCADILLY RECORDS Manchester

SOUP Manchester

POPUP! Paris

IF YOU

Issue 155 – May, 2024

Maybe it’s the arrival of spring, maybe it’s Mercury retrograde (if you go in for that sort of thing), but it feels like there are shifts occurring. Not in any broad or political sense, but in the mostly internal ways that people resolve to take what they have and make what they can out of it. There are seasonal reminders, too, of possibility. Plants shoot up from previously barren patches of land; make it through another endless British winter and you can handle pretty much anything.

The electric current of willpower courses through this issue in various directions. “Our days are numbered,” cover star Kamasi Washington tells Ammar Kalia, speaking hopefully rather than forebodingly. “For me it’s not about quantity but wanting to know when my time here is done that I did the things that I really wanted to do. It makes me feel fearless.” After a six year break, during which he became a father, the spiritual jazz champion has returned with a follow-up to 2018’s metaphysical Heaven and Earth with an album inspired by the more telluric pleasures of family, connection and the act of living.

Experimental folk artist Clarissa Connelly also plunges her fingers into the earth for her debut album World of Work. After being raised by devout Catholics and losing her faith at a young age – something that happened alongside her parents’ divorce and a family move from Scotland to Denmark – Connelly tells Emma Madden how she found the natural world even more beautiful in God’s absence. Her music echoes the bewilderment of her young reality crumbling, as well as the calmness that followed.

Elsewhere, Detroit rapper Veeze transforms his home city’s struggles into effortless bars laced with dark humour and real experiences. Experimental songwriter feeo explores rigid, violent themes like colonialism and environmental pillage through transportive, playful storytelling, while Chicago post-punks Stuck channel broken systems and personal grief into explosive live shows – and even tangible change (frontman Greg Obis recalls a fan approaching him at an all-ages show in Salt Lake City and saying one of their songs motivated them to start organising).

On the one hand, everything still sucks. On the other hand, look at what’s happening in spite of that fact. Keep your eyes peeled and you will notice that nature is present in many of this month’s features, if only as a passing backdrop, bringing with it a lesson in resilience.

Kamasi Washington photographed by Nick Walker in Los Angeles, April 2024

RECOMMENDS

KAPPA FUTUR

JEFF MILLS, SKRILLEX, ANZ PARCO DORA, TURIN 5-7 JULY

Kappa Futur was first held in 2009 to mark a century since the Italian poet Filippo Marinetti unleashed his Futurist Manifesto on the world, and its festival line-ups continue to tap into that cultural movement’s zeal for forward momentum. Joining the OG architects of dance music

PARDON: AMALIAH, DJ PYTHON

PARALLEL, AMSTERDAM 4 MAY

Jeff Mills, Carl Craig and Kevin Saunderson’s Inner City at this post-industrial art park in Turin is a massed crew of modern-day dancefloor disruptors with their own agenda, including KI/KI, Anz, DJ Nobu, and Blawan in a mindmelting b2b with Skrillex.

HOWTHELIGHTGETSIN

JAMES HOLDEN, TARA CLERKIN TRIO, SEA POWER HAY-ON-WYE, POWYS 24-27 MAY

The globe-trotting philosophy and music weekender lands in Hay to cook up another five-star feast of brain food. With discussions on the future of conflict, antireality and quantum theory, featuring speakers including Slavoj Žižek, Paterson Joseph and Myriam François (among hundreds of others), this is a utopia of existential crises. We’ll also discover what the future sounds like for dub-folk-into-wyrdjazz meanderers Tara Clerkin Trio, gnawa-powered synth explorer James Holden, Richard Dawson, Sea Power and The Orb. Bring an open mind.

CLUB

CELESTE:

CELESTE

THE CAUSE 18 MAY

SHANTI

& FRIENDS

MITSKI

EVENTIM APOLLO 10 MAY

MAD COOL

FESTIVAL

PEARL

JAM, JANELLE MONÁE, THE BREEDERS

IBERDROLA MUSIC, MADRID 10-13 JULY

BROCKWELL PARK 24 MAY

This Madrid blockbuster found its feet last year after relocating to a purpose-built festival space powered by renewable energy. This year, it expands to four days with a stacked programme of rock, pop and everything in between. Smashing Pumpkins, Pearl Jam, Sum 41, Garbage, Dua Lipa and Janelle Monáe sling scruffy anthems and pop pizazz, while pretenders to the crown like Tyla, Soccer Mommy, Nia Archives, Kneecap and Rema bring their own youthful eclecticism to the show. Expect a scorcher.

KAREN NYAME KG, BOK BOK

CORSICA STUDIOS 18 MAY

PARADISE CITY FESTIVAL

CYMANDE, VEGYN, DJ GIGOLA RIBAUCOURT CASTLE, PERK 28-30 JUNE

This garden party in the grounds of Ribaucourt Castle, just outside Brussels, ticks all boxes for the modern festival-goer. With a shelf creaking under the weight of sustainability awards and a programme of activities for body and mind, this is a festival with a conscience. And just as much care has gone into the line-up, which features live sets by returning Britfunk gems Cymande, Crack cover star Vegyn, Sofia Kourtesis and Kiasmos, plus a contemporary dance production from Lefto Early Bird. DJ Gigola, Ron Trent and Suze Ijó are among those on the decks.

EXIT FESTIVAL

GUCCI MANE, SAMA’ ABDULHADI, BARRY CAN’T SWIM PETROVARADIN FORTRESS, NOVI SAD 10-14 JULY

The activism may be less in-your-face than it once was at this Serbian summer institution born out of youth rebellion, but EXIT keeps flying the flag for social change whenever it returns to its fortress home on the Danube. This year, the festival celebrates world-changing figures throughout history with a line-up swinging from Bonobo, Sama’ Abdulhadi and Helena Hauff to big guns Kenya Grace, Gucci Mane and Black Eyed Peas. There’s also room for Rage Against the Machine riff-conjurer Tom Morello, Anatolian psych wonders Altın Gün and a stage of politico-punk veterans.

ERIKA DE

ICA 11 MAY

DJ LAG

VILLAGE UNDERGROUND 26 MAY

OUTBREAK FEST

ROUNDHOUSE 9 MAY

ACTION BRONSON, JPEGMAFIA, SOCCER MOMMY

28-30 JUNE

BEC ARENA, MANCHESTER

KOKO 29 MAY BERLIN DANCE

Outbreak is back for another three-day binge of underground punk spanning art, zines, talks and sonic fury. Setting the theme on day one is an alt rap triumvirate of Action Bronson, Danny Brown collaborator JPEGMAFIA and Flatbush Zombies, who then pass the amp-wrecking baton to an astutely curated mix of acts that traverse the spectrum of hardcore’s past, present and future. American Football, Thursday and Poison the Well unleash the melodic hits, while Show Me the Body, Ceremony, hardcore supergroup Fiddlehead and the SST-worshipping Angel Du$t incite non-stop mayhem.

NOS ALIVE

TYLA, SMASHING PUMPKINS, KHRUANGBIN

PASSEIO MARÍTIMO DE ALGÉS, PORTUGAL 11-13 JULY

Another city adventure to weave into your holiday plans. NOS Alive will set up shop by the riverside in Algés, just west of Lisbon, with seriously grammable views of the city’s iconic suspension bridge in the distance.

Providing a fittingly epic soundtrack at sundown and beyond are pop queen Dua Lipa, Grammy-nabbing R&B star Tyla, and sultry lo-fi pop stylists Khruangbin and Unknown Mortal Orchestra. A dedicated club stage, featuring Genesis Owusu and Tourist, offers a counterpoint to the anthemic chugging of Smashing Pumpkins and Pearl Jam.

CLARISSA

MAY

POLIFONIC PUGLIA

DJ KOZE, SAOIRSE, EGYPTIAN LOVER

ITRIA VALLEY, PUGLIA

25-28 JULY

After their excursion inland to Milan earlier in the summer, the Polifonic crew heads back to their flagship location in the stunning Itria Valley on the Puglia coast. Diversity and rave positivity are the name of the game as a who’s who of dance music’s most cosmic and exploratory figures, including Bambounou, Saoirse, DJ Koze, Palms Trax, Egyptian Lover, and Arabic funk and soul treasure hunters Habibi Funk, inject contemporary rhythms into a very Med pace of life. Only good vibes guaranteed.

【Words】

Adam Quarshie

【Photography】

Daniela Germade

RISING

SOUNDS LIKE: HAZY BEATS FOR CURIOUS MINDS

SOUNDTRACK FOR: INTROSPECTIVE SPRINGTIME AFTERNOONS

FILE NEXT TO: TIRZAH, FKA TWIGS

OUR FAVOURITE SONG: TNTEEN

WHERE TO FIND HER: @_FEEO_

“There’s a hopelessness that you get in England and it’s reflected in the weather.”

I’m on a video call with feeo (real name Theodora Laird) as she takes a break from her day job. The producer and vocalist takes a second to look out of the window at the rain pounding the London streets on a dreary day in mid-March. She is thinking about the rigidity of the British class system, the decimation of protest movements by the Thatcher government, and the idea of “England as the exasperating epicentre of all of this suffering”.

Against that kind of backdrop, you might expect the music she creates to err on the side of gloomy, but a typical feeo record is, much like the impression she gives on our call, warm and open. Her latest self-released EP, Run Over, the follow-up to last year’s Ah, Hunger!, balances playful experimentation with sophisticated composition and incisive storytelling. Full of unexpected melodic leaps, it melds a pop sensibility with glitchy beats, over which her voice soars, powerful and densely textured. Run Over showcases both her talents as a songwriter, and her capacity to engage with the mundane, the deeply personal and the political all in the space of one track. The World Weeps, Her Cancer Conceived in

Sweet England , for instance, discusses colonialism and environmental pillage in tones so soft you barely notice the violence of the lyrics.

feeo, who is 24, grew up steeped in the performing arts. She developed an interest at school and was also influenced by the Caribbean storytelling traditions imparted by her dad, an actor.

