Sunn O)))’s music, for better or for worse, hurls the listener into a state of chaotic numbness. Each album is a slow build, meant to gradually break down walls and penetrate the soul. When consumed in its most genuine state – live – the music will stir a soft rumble in the center of the chest, slowly building into the throat, literally blocking any thoughts unassociated with the music from entering or leaving the mind. The next best thing is a solid pair of headphones, and while it takes a little more effort, that same meditative state can be achieved. Each album has a build, a peak, and a descent – all except 

, both of which were released in 2019. Instead, Sunn O))) has taken 2019 to release two of the most organic albums they’ve ever made. Together they create a full “Sunn O))) experience,” crafted in the span of two weeks.

Let’s look at a hefty e-mailed statement regarding the new album’s creation.

 is the result of a daily practice which was regularly performed each morning or evening during the two week 

 sessions at [Steve Albini’s] Electrical Audio Studio during July 2018,” the statement reads. “All of the day’s musical participants would gather and work through a 12 minute improvised modal drone at the start and or end of the day’s work. The piece performed was timed with a stopwatch and tracked to two-inch tape, it was an exercise and a chance to dig into a deep opening or closing of the day’s session in a deep musical way with all of the participants. To connect/reconnect, liberate the creative mind a bit and greet each other and the space through the practice of sound immersion.”

as an album that is “inextricably woven” into 

 due to the presence of record producer Steve Albini, best known for his hand in the production of albums like Nirvana’s 

But there’s more to it than that; Beyond Steve Albini’s masterful production, there is something remarkable happening with these releases. The first, 

, is a breathtaking colossus of an album, invasive and strategically crafted. That album is the ascension, the buildup. No gimmicks – just Sunn O))) making music with a distinct goal in mind.

, we have something more experimental. Seen as a sort of meditative companion to 

, it seems to be more of a continuation of its predecessor. It starts off heavy, right at the peak of the experience that concluded 

. The rest of the album is a stark descent into the aforementioned chaotic numbness–for both listener and musician. Whether it’s Tim Midyett, T.O.S., Hildur Guðnadóttir, Stephen O’Malley, or Greg Anderson, we are witnessing the band in a meditative, rehabilitative state rather than one aimed towards performance.

The album’s name, which refers to any volcanic fragments hurled through the air by an eruption, seems more fitting for the first release. Even the cover is a bright splash of orange, resembling volcanic magma trickling down the side of a mountain. But maybe they knew that. Regardless, it is clear that the effort put into these stringed releases is unlike anything fans have ever seen from the band. This is cliché, but they are giving fans more than a piece of entertainment or a singular experience – it’s a state of mind.

With the start of 2019, Sunn O))) gave fans a carefully crafted masterpiece in drone metal. On 

 they entered new territory, one of self-reflection – and we’ve been given the priceless opportunity to join the ride.

Sunn O))) breaks new ground with ‘Pyroclasts’

January 25, 2019 @ Middle East – Downstairs

Mick Jenkins doesn’t want your approval. He seems to know exactly what he’s doing.

Mick Jenkins is meticulous. He takes his time. In 2016, he performed to a sold-out crowd at the Middle East in Cambridge. Two years later, and he’s performing to a sold-out crowd again, at the same venue (now featuring one less 

). Some would say that this is a prime example of a stagnant artist, or of an artist that failed to take off when the time was right. Usually, I’d agree. But it doesn’t seem like Mick Jenkins sights are set on rap stardom or reaching A-list status.

theMIND performs at the Middle East Downstairs. Photo by Chris Triunfo for WRBB.

Jenkins has slowly but surely pumped out consistent projects since the release of his critically-acclaimed mixtape 

And although his studio albums have yet to surpass that mixtape, there is an underlying method to his slow madness. It is rare to see an artist in 2019 who has stayed on the same page for over five years. Messages evolve, cultures are renovated, artists change who they are. But all this time, sitting behind the scenes, is Mick Jenkins, spreading messages of self-care and self-love, all the while propped up by one of the most faithful fanbases I have ever seen.

Attendees at Jenkins’ Friday-night concert rapped his lyrics at him instead of with him. During a brief interlude in which Jenkins stepped off stage, fans even demonstrated their passion by reciting a deep cut from Jenkins’ right-hand man and producer, theMIND, who fed off of the crowd’s energy to the point where he was dripping with sweat and hunching over to catch his breath.

As for Jenkins, his most recent visit to the Middle East was his most eloquent and relaxed. He’s stepping away from all the bangers, and focusing more on a new style of ballad that seems exclusive to Chicago rapper like Noname, Jenkins and Chance the Rapper. Full of messages of validity and inclusivity, Jenkins dominated the crowd with his words, barely moving or jumping around on stage. Occasionally, he’d take a knee and look meditatively into the eyes of somebody in the crowd.

As he finished his encore performance, Jenkins smiled as he said, “I know it takes time, but new music is coming at you real soon.”

Mick Jenkins returns to the Middle East

Since the turn of the century, Chicago has served as a breeding ground for hip-hop artistry. Most of the rappers who have made it big are male, and up until 2019, Kanye West had been the only one to host a sold-out crowd in Boston. But along with all the forgotten resolutions and freezing nights of the new year, January gave Boston two back to back sold-out performances from Bronzeville lyricist Fatimah Warner, who has been making music under the moniker Noname since 2010.

The first of her two-night visit to the Royale in Chinatown found fans streaming in with their sights equally set on escaping the cold as they were on seeing the up-and-coming emcee. Opening for Noname was Elton Aura, a fresh face from Chicago’s South Side. His set was a warm and charming welcome that can only be described as bedroom soul wrapped in glittering electronic production.

After skipping onstage, Noname opened her set with ‘Self,’ which also served as the opening track on her 2018 album 

The song is as soulful and thoughtful as it is boisterous and braggadocious. Backed by a nearly all-male band, she rapped, “My pussy teachin’ ninth-grade English / My pussy wrote a thesis on colonialism / And y’all still thought a bitch couldn’t rap huh?”

