Michael Cloud Duguay scoured the hinterlands of Newfoundland to find old church organs to compose and play on, and the result is Kingdom Come, Kingdom Go, an album that goes beyond its geographical quest to discover striking and unusual forms and textures, yet somehow stays within the serene and uplifting bounds of the devotional. Do you happen to be a fan of ponds? Because there are several pieces inspired by those dewy holes here.
The high point of my contributions to the legendary avant-garde culture site Tiny Mix Tapes was probably the opportunity to write a blurb on Ez Minzoku by Foodman in their best-of-2016 year-end review (ranked #16). Foodman is harsh and largely amelodic but somehow still charming, like a three-year-old seeing what he can get away with. But more intentional I guess. TMT didn’t survive the turn of the decade, despite the best efforts of brainy visionary Marvin Lin, and Takahide Higuchi kind of fell off my radar. But his new one HIKARIGASASHIKOMU, which translates to Light Streams In, pricked up my ears — as ever, it’s a psychedelia of molten primary color pixels , but it strays a bit more into tonality. On “Hard Reclining” it even finds — of all things — a groove.
Chelsea Wolfe is a bit of a modern day Stevie Nicks (with a similar trill in her vocal palette), knocking out witchy bangers that would be tearing up the charts if the children still listened to rock. I wish they would. Apparently she’s affected by a spooky condition called sleep paralysis. Her new one The Dark is what they refer to as “mature” work, which normally would have me running for the nearest filthy public urinals, but Mrs. Chelsea drew me under her spell within her first three minor chords. The title song is the one darkening my summer most darkly:
Follow me into these violet dreams
Rose hips and the line, it stops with me
Seeds grow in the darkness, our love glows in the darkness
In a world that feels so heartless, the light returns
Who’s this that I’ve become now?
A glimpse of what’s to come down
The line, the pathless path of sound
The stranger I become now
To be, to be the darkest thing
In the woods, in the woods, ever I'll be
To be, to be the darkest thing
In the woods, in the woods, my love, it glows
When I went to see Nick Hakim on his last tour I got there early and sat through a not-bad opening act, eager to see the king of emotionally naked make-out music, arguably the 21st century’s answer to Demis Roussos (kidding!), in the flesh. Our Nick manifested! And in short order asked the opening band to come out and join him… for a song or two I expected, but eventually I realized the lovely-I’m-sure J*** Mc*** was gonna be rooted to front stage center indefinitely. I did not come out to see your ass girl, let me have some time with my man. I ended up leaving early, heartbroken not for the first time by unwelcome intruders (cf. Kramer getting on stage and wanking all over Galaxie 500 at Bogarts back in ‘90). When the new single “I Can See” came out earlier this year it got my hackles up — who is this suspiciously female-sounding singer?? Has J*** permanently sunk her claws into the ecstatic swoon of melding flesh that is Nick Hakim??? Well actually no, that was Nick himself sinking into a warm, liquid falsetto and it’s a great song and there’s now a whole new album of such smoochiness and all is forgiven.
I can breathe, I can see
It all comes back in a mist
Then it fades away like before
I can see underneath
What you hide and what you keep
Can you keep it safely tucked and stored?
I could live out these days
With what we have, this noise parade
Please don't let it fade like before
I can live, I can give back
My love is real, it’s in your hand
'Cause I go back and forth, and you remind me, dear
When you're back in town, you know I’ll still be here
I go back and forth, and all I see is you
When you're back in town, you know I'll still be here
Me and my bestie Larry Tee were talking about the new crop of Electroclash-evoking bands (Larry launched the genre with his legendary 2001 festival in Williamsburg), and his take on Fcukers was that they do have good songs but not “the” song. I wasn’t so sure, but ultimately what takes a song to that level is how it plays in a club, which is not something I experience much or at all. Then I unpackaged the Justin Strauss remix of the already gorj “Beatback” — which is surely “the” song. Makes me wanna drop some decades off my anagraphics and treat my bootie to the sickest beach rave.
