The Last Dinner Party has at last released their debut album Prelude To Ecstasy. Last year, the group introduced themselves with their nihilist banger; “Nothing Matters” and set the bar very high. Since then, the British talents have released four more songs, put out multiple baroque music videos and opened for the Rolling Stones.

The album opens with a title track produced by James Ford (produced for Arctic Monkeys) that contains maximal sounds reminiscent of Tumblr days long ago. Prelude to Ecstasy builds upon its instrumental opening with moody lines like “There is candle wax melting in my veins” and “Let me make my grief a commodity.” While navigating these human experiences, the ‘fed up’ concept that The Last Dinner Party attempts to portray sometimes falls short of cathartic and lands somewhere closer to imitative. Despite this, the orchestration, strong strings and booming vocals kept my attention.

While the lyrics on songs like “Beautiful Boy” and “The Feminine Urge” are a bit more unimaginative, the sweeping instrumentals should be bottled and drunk. On Prelude to Ecstasy, The Last Dinner Party excels at constructing full, dark tracks but lacks authenticity within its lyrics.

In the indie music universe, authenticity is the leading currency. Originally synonymous with independent music, the genre as a whole has undoubtedly shifted. Independent music refers to work produced independently from commercial record labels and their subsidiaries. ‘Indie’ is now a term used semi-haphazardly, and The Last Dinner Party is a prime example of this reality. The group is listed as an ‘alternative indie’ band, a sound heavily associated with highlighting personal experience whether by song-writing or performance. Indieheads on Reddit have strong opinions regarding the quick rise of the group, and the term ‘industry plant’ has been used too many times to count.

Regardless, I’m much more a fan than a critic, and do not intend to call the band’s talent or hard work into question. However, The Last Dinner Party brings about an interesting conversation about the limits record labels have within the indie-scape. The listening experience I had with Prelude to Ecstasy was enjoyable, but fleeting. Both “Sinner” and “Nothing Matters” are melodious and insanely catchy, yet the lyrics carry little meaning. Their TikTok format is undeniable, and as a jaded, pretentious loser, it's increasingly difficult for a perceived inauthenticity to qualify engagement.

The Last Dinner Party’s lyricism redeems itself on the album's seventh track; “Gjuha.” Sung primarily by band member Aurora Nishevci in Albanian, the panoramic nature of the song makes the listener feel spacious in their own mind. The track details the heartbreaking frustration of being unable to communicate with loved ones and is the only song on the album that feels personal. Nishevci cites an Albanian folk song as her inspiration and the shame of not knowing her mother tongue. The song sticks out from the entirety of the album in the best possible way.

The Last Dinner Party and the benefits of cinematic instrumentation

God, I hate the winter. Irrefutably, Caroline Polachek’s fourth studio album; 

 is the only good thing to happen this winter. Like a little Valentine’s gift, Caroline Polachek soothed our broken hearts this February 14th with a self-described “maximalist” record. The album title holds a dual meaning and is as exactly as romantic as you want it to be. Firstly, It can be read as being about the ‘you’. That feeling of falling in love, of wanting to obsessively learn from and become another person. On the other hand, Polachek posits that maybe desire is the thing you want to turn into itself. The album is very Caroline; poppy, choppy and cheeky. It’s supported by five singles, consisting of seven new songs and one collaboration with Grimes and Dido. The record was produced with contributions by Jim E Stack, A.G. Cook, Sega Bodega, Danny L Harle and Ariel Rechtshaid. 

Opening the record with an established favorite, “Welcome to My Island” shows off her biting lyricism and collaborative nature with the help of Daniel Nigro (wrote for Carly Rae Jepsen!) and Jim E Stack. Already a pop native, Caroline Polachek decidedly steered away from precise and constant melodies with this project. She showcases a desire to bend notes and sound in what she describes as an expressive approach rather than a composerly one. As a listener you can almost see the audio take winding turns and sharp corners as it makes its way back to you. The result is a heavily-contoured listening experience. Far less dance-inducing than I was expecting upon first listen – But the more I shuffled the more I heard. Polachek employs a children’s choir on “Billions,” a Spanish guitar on “Sunset,” and dembow on others. The album lets us see inside her brain a little bit, and for about forty-five minutes, it makes some sense.