Noname is bold and unforgiving in her stage presence, proudly showing her newfound power as an artist and her long-held confidence as woman in a field dominated by men. At the same time, she is bubbly and warm, spending the entire night hopping gleefully across the stage. Periodically, she would stop to thank her day one fans and isolate people in the crowd just to give them a warm, personalized smile.

Following a half-hour medley of tracks from 

Noname revealed that she was battling a cold. “But that shit won’t stop me,” she said with a laugh. Without allowing a reaction from the crowd, she jumped right into “Song 31,” her first single from 2019, which premiered only days before she performed on The Tonight Show starring Jimmy Fallon. The song, which is fast-paced and thematically multi-faceted (covering topics from African American representation in television to factory farming), highlighted her backing-band’s abilities. Connor Baker, who was on drums, had a frantic and short-lived but well-received solo, leading right into a soothing and milky vocal solo from her bassist, who goes by Phoelix.

Noname performed over 17 songs in under an hour, but her set felt anything but rushed. After witnessing some of the loudest calls for an encore I have ever heard, she came back on stage to give a powerful rendition of “Shadow Man,” a cut from 

that deals with death and mortality growing up on Chicago’s West Side. For an artist that deals with heavy and sometimes political themes, her set delivered brightness to an otherwise bleak night. Instead of making any bold statements or calls to action, Noname let her music and her presence do all the talking.

Noname shows nothing but strength in sold out Boston run

I never thought I would say that I had a religious experience during a concert. It seems cliched and like a blatant lie. With all the sweaty bodies, loud sounds and smell of beer, it doesn’t strike me as the right spot to have a revelation. But, during Bomba Estéreo’s set at Paradise Rock Club, I felt like I was five again, sitting in church and believing in something for the first time in a while.

It doesn’t hurt that the Colombian band’s set was centered around a religious ceremony. With the stage decorated like a jungle, lead singer Liliana Saumet delivered her electric singing, screaming and chanting with elaborate costumes, candles and an altar filled with fruit. She was unforgiving in her delivery, bringing the psychedelic cumbia sound of the band to Boston through a deeply Southern American tradition. Before their set began, the screen on stage advertised eco-activism. During the show, Saument held half of a papaya in front of her hips, smiling gleefully and yelling about the power of women. The band truly did what they wanted, and it worked in their favor.

The band’s name, after all, is a term for a really fun and energetic party or celebration, which is precisely what happened that night. Opening with “Caribbean Power,” off of their 2013 studio release Elegancia Tropical, the song begins with oscillating synths and is immediately followed by an intense guitar riff and cumbia beat. The crowd resembled the dance floor of a club instead of a pit at a concert. “Yo soy Caribbean power elegancia tropical / Caribbean power elegancia tropical / Caribbean power elegancia tropical,” Saumet screamed as flashing lights flooded the stage, turning the band’s bodies into moving shadows.

The set continued with few breaks, each song blending into the next. Occasionally, some banter would escape from Saumet in between songs, asking the crowd if they were from Mexico, or Colombia, or the Dominican Republic. If there was one take away the band wanted fans to bring with them after the show, it was the pride they felt for South America, and more specifically, Colombia. Traditional instruments, like tamboras, guacharacas and tiples were blended flawlessly with the hypnotizing loops of electric guitar, synthesizers and a very simple drumset.

Expecting the typical infectious energy of an electronic show, I went in anticipating a lot of energy. But I came out of the show stupefied by the amount of energy that the band ended up providing. It was an overdose of joy and carelessness that plastered a smile on my face from start to finish. It’s hard to tell when Bomba Estéreo will come through Boston next, but this sold-out night at Paradise left an impact on the city’s fans like no other.

Bomba Estéreo goes wild at Paradise Rock Club

Sony Music Entertainment · November 2, 2018

Rosalía has spun the folkloric sound of flamenco into something deeply contemporary and personal, still embracing and honoring the tradition and melodrama that comes with it.

, the Catalan singer aimed her bow and arrow at the hearts of the people from her home. The album was a simple foray into modern flamenco. The sounds of an acoustic guitar and clapping hands were all that backed Rosalía’s emotional infusions. Now, with the release of 

, her bow and arrow is aimed far beyond her home of Catalonia. In fact, it has become the shot heard around the world, with media outlets from the New York Times to El País hailing her as the next international superstar. Rosalía has done something novel with flamenco, successfully presenting it to an audience that at one point hadn’t even dreamt of listening to the hypnotic chanting. She spun the folkloric sound into something deeply contemporary and personal, still embracing and honoring the tradition and melodrama that comes with it.

‘Pienso en Tu Mirá,’ the album’s third song and second promotional single, exemplifies what Rosalía has so successfully tapped into– uniting the rhythm of flamenco with Latin pop vocal stylings. The song tells the tale of jealous lovers; in the music video, a sequence of shots shows different people staring into the camera, with a small blotch of blood growing larger and larger as they stare straight into the camera– and therefore, straight at the viewer. The people shown are diverse, spanning all of Spain, and accurately encompass Rosalía’s current manifesto. More than any other artist, she is grappling with what it means to be young and Spanish in a country that is drowning in regional turmoil and global influence. As Catalonia continues to seek independence, here comes Rosalía, with an album that has essentially united the youth of the country behind a reinterpretation of its deeply rooted folklore.

Co-produced with the Spanish electronic musician El Guincho, 

 combines those sounds of classic flamenco with elements of R&B and hip-hop. In the opening track and first promotional single ‘Malamente,’ listeners are hit with the classic staccato-ed clapping that is quintessential to flamenco, along with a light, melodic synth and a sample of breaking glass. Every song is starkly original, ripping elements of various genres and combining them into something completely new. The title of the album suggests the notion of desire (

), and the tracks are all split and titled as chapters to a story, with tales of love and heartbreak being told from a new perspective with each song.

