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Chasing the Narratives in Rock Music

Jessica Hopper’s latest book spotlights her writing on the biggest names in rock to the smallest up and comers from her beloved Chicago.

The book’s revised and expanded edition pops with sharpness and color

The First Collection of Criticism by a Living Female Rock Critic

More than a critic, Jessica Hopper is a storyteller. The First Collection of Criticism by a Living Female Rock Critic displays this time and time again. She dives into her pieces not only as a journalist, but as a fan, making it clear even in the introduction–her 2002 essay “I Have a Strange Relationship with Music”–that she’s not impartial. Hopper has a voice that demands to be heard. Music is everything to her, and not in the typical way. “It is strange by virtue of what I need from it,” the journalist confesses, “having developed such a desperate belief in the power of music to salve and heal me, I ask big, over and over again.” This piece begins as an analysis of Van Morrison’s T.B. Sheets. Hopper professes her love for the album and then dives into an illustration of the miraculous power of rock music. She shows her devotion to exploring its meaning through her work as a critic: “the exhaustive chronicling of what it is that artists possess that we mere mortals do not.” 

This job description is a gutsy and possibly over-the-top statement from her earliest days. But even then Hopper was doing far more than just chronicling. She started conversations about the treatment of women in underground rock scenes through her piece “Emo: Where the Girls Aren’t.” She tackled harrowing tales that weren’t getting enough attention in “The “Stomach-Churning” Sexual Assault Accusations Against R. Kelly.” She even disclosed stories from her teenage years about the journey to her musical awakening through Bikini Kill in her essay “Louder Than Love: My Teenage Grunge Poserdom.”

The latter showcases Hopper’s greatest strength: putting herself in the narrative. Personal anecdotes and opinions saturate the pages, somehow in a way that adds to her credibility. She grew up in the world of punk and rock and she is just as dedicated as ever to uncovering the stories inside it, especially those of women who weren’t always given a voice. “It Was Us Against Those Guys” tells the story of the six women who formed the first Copy and Research Department for Rolling Stone in the 70s, led by Marianne Partridge. “A galvanizing feminist force, Partridge deputized these ambitious young women to turn Rolling Stone into a true journalistic endeavor: a credible music magazine.” Hopper blended their interviews in order to tell their important and often overlooked story. Her resolve to bestow their long overdue credit flowed into an empowering chronicle of determination in the face of sexism.

Hopper also fights to give a voice to the modern woman. “Cat Power is Doing Just Fine” deconstructs the idea that an artist’s well-being should be measured by their ability to entertain and perform. “Kacey Musgraves, Janelle Monae, and the Year of the Woman… Again” applauds the female artists who were able to control the top of the charts in 2019. “A Woman Every Hour” questions why there aren’t more women in country music; it’s certainly not for lack of talent. Radio stations don’t play female country, so record labels don’t sign them, and then festivals can’t book them because there isn’t enough fame attached to their names. “All of this, as both artists and activists attest, has created an environment in which women are locked out of opportunities and subject to systemic discrimination and barriers, and one in which a growing pool of talented young women are pitted against one another,” Hopper reports with an appetite for change.

She has no patience for those who maintain or defend the status quo. This is even more prominent in “The Silver Lining Myth.” After the 2016 presidential election, many people were desperate to find a bright side to the dismal reality. One misguided mindset involved the idea that Trump’s presidency would somehow improve the production of music during that time. “Punk will rise up and ‘be good again,’ pop will get ‘real,’ gain meaning, become explicitly political.” Hopper shut this down in no uncertain terms, calling out the perspective for what it really is: “indifference to the plight of others and to the many possible ways by which Trump’s presidency threatens to ruin lives.” She isn’t afraid of getting political. Hopper follows her sense of justice to every corner of the music industry.