“I just always did all the things. I was a drama kid. I did musical theatre later on, which is such a crazy thing to do,” she says, chuckling about a childhood spent immersed in a medium she describes lovingly as “crazy” and “depraved”.

Currently, she’s getting deeper into exploring the politics of performance.

“There’s so much stuff with Blackness and performance, and perception and self-perception, which I think is super interesting,” she says, citing the theories of African-American poet and academic Fred Moten, who saw within Black identity and performance the possibility of transgression and escape from established norms.

feeo’s interest in developing her onstage presence, and exploring the boundaries of performance and being watched, partly stems from her early childhood, when her family moved from northwest London to Witney, a market town on the edge of the Cotswolds. “It wasn’t super bad. It wasn’t like a crazy random little village where you get stared at. I just quietly felt like an alien

It was during her early teens that music began to play an outsize role in her life, allowing her to overcome feelings of angst and loneliness. She began to combine her love of The Smiths and the electric guitar with her skills on the piano and the possibilities of sound collage offered by electronic production. After releasing her first tracks at the age of 18, she went on to collaborate with like-minded artists, among them Loraine James. She added her tender vocals to the sputtering beats on James’ track Sensual, from her 2019 album For You and I.

For now, feeo’s focus is squarely on what’s coming up. In the run up to gigs in London, Leeds and Glasgow, feeo will be experimenting with different ways of translating her EPs to a live audience. She’s also working on her first album, which is an opportunity to sharpen and expand her creative vision, and fully explore the boundaries between contemporary political topics, her own identity and the fertile space opened up by performance. In fact, you sense that feeo is almost impatient to get her music – and the abundance of ideas it engenders – out into the world. “I kind of get so obsessive about it,” she laughs. “And then it is quite nice to let go of it and just have this release; like,

【Words】 Ammar Kalia

【Photography】 Nick Walker

【Photography Assistant】 Ryan Moraga

【BTS Video】 Tobey Lee

Kamasi Washington is a revolutionary figure in the L.A. jazz scene, celebrated for his soaring, cosmic improvisations – and his work with everyone from Kendrick Lamar to Michelle Obama.

On Fearless Movement, the saxophonist’s first full-length in six years, he finds inspiration in more earthly pleasures: family, connection and the act of living

The covers of saxophonist Kamasi Washington’s last two albums cast him as a towering, mythical force in music. On his 2015 debut, The Epic, he floats surrounded by imagined planets and speckled stars, while 2018’s follow-up, Heaven and Earth, frames him between a placid cerulean lake and mountainscape, his feet miraculously hovering just above the water. In each image he is alone, crowned by his afro, adorned in medallions and clutching his talismanic tenor sax: a jazz warrior seemingly from outer space.

They are striking, fantastical concoctions bringing to mind the spiritual jazz imagery of forebears like Sun Ra, Pharoah Sanders or Alice Coltrane. Yet, they also ring true to Washington’s own story. Over the past decade, the six-foot-tall bandleader has become a key proponent of a new L.A. jazz scene, a figurehead championing a distinctly maximalist sound unlike any other improvisations that have

been released in the 21st century. It is Washington’s fast-paced, frenetic horn that you hear on Kendrick Lamar’s seminal 2015 rap-G-funk-jazz fusion record To Pimp a Butterfly, for instance, while his combination of choral music, orchestral arrangement and searing improv on The Epic led him to be labelled “the jazz voice of Black Lives Matter” by the late critic Greg Tate.

This ambitious and dynamic music has been performed everywhere from gargantuan festivals like Coachella and Glastonbury, to New York’s Whitney Museum of American Art, the L.A. Philharmonic and, more recently, onscreen as the score for Michelle Obama’s autobiographical documentary Becoming. On stage, Washington is often accompanied by his tenperson strong L.A. musical collective the West Coast Get Down, yet he labels the process of making his concept-laden music a “very solitary” activity.

“Music used to be mostly me by myself,” he explains. “I was alone, thinking, dreaming and writing.”

Now, though, things have changed. Look closer at the cover for his latest, third album, Fearless Movement , and you will notice a difference. Washington is still standing strong, front and centre, but gone are the planets and majestic scenery, replaced instead with a brightly coloured background of painted abstract shapes. His feet are planted firmly on white ground, his saxophone has been replaced by a wooden staff, and off to his left is the blurred figure of a child screaming with joy. He is no longer alone.

The image depicts Washington’s three-yearold daughter, whose birth fundamentally shifted the way he sees himself and his music. “I changed from being a musician to being a father. I’m still practising for hours every day but she’s often there with me, playing music and listening,” he says in a soft drawl over a video call from his L.A. home, dressed down in a beanie hat and filling the screen with his warm presence. “She’s included into the process and I’ve become used to working with another energy infused into the room.”

That energy is so pronounced that the second track on the album, Asha the First , was created directly from his daughter’s experimentation in Washington’s music room, where

hitting the keys and suddenly realised that if she plays the same notes, the same sound will come out,” he says with a smile. “She didn’t know that you could repeat a sequence until that

The result is an eight-minute funk odyssey, underpinned by the cacophonous double-percussion of Ronald Bruner Jr. and Tony Austin. Soaring above the rhythm section,

he is speaking now as the Californian sun streams across its wood panelled walls. “She’s been into playing piano since before she could talk. When she was almost two she was with me

moment, so she ended up playing this melody five or six times that I then recorded to turn into a song.”

meanwhile, is Washington’s typically liquid, lyrical soloing and his daughter’s keening harmony, born from her instinctual improvisation. It is a track with a dense and forceful sound that

is liable to knock you sideways if turned up to the right volume – an effect that Washington has harnessed for a specific purpose across the entire album.

“I’m 43 now, which definitely sounds old, and it’s given me a shift in perspective,” he says with a laugh. “I’m

Indeed, throughout the album’s 12 tracks, the unifying thread that ties together melody, counterpoint and blistering improvisation is the thump of complex and often competing rhythms, challenging the listener to be moved by their vibration. On Get Lit there is the sludgy slap of a funk

Sand explodes with a free-jazz double drum solo over duelling piano and organ phrases. It might be a strange thing to say about a work of music, but there is hardly any silence in the album’s 86-minute runtime. Instead, listeners gasp for breath in the brief breaks between tracks, readying themselves

less interested in what I’m playing and more in how it affects the listener and the world. About halfway through the making of the album, I realised I wanted to make a record that would inspire people to move. I wanted music that people would react to, rather than just listen to.”

groove with kick drums scattered through trashy cymbals, while Dream State develops its anxious rhythm through a shuddering synth and double-time phrases on Washington’s sax. Prologue spends eight minutes working through machine-gun snare hits and breakbeats, and Lines In the

The attraction to movement and reactive music is one that has been with Washington ever since he was a child. Growing up in the same South Central L.A. neighbourhood that he lives in now, Washington’s jazz musician father Rickey encouraged his musical education from an early age. First picking up the drums as a three-year-old, before moving on to piano, clarinet and saxophone, Washington became enthralled with jazz after a cousin lent him a mixtape full of drummer Art Blakey’s compositions when he was 11. From then on, Washington began playing in high school jazz groups as well as dropping into jam sessions in the arts hub of his local Leimert Park neighbourhood, watching everyone from hip-hop artists Freestyle Fellowship to Afrofuturist composer Horace Tapscott’s Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra.

“Watching this music live, you understand that it isn’t about sitting, nodding your head and taking notes,” he says. “It has a connection to dance and movement. Once you feel the sound, it takes over you and you can’t help it. I see that in my daughter – if she hears something and she likes it, she’s gonna move. All music is dance music, we just let that connection go sometimes.”

Nowhere was this clearer than when Washington would spend time as a child with his aunt, the dancer Lula Washington. “I basically grew up in her dance studio and witnessed the natural link between highly expressive, improvisational music and dance,” he says. “She created a piece with one of my biggest heroes, McCoy Tyner, and when they performed that, I remember feeling that art should always be like this. The idea to do something similar has been swimming in my head ever since.”

to be propelled once more as the band strikes up, ready to let loose.

This connection between what we hear and how we move finds its fullest expression in the videos accompanying Fearless Movement. In the visual for the single Prologue, Washington reunites with longtime collaborator A.G. Rojas to marshal dozens of masked dancers as they sweep through cavernous rooms of a house, presenting fluid movements and intimate moments of connection that produce an impressionistic narrative for Washington’s urgent melodies. “I’ve been dreaming of hearing my music and seeing people dancing at a high level to it, and that’s what Prologue was about – it was seeing the next iteration of what this music could do,” he says. “The best part was that some of the dancers we used were also people who used to dance with my aunt Lula.”

EVEN WHEN FAMILY ISN’T THERE,

it’s always in the music.

As well as these intergenerational dancers interpreting his insistent rhythm, Fearless Movement sees Washington enlist an array of vocalists to add another layer of kineticism to the record. On Get Lit , Washington collaborates with P-Funk pioneer George Clinton, after a chance meeting at an L.A. art show led to a studio date that “took the funk level all the way up to the mothership,” while L.A. duo Taj and Ras Austin provide scattergun flows on Asha the First . Instrumentally, collaborations also come from powerhouse bassist (and Washington’s childhood friend) Thundercat, and rapper-turned-flautist André 3000 delivers a rare, meditative feature on woodwind for Dream State.

The mix of sounds is one that mirrors Washington’s musical upbringing. “L.A. has historically had an overlooked jazz scene, which means its musicians used to play other genres, too,” he explains. “When I was coming up, I would play hip-hop, funk, R&B, rock, and all of that has now found its way back into my music. Having these collaborators on the record is just a natural reflection of me listening to my dad’s jazz at home and rap with my friends.”

Washington’s first tour while studying for his degree in ethnomusicology was with West

Coast rap stalwart Snoop Dogg in 2002. Taking weeks off during term time to play dates across the country, Washington and the rest of Snoop’s band would often alternate between jazz and hip-hop while on the road. “We used to play [John Coltrane’s standard] Giant Steps at soundcheck and head to jazz clubs after the shows – it was all mixed in,” he says, laughing. “Snoop is a student of music and is passionate about all of it, so I’m sure he was happy that his entire band was jazz musicians. It felt natural.”