At the same time, Rosalía has emerged as a global feminist icon. In the album’s final track ‘A Ningún Hombre,’ she celebrates her independence, denouncing the men in her life. “A ningún hombre consiento que dicte mi sentencia / Sólo Dios puede juzgarme / Sólo a él debo obediencia,” she sings: 

No man has the consent to hand me a verdict, only God can judge me, I only owe him my obedience. 

In ‘De Aquí No Sales,’ she addresses domestic abuse, painting a picture of the excuses an abuser would use to slip away from blame. She seems to have nothing to hide, proudly letting her pain show. “Mucho más a mí me duele, de lo que a ti te está doliendo,” she sings: 

. That same song replaces the traditional handclaps that are littered in flamenco with a sample of a motorcycle engine, spasmodically revving as a downbeat. In fact, Rosalía even calls back to the two sources of her inspiration throughout the album. On ‘Bagdad,’ she reinterprets the production from Justin Timberlake’s ‘Cry Me a River,’ while ‘Reniego’ calls back to a staple in the flamenco songbook.

Flamenco comes from the south of Spain, from Andalusia, and is associated to the Spanish Romani. It has a distinct resemblance to traditional Arabic music, and dates as far back as the Reconquista in Spain. It is genre filled with passion and beauty; born out of turmoil. With 

, Rosalía has given life to the genre once more, and centuries later, it is still filled with that same passion and is surrounded by a new kind of turmoil.

Rosalía takes the world by storm with ‘El Mal Querer’

Twenty years ago, Lauryn Hill found herself at a crossroads. She was 22, pregnant with her first child and faced the daunting task of having to restart her career as a solo artist. The Fugees had just broken up after winning two Grammy awards for their album 

 and her relationship with former members Wyclef Jean and Pras Michel was fractured. The three wouldn’t come together to perform again until 2004. Artistically isolated, Hill dove headfirst into creating her first and only solo album, 

. It went on to sell 8 million copies in the U.S. and earn five Grammys.

The first sound on the album is a school bell, followed by a soft guitar and a teacher’s voice calling attendance. That voice appears in various interludes throughout the album and belongs to Ras Baraka, who currently serves as the mayor of Newark, New Jersey. As the classroom comes to order, Baraka begins taking attendance, and when he reaches Hill’s name, he repeatedly calls it out, implying to listeners that she isn’t there. The cover art is a rendering of Hill’s face carved into the top of a school desk. 

is, at its crux, an album of youthful rebellion; it’s her way of grappling with adulthood. She spills years of heartbreak, anger and pride into the tightly packed one-hour debut.

The LP also came to fruition during a time of musical reviviscence. Hip hop was finally being taken seriously, joining the ranks of Motown-era soul and reggae, which were reaching a striking popularity peak in the late 90’s. Hill used this to her advantage, mixing the three into a sound that became uniquely her own. Despite her youth, Hill was coming from an experienced music career. At that point in her life, she had already written for Whitney Houston, worked with Aretha Franklin and had years of rap artistry under her belt.

 with the hard hitting ‘Lost Ones,’ exuding a sense of anger and pride in the state of her career. A simple boom-bap sound is backed by scattered vocals alluding to brick-city – otherwise known as Newark – a part of Hill’s New Jersey upbringing. Hill’s flow spills out in messy triplets as she addresses her former lover Wyclef Jean, telling listeners all about what had been going on in her life. “It’s funny how money change a situation / Miscommunication leads to complication / My emancipation don’t fit your equation / I was on the humble, you on every station / Some wan’ play young Lauryn like she dumb / But remember not a game new under the sun.”

Then, right when you think the song is going to remain a hard-hitting rap anthem, it shifts beautifully. Thanks in part to the work of Boston-based producer Che Pope, ‘Lost Ones’ turns into a callback to “Bam Bam,” the 80’s reggae anthem from Sister Nancy. Hill’s vocals become silky as she sings through the refrain to the style of Sister Nancy’s song. Despite this, the wordplay that was at work earlier in the track is not sacrificed. “You might win some, but you really lost one / You just lost one, it’s so silly how come? / When it’s all done, did you really gain from / What you done done? It’s so silly how come? / You might win some, but you really lost one / You just lost one, it’s so silly how come?”

‘Lost Ones’ encapsulates the essence of

perfectly. Hill’s masterwork goes on to provide listeners with hit after hit, bouncing from, and at many times combining the artistry of, soul, reggae and hip hop. ‘Ex-Factor’ is an R&B track that has imprinted itself into the history books, still being sampled in radio hits today, including Drake’s ‘Nice for What.’

‘To Zion’ brings in Carlos Santana on guitar for an emotional ballad about Hill’s experience with an unplanned pregnancy. ‘Doo Wop (That Thing)’ brings Hill’s hip hop roots back to the forefront as she tells it like it is behind piano-based production. The album continues in constant fluctuation, with ballads like ‘When It Hurts so Bad’ being followed by soul anthems like ‘Nothing Even Matters’ featuring D’Angelo.

 is most deeply fueled by reggae. In the late 90’s, Bob Marley was once again at the forefront of urban youth culture, and by 1998, he was also central to Hill’s music – half of 

 was recorded in Jamaica at Marley’s own Tuff Gong Studios. The baby she carried during the album’s recording was conceived with Rohan Marley, Marley’s son. And with 

Lauryn Hill took a consistently male-dominated genre and made it accessible to young black women. Hill recorded herself at her most vulnerable and at her most fearless. And in the same manner she presented herself, 

is a complex piece of work driven by love, but ready for a fight.

As complex as it may be though, Hill also uses the album’s contents to remind us of her youth and inexperience, with the meticulously scattered interludes of Baraka’s classroom forum on the nature of love. At one moment, near the end of ‘Every Ghetto, Every City,’ Baraka asks his students, “What does love mean to you?” After a brief silence, one of the students responds with a simple question. “Love?” The room erupts in laughter as the song fades out.