Another topic she tackles the merits of numerous times is selling-out. She shoots down re-releases put out by Fleetwood Mac, Dinosaur Jr., Sonic Youth, and Nirvana because they reek of a thinly veiled cash-grab. She demolishes Sonic Youth, avowing that “buying the whole new Daydream Nation nostalgia package, and the late-’80s/early-’90s nostalgia-fest in general, feels pathetic–as if the only way to sandbag against encroaching obsolescence is with our wallets.” She similarly shuts down the twentieth-anniversary box set of Nevermind, asking ““Does anyone imagine that kids deafened by two decades of increasingly shitty mastering and overcompression will even be able to hear the difference…”? Hopper’s realness and wit combine to form engaging reads that attempt to hold artists accountable to their fans. Her evocative vocabulary and industry insight allow her to unmask those she deems to be aging frauds.

She isn’t afraid to attack larger institutions either. “Punk Is Dead! Long Live Punk!” gives an account of her summer following the Vans Warped tour in 2004. From its secretive set-times to its menacingly methodical layout, the Warped tour was always meant to squeeze every penny it could from the expendable income of its teenage attendees. Hopper wasted no time breaking down the corporate practices poorly hidden under the guise of a purely punk festival. And she made sure to put a spotlight on the few bands with a true rock-and-roll essence, namely Juliette & the Licks and Mean Reds, while she was at it. Hopper is always on a mission to find music that moves her.

As a result she was quite adamant about boycotting Lollapalooza despite it taking place in her hometown, publishing a retort titled “Not Lollapalooza.” The whimsical festival grounds may elicit feelings of excitement and community at first, “but the idea that mega-festivals somehow create ad hoc communities out of their mega-crowds–an idea likely owed to Woodstock–is ridiculous. The only thing everybody at Lollapalooza has in common is the willingness to be painfully gouged for a ticket.” Not at all worth it when Chicago has so much else to offer. Hopper recalled some of the most moving shows by no-name artists that she had attended. Rollin Hunt, Screaming Females, and Abe Vigoda had given her far more meaningful experiences than a festival full of drunk teens ever would. The underground scene breeds connection, “in the basement, you can feel the band’s humanity as well as your own.”

Reading Hopper’s compilation in succession certainly gave way to larger themes and ideas. Her articles work together to put rock music on display: its culture, contributors, and concerns. But despite this, there are certainly weaknesses in the book’s structure. Each individual piece comes across as thought out and captivating, but they fit together like a puzzle that was jammed into place. The book is broken up into nine different sections, each with four to eight articles that span numerous lengths, publishers, and decades. The themes of each section range from places to feelings to juxtaposing ideologies. Certainly more creative than laying out her articles chronologically but not all of the fifty-six articles feel quite in the right place. 

The first section, Chicago, left me hopeful. The deep love and understanding that Hopper has of her city is engaging and leads to passionate writing. But so much of her writing centers around Chicago it begs the question of why those articles were chosen to represent the city and others were swept into broader categories like Strictly Business or Personal/Political. A similar argument could be made for the final section of the book, She Said, given that a large portion of her writing also focuses on empowering female artists.

That being said, The First Collection of Criticism by a Living Female Rock Critic is overall an engrossing and informative read. It aptly achieves its goal of highlighting the best so far of Jessica Hopper. Her journalism goes above and beyond, covering superstars to up-and-comers and treating them all with the same level of care and respect. Whether she’s writing Sufjan Stevens a letter on his misconceptions of the state of Illinois or analyzing a photograph of Lady Gaga in the airport, she can make a compelling story out of anything. The structure of the book can be overlooked. Besides, with a career as long and fruitful as she’s had, Hopper can’t be blamed for having too much work to organize neatly and nicely. She’s far too busy tackling the patriarchy and moshing in Chicago basements to worry about playing by the rules.

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Where’d All the Time Go

2024 will mark the 25th anniversary of Dr. Dog. That’s their 175th anniversary in dog years.

The Philly-based band poses to promote their 2018 album, Critical Equation.

