Long Neck – Gardener | Single Review

What happens when you find the light at the end of the tunnel, but instead of allowing you to see things more clearly, it just ends up hurting your eyes? When hardships that are supposed to make you more resilient end up making you feel even weaker? When you become so comfortable with the familiarity of darkness that it feels like a safer option than heading into the unknown of the morning? On “Gardener,” the latest release from Jersey City DIY project Long Neck, singer/songwriter/Long Neck band founder Lily Mastrodimos draws the listener a portrait of this in-between state; of the slow, often reluctant emergence from a depressive haze. 

It starts with just an acoustic guitar, delicate and melodic, as Mastrodimos begins relaying a series of dark, foreboding dreams she’s been having the past couple of nights. Her voice sways between conversational and storybook– though never too flowery. It almost feels as though she’s just waking up from these dreams, like echoes of these strange visions are still lingering in her mind as she transitions from night to day:

Nothing in the sky
No planes passing by
When the sun emerges
I am baffled by its glare
Gold dust in the air
Mornings are unbearable
I said to no one

The build of this first verse is accompanied by a lush swell of strings, joining the stripped-back instrumental as the sun rises. As backing vocalist R.N. Taylor begins to harmonize with Mastrodimos, we can almost feel the two of them blinking back at the oppressive brightness of those first rays of sunshine. 

“Gardener” is the lead single off of Long Neck’s forthcoming LP Soft Animal, the band’s first record since before the pandemic. It’s a gradual awakening from a hibernation of sorts. As COVID-era precautions are rolled back and the rhetoric of “bouncing back” surrounds us, our current transitional era often feels as though we’re being force-fed normalcy at a rate that’s incongruous with the ongoing crisis. Instead of filling in the gaps that caused the pandemic to wreak the kind of havoc that it did (and continues to do), we’ve been rushed into a sorry approximation of pre-pandemic social conditions that are no longer viable (and, in many circumstances, were never viable to being with). It’s hard to celebrate the pandemic being over when it’s, well, not. Instead of actual relief, we’re forced to continue carrying the burden of a poorly handled public health catastrophe while pretending that it’s all behind us.

On “Gardener,” Mastrodimos grapples with a similar pressure (albeit on a more personal level) to make a quick and easy recovery from past struggles, but can’t do so without processing what she’s been through. She finds herself worn down by the heaviness of her heart rather than strengthened by it, sighing, “everything I’ve felt this week has bent me like a spine/vertebrae unlined/cracking more with time.” Her voice carries an uneasiness and uncertainty. There’s a sense that, though the worst of it may be over, what comes next is still unclear. After all, how can one get “back to normal” when the standard for “normal” has fallen?

The picture of progress we get on “Gardener” isn’t a linear one. We see Mastrodimos give in to the temptation to shut out the world and sleep past noon. Still, her stagnant moments don’t negate her steps forward. The sun is still there even when it’s filtered through her closed curtains. On good days she can “plant gardens with [her] heart,” just don’t expect those flowers to bloom right away.

“Gardener” is out now on all streaming platforms.
Soft Animal releases on June 21st via Plastic Miracles and Specialist Subject, you can pre-order the album on Bandcamp here.


Grace Robins-Somerville is a writer from Brooklyn, New York. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter at @grace_roso.

Prince Daddy & The Hyena – Self-Titled | Album Review

Since 2018 Prince Daddy & The Hyena has been a massively influential band in my life. I remember hearing “I Wish I Could ctrl+alt+del My Life” come on the playlist at my café job and RUN-ning to the office to see who was singing it. “Prince Daddy & The Hyena,” I said to myself. “That’s a weird name, I sure hope I don’t form some kind of intense, parasocially emotional connection to this band that lasts for years, maybe even the rest of my life.”

But I did.

I’ve learned a lot of lessons both as a musician and writer from PDaddy. This band taught me it’s okay to make incredibly specific (potentially impenetrable) references to the movies and tv shows you relate all your feelings to. They helped me affirm that guitar rock is still awesome, and perhaps most importantly, they taught me not to be afraid to indulge in oversharing my feelings and mistakes with anyone who might be willing to listen. So really you only have them to thank for this extra-long intro.