Lauryn Hill produced her opus at the age of 22. She was confident in her emotion, in her passion and in her ability, but along the way, she makes sure to remind listeners that she is nowhere near being fully mature. The album title is about her miseducation, and the release of the album, while tremendously successful, led to her subsequent self-imposed exile from the music industry. She gave her all to this 20-year-old masterwork, and it drained her. At this point in time, Lauryn Hill has already become a mutation of a distant icon the likes of Nina Simone, and she’s only 43.

Most recently, she has regained public attention with a tour celebrating her album’s twentieth anniversary. Despite this, Hill remains hidden to listeners. Her presence on stage sharply contrasts with that of the album. Hill’s own voice was front and center on 

. In concert, she is described as a conduit; directing the band, fretting over the sound system and even mistreating tour members.

, Hill was pinned with a very particular celebrity status and cultural expectation at a tremendously young age. Twenty years later, it seems as if she is still reeling from the album’s effects on her, and is actively using it to learn and grow even more. The class Ras Baraka set into motion during the album’s intro is still in session.

‘The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill’ turns 20

WRBB’s Chris Triunfo spoke to New York-based rapper MIKE before his performance at Block Party to discuss his influences, record label trials and what he has planned for the future.

Thanks for taking the time to talk. I was wondering if we could start off with a bit about what your introduction to rap and hip hop was like.

For sure, I’m happy to be here. I was actually just talking about this with my homies. When I was younger, my sister used to put me on to a lot of R&B, and a lot of earlier rap. But, I never knew what they were saying, I only got the rhythm. I would just repeat the lyrics back in gibberish. Now when I think back to who I really fucked with, I can’t even really think of a specific artist or song. When I started creating though, I was definitely influenced by a lot grime rappers early on. UK rappers. I was in the UK for five years early on.

Did you find yourself stuck with that influence once you returned to the U.S.?

No. When I came back, Drake had just started getting big. I was listening to Drake constantly. I lived in Philly, and there was a dance there too that really hit me. I remember my first day of high school everybody was just dancing on the steps. I didn’t understand what was going on. A lot of footwork. There was this one track, ‘Nike Man,’ that was insanely popular. It was a golden era.

Can you describe the creative process for your most recent project?

A ton of us just went out to England for three months, and when we got back we immediately started working on the project. At the time, I was dealing with some weird label energy that I had gotten myself into. It was a time where I had to face reality, the reality of going from living some fairy tale lifestyle, and now you’re back home, and you have to face some real shit.

When you say there was “weird label energy,” what do you mean?

This [UK] label called Lex. We released two projects with Lex, Black Soap and Renaissance Man. When I first agreed to working with this label, I didn’t know about the process that goes behind all of that. It takes a while. It’s just a time I spent reflecting. I felt conflicted with the process.

So it sounds like this is a mark of your growth as an artist. What differences or similarities do you find when you compare where your are now to when you started?

When I first started making music, it was totally different. The first rap I ever made was really dumb, ignorant shit. At first, I think it was because I didn’t know how to express myself. I didn’t know what to say to express everything I was feeling. If I felt angry, I would just write aggressive lyrics that didn’t really reflect my actual state of mind. Now, I know that I have a bigger purpose. I have things to say, things I think people need to hear. One of my homies was talking about Amirir Baraka. A lot of people don’t like him, but he became a poet for the world. Not just for himself. He became a man of the world. Sometimes you have to see it that way. You’ll find yourself seeing people look up to you for hope, and it changes your vision.

You mention Amiri Baraka. Do you draw from other forms of art in your creative process?

Yeah, for sure. I draw from all of my homies. The energy they put out, and all of the content as well. They inspire me on a day-to-day basis. The Renaissance Man project was also heavily inspired by visual art. It’s crazy because I think that the artistic systems that were in place back then are very similar to the ones that are in place right now. It’s a constant cycle of reuse.

You say you draw from your friends. Can you tell me a bit about them and your collective, [sLUms]?

[SLUms} started in high school. I met two of my friends at Bushwick campus. We were in tenth grade, on some bullshit. I had just moved to Brooklyn from Philly, and I remember we got the idea of starting a group pretty early on. But it just took time for everything to come together. But we just stick together, through and through.

Since those early days, you’ve made it quite far. I know that Earl Sweatshirt has mentioned your music, and you cite him as a mentor. I was wondering about the role he has played in your music and why you see him as a mentor.

Even before I knew him personally I looked up to him, and I still do. The way he’s able to express himself is some shit that I’ve always looked up to. I remember searching up his live performances. I have a quick attention span, but when I listened to his live shit, it was like fuck, this dude is really expressive. I’ll always have respect for him, he’s done a lot. There are a lot of people in this world who are like him, but you wouldn’t know that because that pocket of rap isn’t pushed. There’s no land for it. I think even Earl is slept on, and he’s big. If he’s slept on, what does that mean for me? But it’s cool to be a younger artists and realize that there’s somebody else who represents a little bit of what you’re going through.

What do you have in store for the future?

A lot of new music. We’re trying to make shit and have fun. We’re working on this new [sLUms] tape, but we’re also working on a lot of other stuff. Everyone’s just dropping new projects. But for people who are trying to get put onto this shit, me and Darryl released Black Soap and Renaissance Man, and there’s a lot more coming. Keep looking, like the main shit is to keep doing the extra research, you’ll get it.

Q&A with MIKE

Block Party, WRBB’s annual Fall Concert, is this Friday, September 7th! Take a minute to get introduced to MIKE, and we’ll see you at the show.

Michael Jordan Bonema, who raps under the pseudonym 

, has been described simultaneously as a product of and contributor to the special energy bubbling in New York’s DIY rap scene. At just 19, the New Jersey native has made music worthy of praise from 

. When he was young, Bonema moved to London with his mother, later settling in The Bronx for the latter end of his teen years. He describes his sound as a fusion of those two locations – in England he was immersed in grime and the music of King Krule, and in the United States he was turned on to Earl Sweatshirt and MF Doom. In The Bronx, he began collaborating with several artists who held a similar sound, style and presence as him. This led to the creation of [sLUms], his hip hop collective. Consisting of fellow artists sixpress, dj ???, King Carter, Jazz Jodi, and DJ Mason, the group describes itself as a diverse range of producers and rappers who each make music about coming of age as a black man in New York.