After making it past 40 and experiencing fatherhood, Washington’s work on Fearless Movement feels both like a full-circle moment to take in his life’s inspirations and a fresh step forward. “In the past, I was making music that was like scoring a movie in my mind – it was telling fantastical stories of planets that didn’t exist,” he says. “Since becoming a father and making it out of Covid, I felt here on Earth, in this time and with the people that are in it. I’m more grounded, and maybe that’s why I gravitated towards dance because of the way it speaks to our bodies and how we connect with each other.”

Feet planted firmly on the ground, Washington feels as emboldened as he has ever been to experiment and push his music in new

directions. “We’re about to tour across the U.S. and the show is going to be different; it won’t be what people are used to me sounding like,” he says with a cryptic smirk.

“This is a dance record so maybe we’ll play the clubs! I really enjoy the idea of being an ambassador and taking the music to people who haven’t necessarily heard it, or don’t really even know that they want to hear it. We’ll be out there.”

He might be journeying into the unknown but Washington will have his family close by, in the tunes that have been inspired by them, and in person since his father Rickey is a touring member of his group. “I also play my dad’s saxophone, the second one he ever bought after the first got stolen,” Washington adds. “Even when family isn’t there, it’s always in the music.”

There are also countless new projects on the horizon: a graphic novel, a ballet, which will be choreographed by Lula’s daughter, and a score for the new anime by Cowboy Bebop creator Shinichirō Watanabe. “When you get a bit older, you start to see the horizon of your lifetime. I started to feel like, I gotta fit all these things in,” Washington says, gazing past the camera and out of the window next to

him. “Our days are numbered. For me it’s not about quantity but wanting to know when my time here is done that I did the things that I really wanted to do. It makes me feel fearless.”

Above all the musical or creative projects Washington wants to complete, he believes the most important thing he needs to ‘do’ is the act of living itself.

“As big as music is, and as impactful as it can be on the world, who you are and what you actually bring to the table from your heart is bigger than what you know on your instrument,” he explains. “Life is larger than music.”

With that, it’s time to get up, get out into the world and see what the sun-filled day brings. No doubt Washington’s daughter will be by his side, moving to the improvisations and discovering new ways to express her own ever-developing life in the process.

”

Hat: LOUTRE

Jacket: SUPREME X MAISON MARGIELA

Trousers: LOUTRE

Shoes: NIKE Jewellery: ARTIST’S OWN

【Words】 Thomas Hobbs

【Photography】 TJ Sawyerr

【Stylist】 Daryon Impey

【Lighting Technician】 Alex Wilson

【Lighting Assistant】 Jivan West

【Production Assistant】 Joshua Kinu

In an already crowded field, Veeze’s dark humour and effortless flow have helped establish him as one of Detroit’s most original rappers. Now, the 29-year-old is ready to take on the world beyond Michigan

The first thing you notice about Veeze is his voice. The rising rapper from Detroit has a tone that sits somewhere between bronchitis and a death-rattle rasp – all crunchy gravel, animated by evocative turns of phrase. This characteristic carries through into his free-flowing raps, where his drowsy croak gives the impression that he’s issuing threats directly into your ear, like Brando’s Don Corleone.

Sinking back into a chair backstage at Islington venue The Garage, the 29-year-old is feeling reflective. “If you spoke to someone who knew me in the first grade, they’d say I rap just like how I talk. I’ve never really raised my voice.” He pauses. “I am not going to the studio and making up a character like these other guys.”

It’s just a few hours before Veeze is set to perform his first ever headline UK show, and there’s a palpable buzz in the air: his day one friends are raucously singing along to early Young Thug and debating whether aliens created the pyramids; a Deliveroo driver arrives with a huge box of Chinese food; and there’s so much weed smoke in the air it’s like walking through a THC-enriched sauna. Yet despite the backstage chaos, Veeze barely breaks a sweat, possessing the composure of someone who’s been doing this for a lifetime already – a quality traceable

20

“I ALWAYS TOUCH BACK TO THE PEOPLE WHO GOT NOTHING AND ALL the real servants IN THE STREET. I COULD RAP ABOUT HAVING 12 Rolls-Royces, BUT MAYBE ONLY Jay-Z WILL RELATE TO THAT”

to a tough upbringing that has bestowed in him the value of perseverance. It also means that whenever he brags, it feels hard-won rather than cocky. “I never need to be humble in my life, because I am sick !” he exclaims. “Look, there ain’t nobody in this whole world who is gonna get on a song and have a better verse than me.”

Since emerging around the start of this decade, Veeze has established himself as one of Detroit’s most strikingly original rappers and the kind of critical darling who gets Pitchfork affiliated writers salivating on their socials. Last year, rap critic Alphonse Pierre observed, “Veeze just does what he wants; he’s a rambler in the style of mixtape-era Lil Wayne.” A typical Veeze bar often feels like someone having an epiphany after waking from a deep sleep, and shot through with a wicked sense of humour. “I’m going ape shit, I might climb the Empire State Building,” he raps on No Sir Ski, a highlight from his 2023 album Ganger. This is trap music beamed from the ninth circle of hell, an intoxicating combination of metallic, curb-stomping drums, doom-inducing ticking hi-hats and spooky synth lines. On Rich Rockstar he brags that he puts so many stacks of cash under his pillow that they should call him the tooth fairy, while earlier song Wilt references a bag full of cocaine that’s so white it “looks like dandruff.” As an MC, he insists that none of his playful lyrics are written down and that he freestyles everything akin to an improvisational comedian, “becoming one with the beat. I walk out the booth and my ni***s are like, do you realise what you just said, bro!?”

He credits his environment with cultivating his dark sense of humour. Veeze grew up in the city’s Southfield area, near Seven Mile – a place where violent crime is 35 percent higher than the national average. Here, selling crack cocaine is commonplace, and the police often hire bounty hunters to go after criminals. “Because of how dark it is, we laugh at the craziest stuff,” he explains, candidly. “In Detroit, we laugh at our worst moments.” Not far from where Veeze grew up is the 400acre abandoned Northville Regional Psychiatric Hospital. Like so many of the dilapidated buildings and former factories in the area, it’s filled with transients and has taken on a deathly countenance; the original prestige of its architecture giving way to brutal decay. Veeze says this derelict backdrop means Seven Mile and other areas around Detroit – places known for urban legends like the human-eating Michigan Dogman – feel like an abandoned horror movie set, particularly at night. “If I had to shoot a horror movie, I’d have everything I need at home.”

Recalling his youth, Veeze says he grew up with a hustler’s mentality,

someone who could “even sell apples and pears for a good price”. He also spent his formative years listening to rap’s finest storytellers: artists like 2Pac, DMX, Jay-Z, Lil Wayne, Cam’ron, Nate Dogg, Bun B, Scarface, Jadakiss and Busta Rhymes. “The problem was those guys are masterminds and geniuses, so listening to them will make you feel like you can’t rap,” the artist – who only started rapping at 26 – admits. “It took for rap to get a lot weaker for me to be confident enough. When the standards of rap dropped, I thought: yeah, I can get in there!”

This flash of modesty is perhaps a little misplaced. After all, he counts the likes of Lil Uzi Vert and Lil Yachty (who both appeared as guests on Ganger) among his fans. The support makes sense: two proudly weird rap outliers intent on going their own way. He also has co-signs from Detroit peers like Babyface Ray, Icewear Vezzo, Peezy, 42 Dugg and Talibando. Together, these Michigan artists are leading a new renaissance for American street rap –making party music for people who need eyes in the back of their heads.

Arguably, the region hasn’t garnered this much attention since Eminem’s peak, or the days of J Dilla. But where Veeze feels unique is the way his sound so often veers left, trading endless brutal quips for revelations that pierce through his armour. It’s refreshing how he lets the listener peek into the imperfect human being behind all of the superhero posturing. Yes, his setlist for the London show is loaded with bass-heavy hood anthems, but go a little deeper into his discography and you discover a vein of rap that tunes into emo sensibilities. On Unreleased Leak, violins whistle out in a way that’s both glorious and melancholy. Veeze floats across this downcast instrumental, unsure whether to project hyper confidence (“Connected with no plug like the bluetooth,” he drawls), or to question the expectations around fame (“These n****s think I’m famous, I don’t even feel different ”).

“I never get to perform those slower songs,” he reflects. “I look at music like creating different moods for a movie. You want to make people feel strong, but also give them something for their weaker moments, too.”

On Tony Hawk, acoustic guitar tempts out frank admissions about self-medicating and paranoia. Despite the personal demons being excavated, though, Tony Hawk contains his mission statement: “I don’t give a fuck how old I am / I’m still gon’ grind like Tony Hawk.” It’s the sound of someone weighing up all their shortcomings, but still winning – a transformational journey that makes the listener feel like they can also beat the very bleakest odds.

No matter how big he gets, Veeze insists he will always root his subject matter in the perspective of the underdogs and the disenfranchised. “I came up off of rapping. It isn’t like I had a sweet outfit or a big chain or a cool haircut before I rapped. I always touch back to the people who got nothing and all the real servants in the street. I could rap about having 12 Rolls-Royces, but maybe only Jay-Z will relate to that.”

Tonight’s venue is filling up and Veeze disappears to prepare for the show. There isn’t a person in the crowd who looks older than 25, and when Veeze finally emerges on the stage just after 9 p.m., the screams tell you everything you need to know about where his career is heading. Afterwards, I catch up with Veeze one last time backstage. He’s surrounded by women and smiling from ear-to-ear. He wipes some sweat away and looks to the ground for a moment, where there’s an endless pile of double cups and backpacks. With typical self-belief, Veeze concludes: “There’s a lot of famous rich rappers we can live without, but if you take me out, it would be a blank spot in life. I’ve come so far and I’m going to go a lot further,” he says, mirthfully. “You know, there’s people back home who never expected me to make it out the hood and to be doing shows out in London… but here I am.”