The moment that crystallized the pandemic as reality for me came on March 13th, 2020. My partner and I were sitting in the cafeteria of Halifax’s Queen Elizabeth II hospital, waiting for my mom to get out of dental surgery, when the tweets came in. “Tour’s canceled,” I imagine they said. I don’t know, I’m not going to scroll back through two full years worth of tweets. I've already put off proofreading this article long enough. My partner was living in Montreal and we had plans to see Prince Daddy there and in Toronto and sing along to *every* word from Cosmic Thrill Seekers, which was the style at the time. We had the tickets. My flight was booked. There was so much uncertainty back then, and rather than cancel my flight and risk not seeing her again until god knows when I kept my ticket and spent three months in an experimental cohabitation that never would have happened without PDaddy. Cosmic Thrill Seekers being one of my top 5 all-time favourite albums to run to meant they carried me through a lot of days during that time, and I’m so grateful for that. It’s still one of my favourite memories of the pandemic?

And while that relationship eventually ended, Prince Daddy & The Hyena persists.

I was so nervous in the weeks before Cosmic Thrill Seekers was released. How could it possibly live up to the perfection of PDaddy’s first LP, I Thought You Didn’t Even Like Leaving. Considering the space CTS takes up in my heart, it feels silly now to have ever felt that way. So I’m not sure why I did it again in the lead up to this brand new, self-titled LP. Maybe I keep my hopes low to avoid being let down. Maybe I just tend to anticipate the worst in everything.

But hey, I learned it from the best.

Prince Daddy & The Hyena (the album) is a perfect representation of everything Prince Daddy & The Hyena (the band) have spent the past six years building on. For how honest and raw lyricist Kory Gregory has been since day one, he always finds new ways of removing barriers with each release. CTS has less of the “keep the world at arm's length” snarky humor that appears so often throughout Leaving, and with this self-titled, he allows us to hear his actual singing voice more regularly. It’s a subtle softening of boundaries across a body of work that’s incredibly impressive.

PDaddy has always been a band with firm control over their vast dynamic range, and here they’ve honed it to a sharp edge. While tracks like “A Random Exercise in Impernance,” “Shoelaces,” and “Keep up That Talk” smother you with a familiar frantic energy, moments such as “Something Special” and “Discount Assisted Living” are welcome opportunities to breathe. They’ll also break your fucking heart.

The highlight track, for me, has to be “Hollow As You Figured.” Opening quietly with an unsettling guitar riff that sets the stage for one of Gregory’s deeper explorations of the dark places that isolation can bring us to—eventually combusting into the heaviest riffs of the album and possibly PDaddy’s catalogue.

As a 30-something Canadian, it’s hard not to compare it to Sum41’s third album Chuck and the more mature themes and musical style the band explored within. I won’t, but just know that if I did, it would be with all the love in my heart.

Probably the most impressive feat of the album is “Black Mold.” The message I sent to my band’s group chat upon opening my advance SoundCloud streaming link was, “new prince daddy has a fucking nine-minute song on it.” I know what you’re thinking, and yes, while I didn’t let anybody hear the album before it came out, I did brag to two of my closest friends that I would get to listen to it early because I am a “professional.” As the emotional climax of the record, we have our hands held as we’re taken on a tour of various traumas from the singer’s past, a familiar recurring theme for longtime listeners. What blows me away is that there are no wasted moments in this song. Nine minutes is a LONG time, but it never feels like that here. It’s an extension of PDaddy’s ability to weave multiple pieces together as seen on Leaving and CTS, and a testament to their more operatic tendencies.

Prince Daddy & The Hyena the band proved my doubts about Prince Daddy & The Hyena the album wrong just like they did with Cosmic Thrill Seekers: You can improve on perfection.


Cailen Alcorn Pygott is a writer, musician, and general sadsack from Halifax, Nova Scotia. He’ll tell you even more about his anxieties on his band No, It’s Fine.’s album I Promise. Tell him how brave you think that is on Twitter @noitsfinereally and on Instagram @_no_its_fine_.

His top five albums to run to of all time are:

  1. Mom Jeans - Sweet Tooth

  2. Gregory Pepper And His Problems - I Know Now Why You Cry 

  3. Prince Daddy & The Hyena - Cosmic Thrill Seekers

  4. Bowling For Soup - The Hangover You Didn’t Deserve 

  5. Charly Bliss - Guppy

Honorable mention: Dollar Signs - This Will Haunt Me

Kevin Devine – Nothing's Real So Nothing's Wrong | Album Review

“Being better doesn’t always mean we’re being good.”