MIKE’s lyricism and flow takes listeners on a trip down the depths of his mind. “I be in here sweating/ With my hands caressing mics because I keep forgetting/ There’s some thoughts I get at night that I just need to question,” he rhymes in “Time Ain’t Enough.” His introspective lyrics are the glue that hold his EPs and mixtapes together. His most recent project, 

 provides a definitive statement on his life as a young black man in New York, and has been among his most commercially successful efforts. In his previous projects, MIKE focused on his personal life and upbringing, crafting every track as a piece of a puzzle that contains a much larger story to be told. Pitchfork 

as “…a vivid document crammed with biographical details, wizkid observations, and frank confessions about mental health.” Despite the darkness surrounding MIKE’s music, his words create an underlying sense of hope and paint an image of progress and success; which seem to be just what keeps him going.

In 2017, Earl Sweatshirt, a mentor to MIKE, 

 a link to one of his mixtapes, saying that “my son mike really did his thang please give this a run thru.” Just like Earl, MIKE is telling stories that only he can tell, deeply personal and full of commentary. Earlier this year, he started releasing music with Lex Records and joined the Ground Control Touring Artist roster. We can’t wait to see what MIKE has in store for us at Block Party!

Want to learn more about MIKE? Check out his 

 and make sure to get to the gig this Friday, September 7th at 7:30pm in Afterhours. (NU Only)

[bandcamp width=350 height=470 album=2016102453 size=large bgcol=ffffff linkcol=0687f5 tracklist=false]

Meet the Block Party Lineup: MIKE

The Sinclair, in Cambridge, is a universal venue. No matter what artist graces its stage, the venue manages to adapt its ambiance to any particular audience. While some venues are made for moshing, and some for resounding acoustics, The Sinclair fits either, and it was on a humid Thursday night that Margaret Glaspy filled The Sinclair with her brutal honesty and ass-kicking voice.

Margaret’s songs seem to have a very straightforward presentation on the surface, both musically and lyrically. But as the old onion cliché states, there are tons of layers to be peeled away from her performance. Glaspy is a remarkably talented instrumentalist, and her guitar driven songs open a long-forgotten doorway to rock’s past. She is a modern minimalist in her performances, giving life to those classic shows that were once filled with guitar solos and stern faces. On stage she is as powerful as her guitar when she sings about love, fear, joy, and all of those beautifully terrifying things that make us human. Audience interaction isn’t a driving force in her performance, and for an artist this confident and soul-rattling, that’s perfectly fine. She proves her versatility as well by fluidly transitioning from songs like ‘Emotions and Math,’ full of Janis Joplin-esque raspiness and stomach rumbling chords, to ‘Love Like This,’ sprinkled with gorgeous falsettos and a much softer, almost folkloric sounding strum to her guitar.

Glaspy’s straightforward attitude towards music is a call to something important in performance art. If an artist can’t get on stage and just perform without losing an audience, then something has to be done. There are no gimmicks or games in her shows; she is providing exactly what the people want to hear. In a way, she is a modern rebel, giving quality to something that has lost its touch in recent years. No stage diving, no invitations for violence, no Q&As, just music in a remarkably pure form.

Preceding her late performance were Slow Dancer and Sydney Gish, two up and coming artists who, like Glaspy, are very familiar with their craft while still trying new and exciting things with it. Gish, as one of her songs states, is ‘Buckets of Fun’ to watch on stage, and has an enchanting presence. Slow Dancer is a nice contrast to Gish, smooth in presence and thoughtful in his music. The title of his recent album 

, says more than enough about what he brings to the table (you can read my interview with him 

.) The Sinclair proved once again that it knows how to choose their shows, and these three acts provided another weeknight success story.

Margaret Glaspy @ The Sinclair

Australian-native multi-instrumentalist Simon Okely of Slow Dancer talked with Christian Triunfo of WRBB about his musical influences, the future of his music, and Tesla’s. Catch Slow Dancer open up for Margaret Glaspy at The Sinclair THIS THURSDAY, September 21, 2017. Tickets on sale 

What are some of your earliest memories of music, first artists/albums/etc., that made an impact on you?

My grandmother made me a cassette of Elvis Presley’s greatest hits when I was about 5 years old. It’s responsible for my irrepressible love for music.

How would you compare your experience as a solo artist to your time in Oh Mercy?

Like apples and oranges is how I’d compare it. Both fruit, but different flavours for sure. I learnt so much about life being in that band. I still use those teachings in my career to this day.

 – did you find yourself in any sort of particular mood or state of mind while creating this project?

You know when you do a whole bunch of things to get ready for a big planned social event only to have it canceled an hour before it was to take place? After the disappointment dissipates, you have this feeling of “I could do absolutely anything I want to do right now”. That’s kinda the mood I had on this record.

How often do you look back at your influences while you write your songs, and who would you consider to be your biggest influences?

I am a very impressionable person musically and I do listen to heaps of music when I write and mix my records. Some recordings just have this power over me. 

Apart from musical influences, do you find your inspiration from any other sources? Any favorite authors, poets, filmmakers?

Just walking down to the shops can be an inspiration to a person like me. But yes I read and listen to a lot of essays and lectures in Ancient Greek philosophy.

I wrote a song called “Please” on my first record 

. It’s an instruction manual on how to slow dance and the name just twigged.

What is your perspective on the music journalism community? Do you think there is validity in the objective analysis of music?

What we are really getting at here is: is good art really a subjective experience? I think the answer is no, I think there is good and bad art. I think good artists are often good because of their capacity to know what is good and bad. And yes, there is validity in an attempt to name the amount of good/merit in art. Great music journalism goes beyond the good and the bad and actually educates and inspires its readers.

Where do you see your music heading in the future?

Hopefully to the top of the charts. I’m in this for the money. My children will need Teslas.