GANGER IS OUT NOW ON NAVY WAVY/ WARNER

Veeze

Sweater: MARNI Glasses & Jewellery: ARTIST’S OWN

22

【Words】 Megan Wallace

【Photography】 Tereza Mundilová

【Photography Assistant】 Louis Headlam

【Digi Tech】 Sebastian Haas

【Stylist】 Olive Duran

【Hair & Makeup】 Marvin Glißmann

【Set Design】 Sandro de Mauro

【Set Design Assistant】 David Diniz

【Producer】 Rachael Bigelow

Bogotá-born DJ and producer

Bitter Babe is bending the sounds of the Latin diaspora into new and unusual shapes as she creates future-facing club music for a connected world

Let’s set the scene. We’re in a club – though the exact geographical location could be anywhere, really – and there’s a DJ in the booth: dark hair, dark clothes and a slight, confident smile. There’s a push and pull between complex, coiling rhythms and bass, which reverberates around the room, moving through you. The selections are switchy and eclectic, cycling through genres as disparate as raptor house, breakbeat, techno, guaracha and dembow, but there’s also a fluidity to the mix. It seems effortless. This is Bitter Babe: someone who doesn’t need to shout to be heard.

The DJ and producer, real name Laura Solarte, originally hails from Bogotá and is currently based in Berlin, where her profile soared as part of the city’s experimental club scene. Over the past few years, she’s played two well-received Boiler Rooms; toured the US, Europe, Australia, Asia and Latin America; dropped two EPs with frequent collaborator Nick León; and featured on compilations for the likes of Air Texture. To say she has been busy is an understatement, but it is this relentless forward motion that has positioned her as one of the most exciting selectors of the mid 2020s.

When I speak to Solarte over Zoom, she’s coming off the back of a characteristically frenetic few days. Careening from airport to airport, she jumped behind the decks at clubs in Madrid, Bristol and Barcelona from Thursday to Saturday, before returning home to Berlin for her Crack shoot. (“Very eclipse energy,” she says, wryly, in reference to her “very intense” commute). Bare-faced yet brandishing flawless, 3D-embellished acrylic nails, Solarte is enjoying a rare moment of respite in her apartment – alone except for her cat, whose grey tail occasionally flicks into view from the edges of her laptop screen.

The musician is dressed, typically for her, in monochrome – wearing an oversized, black-andwhite Selena T-shirt. “I’m a Scorpio. When I dress up, I’ve always felt more comfortable in darker shades; feminine, sexy, a bit Tumblr vibes – the stuff that made me confident in that 2014 era,” she remarks. Now 23

“I definitely don’t want to feel like I’m boxing myself into a style, or into a sound. If I get bored, I’m gonna hate it”

she’s finally able to take a breath, one thing is top of mind for Solarte: finding new headphones. “I kind of need them, like, right now,” she laughs. With a free weekend on the horizon, her old pair breaking has thwarted plans to throw herself into the production side of her practice – specifically, a delayed EP for Colombian label TraTraTrax.

You only have to catch a snippet of one of Solarte’s sets to see her natural talent for DJing – from the way she dances with each track, to her propensity for laying down unexpected grooves like Nina Sky’s Move Ya Body or a mutant Overmono remix. But after a relentless touring schedule, she’s excited about the opportunity to immerse herself in her artist project. She welcomes the concentration that production necessitates; the opportunity to escape the day-to-day – the laundry piling up, the mounting admin and bureaucracy to take care of – and build new sonic worlds from her laptop. “It gives me a lot of excitement to work on music when I have the time and I can focus,” she says. “It brings a different energy.”

Solarte’s relationship with TraTraTrax is long-running and symbiotic, making the label the natural home for the producer’s forthcoming EP. Founded in 2020 by Colombian artists Nyksan (Nicolás

“Reggaeton, dembow – THESE THINGS ARE MASSIVE IN THE WORLD RIGHT NOW. I want to explore [these genres] WITHIN CLUB MUSIC, AND TAKE IT TO A DIFFERENT LEVEL”

[León] on the EP, because they didn’t know him, and to make a link between Colombia and Miami, the places that I feel most inspired writing music.”

Sánchez), Verraco (JP López) and DJ Lomalinda (Daniel Uribe), TraTraTrax has grown into a movement – one Solarte is proudly part of. Platforming amorphous, diverse and ever-evolving sounds from Latin America and its diaspora, the label’s reach sprawls across boundaries and genres, just like the DJ-producer herself. She’s released with the label twice already, most recently contributing the propulsive Nadie lo puede parar to their first No pare, sigue sigue compilation in 2022. Before that, she dropped the industrial-tinged, post-reggaeton EP, Fuego Clandestino , with Nick León, which announced the duo’s futurefacing take on club music.

However, as Solarte explains, her contributions to the TraTraTrax world aren’t just as a producer but as part of the community. “Me and Verraco have been close friends for a long time, we’ve always supported each other,” she says. “Verraco and the other two founders also liked the sound of combining Latin sounds with club music, pushing it forward. That’s when they created the label, without high expectations, but just to have a space for people to do this.” For Solarte, working with a crew was a no-brainer.

“I was in Miami and JP [López] asked me who I thought they should release on the next EP,” she recalls. “I was like, ‘Well, me!’ I also wanted to invite Nick

As an artist working within the open-ended, collaborative TraTraTrax roster, she was able to help influence the label’s creative DNA as it began to establish itself, and give it access to scenes in Miami and Europe. “Even though I’m not officially part of the label, it’s always felt like my home and a place where I can give my opinion. At the beginning, I had a part in guiding the sound and helping them to find new artists,” she says. “JP told me they wanted to start working with remixes from more established artists and that Simo Cell would be a dream. I was like, ‘I get it, let me talk to him,’ and when we spoke to him, he was super down.”

Now, Solarte is ready to continue building infrastructure and community for artists bending reggaeton, dembow and the sounds of the Latin diaspora into new and unusual shapes within the club space. Indeed, the musician is readying the launch of her very own party: Anhell. Taking a portmanteau of the Spanish and English words “ángel” and “hell” for its name, the club night touches down at London’s Night Tales in early May, with Nick León, Surusinghe and Solarte herself already tapped to play. As the self-described “cult leader” of the party, she’s excited for the opportunity to curate a night that represents her tastes and vision. “The idea is to do it in different cities around the world and to curate line-ups that feel close to what I do and the people I’m inspired by,” she explains.

This kind of international ambition comes naturally to Solarte. Even when she is static in one place, crafting tracks from her home in Berlin, her creative boundaries remain porous – always ready to absorb new inspirations and perspectives. It’s fitting, then, that when asked about the direction she wants to cultivate as an artist, she admits her journey is always in flux. “I’m not one hundred percent sure, just in the way I haven’t ever been in my life,” she laughs. “I’m always like, ‘OK, I like this, but now I want to adapt it.’ I definitely don’t want to feel like I’m boxing myself into a style, or into a sound. If I get bored, I’m gonna hate it.”

Solarte is unambiguous about one thing, though: she’s embracing the challenge of stretching her project into new, more accessible spaces. Just don’t call it “commercial”. “I hate the word, but after this EP I want to work with producers who can help bring my music to a bigger audience,” she says. “I want to take my music out of the underground but still be myself, still portray who I am, without selling myself.”

Solarte isn’t in the business of undermining her integrity. Rather, she’s ready to ask for the recognition she knows her sound deserves. “Reggaeton, dembow – these things are massive in the world right now,” she says. “I want to explore [these genres] within club music, and take it to a different level.”

BITTER BABE WEARS DIESEL STREAMLINE WATCH

Bitter

Produced

When Clarissa Connelly lost her faith at a young age, the world cracked wide open to reveal all its beauty and horror. On her dreamlike new album, World of Work, the Copenhagenbased composer, producer and multi-instrumentalist is revelling in the ecstasy of the unknown

【Words】 Emma Madden

【Photography & Set Design】 Niall Hodson

【Flower Design】 Ella Perry

Clarissa Connelly first experienced death in a childhood nightmare. In the dream, a mysterious gunman chased down Connelly and her family as they ran scared through heather fields. When the bullets finally struck their backs, Connelly said goodbye to everyone she’d ever known. After a brief surge of terror, she felt something akin to acceptance and peace; gratitude for her life and everything she was leaving behind. “That feeling of dying has stuck with me ever since,” she says from a practice space in Denmark. “The feeling of letting go, the feeling that it would be OK.”

On World of Work, her third album and debut for Warp, the Copenhagen-based musician meets the ever-present threat of death with the same kind of serenity and grace she found in her dream. “I think I’m trying to create a feeling of reassurance that there is goodness and great beauty in the world,” she says. “Even though there’s a lot of sorrow and grief and death, I want my music to create a calmness, an acceptance of those terms.”

Across the album’s tracks, which range from 16th-centuryinspired lamentations to apocalyptic prog rock, we find an artist in close proximity to the entire range and potential of the human spirit. From the ascetic to the voluptuous, the terrifying to the ecstatic, Connelly is that rare artist who finds the point where these opposites cross.

A former student of Meredith Monk’s, Connelly is one of experimental composition’s most exciting new talents. And, alongside Erika de Casier, ML Buch and Astrid Sonne (who she studied alongside at the Rhythmic Music Conservatory in Copenhagen), Connelly provides further proof that Denmark is making some of the best music in the world right now. “That’s nice,” she says with a laugh and a blush when I tell her so, displaying both a genuine gratitude and a kind of bemusement. “We don’t have to pay

tuition fees here, and some of us even get paid to study,” she says, by way of an explanation.

By anyone’s standards, World of Work is an epic endeavour. It is an album that mirrors the arc of existence itself, beginning in a place of disorientation and confusion on the concert piano-led Into This, Called Loneliness , before slowly gathering meaning on the turbulent An Embroidery, grasping on to a

moment of beauty amid existential irresolution on the ornate Wee Rosebud, and ending in an apocalyptic outburst on the proggy S.O.S. Song of the Sword. World of Work contains a similar grandiosity and worldweary mysticism as Kate Bush’s The Sensual World, Tori Amos’ Boys for Pel e, or Sinead O’Connor’s Lion and the Cobra . Like theirs, Connelly’s are songs of divine mischief, weaving new mythologies from the holes that a religious upbringing left behind. “I got

“I’m trying to create a feeling of

reassurance that

pretty obsessed with writing this epic tale,” she says, “the storyline of life.”

