Ben and I spent the majority of our time there swimming in the sea, sipping cold drinks on terraces, watching teens jump from bridges into the canal, and eating great food everywhere. Chainsmoking, constantly. Jadore le tabac. Everyone seemed to be hanging out all the time in France, parks and bars and restaurants full at every moment of the day. Things were more affordable. Good shit was affordable. Going to the market and getting high quality produce, going to a bar or restaurant and getting a simple meal and some drinks, these things weren’t a luxury as they are in New York. I found myself resenting the prices I have learned to blindly accept; like having to spend $40 as soon as I leave my apartment is just some agreement I have signed to live in the best city in the world. Middle spaces in New York feel totally scarce if not bordering on complete extinction. Yes, there is King Dumpling and Super Taste for cheap food, there’s Cafe Reggio if you want to linger for hours and not be rushed, but it feels like the majority of spots around (especially in Manhattan) are either chains, Graza-fonted/influencer-slop wine bars, or VC backed restaurants that get a Michelin star for $20 ricotta roast. It makes sense when rent is astronomical and competition is cutthroat, but it still sucks.

I started writing a way more positive version of this intro the other day. Then I opened Instagram and saw Nina Protocol is shutting down. My rage returned. I want the good shit to last. I want things to be more accessible. I want karma to be more powerful than capital. I want to live in the best city in the world forever instead of constantly questioning how to make it last. R.I.P. Nina, “visionaries are rarely rewarded in their time”. Thank you for trying. It’s so much better and so much harder than accepting defeat from the beginning. I always got frustrated by the app version and am still confused about the crypto element, but I always knew it was special and I will miss its mission.

Wanting to get over my funk and move forward with the spirit of Nina, which is to say the spirit of loving music and wanting to share it, I am really excited to introduce a very special addition of Show Notes. This month’s issue is comprised of reviews from six friends and tastemakers: Spurge Carter, Mimi Norton, Max Lavinsky, Cat Pfingst, Grace Robins-Somerville, & Samantha Vogel. These are people who have put me on to so much good music, some of whom I met at shows, others helped me put on my own show for free a few years ago; all of these people remind me that I will always have music and the people it brings me, the people who celebrate passion and dance alongside me, people who pick me up when I fall in the pit. May we all fight against the forces that be.

Buy your friends’ music. Cook dinner together. Throw your own parties. Support people making shit happen. Write all about it, take lots of photos-- an archive is the most important thing to have against any impending erasure.

Lee Ho Fooks, People I Love, Branching Out, & Holidays in United States 05/01

The Venue: A Basement in Bed Stuy

The Team: Me and Jeanne; hung out with Kali, Omeed, Ilana, Lisha, Anna, and new friendly faces

The Smell: Philly, the bike co-op, American Spirits rainbow, drug store shampoo, Modelo, and Myrtle-Broadway.

Read my full review over at Monster Children.

Loop001- Mama Snake, Lora Mipsum, Emsho, SPF 50, DJ Healthy, Matas 05/02

By Spurge Carter

The Venue: A loft in Bushwick

The Team: Myself (on my 3AM solo mission)

The Smell: A blend of vape and fog juice, Yerba Mate spilled on the wood floor from dancing, nail polish remover.

The Scene: For context, the party started at 10 PM, and I arrived after work and drinks around 2AM for SPF50’s set; I allowed time to pass until it was 8AM. This is an aspect I really like about raves versus typical venue shows. The elongated duration of the party means you can interact with it as a presentation of performances, or you can treat it like a built environment to exist in. There were moments where I was very directly engaged with the music, and others where, because I still had hours to go, I could retreat to a corner to rest, be with myself, people watch, ingest the environmental stimuli, etc.

Starting off, the environment was dark but bustling. 2AM isn’t after-hours, but given this party was more loft than warehouse, the intimacy of the space made it so that entering didn’t feel like Resident Evil. This first weekend in May was remarkably warm, and it felt like a kickoff weekend for early summer. I came by myself but was constantly stopping to chat with people I knew but hadn’t seen through the winter months.

Everyone seemed eager to commune and elated to be there. I was introduced to many people, and people were generous with their libations, conversation, and overall, folks seemed spatially aware.

The space was split by a curtain, between a dance floor and bar / chill out room, where two-ish queues dutifully wrapped across the expanse of the floor for both the bar and the single bathroom. There was an outdoor section through the chill-out area, too. People were dedicated to dancing; I didn’t see the dance floor ever noticeably diminish, and yet many folks seemed to relish in the cushions and rest objects in the chill outside too.

The demographic of folks was leaning white, gorpy, but not Green Room levels. Despite the party being in Bushwick, it didn’t feel too Bushwick, but also not too gentrified Bed-Stuy. A representation which, at 33, was a good pocket for me. I noticed a group of significantly younger folks who traveled as a pack across the space and plopped down next to me while I was having my hours-long respite. They emitted a green rave energy which made me take notice in this “too cool” pool, but they didn’t feel like they were of the Basement-by-way-of-TikTok class.

The Show: Stefan a.k.a. SPF50’s live set was a highlight for me at last year’s Dripping. I’ve known him for many years through his Bob & Shirley parties that he runs with his partner Ash, and because of the general nightlife connective tissue. He’s a lovely spirit and monster producer. So, I was eager to see him again, and he did not disappoint! Last time I was admittedly in a different headspace altogether, and I simply recall feeling like he was doing live geometry with sounds. His general tonality reminds me of other great producers like Wata Igarashi or Terrence Dixon, who make techno that, to me, is angular, mathematical, and leans atonal or at least feels jarringly chromatic in makeup.

Being quite sober this go around, I had a more grounded grasp on the musical experience, yet I still enjoyed the hell out of Stefan’s set. It felt propulsive, introspective. The entire crowd was invested in the set progression throughout, audibly responding to satisfying changes in the music. He did a great job of introducing an element that would end up being the bridge of his next core idea, so that there wasn’t any starting and stopping; it didn’t feel like a DJ set either. After Stefan’s set, I wandered to the other room and sat down for hours, both by myself and with friends who found me and came up to say hi. I wasn’t inspired by the music that followed: too 4/4 kick drum reliant techno for my tastes. I was talking with my friend Escaflowne at one point about it, and we articulated that when you present a barrage of pounding kick drums like that, you risk washing the drums’ power away through that repetition. I was looking for more of the languid lushness I got from Stefan’s set. Despite this, I was anticipating DJ Healthy’s 8AM set and chose to stick around for that.

After my long yap, probably around 5:30/6AM, I was drawn back to the dance floor for Lora Mipsum. I wasn’t familiar with her before this, but her set was so fun! She circled proggy, bouncy sonic worlds - music of the moment: easy to latch onto and smart enough to be sugary without bleeding too saccharine. My theory for this techy progressive house revival we’ve been experiencing after the 2020 pandemic is that we needed some smooth brain sounds and energy in the face of all the heavy shit we’ve dealt with on this side of the decade. But not too smooth brain, so we’ve mixed a little IDM with a lot of progressive house. Many times during Lora’s set, I laughed or smiled at what felt like smart, cheeky choices in her selections. That bounce also felt welcome for the Spring energy that was shooting around the room, which was receiving the day’s first light. Coming from night’s dark sonics into graphic designer Balearic was the perfect ushering into morning.

The Moment: Vibes were high, and people were ready for Masa (Dj Healthy) to close us out and send us into our Sunday. Lora did a slow fade out, we clapped, Masa stood in the booth as if to play, and there were good ten minutes of him not starting. After a night of seamless DJ changeovers, this felt like a choice, one that allowed for people to congregate, catch their breath, integrate into the day, and prepare for the final dance. I liked the choice and moved to the front of the dance floor during this silent moment to lock in. At that moment, the cops enter the space, giving more context to the choice of silence, and shut the party down, citing no permit clearance for the space.

Absolutely bummer, everyone left and hung out on the street, deciding whether to continue the carry at Nowadays or elsewhere. This time, after the party, when everyone is shooting the shit, coming down from dancing and talking to each other with two brain cells but a lot of humor, is a special time. This is a moment that feels universal. I remember doing it in high school when the cops similarly busted parties for beers or whatever, and I’ve had many special mornings where birds chirp, folks pass on by our crowd on the way to work, and we get that special first whiff of air outside of the rave.

This morning, I stood out there for a long while waiting for the gaggle of cops to disperse from where my bike was and witnessed this iconic moment. Then I rode home feeling nourished by the dance.

iPhone Presence: 3/10. Tbh I didn’t see too many besides stray appearances for photo taking here and there.

Editor’s Note: Show Notes first rave recap! Thank god it was Spurge writing. They are one of my favorite DJ’s in the city (famously played my favorite ever ambient set),a patron of the arts to the umpteenth degree, and lowkey just friends with everyone. When I run into Spurge at a show I know I am in the right place and the music is gonna bang. I think I first read their writing when they posted a mix with with a paragraph about what inspired it and I was totally transported through their words, just as I have been in this review. A rule in my own Show Notes writing has been that I only review live shows, never club nights or raves, and that’s just because I felt like it would be too much to write about both every month…bc my ass is outside especially in the summer. But reading this really inspired me and reminded me how different the two are to write about, so mauve you’ll be seeing one rave review from me each month now. Thank you, Spurge. You can keep up with them here and come dance when they takeover The Good Room with friends on Juneteenth. -maya

Brittle Brian w/ Plant Matter and Carmen Esperanza 05/10

By Mimi Norton

The Venue: Trans Pecos

The Team: Went alone but planned to see Tessa, Natasha, Pema, Billy, Matt

The Smell: Driving up I-95. Washed cotton t-shirts. Tumbleweeds. The Rio Grande.

The Scene: A focused, polite, low-key crowd. Many friends of the band came out to support Chicago’s Plant Matter (including me). A handful of Colorado College friends also came out to support Billy, who booked the show. Beyond those crews I could tell there were several devoted fans out to see Victoria Rose (one of two members of the band @).

The Show: Carmen Esperanza opened the show and commanded the space with some hooky rock songs on electric guitar. She has a confident and captivating stage presence. Her three-piece band filled the space, but I was struck by the stripped-down song, “Rachel,” which she played alone. Her energy and heartfelt lyrics are impressive. Keep your eyes and ears out for her first album coming later this year.

I was thrilled when I realized my trip to New York would coincide with Gabe’s show. In Chicago, Gabe Bostick is a beloved man about town and a staple of the local music scene. I’ve gotten to see many of his projects over the years. A jack of all trades, he drums for Double Extra Large, DJs vinyl sets as part of his Commotion dancing series, and produces his own house music under the moniker drumset. It was such a treat to see him bring our small corner of Chicago to New York for a night.

Plant Matter was touring their new album, Keeping Us Together, a trove of treasures. Gabe originally wrote the songs on acoustic guitar, then recruited a cast of friends to help build out the sound in his home studio. On stage, the band’s charisma was contagious. They instantly got the crowd smiling and swaying along. I loved seeing Gabe fingerpick on an electric guitar; no easy feat.

The crowd rowdily applauded each song, cheering the band along as Gabe hummed lyrics addressed to a bygone “you,” this second-person recurring as muse. We stayed rapt as he sung about trading glasses during the eclipse, driving across corners of the country from Sacramento to Savannah, and conjuring images of dry rivers and marshland. He’s a great songwriter: “A stranger holds my heartbeat / waiting for god to carve out a pathology / to learn about man’s great disease,” he sings on “Floodplain.”

Between songs, Gabe alternated between charming asides – we learned that the band rented a $400 Honda Odyssey on Kayak for their tour – and glitchy drum machine interludes while the band adjusted their tuning. I recently saw Sword II do the same thing, use drum machine tracks between songs, and I like the trend. It seems that indie rock bands are leaning one of two ways right now: towards pedal steel or an Elektron Digitakt.

Despite the cowboy boots that Gabe wore onstage, his set wrapped up with a few fun electronic songs. In the song “Airplane,” his bandmate Jake abandoned his bass for a keyboard synth.

Afterwards, the crowd fled to the patio to smoke. Billy rallied everyone back inside for Brittle Brian’s set, which was much more intimate. Victoria Rose, with a laid-back vibe, prefaced by telling us that she didn’t have as much time to practice because her dad was visiting. She practiced earlier that day, but apologized for not having the night to sleep on it.

Although she took some pauses to remember her unique chord progressions, the crowd stayed locked in. Her wobbly falsetto evoked a compelling and haunting tone. Her lyrics conjure uneasy dreams hazily remembered. Even if the set felt casual, it was special to hear new songs and confirm her gift for unique freak-folk. She sounds like no one else.

Towards the end of her set, I recognized the beginning of “Crow,” one of my favorite songs from Biodiesel. After the first few chords, she stopped because she drew a blank on the lyrics and asked someone to prompt her. As she moved to the next song instead, I stepped outside and pulled up the lyrics from her Bandcamp page. I motioned to her from the side of the stage and passed my phone. Seemingly delighted, she read the lyrics and played the crowd-favorite. (The song starts with the lyric “AHHHHHhhooouuuuoooo,” so though I was tempted to prompt her aurally, I didn’t risk it).

The Moment: Without a doubt, Ethan Toenjes’ drumming in Plant Matter. He might blush if he reads this, but I remember being floored when I first saw him play at the Empty Bottle (shoutout to his other project Feller). I honestly don’t know if I’ve seen another drummer who makes such an explosive sound seem so effortless. Trained as a punk drummer, Ethan’s proved adaptable to all styles of music, always keeping it tight and pushing the songs forward but never stealing the spotlight. IMO he could give Sam Pickard from YHWH Nailgun a run for his money.

At the show, I could see my friends in the crowd exchanging stunned glances. “Ummm, so that drummer’s going to be famous…” a friend told me after the show. I think for sure. Keep his name on your radar.

iPhone Presence: 3/10. Lowkey just me and Billy 😀

Editor’s Note: You can read more Mimi here! I love her love for Chicago and her homies there, and I wish her the best in this next chapter of moving to PORTUGAL. She is a fellow pro fan and supporter of her friends and I know that will paint her life vividly wherever she is. Crazy that in my January show notes I wrote about seeing another Chicago band that Mimi is homies with and remarked that their drummer might be the best drummer I’ve ever seen. Something must be in the water there. Also hold on to that detail about the drum machine interludes…Jeanne River about to complicate that. - maya

James K 05/13

By Max Lavinsky

The Venue: Webster Hall

The Team: Partisan Friends & Co: Franny, Spurge, Ashlin, and Jacob; a serendipitous run-in with the lovely Maxine McCormick (The Dutch Kills)

The Smell: Stale cigarettes amidst freshly shampoo’d (and still wet) Micro-Mullets

The Scene: Ridgewood Club Kids, + Pitchfork-Reading Industry Scene Snobs (I’ll self implicate in the latter)

The Show: The last time I saw James K was at Knockdown Center, the Ruins Stage, and before that it was her ambient modular set opening for YHWH Nailgun at an indoor LES soccer field. Friend was hands down one of my fav records of 2025…. the soundtrack of many early morning walks to the office and late night bikes home. Her production on the record is absolutely stunning, and perfectly amplifies the understated, yet constantly emotive, songwriting of a club sensation blossoming into an undeniable pop star.

Backed by a bassist and guitarist, James K’s voice is hauntingly beautiful live. High energy tracks were spectacular- my highlights were “On God” and “Doom Bikini”. Though she sounded tremendous across the entirety of the set, her calmer numbers suffered from a…shitty audience. The club kid contingent that mobbed her prior shows at Knockdown center and pop up DJ sets were evidently unprepared for the downtempo and drawling (yet entrancing) nature of this set. The vibe of the audience was great for a smoking section, but not an actual concert. Too much speaking, and a good deal of drop off throughout the show.

To me, this set was that of an artist nearing true perfection of their craft -- James K’s music is so singular in texture and production, and her songwriting is making leaps and bounds from record to record. Her voice is ethereal and even better live than recorded, a rarity for many electronic musicians. But in front of an audience (seemingly) unprepared for her next artist chapter, I found myself praying her fans will continue to grow and mature in the way she has.

The Moment: Her downtempo cover of “Lost Cause” by Beck. While it was completely stripped back and minimal bordering on ambient, it kept the audience in a chokehold and was the most silent I heard the crowd the whole show.

iPhone Presence: 5 - totally moderate and normal (I contribute to the issue *significantly* with my video-taking habit).

Editor’s Note: Obsessed with the fact that when I texted Max asking for his report he was drunk at dinner in Dublin and had totally forgotten to finish the piece, and just locked in at his dinner table in the Google Docs app and blasting this back to me within the hour. You can keep up with Max’s work by seeing Boxxer live (reviewed by Sam here!) or following Partisan Records on Instagram, he slays their social media. - maya

Jeanne River w/ Benjamin Formerly & “Jason Powers” (aka Superfan) 05/16

By Cat Pfingst

The Venue: Union Pool

The Team: Me, soon joined by Natasha, Tessa, and Leyla

The Smell: Antlers in a mountain cabin, Cherry Oak, only the cola flavored Haribo, a velvet-lined chest that was just opened for the first time in 80 years, the second swipe of patchouli deodorant, & freshly blown out candles.

The Scene: I post-up in the corner and ask the ATM to hold my drink while I roll a cigarette and scrumptiously take in the scene. Everyone is sun-kissed and dawning the once-saturated colors of the day. Groups of day drinkers fill all corners of the patio in their slightly sunburnt skin.

I scan the space—no messy haircuts up high, no intellectual sneakers down low. Shit. Does anybody here really know Jeanne River? And then I realize that this may be the crowd on a perfect Saturday at Union Pool, but not yet the crowd at the Jeanne River/Benjamin Formerly/Jason Powers show.

In contrast to the scene of the courtyard, now in the embrace of the dimly-lit room, I am faced with the people I was looking for all along. Natasha says, “The day drinkers went to bed and the sleepyheads woke up” and this is exactly how it felt. This is a crowd quietly cloaked in boy clothes, regardless of how many boys in the room. Opened-up button-downs peeled back to reveal vintage t-shirts; non made-up faces above every type of shoe. The color palette is greens, greys, and browns overlapping in non-specific ways. I examine that these people are, for the most part, looking at the care and content labels in their clothing. They appreciate how many years of wash it took to soften something this much. They are gentle. They are listeners. Nothing is too fussy or overstated, much like the perfect show poster, made from blue painter’s tape and sharpie. I recognize other musicians and friends of artists spilling into the crowd. Faces of all ages shine their eyes at each other. There’s an amber calmness in the room.

The Show:

BENJAMIN FORMERLY: A man and a flute and a laptop are on stage, and I know this is going to be awesome. When he introduces a guitar to the sound, I immediately think of both Arthur Russell and ARTHUR. Coincidence of my mind and my mind only? Maybe. Perhaps it’s the slightly sunny acoustic melodies, occasionally punctuated by pings of sounds that I can only describe as being vaguely medieval. If I close my eyes for too long, I am drifting like a spore across a field that feels very Brian Eno’s Another Green World. But alas, it’s another world, where lyrics like “10 foreign objects embedded in me, born from the scrap metal seed of a fallen tree” do exist. And there might even be a castle.

I always admire when someone is alone on stage and responsible for all of the sounds. Benjamin Formerly balances the weight with an easy presence, slowly unfolding each thoughtful composition before us.

“JASON POWERS”, a.k.a SUPERFAN: I can’t stop asking myself questions like “Who is Jason Powers?” and “Is that his real name?”. But the guise drops to reveal Superfan, led by Kali Flanagan.

There is a cello on stage and this excites me. What excites me even more are the extremely frayed strings spewing from each end of its bow. Wear and tear. That’s real. I get closer to the stage to see that the soundhole on Kali’s guitar is smothered in duct tape. I’m obsessed.

A woody vibration casts over the room, and I don’t care to try and climb my way out of the overlapping strings. For a moment, I’m in the backseat of a car passing through fields and blurry houses at blue hour— maybe there are a few headlights turning on. I think it’s somewhere in suburbia.

Superfan feels nostalgic in the way that I know my teenage self, and therefore the foundation of my listening ears, would have loved them. Any slowed-down, eyes-down rock always brings me back to my core. I think of my aged love for Galaxie 500 and The Brian Jonestown Massacre and how they make songs that feel like mellow thrash outs. They prescribe you to emote but keep you calm in your body while doing so. Superfan is like their moon side, with an atmosphere adjacent to Duster or Acetone. His strings tug at my heartstrings, and the reverb holds me comfortably in space. Kali’s voice has a gentle edge that cuts through the fuzz just right. Each bandmate slips in and out of an eyes-closed state, where I can tell they’re communicating with each other through backrooms unknown.

JEANNE RIVER: Jeanne appears, and the giant picture frame of a stage shapeshifts into a shadowbox diorama. She is seated, and in front of her are lots of little instruments that I don’t recognize. I first met Jeanne a couple of years ago through Maya and Milo, but I’d never heard her music. The last time I’d seen her, she was showing us an instrument that she literally invented. Could she get any cooler? The answer is yes.

The surrounding audience is teeming, myself included. As we saw earlier in the night, here is another solo artist equipped with their own unique contraption of sound-making objects. In Jeanne’s stockpile, I spy a couple of jingle bells on a string; a tiny horn sitting perfectly positioned to sing into a mic; a stack of cylinders with a brass bird on top.

At first she is accompanied by someone playing the accordion, which will forever be one of my favorite sounds on earth. With a small wooden box in hand, she plays small plucking sounds into the microphone. I don’t know what this instrument is called, but she seems to share a smile with it. She swaps it out for a guitar as the accordion slowly melts in and out of an arched position, and we’re introduced to a waltz-like melody. It feels like fresh rainfall.

The Moment: I’ve never heard a voice quite like Jeanne’s. It contains a wisdom beyond its years, and it also feels so incredibly new to the world. At moments it was like a controlled roar pouring out from her mouth, growing bigger and bigger like mountains. There is so much power in these occasional long belts. When she fully relinquished one for the first time I felt everyone get chills. She manipulates her voice in this way, like we’re watching her carefully throw it in the air and catch it. Sometimes, she extends a note with some sort of controlled waver, like the vibrato of an old jazz singer.

One song of Jeanne’s in particular reminded me of Ultimate Spinach, in its looping, distorted sound and hazy string of spoken word. She says things like “were you born or were you invented?” while giving us samples of various instruments, like a true one-woman-sound-machine.

Jeanne delivers her music with such a focus that it feels like we’re getting a sneak peek into her sound atelier, where she is tinkering and unbothered. My favorite is how she slowly raises the jingle bells for a shake or two and casually tosses them back down onto the table of curiosities. At one point she brings a violin bow to her guitar just to carefully create this brief moment of tense buzz, then sets it aside. Each object picked up is a new tool to experiment with and somehow it blends together so seamlessly. Her attention to the sound is equally paid to the silence in between, and the quiet moments eventually become a part of the sound too. Everything is intentional. Everything is inquisitive.

iPhone Presence: 1/10. I was in the front, and hate to say that I was probably that 1/10.

Editor’s Note: Cat sent me this shit late and 600 words over but it’s okay because 1. She’s my best friend and 2. This was so awesome to read. Who am I to limit someone’s heart? I also have no idea how I’d reel in my own praise of Jeanne and Kali so, I get it. One of the joys of my life is getting to see the world through Cat’s eyes, the way she approaches things with so much curiosity and so little fear or judgement, and it was such a pleasure to experience this show through her observations. You too can see the world through her eyes here, and keep up with her amaaaaazzzzing design/props work too.

I also wanted to add a detail, directly from Jeanne’s phone to mine, to include as a complication to Mimi’s earlier note about glitchy drum machine loop interludes -maya:

Grace Ives 05/21

By Grace Robins-Somerville

The Venue: Music Hall of Williamsburg

The Team: Me, Elise, Casey, Walden

The Smell: Rubber, jasmine, lavender, grapefruit, blue raspberry candy (perhaps this was just a me thing because I’d eaten some blue raspberry Hi-Chews from my purse on the way there)

The Scene: Recovering Tumblr kids of North Brooklyn. People who looked like they spent their adolescence living vicariously through pirated episodes of Skins UK. Lots of flouncy miniskirts, tall boots, ripped tights, big faded t-shirts, pastel dyed hair, and the widest-legged pants you’ve ever seen. A really enthusiastic yet respectful crowd, at least from what I could tell from my perch on the porch-ish raised platform where my crew and I were posted up (ground floor, house left).

The Show: I actually did not think I was gonna be able to make it to this one but my wonderful friend and editor Casey pulled through with the last minute plus-one. She and I found Elise and Walden on our way in and before Grace came onstage, we were all chatting about pop stan psychosis—you’ve seen it, those videos of people at the barricade bawling and convulsing and generally just looking like they’re in the throes of some kind of religious psychosis. Anyway, we were making fun of that in the way that music snobs with good taste and a critical appreciation of our own faves are wont to do. Smash cut to the house lights coming up less than two hours later and Elise and I taking twin deep sighs and looking at one another like, “Yeah, I was crying. You too? Thought so.” Grace Ives is one of the few pop stars that sort of makes me understand stan brain—not in a way where I’m like, scouring the internet for her baby pictures or posting like I’ve got a full time job on her PR team, but there are so many moments in her new album Girlfriend where it does truly feel like she is speaking from inside my own brain, even when she’s not saying actual words (like the weird little dolphin vocalizations on “Avalanche” or the end of“What If” where she’s gives up on the chorus midway through and just starts letting out these hysterical sob-laughs). Is part of my heavy identification with her due to the fact that I am also a girl named Grace who was born and raised in New York and sports an unruly mop of curls? Yes, but that’s only scraping the surface of why as soon as she walked onstage—to some of the most thunderous and loving applause I’ve ever heard—I thought, oh that’s my sister.

She opened with “Avalanche,” which immediately showed off just how immaculately she controls her voice in a way that’s not at all restrictive. Quite the opposite—she’s an incredibly expressive vocalist, just wrings out every fucking drop of emotion out of each line. She’s delivers certain lines like she’s about to crumble beneath them—huffing out the “I want, want, want, and I take, take, take” refrain like she’s about to cry, this sort of faux-out-of-breath effect that you can only pull off with the world’s precisest breath control. That’s the thing about Grace Ives—she has a way of delivering lines with a labored affect in a way that comes across so natural. You can hear the tryhardiness of her music in her live performances, but she makes all the effort look easy. You can tell that she’s an incredibly calculated and detailed artist, all the while she’s dancing around the stage like it’s no different from dancing around her living room. There are few artists who I’ve seen belong onstage as naturally as she does. She’s got what every faux-relatable pop star wishes they had but it’s a specific type of star power that you simply can’t replicate.

And she’s so goddamn charismatic. One of the things that moved me the most about her performance was just how much you could tell the crowd loved her. It was her hometown show and the last one of her tour, and it felt like the audience would’ve crowdsurfed her out of the building and thrown her a parade down Wythe Avenue if we could. Lines like “This is where I came from” and “One more for the girls back home” elicited massive cheers. People’s Princess type shit.

I was fully weeping during “My Mans” thinking about how strongly I could feel the lineage of performers who’d gotten us to this exact moment with this exact star. It made me think about how pop music, the most visible offerings of which can often feel so vapid and paint-by-numbers and mass produced, can be something that is truly generative and cathartic. Grace Ives knows what makes a song stick in your head and in your heart, she is making some of the smartest, brightest pop songs right now and performing them with such charm and gusto. It’s so easy to want the absolute best for her.

The Moment: Oh god so many. Her teasing, “yoo-hoo boys”-ass delivery on the verses of “Trouble.” Her stage-whispered bridge of “Fire 2” that seemed to melt all the walls when she got to the line “a hand to my chest and a view of the city.” The way she sat at her keyboard with this maniacal, haunted-doll grimace while singing the chorus of “My Mans.” How bubbly and rushy the synths on “Neither You Nor I” sounded, especially when she sang the word “wash.” The way “Lullaby” as the closer made me cry and laugh all at once because it’s the ultimate “realizing how fake and absurd adulthood is” song and I’ve danced to it alone in my room a million times and tonight it felt like we were all dancing alone in our rooms to it in this beautiful moment of parallel intimacy and public surrender. When she played “Stupid Bitches” as the encore and you could catch her smiling the biggest fucking smile watching everyone go crazy and bang their heads every time the beat dropped. Five days later when I saw her play a stripped-back three-song set to a very sweaty crowd at Rough Trade, and after the set, complimented my “Gracie” name necklace and autographed my copy of Famesick.

iPhone Presence: A classy 4/10

Editor’s Note: Besides mother, Yasi Salek, Grace is my favorite music journalist. She taught me that one can write professionally and still include the personal, and that, to do it any other way, is actually a little #dumb. This post of hers is one of my favorite things I’ve read on this site and made me remember that Pitchfork/critics aren’t just haters but are keeping the incredibly important and historic tradition of engaging with art critically alive. I would not be writing as seriously or consistently had I not met her; Grace reached out about liking my Substack back when we were just oomfs and not yet friends-- someone who writes about music as her job thinking I was good at it was huge for me. It made me see my own writing not just as a hobby but as something I could explore beyond this newsletter, and for that I am eternally grateful. You can keep up with her girl about town antics here, subscribe to her substack, and read her words in Paste, where she works as a staff writer. -maya

Cab Ellis w/ Boxxer 05/22

By Samantha Vogel

The Venue: 148 Frost Street (Boxing Ring!)

