Molly Burch’s voice is the first thing you’ll notice about her. It has been described as “smoky” and “effortless,” which is fitting for a professionally trained jazz singer. But Burch’s talent goes far beyond her voice. She has a knack for conveying gorgeously written lyrics of love and life, of happiness and pain, of fear and anxiety. Burch is using her professional training to break away from the boundaries she was taught in. WRBB’s general manager Andrew Goldberg spoke with Burch in anticipation of her performance at Great Scott on August 10. Tickets available 

: You recently decided to step away from performing with a guitar during live performances. What was the rationale behind that, and how do you think it affected your performance to date?

It’s always been a dream of mine to just sing and be super present. The guitar is super secondary to me – I picked it up later in life. So, at first, performing with it was like really kind of fun, and exciting. But then I feel like it kind of got in the way of my headspace while performing because I was too worried about how I sounded because I was insecure. I get really insecure playing it, I don’t feel very good at it.

I initially picked it up out of necessity and not having the means to hire a rhythm guitarist. Also, it’s really hard to find people to play with when you’re first starting out. For this album, I made the choice to play with a five piece band—it’s been so fun. It’s made the performance a lot stronger.

Now that you’re a decent time removed from the vocal jazz world, do you see any of that training popping up in your music in unintended or surprising ways?

I graduated in 2012. Moving to Austin, I just had a big separation from the jazz scene, I haven’t found that pocket in Austin at all. When I was in Asheville, I was very much in that world, you know, with playing transcripts—I went to school for it. Moving to Austin, having so many years away from it does sort of feel like my past, but it’s definitely present in my voice and a lot of my inspirations and how I think. I really learned at school, how to work with other people, musicians, and kept performance experience.

Do you think entire duo albums could or should be making a comeback, a la Ella and Louis? Other artists you’d get to cut a record with?

Yeah. I feel like that would be amazing, in the way of the future for me. I love that idea. I’ve definitely thought about it. I feel like I would have a couple people in mind, but I don’t want to say anything yet.

I read that you kind of were having a slow time recording and writing 

Do you feel like you’ve gotten more comfortable after having two records out?

I definitely feel this kind of relief now that I have two albums behind me. I did feel pretty anxious writing [

], because that was a really new experience for me, because with my first album, I was writing songs not knowing that they will be released, years before I was signed to my label. There’s so many insecurities tied to writing a second album, I think. I was also finding myself as a bandleader. I was changing up my band, and I had a whole new band on when we recorded, so I really found a sense of confidence with that too, because it just felt so nice and positive to have that experience. Going forward, I feel a lot more confident.

I find it really interesting that each release has felt like its own release, but still thoroughly within the world of Molly Burch. A lot of folk artists are letting their influences sit on the back burner as they get a bit more electronic, a bit heavier, and a bit more striking. Do you feel a certain pressure to be constantly innovating on your style or feel it seeping into the songwriting process?

I honestly don’t feel any pressure. I’m really hard on myself. I put pressure on myself in other ways. But stylistically, I really just go with what feels right and organic at the time. Also what I’m inspired by at the time. I don’t put pressure on myself, and neither does my label. I feel like super lucky in that way. That’s not where I put pressure on myself.

To me, your songs (and especially the new singles) are those in a small handful of artists I can listen to at any time of day—even at 4 or 5 in the morning, on the way to the airport. Do you have an intended atmosphere or space you imagine people are enjoying the new singles?

Gosh, I guess I don’t really think about it. I guess I imagine like people listening to my music when they’re alone, or at home.

Ok, so I know Amoeba and all of the buzz-y record stores have artists come in to buy records and talk about them, but since we’re on the phone—if you had to push 3 records onto me to go buy, what would they be? I need to get educated!

Okay. Well, firstly, I’ll say, RF Shannon. They just came out with their record on August 2, it’s called 

. And they’re currently supporting my East Coast dates and they’re one of my favorite bands. And I love Bedouine’s new album [

]—it’s on Spacebomb. And then my third would be my other support for my West Coast states. Jackie Cohen also just put out a record this year on Spacebomb (

Q&A: Molly Burch dissects her music, live performances, and life in Austin

17 years after their inception, Xiu Xiu proves they haven’t lost interest in pushing the envelope on 

opens with the lyrics “Take a break / The pressure rips her apart / The baby duck in you has died.” As perplexing as they are, they’re also evocative, eliciting imagery of abortion, miscarriage, sexual violence or rape; each interpretation that sneaks into your mind more disturbing than the last. This feeling is at the heart of 

It is, overall, a political album that is actually genuinely unsettling—one that sinks its claws into you and holds you steady in its grips; an album that stays with you long past its run-time.