The band known today as Dr. Dog began in 1999 as the psych-pop side-experiment of college students Toby Leaman and Scott McMicken, who were both playing in their old band Raccoon at the time. Leaman and McMicken had been making music together since middle school, always preferring to write their own music rather than cover existing tracks. This passion stayed with them as they grew and met other musical minds. Zach Miller was the next significant member to join the group, attending West Chester University alongside the two frontmen and adding keys to their respective guitar and drums. The band underwent several lineup changes throughout the years but at its core consists of Leaman, McMicken, Miller, Frank McElroy, guitarist who joined in 2006, and Eric Slick, who became the band’s drummer in 2010.

Their earliest works, compiled on the album The Psychedelic Swamp, was self recorded and released back in 2001, but wasn’t available on streaming services until it was refined and rereleased in 2016. It was their second album, Toothbrush, of 2003, that helped get them discovered. It differed greatly from the trippy amusements they had put out just two years prior. The sophomore album contains dreary blues tunes that float along rivers of backup harmonies and harmonica such as, “I Can’t Fly,” and soft guitar ballads like, “Mystery to Me” and “County Line.” After listening to Toothbrush, Jim James of My Morning Jacket ended up inviting Dr. Dog to join them on their next two tours.

This allowed Dr. Dog to break out of the local Philly music scene and gain more of a national audience. They continued to tour and drop new music including 2005’s Easy Beat, 2007’s We All Belong, and 2008’s Fate. Around the same time they began to get slots on late-night talk shows with David Letterman, Conan O’Brian, and Jimmy Fallon, as well as book larger festival gigs, performing at Coachella in 2009. 

It was the following years that Dr. Dog developed the sound they became known for. With 2010’s Shame, Shame, 2012’s Be the Void, and 2013’s B-Room they began to drift away from their soft melodies and fading train-of-thought lyrics and add more rock and alternative elements. Shame, Shame tells tales of accepting mediocrity, getting fed up with loneliness, and the myriad of ways that things are not always as they seem. The title track begins a melancholy pity party and swells into a strenuous confrontation of the self. However, it’s “Where’d All the Time Go?” that not only steals the show on this album but goes on to be their most popular song to this day. The glimmering opening chords lull into wavering verses that trail off into dejected truths. The song builds until it breaks, electric guitar crying out until its, as the last line voices, “gone in the blink of an eye.” Pitchfork’s Zach Kelly found the album to be, “arguably the band’s finest moment. As if working in reverse, the band is finally making terse, jaunty chamber-pop and folk-inflected rock collages that would suggest the work of a younger, wide-eyed outfit.” The years of honing their sound were worth it, as the next album hit almost as hard.

Be the Void tackles similar themes of helplessness towards time and conditions of isolation, but does it with a cavalier, lofty acceptance and more hints of classic rock. Even though critics failed to fall in love this time, the album certainly remains a fan favorite, with hit tracks “How Long Must I Wait,” “Lonesome,” and “That Old Black Hole.” The songs are full harmonies built on joyous comradery and countless twists on classic cliches. Ironically, their song “Be the Void,” wasn’t ready to drop with its namesake album, not getting published until later in the year on their EP Wild Race. 

The following album, B-Room, brings yet another change in sound. It is joyous and brassy, with bright, danceable melodies such as “Nellie” and jumpy, playful tunes like “Distant Light.” Even though the lyrics revolve around inner quandaries and worries, singing of broken hearts and downward spirals, hope and happiness rule this album. There may still be dark clouds ahead, but as Scott McMicken belts out with radiance to finish up the opening track, “let the rain fall.”

Dr. Dog’s 10th and most recent full length album was put out over five years ago in 2018, titled Critical Equation. They had become largely a touring band for the most part, dropping surprise album Abandoned Mansion on bandcamp in 2017, but not much else in the middle. Yet during this time they failed to fine-tune their sound as they had in the past. As Chris Ingalls of PopMatters article put it, “If you’re a Dr. Dog fan and love what they do, chances are you won’t be disappointed. But more critical listeners may hear these songs and feel there’s something lacking.” There are moments that shine, such as the serenity filled verses on “Buzzing in the Light,” but the album as a whole lacks a coherent feel. The rhythms feel repetitive and the sound lacks depth. Even as a longtime fan, I found myself a little disappointed.