The Team: Me, Mikayla, Cooper, & Sabina. Ran into: everyone I’ve ever known (& love) in the music scene.

The Smell: un-sanitized sauna; warm Modelo; smushed, sour green grapes; your bedroom when you were 15: aka weed, a hint of old spice deodorant, dirty gym clothes, residue of blackberry flavored alcohol (in this case, White Claw, but those did not exist when I was 15).

The Scene: A biblical venue with all of Brooklyn music scene’s usual suspects: local band members, your uncle who was in a rock band in college; your younger sister’s friend who goes to NYU; professional photographers; &, most important, family & friends of the show. The crowd for each band was different, despite being shared. Boxxer’s attendees emulated more studied observers. Even the photographers seemed to occasionally pause (rare) to take in every note during the band’s set. Cab Ellis’ crowd featured an additional swarm of individuals whose appearance gave off casual Mac Demarco fans, while possessing the energy of a fraternity Brother.

The Show: Hot. Overstimulating. Epic.“Proclaim the greatness of the Lord” hangs on the wall opposite the stage. Pew like benches outline the perimeter of the space. Biblical, renaissance-like art dons the walls surrounding the stage. The bands ascend into a boxing ring, ready to give their sermon to the people.

This was my third time seeing Boxxer, & my first time witnessing their debut as a four-piece. The band performed seven songs — six original, five of them unreleased, one cover. Listeners lingered, attention fixed, as if Max’s dramatic vibrato had put them under an intoxicating spell. I knew the band would be playing a slew of unreleased songs &, having heard the demos for some, I was excited to see them live. “slow me down” & “pretty” (unreleased) landed as my favorites. “pretty” made for a perfect closer, if you ask me. During “Gown” they attacked, tearing into the instruments with familiar showmanship. I noticed the crowd relax into familiarity as well, dancing & swaying freely. When Max sings, the band seamlessly builds on his vocal delivery. They deliver an impressively tight performance. What intrigues me most about Boxxer’s music is how a song climbs to an apex, &, when the tension couldn’t possibly be greater — right when Max’s vocals turn to break down — it all comes apart in a harmonic crescendo. The guitar echoing as if to hypnotize. An addictive drum break floods in. The bass holding each component together. For a moment you’re in free fall, crashing down alongside the music that built you up, only to let it all rip, opening you up to release.

Cab Ellis is: Beer spilled. Cameras knocked. Chaos ensued. The band maintains an incredible, if not simply insane, live presence, & the crowd seems to descend into absolute madness every time. If you haven’t seen Cab Ellis live, you are missing out. I’ve seen the band perform more than a dozen times. The enthusiasm never waivers. The synastry between the band & the audience is so intrinsically linked. It’s impressive, if not remarkable, the kind of fervor the band creates. I’ve been going to shows locally in NYC for 5+ years now & I have yet to find anything that holds a candle to the energy of a Cab Ellis show.

I can’t lie, I lasted 4 songs into Cab Ellis’ set & left to “work” the merch table for Boxxer. In my defense, I have been present at every Cab show in New York for the last year. Not to mention surviving multiple mosh-pits with my camera. I’d had a grueling two weeks at work, & didn’t have it in me to fight for my life (& preservation of camera equipment) in the pit. I resolved to peering through the tattered curtains separating the merch tables from the showroom.

The Moment(s): There is a first time for everything. Normally, I don’t see covers as a hard-hitting point of the set. This was not ‘normally’. A good cover should be two things: One, familiar, but slightly unexpected. Two, the band should put their own spin on whatever track they’re covering. If I wanted to go to a karaoke bar & hear the song, I could’ve just done that. You know? Making a cover your own, & assessing the right creative liberties, is an art. Boxxer’s cover of STRFKR’s “Rawnald Gregory Erickson the Second” was, surprisingly, a show stopper. Where STRFKR’s vocals come off light & airy, Max’s melancholic croon gave the song depth. Coating it in a thick caramel. Something to stick to. Something to chew on. The best way I can describe it was, appetizing. It made for a perfect transition into their last song of the night, “pretty”, the crowd was PRESENT. I was enchanted. When they finished, I wanted one more. The audience seemed to feel similar, as if abruptly awoken from a trance. It was the perfect end to a debut. Leaving with an air of mystery, the room’s curiosity piqued & wanting more.

Cab Ellis’ penultimate sequence (typically what they end on, had it not been for the incessant, two-minute outcry for an unplanned encore) is my favorite song progression of their live sets. The manic build up from “Bad Health” burgeons into a release with their seamless transition into “She Put that Man Over Me”. It’s like the satisfying crunch you get from biting into a perfectly crisp apple. I regret to inform that I watched from outside the lines (through a pulled back curtain), but me, & my fellow merch-selling counterparts, danced around the table like we were front row anyway.

iPhone Presence: Overall, 2/10. Respect. Taste. Class. For Cab Ellis’ set arguably 0/10 — perhaps from sheer fear of it being knocked out of hand.

Editor’s Note: Sam is such a good photographer I had to specifically request ‘kind of shitty’ photos from her so that she wouldn’t mog my whole blog. Sam is another person I absolutely love running into at shows, and we first officially met when I had posted on my story looking to borrow a camcorder, and she graciously offered me hers and exported all the tape footage for me without ever having met. I look forward to seeing more of her this summer, especially in our shared Gemini season. Keep up with her and her photos here! - maya

THANK YOU TO ALL MY GUEST WRITERS THIS WAS SOOOOO FUN TO READ

im back in New York and back on the shows this week <3

Upcoming June Shows:

06/04

• Natalia Catalan w/ Ideasforconversations @ Trans Pecos

  • Natalia’s vinyl release party!!! YAYYYYY

  • Free food I think?

06/05

• Thaiboy @ Elsewhere

  • lfg the only Drain Gang member I haven’t seen yet

• PMFD, Qirl, & Or Best Offer @ Trans Pecos

  • sad to miss this one due to many conflicts including Thaiboy :( anyone free should go fr

06/13

• Nussy Andrews w/ Prairie Princess @ Windjammer

  • Who wanna come w me

06/14

• Janna Jamison, Laura Jean Anderson, Molly Frances, & Surprise Baby @ Hank’s

  • Fundraiser for Callen-Lorde/Pride Festival put on by my sweet Vandy girls Helen Hicks and Grace Brady <3

06/15

• @ w/ Alegra Krieger & Fernette @ Untitled

  • Delicious roof show lineup

06/18

• Worldpeace DMT @ Baby’s

  • Late show baby

06/20

• Khadija al Hanafi @ Indoor Soccer Field

  • 3rd space stay booking great shit fr. I hold no resentment for them not fucking w the video I made them or hiring me ever again bc they have outgrown me

06/21

• Black Country New Road w/ Horsegirl @ Storm King

  • YAAAAAAAAAAA perfect solstice show

06/26-06/28

• Solid Sound Festival

  • YAAAAS im going to Wilco’s music festival at MASS MoCA and I could not be more excited yaaaaaay my return to New England

I am unemployed and abroad, subletting my room for the month. I am feeling pretty overwhelmed and unstructured, but I am so grateful that, for the first time in years, I actually want to be traveling. Since moving back to New York in 2023, I never wanted to leave. I spent the years prior moving constantly, COVID sent me from Colorado to Connecticut to LA to Montana to Utah to Scotland, culminating in a semester in Prague during lockdown before finally returning to my college house in Colorado. I spent the months after graduating driving across the country then living in Glasgow. I had so little stability, a complete lack of structure and consistency, which made me feel completely attached to the city when I finally found my footing again. I needed to be there, I needed to be building a life, and I was so scared if I left for any period of time that life would disappear completely. New York is funny like that, it becomes your whole universe, the longer you stay uninterrupted, the less you see the world outside of its boroughs.

I am so grateful to finally have enough stability in my life that I have begun to welcome discomfort. I quit the job I loved because, after three years, its comfort began to feel uneasy, like things had gotten too easy. I love living in New York because it feels like every day I have to overcome something, whether that be a diabolical train delay or audacious door staff, I always feel like I’ve accomplished something. But I’m still so comfortable there, because it’s home no matter how much there is to traverse. What’s harder is leaving and navigating places where you don’t know the rules, the language, the norms. The discomfort feels alien, and that feels welcome after so long in a place that feels steady. I have earned the comfort of the city, but I always learn so much more in the unfamiliar. I am ready for that discomfort, that unknown.

I missed a lot of shows in April because of my PNW travels, and I am missing even more this May while I am back home. I open Instagram and find myself longing to be at my friends’ Union Pool and Baby’s shows, then I feel the whiplash of realizing I could just take a $30 flight to Belfast or Paris or Lisbon and unlock a brand new experience. Or I could drive down the road to the beach and sit in my car eating a fish supper and watching the sea like all the old Scottish people in the carpark. I could be present. I don’t know what the next month entails, but I know it will make me feel, which is to say it will teach me. For now, enjoy this short issue of Show Notes, and get excited for the May issue, which will include guest reviews from so many tasteful and talented friends who I’m happy to pass the torch to in my absence.

Caroline Strickland 04/01

The Venue: Union Pool

The Team: Me, Cat, Ben; ran into everyone.

The Smell: Glossier You, the Blue Ridge Mountains, hot wind, sweet decay, campfire smoke, and the first day of spring

I wrote a full show notes report on this show for COPY, read the rest here!

Zachary Mezzo String Ensemble 04/12

The Venue: Stone Circle Theatre

The Team: Me and Ben

The Smell: Hinoki, hangover sweat, Church, pine, and an amazing cologne someone near me was wearing. It was woody and romantic and I am longing to know its name.

The Scene: Hi Cool Kids! Where dark academia and the slacker uniforms meet. There was a lot of warmth in the room even with everyone sporting lots of blacks and greys. A sweet buzz of chattiness, but also full of many different disparate groups, not a singular scene. This made sense given how many musicians were in the room, and it was very comforting for me, as someone who only recognized Zach. There were over 20 players, so it was cool to have moments at the beginning where the musicians outnumbered the audience, a shift in visibility and power dynamic not often felt at a show. I love when there are parents in the crowd, you know this about me. I sat a few rows back, there were also pews open on the side and a balcony above. I went to a trendy Ridgewood restaurant before and felt like a schmuck because it wasn’t as good as Pollo Loco and it was way more expensive. I felt shy and didn’t look around too much. Plus, once the show started I was too mesmerized to ever break my soft, distant focus. There were two Boys With Cameras circling around during the performance, sometimes I’d snap out of sound when I could identify one of them in my peripheral, the familiar image of trying to hold a camcorder gently while not breathing at all.

The Show: I’m gonna be so real with you and confess that I was skeptical going into this. I met Zach a few months ago, he was playing violin for my friend Alana and played for Christopher Emond the same night and colored their performances so vividly. Those who know anything of my taste will know I am a lover of strings, a violin or cello has so much more emotional demand over my heart than a guitar or bass ever could. Shortly after buying tickets I actually read into what the performance was and realized I had misunderstood; what I thought was an album release party where Zach would play through some of his songs with an arrangement of talented friends, was actually a totally improvised noise/drone string ensemble. I know very little about music in a technical sense, but something about this description made me doubtful. I was like…how could that sound good. How could people playing totally different shit based on a few prompts ever sound nice? I thought, maybe it’s gonna be like performance art, like it’s not supposed to sound good.

I don’t know shit. This was so good. I was hypnotized. Music would flow from song into noise into a single sound. Players flipped their bows upside down and sometimes just strummed at their strings. The full range of each instrument was about to shine , I heard sounds I had never heard before. I have no idea what this note means but during the performance I wrote, “I never knew strings could whine, I thought they only chimed”. One of the standing bass players who was giving Taxi-Driver-Meets-Clown (compliment, not a read) changed his hat each time the timer/section ended, which made me feel more aware of what was going on and because of this visual cue, I know that the yellow hat song was my favorite. The whole thing was punk as fuck, so fun to witness and so beautiful to hear. Zach had recommended moving around the to be able to hear different instruments more, which I wish I had done, but I felt glued to my chair and nervous to distract from anything in front of me. If I did move, it would have been to get a better view of the cellist with a hasidic-type-skullet. He seemed to be bouncing the whole time.

The Moment: Everyone was having so much fun! I loved the music but what I loved even more was watching all the players get to do shit (I assume) they normally don’t get to. People laughed as their sounds and methods got more absurd, laughing like actual evil geniuses because they were. I love watching people play, getting to see this childlike instinct to experiment and break rules and look at each other and feel encouraged by mischief. I realized at the end of the show, via the ensemble breaking into song, that it was Zach’s birthday. What an awesome way to celebrate, in a beautiful theatre with talented friends who get to just romp about and play for an hour.

iPhone Presence: 2/10. So tasteful.

Grumpy w/ Natalia Catalan & Tex Patrello 04/29

The Venue: Union Pool

The Team: Went alone; ran into/gabbed/danced with Grace, MJ, Alana, Natalia, Agnes, Elise, AJ

The Smell: Orange slices after soccer, Max & Ruby’s birthday cake, all natural bug spray, and maple syrup at a cheap diner.

The Scene: A dreamlike gentle, courteous, and energetic crowd. A room full of warmth. If the world behaved the way this crowd did, I’d be devoid of social anxiety. One of the best and most admirable qualities a person can possess is being a warm greeter, being able to put aside whatever’s on your mind or whatever weird interaction you just had and looking at someone with a smile, asking how they’ve been and reiterating how nice it is to see them. Loose oomfs and complete strangers moved with the grace and cordiality of close friends. People were dressed dooown, ranging from straight from work fits (me) to circus-like flair. Like Zach’s show, there wasn’t a feeling of a singular scene but the connection across disparate groups. A good range of ages and aesthetics. Not entirely white people, which is the experience I’ve had at many Union Pool shows. The room was full all night long, a sold out crowd for a Wednesday night in Williamsburg.

The Show: Full crowd all night long is no exaggeration. I came from work, arriving 10 minutes into Natalia Catalan’s set and I couldn’t even make it into the crowd. I stood in the very back, adjacent to the door person, resting my big ass bag on a booth and making no attempt to see the stage. It would have been a fool’s errand, two tall ass guys directly in front of me, 100+ people in front of them. Instead, I practiced listening and trying to understand without visuals. I have sung Natalia’s praises to whoever will listen. Her recent release is one of the most sincere and exciting things I’ve heard all year. Though I love witnessing her and Alana Markel’s twinflame play on stage, it’s was so easy to hear the synchronicity and spontaneity in their voices. I wish I could have seen Rory Dolan tearing up that sampler. Shit sounded craaaaazzzzyyyyy, so expansive and unexpected and oftentimes totally different than the recorded tracks. The little breakdown moment ending I Want Him to Love Me, or the cheering sample during Put It Down that started to feel like waves crashing. I imagined him hitting the sampler like KAVARI hitting 200bpm on the decks, full of relentless energy and a keen awareness of momentum, Hayley Williams head banging. Where Rory complicated, keyboardist Warner Meadows grounded; keeping a lively yet rooted rhythm on every track, picking specific moments to get groovier. I get the sense that Warner is such a good player it would be virtually impossible for me to tell rehearsed material from complete improvisation. I loved the keys on Waist the most.

Lost in the smoking area’s constant flow of conversation and lack of fresh air, I sadly missed most of Tex Patrello’s set. No one warned me that I should have been there for it, but I don’t know how much a heads up would have helped as I was depleted from a long shift and simply needed to chain smoke and catch up with MJ. The few songs that I did catch were awesome. She was so theatric, a real performer, landing somewhere between Lana’s old Hollywood elegance and a weird program on Nickelodeon late at night. Her look and production felt celestial, but her steadfast, deep vocals kept me on earth. I think all avant/art-pop should be paired with her level of emphasis on performance. It felt like a damn pageant show.

So, who was gonna tell me about Grumpy? I felt like the last person in the world, which is to say at Union Pool, to learn of them. I was up front, standing between Grace and MJ and a dozen people who were close friends and/or admirers of the group. I got it instantly. The set started with just lead singer Heaven Schmitt on stage, and the rest of the crew appeared just before Heaven whispered a verse. They were so funny I teleported to a comedy club during Heaven’s whole bit on this bizarre cello hung on the wall. Grace turned to me amidst the laughter, “I feel like I’m watching the Mona Lisa get painted”. Totally. Diego looks exactly like who I imagined I’d marry when I was 12, and they played the clarinet and the cello, not really knowing how to play either but sounding great nonetheless.

All of the production soared, the band was so tight and their instrumentation so complex, the perfect environment for simple and heartfelt lyrics. They sang about taking Photobooth pictures with your crush at the Apple Store and getting Sprite in your water cup at the Fast Food Establishment. Heaven didn’t want to sing the Sprite song, but passionate pleas from the crowd willed it into existence. The band had choreography to act out all of the lyrics. “I’m never doing that again. I’m a serious artist now. This one is called ‘Cool Ranch’”. The band erupted into laughter.

The last song of the night moved me to tears, though I had been verging on them just from laughing so much the whole show. It was called OBL, One Big Life. What are you gonna do with this one big life? It was raw and anthemic and rooted in the experiences of being a band of trans people touring a hostile country. “We’re all trans tonight”. The lyrics stayed aligned with their routine simplicity, and they were so sharp and profound. The first verse celebrated being on the road with your best pals, “We’re so happy we could die”. The next verse observed the hateful eyes of onlookers, “They’re so happy we could die”. The clarity and cleverness of the lyrics mixed with thunderous and intricate instrumentation touched me in a way that Kimya Dawson did all those years ago. High fucking praise.

The Moment: My favorite song of the whole night was Grumpy’s The Whale. I just loved this one so much. I’ve not smiled that much at any other show, besides Jonathan Richman; my joy there felt linked to witnessing something, whereas during Grumpy’s set, my elation stemmed from being brought in to something. The Whale was a symphony, complete with the carbon-fiber-3D-printed printed cello that allegedly no one knew how to play. Before beginning, Heaven looked into the audience and asked faces behind me if they wanted to join in. “They’re shy, they’ll just sing from down there”. I love when a singer who has been playing the guitar all night puts it down and gets to channel all that extra energy and all those extra limbs into their singing, a voice you’ve heard all night suddenly sounding three times louder. Heaven’s uninhibited vocals were joined by Diego on stage, and their old friends in the audience. Hearing beautiful voices behind me perfectly harmonize with the performance I watched in front of me was a totally new live music experience for me. Took one time and now I am totally convinced that every single musician should be placing backup singers or even players within the crowd.

iPhone Presence: 2/10? Idk I was in the front.

MAY UPCOMING GIGS

• May 16

  • Jeanne River w/ Benjamin Formerly & “Jason Powers” @ TV Eye

    • Do not miss this one

  • Veronica Everheart w/ Star’s Revenge & ideasforconversations @ DiamondHeart

    • Concert and a fight

  • Boxxer @ Baby’s

    • Baby Dance → free!

• May 17-18

  • Lost Grrl Found @ TV Eye

    • “The only play with a mosh pit”

• May 21

  • Cashonlytony’s & Holidays in United States @ LPR

    • More people on the bill toooo

• May 22

  • Boxxer & Cab Ellis @ the boxing ring

    • Honesty idk the name or address of the place but yall know which one im talking about

  • Trinity Ace w/ Superfan & Christopher Emond @ Baby’s

    • Others on the bill tooooo these are just the ones i know :)

Maybe it comes from my little brother losing his words when I was a kid and never getting them back. Maybe it comes from reading too much Rookie Magazine, thus being overly obsessed with and aware of my own experience as a teen. Maybe it was losing three close friends between my 18th and 21st birthdays and learning to hold tightly. Or maybe this unease is simply just a part of being alive.

After my graduation in 2022, Ben flew to my college house in Colorado, and we began our two month road trip through a dozen states. It was Ben’s second time in America and it was my first roadtrip. Cramming all my belongings inside Carnelia (my old Crosstrek), camping on whatever public land we could find or couches we could surf, cooking meals on a propane stove in Walmart parking lots. We were so grimy and smelly and eating like shit and it was the best summer ever…it was the dream. We listened to so much music. When we wanted a break from choice we’d throw on Yasi Salek’s Bandsplain and spend the whole drive learning an extensive history of Modest Mouse or Radiohead between National Parks. Sometimes Ben would play host as I drove, I’d ask him about some obscure subgenre and he would tell me its history while playing the most influential tracks of the movement as we crossed state lines.

So many artists and genres and albums shuffled through the speakers that summer, and yet That Summer Feeling by Jonathan Richman seemed to always be playing. That song soundtracked our previous June back home in Scotland, we’d sit on the beach with cans in the sun and wonder how anyone could ever be tortured by summer. But the more we listened in the car, the more we came to understand; the bliss of being in love on the open road and exploring endlessly and having no obligations, the fleetingness of that very freedom, and the haunting nature of awareness in real time. The rose tint of nostalgia already. Of mourning, even.

When we saw Jonathan Richman at Baby’s last month, he opened with That Summer Feeling. I wonder how many other couples in the room were like, “omg! our song”. Classically, the live rendition was totally improvised. “You didn’t like first grade when you were in it but now you look back and miss it, what’s the deal with that?” he asked in the middle of a verse, almost waiting for a response before continuing to strum. I just spent so long trying to find the right words for that road trip and the time spent in Carnelia and I didn’t even mention I fucking hate driving and was in fight or flight for a good 2000 miles.

Rather than singing the classic refrain of, “that summer feeling is gonna haunt you one day in your life”, Richman dropped any allusion to summer’s freedom being something lost in the past, instead reassuring me over and over:

Jonathan Richman 3/13

The Venue: Baby’s All Right

The Team: Me and Ben

The Smell: Wooden wardrobe at my mum’s house, Mystic Seaport, stale Italian pastries, the moment after a fireworks crescendo.

The Scene: A wonderfully mixed bag of white people. Lots of different ages and vibes about but definitely a through line of shorter guys in beanies, many of whom were bald underneath. There were a few shows I went to this month where I felt like ~~the other~~, or like my whole team was a little out of place, but Jonathan Richman at Baby’s All Right? Babe, it’s like the inclusion olympics and it’s awesome. Ran into Tom at the start of the night and he graciously allowed Ben and I to skip the whole queue and cement a spot in the second row of the sold out room. I put my notice in at work the day before and was immediately granted this beautiful parting favor from a regular who will soon no longer be my regular; thank you, Tom <3. Our position was perfect in terms of seeing Jonathan Richman and his (fly as fuck) drummer, Tommy Larkins, but I wasn’t able to really take in the crowd from that vantage point. I’ll say the people directly around us were: tall and lanky father and son (X on hand) duo, effortlessly suave old head who wore sunglasses the whole show and knew every word, couples of every generation, guys who loved guitar, this one woman who looked so at peace the entire time.

The Show: Oh baby…that summer feeling was back like it never left at Baby’s All Right. Have you ever smiled for an entire show? Now I can say that I have. When I was 12 or 13 I saw Bob Dylan play in Philly and I was so ready to have my mind blown but I ended up totally depressed because I felt like I caught him in his retirement and he didn’t have the energy/passion/mobility to put on the show I imagined he would. I was scared about this with Jonathan Richman, but as soon as I saw the tickets go on sale in December I decided it was worth the risk. And within the first moments of the show any risk had completely dissipated and the entire evening was overflowing with reward. Mr. Richman sauntered on to the stage casually, his legs leading and his torso following, alongside Mr. Larkins, his drummer. Richman wore a bright mustard button up under a black chore jacket, simple navy-grey pants on the bottom. Larkins wore all black and some of the coolest glasses I’ve ever seen, a pair that would never land right on a man younger than him.

The entire show was a mix of everyone’s favorite songs reimagined, lines improvised, jokes added in, stories weaving their ways in and out of each number. He started with That Summer Feeling and virtually every lyric was different, refraining over and over, “that summer feeling is back again”, an omission of the haunting, choosing to celebrate the return instead.

Before launching into Springtime in New York, Richman shared stories about his teenage autumns in Boston. “I was 16 and I would walk around Harvard Square almost begging, ‘someone show me Bohemia!’”. And someone did, a girl in her mid-20s thought his passion was cool, she introduced him to her boyfriend who ran the cool club in Boston and also managed The Velvet Underground. He was allowed to go to all the 18+ shows under the guise he worked for the venue as a ‘research assistant’ (“I never, I mean never, did any research for them”). Within the next year he was introduced to Andy Warhol, who invited him to come help on some films in New York, “but that never happened, because he got shot a week later”. He ran into Lou Reed in Cambridge and said, “I love your music”, to which Lou Reed replied, “why?”. “I love how you use guitars like percussion,” replied Teen Johnny, which sent Mr. Reed into a frenzy, feeling ecstatically and profoundly understood. I loved hearing these stories so much, and Richman delivered them in such a perfect way; never too indulgent or self important, just as memories of a kid who was shown the door to Bohemia by the biggest players in the land and has endless gratitude to everyone who gave him the keys.

The whole show felt like, we as a crowd, had just walked into a living room and watched them play around. Two buddies who love each other and music and have enough time in that world to never take anything too seriously. No setlist, just songs that came to Richman’s mind or that the audience called out, even a pick from Larkins, My Baby Love Love Loves Me. One of my favorite things about being at a show can be the passivity, the stepping back and watching, letting it all wash over me as an audience member. This show didn’t have that and I loved it so much. There was no watching from a distance, because Jonathan Richman makes the audience a part of the show itself. With just him, a guitar, a drumkit, no amps, the crowd is part of the show itself. A guy next to me was geeking out about Richman’s guitar skills during Pablo Picasso, and Richman interrupted the song, leaned into the crowd, getting the attention of that guy, and began quietly explaining why what he was doing wasn’t all that complicated. “Your grandma could do it, for real”.

He sang in Spanish, Italian, and French. He shredded his acoustic guitar and he placed it down (gently) before dancing with all his might in the most smooth Macarena-esque movements. He was having so much fun, we were having so much fun, and it was the perfect night.

The Moment: I Was Dancing at the Lesbian Bar. Absolutely perfect song to end the night with. When we woke up the morning of the show, Ben shared that’s the song he wanted to hear the most. Part of me felt doubtful…the song is in praise of queer culture, but I thought, especially someone ~of Richman’s age~ might be scared of offending a sensitive Brooklyn crowd; my silly scared ass thought, like a fool! Of course he’d save this GEM of a song for last and of course he’d do it with zero fear because what fear is there to have about performing such a celebration of a song. The whole crowd went nuts, in the most polite and composed way ever. Jonathan tripped the song in length, and everyone belted the chorus at full volume each time.

iPhone Presence: 1/10. Perhaps it’s because we were so close but I saw almost no filming, or when I did it was all brief and tasteful. At one point someone started to take a video with flash and Mr. Richman said, “Please don’t point that at me. You can point something else at me, but that hurts--,” the extra light vanished before he finished, “thank you, thank you for understanding. I love that you want to point things at me”. In this age of relentless rudeness and the seemingly lost art of concert etiquette, this was so refreshing and a great reminder that things can be that simple and courteous.

ear 3/19

The Venue: Bowery Ballroom

The Team: Me, Ben, Cat, Erin, Lauren (ran into: Max, Smolsen, Shantanu)

The Smell: Raging hormones, an over-perfumed club bathroom, pop rocks, bubblegum flavor at the dentist, & Diet Irn Bru.

The Scene: Have you ever gotten to a venue and immediately realized it’s a 16+ show? That was the vibe. Underage new era indie sleaze couples dryhumping everywhere. Up on the balcony was, who I assumed to be, ear’s parents and they were so cool and excited they kept me grounded. Uncs above saving me from the young team below. It felt like a really short crowd, except for the guy whose armpit I was in for the first half of ear. Whenever I’m at a show like this I feel torn between judgement for Gen Alpha’s show etiquette and deep nostalgia for being a teen and loving music so fucking much and every show being the best one yet. Though the lack of manners did get to me a few times, for the most part I felt nostalgia and warmth towards the young crowd of this show. This was my first time at Bowery Ballroom in…nearly a decade? Which is to say the last time I was in that room was when I was 16, I think at Frankie Cosmos, drunk for no other reason than the fact that I was a teenager at a concert. It’s harder to judge people when you can so clearly see your past reflection in them, especially in the same exact room. Kept on thinking about this quote from The Perks of Being a Wallflower, a book that changed my life and showed me so much music when I was 14,

“And there are people who forget what it’s like to be sixteen when they turn seventeen. I know these will all be stories some day, and our pictures will become old photographs. We all become somebody’s mom or dad. But right now, these moments are not stories. This is happening..”