Sonically, the album is almost ritualistic in its adherence to repetitive, industrial percussion and static, ambient distortion—all over-layed by frontman Jamie Stewart’s eerie, uncomfortably-close-to-the-mic vocals. On title track and opener “Girl with Basket of Fruit,” he alternates between pained yelling and spoken, cavalier one-liners. On penultimate track and lead-single “Scisssssssors,” his theatrically whispered vocals are sincerely frightening, almost like they’ve been plucked out of a horror movie. The dramatic and dynamic nature of Stewart’s vocals is a majorly impressive highlight of 

, securing his position as one of the most fascinating and imaginative frontmen working today. Apart from the final track “Normal Love,” a surprisingly simple and emotional ballad, 

is filled with songs of grinding and glitchy industrial noise, absolutely unrelenting in its brutal vision.

brutality, however, is the album’s deep thematic interest in violence. 

is thoroughly invested in forcing its listener to come face-to-face with the most disturbing aspects of American life, and this comes through most clearly on “Mary Turner Mary Turner,” where Stewart graphically describes the lynching of pregnant woman Mary Turner in 1918 for protesting against the lynching of her husband, Hazel Turner. After three and a half minutes of unflinchingly relaying the barbaric details of her death, Stewart leaves you with this, whispered so low it’s almost indecipherable: “Fuck your guns / Fuck your war / Fuck your truck / Fuck your flag.” Stewart’s proclamation that 

is our history—that this is what we call freedom, liberty, equality—is the most disturbing and affecting moment of the album. In fact, it’s a moment that I haven’t been able to shake since I heard it. It’s certifiably frightening, in a way that most politically-charged music isn’t. For me, this is because the album doesn’t attempt to call for change, or at least not explicitly. It’s not a call to action. Instead, it’s more of a reminder, one that sticks our faces into the most disgusting and upsetting parts of our history, and reminds us that 

 is what it meant to be white in the United States in the early 20th century, only a few generations ago. It begs the question: Where does this leave us now?

I think Xiu Xiu tackles that question headfirst in “It Comes Out as a Joke,” a sentiment that’s repeated on “Girl with Basket of Fruit.” It is hard to grasp the truly horrific racial and sexual violence that underscores our country, much of which is proliferated in the form of police brutality. It is hard to talk about this history in a manner that is as serious as the subject commands. It is 

, so we don’t talk about it. And when we do, “it comes out a great and deformed joke.”

Compared to their last (and most accessible) release, 2017’s 

feels intentionally challenging. While I’m far from arguing that esotericism is what makes experimental music “good,” in the case of this album, the extreme abstraction is an impressive feat. Xiu Xiu has never been afraid to make their listeners uncomfortable; to plant imagery in our heads that both disturbs and intrigues us; to exploit our interest (and our fear) of the dark underbelly of our world. 

is an impactful and boundary-pushing foray into the white supremacist, sexist, violent history of the United States, all wrapped in a package of expertly composed industrial noise.

https://open.spotify.com/album/0Sm1k8ifHIO117TmPPgv4I?si=SccIKZYSQdSwpUcqj2WZMg

Xiu Xiu brings sonic brutality to the table on ‘Girl with Basket of Fruit’

This was my second time seeing Protomartyr, and my third time seeing Preoccupations, so I was pretty comfortable making assumptions about what to expect from this concert– and I was also excited to see them both together at Brighton Music Hall, which is probably my favorite venue in Boston. As it turned out, I was right to set my expectations high, because the night reminded me why I keep coming out to see these guys again and again.

The last time I saw Protomartyr, they were the headliner for a concert John Maus was opening at the Middle East– and it was pretty clear that most people had come for Maus when they all piled out of the venue after his set. I’ll admit I was one of them, but I stayed out of principle. I ended up really enjoying Protomartyr, even though their singer, Joe Casey, seemed so drunk and uninterested that I literally thought he was just some random guy from the crowd who wandered onto the stage until he actually started singing. This time, this was not the case– Casey seemed more self-assured, maybe, and seemed to have more focused energy as a frontman, instead of appearing as a bored drunkard.

They opened up the night with ‘My Children’ and launched into ‘Wheel of Fortune’ and ‘Windsor Hum’ after, choosing to start with songs from their more recent works– 2017’s 

EP. I found their bassist to be my personal highlight of this show– the guitar was a little too drowned out in reverb and whammy for my tastes, but the bass was clear as day and carried the rhythm almost better than the drumming. Song highlights included ‘A Private Understanding,’ ‘Jumbo’s’ from their debut 

in 2013 (a bit of a deep cut!), and ‘Pontiac 87.’

Preoccupations, on the other hand, opened with ‘Newspaper Spoons,’ the first song off of their first album (and previous self-titled album, before the name change) 

. They played what are probably their most popular songs– ‘Continental Shelf’ and ‘Silhouettes’– within the first four songs of the set, which was an interesting choice, as it suggested that they were attempting to cater to their more lasting fans by getting the popular stuff out of the way. They made minor attempts to engage the audience, including singer Matt Flegel raising his beer up to the audience in an attempt to “cheers” with the venue. Flegel is consistently my top interest in seeing Preoccupations– his voice is always crisp and defined, and he’s carved out a very distinctive vocal style for himself in a genre that tends towards extreme homogeneity, both in sound and in demographic. Another highlight is their use of live synths by guitarist Scott Munro. When added to their other instrumentation, it added a sort of 80s goth rock element to it all; a testament to their desire not to lock themselves into any one sound.

The set lasted over an hour without the encore– an impressive amount of time. My only annoyance with the length was that the stage lights were on 

too bright. Maybe my line of sight was too low and I needed to have worn heels (or brought a step stool), but by the end of the night, I felt like I’d just stared into the sun for an hour. Despite my burning eyes, the concert ended on a high note– each time I’ve seen Preoccupations they’ve played ‘Death,’ the 11-minute masterpiece of 

, as their final song. They didn’t disappoint this time, either: the combination of the song, their technical talent, and the years of practice they’ve had in playing it lead to an amazing finale for a band I hope I’ll keep being lucky enough to keep seeing.

