Caroline Rose performing in the Lincoln Theatre in Raleigh, NC, 2015, by Colakovicsrdjan CC SA-4.0
…the Slug Life chose Caroline Rose. Through their, sluggish persona, today’s Caroline Rose understands what folk music is. In an unexpected move, the genre-bending artist leaked their newest album last month several days before release. This, alongside a series of tour dates in “independent, intimate venues” and a release strategy that avoids traditional streaming, Rose hopes to put their music in the hands of fans first.
I buried you under the stairs with your cool art you couldn’t fit on
Limerence Girl Summer
Love lost, droning on, disillusioned and whiny. Neggy Gemmy (Negative Gemini) synchronizes seduction, synthetic dreams and grainy whines.
Building momentum through disintegration, synths and drums, she echoes, copes and coils around a departure in ‘You Weren’t There Anymore’ but plays with a release in ‘You Never Knew.”
Her collaborations with George Clanton and TV Girl further build this world of beautiful fever dreams.
Her “Bad Baby” EP works around reverb-heavy dream pop and Americana of Mazzy Star mixed with grime of Tove Lo, experimentation of Grimes, bounces like Charli XCX, themes of MARINA, and grunge gaze of bands like Glixen, Sweet93 and Wisp.
Brooklyn-brewed and southern-created, Baton Rouge, Virginia, Houston, Louisville and Kentucky to New York and California, she blends these inspirations and experiences into her eclectic dreamscape.
Inspired by John Maus, Part Time and Ariel Pink, Neggy plays with these experimental auditory collages, layering and imagining an atmosphere, executed in her music videos playing with tropes like cheerleaders and love triangles.
party for you party on you party for you party on you party for you
Mementos and cultural signposts, Charli XCX’s discography maps and envelopes previous and evolving cultural contexts, it was “it girl,” “Von Dutch” and “365” “party girl” last summer, now returning nostalgically to a more ghostly melody.
“Party 4 U” falls into a Gatsby-ian trope — a yearning for the specific observer and impact; performative vulnerability. She plays with interchangeability, evolution and tonal shift of ‘party for you’ to ‘party on you’ and the weight of unreciprocated devotion.
Seattle. October 14, 2022. Black Ends opened. Uploaded to Wikimedia Commons by davidjlee. Licensed CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/
Bleach(03)
Hailing from Osaka, Japan, Bleach (known in North America as Bleach03) was a whirlwind trio delivering shuddering waves of thrash and hardcore to the airwaves.
Active from 1997 to 2009, the band released 7 albums and 3 EPs to massive success.
Touring the US through three runs of Japan Nite, an annual music event featuring Japanese artists, Bleach03 garnered acclaim for their vivid stage presence and wild live performances.
Cover for “The Head That Controls Both Right And Left Sides Eats Meats And Slobbers Even Today” by Bleach03
The band’s sound is multifaceted, playing with varying degrees of “girl rage.” Expertly-wielded growls and banshee-like screams meld with a fast-paced, thrashing guitar and irreverent drumline.
Some songs are pure mad energy, a whirlwind of chaos and catharsis. Others are thudding, slow-paced war ballads reminiscent of early 2000’s nu metal.
I’m a sucker for punk fusion, and I’ll be damned if Midori doesn’t take “fusion” to the next level.
Also from Osaka, the multi-genre punk band drove audiences wild from 2003-2010, putting out three albums, three EPs and two demos.
One of the band’s major draws was its unique stylistic energy, featuring blends of melodic singing and upbeat rhythms with fierce screaming and gnarled guitar.
Cover for “First” by Midori
Despite their chaotic sound, the band bore the “punk” label somewhat begrudingly.
In an interview with Japan Times, vocalist Mariko Goto described the band thusly:
“I’d say we’re a punk band. But the sort of punk we make is nostalgic and lonely. It’s like a four-tatami room with just one door and one window; a very old, small, seedy apartment. And there’s a bald, old guy sitting in there alone, screaming and screaming. That’s punk to me.”