The Show: I thought sword ii was opening and I was really excited but turns out it was Swords2. Someone’s gonna have to sort that one out…survival of the fittest. I think I am at least five years too old to understand/enjoy Swords2’s music but I did really appreciate his passion and stage presence. Lyric of his I jotted down, “Wish I learned to use a screw driver, cause my robot is on fire”. Another note I took: do emo rappers know about Bloodonthedancefloor?

ear emerged after the opening set, enough hair between the two of them to distribute across a whole Turkish transplant waiting room. They were really fucking cool looking, in the same strikingly stylish way that Bar Italia is but with more talent. What really struck me about their set was the balance they have nailed between real world, familiar, atmospheric influences and all their internet glitchiness. They also both have great voices, which I didn’t really know to expect or even care about as their production is what really got me into them. Ok I just lied, a little. I think I stayed for their production but thinking about it now, when Ben first showed me Theorem, I was really struck by the vocals. Maybe particularly how they landed within the production, but for some reason I really didn’t think they’d be vocally as strong as they were.

I loved the lighting design throughout, except when it would Red Out but that’s something I am rarely into and I don’t know why. The lights followed the same feelings of the songs: some of them were in the club with strobes and harshness, and others were the walk home at dawn, glowing orange rooting your body in the world outside of the party. I felt really struck by this parallel in both sound and visuals in a way lighting hasn’t done for me in awhile.

In between each song one of them would get on the mic with a breathy whisper, “this one’s a dance song….dance if you want to haha”. By the second or third time I had to giggle a bit. They’re all dance songs, and we want to dance…that’s why we’re here guys! I imagine it’s hard to fill the silence left in between such all consuming and booming songs.

Their hairography was off the charts. They were shakin those heads harrrrrd, keeping hands grasping mic stands and feet planted. Lauren brought up the distinction between ear’s style of performance and Jockstrap’s after the show and now I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve seen Jockstrap three times now, once in Glasgow and twice in New York. There are plenty of differences between the two duos but since hearing Lauren’s comparison I’ve been wishing ear encompassed some of the same embodiment as Georgia who always dances with a full body glitch during their shows.

The Moment: They ended the show with a new song that absolutely banged. I don’t know the name but I’m so excited for it to be released. Potentially my favorite song of the night, which could also be due to the face that people finally put their damn phones away and just danced.

iPhone Presence: Beyond 10…a scalebreaking amount of phones. A wall of them. The only comparable show was Addison Rae but that girl was doing a full popstar performance with backup dancers and costume changes and this show was two (pretty stationary) people and a laptop on stage with a strobe.

Additional Notes: The short songs epidemic lives on. I keep wanting longer songs, which is totally a personal preference but I think the desire is warranted when it comes to ear. I felt like so many of their songs were building, the crowd’s momentum with them, and then things would peak and everyone would go hard for 30 seconds and it’d be over. They are fantastic producers and I think this would shine through even more if each song was just a biiiit longer.

Witch Post w/ MJ Upstairs 3/20

The Venue: Union Pool

The Team: Me and Pema on camera together (ran into: Partisan family [Max 2x], Joan of Arc family, Ben, Salv, Fitzy, Lauren)

The Smell: North sea breeze of the Hebrides, Spanish moss, hot toddies, the sidewalk after it rains, & the county fair.

The Scene: Surprising! A lot more dads than I would have anticipated. Seemingly none of them were Alaska or Dylan’s pa. I loved their manager’s vibe, straight cowboy but in a real Montana sort of way, not a Bushwick poser way. I was just putting together my videos of the night and saw some crowd footage Pema took, there was one girl in the crowd who seemed to know every single word.

The Show: Don’t feel like I can do the most thorough write up of this one as I was working it and was mainly so caught up in making sure I got all the coverage Partisan asked me to get. I was a lot more present during the opener, in part because I didn’t have to film, and also because MJ Upstairs always demands my full attention.

I have seen MJ play multiple shows and each time she just gets better and better. I think I have seen her and Caroline Strickland play in each other’s bands, but this show was right after their West Coast tour together and it was so clear how in sync they had gotten on the road. They play together so well, both absolute shredders on the guitar and those voices! The last time I saw MJ play was at her release show in the fall, shortly after I did the visualizers (lowkey turned music videos) for her album. It was at a small bar in Ridgewood and MJ played a very stripped down set. That night rocked but it was so awesome to see her in a bigger venue with a full band. MJ’s voice is absurdly powerful and it was made even stronger alongside Caroline’s echoes and harmonies. Sometimes when an artist interacts with the crowd or tells anecdotes to introduce songs it can land as cheesy or performative but MJ is just effortlessly charismatic in the most natural and genuine way. She is also just so cool and beautiful and has an absolute rockstar stage presence without ever seeming full of herself. “This song is about the worst night and best martini of my life”. MJ said that with a smile and proceeded to play the world’s most devastating song, Tanquerey. Her scream singing these crushing lyrics with a smile on her face, Caroline’s riffs and backing vocals, James ruthlessly bashing the drums; they tore me wide open, leaving me all messed up.

I was there for Witch Post’s soundcheck, which often feels a little invasive, like I am seeing an artist before they are ready to be seen, but it totally didn’t feel that way with them. We said hello and they thanked me for filming, and then they just went back to talking about the setlist and which songs needed what emphasis. Jesse, the engineer, gave a bunch of feedback throughout the check. Most of his notes were completely denied by Alaska and Dylan, not in any sort of rude or entitled way, just in a way that showed they were completely secure in how their music was supposed to sound. I was so struck and inspired by their confidence, like I need some of that. They were right to be so assertive because their set sounded great. They both looked really cool and totally different, Alaska in her cowboy boots and Dylan in his leather loafers. They have an awesome big sister/little brother dynamic going on that I found super endearing and playful. Dylan and Alaska both have perfect indie rock voices that sound so good together because of how different they sound but how rooted in the same energy they are. Both of them were semi stoic performers but Alaska always had a little something to say in between songs and held herself in a way that felt devoid of shyness. I definitely projected some shyness onto Dylan, especially because he wasn’t as chatty and he was wearing a trench coat, but as soon as he dropped the guitar and started dancing about and shouting into the mic I realized I was wrong. I really loved how this interplay undulated throughout the set, the power dynamics swapping and switching and getting all entangled. Ending with Chill Out was great, Dylan went all out, almost giving temper tantrum (positive) at points, and Alaska kept on smiling at him. When the song ended he marched off stage without a wave, while Alaska did a bit of a slower and more graceful departure. They were fire and I am excited to hear more of their music…after I get a little distance because four of their songs have been a constant in my headphones while I cut together these edits.

The Moment: Just general worlds colliding and aligning. When Partisan signed Witch Post I read a little about them and learned that Dylan was from Scotland and Alaska was from Montana. My mum moved to Scotland six years ago, and I went and visited her for the first time there after spending a chunk of lockdown in Arlee, Montana, where I learned how big the sky could be and how fresh air could smell. I spent my first week in Scotland exploring the woods and taking advantage of the right to roam for the daily four hours of ‘sunlight’. The next week I met Ben and now we’ve been together nearly 5.5 years and Scotland is the place I call home. When I saw they were playing in New York I knew I had to go and hear the sounds of these places so dear to me. MJ and I got breakfast a few weeks before the show and I blurted out that I might be filming, MJ echoed me, sharing that she might be opening. After our meal, fueled by 5 diner coffees, I deep cleaned my bathroom and immediately felt a deep sense of dread upon finishing the task. I had jinxed it. I had shared a job that hadn’t even been confirmed, obviously I jinxed it. A day or two later I texted MJ asking her not to share my maybe gig with anyone because it hadn’t been made official. She replied that she would not, and that she was just confirmed as opener, but she had also been spinning out about having jinxed the opportunity by sharing the news with me too early. The next day I was officially booked, life’s like that. When I woke up the morning of the show, which was also when their EP was released, I saw that Witch Post shared a music video for Witching Hour. I watched it, loved it, and then realized Milo Hume directed the video :’) Milo AD’d the first music video I ever made and I PM’d the music video he directed for Geese’s “Au Pays Du Cocaine”. He’s also one of my best friends and favorite people.

Life’s. Like. That.

iPhone Presence: No idea because I was locked in on my real ass camera(s). Working gal.

Lip Critic w/ Pop Music Fever Dream 3/21

The Venue: Yong Xin Tan Laundramat

The Team: Me, Ben, Naomi, Tessa (ran into: Max [3x night in a row], Grace, Sam, Owen)

The Smell: Body odor that could only come from heads drinking hella White Monster, dryer sheets, cheap detergent, & wherever Heaven meets Hell.

The Scene: A bunch of friendly familiar faces, girls, gays, theys, industry heads, fucking chillers + five roid raged men who were way too excited to hit someone. You know that video from Coachella, the one during Ken Carson’s set of everyone going fucking insane and at the barricade its all of these Lana fans just crying? Thinking about that. It wasn’t really like that at all but I am thinking about it. Naomi pointed out one person and said she had seen them once before, “running the pit like a drill sergeant” at Elsewhere. They were awesome and knew how to work the pit and had the thickest eyeliner ever. An all star cast of photographers and videographers, New York City’s finest tbh. There was a teenage girl there with her dad who knew every single PMFD lyric. I love her. A strong SUNY Purchase presence, which I only know from eavesdropping on conversations. This was especially cool for me as a girl who used to have basketball practice once a week there.

The Show: Can’t resist quoting myself because it is my truth, “Whenever I see PMFD I feel like a kid with a sugar rush. I feel so in my body and in touch with being fucking angry and hating being bored and my need for constant stimulation is met on all fronts”. In my time since writing that I was diagnosed with ADHD (caught that shit at 26…) and my longtime love for loud ass music makes more sense each and every day. PMFD is a dream band to see live. Anyone who wants to experience a harder sort of show but feels scared or hesitant needs to start with them. Their concerts are loud and crazy and completely ruthless yet totally safe and completely joyous. One millisecond after writing that the irony of a fire starting during the last show of theirs I caught is setting in, but even then the fire was totally chill and contained. They know how to use the space wherever they are, so seeing them in a laundromat was beyond perfect. Tim strutted through the crowd with a mic in one hand and a laundry bag in the other before plopping in front of a machine and beginning to load it while singing. On one side of the room, Nicole and Carmen stood on the speakers, beating at their guitar and bass; on the other Tim yelled about the internet from atop the washer before trust falling into the crowd and pointing forward while they finished the sound, all of us making sure to get them back to the stage. The front of the show and the pit was almost entirely women during PMFD, including my girl Grace who wiped out so elegantly and with a smile on her face. I checked she was okay and remembered the first piece of hers I ever read was about PMFD, “For whatever reason, I always say I’m not gonna mosh tonight when I see Pop Music Fever Dream and every time it’s a lie”.

Ben, Tessa, Naomi, and I worked our way to the front and stood against the perimeter of drying machines. There was a really big crowd vibe switch between PMFD and Lip Critic. I felt grateful for the girl to my right, who was also wearing Tabis and had a white boyfriend (twin), Carmen and Tim to my left, Grace across the way on the opposite perimeter, Max and Sam up on the washers, Owen backstage, I felt grateful to run into Danny on his way to the kit, his Staten Island warmth and uniform of a Hanes tank and shorts; all of these people kept me grounded and comfortable amidst the room getting fuller and the men, getting scarier.

Lip Critic opened their set with Yard Sale and it was fucking electric. My energy and anticipation was at an all time high and seeing the pit devolve into complete chaos felt so right. Being at a Lip Critic show, regardless of venue, always reminds me of being half blacked on Dragon Soups at a Happy Hardcore night in Glasgow. I am sober now and this is a Laundromat in Williamsburg, not a queer club in Glasgow, but it’s the familiar energy of everyone letting go of restraint and just moving their bodies really fucking fast to whatever beat they can hold on to. It was a Lip Critic show, of course it fucking banged. They are always violently enchanting and totally unpredictable without feeling deceitful. The visceral nature of their songs, the battle between two drum kits and ripped up samples and Bret’s assertive, borderline demonic vocals; all of these things work to create a completely new and totally immersive sound that you can’t help but feel in every fiber of your being. It’s impossible to listen to them and not hear them as a group of people who just love music; their sound doesn’t just expand and explore across tracks but within a single song you can hear everything from Nine Inch Nails to The Prodigy, Cro-Mags to Dizzee Rascal.

I don’t wanna sound like some whiny baby who can’t handle a show or a misandrist who just hates guys, but there were a handful of men in that pit who did not know how to fucking act. I really love Lip Critic, they were the first New York band I fell in love with after moving back here three years ago and I always try to make their shows. I’ve moshed at their shows at Elsewhere and The Broadway without a whisper of a bad vibe. I still loved this show and 90% of the crowd, just sadly that 10% sucked enough for me to not be as present with the music towards the end of the set. The Bad Men were using the pit like a stage and doing their own fuckass performances (didn’t come here to see you) and The Aloof Men would stand completely stationary, against me, like I was the wall (Bret is commanding you to shake some ass and instead you’re playing statue).

Anyway! I am so excited for this new record, especially after hearing some of the new songs live-- selfishly I am sad about how much they’re about to blow up because I love being able to see them often and affordably in the city, but they deserve everything coming their way.

The Moment: Just the many moments of complete presentness with the music. Being able to feel the darkness of the music in my body and exercise it through shoving the bodies crashing into mine. The music and the setting and the energy in the room put me into the least stressful version of fight or flight- feeling the urgency in my body not as anxiety but as pure fucking excitement. Gun to my head, I couldn’t ride a skateboard now despite loving that shit so much when I was a kid, back when I was fearless and knew how to fall. There is so much fear in my life now that I didn’t have as a kid, so much fragility I get so frustrated by, especially haunting memories of being 11 at Vans Warped Tour and crowdsurfing during Sum 41. I’m still far from being vulnerable and fearless enough to do that any time soon, but I am so grateful for the bands and shows that penetrate my wall of worry and allow me to exist within my body.

iPhone Presence: 1/10. That shit was too damn rowdy to be holding a phone up. If this criteria was about professional camera presence, it would be a very different answer.

Additional Notes: Need a KAVARI x Lip Critic remix. Cam if you are reading this, respond to my text and let’s make something happen girl.

Joanne Robertson & Maria Somerville w/ Colle 3/24

The Venue: Pioneer Works <3

The Team: Me and Ben (ran into: Jake, Caroline, my neighbor whose name I forget, and Shantanu)

The Smell: Bonfire (duh), palo santo, the Tennents brewery, wet stones by the sea, & untamed grass.

The Scene: I just know you all can picture the crowd for the dream-pop/lo-fi/experimental-folk night at Pioneer Works, but I’ll indulge. Everyone was very stylish and every person there spoke 3x louder than Joanne Robertson ever did. The couple in front of us in line seemed like a 3rd or 4th date, and the guy was explaining that Robertson and Maria Somerville are part of the Scandi Girl Squad with people like Smerz. It really is okay not to know things, and it is unattractive to confidently front that hard. Those are my Celtic Queens (Robertson is english but based in Glasgow), just because they are women making cool music doesn’t mean they have to be Nordic. I recognized a lot more of the crowd than I thought I would, which is a tough vibe when you’re feeling antisocial at a show, but I am forever saved by the people I only see on Division/Canal Street never being able to recognize me outside of that neighborhood. So many people in the smoking area were talking about sets and jobs and producing and group shows all over the world. Saw a lot of NTS and Montez Press merch worn like a friend, not a fan. Pioneer Works is so sick for so many reasons but one of the most impressive has to be its ability to get hundreds and hundreds of people to Red Hook on a weeknight. Ran into Caroline while she was trying to avoid our mutual friend’s ex fling, life’s like that.

The Show: Pioneer Works is a DREAM venue. Love it there so much. Love Red Hook so much every time I’m there to fish or for a show or sandwich I’m like I need to live here; and the commute back to wherever always bursts that bubble. Colle opened the night, we got there in time to catch her last few songs. I had seen her once before, when I was shooting video for some 3rd Space show uptown. I liked her enough to listen to a few of her songs after the show but never got super into her. I’m really glad to have seen some of her set, I thought it was lovely. Close your eyes and sway type music. Last time I saw her I felt like the sound guy was , not good, but it was also in a Church and not a venue so I should cut him some slack, but he was kind of rude to me so I won’t :) I hate calling any woman’s music ‘dream-pop’ because I think endless biddies get thrown into that category simply because of the way they look, so let me just say this was dreamy as hell.

Joanne Robertson acted so lowkey on stage, like she doesn’t have the voice of a god damn angel. She was on her Chet Chomsky shit, no lights on her, no fog, no band, just a guy with a guitar. Two guys with guitars, including her. Her guitar and voice are so intertwined. I kept on closing my eyes and not being able to distinguish which sound came from where because they were so perfectly melted together, but usually there would be an instinctual moment of separation, her voice taking off and soaring beyond what an instrument is capable of. For having such an enormous voice, she really could not have spoken into that mic any quieter in between songs. I felt like she’d hit the triple threat of taking two steps back, facing away from the mic, and then speaking like she was addressing us. Mama I can’t hear you! All good with me though as long as I can hear when you sing.

Her music, especially live, is dusk meets dawn. Each song has something strange and haunted to it, but it often feels unnameable because of the amount of beauty and joy and hope passing through the same notes.

Someone yelled out a request at one point. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to play that. I don’t know how to play any of my songs. They’re improvised on a computer in my bedroom”.

I came for Joanne, but I stayed for Maria Somerville. After Robertson’s stripped down set, Maria’s music felt like my first time hearing drums or bass. The whole stage was lit like the first sight of heaven, misty and bright and a devastating grey/green/blue hue. Maria stood in the middle of her bassist and guitarist, both of whom appeared as boy silhouettes in hoods. I’ve listened to Somerville’s NTS show for ages but only listened to her album recently. I liked it but I wasn’t running back to play it again. Seeing her live has made me a fan 10x over. The whole performance was noise meets folk, harshness meets whimsy. Laying on the ground with my eyes closed and feeling all my limbs fall asleep, I was K Holed by her (in a good way).

The Moment: Sitting down criss-cross applesauce and watching Projections of You on the projector. I almost left before Maria Sommerville. I was tired from the commute to Red Hook and the shows preceding this one, and sometimes a softer show can just put me to bed. Sometimes you have to choose comfort and that comfort will be reinvigorating. It’s like moving to the back of a crowd when the pit becomes too much. In this case, getting out of the crowd completely and lying on the floor in front of a high quality projection of the show, directly to the right of the stage.

iPhone Presence: 2/10. Very tasteful.

April Upcoming Gigs:

• 4/03

  • Ideasforconversations, bbpue, b7lanket , exfilmstar, saja & Harry Teardrop @ Trans Pecos

• 4/05

  • Dutch Kills & Native Sun @ Nightclub 101

• 4/06

  • Abasement 86 @ Artists Space (always experimental and stimulating and FREE)

• 4/09

  • Lip Critic @ 148 Frost Street (boxing ring show!)

  • Prewn @ Nightclub 101

• 4/10

  • Isabella Ashton, Machinor, Feed Him to The Dogs, & Anjoli Simone @ Francis Kite Club

• 4/12

  • Zachary Mezzo String Ensemble (solo album release w/ 20+ string players!) @ Stone Circle Theatre

• 4/15

  • Wendy Eisenberg/More Eaze (double release show!) @ TV Eye

• 4/22

  • Horsevision w/ Heaven Sight @ Nightclub 101

• 4/25

  • Or Best Offer & Star’s Revenge @ Alphaville

• 4/26

  • Alana Markel (EP release!!) @ Union Pool

• 4/29

  • Grumpy, Natalia Catalan, & Tex Patrello @ Union Pool

• 4/31

  • Carmen Esperanza @ Sleepwalk

I don’t know how anyone in California or Hawaii keeps track of time or stays even a little sane without seasons. Feeling depressed in the winter still feels bad but it also feels right. It makes sense to feel consumed by the bad inside when everything outside is dark and cold, and it makes the moments of warmth and light feel completely transformative. Two days ago I was walking around without long underwear on and I realized it was almost 6 and still bright out and all of a sudden it felt like the first day of summer. The day before I ran into five people I love completely randomly and in rapid succession because I live in 1) New York and 2) community. I smoked my last spliff on Lunar New Year before feasting at Dim Sum Palace with a table for 12. I danced my ass off stone cold sober for hours at Dweller, present enough in my body and in the bass to not be completely consumed by the dread of Public Records (I didn’t even flinch when running into a white guy from my high school who exclaimed ‘Mashalah!’ upon seeing me, if you’re reading this, love you anyways king).

All the good, all the marathon dancing and singing along at shows and being put on to good shit and laughing with my friends, all of it reminds me that the bad is not the baseline, no matter how much winter wants me to feel like it is. And even the bad, the intense emotions and the crying without understanding why, it reminds me that it’s still better than feeling numb. I miss rolling on my snoopy tray. I miss the instant relief of lighting a spliff and feeling just a little dumber, but I also have felt so many feelings in my Lenten sacrifice. God it can be exhausting to feel so much, and so confusing after avoiding the bad feelings for a long time. But at least I know there are real feelings inside of me and I can live through them. Yesterday it was 50 degrees and sunny and I walked to Prospect Heights and got an overpriced poke bowl and I felt devoid of grief and mental illness. Last night I went to a show at the first place I ever applied for a job in NY and it was the best bill I’ve seen in ages. In two weeks I’ll celebrate 2.5 years sober from alcohol, a choice that reinstilled the belief that I am in charge of my own life and that I have the power to change things that haunt me.

OG readers will know for years before I started Show Notes this blog was entirely about grief, so I am sorry but you’re just gonna have to deal with some elements of that even if you’re just here to read about music. Only saw a few shows this month (reasons, listed above), but all of them were explosive and inspiring and genre defying and almost all of them were women 😍

Here they are, thanks for indulging me.

Lizzi Bougatsos, 02/13

The Venue: The Amant Foundation

The Team: Me and Cat

The Smell: Perfumes I could never afford, smoked fish espuma, textiles only found in Women’s History Museum, & * innovation *.

The Scene: Every Dimes customer I’ve ever had. At one point I said hello to a familiar face and Cat asked who it was, I said I couldn’t place her; two days later I saw on Instagram she was the fashion director at Telfar. That was the vibe. I’m never really in the know for NYFW stuff, I feel like I’ve tagged along to random parties during the week and felt horribly out of place and depressed by it all. This felt pretty removed from a lot of the fashion week shiii because it was the closing celebration for Grisette à l’enfer, Women’s History Museum show at the Amant Foundation, and Women’s History Museum is so fucking cool. Seeing customers out in the wild can be really funny, there were so many people I see 3x a week who would look at me and try to place me and just couldn’t make sense of who I was, because to some people I only exist on Division Street, behind a counter, with a barcode scanner in my hand. But I ran into some customer-friends too, a great group of them scattered around, some performance artists, some experimental musicians, some stylists, some directors, some Modern Day Socialites.

The Show: I am obsessed with Lizzi. I have been for ages, the first time she ever came into the shop I was like, who is this; she’s so funny and friendly and always looks effortlessly glamorous and most notably (to my heart) she has the best speaking voice I have ever heard. Over the past three years of ringing up her chicken salads and catching up on her gossip, Lizzi has started to feel more like a friend than someone I know from work, which I am grateful for, and as soon as she told me about the performance I knew that Cat would love it too. Lizzi wore full Women’s History Museum, these crazy heels I had no idea how to describe, paired with a train and belt adorned with shimmering coin-sized metals, and a parade of textiles on top, silk and fur and one open shoulder. Her performance started with her making her way down several sets of stairs, a microphone in one hand, a drill in the other. She is so theatric in the least self important sort of way, watching Lizzi perform is like watching a kid play, completely intuitive. Once she made her way down the stairs, having to glamorously throw her long skirt train over the landing, Lizzi did most of the performance in the center of the room. She banged on various gongs and cymbals and hit the xylophone in a way I’ve never experienced. She seemed so serious yet every time she spotted a familiar face in the crowd she would smile and wave. I was in a conversation recently where someone was saying experimental acts are either too polished or too sloppy these days, this older head talked about how back in his day people knew how to strike a balance. I guess he doesn’t have the pleasure of knowing Lizzi.

The Moment: Getting to hear my favorite speaking voice SING. What a special sound. Lizzi’s voice sounds both completely feral and totally angelic. It is so textured and visceral. I know every voice is an instrument but hers could be the whole band. She can sing, howl, coo, chant, scream-- and she can switch between each of those seamlessly. She didn’t sing for the first five minutes of the 15 minute performance, she used every other tool and instrument and edged the audience, making us so hungry to hear her roar. And damn, I was full after.

iPhone Presence: 5/10

Additional Notes: The actual art show, Grisette à l’enfer, was amazing. I felt so inspired by the pieces in there and the installation, more than any sort of fashion exhibition I’ve been to before.

Natalia Catalan, 02/21

The Venue: Canal Projects

The Team: Me and Erin

The Smell: Morning glory muffins, burnt tires on a single lane highway, concrete and chlorine of a public pool, & new cassette tapes.

The Scene: Without a doubt the most beautiful crowd I’ve ever seen. No facecards declined at the door. Everyone was so hot. I ran into Agnes outside of the venue, she’s been managing Natalia and does lots of awesome work for various musicians and the Trans Music Archive. We first met on set of the Taxes music video and I am always so happy to run into her at shows. I also know if she’s at the show, it’s gonna be a good one. Everyone there was so friendly, two strangers sat on either side of Erin and I and were so chatty and enthusiastic to talk about how they knew Natalia/ended up there. The space was a gallery, still full of its current show There’s No Place. Just realizing as I write this that I didn’t go to a single show at a proper venue this month. Two galleries and a book shop, okay! The art that was up was all so beautiful. It was a textiles show filled with lots of bright colors and cloudlike looking fabrics, Natalia and her band snuggled in the middle of it all.

The Show: I know I already used this descriptor for the Lorde show (high praise already) but, life affirming. Life affirming and genre transcending and packed full of joy. I first heard/met Natalia when she opened for my sweet MJ Upstairs at her release show several months ago. At that time, Natalia played on her lonesome just with her warm voice and pink guitar. She kept these instruments at her own show and added backing vocals, a shaker, a sampler and the keyboard. I was really curious to see how this live show would work because the album felt really electronic and produced and like it lived inside of a computer, but damn this band broke that shit out of the computer so hard. Natalia’s music feels like getting out of the ocean on a not too hot day and laying on a big rock with your eyes closed; it feels like being completely exposed but still totally safe. It’s quite easy for me to doubt myself and I’m not quick to think I am right, but one thing I am very secure of is knowing I have really good taste in music. No one can talk me out of that, thank god. As soon as Natalia’s project came out I knew it was really fucking special. I know I listen to a lot of music and I’ve never really heard an album like Die Without Makeup, and I know as soon as I heard it I wanted so much more of it (though both this and the ideasforconversations release are 17 minutes and maybe that means that’s the perfect length?). What I didn’t know was how hungry everyone else was for it. This album and the show paired with it really showed me Natalia is on the precipice of something really big. I don’t mean on the precipice in a way to negate what she has already made happen for herself, she’s kind of done the impossible in terms of being an unsigned artist whose music is being picked up by different publications and playlists, and she has done all of this while working as a full time elementary school music teacher, a sweetness and groundedness always felt in her presence. I just think that when the school year ends she will have lots of options and opportunities and the world is ready for whatever she wants to give it. The room felt so full of love, everyone was dancing hard in their seats and cheering and smiling so much while they sang along. Natalia and the whole band looked like they were having so much fun.