Raised by devout Catholics in Fife, Scotland, Connelly was taught to pray from a young age. Catholic school trained her in gratitude, to be “grateful for every lentil on our plate,” she says, her left hand hovering just in front of her face as though she’s holding a mask to it. God, and the grace she sought, structured her entire life. Until it didn’t. “I stopped believing when I was around eight or nine,” she says.

“I don’t believe in God any more,” she wrote one night in her diary, a memory she still remembers vividly. Connelly’s loss of faith, or perhaps her awakening, occurred in tandem with her parents’ divorce and the family’s move from Scotland to Denmark in 2001. “It was like the floor of the house caved in,” she says.

Even in this altered world, Connelly retained the gratitude she’d learned from Catholicism. The beauty she’d always seen in the universe took on a numinous quality, one that a creator could no longer answer for. The young Connelly possessed a deep sensitivity to the natural world, and to song. On weekends, she’d skip through the rolling farmlands with music playing on her Walkman, not so much finding a substitute for the divine but a beauty made even keener by his absence.

Whether it was Mike Oldfield, Arvo Pärt or Enya playing, she experienced a warmth in her body when she listened to music. “The feeling I will be searching for in music for the rest of my life is surprise,” she says, describing that sensation in similar terms to the bewilderment she felt as a child who had just lost her family and faith: “like the house is crumbling down, the roof has caved in, the foundation’s gone,” she explains. “That’s what gives me the great joy of my life, that’s when I find ecstasy in music.”

A few years ago, while she was talking about the ecstatic potential of movement and music, a friend recommended George Bataille’s Eroticism: Death and Sensuality, a book that, to put it very reductively, charts the overlap between erotic desire and religious belief. “I didn’t go to university or anything like that, but luckily I have smart friends to show me stuff like Bataille,” she says. It was in this text that Connelly found her album title. “The world of work and reason is the basis of human life,” Bataille wrote, arguing that man has used labour and reason to combat transgressive ecstasy.

there is goodness and great beauty in the world”

Clarissa Connelly

On World of Work , it’s precisely transgression and ecstasy that Connelly leans into.

Largely inspired by artists who engaged in extreme ascetic practices and for whom prophetic visions were sustaining forces – whether Hildegard von Bingen, a 12th-century saint and musical composer who often saw fallen angels, or St. Teresa of Ávila, who saw that the human soul was a many-roomed crystal castle – World of Work desperately searches for the provenance of visions and rapture. “I tried to create moments where I could give space to listen to my subconscious, so I went on very long walks with a tent,” she says.

“Maybe I could fast or sit in a cave and pray all day, but I’m not quite there… yet.”

Eroticism became a grounding text for some of the questions Connelly had been asking herself ever since she lost her belief: where does this kind of ecstasy come from? Does it come from a rational source, or something that transcends meaning? What will become of these questions when the sky finally opens up? Will we learn that magic was something made up in our minds, or that there was a greater beauty all along?

Across the album, Connelly remains committed to the irresolution of these questions as the sacred and profane move closer together, and horror melds with ecstasy. The world of work and the otherworld of the holy are made one and the same. “How many dreams I’ve locked up in my thoughts of eternal loss ,” Connelly sings as the sky cracks open on the album’s final song. It’s there, in the face of utter, unalterable terror, that Connelly finds calmness and acceptance.

“Now listen closely, you’re turning fear / Into waves roaring,” she sings. The album finishes. She lets go. It’s OK, just like she said it would be.

Clarissa Connelly Music

From the decline of capitalism to climate change, personal grief and mental unravelling, Chicago’s purveyors of tightly wound postpunk, Stuck, are raging against our broken systems the only way they know how –through a mix of empathetic fury and fun

【Words】 Francis Blagburn

【Photography】 Jessica Hill

Chicago post-punk band Stuck are knee-deep in the first UK date of their debut European tour, at south London’s New Cross Inn. Before the show, singer and guitarist Greg Obis was feeling sleepy after a massive portion of fish and chips – his first ever – but any signs of lethargy have long since evaporated. He tees up a couple of new singles for the crowd, explaining that the first of which, Deep Tunnel, is about the Chicago sewage system. “Sounds like shit,” a heckler jokes, somewhere within the charged atmosphere of a moshpit on standby. Flicking back a few stray hairs from his fringe, and finishing the last of his preparations, Obis smiles to himself and replies: “It does sound like shit, I could not agree more.”

The show is a bracing experience: each track is just as impeccably taut live as it is on record, each breakneck transition even more discombobulating. Stuck’s songs are full of unforgiving snares and duelling, paranoid guitar lines that warp and mingle, or bleep like a smoke alarm that’s been installed in your brain, while David Algrim’s punchy bass lines buffet your face like a strong wind (he credits the bruising art-punk of Dissertation, Honey by The Plot to Blow Up the Eiffel Tower as an inspiration). This is a band just starting to hone the control they can exercise over a crowd, and having an absolutely joyous time in the process.

But it’s joy underpinned by righteous indignation. Deep Tunnel is one of Stuck’s angriest, most visceral tracks yet: over barbed wire guitars, Obis’ staccato vocal turns up the heat on simmering resentments, until they boil over completely. “Our best laid plans, gone to shit now,” he croons, selfmockingly, like an internal monologue that’s curdled.

“Chicago was built on a swamp,” Obis says when he dials into our video call from the band’s hotel room in the Netherlands. It’s the first night of the tour, five days before the London show. He tells me how his home city has a system of underground tunnels designed to reduce flooding, but the

climate crisis is pushing this system to the brink. “Just last summer we saw these waves of heavy rains that caused all this flooding. People’s basements are flooding all the time and it’s going to get worse, probably.” The song is about this overspill, and the parallels with Obis’ own mindset: “No matter the best efforts I’ve made to set myself up for success and mental stability, there’s still this sense of wasted time. And I’m just looking at my own life and being like, ‘Oh, I’m like 33 now and I have zero prospects for any stability or longevity in the future,’ and feeling just very dark about that,” he says matter-of-factly, his brow furrowed.

The mental stress present throughout Stuck’s work, which addresses themes from oppressive policing to the miseries of the internet’s algorithmic swirl, is at its most pointed on their 2023 album, Freak Frequency. On its title track, there’s a rising note that stands as a kind of symbol for the band’s approach – and the inclusion of it speaks to Obis’ work as an audio engineer with the Chicago Mastering Service. “[It’s] called a shepherd’s tone,” he explains. “It’s this sort of audio illusion [where the note] keeps rising in pitch… but then slowly, another one comes in behind it, so you kind of get this sense of

constant tension. That was a metaphor that I was really leaning into and I felt like it described the time we were all living through.” The shepherd’s tone isn’t present on every track, but the struggles Obis sings about on City of Police or Time Out are just as migraineinducing. It’s an approach informed by the times we live in, as well as a love of bands that switch between control and chaos – groups like Uranium Club, Marbled Eye, Jesus Lizard, Protomartyr, Gilla Band, Preoccupations and more.

Stuck started out at a time of discontent for Obis. He’d been in two bands, Yeesh and Clearance, both of which had broken up in quick succession. “I personally was very jaded and wanted to not make music any more,” he says, “but I was also booking a lot of shows in Chicago at the time and I wanted to get a band together. So if I was having a hard time finding an opener for a show, I would just be like, ‘My band will play!’ and it will be fine.”

Through a mixture of mutual friends linking them up and tumbling around the whirlpool of the Chicago DIY scene, the band setup came together. Obis was joined by drummer Tim Green and guitarist Donny Walsh in the initial line-up, but they’d only played a couple of shows before David Algrim – who is also guitarist and singer in gaze band Gentle Heat – was “convinced to play bass”. Neither Walsh nor Green had toured before, and their excitement helped stir Greg from his funk. Walsh departed the band in 2022, meaning the band is now made up of three members, joined on this tour by Zach Elias who stepped in to join Obis on guitar duties. Together, they complement Obis’ freewheeling fury perfectly: Green wields an easygoing power from behind the drums and Algrim brings a frontman’s presence to the outer flank of the stage.

“I wanted to be playing with people I hadn’t played with before,” Obis says. “I was just trying to cast a pretty wide net with people I didn’t know.”

Stuck released their first album, Change Is Bad , in 2020. It was an uncompromising debut, and one that gave expression to grief. “That record was all about both of my parents dying and [me] being very obsessed for a time with mortality and existential dread, and that being the first death that I had witnessed in my life of somebody close to me,” Obis says.

“I couldn’t help but see the parallels between that and the kind of death cult of the US and the total disregard for human life there, and everywhere in the monoculture that we [exist] in.” Tracks like Bug Song are a howl of pain in the face of an economic system

sad!’” he laughs). For the most part, the album was necessarily serious. “Change Is Bad really helped me work through some grief and some really complicated feelings. And it felt really good to write. But I think it is gone,” he told music website Ears to Feed in 2021 .

Obis is at his most effective when trying to glean something universal from the way external pressures intermingle with personal anxieties. Freak Frequency was written during the pandemic and shaded by its claustrophobia, but its themes of inescapable anxiety and tension resonate beyond that context, taking in a longer view of capitalist decline. The concept for the album came to Obis when he was looking at a mixing board and drawing parallels between acoustics and politics. “It’s this idea

that I kind of got obsessed with,” he explains. Doing soundchecks as part of his work as a audio engineer, he’d reflect on the rogue frequencies that would take off and start feeding back through the monitors. “A big part of my job was ringing out those frequencies,” he says. The album is, in part, an exploration of how society and our minds are subject to similar patterns. In the same way spaces between sine waves shrinks as the frequency rises, Obis observed the downward trend of late-capitalist decline coupling with an ascendent trend of increased psychological tension. Or, as he puts it on album highlight Lose Your Cool : “stress becomes me.”