On “Pretty In Possible,” Caroline Polachek creates a suspenseful track that sounds a little bit like the MarioKart 8 Original Soundtrack. The song is highly experimental, with no verses or choruses, just a looping melody. The listening experience resembles lending an ear to a friend’s train of thought. This is my personal favorite song on the album and I particularly love the strings at the end, inspired by Massive Attack’s “Unfinished Sympathy.”

Caroline Polachek’s production resume is undeniably impressive, with work for artists ranging from Travis Scott to Blood Orange, but 

 officially makes her scope lethal. She’s never pretended to be anyone else, except maybe her aliases Ramona Lisa and CEP. She’s been in a league of her own for years – never forget her 2014 Grammy nomination for her production on Beyonce’s album! I’ve never owned a record player in my entire life, and her solo debut album 

 is the only record I possess in this world. The dirt on the bottom of her shoes gets five stars in my eyes – so maybe I’m the most biased person on this planet to review any of her work. Her writing is one part esoteric to one part cheeky, and her compositions are ceaselessly unexpected. Caroline Polachek is aging gracefully, and her musical maturation is a joy to watch. Please consider 

 the next time you need some time away from your own brain.

Caroline Polachek is an immovable object

Kaya Wilkins, known as Okay Kaya, has just released her third album 

. In simple terms, Wilkins covers a lot in the span of just fifteen songs. Playing protagonist in each track, Wilkins morphs from a sentient dumpling on “Dep. Chamber,” to a lively fitness instructor on “Jazzercise,” and back to her painfully human self, again and again. Conceptually, Wilkins explains 

 as being about the cerebrospinal ‘sap’-like fluid that flows in and out of the brain. Whether or not Wilkins is commenting on the nature of the fluid or she believes she is the human projection of the sap itself is up for interpretation.

The album opens with “Mood Into Object Personified.” Immediately, I sobered up to her biting lyricism, delicious synthesis, and calculated melodies. As the title suggests, Okay Kaya immediately surrounds the listener with vivid imagery. Layered and looped vocals drape the album in hummability [hum・a・bility: the ability to hum], and give us plenty to think about.

Wilkins had teased us with her AI generated “Inside of a Plum” music video in October – a song heavily inspired by her own experience with Ketamine therapy. The song is a psychedelic favorite, but is also a moment where Okay Kaya gets to showcase her collaborative ability. Along with visual artist Austin Lee, Wilkins describes taking visions from her mind’s eye and translating her drawings to create a product. Enamored by the brain’s physical response to K, Wilkins sings “even my subconscious is self-conscious.” Comfortable with the conflict within her, Okay Kaya produces and performs a post-hoc analysis of where she is now. Inside 

, find a smattering of consciousness questioning lyrics and memorable choruses.

This album directly reflects the artist’s recent move from New York to Berlin in order to pursue visual work. Wilkins communicates how she perceives herself and her place in the world in a relatable state of never-ending change. I’m convinced the woman speaks only in abstractive lyrics.

 is highly visual. Even the most sober listener can almost make out the inside of the same plum Wilkins is seeing. While I thoroughly enjoy the abstractive effects of listening to Okay Kaya, every once in a while I did find my mind wandering. Whenever I lost my place, I’d have to restart the song entirely. Each track holds its own complete storyline. Disguised as calming alt-indie, 

 and its contents are quick-witted, and will leave you with a tummy ache if you listen hard enough. This album carries me safely onto the Green Line many mornings and gives new meaning to every stranger I passed on my commute. 

Iris Cotrupi