Critical Equation was followed up the subsequent year with two more singles published as Critical 7”. Since then, there hasn’t been much from Dr. Dog. They announced their final tour in 2021, not necessarily disbanding, but they wouldn’t be touring with the frequency their fans had grown accustomed to.So what’s happened during this hiatus? 

It’s given the members a chance to pursue individual projects. 2022 brought a six track EP from Toby Leaman titled Military Applications. Leaman dazzles in the spotlight he usually shares with McMicken. Each song explores not just a different tone but a different genre altogether. John Vettese of WXPN notes that, “these six songs show his eclectic array of sonic leanings, from rootsy soul to heady dub, his ever-gruff vocal cutting through the mix with warm and uplifting melodies.” He is joined on the drums by fellow canine Eric Slick. Leaman hit the stage with these tunes as an opener for Alex G, who coincidentally had opened for Dr. Dog on their 2018 tour.

Scott McMicken was no stranger to solo projects, putting out his own LP in 2016. However, this time around he used his freedom to collaborate with a new group. In March of this year he put out the album Shabang as the head of Scott McMicken and THE EVER-EXPANDING. Full of folksy vocals, jazzy trumpets, and bluesy guitar riffs, the album sounds experimental yet familiar. In “Letters to the Editor,” McMicken solemnly begs a newspaper to help him make a last-ditch grand gesture, and in “Reconcile” he plays with the idea of inevitable forgiveness. The sound is certainly Dr. Dog adjacent at times, but different enough that McMicken can call the project his own.

Drummer Eric Slick has kept busy as well, aside from his aforementioned collaboration with Leaman. In 2019 he put out the album Palisades, followed by Wiseacre in 2020. The two share many similarities, but the latter has a notably softer touch and more introspection. In “Quarantine,” Slick compares himself to that year’s infamous disease and sings of pushing others away. “Closer to Heaven” shimmers and flows, a surprisingly pleasing mix of classical strings and distorted guitar. Slick also worked with Bartees Strange, Finom, and Anjimile on a couple songs in 2021. Though his most recently released work is his cover of The Flaming Lips song “Riding to Work in the Year 2025,” which he took pride in getting a blessing to perform. Slick’s independent work certainly shows the most range of his bandmates.

On November 13th, Dr. Dog announced that they’ll be playing a show at Red Rocks on July 18th, 2024. The Fruitbats will be opening. “And that’s the whole plan at this moment. No more shows are in the works right now. But we are very happy to announce Red Rocks and we hope you can join us. That would be fun,” the band shared with their mailing list, careful not to cause any further speculation. The show sold out during the artist-presale, fans clearly unwilling to miss what could be their last chance to see this alt-rock Philly band.



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Exquisite Class

The semester concludes too soon. By year’s end, we will have written around 250 pages on music.

The thirteen-headed dragon of Ezra’s Ear took their class photo at the beginning of Fall semester.

After tackling topics from Doja Cat’s demonic music video to Bad Bunny’s lavish SNL performance (and even the merits of Daft Punk’s drumless re-release), the writers of Ezra’s Ear join forces one last time. All come from different breaths and winds of life, seeking to mark out what makes this class so special. With David’s unwavering and persistent commitment to exposing everyone to both a wide variety of journalists and ways of thinking about music, the class’ growth was exponential. The sky was never meant to be the limit in MUSIC2311, for we ventured down a myriad of paths: critically analyzing the courageous yet crass diction of journalists like Greg Tate and the vulnerable heartfelt words of Hanif Abdurraqib all while melding makeshift playlists together in a 75 minute time span. From the 19th century criticism to late breaking album reviews, we transcended and traversed time to learn from masters of the field. Our collaborative playlists and rounds of Exquisite Corpse have helped foster an inclusive and roundabout community of emerging musical journalists. In these quippy 10-minute snaps you’ll find the essence of this class; liberating, galvanising, innovating, energising and nourishing. For many, this class is the highlight of their day, and most of that is due to the passion that David exhibits for his course material, as well as the genuineness of the man as a person. We can only hope to channel David’s infectious energy as we enter new chapters of our lives, graced with a skillset only educable via the Warbler. 