Preoccupations and Protomartyr impress their fans at Brighton Music Hall

This was probably the most empty show I’ve ever been to at the Sinclair– something that ended up being a massive bonus to my night, actually, since I didn’t have to keep craning my neck, and I had personal space for once. It turned out that this was the perfect setting to see Speedy Ortiz: a mostly relaxed venue full of long-term fans in the city that they first gained popularity.

I’ll admit I completely missed Halfsour apart from the last song of their set– which was good, even though I still probably heard a minute and a half of that, max, so I won’t pass any more judgment than that. Palberta, though, I definitely did catch. At first, I wasn’t fully feeling it. As much as I love bands of entirely women, there was a lot of chords they strummed that instantly just felt 

 to me– like less of an intentional dissonance, and more like they messed up. Particularly impressive, however, was that each of them played every single instrument. The band, which is made up of Lily Konigsberg, Nina Ryser, and Anina Ivry-Block, all sing as well as switching between guitar, bass, and drums as the songs go by. This definitely made me give them a pass on their rocky start, since there’s clearly a ton of talent here that maybe just needs to be a little more fine-tuned for live performance. Plus, Palberta’s music is 

difficult to perform, full-stop– there are songs that start with acapella harmonies, and each song is really layered especially for only having three band members, with the added complication of bizarre syncopated rhythms. Despite the bad first impression, I was impressed by the musical skill here. I’ll be interested to see where Palberta is in a couple of years.

Sadie Dupuis, Speedy Ortiz’s frontwoman, was dressed in a sparkly red dress, lending a little bit of ‘holiday cheer’ to the night. They opened with ‘Buck Me Off,’ ‘Lean In When I Suffer,’ and ‘Lucky 88’– all of the singles off of their newest album, 

. I thought it was kind of fun that they played a lot of songs in the order that they appear on the album, including also ‘Raising the Skate’ and ‘The Graduates’ from 2015’s 

. Dupuis’s voice is so unique, and she’s excellent live. She was so emotive while singing, as if she was mimicking the expressions that her lyrics might have invoked. There’s also a massive comfort level that the whole band seemed to have with each other, and they seemed to have a lot of fun playing– standing up back to back with each other and playing their guitars held straight up, and just general bouncing around were pretty common.

After playing straight through these five songs, Dupuis mentions that the Sinclair is one of her favorite venues in the world– which makes sense, as they’re essentially a Boston band. It feels a little bit like they intentionally got their most popular songs out of the way to make room for some more deep cuts, so to speak, which seemed to be appreciated. The main set is almost an hour, an impressive amount of time to play straight through. They seemed to be interested in creating a positive environment for everyone– they had a tip jar set up at the merch table to help migrants at the U.S. border, and they constantly thanked their openers and the staff at the Sinclair. Despite having nothing to do with the music, this was kind of a highlight for me: a reminder of the good in people. Other song highlights for me during the main set included ‘Tiger Tank’ and ‘Plough.’

They didn’t leave the stage at all before the encore, and play three songs, ‘No Below,’ ‘Casper (1995),’ and the extremely old ‘Taylor Swift’ as their last song, one of their singles back in 2012 before 

– the album that put them on the map– was even released. They finished playing the song with all their guitars held up together; their drummer going nuts in the background. I left in a better mood than I’d come in, happy to have seen a band so dedicated to the happiness of not only their fans, but of everyone around them.

Speedy Ortiz show their fans love at The Sinclair

really a concert venue. It’s actually a dance studio, complete with the mirrored walls and the black studio flooring that we weren’t allowed to wear our shoes on. While it was kind of fun to be in a room of 50 barefoot adults, it was also a little stressful to spend the night worrying about someone accidentally leaving with 

generic boots on instead of their own. There’s also no backstage area, so all of the different bands’ instruments were just pushed up against the wall.

Luckily, Drahla had a pretty good sense of humor about the weird set-up, and the first (and one of the only) things that one of them addressed the audience with was drummer Mike Ainsley joking that he’d moved around all of our shoes. Overall, they seemed comfortable in front of the moderately sized audience, even though they had some consistent technical difficulties, largely brought on by having little time to set up in the fast-paced style of Hassle Fest. The mics were also set a bit low for my liking, and frontwoman Luciel Brown’s voice blended in with her wiry guitar, Rob Riggs’s rhythmic bass, and Ainsley’s (frankly impressive and almost machine-like) drumming.

Despite the fact that I probably could have heard her a little bit better, it was still refreshing and exciting to see a woman as the lead vocalist of a post-punk band.. Each person’s musicianship also carried about as much weight as the others, though, and there wasn’t really any one person who stole the show: perhaps a benefit of their band only being three people, no one got lost in the mix. Their music is somewhat bass-driven as traditional post-punk is, sure, but it’s also somewhat minimalist in the best way possible; not drowned out by the reverb-drenched sound that marks much of their genre. None of them have been professionally trained in music, but it didn’t show in their performance. They meshed together remarkably well– it all just kind of 

. For a relatively new band, this is particularly exciting, since Drahla has yet to release their first album.

Song highlights included their newest single ‘Twelve Divisions of the Day,’ as well as the slightly older ‘Faux Text’ and ‘Fictional Decision.’ I’d read before that Drahla is a great band to see live, and while I don’t like to cling to preconceived notions, that one definitely did hold up for me – even though their set only clocked in at a little more than 30 minutes; yet another result of the unconventional Hassle Fest setting. Drahla is definitely deserving of the attention they’re starting to receive in the United States, after touring with acclaimed Montreal post-punk band Ought– and it’s exciting to think about where I might see them next.