The Moment: Really hard to pick out one moment of a show so good, but I would say it’s a tie between I Want Him To Love Me and 27. Watching Natalia and Alana sing together is like watching two little girls play in a park. And the two little girls are sisters and also crazy talented. They have such a perfect and playful synchronicity, it never feels like they battle for space because they know how to share it. Instinctually. I loved this throughout the whole performance but it shined so well during I Want Him To Love Me, one of my favorites off the album, and a song that really illustrates Natalia’s love of music and collaboration. In addition to Alana, Natalia brought up Also Now to help sing this one, and I could have listened to their three voices on loop all night. She is so good at knowing when to crowd and when to give space, parts of her songs feeling jam packed with instrumentation and constant singing, other sections feeling completely stripped of everything but the truth. 27 was my other favorite song of the night. I can’t believe I’m this deep into this review and haven’t mentioned how much of a fucking shredder Natalia is. She is an unreal guitar player, and she is real quiet about it. The riff during 27 gave me full body chills. The guitar on that song alone hit so hard I..thought I really had to pee as soon as it ended but then I went to the bathroom and nothing came out? I don’t know what that means but I am choosing to believe it says more about how exciting Natalia’s music is than my undiagnosed pelvic floor problems.

iPhone Presence: 2/10

Additional Notes: Directly before this show I was baking millionaire shortbread for my bestie Amelia’s birthday and I knocked the shelf next to me and a non-alcoholic Guiness fell and hit me in the head then fell to the floor and EXPLODED all over my kitchen walls and laptop and hair and ceiling. I was self conscious about my scent this whole show.

Alana Markel, Christopher Emond, Ideasforconversations, Reading, & Holidays in the United States*, 02/28

The Venue: The P.I.T.

The Team: Me, Natasha, Cat (went together) & Pema, Leisha, Alana, Natalia, Caroline, Penelope, Jake, Alex, and Jordan (danced with at the show)

The Smell: The checkout at Hot Topic, darkfruit Strongbow, Got2Be Glued, Fuji apples, & Sweet Mint Eos lipbalm

The Scene: Oomfcon meets the World’s Tallest Men in the lowest rise jean convention. A lot of familiar faces and also a lot of young ones. At first I thought I was making the latter up but when I went to recycle my La Croix I saw about 20 Angry Orchard tallboys in the bin, which confirmed my theory. I have never in all my days seen so many different types of analog recording devices. I was part of the nonproblem with my digi cam, but I really saw about a dozen people with crazy old camcorders and weird film cameras and that one phone. Remember that video of a kid filming the 100 Gecs show on his DS? It was like that. Another really beautiful crowd here. Is that weird to say after saying people were really young? But also obviously they’re beautiful, they’re 20. Everyone is beautiful and full of life at 20. I just wrote that and it’s like, do I really believe that? I think I do, but I keep on picturing 20 year-old-me, early Covid days, hot pink hair and totally fragmented by the world falling apart and doing way too many mushrooms my sophomore year, and it feels hard to feel the same way about myself. Anyway there were also plenty of people my age and older and it was awesome to see everyone pack out the P.I.T. for this benefit show for Minneapolis Mutual Aid. And it was packed out for real. There were probably 20-40 people outside during each performance, watching from the side window or just hoping to hear from the front door. Anyone who has not been to the P.I.T. should go, it’s awesome there whether it’s for a show or to just do some anti capitalist book/record/CD browsing.

The Show: Probably the best local talent bill I’ve seen in…years? Back in January a bunch of Chicago homies were in town and I kept whining to them about how I wish New York had good emo bands like the plethora of Chicago ones, and I learned at the P.I.T. that this is yet another case of me thinking the scene was missing something, but it was really just me missing something all along. This lineup was so damn good and totally cohesive while never being repetitive, each act was so good on building on the last while never disrupting the flow.

Alana Markel played first. She stayed at the keys (so tiny), Natalia on guitar, and Zach on the violin and they performed almost entirely unreleased songs, most of which are off of her upcoming EP, I Love You. Not to flex but Alana sent me the demo for this EP and it’s my favorite project of hers to date. Alana’s music always feels like late winter music to me, with her soft looping voice, foggy synths, and all the space she leaves between; it was perfect to see on the last night of February. I really loved hearing the addition of the violin in her live act (my first time meeting/hearing Zach, he was so fire), and I thought it worked particularly well for my favorite song off her new project, Plane Landing. I always feel so struck by Alana’s range, some of her songs feel classical music adjacent while others feel like they wouldn’t exist without a long history of electronic music, and she is so good at marrying the two in certain songs. What a privilege to get to see her and Natalia sing together twice in one month! Like I said before, watching these two together is just like watching the sweetest sisters play on a playground and it will never get old to me. The first time I met Alana was after she starred in Lost Girl Found, a musical about the riot grrrl movement on college campuses in the 90s. Then I saw her perform a very stripped down set at Rubulaud the following September, and then I listened when she released her Winter Starlet EP last spring, and the last time I saw her live she did a dream pop set in a church basement; I feel like I’ve been her friend for a short amount of time yet have still witnessed her across so many different sounds and genres and performance. It’s inspiring to see someone always try something new, she knows how to leap and where to land in a way I think many other artists don’t, or are too scared to try. I am so excited for the world to hear her new project, and also one of my favorite things about Alana is the face that her singing voice is quite similar to her speaking voice…it makes me feel like she’s singing to me when we’re just chatting :’)

Next up was Christopher Emond, who was the name I didn’t know on this lineup. And speaking of a singing voice that sounds like someone’s talking voice…this was the opposite! I was a little further back and couldn’t see him at first and had a really hard time imagining who the voice belonged to, and when Christopher spoke into the mic I was shocked by the difference between his singing and chatting. He played guitar and Zach stayed on stage with his violin and there was a sort of drummer karaoke going on between his pal playing the kit and Emerson from ideas coming in to play the some more electronic drum machine stuff (honestly I was so out of eyesight I hope I’m not just making this up). His music was a whisper into crescendo every single song. In his folksy, pleading, and somewhat conversational voice I hear whispers of Brand New and roars of Daniel Johnston. Beyond vocals, his whole set encompassed so many sounds, some songs feeling like they’d start off atmospheric and classical then BOOM they’d go into total synth doom, haunted by the moments Christopher would release restraint and let the emotional moments of each song hit deeply. I am honestly always saying every band would be better if they included a non guitar/bass strings instrument, Black Country New Road taught me that back in college, and Zach on the violin b2b on these sets confirmed my thesis. It’s crazy how different both Alana and Christopher’s sets would have been without the violin. Maybe I am also partial because of my love for Georgia in BCNR and Jockstrap, or maybe it’s my love of Irish trad music, but if there’s a violin I’m probably gonna love it. Christopher’s music felt a lot more earthy to me than the rest of the acts this night, parts of his set reminded me of being in Bend, Oregon or driving through the Redwood Forest, but it never felt like simple indie folk or folk punk, something a lot more nuanced and a little more New York. I am excited to dip into his discography!

Then there was ideasforconversations. When someone asked what the music would be like, I said, “they’re like if The Hellp wasn’t cringe and LCD Soundsystem wasn’t unc”, which isn’t at all how I speak but is a non-nuanced analysis I stand by. Sometimes I’ll say or write things like that and realize I do miss Twitter even if it was rotting my brain. I first saw ideasforconversations last April at Elsewhere, they were playing on the same bill as Alana. I was gagged back then and I am still gagged by them now. They released a new EP, No Bad Words, last Wednesday. It’s been less than a week of it being out and I have listened to it almost every day. It is a perfect, no skips project, and it was so exciting to see them play it live. They really know what they’re doing, they are so in control of their sounds and their vision. Whenever I closed my eyes during their performance, I felt like I was outside of a bar in the rain, protected by some awning, watching raindrops and footsteps interrupt the reflections of neon signs in puddles, while cars and buses zoom by. Whenever I opened my eyes, I saw a room packed with people smiling and thrashing about in a perfectly imperfect rhythm. They are another group that just looks like they’re having so much fun while performing, like they know the elation they are granting to everyone in the space and receiving that feeling back from the energy of the room. I could have listened to their set all night long and found myself wishing every song was 3x as long, but that’s them being masters of leaving the crowd wanting more. Sonically they were really different from the emo feel of some of the other bands, but something in their core or their cut up vocals matched the same feeling.

The last band I really caught was Reading, and given my affinity for non guitar/bass strings, you know I loved this shit. I’ve been wanting to catch Reading for awhile now as they’re always on good lineups and because Marta is both their cellist and my longtime coworker. I kept on thinking about some Instagram story I saw recently that asked, “guys, did we defend pop punk?”. I would never call this band a pop punk band, and I honestly have no idea what that means anymore, but something in their vocals brought back a lot of music I listened to in the era in which I would proudly wear my Defend Pop Punk shirt and my room was covered in cutouts from Alternative Press. Obviously a little more new and nuanced than most of these bands but sometimes they reminded me of Seahaven, and sometimes the vocals even reminded me of Modern Baseball, which is extremely high praise for me. I was in the back of the room for this part of the show, sandwiched between a bunch of Marta friends and fans, which included some regulars from work; my first time seeing them outside of Occupied Chinatown! It was cool to hear this band without being able to see them, I’m still not 100% sure on where each sound came from but they arrived perfectly together. Selfishly, I wished I could have heard the cello a bit more, but there were some breaks and solos where I could hear it soar. My favorite song of theirs was their last, the singer switched between pleading and screaming, “I am punch drunk love”, which struck me both sonically and in the sense that I just rewatched that film and got rocked by it.

Holidays in the United States was last, a band Max put me on to who I love and instantly disproved my no good emo bands in New York sentiment the first time I saw them last spring. Unfortunately I don’t have a review because after Reading I needed a break from that hot ass room and got caught up in conversations outside, never making it back in for their set. They did provide the perfect in-the-bathroom-at-the-party soundtrack for my catch ups outside, their sound bleeding out to the dozens of people smoking and chatting on that corner.

The Moment: Needle during ideasforconversations’ set. Everyone was bouncing up and down as if the floor was a trampoline. The crowd was so elated and in sync. As I jumped and danced about I kept on seeing people I love in this life or knew in another mirroring my exact movements, because the music was moving everyone to their most instinctual and pure. Imagine: a mosh pit but the goal was height reached rather than surface area covered. I saw their parents in the middle of this song and I could have cried; they looked so excited and proud and also like really awesome parents (potench projecting all the love I felt in that room onto them). Something about this song in particular made me feel very ~I live in New York ~, feeling all the gratitude and luckiness of getting to hear music this good so close and packed in a room of other people who seek this same joy. You know that video of MGMT performing in the Urban Outfitters parking lot? It felt like that. It felt really nostalgic and also really new, like an old basement show but with music that didn’t exist in mid 00s Philly. This part of the show made me think a lot about when I was a teenager here and felt like I was just a little too young for so much of what I wanted; I dreamed of attending a show at 285 Kent and getting to be a part of the local DIY scene and I would scan through the Flickr photodumps after each party to feel like I was there. I’m glad to not be 15 for so many reasons (I would never wish that age upon anyone), but not having agency and autonomy, only having braces that would disprove any fake ID instead, felt especially oppressive. It felt so good to be 26 in a tiny room packed to the brim with all different sorts of people getting to experience all the feelings and sounds I imagined over a decade ago in the same neighborhood.

iPhone Presence:

Additional Notes: If any of the bands are reading this: I would make a music video and/or film live shows for any of you and I feel inspired by all of you! I am also available to write artist bios <3

Some rules for this newsletter I want to state: I don’t review shows I was paid to film at unless I would have gone otherwise, and I usually don’t review DJ sets/nights. For now at least. With that said, I am glad to now know Kyra Baskin’s music after filming her set at Purgatory and Spurge’s set transported me yet again at Dweller.

Upcoming Gigs:

• All the New Colossus shows 3/03-3/08 — particularly Star’s Revenge @ Piano’s tomorrow!

• Jonathan Richman @ Baby’s All Right 3/13

• Ear @ Bowery Ballroom 3/19

• Witch Post @ Union Pool 3/20

• Kyra Baskin @ Arlene’s Grocery 3/22

Interesting that all my live shows from this month come from the same long weekend, and funny that my MLK Day weekend was marked by so many white artists. Huh….

Grace Ives / Kuru / Lucy Bedroque 1/15

The Venue: Xanadu Roller Arts

The Team: Me and Ben

The Smell: Heat damaged hair, pizza rolls, YSL Black Opium, the PATH train, & discord

The Scene: Similar to my October Bladee/Lean crowds, this (18+) show was filled with K holed whiteboys being led around by their patient, baddie girlfriends. I was back in this new emo scene I know nothing about but still makes me feel nostalgic for all the summers I spent posted up in Hot Topic in Florida malls wanting someone to talk to me so bad. Everyone at the show looked like Pema’s little brother; swagged out and Wasian. This was a Frost Children show as well, which is probably the best and most apt descriptor I could give to paint a picture of this crowd. There were a lot of cat headphones. A lot of people playing games on their phone, brightness all the way up. The guy in front of me held his book the whole show and it was about Tolstoy, not by Tolstoy-- a distinction I found interesting but, potentially meaningless. People loved filming everything, and I loved seeing a sea of X marked hands holding up their phones. I loved that they wanted to take videos even when no one was performing and the sound guy just had a never ending Drain Gang playlist on. I kept on thinking about this picture while I was there, it felt like this picture.

The Show: So, I came to this show wanting to see King Krule, Grace Ives, and By Storm (formerly Injury Reserve). I fuck with The Frost Children and always have a lot of fun at their DJ sets, but this was a school night and I knew early on I wasn’t gonna last until their set. I also found out shortly after buying tickets that I was going to miss King Krule’s DJ set as he was playing early and I got late tickets, but I was still excited for the others. Tell me why we got there at 9, ten minutes into By Storm’s set, and it took us nearly an hour to get in? The line went around the corner, and as a New Yorker there are few places I’d rather be caught dead than a line, but Ben and I had made it all the way to Bushwick from Flushing and we couldn’t give up, no matter how cold it was. The girls behind us in line were so upset the entire time I was shocked they didn’t just leave, and my heart broke when we were finally a few steps from the door and I heard one of them say, “There’s no way we missed King Krule, right?” and the other replied, “No, no way, he’s the headliner”. I had seen the set times before and knew King Krule had DJ’d hours before, I typed out “do u think I should tell them they missed him” in my notes app and flashed it to Ben, who read over the message and quickly shook his head. Can’t kill a stranger’s dream sometimes, even when you know it’s about to die.

Grace Ives was a vibe. I’ve never seen her live before and honestly haven’t listened to her much in recent years but I loved her energy, so much of which came from her mane of big curly hair flying about on stage. The whole show was in the round, the audience filling up the rolling rink floor with performers in the middle of the room. It was a really long lineup which meant every artist played ~20 minute sets and the turnaround time was miniscule, making the jarringness of each genre hit even harder. When I came back into Xanadu after a cigarette interlude everything had changed. Hard and fast hip hop beats filled the room and the sounds of a synth tried to break through the sonic minefield of SoundCloud rap. I learned after the show Kuru is a 19-year-old who got really into making music during Covid, which totally reads. I really like being at these shows that feel like they give me a window into a youth culture I have aged out of, but I can’t say I loved the music unfortunately. And that’s okay, because it wasn’t for me! I tend to feel pretty warm towards most Internet-informed music, but my distance from the rap world sometimes makes it hard for me to actually track and hear those connections, and sometimes they hit my ears like a mess of references too hard to sort through. I asked a boy next to me who was next and he said “Lucy”, and I was excited to finally see LUCY after missing him at The Worst Gig Ever in an Italian Restaurant last winter; but alas that’s just me showing my Unc Card one more time because it was, in fact, not that Lucy. It was Lucy Bedroque, another underground rapper I hadn’t heard of before, and another artist drawing from both the Internet and a wide range of subcultures and subgenres. But unlike my experience with Kuru, I was able to hear and sort through different influences and aspects of Lucy Bedroque’s music and the performances landed really well. I could feel and hear how much music he loves and how much that influenced his work, which is one of my favorite things to be able to identify at a live show. I heard SOPHIE, I heard Chief Keef, I heard My Chemical Romance, and at one point I think I literally heard an Imogen Heap sample. I heard so many elements that felt familiar to me, but overall his music felt super new and exciting and different. Again, I am not tapped into the rap world these days, not in a mainstream way and definitely not in the underground, so if you’re reading this and you can think of multiple artists who sound exactly like this guy and you’re rolling your eyes at my, “new and exciting and different”, please give me grace and a couple of recommendations instead of your judgement.

The Moment: The sweetest pit opened up right in front of us during Lucy. These kids were doing the hakken and kicking about like they were at a hardcore show, but, unlike a hardcore show, there was virtually no contact between people. They were just dancing around each other in a big open circle, only ever making contact with the people making up the perimeter, no collisions or interactions in the center. There was a boy wearing a Scotland football top whose girlfriend looked nervous as he jumped up and down and swung his arms about, and when they made eye contact he reached to the circle’s perimeter and pulled her into an embrace at the center; her worry melting into relief right in front of my eyes :’)

iPhone Presence: 9/10. Pretty damn full of phones.

Burlesque Show & Bitcrush 1/16

The Venue: Alphaville

The Team: Me, Squash, Leo, Fitzy, Cat, Ben

The Smell: Italian pastries, bong water, gym socks, dryer sheets, & bubble machines

The Scene: Chicago. Everyone here was from Chicago and everyone looked like someone I could have gone to college with. It made me think about being in my first year of college and meeting a greasy haired Chicago art boy for the first time. I was so struck as a New Yorker/New Englander, and now here I was, surrounded. The show was so Chicago, Natasha told me she kept on noticing people double take us, meaning we either looked so beautiful or people were confused about why we were there. Maybe they could smell the lack of any Midwest Integrity on us. The scene felt like an exchange program or something. I talked to Matt recently and he was saying how trippy it was for him to see all his friends from home (Chicago) here in New York, but at all the same shit he’d see them at back home, like a friend’s gig at a dive bar. It was really funny to not talk to anyone who lived in New York for the first half hour of this show, and even though everyone was coming in from out of town it still seemed like they were so comfortable and relaxed, because they had allllll their homies with them. I did some daydreaming about what it would be like to live in a smaller city where I’d know everyone at every show, then I reminded myself that’s what shows here can feel like too, I was just out of my depth at the 18+ SoundCloud rap show.

The Show: Leo, Natasha, and I began our journey to Alphaville thinking we’d be taking two buses, but after walking to one, seeing it was 30 minutes away, walking to the next and seeing it was 15 minutes away, we ended up just walking the three miles from Crown Heights to Bushwick. We got there towards the end of Matt’s DJ set. Uncouth forever. I love hearing Matt play, it always feels like a celebration of Chicago and an ode to the pioneers of dance music. He has such good pacing, I always start his sets bobbing my head and as the momentum pulses and electrifies by the end I’m spinning and strutting. Next was Burlesque Show, which confused me because I read the poster wrong and thought Bitcrush was doing a burlesque show. Burlesque Show was awesome. The singer wore a lime green, slightly cropped T-shirt that said NYC and grey sweats that looked Kirkland brand. He yell-sang into the mic and danced-stomped around the stage confidently, while also appearing completely uncomfortable in his body; fighting off his limbs like they weren’t his. I wrote, “Babymorocco without the sex” in my notes, which sounds like a huge read but I promise it’s not. The first few moments of the set made me confused, they kind of felt like an inside joke I wasn’t a part of (and that’s what I get for not being from Chicago), but once I got over my initial hesitation I was consumed by them. Them, I say after realizing midway through the set there was another guy on stage besides the vocalist; just a guy sitting on a chair in the corner, laptop out, sometimes dancing along from his seat. The lighting was really beautiful during this set, it made me feel even more struck by the singer who seemed to be bearing his soul and poking fun at the entire performance simultaneously. After they finished, Cat, Natasha and I all looked at each other with awe and shared our praise. Bitcrush came on next, and Leo told us that they were one of the best bands in America right now so we had really high expectations that were, in fact, surpassed on every front. I’ve listened to more jazz in the past two months than the past few years, because Ben gave me an iPod loaded up with John Coaltrane, and Moondog, and Pharoh Sanders and a million other legends. I have really grown to appreciate what jazz does to my bodymind, how it feels to traverse downtown’s busiest intersections and grimiest slush piles while listening to a 35 minute jazz song that covers the entire spectrum of emotion through horns and drums. Bitcrush was so tight while also never getting stale, they were precise and also unbound, they were thunderous and shimmering. Have you ever heard the saxophone as vocals? I hadn’t before then. The bass player was so locked in I almost got flow state by proxy. And the drums! Oh my god, the drums. When I think about drummers I really love these days I think about Danny from Lip Critic, Max from Geese, Violette from PMFD-- I think of hard ass drummers. I’m pretty into having my senses assaulted and a relentless drummer can get that job done quick and easy, but hearing Bitcrush’s patiently precise drums really blew me away. I feel so fucking lame wanting to reference Whiplash right now and not even knowing what to say. I want to say it was like that, it was like Whiplash, but I can feel the Jazz Heads blocking this account already and I’m sure it wasn’t actually like that but I don’t know enough about jazz to see and hear insanely impressive drumming and not think of that movie. Charlie’s drumming was soft and constant and both reactive and proactive, always grounding the other instruments, getting loud when they got soft and getting quiet when it was someone else’s spotlight. I loved this band and I would go to Chicago just to see them again.

iPhone Presence: 1/10

Emily Green / Leo Paterniti / Fantasy of a Broken Heart / @ / Chet Chomsky ;)

The Venue: TV Eye

The Team: Me, Fitzy, and Aidan (the literal camera team)

The Smell: Rum and Diet Coke, pencil shavings, Play-doh, the Great Lakes, and sweat.

The Scene: Everyone I’ve ever met. Ginormous Colorado College conglomerate out to support Leo Paterniti, along with alllllll the Chicago heads from Alphaville. People I met on the Taxes music video set, fellow Occupied Chinatown service workers, fellow friends of Bill, every concert photographer I follow on Instagram, friends’ roommates, friends’ partners, friends’ exes. Plenty of names I didn’t know but familiar faces from a plethora of local shows. A boy from my high school texted me after that he saw me filming but it was too packed to make his way over. It was so, so packed, I was happy to have a job and the ability/authority to make space for myself and also be able to retreat backstage, though it was almost equally as full. At points it felt like I knew the whole room, yet somehow I ended up next to two strangers, millennial men, one of whom ran a Geese fan account on Twitter, for most of the show.

The Show: Buckle up because this was a long night. It was a long day. That morning I took my Vyvanse and got intense deja vu…and call that deja vu a memory because turns out I had actually already taken my pill and totally forgot. So I was double dosed and beyond locked in (scared). Mentally, the experience was fine for me but I was lowkey physically perishing the entire show. I was so thirsty but also had to pee every sip of water and also had to film the entirety of each set. Folks up front probably thought I was rolling the way I kept licking my lips and grinding my jaw. Beyond my physical deterioration, the show was amazing. Shoutout Billy for putting together such a special night to raise funds for The Olive Grove Initiative, and I am grateful they trusted me to help capture the night. It was so fun and easy working with Matt, Trent, and Aidan on the camera team, and I can’t wait to see the final product that Willa is working on right now.

The night started with Emily Green debuting some solo work. Obviously I loved it. The first thing that really drew me to Star’s Revenge (thank god I have a reason to bring them up in the third consecutive newsletter) was Em’s vocals and how they reminded me of Cyberbully Mom’s Club, a group as nostalgically important to me as Modern Baseball or Brand New. Her solo stuff was more similar to Star’s than Geese, but pretty different to both of them. It felt folkier but never acoustic, sometimes a little Kimya Dawson and other times straight rock. Em is a really amazing guitar player. It’s easy to recognize while seeing her play in either band live, but it was even more impressive to see during this stripped down solo set, her strumming and arpeggios filling in all the space her voice couldn’t reach. Sometimes the guitar felt like the vocals. Sometimes it felt like a toy because it was so tiny. But Em could do seemingly anything with it.

ACT ENDS. TWO SIPS DIET COKE. SPRINT THROUGH CROWD WITH CAMERA HELD HIGH. PEE FOR TWO MINUTES STRAIGHT. DRINK WATER FROM THE SINK. GO BACK TO FILMING POSITION, STAGE RIGHT.

Next up was motherfucking Leo Paterniti. I got in trouble because I posted on my story “No guaranteed entry after 7:30 sorry I dont make the rules xoxox”, in hopes of making sure my brother had a full crowd, but apparently it sparked panic amongst some of the bands who had friends coming later in the night, I guess a screenshot of the post made its rounds. Sorry guys, I’m just a good friend and lowkey why did people believe I had any authority to say that? I don’t know if that post worked or if the Geese Flock came early for Em or if everyone was just wanting to be as close as possible to the headliner (guy who told me he flew in and had been at TV Eye without a ticket since 9am?), but the room was packed for Leo, even outside of the dozens of college friends we had there. Three of his band members make up Bitcrush, it was awesome to get to see them play non jazz. Evan, Leo’s bassist, also went to college with us and I have loved watching him play since. It always looks easy for Evan, like it comes as second nature. Leo played almost only unreleased songs, making me so excited for them to record this next record. His voice stays steady and constant as the music sparkles and shimmers, sometimes roaring and sometimes whispering. All the vocal harmonies with Blaine were churchlike. His set finished with its only released song, one of my favorites and one that I feel I’ve heard so many iterations of, Lighthouse. This song highlights Leo’s range so masterfully, the highnotes feel as precious and fragile as the lyrics themselves, and the saxophone sings back to Leo, making the whole thing feel so full of love and grief in the most soothing way. I am so glad he ended with this song, because I think it’s one of his best and I’m glad the masses got to see it, but mostly because I needed to hear it. Cried so much my camera was shaking!

ACT ENDS. TWO SIPS DIET COKE. SPRINT THROUGH CROWD WITH CAMERA HELD HIGH. PEE FOR TWO MINUTES STRAIGHT. DRINK WATER FROM THE SINK. GO BACK TO FILMING POSITION, STAGE RIGHT.

I had seen Fantasy of a Broken Heart once before, back in 2024 at Geesefest. I was pretty distracted during their set at that show (reflected on Geesefest in November), but I remembered liking them. I got a little nervous during their soundcheck…I felt like they were bickering with the soundgirl Morgan, and I wondered if they were being rude. But, alas, when they came on stage and the lead singer, Al, announced it was fun to play TV Eye because he works there, everything made a lot more sense to me. And their set was sooooooo fun. I am so glad I got to see them again and be locked in this time. They had such good energy and Bailey seemed to have an unlimited supply of it. I loved watching a filming her dance in place, feeling the music all the way through her, even when she was singing. She also reminded me of Strawberry Switchblade, a high compliment from me. They have such a cool sound that feels comprised of so many different sounds. Sometimes things felt like synthy pop and then the song would change and it would feel like psych rock, and no matter what was playing when Al’s vocals would come in they’d bring some folk element with them. Two of the bandmates were twins and if I wasn’t tweaking the fuck out on Vyvanse I would have loved to talk to them about how twin-telepathy plays a roll in their music.

ACT ENDS. TWO SIPS DIET COKE. SPRINT THROUGH CROWD WITH CAMERA HELD HIGH. PEE FOR TWO MINUTES STRAIGHT. DRINK WATER FROM THE SINK. GO BACK TO FILMING POSITION, STAGE RIGHT.

Big night for duos, @ was up next. At this point Liz and Tessa had moved to my corner of the crowd and I felt comforted knowing I had friends right by me instead of just fan account owners. It also felt right because I think Tessa was one of the first people to play an @ song for me. Lots of other people recommended them to me. I’ve heard many sing their praises, but I really missed the call because I never got into them. Never even listened to Mind Palace Music until right before the show, so I went into this set knowing nothing. And my god did I come out of this set a fan. They are so damn good. I fear I listened to them before getting over the sonic-misogyny that also made me think I didn’t like Big Thief, being bored by ‘a soft female vocal’, something I do not stand by or identify with anymore, and am quite frankly embarrassed to have ever felt that way. I must have been really uninspired because @ has nothing close to boring vocals. Nothing about them is boring. They played seated; each member played two instruments, besides the cellist, and I’ll actually count Victoria as having three because she could do the mouth trumpet like a ventriloquist. I love strings and loved having a break from drums as well, I felt so serenaded by the cello and the violin and the guitar, occasionally kissed by a horn. Above all, I felt hypnotized by their voices. Have two voices ever sounded so good together? The ying and yang equilibrium, intoxicating and impossible to miss. Victoria and Stone have really beautiful and really raw voices, they don’t sound overtrained or too perfect, they sound real and even more powerful together. Some of the later songs they played reminded me of Neutral Milk Hotel, though @’s music is more disciplined and beautiful to me. I felt like their music stuck with me the most of the whole night, for a few days after the show their harmonies would drift into my mind and stick around for hours, haunting my mental to do and grocery lists. I also feel like this is one of the best sets I’ve seen in the past few months, I will be thinking about it for a long time and I eagerly await new music and another New York show from them.