If you had to be doing something other than music, what would it be?

I work in homelessness when I’m not on the road. It works out a part of my brain that sometimes goes to sleep on the road so I’m blessed for the balance.

As an Australian, do you have a favorite Rugby team?

Hahaha… no, watching the odd Professional cycling race is about as close to being a ‘sports guy’ as I get. Very un-Australian.

Finally, what advice would you give an aspiring musician?

Don’t do it. You are probably more talented than me, and as previously mentioned, my kids will need Tesla’s, so stay off my turf. (Or come at me, music is awesome).

Q&A with Slow Dancer

‘s fourth studio album, DAMN., reflects the fragmented state of our nation and Lamar himself.

Only a few hours before the release of Kendrick Lamar’s highly anticipated fourth studio album, TDE producer and frequent Lamar collaborator Mark Spears, known professionally as Sounwave, 

, “But what if I told you… that’s not the official version..” The tweet went unnoticed for the rest of the day and overnight, considering the hectic anticipation of 

release. But, the next morning, once fans had gotten the chance to listen through to their heart’s desire, theories began to emerge. Lyrics were ripped from the album and connected to the fact that it was released on Good Friday. This, along with Sounwave’s tweet, led some to believe that Lamar would be dropping a second album on Easter Sunday.

Eventually the theory gained some serious traction and publication from reputable sources, Sounwave 

 that his tweet was about the album’s leak hours before its official release. The leak had been missing something; a voicemail from Kendrick’s cousin Carl in the twelfth track “FEAR.”, a shocking voicemail which is never really addressed by Kendrick himself. In it, Carl brings up Deuteronomy 28 and explains that God has punished “the so-called Blacks, Hispanics, and Native American Indians…” because they are the true children of Israel and have essentially drifted away from God. He explains that this is punishment out of love, a concept embodied by the Old Testament, and telling of Kendrick’s mindset in the production of this album. This notion of God’s punishment upon minorities is remarkably off-putting and antagonistic to include in a modern rap album, but is one of many details that work together to reveal why 

is Kendrick Lamar’s darkest and messiest album to date.

presented a Kendrick Lamar that knew what he was doing. It was an album that seriously reflected on self-worth and the state of an America that had crisis on the horizon. For all of the lamenting and hopelessness on songs like “U,” there was the promise that we would be “Alright” and that Kendrick himself would be alright. On 

the album cover says it all. Kendrick is staring down and off to the side, seemingly brain dead. There is no emotion in his eyes and nothing more than the word DAMN hovering above his head. This album is in no way cohesive and has no overarching theme apart from its personal conflict. This is a hurried album, created in crisis for an America that is entering crisis. The album is ultimately frantic in its release and reception, and conflicted in its content.

was addressing the problem. I’m in a space now where I’m not addressing the problem anymore. We’re in a time where we exclude one major component out of this whole thing called life: God.” It is as if he is seeking absolution with this project, presenting the world with a monologue of his conflicts and the mess of his thoughts. The album’s track list, like its title, is aggressively in all caps, and presents short and simple names that deal with very large, important, and universal themes. The ordering of the tracks sometimes go hand in hand and sometimes directly contradict each other. Compare the joining of the first two tracks “BLOOD.” and “DNA.” to the ordering of “PRIDE.” and “HUMBLE.” or “LUST.” and “LOVE.” In “FEAR.,” Lamar addresses the different encounters he has had with fear throughout his life over an Alchemist produced beat. The track ebbs and flows through soulful cries and the soft twang of an electric guitar. He asks, “Why God, why God do I gotta suffer? Pain in my heart carry burdens full of struggle. Why God, why God, do I gotta bleed?” He faces the God of the Old Testament and cowers in his presence. But in songs like the Mike WiLL Made-It produced and lead single “HUMBLE.,” Kendrick will embrace the bravado that is, to an extent, expected of him as an established and successful rapper. He jumps back and forth between these two personas and never leads his listeners in a concrete direction. He is done beating listeners over the head with a direct message and is instead making music for his soul, lost in its path and lost in its interpretation.

There are expectations and suppositions littered in the cracks of the album, and it all comes across in a perplexing way. On one side, with meditative tracks like “YAH.” Kendrick addresses his position over a lightly produced and trip inspired DJ Dahi beat and speaks on the way he has impacted social commentary in America (particularly with repeated allusions to a Fox News segment that pegged Lamar as something worse for black youth than racism itself). There’s “LOVE.,” a surprising love ballad that features TDE collaborator Zacari’s soft vocals referring to “…sippin’ bubbly” and “feelin’ lovely.” At the same time, the album is covered with snippets of Kid Capri announcing and plugging “Kung Fu Kenny’s” new content, acting as a hype man on a hastily compiled mixtape off of HotNewHipHop. Bangers like “DNA.” have Kendrick at his cockiest, with lyrics the like of, “I just kill shit, ‘cause it’s in my DNA. I got millions, I got riches building in my DNA.”

It is very easy to lose yourself in this album. This is no story like 

. It is a meditation on the very real and very painful pressures of being human, dwelling in audacity, humility, and religion. It is the stream of consciousness of a man who rose from the ashes to reach ultimate fame and stardom, stuck in a path that millions envy. After going through such a confusingly dark album, listeners find themselves at the last track, “DUCKWORTH.,” a remarkable story about TDE’s CEO Anthony “Top Dawg” Tiffith and Lamar’s father, a story about the strange encounters of the past and the fallibility of the present. In the blink of an eye the song is over, and the last sounds of the album are a full rewind, quickly skimming the tracks the listener has just heard, right back to the start, just as humans do when they rack their minds with conflicting thoughts over and over again. Kendrick Lamar has used his media to convey message; for Compton, for America, and for the individual, but with 

he is doing it for himself. After all, he’s only human, and as he raps in “DNA.,” “I got power, poison, pain, and joy inside my DNA.”

The DAMNation of Kendrick Lamar

‘s solo debut, there is as much looking back as there is anticipating the future as The Internet frontwoman works carves her own musical path on a gripping R&B-infused effort.