Drahla brings their post-punk sound to Hassle Fest

, Julia Holter has released the unquestionable album of the year—and even one of the albums of the decade. She has cemented her place as one of the best composers of our time.

was released in 2015, critics were pleased, but puzzled. It seemed as though enigmatic, elaborate Holter (who had once written an album titled 

, which she eventually turned into a full-blown stage opera) had traded in her previously lofty shoes to make simpler, more accessible art-pop. Now, with her follow-up release 

, Holter has proved that this is far from the case—and that ostentation is what she’s best at. 

is a return to Holter’s abstract beginnings, with the added command of her full orchestral power.

gets its title from a line in Edel Adnan’s short story collection 

: “I found myself in an aviary full of shrieking birds.” Compared to albums inspired by Greek tragedies and French novellas (

is surprisingly linked to the present. The album is Holter’s take on current events, and it hovers between being a sanctuary from them and something just as chaotic. It’s impossible to talk about 

without mentioning that the album clocks in at 89 minutes long. It’s a dense, complex, winding river of an album; an aspect that has received mixed reviews. While some songs definitely scare off the casual listener with their unnecessary length and disinterest in harmoniousness—the first half of ‘Everyday is an Emergency’ is just dissonant, grating bagpipe tones—this detachment from making something strictly beautiful is actually one of 

does remarkably well is world-building. Listening to the album makes you feel like you’ve been whisked away to somewhere else, into this ridiculous and grandiose world that Julia Holter apparently lives in. Holter isn’t afraid to jerk you around between songs or even within the same song, constantly challenging your expectations of what exactly it is that you’re listening to—and she isn’t afraid of you not liking it, either. The biggest criticisms of Holter over the years have been her fake, showy accent, and her ostentatiousness. Here, Holter turns them both up to 11. She often sings in fragmented words, particularly on “Les Jeux to You,” or she chooses to forgo English entirely, such as on “Chaitius” and “Voce Simul.” Holter’s interest in Latin makes you feel as though you’ve been dropped into a Medieval church, a reflection of her interest in pre-modern literary traditions. On “I Would Rather See,” she transforms Anne Carson’s translations of Sappho. The references don’t stop there, and the album carries inspirations both arcane and obtuse, from Medieval French folk songs, Occitan troubadours, and Dante’s 

Colligere”—the Latin-to-English translation of which approaches something like the word “collecting”—seems to sum it up perfectly. 

is a collection of influences from all over, molded into something uniquely her own.

Julia Holter returns to her abstract beginnings on ‘Aviary’

I arrived at The Sinclair around 10:35 pm, 5 minutes after the opener was slated to start. However, luckily for me (or unluckily), I was greeted by a line from the venue around the corner of the street and down the next block– since they hadn’t even opened doors. I took my spot what felt like a mile away from the entrance, and saddled up for what ended up being over an hour and a half wait just to finally get inside at 12:10 am.

Due to the delay, opener Jaala began playing as people were still filtering in. While Jaala is normally a four-piece, the only person onstage was the band’s singer, songwriter and guitarist, Cosima Jaala. Her voice was unique and strong, and while she talked to the audience about being nervous (and a little drunk), it didn’t show in her performance. The one true downfall of the few songs I saw wasn’t her fault at all– it was that people 

 didn’t stop talking throughout her performance. This disturbance was so intense that a stage manager actually came out on stage after Jaala to ask the audience to show Nai Palm a little more respect.

Luckily for Nai Palm, it’s difficult to be anything less than completely enraptured by her. She has one of the best voices I’ve ever heard live, and while this is definitely apparent on Hiatus Kaiyote recordings and her solo album 

, it’s impossible to fully grasp her power and vocal control without seeing her on stage. She was alone on stage, and yet she easily commanded the venue with her soulful voice and stage presence. She opened the night with ‘Atari,’ originally released as a Hiatus Kaiyote song on 

that she reimagined for her solo album, and was met with lots of applause and people singing along.

From chatting in line with people during the aforementioned hour and a half we waited beforehand, it was clear the crowd was filled with die-hard Hiatus Kaiyote fans, so I wondered if people would be as receptive to Nai Palm’s solo work. They definitely were. When she started to sing ‘Atoll’, the audience was more than happy to sing it back to her. People yelled and clapped appreciatively every minute or so, whenever she went on a particularly impressive vocal run or hit a challenging note.

She also interspersed some impressive covers, including David Bowie’s ‘Blackstar,’ which ended up on 

, and Aretha Franklin’s ‘Master of Eyes.’ Having the balls to cover Aretha Franklin in the first place is no easy feat, and doing her work justice is even harder. Nai Palm, however, is not afraid to take vocal risks. She told the audience by acknowledging multiple songs that she says she “always fucks up.” As an observer, though, this was far from the truth, and the occasional roughness of her voice only served to make her performance more interesting.

Nai Palm enraptures fans at The Sinclair

Despite being pretty exhausted on the Wednesday night of this concert, I had high hopes for Mothers’ performance. My interest in seeing where Mothers would take their live shows, given the difference in their first album versus their more recent, pivotal sophomore release 

– plus the promise of a very reasonably priced tall boy of Narragansett from Great Scott– helped me curb my initially indifferent mood. I was right to power through– this wasn’t a concert to miss. To see Mothers live is to see a band that is evolving into something stronger and more composed as the years go by.