Goto, clad in a schoolgirl’s uniform and featuring a classic blunt bob, was the band’s iconic “face” — transforming the conventional into the radical, the girlish into the churlish.
Hailing from Kyoto and dressed to the nines in color-coordinated 60’s-style party dresses, Otoboke Beaver runs like a well-oiled machine.
Cover for “Itekoma Hits” by Otoboke Beaver
The chaos has a high production value, expertly-timed and paired with irreverent lyricism and ironic “cutesy” affect to create a pesudo-idol experience.
If you’re into punk but averse to the heavier stuff, “Itekoma Hits” offers a sweet balance of heavy vocals and fast-paced instrumentation with a more riot grrrl-inspired twist.
Cover for "Tea Time (Legacy)" by Porcelain Vivisection
It’s been a while since I’ve delved into some weird stuff. Not for lack of trying, though. The wells have simply dried up; or rather, I’ve been too busy ruminating in end-of-semester angst to seek out new weird stuff, let alone sit down and write about it.
But fortuitously, I’ve crossed paths with something truly unique, something so absurd that it’s yanked me from my pit of despair (and writer’s block). Wholly improvised, entirely unhinged and totally bizarre — the Soronprfbs made manifest — is the work of Porcelain Vivisection.
Let’s get into it.
Band From the Black Lagoon
My first encounter with Porcelain Vivisection was in the midst of a good late-night doomscroll session. As I flipped hastily through video after video, aggravating my chronic texter’s thumb, something jarring crossed my screen.
Bathed in technicolor lights, magnified by a fuzzy low-angle camera shot, was a man in a Gill-Man mask.
“I’m showing h–le,” was his guttural cry. “I’m showing h–le at the Waffle House.”
Normally, I’d write off such content as overdone memeage, but there was something different here.
Cover for “PURGATORY” by Porcelain Vivisection
The camera panned around the room to reveal a band — all Gill-Men — and the discord of plaintive saxophone, throbbing bass and disaffected drums became transformative.
I was reminded of Clown Core and its eccentric, self-contained universe. I thought of Frank, a movie that made me an insufferable teenager, and the off-the-cuff, highly metaphorical lyricism of the film’s eponymous character.
I was shocked to learn that what I was seeing wasn’t esoteric brainrot humor, but rather an actual music video from an actual band. I had to know more.
Punk Jazz
The Brooklyn-based band consists of comedian Neel Ghosh, guitarist Nick Sala and Asher Herzog. They’ve dropped two releases so far, a 24-minute dirge titled “PURGATORY” and a five-track album titled “Tea Time (Legacy).”
According to the band’s instagram, all of their work is entirely improvised. Their song that first captured me, “Showing H–le & Taco Bell Paint n Sip,” is a sprawl of eclectic jazz discordance. Sharp sounds and slogging rhythms become a vivid audiovisual texture.
Although Porcelain Vivisection tags their releases with the label “punk,” (as well as the more enigmatic “lizard”) I’d argue that they’re undeniably jazz. But maybe those two labels aren’t that different.
There isn’t much information publicly available about the enigmatic group (a trait I’ve always found fascinating in alternative bands), which only deepens their sense of “lore.”
I find myself endlessly intrigued by all of it: the carnality of “vivisection,” the grimy musicality paired with sweaty shirtless bodies and the unexplained Gill-Man motif. I suspect there’s a level of (possibly metaphysical) cleverness behind it, or a brand of expertly-contrived nonsense only derived from artists. It’s absurd. It’s philosophical. It’s Porcelain Vivisection.
Cover of "Fragments of A Dying Star" by Dispirited Spirits
At twenty years old, a Portuguese musician has created soundscapes like no other. Indigo Dias, also known as Dispirited Spirits, is the man behind a project that sounds too good to be made by one man. Starting in 2021, Dias has released two albums, capitalizing on space’s wide-open magnificence. Dias finds ways to squeeze indie rock, midwest emo, jazz, progressive rock, and modern electronica into space rock. These styles seamlessly blend into each other to make a tight and colorful package.