ACT ENDS. CAMERA BATTERY LOW. SNEAK ACROSS THE STAGE TO SWITCH OUT BATTERIES IN THE GREEN ROOM. ALMOST PEE YOURSELF BECAUSE YOU BROKE YOUR BATHROOM RHYTHM. GET THAT HANDLED. KILL THE DIET COKE.

Backstage I say hi to Cameron and Dora and Owen and Aidan and Billy and all the other heads I haven’t made eye contact with all night because of my stimulant shutdown. I chat to Aidan while he backs up his footage, but I do keep on getting distracted by Cameron’s Tame Impala Deadbeat getup. I decide I’m gonna stay backstage to film because I saw a little part that gets hidden by the curtain and knew I could hide in there. Billy tells us moments before that Cameron is going no lights. “Is that okay?”. Sure! I get into my very tight position as 1. The curtains start to open and 2. Cameron sits……..facing the opposite way with his back to me. So I’m behind him and it’s pitch dark and my camera maxes out at 2000 ISO (Aidan, the only person who successfully got some of this, was shooting at 10,000 ISO), so I got to enjoy the show tucked away in my own little spot, no longer needing to focus on a job because there was simply nothing for me to do. While it seemed like the entire crowd knew who Chet Chomsky really was, I would like to share that I spoke to a friend after who knew Cameron Winter was the secret headliner, but she didn’t know who that was, which is so awesome. His set was great, he played a nice mix of songs at the keyboard, hidden under his Deadbeat hat and hoodie. I asked him after if he saw that I was right behind him and he said, “See you behind me? I couldn’t see the keys in front of me”. The crowd treated him with so much reverence, it was a little bizarre to see but also I get it. I saw very few phones and the ones I did see were audio recording, the room was dead silent. During Love Takes Miles I was telepathically begging the room to sing, and I heard someone behind the curtain start to sing along and say, “humanize him!”. Exactly. I realized shortly after it was Tessa who said that. Twin heard my telepathic plea.

The Moment: Seeing Leo play to a full crowd at TV Eye. I met Leo when we were 18 and we spent 4 months studying abroad together in a group of 17 kids. We lived in the Monteverde Cloud Forest and in Belizian villages and islands; practically every night, the entirety of our cohort would fall asleep to the sounds of Leo singing and playing guitar, The Girl from Ipanema sending me off to the dream world over and over. I have been a fan of his for as long as we’ve been friends, religiously attending his shows in college and each New York show he’s played since (famously, I missed him at Pete’s Candy Shop because I got my phone pickpocketed during the opener), and keeping up with all of his releases, loving each one more and more. His most recent project Map 2.6 is my favorite yet, STAYHICAL being a highlight and a song I want to make a music video for bad. My love for him as a friend aside, Leo is one of the most talented musicians I know. He has the voice of a King Krule type angel and his sound is constantly evolving in ways that feel expansive and true to their core. He cares so much about the music he makes and anyone who listens can hear that, and he has such a great presence on stage I felt like everyone in the crowd was so charmed by him. I have been thinking about the period of time Leo and I spent abroad a lot recently, looking at old photos and seeing how young all of us were while remembering how old we thought we were. Even then I knew I’d be seeing Leo play packed shows in New York some day, and it was awesome to be there when that day came.

iPhone Presence: Really hard for me to tell as I was not in the crowd or facing the crowd for most of this one. Sorry, was too locked in to my real camera.

Upcoming:

• Torture Tuesday 2/3

  • 7:30 @ Baker Falls

• Maya Ruth/Anjoli Simone/Sophie Kyle Collins/Hans Young Binter 2/4

  • 7:30 @ Rubulad

• Annika Kakarody 2/8

  • 7 @ Ki Smith Gallery

• Agriculture 2/14

  • 3 @ Rough Trade [free]

• Ekko Astral & Agriculture 2/14

  • 7 @ Baby’s All Right

• Ava McCoy 2/17

  • Arlene’s Grocery, hosted by Tea Leaf Collective

• Rose Paradise 2/20

  • Sunny’s Bar

• A Guy Called Gerald / CARISTA + Spurge 2/20

  • 11 @ Public Records

• All events Dweller weekends, especially the one above and Dweller Nonstop

Any friends out west, Caroline Strickland and MJ Upstairs will be touring around the PNW and California 2/13-2/21, more info on their Instagrams!

When I look back into my digital archives, I feel so much embarrassment. Not a super serious type of embarrassment, but a covering my face and needing to shake out a full body cringe type. I have more grace with myself the more time passes. I remember when I was 16 and stumbled upon old Youtube videos I made, my inclination was to scrub any trace of them, whereas now at 26, I like sharing them. Looking at old writing can bring up that 16-year-old sort of shame-embarrassment more. I find myself getting so put off by my self importance, how indulgently and all-knowingly I wrote as a teenager. The main characterness of it all makes me want to shrink.

I, like my boss, have probably also never felt as cool as I did as a teenager. Part of me thinks that it’s actually impossible to be that self involved and blindly confident post teendom, but another part of me can think of a few people who remain that way long after those years. I think I felt the coolest when I was 15; when I started going to shows, when people would reblog photos of me digging through vinyl crates, when guys always thought I was older than I was, when I listened to and discovered music so ravenously, when I’d read thousands of teen essays in Rookie Mag and feel every one in my bones, when I’d steal liquor from my mum’s kitchen and when I’d smoke weed in the woods behind the local high school, when I was always lying about where I was and what I was doing. I don’t think these things are particularly cool now, some of them are very much, not cool, but at the time. At the time I felt invincible. I still felt really sad and bad sometimes but it felt like those feelings were fuel for all the great things I was gonna make or say or write. At that time, every song was written for me to hear. Every film made for me to watch. Every experience shaped for me to live through. Everything was about me and my life and how I got to craft it to be so cool.

Perhaps because I really leaned into this sort of omniscient narrativizing in high school, in the decade since I have been so reluctant to feel that self assuredness. I am constantly questioning my takes, making sure that I am seeing things from various angles and am incorporating nuance. Not just in my takes, but in my interactions, my confrontations, my feelings. A big loud part of me is so fearful of the confidence I once possessed, so much so that even when I really believe I am right about something, another part of me wonders if I am just being immature or childishly self involved.

When I am digging through old photos or posts or journals, if I can sit with the embarrassment long enough, I start to feel a sense of awe. Awe for the way I felt things so strongly and so surely, and I didn’t shy away from sharing. If I wade through the shame and dread of being a teenager with too much access to the internet, I reach a point of inspiration. There is something so admirable and beautiful, albeit far away and foreign, about being that self assured and steadfast. 16-year-old me had a lot to learn when she thought she knew everything but I’m realizing I could learn a lot from her, too.

Can you tell seeing Lorde brought up a lot for me?

Jerskin Fendrix 12/10

The Venue: LPR

The Team: Just me, linked Carter after tho

The Smell: Martinis (up & with a twist), nice beard oil, sourdough bread, the North Sea, & shredded suet.

The Scene: I’ve only been to LPR once before (I think?), it was back in 2023 for a The World is a Beautiful Place and I Am No Longer Afraid to Die show. So I knew the Jerskin scene would be different, but I didn’t realize how physically different the space would be. For my 2023 show it was all GA, whereas this show had like 20 tables in front of the stage. Groups sitting around and ordering drinks as Jerskin sang alone on stage at his piano. The perimeter of the room was lined with people standing to watch. As a latecomer, this was great for me because I found a spot where I could get vizzy* on Jerskin, those seated, and those standing. Middle aged crowd, mostly seeing people in their late 30s/early 40s. A lot of flannel. A lot of fleece. Seemingly everyone had a knit hat. A lot of white people. Most people sitting had come with big groups, I was especially mesmerized by a white English or Australian guy sitting up front, who knew all the lyrics and gestured like a composer to his table throughout the performance. It felt like they came here to watch him perform. Lots of duos in the standing section, and plenty of people who came alone like me.

The Show: To be transparent I missed most of this show. He went on the moment I was getting off work, 30 minutes away. When I got to the show the bouncer kindly told me, “the show’s almost over”, and then refused to let me enter with the loaf of sourdough bread I had been gifted at work, but I ended up being able to catch the last five songs and pick up my Elbow loaf after. Many people whose taste I value have told me they hate Jerskin’s vocals, even if his production is awesome. I never felt that personally, especially with Winterreise, but I have noticed my favorite songs of his lean quite production heavy. Maybe that’s why I found myself connecting with his epic, ballad-forward Once Upon a Time in Shropshire a little less than his first album.

The show was just him at the piano with several cold, bright lights spotting him. He was dressed the way I imagine he always is, like a posh mad scientist, and the almost blinding light helped me project a lot of mysticism onto him. Hearing him in this stripped down setting confirmed I love his voice. Something’s a little off maybe, but I am not a musician and that is none of my business, all that matters to me is it scratches my brain in the right way. I also don’t think you have to be a good singer to be a good musician, but I do think he is a good singer, too; he had such a surprising range and used it somewhat infrequently, allowing his lyrics and melodies to stand on their own. I hadn’t listened to his new album more than once all the way through, just when it first came out. There were a few songs I saved and continued listening to, but I missed out on the longer narrative of the project, just catching snippets. I knew the album was written during a time of immense grief following the suicide of a close friend and the sudden death of his father; something about the combo of Jerskin’s mum being in the room and the performance being so bare bones and the fact that I found out my friend had died two days before made all of his lyrics land profoundly for me. Here are some that really struck me:

“You sink slowly, brave and holy, undefiled by sin/Fear no more the heat of the sun/You’re a wonderful father and a beautiful son”

“Are you still alive somewhere in the Universe?”

“I miss everyone that I’ve ever met”

“I’ll meet you there where the rain falls strong/I won’t be long, yeah I won’t be long”

The Moment: When I was crashing out during Together Again and he hit us with the bar, “I am a cigarette, I am long and white/You are a tractor plowing through the night”-- I went from silently sobbing to laughing so loudly. Uncontrollably even, catching some side eye from the people around me. I forgot that this guy is as goofy as he is prolific, following that line with, “And as I sit in this field, considering my friend/Think about how your life is like a biscuit tin”. I think it speaks to his identity as an artist, an Academy Award winning composer whose name comes from a Jimi Hendrix masturbation bit between him and his high school friends, but more than that I think he has managed to make a record that touches on grief in an all encompassing way. The absurdity of it, the speedrun of every emotion you didn’t know you had, the whiplash of thinking and crying turning to remembering and laughing and none of it making any sense.

iPhone Presence: 1/10. When I got there I was hesitant to take my phone out because I didn’t see anyone do so for the first 10 minutes of me being there and was nervous photos weren’t allowed, but eventually I saw some phone screens light up.

Additional Notes: *vizzy, a word created by Natasha and her aunts while yardsaleing, means to have visuals on X. It’s one of my favorite invented words.

Going to this concert was the first normal thing I did after finding out my friend died on Monday. I went to work too but that feels like less of a choice. I was nervous the concert would feel weird, I had told myself if I got there and it didn’t feel right I would just leave and not get stressed about having spent the money or wanting to want to see him. I got there and it didn’t feel bad so I went in, and I’m really glad I did. It’s crazy how much music can touch you even when you’re feeling completely turned off by being touched by anything at all. I am grateful for this show, and grateful that Carter was also there and we got to link after. I’ve known Carter since the summer before my senior year of high school. He came up to me because he liked that I was playing Modern Baseball from my speaker. We met a month before my best friend was murdered and Carter was the only friend I had who had also lost a friend, so he became a huge support system during that time. Almost 10 years later, we sat in Washington Square park with deli drinks on a cold ass night, in the afterglow of Jerskin Fendrix, talking about our friends we’ve loved and lost and the ones we’re still worried about. Amongst all the grief, I am so beyond grateful to live in New York at this time, surrounded by so much music and so many friends, the only things keeping me sane.

Lorde 12/16

The Venue: Barclays Center :0

The Team: Me and Owen

The Smell: Vodka redbull, linens hanging from a clothesline, eucalyptus leaves hanging in a hot shower, & the indescribable freshness of snow.

The Scene: “No shade but I’m definitely the coolest girl in this line” I text Owen from the bathroom. Moments later I watched 4 toilets overflow, seeing girls’ shoes get splashed from the space under the stall door. Horrible. But alas, I was shocked by the normcore nature of the crowd at Barclays, forgetting that Lorde isn’t just an artist I love but someone who so many people love and also someone playing a literal arena tour. Owen splurged in presale ecstasy and got us floor seats so close, another time financial irresponsibility was so worth it. The fact that we were sitting beyond our means might explain why every single person around us was a white woman under 25. Many wearing black boots, many talking about office drama, nobody standing up for or listening to 2Hollis open. Upon leaving the show, I noticed I had other friends there and also just saw a lot more Classique Indie Brooklynites, they just weren’t in our eyeline. I saw a lot of young girls (preteenish) with their dads, which I thought was a sweet foil to all the teen boys I saw with their mums at Bladee. The thirteen year olds dressed like they were older but still looked so baby, reminding me of my 12-year-old cousin showing me her outfit for Sabrina Carpenter and me being so confused about why she owned a corset and ultra-low-rise jeans; her top pale pink like her braces. In middle school my friends and I dressed crazy for concerts. Our primary goal was to be noticed [by One Direction], which we attempted by wearing neon morph suits and tutus, and flash tattoos, and the most Disney Channelesque costume jewelry. OD. Was anyone else like this? Was it a universal thing at the time or just some shit my friends and I were on? I loved any and all Lorde cosplaying/referencing, the duct tape top, sparkles over bare skin no makeup, skeletal and ultrasound prints. There is no way I could have gotten a read on the full crowd as it was a 19,000 person stadium show, but, largely, I saw nice outfits- the sort of things you’d wear to dinner at a sexy trendy restaurant on the west side or to a fancy cocktail bar when you’re young and haven’t realized you don’t like cocktail bars yet. I wish I took a picture of this one look I loved so much, but just know I could tell this person loved Solar Power and they were giving Bondi Beach in the Barclays Center.

The Show: Two things that give me sinister energy and make me feel uneasy; huge venues and people who talk about how they’ve been reborn. GULP. So no matter how much Lorde’s music has meant to me in the past decade and a bit, I pulled up to the concert with some hesitation. But, okay, tell me why Barclay’s had easier and fast security than Brooklyn Paramount or even LPR? So easy. Getting to the seats? After a split spliff outside? Oh my god. We entered at a random door and showed our tickets which then led to an ushered relay race of someone bringing us down sets of stairs and handing us off to another team member to walk us across the floor before passing us off again and again and again until we got to our seats 5 miles and 5 almost panic attacks later.

2Hollis opener at Barclay’s Center, that’s Lorde on some this is my tour and I get it my way shit. Some real respect real shit, on some let me put you on shit. I saw Hollis a few years ago at Elsewhere Zone 1 and loved him. I thought he was an absolutely electric performer and I was so impressed by his never ending supply of energy. I remember feeling like I hadn’t ever really seen someone like him live, and even while I write this I’m like, who’s like him again? I hated being at that show though; too filled to the brim with this new era of Emo Boys (who look semi-similar to my era of emo but with the ego of stereotypical high school jocks?), all of whom were seemingly under 18 and had the worst concert etiquette I’ve ever encountered. People livestreaming from phones and moshing for no reason, people who didn’t put their cameras down the whole show and the visual of girls holding on to the barricade and each other to not be thrown somewhere they didn’t wanna go, boys screaming lyrics into my ears while shoving me to the side. And as much as I hated being at that show, I do think it’s the right place to have seen him, especially compared to this performance. It was super cool to see him play Barclay’s, crazy to watch him look so tiny on stage and exclaim into the mic, “I think this is the biggest room I’ve ever been in”. It was his first arena show, and I am sure he will play more-- but it was a weird vibe for sure. Not his fault, he scream/sang/rapped his heart out and ran around the whole fucking time despire the stage looking football field sized. It was just an off place to see him. Like I mentioned earlier, no one in the floor section seemed to care about the fact that he was performing. Looking around, especially looking up in the far sections where my brethren probably sat, I could see people way more into it and I wished I was up there with them, but also I can’t imagine him having looked any smaller than he already did. I have seen him carry so much energy and magic all by his lonesome before, but it was such a weird setting. The stage was so big, the crowd so spread out and sparse, I feel like to make up for all the distance between us and him there should have been a lot more production design (going beyond the giant tiger on stage? It looked bad to me lowk). Part of me actually got a little nervous the stage might been too big for Lorde to occupy, but never listen to that part of me because who the fuck does she think she is? No stage is too big for Lorde to fill.

I started listening to Lorde religiously when most people my age did, back in 2013 when Pure Heroine came out and soundtracked my late middle school melancholy. Lives later (in high school), Melodrama took my most tight lipped fears and secrets and made me sit in front of the mirror of Liability and Writer in the Dark, weeping but not alone. Those two albums mean the world to me, so many feelings and memories tied up in each track. I listened to Virgin and liked it but never got that into it, part of which I think has to do with my aversion to those who have been reborn. I think for a lot of rich white women especially, this sort of sentiment can feel like spiritual bimboism at best and occult at worst. Beyond any gender stuff, the idea of publicly claiming interior change and realignment can really rub me the wrong way, see: middle aged Cool Guy speaking at an AA about how getting sober has changed him into a brand new (and better) person, only for him to cheat on his girlfriend multiple times with 20 year old girls looking for a sponsor. I just think that sort of public proclamation of personal progress is often jumping the gun and not wanting to see the parts of you that still sting. I am also just scared of the sort of certainty and clarity that these people speak with, because it feels like a level I may never get to.

But I saw her and she was right. She has been reborn. My god she has. What a fucking show. I think I’m not scared of arena shows anymore! It’s like they heard me think the production design during Hollis was bad and they were like, oh you want some more? Have it all. She had two dancers (def a poly couple) on stage with her, and they had cameras, and there was a live feed to the giant screens surrounding her that felt equal parts so stripped back and simple and so choreographed and precise. There was so much more creativity and direction than a simple feed of someone performing, it was like watching new music videos generated in real time, some parts feeling planned and others feeling like the camera operator just got inspired. And just her, even if it was just her on that stage she would have carried. It really did feel like her skin is bare and her heart is open and she is just facing the world without fear. When someone who has been famous for so long (and from such a young age) makes statements about gratitude, something about it can land vague or shallow, but I really believed everything she was saying and feeling. It felt super important and refreshing and invigorating to see someone of her level have such a strong and open sense of self amongst all the noise; feeling it all and not shutting down or shying away. Like being 16 again but this time you can breathe.

The whole show was so good. I cried during so many songs. I thought about my 18th birthday; I was in Houston with Amelia and Sinclair, we took the ACT in the morning then bought 4 bottles of Tangerine Svedka and pregamed for Summer Fest with some friends, my mum mailed a cake. Lorde was headlining that night, on my birthday! We got to the festival and fell asleep in the grass and woke up to heavy rain. We had to go home and got in trouble for drinking. I lost my fake ID, and had to pour multiple bottles of vodka down the sink in front of my friend’s parents, and I didn’t see Lorde, but it still makes me smile to think about.

The Moment: Towards the end of the show a bunch of people sitting near us started rushing towards the aisle, but I didn’t know anything about that because I was so locked in on the stage ahead of me. Right before the encore I looked at Owen for what felt like the first time in hours and it was clear we had both experienced a lot. Magically, Lorde appears right next to us, and the crowd mobilization makes sense. She’s like, less than 20 feet away from us standing on a tiny platform singing her heart out. She ends the show with Ribs, of course, and she is the only person on this planet who could make the Barclay’s Center feel like a house party. If I wasn’t so close, I think her voice would have been drowned out by the tens of thousands of people jumping and singing at the top of their lungs. Lorde danced and screamed along with everyone, feeding off of the electric energy in the room. It’s so crazy she made that song, that has become a Titular Song about being young, when she was so young. And it was so long ago now but even the girls who were 5 when it came out knew every word and felt every beat. Maybe someone can only write a song like Ribs, a song that flawlessly sounds the way being a certain age feels, while they live through it. While they are still young enough for those feelings to be fresh and to be felt without fear (maybe this is how Chief Keef wrote Hate Being Sober at 16…). I felt so close to all the corporate queens in black boots in that moment, felt so close to one of my lifelong favorite artists, and felt so close to who the kid I was when I first started listening to her.

iPhone Presence: 8/10. Lots and lots of people recording, but plenty of moments where people put their arms down and just experienced the moment.

Additional Notes: I really wanna revisit Solar Power soon. I hated that album so much when it came out, in a way I just don’t think I’d be able to now, even if it’s not my thing. I remember feeling like, betrayed by the project. I think her previous albums just met during a time where we were aligned in experience. I connected with them so much I thought I’d feel the same way about anything she released, and it hurt when it didn’t. I just remember thinking it was too happy and light when I was coming out of all this Covid darkness, but I am finally ready to feel the sun.

Laveda and Star’s Revenge 12/31

The Venue: Hart Bar

The Team: Me, Tessa, and Cat

The Smell: Honeysuckle, fireworks, stale tobacco, the Long Island Sound, & sweat seeping through your mum’s best detergent.

The Scene: New Years Eve Show!! So fun. There was a nice mix of classic Hogmaney garb, sequins and sparkles and stars and silver and sexy, paired with a rock and roll crowd of denim and studs and big boots and lots of black eyeliner. Everyone at Hart Bar was in great form, lots of love and tenderness in the room. It was packed. It was steamy. The mugginess was a welcomed escape from the frigid conditions outside. The crowd was almost entirely familiar faces, some friends and a rotating cast of different people I’d seen at shows within the Star’s and PMFD universe, which is to say everyone was hot and cool and had good taste. The smoking area was barren at first, making me feel like the only real smoker out here, but as the night went on there were waves of outdoor crowds that made me miss the summer seating outside of Hart Bar so much. Oftentimes my favorite part of a venue is standing directly outside of it, warmed slightly by the bodyheat of my nicotine addicted comrades.

The Show: There wasn’t a world in which this wouldn’t be a perfect show. Hats off to Olive for putting together such a great lineup. I had never seen Laveda before or heard their music, but I do my very best to never miss Carmen playing the bass, and that has always led me to the right place. Laveda was awesome. I didn’t know what to expect, but their sound was so expansive and kept on surprising me. Songs ranged from shoegaze to synthy to dreampop and found a way to put their own spin on each of those sounds. My notes app from their set, “She’s like Hayley Williams- so classically cool and so powerful on the mic….. Wait also Tegan and Sara?”. I used to do full lip sync performances of Misery Business, laying horizontally in my bed, thrashing about and using my iPod Nano like a microphone, and I went to a Tegan and Sara concert when I was 13 with the only other queer people I knew and it felt like Mass; so know these references are high compliments, even if they sound randomly dated. I don’t know what exactly made me think of Tegan and Sara, I need to clock in on their Bandcamp and find the track I wrote that during, but I do feel like throughout the set I was being reminded of sounds from that era. Some Yeah Yeah Yeahs pleading vocals and some chord progressions that brought me back to being in the back of someone’s car, windows down, Car Seat Headrest blasting. I felt so comforted by the nostalgic sounds, and so energized by the ways Laveda complicated them, making the familiar start to sound foreign.

We ran out for a quick fresh air/spliff break towards the end of their set and came back in ten minutes before the bells. At the end of Star’s soundcheck, Olive’s friend read some of her poems on stage. Her poetry was really beautiful and intense and I struggled to hear some of it over all the clatter close to the bar. Someone read my mind and screamed “Everybody shut up! She’s talking! Oh my GOD!” and she was able to finish her reading in perfect silence.When she wrapped up Star’s came on stage and began tuning as we all counted down into the new year. At 12, I hugged Cat and Tessa tight and like clockwork, the music started.

They’re just too good. Sometimes there’s a song or an album that I can only listen to sparingly, because I am so scared of losing that first listen magic. I feel that first time magic every time I see Star’s Revenge. I’m remembering when I was 15 and would marathon watch YouTube videos of house shows in South Philly basements, when I see Star’s I feel the way I thought it would feel to be in that room. There’s this new song they’ve been playing, I think it’s called U.S.A., and it keeps bringing me back to being in the car when I was 9 and my mum would be on aux. It brings me to this honest to god Classic Rock memory except this time it matches my daydreams a bit more, the daydreams soundtracked by 104.3 New York’s Classic Rock station when I was in the car to school and would dream that it was me and my friends in our Catholic school uniforms playing all these Lynard Skynard songs. Their new stuff is so good, it feels really different from their debut album, louder I think. I used to be scared of Olive handing me the guitar during their set, the way she often does, but when they play the new stuff it feels exciting to just be a part of it, like sure, I’ll strum! The first time I ever saw Star’s live I went home and downloaded the album; it was all I listened to that winter. I’m sure the same will happen with this next project, given I’ve seen them play it live thrice now and can’t wait to have the opportunity to listen to it at my every whim and will.

The Moment: Being in that room when the clock hit midnight. I haven’t had a New Year’s Eve in New York in ages. Not since 2018 or 2019? All my memories of being here for NYE involve me crying in an Uber as the ball dropped or helping a friend throw up while everyone leaves the party. In recent years I’ve been in Scotland, Ben’s family and their closest friends always rent a house out in the highlands or on one of the isles and we sing Auld Lang Syne in a circle at the bells. I was nervous thinking about being in the city this year, thinking about the expectations people have for big nights and how easy it is for me to feel crushed by the weight of those expectations. But a Star’s show is never like that. I felt so much love in that room, so much good music filling the airwaves and the only thing holding me back from jumping around was occasionally getting stuck on the beer soaked floor. Perfect way to enter the new year.

iPhone Presence: 3/10. Perfect.

Additional Notes: In 2026 I will direct a Star’s Revenge video-- that is equal parts threat and promise.

As a writer and director, as someone who makes things that I want to be seen and heard and felt both deeply and widely, it seems like part of me still has to crave a certain level of fame and recognition; but my dreams around this sort of success feel more like nightmares now. They used to be an escapist oasis. Most of this shift is probably just being older and understanding more about 1. our society and 2. The music industry. I think it’s a pretty fucking scary time to be famous right now. Fans are insane. Fans have always been crazy, but I feel like in this day and age (internet/social media/people being more isolated and also more connected than any other time in history) it’s especially scary. No anonymity ever and not only do people think you owe them something, but they think they really, really know you. Beyond that, music has changed so much in the age of technology and algorithms and unrelenting capitalism. So much capital is involved in getting your songs heard and so little money is involved in people streaming. It’s really hard to be independent and as soon as you sign onto a label, their interests and profit goals are suddenly your problem.

I don’t know how I have become so jaded without having a single horse in the race, but it happened. Maybe part of it is interacting with famous people at my job, seeing them pick through produce and forget their grocery lists, realizing they’re just people. A little definitely has to do with some of my friends getting more famous and hearing the stress they’re under all the time, while also always trying to balance it with presentness and gratitude. Attending some bigger concerts last month, I found myself spending a portion of each show wondering if they were happy. If it still feels good. If the feeling up there is worth all the bullshit along the way. Or if it’s just a job. Is it all just staring at the phones pointed your way?

November was all about reaching some equilibrium on this front. I saw less shows this month, but each one packed a heavy punch. I saw some smaller artists, some musicians at different points of their fame and recognition, and I was reminded that, this isn’t just a bad thing. It’s also a dream come true. It’s being able to do the thing you love and touch people all over the world and make a living that way. I saw so much gratitude amongst the chaos this month and it felt really reinvigorating. Life affirming. Dream reminding.

I’ll cut the shit, here is last month’s gig report:

Jim Legxacy 11.12

The Venue: S.O.B (my first time!)

The Team: Me and Ben

The Scene: Okay so lots of men yet again, but, unlike my boy-heavy shows last month (Bladee, Yung Lean, Autechere) this show was almost entirely men of color. Might I add, the highest presence of South Asian men I have ever seen at a show. Most of the girls I saw there were there with boyfriends or had come alone…didn’t see any groups of girls or duos. What does one do with these observations? Anyone got a read on why South Asian men love rapping along to Jim Legxacy in a group of their boys but a gaggle of girls didn’t feel the same way? Let me know, I’ll keep thinking too. Uniform was Bloke Core. Lots of jerseys and football scarves. Proper football, not American. Footy shoes. The Premier League fans were out to play. Okay all the Crystal Palace jerseys! Everyone seemed really excited to be there and even before anyone came on it felt like everyone was just chatting and shooting the shit and not checking their phones apart to guess when he’d come on. The venue was wonderfully small and intimate, a great break from October’s lineup.

The Smell: Tom Ford Cologne. Backwoods. Wintergreen Zyn. Tonic wine.