Opener Lala Lala, a product of the Chicago DIY scene, started their set without any pomp. There’s no announcement of who they were until later; they just started playing as people began to float over to the stage and away from the bar. I was initially skeptical that their performance would just be another boring white indie band– i.e. mostly men, too much reverb, and “minimalist” bass and guitar lines to mask a lack of any true technical skill, shake and serve– but this ended up being considerably less painful than my first impressions.

Frontwoman and singer-songwriter Lillie West’s voice definitely did start off a bit shaky, attempting some subpar, droning harmonization with the band’s bassist, Emily Kempf. They juggled electronic drums, reverb, and a 

of looping, particularly in between songs as a sort of filler. It definitely was not a well-oiled machine: their attempts at smoothly transitioning via live looping are often cut abruptly short, but when they used this technique in their 

songs, it was probably one of my favorite parts of the performance. I am a sucker for a good live loop, so maybe this is just personal preference. In the second half of their set, they started playing a lot of songs from their upcoming album, to be released September 28, and I actually started to get into it. West showed her vocal range a lot more on the new songs, which makes me feel more forgiving towards the rocky start to their set– especially once she mentioned that this is the first time that the band has performed a lot of these songs live. Their newer music feels more inspired, and there’s a lot more of the musical complexity I initially found lacking.

Mothers started playing with exactly the same lack of pomp that Lala Lala displayed (or rather, didn’t display). I actually didn’t even notice they’d walked on stage until they started playing from where I was sitting over at the bar, which is inconveniently placed just so it’s impossible to see the stage. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t been waiting attentively to get a spot, though, since the venue wasn’t near to sold out– I could easily shoulder myself into a spot a few rows back from the front. Frontwoman Kristine Leschper wore all white and stood off to the right side of the stage, and her voice was initially quiet and unassuming as she plays their first song of the night, ‘“IT IS A PLEASURE TO BE HERE”’– but she was still the clear focal point, set aside from everyone else. The rest of her bandmates look at her occasionally, a clear form of deferring to her. They played a couple more songs from their new album,

, before playing their most-known song ‘It Hurts Until It Doesn’t’ to a bit more audience engagement.

There’s a lot more polish to Mothers in comparison to their opener. Leschper and her bandmates felt remarkably in sync, even among the various different genres and styles that their discography continues to evolve to cover. Throughout the show, which lasted about an hour, Mothers touched on styles from experimental post-punk to more sparse singer-songwriter and back again. While they sourced a significant amount of their setlist from their new album, they also played a couple of notedly older songs, including ‘No Crying in Baseball,’ a song that they released before their first album, 

When You Walk A Long Distance You Are Tired

, and ‘Stairwell Song,’ a song Leschper released back in 2013.

They closed out the night with ‘PINK,’ one of the singles from their latest album, Leschper’s voice gaining its greatest strength of the night on one of their most upbeat songs, ending their set with a frenzied bassline and intense drumming, descending into noise. I leave having had a great night– one that was full of promise from Lala Lala, and one that was impressively dynamic, personal, and captivating from Mothers.

Mothers impresses with a dynamic set at Great Scott

WRBB’s Caroline Smith spoke to singer-songwriter Molly Burch about her tour, new music video and sources of inspiration.

Your new video for ‘To The Boys’ came out a few days ago, and it’s stop-motion animation except for your face– which is transposed onto a paper doll. Where did the idea for that video from?

The video concept was totally the animator’s idea! For this album, I wanted to go to directors and artists that I really admire and just let them go with it, and give up some of my control over it. I reached out to Emily Ann Hoffman, the animator, and that was what she came up with. I loved the concept so much and I felt like it worked with the song really well, so it was super easy for me to just sit back and let her do the work!

I also love your new single “Wild.” What was the writing process like for that song, and what does it mean to you?

That one was the last song I wrote before we went into record, and I wrote it only a day before we actually recorded it– so it was a pretty fast turn-around. I write pretty quickly once I have an idea, and then I bring it to my guitarist Dailey Toliver and we work it out together before bringing it to the band to record.

I want to talk a little bit about your background. You studied jazz vocal performance in college, which is amazing. Why did you decide to study music? Did you always plan on that, or did you have some sort of realization that this was what you wanted to do professionally?

I was never a great student, really, and I was never interested in school [laughs]. But I always knew that I wanted to pursue music, and I wanted to get experience with performing– so studying that in college just kind of made sense.

Your music is obviously a mix of genres, with your more vintage-y jazz vocals and your partner Dailey Toliver’s country guitar work. What drew you to combining those sounds together?

Dailey isn’t classically trained and didn’t finish school, but he’s always been in orchestras and things like that. Our sound really just naturally happened– I feel like we’re pretty organic in the way that we work together and play together. We’ve both taken our influences from classical music and jazz music, and as musicians we just click together.

What are you most excited about in your new tour? Is there a city or venue that you’re particularly

I’m really excited about this tour mostly because I have a new band set-up. I’ll have a five-piece band so I’m not going to play guitar, I’m just going to sing, which is something I haven’t done before on tour– so I’m really excited about getting the chance to just focus on my vocals. In terms of places to visit, I just love the East Coast in general, and especially the East Coast in the fall, so. That’s probably where I’m most excited to visit.

Are there any lessons you learned from your first tour that you’re bringing into your 

Oh, yeah, so many lessons [laughs]. Touring is just a million lessons all the time. I’m slowly learning how to eat better and take better care of myself, like learning how to not get sick and things like that. I’m very sensitive to band member dynamics on tour, so I’ve also been very careful with who I’ve asked to come with me on tour this time around.