“I’m definitely not narcissistic enough to think our music will change anything… That doesn’t make it pointless”

designed to extract and exploit: “I’m the cicada who is screaming for help / I am the yellow jacket stinging himself / I am the bedbug bleeding the world dry / I am the ant labouring till I die.”

If there was any levity on that album, it was oblique. Obis recalls selecting the cover’s figurative artwork – a piece by Berlin-based artist Tali Bayer – on the basis there was a kind of morose comedy to it (“It was like, ‘this guy kinda seems kinda dopey and

This shift in subject matter was also directed by another kind of feedback: the punchier their live show became, the more their accelerated transitions and bewildering sonic swerves made it into recordings. “Our live show has informed the sound of our more recent records because we’ve grown as a live band, and that’s so much a part of what we are,” Algrim says. It taps into the band’s penchant for having fun, too. “We’ve played with a lot of bands that maybe took themselves a little too seriously and it’s a little exhausting. It sucks the fun out of it.”

A Stuck live show can feel goofy in spite of channelling all their political rage and personal struggles. “I always love ending on Change Is Bad because it’s like a minute long and it feels kind of like a prank on the audience to end on something so short,” Obis says. He also likes to hide behind his guitar amp – a habit he says he stole from Shellac.

Stuck’s greatest trick is that none of their playfulness diminishes the seriousness of the expression in their work, though Obis is sceptical about his music making any kind of difference. “I think [music is an] important reflection of our time, but… I’m definitely not narcissistic enough to think [our music will] change anything.” However, he concedes this “doesn’t make it pointless, and I think it does draw attention to things”. In fact, there’s one track that addresses this theme head on: Playpen of Dissent , on which he sings, “Art is important, but it won’t solve our problems / […] I have to talk to my neighbours, I have to talk to my co-workers.”

Ironically, this song has made a difference to one fan. “We played an allages show in Salt Lake City and some teenager came up to me and was like, ‘I started organising because of Playpen of Dissent .’ And I was like, ‘That’s wild.’ That completely blew my mind.”

It’s a disarming moment of happiness from within the noise, and a reminder that whatever Obis writes about, he brings enough empathy to connect with a crowd.

“I was just like, ‘Man, that’s really…’ I dunno. It made me want to cry, you know?”

Stuck Music

39 THE CLICK

【Photography】 Fenn O’Meally

The music industry needs a shake up. It’s really focused on what’s most readily available and how much things are being streamed. When I started dipping back into the charts after my first album, Yesterday Is Heavy, I was like, have I lost my shit, or is everything sounding the same? Have I not got the right platform to find the weirder things? Or have I just become too weird? It threw me.

I’ve never been about jumping on bandwagons. I’ve always been a weird geek interested in a broad range of things. I love singing. I love collaborating with orchestras and string bands. I make beautiful music and dark bass. I love DJing, and I love being away from the decks. I want to be able to circle freely in all those territories, but people sometimes get lost in the spectrum of it all. So I’m always trying to work out how I can merge those worlds and still make it clear what Lil Silva is.

That’s why I started Nowhere. It’s a club night that combines live improv and DJing. I never reveal the line-up, so you won’t know who’s there until you are. We want people walking in like, “What the fuck’s going on here?” The first time we did it, myself, Sampha, Giles Kwake, Elmiene, Dan Hylton and Karl Onibuje came down and improvised tracks from my album and some covers, then we made up a bunch of songs on the spot. It’s a way to transition what I do on record into a rave setting, so I can find my happy ground with performing while also catering to everyone showing up for different elements of my work. But it’s also a response to a fast-moving industry.

There are so many incredible artists and producers outside of what’s being hyped. They’re the wildcats, man. They’re the ones that need a platform. With Nowhere, I wanted to be like: “Hey, here you go.” I love that it’s a safe space for performers and DJs to do something weird, or play things they usually wouldn't play in their set. Nowhere isn’t about playing it safe; it’s a space to do what lights you up. A lot you’ll hear is new, unreleased, unrehearsed – you’re not gonna get a totally Shazam-able event. We want people connecting. It’s all about the moment: if you’re there, you’re there.

39 LIL SILVA

In his own words, UK funky pioneer turned genre-hopping DJ, producer and performer Lil Silva recalls the moment he decided to provide a platform for artists to get weird

THE Your favourite artists’ favourite new music

40

THE CAIRO PRODUCER RETOOLING MAHRAGANAT AND SHAABI MUSIC FOR THE DARKEST OF DANCEFLOORS

A LILY SARU L-QAMAR PHANTOM LIMB

Saru l-Qamar, which means “they became the moon”, is a very special record. A Lily (James Vella) uses home recordings, archived from the 1960s onwards, that Maltese migrants would send back to their relatives. These recordings would usually include their news sung in the form of għana, a type of traditional Maltese folk music. A Lily masterfully combines them with beautiful electronics to create an incredibly nostalgic and haunting album. The contrast between the tapes and the repetitive, synthesised phrases and drones is hypnotic, instantly transporting you to a world of sweet nostalgia. The record is released by James Vella’s label, Phantom Limb, and I’m certain it will remain in my top-five favourite records for 2024.

BIANCA SCOUT PATTERN DAMAGE SFERIC

Pattern Damage is currently my favourite record of the year. Bianca Scout manages to produce an emotionally charged mix of dark pop and electronic/ambient music with a lot of beautiful organic sounds and manipulated audio samples. It hits all the right spots for me. I’m particularly drawn to tracks like Lead Us , Almost Nothing and Anon’s Song, whose looping melodies create a melancholic vibe. Anon’s Song especially reminds me of Klara Lewis’s record Ingrid, which I’ve been obsessed with since its release in 2020; I feel both records show how powerful a tool repetition can be when used the right way. The record also features some really cool artists such as Mun Sing, as well as Scout’s pop duo with Martyn Reid: Marina Zispin. I recommend listening to this on a quiet, late-night walk.

TEQMUN

WORMS STILL HAVE TO EAT THE DIRT NERVE COLLECT

I think I’ve played Teqmun’s 2022 track Skandi in most of my DJ sets. It’s a certified banger that never fails, so when I saw his new release on Nerve Collect, which is also currently one of my favourite labels for club music, I knew it would be fire. As expected, the record is a series of relentless bangers; an interesting mix of bass, techno and breaks. The sound design is on point and no expense was spared when it comes to the lowend. There are also two killer remixes from TSVI and Ma Sha. It’s difficult to pick a standout track because each one works really well in its own way, but if I had to, I would probably pick Worms Still Have to Eat the Dirt , or Ma Sha’s remix of Slug No Escargot. This is one of the few records where all its tracks went straight to my USB.

KNOCKED LOOSE

THE METALCORE FIVE-PIECE FROM KENTUCKY GLORIOUSLY UNACQUAINTED WITH COMPROMISE. CHOSEN BY MEMBERS ISAAC HALE AND BRYAN GARRIS.

A KNIFE IN THE DARK/HEAVENS DIE SPLIT EP FORCE OF RECKONING

I’ve been following both of these bands for a minute and they’ve been crushing it in their respective spaces for years. A Knife In The Dark does a very specific brand of Advent-inspired hardcore, but even more insane. Lots of Converge in there, but even crazier pit parts. It’s a full-on assault, and is constantly modulating time and messing with your perception of what groove can be. I’ve loved them since The Burning Wind record a couple years back. Amazing. Heavens Die seems to combine so many niches that I enjoy separately and put them in one unique package. There’s a low sludge and solemnity akin to Crowbar, but also very moshy elements that remind me of my favourite metalcore records growing up. I think my favourite thing about it is the dark tone it sets from the very beginning. There’s nothing that sounds like this. It absolutely deserves everyone’s attention. – I.H.

FINAL RESTING PLACE PRELUDE TO EXTINCTION EP DAZE

This is a northeastern U.S. band through and through. It’s taking all the coolest grooves from bands like Dehumanized and Internal Bleeding and putting them in one package, taking out any ‘filler’ and making a perfect mosh-only record, but with the aesthetic of that era. Even the rough-around-the edges mix adds to this so much. It has a way higher IQ than I think it’s getting any credit for. Students of the game wrote this and you can tell. Quick extra shout out to Dom’s vocals, which have entered a realm few have gotten to – he truly sounds insane. Everyone should watch for any shows they end up playing this year. – I.H.

THE CHISEL WHAT A FUCKING NIGHTMARE PURE NOISE RECORDS

Love this band. Been following them for a while now and was excited to hear their first record since signing to Pure Noise. Such a nostalgic sound, but it doesn’t sound like cosplay. It feels real and genuine, which is the best thing you can ask for in heavy music. They didn’t stray far from their original approach, but added some interesting elements into this album that I think will only make their shows more fun. Listening to this record, I feel like I could definitely hear some of these songs in an old Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater game. Those games were always such a huge gateway for so many people to dive in and find more stuff. Hopefully, people that dig this Chisel record will dive in and find the inspiration that came before it. Favourite tracks are the single Bloodsucker and No Gimmicks . – B.G.

【2】

【3】

DEYAH

THE CARDIFF-BORN RAPPER CHANNELLING UNVARNISHED CONFESSIONS OVER LOW-LIT BEATS

VICTORIA JANE DEMOS VOL 2 SELF-RELEASED

Beautifully crafted together – sonically, vocally, lyrically – Demos Vol 2 feels like the sun rising, and the sun setting; both unforgettable occasions. Victoria Jane’s ability to write strong, personal narratives, yet deliver them with a warm and gentle vocal coupled with a playful nature, makes this EP one of my favourites in 2024. The EP starts with Prove It , drawing the listener into this almost lullaby state with the most inviting of vocals. However, if you lean in closer, amid the peaceful backdrops throughout the EP, Victoria’s lyrics sober the listener with the stories she shares. Not Fair surprised me with its wit and assertiveness; while Say You’ll Love instantly reminded me of Erykah Badu with Baduizm in 1997, one of my favourite albums of all time.