At first glance, Syd Bennett’s solo debut 

 exudes independence and seems to mark her official shift into a new path of her career. The lead singer of The Internet has consistently kept her influence on the Grammy nominated group hidden. Even when she was involved with Tyler, The Creator’s bombastic and controversial Odd Future collective, Syd made sure to remain backstage, never making much of a buzz. But it seems as if that is coming to an end here. The cover art to this project is dark and foreboding, picturing Syd in the center, dressed in black and looking off to the side. Her track listing features songs titled “Shake Em Off,” “Nothin to Somethin,” and “All About Me,” and yet, listeners will get an entirely different feeling from sitting down with the album. “All About Me” is, in fact, more about her love for her friends and those who have helped her recently garner success, rapping, “Take care of the family that you came with. We made it this far and it’s amazing. People drowning all around me, so I keep my squad around me.”

Beside Syd’s silky vocals and remarkable bravado, the production on this project is varied, choppy, and static in the best way possible. The first song, produced by Kanye West prodigy Hit-Boy kicks off with abrupt and rattling hi hat triplets, surrounded by a dense bass and an eerie overlapped chorus of Syd’s voice, “drowning in doubt and frustration.” The next track, “Know,” opens with a strung out and distorted orchestral synth, ebbing into a bubbly and minimalistic beat, to which Syd innocently details the intimacies of an affair in an impressive falsetto. In the final track “Insecurities,” Grammy award winning producer Rahki joins the album’s credits with a smooth R&B cut, reminiscent of Thundercat’s most recent work.

Despite making her solo debut, Syd isn’t dropping The Internet and is in no way isolating herself from her past. After releasing their critically acclaimed album 

, the members of the group promised to venture into solo projects for the sake of stylistic growth, and it is clear that Syd has taken off in her own direction with 

. She considers the project to be a product of her experiences, a moment to solidify and reflect on all of the opportunities she has encountered. The album is deeply personal in the sense that it has no other direction apart from Syd’s own, and yet in an 

 with NPR she describes it as an “… album that is not that deep … like an in-between thing…”

 is an artistic recreation of Syd’s inner workings, qualms, and passion. Lyrically, it is as chaotic as its production, and provides listeners with one of the year’s most versatile R&B projects. Despite naming the final track “Insecurities,” Syd proves her confidence as a singer and a rapper on this project, and proves that she isn’t just a cog in The Internet’s music making machine. With almost no features, save a forgettable appearance by up and coming 6LACK on “Over,” she has given fans an unforgettable album, simultaneously vulnerable and astoundingly strong-willed. But Syd will be sure to brush off the hype and hate this project may get, because after all, as she sings in “Nothin to Somethin,” “They all hating, we love it / it’s just the beginning of it, ya know.”

Syd goes solo, released debut LP Fin


December 11th, 2016 at House of Blues Boston

“You know how much relaxing love music I’ve played tonight!?” Before closing his encore and sending the crowd into a crazed mosh pit with “When in Rome,” Mac Miller took some time to address the theme of his recent show at Boston’s House of Blues. In his latest release 

the album opens with angelic harmonization, a giggling girl, and a demon fighting his chants of “Love” with a deep and morphed call for “Sex.” Strings fill the listener’s ears as Miller raps, “You are everything I ever wanted. Bought a wedding ring, it’s in my pocket.” The album is about passion and love, and is Mac Miller at his most soulful and sensual. His current tour is no different. The stage, littered in bright neon colors and centered with the iconic pink mirror that decorates his album cover, was washed in green and pink lights as Miller started his show with “Cinderella,” rapping “You in my dreams, that’s why I sleep all the time.” Standing tall at the center of the stage, he took hold of the audience, and made a sold out show at the House of Blues an intimate session with a group of friends. Behind him was 

, one of his openers and touring DJ. Clockwork and Soulection’s 

 preceded Miller, hyping the crowd with a few remixed classics, but nothing original. As the show progressed, Mac gave the audience a few interludes, throwing it back to projects like 

with songs like “Brand Name,” “100 Grandkids,” “Weekend,” “Bird Call” and “Insomniak.” He even brought back “Knock Knock,” off of his 2010 mixtape 

Telling his fans about his dedication to his music and retelling stories of his experiences in Boston, Miller exuded a relaxed vibe, never yelling or straying from brevity. His set was almost peaceful and was a direct manifestation of his current state. 

is about falling in love and almost leaves behind the intense lifestyle Miller once lived, breathed, and rapped about. Miller is at his best, sonically and mentally, as can be seen in his latest round of concerts. The set list is essentially static no matter where he goes, and his presence never falters. Mac Miller has gone from singing about skipping school and smoking blunts to harnessing “the feminine energy of this planet.” He brings up questions of the universe, human relationships, and breaks love into layers. His composition has turned soulful and expressive, and after almost a decade of working towards establishing himself as a serious rapper, 

is Miller settled into place and at the top of his game, and this tour is only further proof of it.

His fans have grown with him, and behind the tremendous growth as a musician, there is always going to be a hint of that wonderful childish behavior on both ends. Sure enough, when Miller ran back out for his three song encore, he told the audience to “Get the fuck up and dance.” He acknowledged his changed style and wanted to end the show on a different note. After a set unlike anything Mac Miller has done before, he ended an incredible concert with “When In Rome,” ensuring that everybody in the building leave the venue drenched in sweat, and in some cases, blood.