Yo, run the beat back
I wanna hear that
Yo, run the beat back
I wanna hear that
No, don’t drop it
Don’t wanna see it slow down
Don’t stop it
I wanna see it get down
On the radio
I wanna listen to the sound on the stereo
I wanna hear the sound on the radio
I wanna listen to the sound on the stereo
I wanna hear the-
The Cramps are the wildest rock band I’ve ever seen — truly legendary artists that never got anywhere near the mainstream. I’m still a little shocked when I hear the Ramones or the Buzzcocks on the PA at Trader Joe’s — they were totally underground bands in their heyday — so maybe it’s good and right that at least one does not hear “Teenage Werewolf” whilst stocking up on Pirate Booty and Charles Shaw: The Cramps are a hidden pleasure for freaks that like the strong stuff. I’m a little surprised that their earliest recording Gravest Gravy, produced by Alex Chilton of Big Star, is just coming out. It’s got a bunch of proto classics that showed up on Songs the Lord Taught Us, including a DNA-scrambling “TV Set,” featuring the ultra-violence of Bryan Gregory’s comical-terrifying guitar solo — a thing unmatched in the canon of rock guitar, criminal insanity manifesting as cartoonish, psycho-sadistic pleasure. The Gravest version is extra deranged.
Faith Leazae got a million views for her first single “Gimme a Gas Station?,” and she’s even more fun on her new album and slowgraffitti’s favorite track “Gimme a Penthouse?” — cartoonier than Tierra Whack but still raw as the ghetto. Her cadence is hilarious, nothing like the laid back rappers of yesteryear, she throws herself into squeaky teenage excitement over and over, while — as God intended — reminding you what a badass she is.
I said before coming in my penthouse, "Can you please take off your shoes?"
Unless you got on them Rickies (Rick Owens), unless you running up them pesos (Get money)
I might let you wear 'em fifty floors up, after I see you run it up in some all-black G Fazos (get dirty)
Do your dreads hang low like my chain do?
It's shining bright like the city out my window
Hating bitches can't see 'em from my window
If you pump-faking, nigga, get thrown out my window
Have you up high, take you low, you'll be winning at limbo…
Back on the ground floor, West Orlando’s 730turk is equally expressive, creating a vibe so rich you can just about smell the “Fish Grease.” He does a call and response thing between his two personalities — one cool and cutting and the other a hyper-expressive, Leazae-esque clowner. Trapculinary vol.2 (the recipe) is all drug dealer stuntin and apparently in real life he’s done quite a bit of time. He transports this tender art flower into the authentic, druggy murk of the funnest menacing gangsta party.
I got 45 bricks a month, na, that was my last weight
When them bricks come up missing, it’s gonna be a na in my ash tray
I don′t play no games with you fuck nas in this rap game
Got a living in this bitch, try′n to get these tall white stack chains
I make nas out of style like selling py on Backpage
When your money long enough, you make fake touches look like saint day
I’m a stacker, then I′m gonna teach you to hustle the same way
Na don’t try to hustle I′m probably paid the same page
Oh Lord, buy them niggas glass
Standing with the elf head
I seen that motherfer speaking like a true devil
Them nas thought they caught me with a right, caught the left hand
You know I keep that iron
It’s my life for the next name
I′m riding bulletproof, slide!
2026 has been short on true head-in-the clouds weirdos, so Tran Uy Duc is here to fill the void, straight out of Hanoi — cool right? His sound on ByyShh is feathery-gentle abstraction, mostly textured and atonal but sometimes, as on “Do It,” accidentally happening upon melody, and for the listener it comes as a precious gift when it comes. Equally appropriate for a Shimokitazawa avant-runway or a kegger at Oberlin.
We can tell you
Have met someone like me
We can tell you
Have met someone like me
We can tell you
To give me a chance
We can make you
In love again
Down the queue
Come down the queue
Do it, do it
Until you're exhausted
(I know that you're exhausted)
Give it love, give it love
Give me love, give me love
Give it love, give it love
Give me love, give me love
Explode, explode
And in conclusion a quick note about my 2025 boo Derby — he dropped by with a couple of new honey-dripping, autotuned kisses for my 2026: “Ambrosia” and “Stepping Stone.” What a sweetie.
I should've let you know
I never meant to hurt you like that
It was harder than letting go
Either way you were selfish
Except if I accept I was a stepping stone
Was I holding on or holding you back?
Was it harder to tell you no?
Who am I to beg goodbye now from you
If it didn't cause you trouble
There's a spark, there's a hunger inside now, baby
Maybe we should put it behind now, baby
If it's living then it's double
Okay right and I'm riding outside