PIERS JAMES VOYAGE TO REVERIE PAYDAY RECORDS

Piers James has gifted us with Voyage to Reverie – a very apt title for this EP. The switch-up of flows throughout, and the melodic use of rap coupled with the dreamlike production, creates a unique atmosphere. Although each track could easily stand alone, the songs complement each other, and the uptempo momentum of the project makes for a thrilling listen while the seriousness of James’ words cut through. The unpredictability of the release is gripping – the carefree vibes and switch-up of the beat towards the end of Wonderland ; the high-spirited feel on If This Ain’t Real ; the transparency in Cigarette Burns ; and the conviction in Eyes on the Prize… Voyage to Reverie is nothing short of remarkable.

LOE SHIMMY ZOMBIELAND 2 LOE SHIMMY / OPEN SHIFT DISTRIBUTION

Zombieland 2 is the album you need when driving through the city late at night. At the same time, it could easily hold the vibes at a club. Each track is different in nature and narrative, and they almost slot together like a jigsaw. The cadence and delivery is clear and concise while still capturing that mumble rap flair, which is super unique to how Loe Shimmy creates. The Florida rapper is extremely vulnerable in his lyrics but softens the blow with his playful way of communicating. From his rapid flow on Aretha Franklin to a more laid-back approach on X , Loe’s ability cannot be denied. This album is a rollercoaster for sure, but the enjoyable kind.

【3】

CRACK MAGAZINE

SPIVAK VIOLENCES ELECTROMÉNAGER

The word ‘violences’ in D’Nealian cursive embroidered on a pink satin sheet, heavy shadows nearly obscuring the text. That is the cover art for Spivak’s new EP, a project that similarly evokes a sense of soft brutality. This quiet subversion has been something of a calling card for the Cypriot composer, who has crafted eerily melodic, heavily synthesised soundworlds since her 2021 debut Μετά Το Ρέιβ. Violences opens with the mood-setting Laura , a haunting hymn backed by downstrummed, western guitars. It’s followed by The One in Front of the Sun, in which speckled synths build over Spivak’s elongated vocals, eventually crescendoing into experimental sound design and dissolving into Main Character NRG – an ambient track that, true to its title, is punctured by the voice of a detached narrator. Not that there’s anything impersonal about Violences – it’s a work that teems with real beauty and feeling. – R.G.A.

THE DREW THOMSON FOUNDATION FAN LETTER SELF-RELEASED

Nobody writes about the interior worlds of men like Drew Thomson. Best known for fronting the Canadian punk band Single Mothers, he has a voice like a wizened bartender and a knack for portraying the quotidian recklessness you see in guys who have strained relationships with their girlfriend’s fathers and are well acquainted with the backseats of their own cars. With his solo project The Drew Thomson Foundation, he pairs kitchen-sink lyricism with the punch of alt rock riffs that would have dominated the late-90s. New EP Fan Letter, the project’s first release since 2019, is a hit of immaculate Americana that has the worn-in feeling of something you’ve known forever but also sounds like nothing you’ve heard before. There’s an urgency to the songs propelled by burly instrumentation and characters who fly by the seat of their pants through the full scope of everyday life – down and out, up and down, in love and lost. As he shrugs on the manic depressive Ride the Wave : “It’s either let’s burn this whole place down / Or, I got no complaints.” – E. G.

IYAMAH IN TWO WORLDS SELF-RELEASED

Brighton-born IYAMAH started her music journey at the age of 12, treating her piano keys like other kids would a diary – as a way to reflect on her days. By 16, she was writing drum’n’bass lines for Shogun Audio. The sound of neo-soul and hip-hop titans like Erykah Badu and Lauryn Hill echo in her debut album In Two Worlds , an exploration of relationships, nature and spirituality that integrates the vocal storytelling of classic soul and R&B with an ode to her DnB past. The contemplative groove of Kofi Stone collab Green Grass finds her at a fork in the road, pitting head against heart , while slow burners 8 of Swords and Ruler put across her message of female empowerment through manifestations of creative independence and strength. As she affirms on the latter: “I am the queen / I am the one and only me / I am all that I need.” – A.B.

FEATURED REVIEW

【Words】 Iana Murray

Having enlisted a cast of era-defining artists with the humble goal of creating “the best soundtrack of all time,” this collection of music made for Jane Schoenbrun’s upcoming horror flick has all the hallmarks of a cult classic

Sound is everywhere in director Jane Schoenbrun’s mesmerising second feature I Saw the TV Glow. It’s there in the cacophony of bells and whistles that open the film, and the encroaching buzz of television static. It’s also there in the hum of the vending machines that tower over Owen and Maddy, two high schoolers who form an inexplicable bond over their obsession with a Buffy-esque TV show called The Pink Opaque

Schoenbrun skilfully uses music to make sense of the noise. I Saw the TV Glow is a hypnotic mystery, jumping through time and planes of reality and dreams to explore how our pop culture obsessions shape our identities. There’s a level of fascinating self-awareness, then, in its accompanying album, reminiscent of era-defining soundtracks born from the likes of Trainspotting and Juno. Schoenbrun has enlisted some of the most beloved artists of the moment (most notably Caroline Polachek, Snail Mail and Phoebe Bridgers) whose works have been dissected, weaponised and projected onto for online fodder. Much of the era in which I Saw the TV Glow is set predates internet fandom, of course, but its music – a vulnerable collection of

slow-tempo earworms, sure to become a source of obsession in its own right – speaks to the extent that consumption can define us.

As Owen revisits his favourite show over decades, Schoenbrun recontextualises nostalgia – framing it not as an oasis for fond remembrance, but as an alienating force. Across the years, Owen sheds former selves and returns to The Pink Opaque with fresh eyes, paling in comparison each time. The past becomes a sobering benchmark for just how far he’s departed from the child he once was. It’s a feeling best typified by yeule’s cover of Anthems for a Seventeen Year-Old Girl, an eerie simulacrum that replaces Broken Social Scene’s folky banjos with a steady guitar against electronic vocals chopped into darting arpeggios. The breathy lead vocals remain, lending an uncanniness that bleeds into the film itself.

That sense of disorientation is present even in the compilation’s calmer tracks. “You’re so hard to find / Caught up in the weeds and tangled wires,” Maria BC laments on Taper, mirroring a young Owen escaping reality and burying

himself in his favourite TV show. Drab Majesty chimes in with Photograph, an 80s throwback that feels like it is in conversation with the memorable Tears for Fears needle drop in Donnie Darko. Unsurprisingly, static is a recurring motif. The film’s closer by Frances Quinlan, Another Season, begins with white noise before blown-out guitars mimic the sound of a TV searching for signal. Elsewhere, on L’Rain’s Green, a tender piano is corrupted by crescendoing synths and guitars that explode in tangled dissonance.

In commissioning the soundtrack, Schoenbrun requested that each artist create songs that would sound at home in Twin Peaks ’ Roadhouse. “Lynchian” has been a lazy descriptor for Schoenbrun’s films thus far, but it feels most apt for I Saw the TV Glow ’s electrifying live performances that set the scene for a tense reunion between Owen and Maddy at a seedy dive bar. For album highlight Claw Machine, Sloppy Jane’s Haley Dahl and Phoebe Bridgers appear as a pair of bar singers, as if they were plucked from Isabella Rossellini’s backing band in Blue Velvet. In chorus-like unison, the duo express hopes for more but settle for

the void, describing painting “ the ceiling black so I don’t notice when my eyes are open ”.

A striking pivot arrives shortly after in Psychic Wound, which sees King Woman’s Kristina Esfandiari step on stage to voice the all-consuming emotions that Owen is so reticent to expose. Over a heavy guitar riff, Owen and Maddy’s confrontation is punctuated by Esfandiari’s guttural, piercing screams, which contrast with lyrics painting someone swallowing the pain of mental anguish.

Even as Owen ultimately finds himself as alone and lost as he began, I Saw the TV Glow ’s soundtrack – which empathetically articulates what the film’s illusory images can’t discern – suggest that the love between art and audience can be reciprocal. Schoenbrun said that their goal with the compilation was to create “the best soundtrack of all time,” and while that is certainly a lofty aspiration, this is an album that will undoubtedly be cherished by those who see themselves reflected in it.

【Words】 Rhian Daly

LABEL: XL RECORDINGS

ORIGINAL RELEASE DATE: 14 MAY, 2013

MODERN VAMPIRES OF THE CITY VAMPIRE WEEKEND

With their ornamental whimsy taking a backseat to more sombre musings on death and religious disillusionment, MODERN VAMPIRES OF THE CITY ushered in a new era for Vampire Weekend

“It [reinforced] the idea that fun in music didn’t mean it couldn’t also be meaningful and layered, and reflect darkness” – The Halfway Kid

In 2013, Vampire Weekend were no longer the fresh-faced college kids soundtracking campus life with preppy indie-rock. Where they had emerged with spirited songs that nodded to the rhythms of Congolese rumba and the intricacies of soukous guitars (or simply the influence of Orange Juice’s Rip It Up), their third album, Modern Vampires of the City, embraced a more sombre sound. Their subject matter, too, had evolved. Lyrics about punctuation or meandering, surrealist bus journeys were replaced by reckonings with weightier topics. “There’s a headstone right in front of you / And everyone I know,” Ezra Koenig bleakly observed on Don’t Lie, his imagery patently darker than before.

Released three years after their second album, Contra , this shift in tone and style felt natural. Their first two records gave Vampire Weekend indie darling status, catapulting them from the halls of Columbia University to the upper echelons of festival bills and global charts. By Modern Vampires…, the sun was setting on their carefree days as their thirties drew nearer. In turn, the album became a vessel of reflection; a way to search and grapple with life’s big questions.

Though Vampire Weekend’s previous albums were far from frivolous, putting topics like class and wealth under Koenig’s unique lyrical lens, Modern Vampires… is broader in scope. Much of the record deals with religious disillusionment, whether it’s the main narrative, as on Unbelievers and Everlasting Arms , or more subtly, as in Hannah Hunt . On the latter, Koenig softly eschews the idea of God as allknowing, putting that characteristic on Hunt instead. There’s also a focus on death and endings. The anxieties that come with getting older and realising your youth is fading colour the record; the passage of time bearing down heavily on its collection of songs.