Where will we go next? New York City, London, Los Angeles? No matter where we end up our hearts will remain in Lincoln Hall, room 124.



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Exquisite Corpse: MONACO by Bad Bunny

In this series of lightning reviews, our staff splits into three groups of four. Pen in hand, each writer dashes off a line then passes the paper to the left for the next person to continue. Here are some of our four-sentence frolics.  

After a quick trip to the beach, Bad Bunny is back at SNL with the blazing fast track “Monaco.” As he compares himself with modern day greats, he throws around his own fame. It seems he doesn’t want to be a part of the race. Bad Bunny is living his best life as he is raising his champagne without worrying about it splashing. Will the champagne stay in place or will it run out faster than the cars he dusted in the race? – ALMEIDA, LEVY, MOINI, OSPINA

Not since the Vienna Philharmonic did SNL—it didn’t—have so many men untroubled by women been the comedy show’s musical act. Bad Bunny enraptured the audience with a showy performance of his hit song, Monaco. Surrounded by masked men in suits raising their glasses, presumably to Bad Bunny’s success, the entire performance engages the audience in an almost sadistic way: We are all out of Bad Bunny’s tax bracket and he’d like to remind us of it. It’s not just the Monaco Grand Prix that drives his layered beard and libido, but also the prospect of a tax haven with great beaches and maximum exposure. –CHIEDU, LEE, YEARSLEY

After his performance on SNL, Bad Bunny is the talk of the town (Monaco) – and he knows it. With the utmost swagger, he melodically raps in Spanish over a violin infused trap beat that gives audiences no choice but to bump their heads along. He demands attention with minimal movement, leaning back on the couch as he describes his lavish life. A lesser artist would look foolish trying to sell themself with that much class and sex-appeal, but this global popstar sells it and more: he belongs in the fastlane. –GOLDBERG, MANOS, NELSON, THAREJA

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Courtney Barnett Softens Her Sound

The indie-rock icon dials it back for two transfixing and memorable sets.

Barnett’s accompanied by Warpaint’s Stella Mozgawa for her straight runthrough of End of the Day

As I eagerly walked into National Sawdust, the first thing that struck me about the Brooklyn venue was how small the space was. Droning tones mixed with bird calls echoed in the intimate, chic space as audience members trickled in. 

Only a few hundred fans were able to score tickets. This choice of location had nothing to do with the Australian indie-songwriter’s ability to sell out a stadium. Last summer, thousands of devotees, myself included, flocked to a small town outside Syracuse called Lafayette to see her perform. There’s no doubt she could have reached similar numbers in New York City. It was a conscious and admirable choice to handpick venues such as the rustic Vermont church she played on the previous night of her tour, prioritizing audience experience over profit. Her first set of the night featured the experimental instrumentals off her latest album, End of the Day, performed with collaborator Stella Mozgawa. These songs are best listened to in a personal setting.

I lined up at the back of the forming crowd as the opener, Anjimile, strolled on stage. They’ve played in Ithaca before, headlining a concert put on by Cornell’s own Fanclub Collective back in 2019. But this setting suited him far better than a co-op basement. A soft pink light illuminated the white wall behind them as they greeted the audience with a gentle voice. He appeared nervous while speaking to the crowd but quickly found their footing as soon as they started to sing. Their songs were full of smooth drawn-out notes that he delivered eyes closed, deep in emotional concentration. Alone on the stage with just a guitar to support them, Anjimile’s ethereal voice poured out odes to family and anthems for the Black and trans communities he represents. One standout was “1978,” a heavenly melody dedicated to their grandmother, whom they had never had the chance to meet. Despite their physical paths not crossing, Anjimile sang of the care he felt from her and the unbreakable bond their spirits shared, crooning, “bold and bright, I could fall asleep in your love.” 