Is there anything you’d want your listeners to take away from your new album, conceptually? 

was more about the ups and downs of love, but your new singles seem to depart from that. What would you say are the larger themes on 

I feel like there’s a lot more interpersonal themes on 

, like about my struggles with anxiety and my own fears. I would love if people could relate to that, and feel like they’re not alone in those feelings. I was really inspired by how I felt after the couple years of promoting and releasing 

, and having a lot of anxiety during that time because things were just moving so quickly.

You mentioned earlier that you wanted practice performing in college, was that something that was a source of anxiety for you?

Yes, but not anymore. I did when I was kid, and I had just started performing. I had really intense anxiety around it where I would worry about a performance constantly. I would go completely red in the face and sweat because I was so insecure, but since then I’ve had a lot of experience and I don’t get anxious like that anymore. My tour anxiety now is more that it’s so over-stimulating, and you don’t get a lot of alone time to decompress, which can be really overwhelming– but I do like touring, I promise.

You’ve talked a lot before about female vocalists being a huge influence for you, particularly big jazz vocalists like Billie Holiday and Nina Simone. Are there any contemporary female vocalists working today that you draw inspiration from?

Yes, absolutely! I am obsessed with Ariana Grande’s new album– I love pop voices so, so much. I also love Natalie Prass’s new album, and Mitski’s new album. Pretty much any contemporary woman with an amazing voice I am super drawn to.

What songs are you most excited for people to hear from 

The third single we’re releasing, ‘Candy,’ I’m really excited about. There’s also a song called ‘Every Little Thing,’ which is the last song on the album, that I’m excited for people to hear– it’s actually a song I wrote a really long time ago, and it’s just this simple, stripped-down ballad that I think turned out really well.

This is just kind of a fun question– what’s something that people who know you very well would be surprised to learn about you?

Oh, man. This is a really hard one for me. I feel like everyone knows everything about me even if they don’t know me that well. I’m just an open book.

Be sure to check out Molly Burch at The Lilypad on 10/14.

Q&A with Molly Burch

Spiritualized’s newest– and potentially last– release is solid but unimaginative, a comeback album that shoots itself in the foot with its heavy-handed attempts to appear mature.

The first thing I noticed upon pressing play on Spiritualized’s newest release, 

, is the album cover. The album’s title is written in Morse code, overlayed over an image of front-man Jason Pierce in a spacesuit, traversing a barren desert, with mountains far in the background, faded into the dusty air. It’s presumably a reference to Pierce previously working under the name J. Spaceman, but the result is uncomfortable and lonely; drenched in solitude. It’s unclear if this desert walk takes place on Earth or somewhere else– but it doesn’t matter much to the overall effect. This version of Pierce is alone, and even kind of 

, wherever he is: space has long been aligned with isolation, and it’s almost 

disconcerting to imagine the kind of mindset required to randomly wear a spacesuit on Earth.

Isolation is not a theme that is new to Pierce. Themes of addiction, loneliness– and the loneliness of addiction– have permeated his work for decades, but here, Pierce seems to move away from such grandiosity. 

 is more of a collection of sad love ballads than anything else, and while the album is supremely consistent 

, it’s not remarkably conceptual, and there isn’t a lot to tie it all together. The instrumentation is lusher than Spiritualized has played around with in recent years, but it ends up making the album feel slightly “dad-rock”, a far-cry from the rougher, more psychedelic sound and intense reverb that marked their earlier albums. This, certainly, is at least somewhat intentional. Pierce, now 52 years old, recently said that he didn’t want to make music that sounded like him “trying to pretend [he’s] 23” in an interview with the New York Times. Unfortunately, all this really did for me was draw attention to the album’s status as essentially a middle-aged comeback for Pierce before his potential retirement– as it’s rumored that this might be the last we’ll hear from Spiritualized.

That being said, the album’s aged feel has major highlights in opening track ‘A Perfect Miracle,’ and ‘Let’s Dance.’ In contrast to the album’s isolating cover, Pierce consistently addresses an absent lover, creating a sort of “alone, together” atmosphere. On ‘Here It Comes (The Road) Let’s Go,’ Pierce attempts to convince a lover to run away with him to “get stoned all through the night”; a weirdly childish fantasy for someone attempting to be older. Pierce’s words and voice feel world-weary and melancholy. This is actually a massive plus for the album, although his songs are lacking in lyrical complexity. Nothing about it feels 

– even if it’s not the most cohesive album, it is a rather natural one.

Spiritualized album, and a potential hypothesis for why this is jumps out at me: I don’t think this is the album that Pierce wanted to make before going out. 

certainly ends Spiritualized’s legacy with a whimper over a bang. The unfortunate result of trying

 to pretend you’re 23 is that what you end up with feels a little old and faded instead.

Spiritualized releases full-length ‘And Nothing Hurt’

Marauder is far from the most inventive or compelling Interpol album, but the consistent atmosphere created by Dave Fridmann’s production and upbeat style make way for various engaging and enjoyable moments.

wanted to like this album. I would consider myself an Interpol super-fan to a level that is almost embarrassing, so I tend to get my hopes up every time they announce a new release. Even after various disappointments in the form of, particularly, their self-titled and 

I still retain some (maybe naive) optimism that maybe they’ll manage to make something that approaches their earliest albums.