His two albums bring separate appeals, each with unique qualities. “Fragments of a Dying Star,” focuses on combining electronics and rock, managing to mesh them and make a jaw-dropping experience. “The Redshift Blues” feels a lot more like a magnum opus. With grand, multi-instrumental, bombastic sequences that take much time to develop, “The Redshift Blues” pays off in its stylistic complexion.
From Brittany’s slightly dubious tell all to an ill-fated romp in the Hamptons, he’s has had a tough go of it as of late.
And my, what a sight to see.
Celebrity implosions, especially of such long standing figures, are always a spectacle – but I’ve yet to see one that reeks of desperation quite like Timberlake’s.
From the hallowed halls of the Mickey Mouse Club to Gen X thirst trap World Tours, Timberlake has a knack for keeping himself in the spotlight.
For better or worse, the common man has a half-baked notion of what — or rather, who — he is.
But there’s something that feels different about this latest scandal.
Perhaps it’s because I had the pleasure of seeing him at PNC Arena a week before his DUI.
Or maybe it’s the comical coverage of the incident — considering the pouty celebrity mugshot, perp walk and the beautifully oblivious cop making the arrest.
Either way you spin it, there’s something distinctly and pitifully funny about Timberlake’s snafu.
Rockstars and rappers go through their own legal issues and brushes with the law, but when it happens to a pop star, people pay attention.
Even more so to someone of Timberlake’s caliber.
For people 35 and over, he’s been a tried and true standard for a large part of American pop-culture.
From childhood to adulthood, he’s been a prominent spotlight feature, and he’s desperately grasping at the edge of the stage as he’s being played out.
As far as the soundscape of popular culture goes, he’s by and far left behind.
His stage show proves it to, sadly: asses really only left seats for old standards like “Sexy Back,” “Suit and Tie” and “Cry Me A River” — even more so for the throwback reliant DJ opener.
Not to besmirch the opening band, but there’s something wrong with your act if more people are amped for a DJ playing the dancehall classics of yesterday than your set.
Consistently, he’s released albums every four to five years since 2002. Yet, his sound hardly changes.
Since he’s left NSYNC, the only evolution I can truly see is a semi-annual media scandal of either infidelity or inebriation.
When your entire career is based upon the affection of young girls, what happens when those girls grow up?
What happens when you grow up?
Somewhere within the pandering, paltry pastiche of the “Forget Tomorrow” world tour and the relatively tame release “Everything I Thought I Was,” you’ll find the answer.
It was a good show, don’t get me wrong.
Justin Timberlake is an entertainer first and foremost, to which he most certainly delivered.
But as the times catch up with the now 43-year old, fading pop star, the whirling dervish of past and present controversy seems to loom large over him.
From Britney to Janet, inebriation, infidelity and unknown world tours, perhaps Timberlake should take to the mirror himself and truly reckon with his next steps.
Because let’s be fair, humoring an aging audience in flights of fantasy feels like a desperate cash-grab preying on the hardwired need of women past a certain age to feel relevant — to feel important.
In a world where artists are more accessible than ever, feeling more real than ever, the thin line between artifice and artistry has never been more apparent.
And artists who are unwilling to step beyond their predestined imagery are not only doing their audiences a disservice, they are doing one to themselves.
The official “Mirrors” music video from Justin Timberlake’s official YouTube Vevo page.
I never thought Squeeze would be a divisive band, but I thought wrong.
Whenever the band appears in conversation, it’s accompanied by a chorus of groans.
According to a certain subset of the population, Squeeze is a girl’s band.
Did the band garner an audience of young women? Of course they did; they were halfway decent-looking young men singing love songs.
But how does that change the sonic validity of a group?
Historically, teenage girls have always been on the cusp of greatness with who gets their fandom.
Sinatra, Elvis, The Beatles, Duran Duran, Madonna and Taylor Swift all captured teenage imaginations and were partially propelled to stardom because of it.