After their set, the lovely sentiment of Anjimile’s lyrics stuck with me as Courtney Barnett and Stella Mozgawa came out, giving the audience a brief wave before promptly heading to their stations. Barnett took a seat with her guitar and Mozgawa positioned herself behind her table of synths and controls. The two then looked at one another, clearly able to communicate without words, and dove into their performance. Or rather, they eased in steadily, Mozgawa contributing a light shimmering chord who’s dynamic slowly increased with painstaking precision, and Barnett adding rippling hints of guitar. Projected on the geometric shapes that made up the wall behind them was a serene visual accompaniment depicting Barnett meandering through the mountainside in a royal blue rain jacket. 

As I peered around the heads in front of me, I saw to my surprise that on some tracks Barnett was playing her guitar by tapping a pencil against the strings. This produced a consistently clean chord and allowed more attention to be devoted to the timing and volume of each harmony. The flowing sounds and seemingly serendipitous fusions of the synth and the six string were played with intense care, generating a shared reflective atmosphere. The air around me felt light and full of energy. I lost myself in thought as my mind pursued ever-trailing thoughts, echoing the meandering guitar chords traversing the strange universe of Mozgawa’s synth. 

I then found myself pulled back to reality, transfixed as Barnett changed tactics yet again, opting to bow her instrument. The sinuous sounds rocked my body back and forth while Mozgawa modulated her controls meticulously. I watched on the projector as Barnett summited a peak and stood facing over a ledge. Wind blew back the curls of her wolf-cut and I almost felt like I could feel the breeze. The set wound to a close as the pair finished “Eternity Repeat,” the final song on End of the Day. 

After the applause died down the crowd was largely silent, processing any remaining thoughts or feelings stirred up by the performance. I was still in a haze when Courtney Barnett walked back on stage, this time alone, addressing the audience for the first time that night with a warm hello and praise for Anjimile and Stella Mozgawa. She opened her second set with “Rae Street,” the first song off of her feel-good 2021 album, Things Take Time, Take Time. Barnett approached the stripped back version of the tune in an even more speak-sing manner than usual. It sounded almost like a spoken-word poem given over the mellow strum of her guitar. 

The famously shy musician bantered with the audience in between numbers, a possible side effect of the more intimate setting. Barnett encouraged the audience to sing along with her, “especially on the high notes,” she joked. The crowd complied, even on her wordy tongue twister of a tune, “Avant Gardener,” her breakout single which tells the tale of a cultivation-induced asthma attack. The audience reverberated the words back at her, and Barnett fed off of their energy.

The set peaked with “Sunday Roast,” a mellow, heartwarming piece about supporting and showing up for the ones you love. Barnett chose to dedicate it to everyone in the audience who was having a hard week. Though the lyrics are quite simple, they sound profound coming from their kind and earnest vocalist. She serenaded the crowd, “keep on keeping on, you know you’re not alone / And I know all your stories but I’ll listen to them again.” The crowd echoed back to Barnett, “you’re not alone,” as the backup vocals do on the recorded version of the track, causing her to smile charmingly. She felt the love that we were sending back to her.



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The Fall Creek Brass Band Stole the Show at this Year’s Porch Fest

Fall Creek was serenaded by its musical namesake in this lively autumn concert

The band’s dynamic charm attracted listeners into an ever tightening circle

This past September, as Ithaca’s porch fest drew to a close, I geared up for one last performance. I had arrived early at Thompson Park in high anticipation for what was sure to be the best act of the day: the Fall Creek Brass Band. I had seen them once before as a part of Ithaca’s summer concert series and had been itching to experience them again. Elated to get the chance, I watched as all fifteen members of the group set up their instruments and warmed up. In the background, I could hear another porch fest performer finishing up their set at the park’s neighboring cafe, Gimme Coffee. This other band was Microbes Mostly, a student punk group from Cornell, a very different sound from the jazzy melodies of the local Brass Band. That’s part of what I love so much about porch fest, it’s a day that celebrates all music and gives everyone a stage (or a porch). As I had wandered around earlier that day I had seen an angelic harp performance, an electric rock group, and even a medieval sounding recorder trio. 