I intentionally avoided listening to any of the singles – ‘The Rover,’ ‘Number 10,’ or the album’s first song, ‘If You Really Love Nothing’ – because I was committed to having an open mind. Evidently, this didn’t save the album from itself. 

instantly feels like an Interpol album, mostly because it sounds exactly like every less-than-great release they’ve put out basically since 2004’s 

It features the same crisp production and repetitive bass-lines that have marked everything they’ve ever done – but that’s also exactly the problem. It feels as though Interpol and I are on the same page: we both want desperately to hear another record like their early (and most acclaimed) works, but 14 years after the release of 

it’s becoming more and more apparent that it’s just not going to happen.

That’s not to say that this is an album that I truly, genuinely dislike, despite my initial negative impressions. It would be pretty difficult for me to fully hate an Interpol album, and this one is a lot better than some of their other later releases. The album is carried by the fact that many of the songs, even outside of the singles, have rather single-like qualities: the anthemic choruses, catchy hooks, and the repetitive instrumentation (which admittedly is a hallmark of most of their songs in general, full-stop). On top of that, they’ve moved from a cleaner sound – one that is unmuddied by the distortion that seems to find its way onto every other album these days – to one that is absolutely 

 in reverb, particularly in terms of Kessler’s guitar work and Paul Banks’ vocals. I like the sound, but it doesn’t excite me very much. Daniel Kessler’s guitar work is distinctive, for sure, since I can’t really think of another band that sounds close to Interpol, and Paul Banks’ voice is unmistakable. But at this point, without any real changes to their formula in years, the combination is starting to get a

While “If You Really Love Nothing” and “The Rover” start out the album on a reasonable high note, they still leave something to be desired. There’s nothing to distinguish the album from any of Interpol’s other recent works, to the point where I kind of feel like I could be writing the same exact review for their last album, 

, and the instrumentation is denser; less sparse. Paul Banks can be one of my favorite vocalists, but he doesn’t measure up here at all, and it’s even kind of difficult to understand what he’s saying – especially in “The Rover.” Part of this is definitely that there’s French words randomly interspersed into the song for seemingly no reason, but he isn’t showing off the range and emotion that he’s put into his earlier albums, falling back into the old criticisms of his singing as monotone. “If You Really Love Nothing” is a lot better in terms of vocals, and 

– but not enough – emotion comes through, as Paul Banks is presumably referring to the departure from his long-time girlfriend, Helena Christensen, earlier this year. I love a good break-up song, but the droning vocals kind of take the fun out of it.

“Complications,” the album’s third song, is probably the biggest departure from their normal sound on 

, and it sounds more like The Libertines than a typical Interpol song. The momentum is overall decent on the first half of the record, and bringing on Dave Fridmann (most recently known for his work with Tame Impala and MGMT) for the album’s production was a strong move for the band – the album 

great, even if Fridmann didn’t push them to do anything particularly new or interesting. The sound engineering creates a strong, consistent atmosphere, and the album has a great sense of cohesion. It knows what it’s doing, even if it’s not doing anything out of the ordinary.

 weak moments on the album, which is a plus. If anything, the albums bad moments are just where things get stale, but it’s not particularly bad. Interpol absolutely fall into the trap of having set absurdly high expectations at the beginning of their career, so it’s hard to say if certain things are 

 bad, or if I just wish they were better. “Surveillance” is certainly one of the more tedious tracks, will a dull chord progression and boring performances all around. It doesn’t make me cringe, but it might make me press “skip.”

My main gripe with this album is that it’s just another indication that Interpol is perpetually uninterested in doing anything actually ambitious. It’s not terrible, it’s just not particularly 

Interpol finds itself at a standstill with full-length ‘Marauder’

Oneohtrix Point Never’s latest release, 

, consistently straddles the line between engaging and over-stimulating throughout its 40 minute run-time— and finally comes to a consensus of a chaotically intriguing sound.

Oneohtrix Point Never — real name Daniel Lopatin — has been around for what feels like forever. Over his ten full-length albums, Lopatin has created a reputation for himself as one of the most intriguing voices in experimental electronic music. On 

however, Lopatin makes a change from what we might expect of him. In contrast to his previous endeavors, which have remained mostly or entirely solo undertakings, 

is largely collaborative, featuring artists including James Blake, Anohni, Kelsey Lu, and Prurient. What’s also surprising is how vocals take the driver’s seat on many of the album’s songs, with Lopatin’s own voice as lead vocals on four songs — the first time he’s done so since 2010’s 

. That it’s different is probably the first thing that comes to mind listening to 

, but it doesn’t end up being the last.

Lopatin’s choice to depart from his normal style ends up holding both positive and negative consequences for the album as a whole. While 

’s chaotic nature and disjointed structure is entertaining at times, it’s also sort of distracting, and it’s hard for a listener to wrap their head around the album in its first half. One might say that this is Lopatin’s apocalyptic album, aligned with the recent pessimism that the current political climate has brought out. It shows in the way the album frequently feels as though it’s interrupting itself, abruptly ending songs and jolting the listener with fast, fractured transitions. It’s a challenging, cerebral listen; not the kind of album you would put on as background music, but rather an album that consistently dismantles and then recalibrates itself. It commands your whole attention, for better or for worse — which is perhaps intentional, looking at the album’s cover, which depicts three women in 70s clothing overlooking a glowing MacBook. I don’t really know how else to interpret that other than as a haughty critique of the way our culture consistently becomes increasingly steeped in technology; an anachronistic study of how society has changed over not much time at all. Perhaps it’s trite, but Lopatin clearly believes it needs to be said.