Now, we socially recognize the legitimacy of some of these artists as important to the fabric of pop-culture, but that was only until they gained a more adult audience.
So, what makes Squeeze different?
They ran in the same circles as Nick Lowe and Elvis Costello, being produced by the former and the latter appearing on 1981’s “Tempted” and “There’s no Tomorrow” and 1982’s “Black Coffee in Bed.”
The Official Music Video for “Tempted” by Squeeze from the Squeeze YouTube page.
Audio for “There’s No Tomorrow’ by Squeeze from the Squeeze YouTube page.
The Official Music Video for “Black Coffee in Bed” by Squeeze from the Squeeze YouTube page.
Argybargy:
For all intents and purposes, they ran with a cool crowd and played cool music. But because of their designation as a radio pop band for teenagers, they lost their luster.
I was going through my own record collection, and I stumbled upon my beat up copy of “Argybargy,” the band’s third studio album released in 1980 – and I fell in love.
It was a dollar bin lark because I liked “Pulling Muscles (From the Shell)” — a slightly dirty ditty about naughty diversions at the beach — but I never really listened to it until I pulled it from the stacks.
It’s jazzy, it’s fun, there’s almost a doo-wop flair to the dueling vocals of Glen Tilbrook and Chris Difford and there’s a delightfully working class flair to the stories they tell — even with inconsistent songs — across the board it was a fun listen.
The album did well; they found an audience as young and spunky as their sound and they found their stride – good for them, because other bands would kill for a glimpse of that success.
So yeah, chicks dig squeeze (this chick certainly does) and maybe you should, too.
Perhaps we put too much weight on how popularity affects the “coolness” of something — a prevalent WKNC conversation — but I beg that something is popular for a reason…
You can call Squeeze whatever you want — New Wave, Pop, Airheaded-Teenie-Bopper-Love-Songs — whatever you want, but if the music sounds good and the band is respected by contemporaries, maybe we should respect it, too.
Double Virgo’s album cover for “Foolish Narratives,”
Bar Italia began by accident. The members were all living in one building in Peckham, England in 2019. Jezmi Tarik Fehmi and Sam Fenton lived downstairs in a single shared apartment, making music as Double Virgo. Meanwhile, Nina Cristante lived upstairs, teaching pilates.
The name Double Virgo is self-referential, as Fehmi and Fenton share the same star sign. Their sound is rhythmic, emotive and dark.
Bar Italia formed later on, first signing to Dean Blunt’s music label Word Music before recently switching over to Matador Records to release their new project “The Twits.”
I was lucky enough to see Bar Italia play at Motorco Music Hall last March. Fehmi, Fenton and Cristante seemed to revel in their mysterious presence. They came on stage thirty minutes past nine p.m., played for strictly 50 minutes without pause and then left abruptly with a briefly whispered thank you to the crowd, only stopping to pass the set list off to a person standing near the front of the stage.
Only a day ago, a friend texted me, “Have you ever listened to Jenny Mae?”
I hadn’t. He sent me the link to her album “What’s Wrong With Me?” via youtube, and I listened to the whole thing through, once, twice and then a third time.
It was strange, soft, sweet and deeply Ohio-ian, somewhat like a mix between the artists Broadcast and Kimya Dawson and Vashti Bunyan. Each of the songs felt deeply personal, deeply intimate, as if you were sitting on the bedroom floor of a close childhood pal listening to them play for you.
Jenny Mae’s “What’s Wrong With Me?”
The compilation album of Jenny Mae’s works called “What’s Wrong With Me?”
I needed to know more, and there was not much information to work with. What information I did find, however, painted a portrait of a deeply troubled and deeply fascinating artist that deserves far more recognition than she received during her lifetime.
Jenny Mae, born Jenny Mae Leffel, was raised in a five sibling household in South Vienna, Ohio. She was the life of the party, the ringleader, a popular tomboy who won awards for her trumpet playing at a young age.
Her high school boyfriend and long-time advocate, Bela Koe-Krompecher, recalls Leffel’s magnetic laugh and that she won the yearbook accolade of Funniest Girl. When it was time for the two to go to college, he followed her to Ohio State.