Mac Miller @ House of Blues

Tennyson’s music is littered with the simple sounds of alarm clocks, doorbells and rain drops, and on their first visit to Boston, the electronic duo put these sounds to work alongside a magnificent light show at the Great Scott in Allston. Opening for Tennyson was 

, a burgeoning electronic producer who also dabbles with incorporating natural sounds into his music. Danceable, thought-provoking and powerful, Photay delivered with his set. Photay’s Bandcamp can be found 

Before Tennyson took the stage, there seemed to be an issue setting up two long chains of thin lights strips. Technicians and both members of the group kept climbing on and off stage, attempting to fix the issue. Eventually, after a bit of a wait, the lights functioned, and the audience confirmed with a collective gasp of awe that the wait was worth it. Taking their place on stage, singer/producer Luke said a quick hello as he stood behind his keyboard and synthesizer and introduced his sister Tess, who sat behind an electronic drum set. Almost immediately after, they jumped right into the first song of the night, “All Yours.” The venue suddenly vibrated with sound and was drowned in flashing colors. The lights were perfectly in sync with the music, and it was amazing to see the duo perform live alongside a preset light show.

Tennyson is barely four years old, and at one point in the show, when the audience was asking for more, Tess joked, “I don’t think we have that much music out.” The duo was conscious of how limited their selection was, and had a great order to their set list. Their second song was “7:00 AM” and the crowd once again relished in the familiar sound of the alarm clock that starts the track off. As the set continued, songs with Luke’s vocals were introduced, like “Beautiful World,” but unfortunately didn’t translate as well on stage as they do over headphones. This was mainly due to a technical difficulty; Luke’s vocals were drowned out by the heavy production. Despite this, the crowd didn’t seem to care and by the end of their set, everybody was begging them to return. It was a cold Monday night but Tennyson made the trip to Great Scott worth it, and I hope to see them in Boston again soon.

Tennyson @ Great Scott

Hip Hop is a genre that is in constant motion; the nomad of music, Hip Hop is constantly seeking solace in new places. Currently, its newest generation comes from the internet and Innanet James’ name says it all. A rapper who was inspired by Lil Wayne’s internet mixtape 

” spread like wildfire across music blogs, James comes from a generation of emcees and producers that live and rap on the internet. In his new EP 

, James may rap about his upbringing and life in Maryland, but his style mimics a plethora of unique rap cultures. In its description of the EP, Apple Music labels his sound as “cross-regional” and this couldn’t be more true. His production samples names from London (Ben Jamin), Amsterdam (Chef Red) and DC (Reggie Volume). The project sounds like the love child of Chicago’s Vic Mensa (whose second mixtape is interestingly called 

), DC’s Goldlink (who James has worked with in the past), and Long Beach’s Vince Staples.

The project opens with “622,” produced by Ben Jamin, which brings to mind the beat off of Vic Mensa’s “Suitcase.” Horns blaring and bass blasting, James jumps in with the same gusto as Vince Staples in tracks like “Loco,” off his most recent EP 

. “My momma told me don’t have drugs in her house, so I moved out/Now I’m like Smokey might smoke an ounce,” James raps about his life in this newfound internet fame. He mentions relationships with his family and talks about success. His voice is in a high octave, strong and smooth; his flow is jumpy, full of dangerous breaks that quickly recover the tempo. Words and ideas come in chunks, sometimes being introduced during off beats. In the second track “Black,” we’re given a new vision; “Oh I’m black and I’m proud/I’m black, they can’t keep me down,” he raps. Alongside this lyrical shift, his production by MZA becomes jazzier. As the album progresses, the listener can tell that James is giving us a taste of every flavor in his mind. He raps what he feels and what he wants, and his production is hand selected off of a global menu. In “Summer” he goes from rapping about his self-image, to love, and finally back to the recurring theme of his recent success in what feels like one slow and choppy breath. Compare his flow in this song to Goldlink’s in tracks like “Dark Skin Women,” off of 

Despite all the mimicry, James’ style becomes more and more apparent as the EP continues. Influence does not serve as a template, but more as a space for James to find his place in the rap world. His struggle to individualize his music and simultaneously maintain his influences is apparent, and it makes for an interesting project. Comparing “Frequency” to “Paint,” which closes off the EP, in “Frequency,” his flow keeps a set rhythm and follows the beat, while in “Paint,” James ebbs in and out of the track, keeping his flow outside of a set path. In “Paint,” he raps about his prospects for the future and what he’s learned in the past, the quintessential track every budding emcee has written.

 is its energy. On “Jams,” James and Chaz French clearly feed off each other’s’ bars, and the result is one of the most fun hip hop tracks I’ve heard in a while. Ultimately, it is clear that Innanet James is still finding his place, and that’s ok. In this new generation of artists that have been bred and curated on the internet, it is remarkable to even find an artist with cohesion. While this may not give way to a superior EP, it does prove to demonstrate James’ creative abilities, his true passion for the genre, as well as his tremendous potential. I’m excited to hear what he’ll have for us in the future. 3/5.

Innanet James Releases “Quebec Place”

Greta Kline once said that somebody compared her music to the sound of catchy commercial jingles. Kline, otherwise known as Frankie Cosmos, took this as a compliment and cited her improvement. “Now, I think more about craft. I’ll have like ten of those jingles and I’ll work on compiling them in an intricate way.” Since her early years as a teenager, she’s been recording and uploading songs to Bandcamp, and now has released her second LP (the first under Bayonet Records). Kline takes the smaller factors of life, morphs them into compelling symbolism, and fits them into short tunes that pack a punch. Songs like “Korean Food,” “Fireman” and “Outside with the Cuties” are quick and to the point, but leave a lasting impression. Allow me to unabashedly cite a YouTube comment in my overall impression of Kline’s music, “you have to have a really deep soul to appreciate this amazing song.” I was fortunate enough to speak with her for a bit and got to ask her a few questions.

So you just came off a tour in Europe, how did that go?

: It was great; it was really cool. I went to a lot of really faraway places. It was wild.

Did you have a favorite venue or favorite city that you visited?

: There are so many really cool places. My favorite was probably Utrecht, just because it was so beautiful, and we got to spend a morning there and played a show with some really good friends of mine that I hadn’t seen in awhile. It was a special time.

That’s great. I was interested in going back to the start of your music career. Your initial name was Ingrid Superstar, but I’ve never really understood what the meaning behind that name was. Could you tell me a bit more about it?

: Honestly, there was no meaning, it was just a made up character (

). No more meaning than any other band name.