From there, there’s Lopatin’s vocals to address. They’re roboticized, as is generally becoming popularized in experimental, which might be why it feels kind of exhaustive. It’s wholly reminiscent of Bon Iver’s 2016 album 

— an album that I probably wouldn’t use any other word to describe than “fine,” as in I won’t be actively annoyed if I hear it at any given point, but I won’t ever seek out another listen. That’s not to say that the album doesn’t more than bounce back from Lopatin’s less-than-exciting vocal performances. The tracks in which Anohni steps up for vocals are brilliant, particularly ‘Same’ and ‘We’ll Take It,’ which are probably the best songs on the album full-stop. Her voice is authoritative and disarming, managing to breakthrough the general instrumental chaos to be a strong driving force on whatever song she enters. It’s also not coincidental that every song Anohni is on (other than ‘Black Snow’) falls squarely into Side B of the album, a side that’s a lot more engaging and fast-moving. I wouldn’t say Side A of the album does nothing for me, but I’d be a lot more likely to skip down to ‘Warning’ — where I personally feel the album start to shift — and start listening from there when I return to this album. The first few tracks could be described as “slow-build,” but it’s the sort of slow-build that is genuinely 

slow to be very engaging at all, save for Lopatin’s expert sound design and production.

is an ambitious endeavor from Lopatin that is largely well-executed. It’s an album I will certainly find myself revisiting, and for now, it has more than enough going for it to keep it in my daily rotation. While 

is one of Lopatin’s more challenging (and less accessible) works, this ends up working in its favor. 

isn’t meant to be easy-listening, and it’s certainly effective in problematizing what listening to music is even meant to be. It’s not always entertaining, and it can (and maybe should) break boundaries. Out of chaos comes something incredibly alluring.

Oneohtrix Point Never release full-length ‘Age Of’

, the “addendum” piece or companion to 2017’s 

John Maus keeps up the momentum— and regains some of the whimsy— of his previous records.

John Maus’s draw as an artist in 2018 encompasses four main components: an explosive stage presence, an enigmatic public persona that struggles to reconcile an interest in both academic philosophy and pop culture, a borderline obsessive interest in synthesizers, and lyrics that evoke the absurd.

, I would argue that four out of the five still persist— leaving out, of course, the stage presence. 

is a collection of songs made during the time Maus spent making 

, if I had to explain it, is what came easier,” going on to describe the choice to split his most recent work into two albums as an attempt to “put a bow around” his last few years’ work. It might also be one of the last albums that Maus approaches by himself, without being in a proper studio or bringing in other instrumental performers.

like the end of an era, though, and this is both a strength and a weakness. In one way, it’s the same old Maus; in another, it’s 

the same old Maus. The sort of unnerving, absurd lyrics that have persisted throughout his entire discography still shine through from the very beginning of the record, in which Maus proclaims, “Mr. Money Bags, Mr. Brand New Shoes, Mr. I am a god… they don’t know shit about outer space.” In the next song, he goes on to recall a similar feeling from 

’ ‘Pets’— a song about pets dying— on ‘Dumpster Baby,’ a song where his deep, somewhat unsettling baritone announces, “Take that baby to the dump / to the dump.” It’s the sort of irreverent, intentionally flippant songwriting, naturally overlaid with 80s-pop inspired synths, that Maus has become known and loved for. It’s the sound I first fell in love with on 2011’s 

We Must Become the Pitiless Censors of Ourselves

, listening to Maus invoke his imagined audience to “kill every cop in sight” on ‘Cop Killer.’

is a little less dark and dystopian, and more of a light-hearted meditation on the oddities that Trump’s America has brought rather than an ominous one. There is more humor that shines through on the album — in Maus’s words, it’s a record that “comes easier,” both to Maus and a listener. That’s not to say that 

is simple or straightforward. In true Maus fashion, it’s anything but, and seems to reflect the hesitant optimist in Maus. While 

is largely focused on some sort of apocalyptic scenario, this album hovers in the middle ground between apocalypse and utopia; a world in which, perhaps, we can evade the mess we’ve made and move backwards. The choice to end the album on two remixed versions of earlier Maus songs, ‘1987’ and ‘I Want to Live,’ reflects this optimism. “Always forward, / I want to live / Forever is now,” Maus chants on the latter song, perhaps clueing us into the possibility of change – something that 

deliberately doesn’t invite on its final song ‘Bombs Away,’ instead invoking catastrophe of nuclear proportions.

is also a return to some of the whimsicality that Maus’s previous records (2007’s 

in particular) displayed with moxie. It’s genuinely 

 as much as it is bizarre, with Maus’ classic 80s inspired synth-pop, interspersed with a lo-fi charm and generally reverb-drenched sound, reaching levels of pleasant gaudiness it hasn’t hit in a while… at least until the album takes a turn for the more solemn later on. On ‘Privacy,’ a song written by college classmate and common musical influence Ariel Pink, Maus seems to bask in the loneliness of shutting yourself off, while on ‘Middle Ages,’ he contemplates a life trapped in purgatory. Ultimately, it strikes a good balance between its serious themes and the more nonsensical cuts, managing not to turn itself into a joke before the end of its rather short 35 minutes.

is worth more than a few listens for anyone with any serious interest in Maus’s discography, and it does fairly well holding up to the Maus hype that the release of 

regenerated. To someone just jumping in, though, it’s maybe not the first place I’d point you. Compared to Maus’s other record of what might be called B-sides, 

A Collection of Rarities and Previously Unreleased Material