But none of them could compare to what I was about to hear. One of the members of the band picked up a megaphone in front of him and shouted out their introduction to the crowd. He raved about porch fest and how it was one of their favorite gigs to play, and wrapped it up by asking, “are you guys ready to dance?” The crowd cheered as they broke into their first song, a light, animated piece played largely in unison, with the occasional solo. During certain accented and drawn out notes, the entire band would bend down together as they played it, adding a visual aspect to the performance. Though even without their choreographed synchronicity the Fall Creek Brass Band is certainly a sight to see. Their spectacular monogrammed emerald sousaphones and the sheer size of the ensemble are enough to captivate anyone’s attention. 

The crowd began to sway and shuffle its feet, immediately energized by the passionate rhythms and spirited performance of the band. By the start of the second song, dancers had begun to move into the empty ring of space directly in front of the band, twirling their partners or grooving to a beat of their own. A group of children watched from the branches of a neighboring tree. The once sparse audience still on the ground was now packed and full of life. Despite being under the weather, I couldn’t help but move to the music. 

Not every number was a fast tempoed track with quick licks. “High Fructose Horn Syrup” had a thick texture upheld by sustained low notes from the sousaphones. The almost gluttonously rich rhythm was passed from the baritone saxophone to the trombones until everyone had dropped out except the percussion section and a trumpet soloist. His instrumpet shouted, climbing into a higher register that soared sweetly past my ears and into my soul. 

After showcasing their masterfully hypnotic tones, the band brought in a more playful tune titled “Don’t Step In the Hole.” In this fun piece, they give themselves a comical challenge in the chorus, extending the rest by one additional beat before the last note is played each time it comes back around. By the end of the song, they have to count out seven beats of rest in their heads to ensure that they “don’t step in the hole” by coming back in too soon. Audience members can take part in this game by pausing their dancing during these charged moments of silence, attempting to hold off their next move until the band comes back in, wailing in unison. Towards the end of their set, the Brass Band put aside their jazz covers and originals for some pop classics. The crowd sang along as the band put their spin on the Backstreet Boys’ “Everybody,” Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now,” and Lady Gaga’s “Paparazzi.” The songs’ familiarity reinvigorated its listeners, especially those of younger generations. 

The band ended their performance with a snappy jazz piece that had everyone nodding their heads and moving their feet. The trumpets, trombones, and saxophones came together for crisp licks backed by a syncopated drum beat on the cymbals. Halfway through the song, the members of the band dispersed into the audience, immersing themselves in their cheering fans. This act not only unified the ensemble with the crowd but also gave each listener a unique experience. I got to focus on and appreciate the player nearest myself, a saxophonist with a shiny sound. His polished melodies sounded like a solo to me due to his proximity. The band gathered back together for the end of the tune, reuniting in time to play their all for the final notes. The crowd erupted into applause, signaling both the end of the set, as well as of porch fest. I left on a high that only comes from exceptional live music.

If you’re looking to hear the Fall Creek Brass Band play, you can find them October 28th at The Range. Dress up in your Halloween costume and experience the expressive magic of this local favorite for yourself. 

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End of the Day: An Experimental Album for Clarity and Relaxation

Courtney Barnett’s latest album leaves behind the catchy melodies and witty lyrics she’s known for and charts new territory with striped back sounds and hypnotic repetition. 