The two immediately immersed themselves in the music scene, becoming regulars at local bars and house shows, and Leffel playing in the OSU marching band.
Leffel soon began performing with her band Vibralux, thrifting three or four dollar gowns to wear up on stage, with her early performances being described as “gauzy and delicate.” Her major influences included artists such as the Beach Boys and the Beatles.
In a time where the Ohio musical landscape was loud and brash, Leffel’s music was dark, understated, and airy. Even though Vibralux broke up in 1993, Leffel continued to work on her own, notably releasing a single with the acclaimed band “Guided by Voices.”
Leffel’s song with “Guided by Voices,”
From then, Leffel made the decision to suspend her education and work on her solo career. Koe-Krompecher and Leffel had broken up, but he still helped her produce her first album called “There’s a Bar Around the Corner… Assh–s.”
It was a local critical success, marking an important achievement for Lefell. However, it was here that her troubles with addiction truly began.
She was a burgeoning alcoholic, getting drunk privately and in public. “I have a bad drinking problem,” Lefell said, even recognizing the issue. “I was drunk when we recorded, drunk when I did the credits, and drunk right now.”
Despite this, she continued to record, releasing her sophomore album “Don’t Wait Up For Me,” to recognition from magazines such as Spin. She did a small tour with artists Cat Power and Neko Case.
However, afterwards, Lefell continued to drink and began dabbling with cocaine. Her relationships with men became more erratic and family and friends reported signs of her decreasing mental health. She would hallucinate and experience troubling panic attacks.
By 2005 she was unhoused, living in Ohio and sleeping outside the OSU music building so that she could play the piano at night.
In a moving article, Koe-Krompecher details trying his best to look after her during this time, visiting her frequently while also caring for his young family. He attempted to place her in temporary housing only for her to continuously get kicked out. In his own career path, he had become a social worker.
“The system just failed her,” Koe-Krompecher said. “I did a lot of stuff from my end…trying to get her in the right place…But she never really realized she was homeless.”
Lefell’s health and addiction only kept getting worse. In 2017, she died of liver failure. According to Koe-Krompecher, she was still cracking jokes up until the moment she died, retaining her vivacious laughter.
Reading through all this, I was shocked that such a captivating life had faded to such obscurity. Koe-Krompecher remains Lefell’s greatest champion, publishing a book about their relationship and Ohio in the 90s called “Love, Death, and Photosynthesis.”
Exploring her discography, the music of Jenny Mae Lefell remains pop perfection to this day. Her songs are indeed gauzy and delicate, but also dark, tinged with sweetness and a brutal honesty.
She does not shy away from reflecting on her mental state. On “Ho B—,” she sings, “Why am I so moody / Oh no / How did I get unhappy.”
These lyrics are not phrased as questions, but flat statements. She doesn’t know, but she’s not asking. It’s just the truth.
Her deep sorrow is cushioned with a catchy, classic pop chorus of “La la la la,” which almost works to offset the whole thing with an air of carefree acceptance.
This song, I think, captures how Koe-Krompecher remembers Lefell’s personality, her larger-than-life disposition juxtaposed with the crippling struggle within her own mind.
Reading about Lefell, one story that struck me came from her early childhood. She convinced her younger sister to climb to the very top of a tall pine tree, toting burlap sacks fit with pillows that they would supposedly float down in.
Unlike Winnie the Pooh, however, who accomplished a similar trick with a red balloon, Lefell and her sister crashed into the dirt. Fortunately, neither of them were hurt.
Lefell’s career is the pine tree: she reached as high as she possibly could, nearing the top, before falling to the cold, hard ground.
Even so, her music is as euphoric and full of whimsy as arriving at a great height, akin to the rush one gets from the peak of a ferris wheel or scurrying up an oak as a kid, knees skinned from the bark and twigs. Listening to Lefell’s voice is like capturing a bit of that magic for yourself, a magic that will live on forever.