The Show: Life affirming. I remember Pema reviewing Before Sunset that way when he watched it during Covid and, when something is special enough, that descriptor pops in my head. Dexter in the Newsagent opened the show. I only knew about her from her feature on Black British Music, and I am so glad I got to hear more from her. Her songs were simple and soulful, and she was such a fab performer. It felt so good to watch her up there, a 22-year-old in New York for the first time, singing to a sold out crowd and screaming about needing to try a chopped cheese between songs. She had just released her debut album Time Flies a week before and was getting to play it through thousands of miles from home, to a crowd that was fucking with her heavy. Summarizing her earnestness: at the end of her set she told the crowd she wanted a selfie and then unplugged her laptop and opened photobooth to do so.

To enter the stage, Jim Legaxy walked through the crowd. We stood parted and cheered as he marched through, dressed in a black puffer and a red leather backpack, armed with a big ass smile on his face. On stage he had a full band and a fake departures board with live train times from the station he grew up next to in London. He had so. much. fun. The crowd knew every word that came out of his mouth and they echoed him, sometimes even beating him to the punch. Legxacy, his band, and every person in the crowd molded into one creature, pleading and grieving and laughing and dreaming together on Varick Street, some random Wednesday in November. Everyone danced and jumped and held each other or themselves or just held on to every sound coming out of the speaker. His performance took us on a ride between genres, across emotions, through past, present, and future. Everyone felt what Legxacy rapped about deep in their bodies no matter where those bodies came from or looked like. His music is deeply rooted in where he grew up, the people he has lost, the sounds he came up hearing, the musical tradition he comes from. I can’t even imagine how it must have felt to be across the Atlantic for the first time, witnessing everyone resonate with what he has made.

The Moment: Watching Jim Legaxy dance around on stage, microphone down, elated as everyone screamed out every word of jealousy. Again, people went bar for bar this entire show. There wasn’t a single moment where you could only hear Legxacy, everyone was screaming his lyrics with urgency, but I mention jealousy because it was one of the first songs he played, setting the bar for the rest of the evening.

iPhone Presence: 7/10. Honestly I’m probably giving it a lighter score than it deserves but the iPhone presence felt like a little more of a vibe at this show. Flash on, waving your phone around while rapping at an artist you love. Type shit.

Additional Notes: I really can’t remember the last time I went to a gig where the artist was so excited to be in New York. Writing now I am thinking about when I saw Jake Bugg’s debut at The Slipper Room back in 2012 or 2013. I went with my dad’s then-girlfriend and they said it was 16+ and I tried to be chill but I cried so much and they felt bad and let us in. I remember Bugg seemed so nervous on stage in between songs, like he didn’t have words to fill the space, like he had been blinded by the bright lights beating down on him. Jim Legaxy was definitely more excited than nervous, but it was sweet to be reminded of going to that show back in my day.

Stars Revenge & Pop Music Fever Dream 11.19

The Venue: Silver Note Lounge

The Team: Me, Cat, the friends we made along the way

The Scene: Oomfcon part one of the week. It was a nice and small Wednesday crowd, so it was easy to spot all the faces I knew from my phone and from all my previous Star’s Revenge and PMFD shows. It was especially fun to spot some people I hadn’t seen since the Taxes music video back in June. The smoking area was bubbly, lots of people walking up to each other and asking what brought them to Silver Note for the evening-- so many people knowing Carmen, which made everyone feel pre-vetted to me. The last time I was at this venue was for a Boxxer show, but that was also part of Matt Weinburger’s Downtown Prom Party, so it’s suffice to say I was excited to be back at that venue with a much different crowd.

The Smell: Nachos at the movie theatre. Good sweat, healthy sweat. PBR. Period panties. Bubblegum flavor at the dentist.

The Show: These are two bands that are very special to me. Two of my favorite New York bands, both so fucking cool in such different ways. I first met Carmen of PMFD a few years ago on set for the first music video I directed. She was such a light on set, so energetic and thoughtful and excited to take direction and make adjustments. I knew I wanted to keep up with her after wrapping, and when she posted about a show at Our Wicked Lady a few weeks later I made sure to be there. It was that early Spring evening that I first saw Lex Walton and Star’s Revenge-- a monumental night. I loved everyone who played that night, I was floored by Lex’s use of media and her unreal Drake cover, but Star’s was really something special for me. Their songs sounded the way music sounded to me when I was 15 and up late on my laptop, blasting 8tracks into my apple earbuds. Something about their sound reminded me so much of Cyberbully Mom’s Club, an artist who had a profound effect on me in my teendom. In the years since, I have attended almost every Star’s show, becoming friends with Em along the way, still remaining a fan at heart.

Star’s have an amazing energy on stage. Olive always keeps me on edge, always keeps me guessing. Sometimes I feel myself moving back throughout their set because I’m nervous she might give me her guitar mid-song, an honor I have avoided countless times. But this show I stayed at the front. I shouted along to the lyrics to Text Message Breakup and Me and My Friends. I tried to keep a mental note of all the images popping into my head during all of their new songs (especially USA) so that I could deck out a music video. Em was in her usual lock in, I should start keeping count of the amount of times she ever looks at the crowd because it’s basically never. “We are Star’s Revenge and we are from around here” Olive mumbled into the mic between every song. Olive and Em always seem so big and so cool without ever doing too much, they’re not theatric, but they are playful and energetic without ever going fast. Their songs know how to linger and when to pick up. I feel really safe when I see them, even if I get nervous Olive is gonna hand me a guitar or microphone, I know if it actually happened I’d survive it, because I trust them and the music they make. I keep on wanting to describe them as ‘slacker rock with a lot of heart’ but to be honest, I really don’t know what slacker rock means. I just think they are honest to god rockstars who are also mad chill. Set ended with Olive crawling across the floor playing her guitar, going as far as she could while attached to the amp, playing the song’s last notes from under a table behind the crowd.

Similar to skateboarding, I took too much time off of moshing and got old in the process and regained some paralyzing fear that was never present during my summer visits to Van’s Warped Tour. I have tried a few times in the past couple of years, let the music take me, and I have been done so dirty. At Black Midi in Glasgow a few years ago I rushed the pit and lost a Vivienne Westwood earring in the process. Lip Critic at Elsewhere two years ago I said fuck it I want to mosh and then 30 seconds later my boob was hanging out of my shirt and I was scared! I just don’t really have it in me anymore. Unless I am at a Pop Music Fever Dream show. Just like Star’s, these are some real ass capital R Rockstars. And these ones are theatric. Whenever I see PMFD I feel like a kid with a sugar rush. I feel so in my body and in touch with being fucking angry and hating being bored and my need for constant stimulation is met on all fronts. I really think they are the coolest looking band; they are so hot and so loud. When I saw them at Elsewhere a few months ago I kept on picturing the audience as a room of kids. Violet smashing a child-size drum kit and Tim climbing the rafters like monkey bars, all the children in the crowd going crazy and being intoxicated by the sounds of punk. When they perform that’s what they do, perform. There’s no standing around, no swaying with a bass, there is energy on every front. All of them are everywhere all at once, Tim is behind the crowd, Nicole is standing on an amp, Carmen is sitting in front of me, Violet is standing on a stool while smashing cymbals. And they switch and they swap and they stand in perfect portraits while never dipping in momentum. The door girl and security guard kept on coming to peek at the show. They looked confused, not their typical hotel jazz bar show.

The Moment: Bro they started a fire. Pop Music Fire Dream takeover! It was honestly so crazy. A few songs in, Nicole was plugging in an amp and I see a spark then boom a small line of fire on the carpeted stage. The actual flames only lasted a few seconds but it felt so intense. The band recouped for a few minutes while venue staff nervously ran around. Outlets were switched around, the set was cut short, but eventually they got to play two more songs with just as much fire as the first half of the set. I feel bad that it happened, it seemed very stressful and I would have loved to hear more songs, but it also felt so fitting that the only gig fire I’ve ever experienced happened at PMFD at a jazz lounge in LES.

iPhone Presence: 1/10. Tasteful and present.

Additional Notes: Knowing people from gigs makes New York feel so much smaller in a really good way. Cat and I split an Uber home with someone we met at the show (there is solidarity in the trains being down sometimes) and in the car ride we realized how many of the same shows we had been to and how we had so many of the same friends. At this point, something like that doesn’t even feel crazy, because even though there are a few million people in this city, there’s only so many people at the weeknight Star’s and PMFD show-- and once you go to one, you’re bound to keep on coming back.

Geese 11.21

The Venue: Brooklyn Paramount

The Team: Me, Billy, the million people we ran into

The Scene: The last time I was at Paramount was for Addison Rae. So this was such a different vibe. I’d say partially what you expected, lots of under-30s, lots of guys who looked like they were from Colorado, a lot of people in merch from GeeseFest, which probably happened around this same time last year. My favorite was the one guy wearing the Goose shirt. That was fire. Beyond the classic Brooklyn team, there were a lot of people there with their parents. Shortly after arriving I looked up and saw Carter. I walked around to him and he exclaimed, “Maya, this is my mom!”, gesturing towards the woman standing between him and Rose. It was really sweet to meet his parents at the top of the show after being friends for almost a decade, and I also thought it was a pretty ideal show to bring the parents to (if they are cool). In the VIP section I saw: The Dare and (I think) Adam Friedland.

The Smell: Newports. Coors Banquet. Diet Coke. D&D Club. The hotdogs at Rudy’s.

The Show: A triumphant homecoming. The last show of their North American tour. God they fucking rock. The energy was electric all night. They played a mix of songs off Getting Killed and threw in a few from 3D Country. The songs waned and weaved into each other, sometimes being hard to tell where one ended and another started. The drums came through so hard for me, Max’s nonstop beating under Em’s never-ending riffs. She and Cameron acted as mirrors for each other through each chorus, grounded in Dom’s steadfast baselines and Sam’s keys. During the first song flashlights started strobing in the crowd and no matter how present they were, they were still able to identify someone needing attention and stopped the show to make sure security got to them. Throughout the rest of the show I kept on seeing bodies crowd surfing to the barrier, being fireman swooped by security, and making a run to jump back into the crowd before being escorted to the back. Moshing happened in the masses whenever appropriate, and I was pleased to see no one pushing to get rough during the slower songs. You could tell Getting Killed had been every person in the crowd’s fall soundtrack, voices getting especially loud to proclaim, “there’s only dance music in times of war”. I watched the show between Billy and Em’s brother and his girlfriend, the four of us beaming with pride. We watched a fight between a middle-aged woman who decided to scream every lyric at the top of her lungs (derogatory), into the ear of the tall man in front of her who was blocking her view. New York City!

After the show I smoked a blunt with Kenny Beats; we trauma bonded over Greenwich, and I learned so much about Weezer. Billy, Lex, and I stopped by the after party at Junior’s Cheesecake. No one in the band was there because they had to be at JFK at 5am to play Camp Flog Gnaw in LA and fly back the same night. Is that the price you pay for your dreams coming true? I wished they could have celebrated and rested a little. I ate half a piece of cheesecake and two black and white cookies. I didn’t talk to anyone besides the people I came with. I left after 10 minutes and slept with a smile on my face that night.

The Moment: House lights getting turned up during Cobra, and I could finally take in the sheer amount of people in the crowd. The last time I saw Geese they played at The Rabbit Hole in Ridgewood to an audience of 100, I chainsmoked indoors (DIY forever) while listening to early versions of Getting Killed and watched Lex, Billy, and Sloane sling themselves all over the front row. Less than a year and here they are now, not a still body in the house, 3000 people in the room, many more outside asking if anyone had extra tickets, a criminal number of tickets haunting StubHub, left at some absurd price (that many paid). Less than a year later and their lives changed completely and totally, Cameron having released two of the most widely acclaimed and deeply felt albums of the past year and having the world’s attention. I just can’t believe how much they have exploded and how ravenous the world was for Getting Killed. Well, I can believe it, because they’re really fucking good. Maybe I just can’t believe I know them. And that they’re younger than me.

iPhone Presence: 3/10. This was so special. I watched the whole show from the balcony and had a good overview of the crowd, and at no point did I see a large number of phones up. Again, the last time I was at Paramount was for Addison Rae, which is to say I watched the entire show over a line of iPhones, sometimes having to pull out my own to get a look at stage. This was the least amount of phones I’ve ever seen at a show this size. Maybe it had to do with the balcony vantage point, but it felt like a…..2015 show number of iPhones. Is this heaven? I spent so much of last month spinning out about if every show I go to for the rest of my life will be dominated by phones, and this show gave me so much peace. Thank you, Geese Gods.

Additional Notes: I didn’t always get Geese. I remember after Em and I became friends I was like, I love Star’s so much, I should probably listen to the other band she’s in. I listened to a few songs off 3D Country and I liked it, but I didn’t really go back. I remember the first time I met Cameron, he told me he was in a band with Em and I thought he was the drummer of Star’s. I just didn’t really know Geese like that, and I didn’t connect with their sound the way I did with Star’s. Then, Ben and I went to Geesefest at Williamsburg Music Hall last December. It was my first time seeing Geese live and it clicked instantly. I was GAGGED watching Em shred, and I was even more gagged watching the front row of GA from the balcony; there were so many young teens, all holding custom signs about various band members, all wearing crazy Geese themed hats. It hit me, Em is famous. This band is famous, and I understand why! I was so impressed with the show they put on, hypnotized by Cameron’s undulating voice, Em’s shredding, Dom’s bass face, and Max’s relentless smashing. I often find with rock music I appreciate a band a lot more live than listening to their album. Cameron’s album Heavy Metal had also just come out at the time of this show and it was rapidly climbing my albums of the year even upon the first few listens, so Geese really came together for me last December. I can’t claim day one fan, but after getting turned on to Geese in the winter, I had a pretty big Geese Spring/Summer 25. I went to a Lex Walton show at a DIY venue in Ridgewood last March and Geese played under the name The Power Puff Boy Girls. I saw Cameron play at a Church in Brooklyn last April. I shot BTS on the Taxes video back in June, blessed by Partisan and in the company of Milo and Jeanne <3. Then of course, this September, Milo got to reap the fruit of the June shoot by directing the Au Pays Du Cocaine video, which I production managed. I think me, Milo, and Cameron spent 18 hours together that day, hanging out for several after shooting all day. Last but certainly not least, this past October I came down from my Prospect Park shrooms trip at the Geese free show in Greenpoint (in her trip notes Cat wrote, ‘Geese might define a generation’, it was her first time hearing them). No better place to come off of drugs than a concert in the middle of the road where you will see every person you have ever met, worked for, moshed with, or followed on Instagram. For real though, Geese have made up a big part of my last year, both in terms of what I am listening to but also the work I have gotten to do and the people I have gotten to meet. I am so grateful to exist in the same time and city as them, and so beyond proud of the work they have been able to do this past year, they deserve everything coming their way.

A moment for the non-gig shows I went to this month: Mise En Abyme and The Wolves.

The first was an installation by Johnny Draper and Richard McDonough, where they hosted a 24-hour ambient music session before it closed. Epic. I went with Ben and Pema, heading to Greenpoint a little after midnight. I smoked half of a joint and we headed in. When we got to the gallery, we saw shoes lined under a blench and peoples coats resting on top. Beyond the bench but before the freezer-like plastic flap curtains, there was a tea station. Inside of the curtains was the installation, a room covered in carved patterns, soft blue light moving through all the holes and gaps and divots in the design. The floor was all cloud mattress-like, and everyone was laying down in near silence, listening to the soft ambient music. We caught the last 10 of someone’s set then there was five or so minutes of talking time as Spurge got ready to go on. Ben, Pema, and I immediately made similar comments about how, out of context, it felt like we walked into a really awesome opium den. Greenpoint’s last opium den. Around 1, Spurge went on. A few hours prior to this show, Ben and I were out to dinner at Bong. It was a fantastic meal, and they were playing the best playlist I had ever heard in a restaurant. There was one song in particular I loved, and, upon the restaurant sending me their playlist, I realized it was Spurge’s song. Lol. Anyway, their set was perfect. It was so good and so ideal for the dreamlike space we were in. Perhaps the only ambient set I’ve ever felt energized by. I was so happy to be laying down while hearing mysterious sounds blended with the familiar (Injury Reserve and Leonard Cohen, like c’mon).

I love The Wolves. It might be one of my favorite plays, well it is one of my favorite plays, but I just feel like I don’t know enough theatre to even talk like that. The production I saw was at the Royal Family off Times Square. I love this theatre, I had been there for a play that Healy invited me to years ago, and I don’t even remember anything about the story because I was so freshly back in New York and felt out of my element seeing a play, lol. Anyway, I thought this production was so good. I felt like the cast did an amazing job in their choral moments especially, warm up for practice when everyone is sitting in duos and doing shooting drills and talking endlessly, never listening that well. I was really brought back to my 9th grade soccer team and how particular those sport-rooted relationships were, spanning across grade and race and class and popularity. I think everyone should see this play the next time it’s on, but if you are a girl and played soccer and have dealt with grief, non negosh.

Now a few notes before getting into it. Last month wasn’t special in terms of seeing a lot of music. I beeeeen doing that, I promise. I see gigs all the time here, it’s one of my favorite parts of living in New York, and probably my favorite part of being friends with so many talented musicians. I go out a lot too (I’m cool!!! I swear!!!), I know what clubs I like and which DJs I can’t miss-- my life is largely shaped around music and friends, which go hand in hand for me.

So I go to a lot of gigs and I go to a lot of nights, but I don’t go to a lot of concerts. Try and stick with me through this Brooklyn ass logic. At gigs the security glances at my ID for half a second, at concerts they’re shoving a metal detector between my legs. I’m bitter and bratty when a gig is $25 but when a concert is $45 I think it’s a steal. Concerts are at venues that have gendered bathrooms and at the DIY gig spot in Ridgewood I can smoke cigarettes inside. At a gig you’re surrounded by people you know, and at a concert, even if you know some people, you’re wondering where the fuck a lot of these people came from. These are some key distinctions to me.

In October I went to 6 concerts at 6 different venues and each one was completely awesome. This isn’t my typical writing but it’s not my typical lifestyle either so I want to have some record of this time. Without further ado, here are my show notes.

Addison Rae 10.1

The Venue: Brooklyn Paramount

The Team: Me, Mili, Owen, and Winston

The Scene: The girls and the gays, duh. I can’t remember if this was an 18+ show or a 16+ show, mostly because if it was 18+ plenty of people there were underage and using fakes. And power to them I totally get that. Lots of people in wigs and sequins. A few obnoxiously drunk people, but they just became common enemies for all of us in good form.

The Smell: Bath and Bodyworks French Vanilla Body Spray. Poppers. Tequila. Sweet vape juice.

The Show: The closest I’ll ever get to seeing Brittney Spears. Popstar realness. Body so tea every gay man in the room was crushing. I think Addison Rae is the first popstar I’ve ever seen live and thank god because mama, she brought it. I wondered how she would be able to stretch her 30 minute discography to an hour long set but turns out all she needed was a short skit/pun to reveal each song name and like 4 costume changes and full dance routines for the entirety of the setlist. She really is a star. I know a lot of people say she can’t actually sing but that pitch correcting mic was on fire and I’ve always said you don’t have to be a good singer to be a star.

The Moment: During Money is Everything there was a soft boooooom and suddenly, monopoly money was falling from the ceiling. I’m not kidding, everything felt slow motion. It was my first big confetti concert moment ever maybe? That seems wrong but another isn’t coming to mind. Turning around and seeing my friends look sooooooo elated while trying to catch all the Addison Bucks they could is a movie that will live in my head forever.

iPhone Presence: 10, heaviest it could ever be, but I get it because she put on a show

Additional Notes: I’m really so impressed with Addison’s image. I think she is a prime example of someone who has put a lot of trust in a team that she admires and they have built the perfect popstar. I am not saying she’s inauthentic or fully constructed by others, I think she is someone with her finger on the pulse who has pulled people in to help her transition out of Bama Rush Renegade Tik Tok Girl to The People’s Pop Princess. I love the balance of Spiritual Bimboism and 2000s Classic Hotness so much. I’m a Raecist!

Bladee 10.3

The Venue: Under The K Bridge

The Team: Me, Ben, Owen, Mili, Carter, Carter’s friend’s 19-year-old brother

The Scene: Boys. Lots of rave pants and big hoodies. Literally the longest line I’ve ever seen for a merch table-- the entirety of the 4 hours I was there the line never shrunk. And the merch was bad! Lots of sweetness in seeing kids there with their parents. Most of the girls there looked young and emo-adjacent. Lots of girls dealing with K-holed boyfriends. It felt like a lot of kids were coming from NJ or the suburbs. I used to be like that. I felt unc.

The Smell: Axe body spray. White Monster Energy. No deodorant sweaty armpits. Tobacco juul pods.

The Show: I got there right before Nettspend got on and I was pretty excited to see what he was all about. I really took this opener as a chance to understand some Youth Culture that I feel far away from. Nettspend comes on and, what I learned was, I really don’t like Nettspend. I tried! My heart was open! But I just couldn’t get into the random screaming “YAH” on the mic. It sounded so bad to me that I actually thought the mix was super of and that Bladee would sound horrible, but I learned later that no…Bladee sounded great…the mix was good so whatever was going on with Nettspend was just, on him. I was also pretty confused during his set because the people around me were seemingly really into him, but also they were all playing Tetris and Subway Surfers on their phones during the set. Heads down, faces illuminated by screens, sometimes pausing their games to take a video of the set and then returning.

Anyway, Bladee was incredible. He wore a Hannah Montana-esque wig and held a medieval looking staff. He played a perfect set list. The last time I saw him was right after his last album and he played it through, a few older songs in the mix, but this time he went all over the discography. I felt pure elation when he played Sugar, a song with one of my favorite videos of all time. During his encore he said, “fuck it, we’ll do this one too” then launched into Be Nice 2 Me. It honestly felt so good to be surrounded by all these 16 year olds having the best night of their life, it made me feel even more connected to the music and the show.

The Moment: Not to be a hit-lover but, Hotel Breakfast. When Ben and I first started talking we really connected over music and had so much shared taste, but I really didn’t understand how he loved Drain Gang and Bladee. That just really wasn’t my speed in 2020 (when Mitski was my top artist), but I was falling in love with him and therefore falling in love with what he loved. Hotel Breakfast is the first song I actually really started to fuck with. I remember Ben being so excited that I was starting to like Bladee, so it was just really nice to scream along to the words together so many years later in a whole new city.

iPhone Presence: Probably a 7.5/8. Def a lot of the young team filming the whole show, but moments where people would put their phones away to thrash about.

Additional Notes: Under the K Bridge is a great huge venue. Last time I saw Bladee it was at The Brooklyn Mirage and fuck that place. I have talked a lot of shit about how teenagers have no concert etiquette now, and I still think that stands, but I think it’s still good for the soul to go to a few shows that are teen dominated. No one loves music as much as teenagers, let alone alternative Swedish rap. It feels good to be around people who are so excited to be somewhere, so excited to see someone in the flesh, so ready to hold onto their friends and jump up and down while screaming lyrics they hope to one day relate to.

Alex G 10.9

The Venue: Kings Theatre <3

The Team: Me and Jeanne

The Scene: All over the place in the best way. I think Alex G’s music has this timelessness about it, the show was full of heads who grew up listening to him as well as younger teens who had probably learned about him through the Treehouse-ification of Tik Tok. Or kids who are just hungry to find music like I was. It was a seated concert…or so I thought. My first time at Kings Theatre since I was 15, there for a film festival with Diz and Stina. What a gorgeous venue. Literally the most grand theatre I could conjure in my mind. A lot of couples, most of whom looked like they lived in Park Slope.

The Smell: Pinecones. IPAs. Environmentally friendly laundry detergent. The occasional dab pen burns.

The Show: My favorite Alex G set I’ve heard. Really glad he didn’t only do songs off the new record because I didn’t love it. Jeanne and I sat really close to the stage and to the left, giving me a good eyeline even when every single other person decided to stand for the entirety of a seated show. My ops. Jeanne and I sat the whole time though, which felt like a really nice change of pace from the previous two shows I had gone to. I felt emotional during the show, especially whenever his partner was on stage playing the violin, and I kept wishing that the two of them would bring their baby out from backstage. The energy of the show kind of felt like a swan song of sorts, not like Alex G is gonna stop being a musician, and maybe I’m reading into things, but it kind of felt like he went all out for the show because maybe he’s gonna tour a little bit less now that he has a baby. Now that his world is so much bigger than the music he’s making. I don’t know him, I don’t know anything about his interior life, that’s just the energy I felt. It seemed like he and his band were having so much FUN.

The Moment: Walking back into the theatre from the bathroom. I had only seen the space somewhat empty during the opener, so walking in mid Alex G’s set and hearing the music and seeing everyone dance and sway in such a beautiful room. I felt like I was floating back to my seat.

iPhone Presence: I’ll say a 5 based on what I saw, but to be fair I was towards the front and it was a giant theatre so there were probably lots of phones out of my eyeline.

Additional Notes: If you couldn’t tell by my tone, I am so absurdly against standing at a seated concert. Sure, for the big ones get up and dance around, but ideally I’d like a world where we can all agree on sitting so that everyone can see well for most of the show. I am leading the fight against height supremacy.

YUNG LEAN 10.15

The Venue: The Great Hall at Avant Gardener

The Team: Me, Ben, Carter, and Matthew (fresh off the flight from Scotland)

The Scene: Fuck Avant Gardener. The vibe is horrific there every time. Why is there a 26+ security line?? I don’t have much to report on the scene because all I got a feel for was the security, as they wouldn’t let Ben in without a passport, even though it was an 18+ gig. They told him he “wouldn’t get into a single club in New York without a passport” even though he has lived here since March and never needed more than his UK Driver’s license anywhere else. We ended up having to wait outside (missing the first 3-4 songs) while Natasha heroically Uber’d Ben’s passport to the venue. Outside, we were hating on the club but we couldn’t even get in. There was a huge group of us stragglers outside, a lot of Europeans and Australians with the same passport issues, some girls who didn’t have federal IDs, and one woman who had forgotten her ID and kept saying “look at me, im 40.”. No joy. Low spirits out there but some sense of hope still.

The Smell: Haze machine. Five Gum. Blue American Spirits. Dry shampoo.

The Show: Once we retrieved the passport, Ben and I tried to dart through security as quick as possible, which proved to be hard because for some reason THEN they wanted to joke around and make small talk? I had never been to The Great Hall and I thought we’d be walking into the back of a massive warehouse crowd, but I was pleasantly surprised to enter right by the stage and find a place with decent visibility. Lean hit it hard. He looked very My Chemical Romance circa Welcome to the Black Parade. He played lots of classics and I felt like I got a look at teen Ben hearing him scream every lyric behind me. The production design was really cool, it was set up like a play and somehow made me think of The Lighthouse a lot, visually. He is a fantastic performer and also so cute.

The Moment: Finding Matthew and Carter so easily in the crowd. Like as soon as we walked it we turned and they were right there. Like fate.

iPhone Presence: 7

Additional Notes: Scandi Boy Fall.

ERIKA DE CASIER & SMERZ 10.24

The Venue: Knockdown Center

The Team: Me, Tessa, Natasha, Cat, and Erin

The Scene: Reclamation for all my boy heavy concerts, the girls were here! A very sweet crowd, lots of femme friend groups, lots of good shoes and jackets. Less couples than I thought there would be, but still a lot. If I had an ex I’m sure they would have been there too.

The Smell: Mane n Tail shampoo. Glossier perfume. Sheets hanging from a clothesline. Orange wine.

The Show: So good. Smerz had really insanely gorgeous videography incorporated, lots of superimposition and layered live visuals. I feel like I got to see a lot of beautiful video work during shows last month. When they did “you’ve got time and I’ve got money” everyone sang along and the crowd undulated like the sea’s calmest wave. Part of me wants to feel a little sinister about the song because it was algorithm-pumped so heavy, but that part is miniscule in comparison to the part of me that feels it’s one of the best love songs I’ve ever heard. Erika was a silhouette for the whole performance. LOVE. I could never see her face, just an outline of her in black against different purples and reds. Her set had such interesting momentum, it almost…reminded me of a Juliana Huxtable set? Obviously not in sound but in pace, I’ve always been so impressed by Huxtable’s ability to enchant, to have sections of her sets that feel almost monotonous but never ever boring. It seemed like Erika was so secure in her music, in the art she makes, that she never tried to speed up, to hook, to trap-- instead she just did her thing and knew it would take us.