    Album cover for End of the Day

Courtney Barnett is no stranger to the soft strum of a guitar or a slow tempo. While she may be known for her indie-rock classics such as “Avant Gardener” or “Pedestrian At Best,” Barnett has been writing ballads since her first EP was released in 2014. But songs off her newest album, End of the Day, evoke a sense of peacefulness and wonder like no other song off her discography has before. Originally recorded to accompany her 2021 documentary Anonymous Club, this instrumental album found a life of its own when it was released earlier this month with a biophilic visual accompaniment. No vocals to be found, this album is carried solely by the aesthetic reverberations of Barnett’s guitar and the gratifying synth tones and percussion of Stella Mozawa, fellow collaborator on this soundtrack.

When heard in the background of Anonymous Club, the songs off of End of the Day fit almost flawlessly with the sensations stirred up by Barnett’s intimate video-diaries. In the documentary, fans are given a close up of her life on tour, her creative process, and the mental toll of having fame magnify her insecurities. The Guardian’s Giselle Au-Nhien Nguyen described it as, “so intensely personal it almost borders on claustrophobic, as we enter the anxious mind of one of Australia’s most loved contemporary rock musicians.” There’s a reason that the soundtrack is able to authentically capture Barnett’s wandering, melancholy mind. It was improvised to a final-cut of the film, allowing the songs to evoke the precise emotions Barnett is feeling in each scene.

Just released on streaming platforms, the captivating power of the melodies maintain their weight even outside their original purpose. The opening track is “Start Somewhere.” It begins with a wavering yet ever growing pitch that sucks you in while simultaneously throwing you off balance. The guitar comes in and out, never acting as more than a hovering buzz or a wandering thought. The tune holds a distant feeling of longing when the texture thins to quivering chords, but keeps a sense of hope alive by never going fully silent. “Start Somewhere” flows effortlessly into “Life Balance.” In this song, each guitar note is accented and sustained, yet the space between them feels devastatingly empty. The pulses behind them are grainier and have lost the dream-like quality they held just one song prior.

Slight changes like these are able to completely shift the tone while keeping the songs minimalistic and cohesive. They fit so seamlessly that noticing a change in my own mood was the only signal that a new song had begun. Sustained notes flow from one song to the next, essentially making the album appear to be one forty minute song to the unknowing ear. This aspect makes the soundtrack perfect for meditation, the calming yet thought-provoking pulses and unbroken melodies make it almost inevitable to slip into deep contemplation. 

Shows on Courtney Barnett’s upcoming tour, beginning October 11th, will each feature two sets from versatile guitarist. One with the instrumental music from End of the Day and the other with songs from the rest of her music catalog. The two sets will be sure to provide both a holistic image of the musician as well as summon a contrasting set of emotions from its audience. The peaceful, spiritual moment brought on by End of the Day will give way to a rock concert that the crowd will have to quickly switch gears to enjoy.

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Turkey Vultures: A Song for Emotional Release

When I think back on new music I’ve discovered this year, one band immediately comes to mind: Wednesday. More specifically, the song “Turkey Vultures” off of their latest album Rat Saw God. There’s something that captivates me as soon as I hear the first note of the piece, no matter how many times I listen. The song fades in with a slow tempo and a sparse, thin texture. Two soft strums of a guitar are all that proceed lead singer Karly Hartzman’s opening line, “Turkey vultures gather in the yard, oh Lord.” Each syllable is enunciated and drawn out, taking an entire beat to itself. They’re syncopated against guitar in the background, giving the song more of a sense of movement. Hartzman’s voice is melancholy and wavers at the end of each line, immediately setting a troubling tone and invoking a faint sense of longing in myself. 

This feeling grows with each line, and becomes increasingly intense as percussion joins, eighth notes on the bass drum. Simultaneously, the tempo starts to pick up and the lyrics become more anxiety producing as Hartzman belts out haunting imagery about her own mental anguish. Her voice raises in volume, wailing by the end of the line, “I tether myself three feet from me. I do not feel my ugly body.” By the end of the song the sound becomes full and chaotic. It ends with an instrumental that fades into a screeching guitar. 

The song is masterfully written and fervidly devastating in a way that provides emotional release. If you’re looking to get distraught over a thinly connected string of gloomy revelations then this is the song for you.