Weekend’s playful edge, though. Going up in flames shouldn’t sound as fun as it does on Diane Young (whose title is a tongue-in-cheek twist on the phrase “dying young”), which tears through ideas around mortality at breakneck speed, its pummelling drums and jittery guitar lines moving ever faster until they threaten to careen out of control. Ya Hey makes big questions about spirituality sound joyous rather than complex, thanks to its chirpy chipmunk vocal fragments and piano runs. Throughout the record, the band toy with pitch shifting and sonic experimentation, inventive streaks coursing through the darkness courtesy of co-producers Ariel Rechtshaid and the band’s own Rostam Batmanglij.

“It [reinforced] the idea that fun in music didn’t mean it couldn’t also be meaningful and layered, and reflect darkness,” says British-Sudanese singer-songwriter The Halfway Kid, who cites Vampire Weekend – and Modern Vampires… , in particular – as a big influence on his own music. “It feels experimental, recording-wise, but that’s not the point. The point was that the experimentation was in support of the feeling in the songs.”

On their first two albums, Vampire Weekend wore their global influences on their sleeves – often contentiously and provoking conversations around cultural appreciation versus appropriation. On Modern Vampires… they deployed their world-straddling inspirations more delicately, still present but not pulling as much focus. Obvious Bicycle samples reggae master Ras Michael, while the record uses rhythms from the traditional Jamaican drumming practice Nyabinghi. The baroque orchestral ornamentation is dialled back, leaving the record more instrumentally sparse in a way that lays its sadness bare.

Looking back, the album encapsulates the way digital natives make collages out of pop culture. In 2013, Tumblr was still at its peak and

social media was fuelling a cultural omnivorousness that bypassed boundaries. In their music, Vampire Weekend followed suit. Modern Vampires… continues music’s great lineage of sampling and interpolation, cherry-picking melodies and lyrics with magpie-like shrewdness, but pieces everything together in a way that feels like scrolling through a timeline, never dwelling in one spot for long. But, despite being seemingly so rooted in the habits of the era, the record doesn’t feel particularly time-stamped. Instead, they weave their finds into their own work so seamlessly that, without prior knowledge, it’s often hard to know where one ends and the other begins.

At the time, Modern Vampires… felt transitional; the sign of a band moving on from a previous incarnation into a new chapter. It was also one of the last landmark albums in the disco pants and shoelace headband phase of indie’s history. The period now known as indie sleaze was winding down, taking the genre’s dominance over the mainstream with it. Culture was shifting away from guitars and leaning heavily towards hip-hop and rap, while a surge in poptimism set the stage for the sounds that would rule in the years to come. A bubble of chart success and spearheading trends was about to burst for bands. Just before it did, though, Modern Vampires… scored Vampire Weekend their second No. 1 on the Billboard 200 chart and earned them their first Grammy – deserved acclaim for an album that continues to offer room for reflection during life’s pivotal moments.

48

SLEEVE NOTES

Artwork, annotated

CLAIRE ROUSAY

CLAIRE ROUSAY ARTIST / CREATIVE DIRECTOR

When I first started thinking about the album cover, I knew that I wanted to be on it. This was a new choice for me. I usually commission or work alongside an artist that I’m a fan of to get something moderately abstract. The musical content on this record is more lyric and song forward, so it felt natural to try for a portrait.

I wanted to recreate the environment I was in while writing and recording the music (my bedroom), but slightly exaggerate those feelings into something a bit over the top. I always loved looking at ‘cool girl’ bedroom photos on Tumblr as a teen, so instead of recreating my slightly more put-together adult room, I opted for something that looked more like how I would’ve decorated it as a younger person.

We shot some ideas back and forth for a few days, starting with some inspo images I dug up. I had told Zoe I built a fake bedroom in my studio, but it wasn’t until we were shooting that it felt like a real room. Zoe brought a lot of great props for the walls and bedside, and a lot of the material on the walls are objects from my real life. There’s artwork by Lisa Lerkenfeldt, Gretchen Korsmo, Katie Fuller and a calendar from the [international] art collective Lynn.

ZOE DONAHOE PHOTOGRAPHER

claire reached out over Instagram and we did almost all of the creative talk over the phone. She had a clear vision, which I always love. Things never truly feel real to me until I’m on set shooting. That’s when I really start to get excited and inspired, and when I can see it all coming to life. That’s how it felt this time, too. I felt very inspired by claire’s music and all the depth and sadness in it, and wanted to do it justice.

For the decor, I brought a lot of personal and sentimental items that made me feel cool as a teenager: my first ever phone, a CD mixtape that a girl I was in love with as a kid made for me, an empty cigarette pack from somewhere in Asia that I took from a guy I was seeing, foreign cash from places I’ve never been, family photos. I think you can feel in the images that it’s more than just a bunch of stuff, but maybe that’s because they’re my things.

The room was tiny and really hot. I remember both Adam [Sputh, photographer’s assistant] and I were sweating a bunch. I remember claire being cool and tall and beautiful. At one point, she went upstairs to take a smoke break and texted us that she was talking to and having a beer with the bar manager.

CLAIRE ROUSAY,

ARTIST / CREATIVE DIRECTOR AND ZOE DONAHOE, PHOTOGRAPHER

THE GRIND

MANAMI’S TAKIKOMI GOHAN

SUGGESTED MUSICAL PAIRING: BREEZE

This dish felt like a real treat whenever my mum had it in the rice cooker for dinner, instead of white rice. Even though it is incredibly simple, there was something about seeing and tasting all the different ingredients in one little rice bowl that’s clearly stuck with me. It was also one of the first dishes my sister set me up with before going to uni, so it was a major reminder of home at that time in my life. I love the simplicity, efficiency and elegance of Japanese home cooking. You can add absolutely anything into this dish – any veg left over in the fridge, or any meats or fish – all placed in the rice cooker for a quick, healthy and delicious meal, which I usually pair with miso soup. This mackerel and mixed mushroom variation is my personal fave. You can also cook this on the stove top if you don’t have a rice cooker.

INGREDIENTS

– 2 cups Japanese rice, 2 cups + 4-5 tbsp water

– 1 piece of smoked mackerel

– Handful of enoki mushrooms

– Handful of shimeji mushrooms

– 1/2 carrot

– 2 tbsp mirin

– 1 tbsp sake

– 2 tbsp soy sauce

– 1 packet of dashi (5g)

– 1 small stick of ginger thinly sliced

– Drizzle of honey

– Spring onions and sesame seeds for garnish

DIRECTIONS

– Prepare the ingredients. Chop up your carrots into small cubes and slice up the mackerel into small chunks.

– Cut the bottoms off the enoki and shimeji mushrooms, and wash the dirt off. Separate and chop into smaller pieces.

– Measure out the rice, then wash it a few times till the water is clear. Place in the rice cooker. Pour just over a 1:1 ratio of water to rice into the cooker.

– Add the dashi stock sachet into the rice and water, then the mirin, sake, soy sauce and honey.

– Place the rest of the ingredients on top of the rice. Ensure the ratio of ingredients to rice is around 30:70, but do not mix! Switch on the rice cooker.

– Once cooked, mix through the rice and ingredients.

– Plate up and garnish with chopped spring onions and toasted sesame seeds.

IS OUT 10 MAY ON VMR

PIN-DROP

To hear Valesuchi is to be spellbound. The Chilean-born DJ and producer has a knack for harnessing the spirit of a room and giving back to it tenfold, creating a living, free-flowing language that transports you to another world. She became a regular on Brazil’s club scene after moving to Rio de Janeiro in 2017 and has since established an international profile and worked with the label/ collective MAMBA Rec, which put out her debut album Tragicomic in 2019. Cascada, her latest EP, is a dense oasis of layers and groove. Opting for elemental textures and slow burns over instant gratification, it mesmerises through hypnosis rather than force – the deep bass, skittering percussion and tropical trills drawing you in like a hallucination. If you’ve never been to Rio’s Parque Lage before, might take you somewhere similar.

52

CASCADA IS OUT NOW VIA VALESUCHI

VALESUCHI

WHERE ARE WE?

There’s this magical place called Parque Lage in the middle of the South Zone of Rio. It’s a park that has a huge mansion house (turned into an art school), with a trekking road that you can take to the Christ the Redeemer statue. You might recognise it from Pharrell and Snoop Dogg’s music video for Beautiful.

CAN YOU DESCRIBE THIS PLACE THROUGH YOUR SENSES?

It’s a little jungle inside the city. It’s very savage and dense. There’s so many kinds of plants and the trees are very tall, so at points it gets dark. You can hear the highway a bit in the distance, but you’re also very isolated in jungle sounds. The deeper you go, the more treasures you find, because your attention opens. You always find something new. Today, I saw a big black beetle being eaten by a million little ants. I saw three monkeys looking for food and dropping fruits from the trees. I saw a huge spider web with a perfect circle in the middle, and two really bright pink dragonflies. In other times of the year, you get to see more flowers. Sometimes you can see fallen jackfruits that are huge and have a very sour smell. This time of year, it’s about the green wildness of the plants.

WHY IS THIS LOCATION SO SIGNIFICANT TO YOU?

It’s a very beautiful place to gather yourself and reconnect with nature. Rio is already immersed in nature – there’s the mountains, the beach, the vegetation – so it’s not something you miss completely, but this place has a very special energy flow. Every time I go, I feel the never-ending surprise of having such an isolating oasis in the middle of the city.

WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN YOU’RE HERE?

I go at times in which I need to harmonise myself. We’re so exposed to external demands and flows of things, and every once in a while we need to recalibrate. There are many ways to do that daily, but nature is always a very direct and efficient reminder of perspective and time. So I stay silent.

HOW OFTEN DO YOU GO?

I don’t go as often as I’d like. Even though Rio is my home I don’t spend that much time here during the year, because I travel a lot. But it’s a must-see for friends that are visiting the city for the first time. There’s also a café in the house so it’s cute and funny to see the tourists posing for their pictures. I just pass by all of that and head straight to the jungle to get lost.

【Words】 Emma Garland 【Photography】 Valesuchi

IF YOU’RE A FAN, BECOME A SUPPORTER