The Moment: After the show we were walking to the L and ran into Joey and some of his friends. We all walked together and found this very scared looking kitten in the middle of the street. Joey and his friends followed the cat while we stayed back with these other girls who were calling some animal hotline. Eventually, Joey’s friend decided they would bring it home. They still have the cat and named her Smerz. After that, Cat, Natasha, Tessa and I decided we weren’t gonna haul ass to Nightclub 101 for the after party and we gave our tickets to two girls who were visiting from Virginia for the show. I woke up the next morning to an instagram story of the girls with Erika and Smerz at Nightclub 101 :’)

iPhone Presence: 7.5/8, less phones and more dancing during Erika

Additional Notes: Scandi Girl Fall.

AUTECHERE 10.25

The Venue: Brooklyn Steel

The Team: Me, Ben, Billy, Alex

The Scene: Guys with ponytails. Guys with gastrointestinal problems. Hard to report because I couldn’t see shit in that room.

The Smell: Straight sulfur. I thought they were doing some sort of sensory installation (they’re always on some weird shit okay) because it smelled so consistently bad. Consistent in both smell and rate at which it filled the room. But the next day I saw a Tik Tok about how bad the farts were and I realized it was not part of the show.

The Show: Autechere are some mad cunts. Those mfs are crazy. The show was almost in total darkness, one little strip of red lights in a corner, lighting the crowns of peoples’ heads like a glorified exit sign. I didn’t see Autechere once. I could not tell you what their set up was or what they were doing at all. All I saw was the old raver in front of me cutting shapes to abstract sound and the inside of my own eyelids when I just needed to listen. I wished the show was at LSD or some other alternative listening space where I could have been sitting in a hammock or laying on the ground while taking it all in. Definitely got hypnotized, lulled by the harsh, relentless, and unidentifiable music. Which was awesome and great until like 50 minutes in where I started to feel like I was going to faint. Kind of out of nowhere I just started feeling so lightheaded and spacy, even got a little spinny, like I had just taken a chop my freshman year of college, but this was substance free just moved by the sounds. First time that’s happened to me at a show and it makes so much sense to happen at that one. So I did have to take myself out and sit next to the random food truck on the astroturf of Brooklyn Steel’s entryway and I missed the last five minutes of the show.

The Moment: Completely impossible for me to differentiate any moments during this show. I couldn’t even tell you how long it was.

iPhone Presence: 0. I realized after the show that there were signs saying know filming allowed, but I think everyone would have abided by that based on intuition.

Additional Notes: I actually only found out about Autechere via SOPHIE. The BIPP remix they did. Was thinking about her a lot after the concert, thinking about the world of electronic music I would never know without her. I hope it’s a never ending afters up there.

There have always been 14 years and a few miles between us. On one hand, we had totally different upbringings. On the other, she lives in a mirror I can hardly face. She has grown up with two parents who love each other, people who have been together for over 20 years, she cries every time they leave home and she likes spending her birthdays with just her family (because her friends are just too crazy). When I was her age I spent probably 10-12 hours of any given weekend on the family computer, watching Dr. Who and posting dark poetry on Tumblr, avoiding my family at all costs (despite which parent I was with that particular weekend) and talking to strangers on Kik. 

But a few miles isn’t far at all. I grew up half an hour from her house. I know every part of a town like this. Even though I didn’t grow up spending too much time in this specific faction of Fairfield County, I still know exactly where to turn on the high street, what secret menu frapachino my cousin’s friend wants from Starbucks (POV: me teaching rich 12 year olds about boycotts), where my high school boy cousin will want to get a sandwich after Tennis, and where the best sneaky parking is. One thing about places like this, which is to say places like where I grew up, they are really amazing at resisting change, so it's extraordinarily easy to keep up with them. 

Back to my little cousin’s first kiss. And to keep it about me, know that, not only did I know it happened before she told me, but I knew who it was gonna have been with. I was visiting her last September for Labor Day. In typical Connecticut fashion, they had a pool party and invited all their friends. The adults drank U.S. Open-inspired drinks and shelled shrimp cocktails as they spilled the town’s drama. The kids ate Wingstop tenders in between wrestling in the pool and dunking into the hot tub. I brought my friend who graduated from USC and had a Big Girl Job, and who’s also beautiful and magnetic, so the kids and adults both loved her. I forgot to shave my legs and arm pits and kept on getting caught with shrimp stuck in my permanent retainer while I explained that I actually don’t drink anymore (yes, I’m 25. No, haha, I don’t think it’s too early to make that decision. You’re right! I always could start again, thats true!) and that I’m a filmmaker…but I work 30 hours a week in a boujee market in Occupied Chinatown. 

Feelings too hairy for the kids and too unserious for the adults I try to focus on everything outside of myself. My friend and I just took some puffs of a j in the front yard (next to my Aunt’s friend who chainsmokers her secret Marlboros out of her kids eyesight) and I am ready to hyperfixate on anything with a moment’s notice. As I dip into the hot tub, the conversation is already riveting. 

“I am cooked if my groupchat ever gets leaked,” says a 13-year-old boy in the most high-low voice imaginable, and I know from the way my cousin laughs she likes him. I could probably piece it together without the laugh, just by the longterm mystique of Best Friend’s Brother (BFB), but the laugh confirmed it. It wasn’t just any laugh, it was the laugh a young girl learns as her first introduction to flirting, following the principle that boys really just want you to listen to them and find their jokes funny. A little too eager, a little too long, a little awkward paired with a gentle arm slap. Clear as day, indisputable middle school flirting. 

But in that hot tub I am 25 and a little high and have hairy armpits therefore am the PC Police and everyone’s worst nightmare and I press, “why would you be cooked?”. The daggers my cousin shoots me across the 4x4 hot tub are beyond powerful, I am wincing as soon as the words leave my mouth, but lucky for me, in the same moment, he is asking my cousin if she wants to play basketball in the pool. 

The two of them hop over to the pool, the boy not batting an eye at my light interrogation, and begin playing the flirtiest game of Horse I have ever seen. I am GAGGGGGGGGGGED. He’s literally like holding her by the waist under the basket, their faces one inch away from each other, and all of their friends and families are 5 feet away and they’re children. My friend and I can’t stop looking like it’s a car crash and we are straight up gasping. They never kiss but like maybe that would have been tamer or maybe (realistically) I am just being protective older cousin. 

After everyone leaves I try to dish with the girl. I’m like wait, so what was that. She’s red as a beet and telling me they’re just friends who like to wrestle (my girl!). She says he has a girlfriend. I say he def wasn’t acting like it! She shoves her face in a pillow, unable to look at me. She’s always been really eager to share stuff with me, a big open book, but of course I remember the confusion and vulnerability of having a crush. Especially a 13 year old boy who is probably gaslighting you about whatever's going on. 

When I was in middle school I never owned a crush. Omg I would rather die than admit I actually liked someone, because in my head there was no way the feeling was mutual, and is there anything more humiliating than everyone knowing you want someone who doesn’t want you back? I mean, last week my freshman year roommate from, Liz, reminded me of my tendency to hook up with people in college and just keep it a secret. Because I could have sex with someone and still think like, maybe they just want me to keep this lowkey…maybe they wouldn’t want people to know? 

At a certain point I stop pushing, because she just seems annoyed and embarrassed and I was losing all my good juju I had built up with her. Before going to bed I just wanted to leave her with one thing. I told her, “I just want you to know that, as an outside perspective, he was totally acting like he likes you. And that’s not nice if he has a girlfriend…and it’s a little weird to do with your little sister’s friend…but yeah if he says he doesn’t like you, he’s lying”. 

Yeah well that was basically a year ago and obviously I was right. I knew I was right, because when I texted my cousin a few months ago she said she had so much to tell me. As soon as we had all of 3 minutes alone yesterday she launched into the saga. So yeah, that September they spent a lot of time together, always hanging out all secretive while she would be over at his house for sleepovers and playdates with his sister, very YA. One time she was sleeping over and he kept on texting her about needing help packing for his trip to Cabo (I can’t), so eventually she went upstairs….sat on his bed….they were talking….and…obviously he kissed her. Obviousssslllyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. His sister actually came bursting in but they just separated and acted like nothing happened. That night he texted her not to tell anyone. A secret!!!! 

But my girl is so smart and knows a secret never counts with your best friends (and cousins :p) so ofc she told her squad (still some months later, November?). They were shocked (that one girl’s like, oh so, my brother?). She also went on to not see the boy again for months, that was September and they wouldn’t meet again until a cold December day’s carpool. 

Escalade type shit. Mad kids being shuttled from their middle school to town on a Friday afternoon. Siblings and friends and friend’s siblings all intermingled, every grade of middle school represented. There’s 8 seats in the car yet somehow my girl is in the middle, BFB to her left, BFB’s friend to her right. Her friends? Back row. My girl. I can just imagine how much her heart was racing, stuffed into a friend packed car, right next to the boy who kissed her at a sleepover just a few short months ago. They hadn’t really spoken since, some snaps exchanged (you didn’t tell anyone, right?), but this was the moment they were back together, legs brushing each other, eyes looking everywhere but at each other. She’s in a daze, whatever love song’s on the radio has started to soundtrack the tension she feels in the car, each missed moment of eye contact building towards a crescendo until, finally, the silence is broken. 

“I think it’s whack you snap my sister all the time. You spent half of September begging her to kiss you,” BFB’s friend says. BFB laughs. 

Five girls. She finds out he kissed five girls in September! First of all, when they started flirting more after Labor Day she literally made sure to ask if he still had a girlfriend and he said no. Which I guess is true but he still neglected to include he was having the month of 50 first kisses. And here’s where her story ends. Like I said, she blabbed all of this to me in a 3 minute period where her mum was in the bathroom. So that’s all I got. As soon as her mum was back in ear shot, the convo was over. 

And then I had all too much time to 1. Come up with a million questions (were all 5 of these kisses little sisters? Is this some sort of suburban Harmony Korine Kids shit? What does he snap her? What did he tell his friends?) and 2. Struggle to decipher what sort of wisdom I wanted to impart. Did I want to keep it simple and say, from the getgo, a boy who wants to keep you a secret will never be worth your time? Should I just leave it at ‘he sounds like a huge dick’? Or do I fire on all fronts, explaining how we living in a patriarchy, how men often like to feel powerful over women, like to feel a certain level of control and dependence, how they often seek validation from women who may look up to them, or may be vulnerable, how this behavior is incredibly predatory even if it's not that deep right now. Do I tell her it’s no big deal and she probably won’t even remember his name by freshman year, or do I tell the truth and say even if she forgets what it felt like to be in that car and hear that sentence, her body will remember it every time she has to move her leg away from a man brushing by it? 

What I say instead is my first kiss was also two years older than me. Probably 24 hours after my cousin told me her Sixth Grade Saga, I ask if she wants to go for a walk on the beach, and not ten seconds out the door she has resumed mid story. She fills in some of the blanks for me as we walk down the beach (most of the other girls were his age [which of course, made her feel special], they’ve seen each other one time since and he was still flirty, she shut it down). I ask follow up questions, I talk to her like a friend and not a toddler because I can feel and remember how serious this is to her, and in turn, to me. 

I tell her I was in eighth grade when I had my first kiss, and the boy was a sophomore in high school. She wants to know more and I try not to wince as I tell her about this boy I had a huge crush on. He was in a jam band and we talked all the time and when I was 14 he met me at the town carnival (called The Pow Wow…unpacking later) and refused to go on any rides so instead we just sat moodily by a bike rack and talked with our faces so close together until we kissed only for him to pull back and go, “that was weird, right?” and start dating my friend a week later. 

She asks me if I felt crazy, I don’t tell her that I still do but I do tell her I felt crazy when it happened. I tell her how I felt like I put all this meaning and possibility onto a relationship where he obviously didn’t feel the same, because it was obviously nothing to him. But I realized later that he strung me on in every which way! We talked all day every day, he would say goodnight every night, even play me songs over the phone till I fell asleep. So I wasn’t crazy, he was insane. Hormone struck insano madness, and none of it was me in the wrong. She tells me she felt crazy too, like, duh he was kissing other girls. She felt like she should have known (I immediately remind her, why would she?) but she also can remember how much he liked her, he always paid attention and always texted her and kind of made his interest really known. 

She asks me if I still feel hurt by it. I tell her I don't feel hurt anymore, but it’s a story I remember because it was important, so I still like to treat it important now. She asks me if I ever saw my first kiss again. I tell her I actually saw him last year at a gallery opening in Chelsea. She asked me what it felt like and I told her I had been nervous it was going to feel awkward but it really just felt like seeing someone you hadn’t seen in a decade. Like seeing someone from a past life. A friendly ghost. Someone with a spark of familiarity just through virtue of having been important at some point in your life, while simultaneously feeling like a complete stranger— so many different versions of each other existing in the time since you were familiar. 

“How long is a decade?” she interrupts. 

“Ten years,” I respond.

“Wow, ten years ago I was 2!”

I feel like an ancient baby. I love my baby cousin. 

Today would have been Saoirse’s 28th birthday. Last month would have been Brian’s 25th. This August will mark what would have been Caroline’s 26th. Instead they exist forever as 22, 20, and 18. They stay young and I just keep on getting older, keep on getting further and further away from the ages where they were still in my life and on this planet. Saoirse was always older than me so how does it make any sense I’ll soon be four years older than she ever was? It makes no sense. 

I want Grievers Anonymous. I want a sponsor to walk me through the five stages of grief the same as the twelve steps. I want someone to sit my ass down and make me read and write and think and talk all about grief until it's purged from my system. 

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. When does acceptance come? My denial knows no bounds, my anger so deep red and rotten if I didn’t make sure to extinguish it often it could burn down this whole city. Bargaining is a constant when you think you’re cursed, an unshakeable feeling I’ve had my whole life which is also my most embarrassing and self indulgent quality. I have spent the better part of the past decade hoping if I just acted a certain way or treated those around me with a certain care they’d stop dying and that never happened. The depression isn’t the kind I felt when I was 12 and hormone overloaded and wanted to die in a way I’ve never felt again— it’s like, a stripping depression. A slow burn, always lurking in the background, always there to remind me people I have loved so, so deeply have died and are never coming back. 

When does acceptance come? 

I wish I could time travel, I wish I could go back to 18-year-old me and tell her with my whole chest THIS IS NOT OKAY. IT IS NOT OKAY THAT THIS HAPPENED AND YOU SHOULD NOT BE EXPECTED TO JUST GO BACK TO SCHOOL AND TAKE YOUR ACTs AND TRY AND GET YOUR GRADES UP BEFORE APPLYING TO COLLEGE. IT IS OKAY TO BE SO FUCKED UP RIGHT NOW YOU WAKE UP EVERY MORNING GASPING FOR BREATH AND ON THE VERGE OF TEARS. And I would say it again to 20-year-old me. And again 22-year-old me.

I want to go fishing at grief camp. I want to wear cargo shorts and a hand-me-down tank top so sun faded its original colors are unrecognizable. I want to be in the woods with everyone else who lost people so young they feel forever stunted. I feel forever stunted. I want to be given the time and space and just some semblance of guidance to actually try and move through these feelings I am so scared of. Feelings of guilt, shame, heartbreak, and loss I have spent years trying to find the right words to describe. Loss so deep it doesn’t just feel like the end of someone else’s life but the end of my life as I know it, over and over and over again. 

Here’s a portrait of the last time I saw Saoirse: 

iiii. 

one hand firm on the steering wheel, the other holding a tiny tiny dog— you drive fast.

as if you knew this might be the last time we would see each other, and you were rushing to get to a place where we could sit and talk and revel in the warmth of one another. 

you were so light and free i could no longer remember a time where you weren’t,times i used to be well acquainted with. in that moment, I realized the hope spilling out of you.

the doors opened between me and you, us and the world we wanted to live in, the one we deserved to live in. i saw the planet painted in the colors I once watched dance around you while you were sleeping. i saw your soul supersede all darkness and watched it sprint down the LA freeway. 

i hope it’s still running around. 

I spend a lot of time thinking I used to be fragile and now I am strong but I don’t think that’s the direct trajectory. I think I go in cycles of strong and fragile all the time, across moments and years and memories. Sometimes I am scared I’ve reached my limits, like if something horrible was to happen to me soon it wouldn’t even hurt, because I have spent so much of my life anticipating the worst (and feeling like I deserve it). Also because I feel my life is the most stable it's ever been, I have a perfect boyfriend and perfect best friends and I live in the same city as most of my support system. I have a job. I have a routine. I have an artistic community and dreams and ambitions and to a degree, I have freedom. 

But I still cry so much more than I did as a teenager. I rarely cried the entire time I lived with my parents, though if I did it was that crying-and-screaming-into-your-pillow sort of cry late at night in the darkness of my bedroom. Even when Caroline was murdered by her dad I didn’t cry until my mum did, like I got permission to. Nowadays I cry pretty easily. Especially in sobriety. Tears come before I even know what I’m feeling. Happy and sad, disappointed and joyous, sometimes I feel so much resentment when the tears come. Resentment for whoever or whatever made it feel so impossible to drop my guard and react presently as a teenager, because now I’m almost 26 and I cry whenever I see a kid being woken up gently by their parents on the train just before their stop.

“I think about you often, even if we don’t talk, and I feel both happy and sad”. — My dad last week when we spoke for the first time since last June. 

The seasons are changing and so am I. I don’t know how yet, but I know it’s happening. I can’t really tell the time without seasons, maybe that’s why it’s always 11:11 these past few weeks with all this in-between weather. Or maybe I’m just lucky. I need to start writing down my wishes because I always forget them and then can’t track if they come true. When I was a kid my birthday wish several years in a row was just “I wish it gets better” and that’s probably the saddest thing about me, but it did come true. 

I celebrated 18 months of not drinking earlier this month. A year and a half of no White Claws or tequila shots or vodka pulls after a good ~decade of always thinking about alcohol. I still think about it too much, and I still smoke too much weed, and sadly stopping drinking and going to AA once a month hasn’t fixed all of the problems in my life, but I am a lot better off than I was before. So much better off. 

I found out recently most of my friends have never blacked out. Dafuq? Even more shocking, I overheard this conversation at work the other day, two girls talking about their friend who “claims she blacked out”, big emphasis on the air quotes present in the interaction. This duo didn’t believe their friend blacked out, because they didn’t believe anyone really blacks out. Sure, they’ve had issues remembering how a night ended or how they got home, but never an entire memory wipe, so it must be fake. 

At the height of my drinking I’d say I blacked out 1 out of every 5 times I went out. Just all memory wiped from a certain point of an evening on. I never asked what happened, and would not admit to not remembering unless I had to- the worst times. Looking back, I can’t believe the mental and emotional and spiritual gymnastics I was doing to make myself feel okay with forgetting how I got home or if I had kissed anyone or started a fight with my friends multiple times a month.

The other week I flew from Chicago to New York at 6am and went straight to work until 8:30pm and I came home and fell asleep before 9. When I woke up I was in my clothes from the day before and it was 4:30 am and my mouth was dry and Ben was next to me and for a moment of discombobulation I thought, how’d I get here? Did I drink? Did I get blacked? 

No girl, you were just tired. It’s okay. 

I love the spring because there is balance and grace and patience and life all around. I like seeing people take off layers, I love selling people $9 ice cream sandwiches because I know how good it's gonna feel to eat that in the sun after winter. I still love spring happy hours as much as I did when I drank, now just with bitters and soda. I love how inspired everyone feels, how every coffee shop is filled with people talking about ideas or old friends catching up about their winters spent in their flats. 

I did all those mental and spiritual and emotional gymnastics when I was drinking because I needed to. Because had I been honest with myself at the time and taken things at face value I would have known I had a problem, and I had enough problems when I was 16, 18, 21, 23-- so many of those problems also held drinking as a solution, and those realities just could not co exist at the time. 

Now I am on the edge of 26 and almost two years sober and I know that I wasn’t addicted to drinking but to the feeling it gave me. How bubbly and confident it made me feel, how it felt like the antidote to all my shortcomings. Being in a bar or at a party surrounded by other people off their faces was anything but loneliness, it was the opposite of all the solitude I spent so much time feeling inside myself growing up, what kept me from being present and emotional, a gap between me and my family and friends, and anything that allowed me to feel a break from that core feeling was welcomed. 

Now I am on the edge of 26 and almost two years sober and things aren’t all perfect but they are so much better, and the opposite of loneliness is 90 alcoholics in a Church basement every week and the wink of a bartender giving me my bitters and soda for free.  

Middle school is murky in my memory. Much murkier than teendom, and without the same rose tint. It’s hard for me to even process how unhappy I was from ages 10-12. I still have access to my Tumblr from around that time and it is truly the darkest shit to look at. I was the most depressed I have ever been, and I romanticized that so much at the time that it’s hard to even recollect specifics at this point. Part of me thinks every part of myself I dislike, every unhealthy coping mechanism, every bit of negative self-talk, all came from this period of time. Because it feels like a blackout. I can’t remember why I felt so bad, so sad and misunderstood and full of pain, I just know how deeply I felt all of those things at that time. I really can’t tell you anything that went on at home during those years, maybe some family visits and vacations, but no recollection of what daily life was like. 

I had a high school alumni reunion a few weeks ago. Armed with my nearly decade-long best friends, many of whom I get to see regularly now that many of us are in New York, I braved the midtown reception hall. The nerves in my body settled as I began chatting to old, familiar faces. At one point I felt someone tap my shoulder, and I was shocked to turn around and see Clara. I was so confused. Clara and I went to middle school together for a few years before I went to Deerfield for high school. Turns out she is dating someone who went to Deerfield, hence her appearance at our alumni reunion. We talked for a long time about growing up together, reminiscing on the tales of middle school, laughing about its melodrama. 

For days after talking to her, I kept on remembering all these middle school moments. I’d be rushing down Division, late for work, and would just have to stop and laugh out loud thinking about how Laura Endres almost got a concussion filming a Shakespeare skit in Mrs. Kelly’s 6th grade English class. I would choke on water in the shower cackling about how sick we thought we were on our 8th grade trip to the Math Museum in Manhattan, taking VSCO photos in between pop quizzes from our tour guide. 

Spending time with my students today I was reminded of the silliness of middle school. Today I asked one of my students what they wanted to make a movie about and she said, “I wanna make a movie about Sabrina Carpenter waking up as Michael Jackson and moonwalking on a cybertruck”. Like, okay random as fuck, girl! The whole time she was pitching to me she was checking her friends' faces, making sure they still thought she was being funny. It didn’t matter whatever was going on outside of that classroom, as long as her friends found her funny in there she was okay. 

It’s such a weird time, your body and hormones are changing and no one understands you, but also memes will never hit so hard and every class period was the chance to be your peers’ stand up hero. I was so depressed at the time, and I spent my time at home writing about how depressed I was online and reading other peoples’ woes, all my time in solitude was spent feeling so bad that it almost felt good. But school was different. School broke the shell. 

I went to the same school for 10 years before Deerfield, an all girls Catholic school in Greenwich, CT. All my middle school classmates also knew me in elementary school, we all knew each other through various phases and and ages, and our grade was too small to not embrace everyone's quirks. When I look back at photos from this time it’s easy for me to lean into my memory of being really unhappy in my tweendom, there’s a whole internet archive of me in dark runny makeup, teased hair, and rotating various screamo band merch. I can quickly remember how good it felt to listen to music that described how bad I felt (though half the time I was listening to songs about guys getting drunk in South Philly basements and hating their girlfriends…not a shared experience). 

I would rush home from basketball practice to lock myself in my bathroom for two hours, perfecting my Black Veil Brides warpaint makeup, taking 200 photos on my iPod Touch, then washing my face and running downstairs before my mum yelled at me for being late to dinner. I yearned so much at that time, yearned for a different life, in my mind, a better one. I wanted to dress the way cool scene girls on Tumblr did, I wanted to live in a city and go to shows, I wanted my friends to like the same shit I did. I think maybe one of the reasons why it’s so hard for me to connect with these years is how not present I was during that time. 

The pictures of me outside of the confines of my room from this time tell a totally different story. This one was from field day in 7th grade, taken probably right before catching the bus, running into Mr. Maier’s classroom to fit in some last minute harassment before leaving for the summer. I remember that room, I felt good in that room; spending recess in there in the winters talking about Dr. Who with him and the other nerdy teachers (and students), presenting the blog I made as Charlie from The Perks of Being a Wallflower complete with a Smiths filled playlist. I can remember what it felt like when Mr. Maier looked at me while I was sidetalking during class, the feeling of being caught and the shame that came with it. But by the end of the period he would make a Dalek joke and it would all be okay. 

6th grade is harder to tap into…if 7th grade was peak geek then 6th grade was peak wanting to fucking off myself. But I remember Spanish class. Spanish class with Senora Slattery. That bitch was crazy! And our class was even crazier, stacked with Caroline, Kathryn, and Jillian, three of my best friends since kindergarten, and Zaza, an awesome new girl from Spain who spoke fluent Spanish but didn't tell the school so that she could get an easy A. We made that poor woman’s life so much harder. No matter how depressed I was that day, I knew I would walk into her class and was bound to laugh until I was crying almost every time. And if she cracked down on us, at least we were all united in our agony and disdain. We had the craziest cheating schemes in that class, and any time we had to do skits we would be lucky to get through 30 seconds without breaking character. We made each other laugh so much. I took it for granted at the time, constantly wishing for some different life, but school and the friends I had there probably saved me. 

One goal I have for this new year is trying to look back on these years more openly. To move through the sadness and haziness I feel surrounding that time and try to access the world of rich, laughter filled memories stuck somewhere in me. When I think about my own adolescence more gently, I know I am about to be more gentle both with the kids I teach now and the person I am now. I also feel closer to Caroline when I can tap into these memories. I know I have less of my Caroline memories now than I did a year after her death. It’s been almost 8 years, and sometimes it feels like the new memories I make push hers out of the way. But if a picture or a conversation or even just overhearing my students talk can unlock so many feelings, I know the memories are in me, and I just have to start searching.

It’s been 7 years since you disappeared. That’s what it feels like sometimes, usually only for a split second, I’ll see something that reminds me of you or I’ll want text you something and, just for a moment, I’ll be like— where’d Caroline go? Then of course it all comes back. You didn’t disappear, your dad killed you and your mum and himself. That is literally the craziest thing that has ever happened. Sometimes I have to say it out loud, several times in a row, to remember it’s even true. Literally who gets murdered?

I visited your grave on your birthday. It’s not so much a grave but a plaque, all the ones around you are like thirty years older. It was my first time back in Greenwich in four years. I was so nervous to go back, you knew I always hated it there. Even though it’s where I spent most of my life, I feel so distant from it. I felt distant from it while I still lived there, always some divide between me and the town. I was scared to go back and visit alone because I was scared of that isolation stirring back up in me, but when I got to Grand Central that morning a flash of a different feeling came. I got that body memory of how good it felt to be a teenager and to come into the city, arriving from the Metro North and pumping the pavement as soon as we got to the platform. I remember running to catch the train home before peak hours started, knowing that I’d be back in the city soon enough. That feeling landed in my body’s memory and my anxiety settled down, I knew I’d be back in the city soon enough. 

One of the last things I did before my mum moved was come visit your grave with Christina, we decorated the whole plaque with flowers. This time I brought a bunch of post it’s, I put up a big “25 Today!” next to your name. I talked to you for three hours. Thank god the Putnam Cemetery isn’t busy on a Thursday afternoon because I was posted up and verbal. The shit I said over there is just between us, and I know you heard it all. Only after I had cried myself dry, told you every secret anyone has ever told me, showed you pictures of how cute my boyfriend is and how old my baby brother is, I called an uber. 

Can you guess where I went for lunch? Hint: it was the last place I saw you. Another hint: it’s where I had my 15th birthday lunch after 8th grade Prize Day. One last hint: Caroline Hughes had her 10th or 11th birthday here too, a psychic sat at the head of the table and we took turns sitting with her and hearing about where we’d go to college. That’s right: Meli Melo. Do you remember when we went there? It was two months before you died. You were in Greenwich for SAT tutoring and we met on The Ave after. We both got French Onion Soup even though it was a hot and humid summer day…the soup truly is just that good. This time, I sat alone at a table in the middle of the restaurant. I asked to move near a window and the waitress told me she wouldn’t recommend that if I was getting soup, because the sun bakes the tables on that side. I didn’t know how to tell her I remembered her from when I was here with my friend 7 years ago, and all the times before that, so instead I just told her I’d stay at my table. 

