May Show Notes

Special Edition: Guest Writer Takeover

I kept getting pissed off about New York while I was in France last week. Usually it’s the opposite, I’m annoyed at French people in New York constantly. In this Le Dive dystopia, Occupied Chinatown is flooded with Parisians, many of whom complain about New York nonstop. “It would never be like this in France”. Like, okay then why are you here? But after spending some time there, I hate to say, I get where they’re coming from (though I enjoyed my time in Marseille the most, and many Parisians would rather get a life sentence in NY than ever say anything nice/not racist about Marseille).

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:

love Jeanne’s nerd ass

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