I got the French Onion Soup and I sweat the whole time and stared at two girls sitting in the window seat we had shared all those years ago. They looked exactly the way we looked at their age, dressed in jean shorts and Brandy tanks. Long hair, smoothies and a crepe, gossiping about all the people they were gonna see when school started again. I thought about our last text conversation, you asking me for my opinion on your senior names and us talking about how fun Senior Spring Break in Atlantis was going to be. I felt your ghost in the room and asked for the other half of my sandwich to go. I stopped in Brandy Melville and felt even more haunted— it was time to go home. I caught the next train back to the city and took the subway to my apartment, feeling good about having spent the day with you, feeling relieved that I don’t have to call that town home anymore, but so so grateful that it gave me you. 

Today, on your death anniversary, I had breakfast in Washington Square Park with Ellie Dailey, Caroline Miller, Ava Bloom, and Olivia Monohan. The five of us haven’t been in a room together (aside from your funeral) since 8th grade. It had been 11 years. We spent hours chatting, catching each other up on everything that had happened in the past couple of years. Everyone talked about their jobs, their boyfriends, their roommates, their friends, their lives at large. We started stories that unlocked memories and it was like I got to see new videos of you in my head, dances and sleepovers I had forgotten about until surrounded by the people who made up my world when I was 13. There’s so much of you in all of us. 

There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to see you now. To see all the shit you’d be up to, to meet the friends you made in college and hear you complain about your job and how high your rent is. I hold onto so much of being 15 because it’s me holding onto you. We started making movies 10 years ago and I haven’t stopped, how could I? It’s always how you pictured me, so it’s the only way I know how to picture me. Every set I’m on, every editing room I’m in, I know you’re there, and you get it, because we did it together. I wonder if you’d still be doing it, or if you would have moved on to something else entirely. You had just turned 18 when you died, and at the time there was no way for me to understand how young that is, but it becomes more and more clear to me every year. You had so much time left to grow and change and learn, so many mistakes to make and phases to go through, so many hearts to break and lessons to learn and friends to meet. So much love left to give and receive. I don’t know where to put my love for you, but sometimes it bursts at the seams and sprays all over the wall. And the world looks a little better.

I miss you so much,

maya

when i was a kid i thought the moon was following me home. i have these vivid memories from when i was 5 or 6– buckled up in the backseat, my whole face cool from being pressed against the window, my eyes fixated on the moon. in the car, no matter how fast or slow we went, the moon stayed with us. it could travel any speed and i felt it wanted to come home, come to my home, fall asleep in my bed with my blanky and teddy. inevitably, during some wind in the drive home from elm street, the moon would lose us. sometimes id whip around to catch one last look through the trunk, id ask my parents to slow down but we were always in a rush. every time, i was rooting for her to make it home.

on thursday (may 23rd) i went to williamsburg to to celebrate helen on her 24th birthday. i spent hours on her roof enjoying the comfort of company, people ive known for years and people id just met, we ate good food and talked about change and smoked throughout conversations. helen and i did the impossible and held off until the last hour of the night to talk about our dear saoirse. to talk about her is to celebrate her, and she should be celebrated every day, but especially on this day— helen’s 24th, and what would have been saoirse’s 27th.

letter i wrote saoirse when she graduated from high school, i was almost 17.

i wish i could protect every person i love from feeling the amount of pain that comes with losing someone you love, but the only way to protect yourself from that pain is to never love at all. its the duality that trickles into everything, the bittersweetness of it all, which feels especially pertinent during gemini season (i know next to nothing about astrology but it still makes so much sense to me that saoirse, helen, and i would share such a polarizing sign). grief makes me feel 13 again, like im having these crazy big emotions and they’re all happening at the same time. when helen and i finally did start talking about saoirse, i felt like i could burst and talk endlessly of all our memories together, all the dreams we shared, her unabashed laugh, her sage advice and nightmares of where we’d be without it. we talked about how to know saoirse was to know love, to feel it all the way to your bones.

what i couldn’t talk about is the fact that she’s not here anymore. that i am older than she ever was even though she will always be a big sister to me. that i have so, so much love for her that i dont know where to put. i put it in all my relationships, in the way i interact with the world, but there’s this chunk of love in me that was custom built just for her, and it hasn’t had a home for almost five years now.

saoirse’s blurb about me, july 3, 2018

without trying, i really felt saorise on thursday. hours before helen and i began talking about her, i felt her in the breeze on the roof. it felt like a hug, someone you love and miss squeezing you before shuffling by. i heard her in the music, which also made me mournful because i dont know another bitch who would love ethel cain as much as her, and she never got to witness! but the breeze blew along with the chorus of crush and i thought, maybe she is witnessing. maybe she’s dancing!

when i started making my way out of the party and untucked myself from the couch corner i had been in for hours, i saw her. a billowing full moon, a place to put my saoirse-sized love.

i splurged on lyft home to crown heights. i kept my face pressed against the window and watched the moon follow me all the way home. i found myself rushing up the stairs to my fourth floor walk up and darting straight to my room. icy blue light flowed across my ceiling, showing me shadows of leaves and the banister of my fire escape. when i got closer to my window i saw her, the moon perched outside, finally having made it home.

It was 16 degrees outside when I walked to the subway. Nothing wakes me up more than that biting cold. No matter how unpleasant it eventually gets, I welcome its first embrace in the morning- like a polar plunge. By the time I emerge at East Broadway the sun has started to thaw the sidewalks. My fingertips turn to ice as I unlock the gate, the last of their strength pushing open the door and being held by the ghost of whatever kind coworker left the heat on overnight. I love opening. I love being in a shop no one else is in. I love that people look out their windows when they wake up and the first thing they see is me turning the lights on. I love seeing what new treats are in stock. Above all, I love the half hour before anyone else is in, where I get to listen to whatever music I want. The store has no guidelines anyway, so I’m often playing it fast and loose, but these mornings are the only times where I get to play all my guilty pleasures outloud and with no embarrassment. 

So obviously in winter fashion, I was listening to emo/punk folk music. Blasting Crywank. The body feeling of the moment after you’re Xteen in Connecticut’s winter, fresh off the bus after a torturous day, just to be yelled at for something the second you walk into the house, the moment after that when you go upstairs and lightly shut (never slam) your door, put in your headphones, and sit angrily and still in bed listening to music that describes precisely how much life sucks and how sad you are in a raspy, strained yelling voice. It feels like Xanax. Like being submerged in waves painted pink by the sunset. I can’t imagine even conjuring a fraction of the angst or sadness I felt back then, but the music still brings me so much ease, probably because of our long history together.

The weirdest thing about me still having an affinity for this music is that it’s all about lyrics. When I listen to music 90% of the time I don’t listen to lyrics at all and the other 10% of the time I am listening to a pop punk band I loved when I was 15 and thinking that each word is lowkey profound. That particular morning I was playing Welcome To Castle Irwell and found one lyric particularly touching, “I need to stop thinking about the things I'll never do again and just be glad I did them, and I'm so glad I did them”. Yeah guys I know, they’re not the first ones to say that. Literally a tale as old as time, but something about hearing them this way, in this yell-talk-singing with all of its desperation, it sounded like a promise to themselves, like a prayer. 

Today I am 132 days sober and I feel I only began to mourn the absence of alcohol this month. Everyone tells you the holidays are hard for that, and they’re right! But it wasn't for the reasons I thought it would be, the stress, being away from friends, feeling isolated, etc. I missed the good parts sooo much. I missed dinner time tensions being relieved by top offs, I missed the full body ease and confidence that comes with your third G&T, I missed the looseness and words of admiration and love that come with the champagne flutes as the midnight bells ring. 

I think I’ve spent the past few months constantly reminding myself of the bad parts of alcohol to the point that I forgot about the good parts until they were paraded in front of me. I felt like a kid with a nut allergy at a party with an ooey gooey delicious peanut butter chocolate cake. I know that I don’t need alcohol to have fun, I’ve been doing that for almost 5 months. But the winter holidays feel like everyone’s looking forward to this time of year just to get on it for a few days. And I have no judgment there! Only pure, pure jealousy, sprinkled with self hatred of knowing I’m the only reason why I can’t be a part of all the fun. Spending time around the glee and laughter and affection fostered by drinking just made me so scared of the fact that it wasn’t just one sober Christmas or New Years, but all the special parties and events and holidays for the rest of my life. I get why people in AA believe in God because it sucks a lot to feel like there’s some shitty flaw about me that doesn’t affect most people if it isn’t a part of some larger plan. 

I’ve basically spent the past 10 years, the majority of my teendom and adulthood thus far, as a person who drinks, as someone who loves happy hour and club night specials and drinking games galore. Alcohol has played a pivotal role in so much of my social life, my initial closeness with people, and now it's just gone and that’s a really big change and I keep living in the extremes. I’m constantly either reminding myself that my drinking was bad and self destructive and there were plenty of instances where I hurt or scared the people I love so much and that’s so fucking painful to know to the point that every time I think too much about it I feel like I have to burst into tears. Or I’m thinking on the other end, thinking about how fun I was when I drank. How I could get anyone out of their shell. How I’d bring 2 bottles of wine to every dinner party just so everyone felt a little looser. How I felt confident (and/or delusional) enough to be really vulnerable and loud and expressive with the people around me on a night out with no fear of embarrassment. I keep on glamorizing the past or looking at it through these hellscape lenses that just make me feel like I used to be a monster and/or the most fun to be around version of myself. 

One thing I want to make more of an effort with is, as Crywank yelled, stopping thinking about all the things I’ll never do again and just be glad I did them. I need more neutrality and gentleness with my own memories of myself because ghosts of who I was are haunting me to the point where I’m getting so confused about what my relationship with alcohol even was. I was never someone who had to drink every day or in the mornings or alone or any of the other movie depictions of alcoholism, but I also wasn’t normal either, I blacked out fully when I drank too much, I was never honest about how drunk I was, and I would feel the pourover hangxiety for a full week following a big night out. There’s so much I miss about it while being so simultaneously dedicated to never touching it again because I think it would eventually ruin my life. But, for a period of time…it was so awesome. It was also what I needed sometimes, wiggling through the awkwardness and harshness of high school, making hall friends in a dorm room filled with red solo cups freshman year of college, the liquid courage to be soft and silly when Ben and I first started seeing each other, hopping around the spots of Dundee and St. Andrews, and eventually into Glasgow where I spent so much of my time in pubs and clubs. I have had some of the best nights of my life drinking, and rather than wallow about how I’ll never experience that feeling again or spin out about how bad everything was, I’d like to think fondly back to that time while knowing much better nights and days and moments exist in my future. 

Last night I walked home alone from Clinton Hill. I don’t know how intentional the decision to not listen to music was, but I kept it up the whole time. The streets were empty, even their ghosts keeping quiet. I could hear each of my uneven steps, the burning of tobacco and paper, even the rat chewing on a metallic potato chip bag. The lack of any cars on the road made for a seamless journey, no need for walking signs or red lights, plus most of the walk was on one street. I haven’t been that much quiet in this city in so long, not alone at least. It struck me that it’s coming up on one year since I came back to the states from Scotland, and in March it will mark one year of me being in New York, and also my 6 months sober. It was like the peace of this walk in such a fucking loud city allowed me to realize, for the first time, that I have grown this year, but much larger than that was the sudden assurance that I will keep on growing, that I am not set in my ways, that I can work on the things I don’t like about myself, that I can show up for and support the people I love, that I can really examine the parts of myself I fear and someday come out the version of myself I wanted to be as a kid. All of a sudden I’m running. My shoes are more like glorified socks in this ballet shoe climate, and just this past Sunday I slipped on ice in these things but still, I am running. I run past a group of men (first people I’ve encountered) outside of a smoke shop on Bedford and, through my strides and my huffing, hear one of them yell, “Go Cinderella, go!” and the rest burst into laughter. They are for sure clowning me but I am on invincible mode because for some reason I am running home and it feels awesome. This is not some main character moment, I am under no illusion that I look cool or hot or inspiring- I am 5’2” in Carharts and a big parka running at a 10:30/11 min pace, probably just looking like I’m scared of getting robbed. But for the rest of that journey home I had no anxiety, no existential dread, no thoughts of being not good enough, no feeling of being wrong, no sense of aimlessness. I just felt the quietness, the lights changing around me, the in-my-bodiness of getting to my apartment, autopilot off. It was awesome.

Heyyyyyy guuuyyyyyysss……

Right so I talked a big game about writing weekly and learning how to grieve and healing and all to just stop after a month, I get that. Did you guys remember this thing? If so you've all been very nice about it, not questioning me about my absence. 

There was no conscious decision to stop writing. It was a mix of the classics: 1. Life getting too busy and 2. Concentrating on grief being exhausting. Also, not that I am now, but back in August I was especially not in the right headspace to launch into everything I set out to. Since my last posts things have changed in many ways. I stopped drinking on September 13, I started with a new therapist (who’s queer and brown!!) a week later, I visited Ben and Ben visited me, I've tapped into teendom and can dance wildly while sober, my creative community has grown, I’ve learned more about my boundaries and capacities, the city has started to feel much, much smaller and cozier by the minute. The seasons changed and my fever broke and I’ve been feeling goood. I’ve been feeling more in charge of my own life than I have felt in a very long time <3 

And amongst all this joy and glee there is always grief. Ben and I’s three year anniversary was on December 15th, it was the first anniversary we have spent apart but it felt okay because I’m starting to feel like 2023 might be the last year of distance. I had a lovely day making him a video and getting ready for a concert with my roommates, but Caroline kept on popping into my head, all day. It’s not like I don’t love thinking about Caroline, I do, I just like to be in charge of when it occurs (control provides me with the illusion that grieving is getting easier). On the 15th I just couldn’t stop thinking about how Caroline would never know Ben and Ben would never know Caroline, and it just made me so sad to think about these absolutes. And then this domino chain of absolutes started like, Caroline will never be 24, she will always be 18…and I am so far from 18 but feel so close to her still…it’s somehow almost been 7 years? And it’s just like, how can I be happy about all the ways my life, all the ways I am shifting and changing and growing when all of that just means being further and further from a time when my best friend was alive and we were catching up over soups at Meli Melo? But then, of course, to stay in a time where Caroline was still around would be to stay in a time where Ben isn’t, where I am so much smaller, where my world is so limited. So, of course, we must persist through the pain of being alive after our friends have died, or we will rot along with them. 

It’s hard to feel joy in the presence of such pain but I’ve done it and I feel guilt every day. I feel the need to shower after spending hours on my little Christmas gifts just to turn on the news and see that Gaza’s death toll has reached 20,000. I mean that, I really do, it makes me feel physically sick. Do the people who dont seem to care about this genocide understand that? I’m not just talking about Gaza because I think it’s a woke thing to do, I’m talking about Gaza because I can’t stop thinking about it, grieving for it, wanting so badly to help more than I can. I have told friends that I am not feeling supported by them, and they have responded very kindly and thoughtfully and with an abundance of love, but it’s hard to come up with any ways I want to be supported, other than wanting the people I love to be vocal and unapologetic while demanding a ceasefire in Gaza, whether this be through showing up at protests or boycotting or posting on Instagram or just talking to their families about liberation at Christmas Dinner. I have (unsuccessfully) tried to hold back on throwing all of my own personal thoughts on Gaza previously, as I prefer resharing what those affected most want to share, but at this point I feel like I’m yelling to an abyss, “IF YOU’RE NOT GONNA CARE ABOUT PALESTINE AT LEAST CARE ABOUT ME”! 

I really don’t get it like, almost everyone I grew up with is Irish Catholic and loves talking about their family roots so can you guys please learn about the long history of Irish and Palestinian solidarity? Can the pro-life biddies make a statement about 9,000 dead babies? Can my feminist queens pay attention to the emotional and physical warfare happening against women while they try not to get bombed while burying their children? Can someone be radical enough to care about brown men being murdered? I’m getting carried away and perhaps being rude but it’s pretty hard to hold so much grief, the type of grief that needs to be held across many hands and used to organize and mobilize, while so many people in my life turn their heads instead of grabbing on.

On the topic of Irish Catholics I’ve been thinking of Saoirse too, of course, (always). But those lucky enough to have followed her on Instagram in 2016 (we are so blessed), probably remembers that hard as fucking nails photo of her at the Women’s March in D.C.- she’s standing at the top of a light pole, holding a cardboard sign, screaming at the TOP of her lungs. I think it got printed in a Boston newspaper and if it did, someone PLEASE send it to me, it’s probably my favorite photo of her. Since October, I’ve learned a lot of people’s solidarity does not extend to the middle east, but I hold onto that image of Saoirse so tight and I just know her ass would be at every protest, and that makes me smile. To anyone who has remained silent the past couple of months, carrying on with business as usual like there aren’t full family trees being eradicated from the planet, I really hope you decide to speak/show up, I hope you don’t have to live the rest of your life pretending to have cared, because history will remember you poorly.

I have wanted to write about all of this for awhile but didn’t out of worry I was taking up too much space, making this genocide about how its making me feel and not about the tens of thousands of people who have died, but hopefully this page was a good place to get the big feelings out of my system and I will continue to share news and resources on my Instagram. I also wanted to write this to open up communication with anyone else feeling this way <3

This was an awkward and unorganized reentry to my writing, I apologize. It’s just this time of the year I’m always feeling a lot and wanted to get that down before it slips from my head. It’s exhausting, to hold so much pain and so much joy, but I am so happy to be doing it, and sharing it with all of you. 

happy holidays & free Palestine,

maya

I was in LA for a block break, I had planned the trip a month before- I was going to spend 4 nights at USC visiting Jill, Mila, and Charlie. Less than 48 hours before my trip, Sinclair called me. She asked me if I was alone, and if I had friends close by. I remember telling her I knew it had to be something bad, and she confirmed, telling me that Brian had died. It hadn’t even been two years since Caroline died and I had lost another friend. I spoke to Jill and Mila and we all booked flights to Boston from LA. My trip there transformed into a 19 hour sleepless catchup before our early morning journeys to Boston for the funeral. 

Saoirse was in LA to feel better. I think I must have posted something about going to LA and Saoirse, who I hadn’t caught up with in a few months, responded saying she was there too. She told me she would pick me up from the airport and we could get food, then she would drop me off at USC. My Big Sister. 

I felt so free in that car. Though we hadn’t talked for a while, we fell into the blissful familiarity of family. We sang at the top of our lungs and told embarrassing stories so loudly without caring who overheard in the standstill LA traffic. She seemed so so so good. Like the sun and the slowness and the endless ocean had done their magic. We went to Kreation in Santa Monica and got acai bowls. We caught up and she asked a lot of questions about Brian. She didn’t know him but she mourned him, remarking that Deerfield kids were cursed. 

I’ve spent a long time thinking I’m cursed. I know it is the antithesis to a productive thought, dooming myself to life of believing everything bad that happens is because of me, but it’s hard not to think that way when you get the Third Phone Call. I had just gotten to my grandma’s apartment in Jacksonville forty minutes prior to The Call. August’s humidity clinging to the air. I had been in Seattle for a week, I was gonna spend a few days in Jacksonville before going to Mexico City with my dad. I came out of the bathroom to see I had a missed call from Colman, a pleasant surprise, we didn’t talk often. I called him back and he immediately asked me if I was okay, if I needed anything. Confused, I asked him what he was on about. He took a deep breath and said he assumed I had seen the news- Saoirse had been found dead, suicide. I don’t know what he said after that, I had no recollection of how long I stayed on the phone, all I remember saying is that I had to call Helen, and that I loved him, and then I hung up. 

It’s hard not to feel cursed when for the rest of my life August 1st will always be Saoirse’s death anniversary and August 2nd will always be the day Caroline would have turned [insert number older than 18].

I feel a million years old. I don’t get how I am 24 when Saoirse never got to be. She’s the older one, she was always the older one. I remember my first year at Deerfield I applied to be a peer counselor. I wasn’t athletic enough to play a sport, pretty enough to be a cheerleader, smart enough to be good at school- but I thought I would be really good at talking to people and helping them feel better. I remember putting so much pressure on that role, like I needed an established title to feel like I was worthy of being there. When I didn’t get the position, my 16-year-old sense of self started to crumble. Immediately, I called Saoirse. I remember walking into her dorm room and seeing her in bed with her arms open wide, the perfect place to collapse into tears. She held me while I sobbed and listened to all my melodramatic spiraling, giving me so much time and no judgment. When I calmed down, Saoirse told me to take a deep breath, that I do help people and didn’t need to be a peer counselor to do that, and that I could stay there as long as I wanted. She also told me I should try writing, saying that my words made her feel better so maybe they’d make me feel better. 

I don’t even know if I’m trying to write this to feel better or if that idea is moot given I know it won’t. Remembering is good, it’s important. These memories of My Big Sister Saoirse make me happy, but more than that they make me miss her, and more than anything they make me confused. She seemed so good the last time I saw her, what could have changed in four months? She wasn’t someone who liked wallowing in sadness, she always wanted to feel better and always put so much work into that. It’s so hard to outlive someone who has taught you so much and played such a pivotal role in such important years. It feels impossible to forgive myself for not being able to make Saoirse believe about herself what she made me believe about myself- that I was loved both deeply and widely, that I was far more than enough, and that I was worthy of patience and compassion. 

I don’t really know how to end this one or what purpose it serves. I guess I just wanna archive what I’m thinking about on this 4th anniversary. I know it’s a good writing practice to wrap things up at the end but I don’t feel like throwing a bunch of silver linings out there or trying to convince myself everything happens for a reason. This is a whole month of mourning, I assure you there will be opportunities to see the glass half full, but not now. Right now I just want to think about my friend who gave me so much and whom I can now give nothing to. My Big Sister who I miss so, so dearly. 

-maya

“We can no longer afford to ignore grief, to relegate it to whispered conversations, to expect folks to navigate their brokenheartedness on their own. It is neither practical, nor possible, nor humane.” -Marisa Renee Lee, Grief is Love*  

I’ve had some trouble figuring out where to go from my first post. First off, I’m feeling a little embarrassed. A little shy. Though I’ve only heard kind words from readers, I can’t help but feel this project is a little regressive. Like I’m delving back into oversharing on Tumblr at 12 and posting every thought I’ve ever had on my finsta at 15. It feels so cringe to be like, okay let me do a lot of self reflection, but only if there’s an audience! 

However, I’ve come to realize grief is all about navigating how to survive in a world without someone you love, and I don’t know how to navigate without narrativizing. I have always loved telling stories; my (old ass) cousins often reminisce about me as a three-year-old sitting them down in a circle and reciting countless tales (none of which belonged to me, as I has very few life experiences at the time- instead I retold stories my dad had told me about his youth), demanding they stayed quiet and let me get through the stories they had heard countless times. When I was a teen and fighting with my mum, I would go through sagas of personal history with whatever Internet Friend I was closest to at the time. Endless stages of past relationships live in the prison of my (locked out) finsta, a digitally archived diary available to anyone I was close with at 17. I don’t do well alone. I never have. Leave me isolated and expect utter unraveling, self destruction in full swing. Sometimes when I am telling myself stories about My Dead Friends, I slip out of the moments of laughter, I am yanked out of whatever sun soaked memory I’ve fallen into and am hit with a question that always sounds like ‘why you and not me?’.  

In my own head I can’t grieve in a way that feels meaningful because memory always feels like more of an attack than an invitation. A constant, urgent reminder that I am here and they are not. That there were texts I didn’t reply to, calls I missed, opportunities to have had one more conversation, one last ‘ily!’. I can’t sort through moments and reminisce without feeling tidal waves of guilt. 

Ocean Vuong wrote, “Ma, you once told me memory is a choice. But if you were god,  you’d know it’s a flood.”. 

But in those moments when I am with loved ones who have also lost, and we talk in that immortalizing celebration of the ones that we miss, and we get to remember naturally and freely, and we flow into the funny and the beautiful and the beginnings and the sheer power of those who are no longer with us, with perfect ease. Once given enough time, these conversations often turn to the missing, to the neverending confusion, to the rage, to the guilt- but it doesn’t feel like a tidal wave anymore. In these moments, memory turns into a welcomed flood, one that can be tamed by multiple hearts keeping the memory of another adrift. 

The private moments are the hardest to grieve. I have so much grief for each version of myself that heard the news. I was on vacation in Miami when I found out about Caroline. The next night I blacked out on Blue Raspberry Svedka because what the fuck are you supposed to do when you’re 18 and your best friend gets murdered before you remember to text her back? These are the moments I don’t yet have the words for, yet- moments that live in a scrambled replay, a constant loop I can’t quite make sense of. They’re moments that I’ve treated as easier/safer not to remember for so long, but they just keep begging and begging to be remembered and handled softly. 

For the upcoming posts, I would like to spend time telling you stories about Caroline, Brian, and Saoirse. Stories of when I knew them, and stories of how I came to know they were gone, and I want to explore new stories in which I keep on trying to know them. Thinking of the qualities I admired in them and putting them into practice in my own life and relationships. Stories of who I have been in the time since and what role each person I’ve loved and lost** has played in that.

I want you guys here with me because it’s easier for me to tell a story to an audience. If I am speaking directly to myself I tend to teeter off into a sea of self loathing lava. Especially with those moments that feel too lonely to process, moments of selfishness and failed coping, but these times feel like the things I should be looking to work through in order to grieve meaningfully, and, above that, they are the times I want nothing more than to feel less alone in. 

Also like, please know this isn’t going to be some huge gory trauma dump, nor is it gonna be my public diary. I’m not 13 anymore- I go to therapy, I have a journal practice, I’m exploring medication…this Substack isn’t gonna be my Cure All. I just hope to take the moments I’ve already been reflecting upon and creating more drawn out and polished stories. I’m a kid who loved school and oversharing on the internet- it is in my very nature to want to take the things I am thinking about and the lessons I am learning and wanting to share that with others, to be in conversation with people working through similar situations…all making each other a little less lonely. Aw man.

So please know this is as much about you as it is about me. I will be sharing my stories, but you are welcome to as well. But beyond that, if I write anything that strikes you, please tell me. Never think your grief is too small to compare, whether it be about a break up or familial estrangement or mourning younger versions of oneself, if I write anything that resonates with you please talk to me about it! We don’t have to share the same circumstances to share the same pain. I really do think if we all get to a point where we can talk about our pain and grief openly, everyone would heal exponentially better and quicker. We are all our own worst critics. I can talk myself into pure delusion if someone so much as looks at me for a second too long, how am I supposed to handle grief without people confirming I’m not losing it?

I have so much love and trust for each one of you choosing to read along. Please let me know if you would like specific content warnings, right now this page is living under the All Is Fair In Love And Grief umbrella but I am more than happy to change that if it becomes too much. Thank you for being here with me and know that I am here for you. 

love,

maya

*this book has some good parts but is kinda weirdly lib/corporate  

**this loss might account for a change in a relationship, not necessarily a death

I have lost three close friends since I turned 18. I am now 24 and just starting to recognize that I have not grieved them yet. I know I’ve begun to, and I know grief is a never ending process, but I still feel so stunted. I think, for a long time, it felt easiest not to grieve. Or to condense grief into neat chapters: funerals, wakes, and anniversaries. But I’m slowly realizing how pervasive grief is and the role it plays in my daily life. 

I can’t sleep through the night without thinking about what it would be like if I lost the people I love. It feels odd, like after Caroline and Saoirse and Brian I should know life goes on. But I hate that life goes on. I hate that the people I am meeting now don’t know all the people I have lost. I hate that I have to create space to talk about them instead of their memories living in a constant loop of conversation. I hate that they’re gone and I’m still here. 

Some days I am so scared of loss I’d rather never talk to another person ever again than deal with the possibility. Other days I am so caught up in happiness I forget my friends have died. This past August was the five year anniversary of Caroline being murdered and I didn’t remember until 5pm, once I had seen someone post on Instagram. I want to be able to live life in a way that honors the people I have loved and lost, but to move on feels like it is to abandon. Is it possible to grieve in a guilt free way? 

All of this, in the most roundabout way, is to say that I cannot grieve alone. The weight feels like it is slowly crushing me and I need help holding it up. The other day I was talking to Healy at a party and I asked if it was okay to share something about Saoirse or if that was too heavy, and Healy looked at me with loving eyes reiterating, “I love talking about her”. I love talking about the people I have lost so much, like it’s keeping them alive, but it can be so hard to look at another person and talk of so much joy and pain all at once. If grief really is love with no place to go, I want to start putting it here. I want to start writing about those (people, places, times) that are no longer with me, even writing to them. In exploring my own grief on this page, I hope that any readers who have loved and lost feel less alone in their endeavors, and if anyone would ever like to write a piece to be shared, I am more than happy to add to this never ending grief journal. When we talk about the people we have lost we bring them back to life. Our memories are so powerful, they have to be shared. 

Thank you to anyone and everyone who reads this and comes back to this page as I work through grief with love and nostalgia. Your company means the world to me. 

-maya