Sometimes it feels like nothing at all is right. Whether I am wasting time on my social media, comparing debts with my partner, or discussing global politics with my mom, everyone appears like they’re straight up not having a good time. Then, six years after the tight and familiar Instigator, Kevin Devine returns with the maximalist bedroom indie rock of Nothing’s Real So Nothing’s Wrong, which feels oh so right.

Opening with a clip of his daughter’s voice, “Laurel Leaf (Anhedonia)” reintroduces Devine as the masterful songwriter he is. Rife with wobbly guitar and vocal melodies, the song boasts winding, clever lyricism like “All the signs I show myself, and I saw nothing." Before the first track fades out, listeners are reminded of the Nirvana-loving Devine with a surprising, thrashing refrain of the main melody buried deep in the mix. Although this incarnation of Devine is understandably more world-weary, he is still (underneath the acoustic guitars and synths) the headbanger his fans have come to know and love.

Override” is planted squarely in the new, lush sonic landscape of Nothing’s Real but also recalls prior Devine tracks as a driving, mid-tempo introspective rocker. “How Can I Help You?” shimmers in a way that wouldn’t be out of place in Wild Pink’s discography while “Swan Dive” maintains a similar head-nodding groove to carry through to “Albatross,” the album’s haunting lead single that closes side A. 

Recalling Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s eerie The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, in which the legendary titular bird represents both the beauty of nature and burdens in one’s life, Devine’s “Albatross” reinforces both Coleridge’s message and his own album’s thesis directly in the middle of the track:

Nothing ventured, nothing gained
Nothing matters anyway
If you’re frightened, stay awake
Pick a god and start to pray
Good Ganesha
Shiva's arms
Jesus Christ in camouflage
If you're sinking, sing along
Nothing's real so nothing's wrong.

A nihilistic echo of Coleridge’s poem, Devine’s bridge unsettles and disturbs as a spoken-word interlude that explodes into a hypnotic refrain. Like the rest of the record, “Albatross” sounds beautiful in its composition and mixing. In that beauty, however, Devine’s lyrics are the undercurrent of terror that comes with the burden of being alive right now.

After the darkly buoyant intermission of “If I’m Gonna Die Here,” Nothing’s Real continues with the Tom Petty-esque ballad “Someone Else’s Dream.” Devine explores creative and artistic dissociation and toxic fandom in the moody, distant “Hell Is An Impression of Myself,” where he sings, “Someone’s after me / for doing an impression of myself / for living an impression of myself.” With this being his 10th solo album, one could argue Devine would be remiss not to be reflecting on his growth and the trajectory of his career.

By no means a bad track, but certainly more reminiscent of previous work, “It’s A Trap!” feels more like a stop-gap before “Tried To Fall In Love (My Head Got In The Way).” The latter simmers to what feels like should be a fever pitch, but Devine, ever the subverter, pulls back and rips into an ethereal ambience full of record scratches and popping: the end is near.

In “Stitching Up The Suture,” Devine knits together the oxymorons and ironies presented in “Albatross.” He whispers lyrics over arpeggiated chords on a dark acoustic, surrounded by sparse percussion. This song is not the explosive, climaxing closer; this is Devine subverting listener expectations to convey his point one last time before he lets you try to understand again. This world is full of horror and heartbreak. However, among those crises can reside beauty and love, like hearing the voice of your child. Though that beauty and love do not fix the problems and pain of the present, they remind us to endure for the future, no matter what it might hold.

With crisp as-ever songwriting, stellar production, and fantastic sequencing, Kevin Devine’s Nothing’s Real So Nothing’s Wrong is not only another classic in his discography but a work of art that shines in a dimming world.


Joe Wasserman, clearly a high school English teacher, lives with his partner and their two dogs in Brooklyn. When he’s not listening to music, he writes short stories, plays bass in bar bands, and enjoys trying new beers. You can find him on Twitter at @a_cuppajoe.

MICHELLE – AFTER DINNER WE TALK DREAMS | Album Review

I understand the temptation to roll your eyes when any piece of art– a book, a film, an album –is described as “a love letter to New York.” I myself am hesitant to burden a body of work as exciting and multifaceted as MICHELLE’s with such an overused cliche. To do so would overlook all of the little idiosyncrasies that set this band apart from the many run-of-the-mill bedroom pop acts currently plaguing algorithmic ‘Good Vibes’ playlists the world over. My first encounter with the 6-piece collective was in 2019 when I had the privilege of seeing them play at my college’s annual spring music festival. Following that intimate yet enchanting live performance, the group’s self-released 2018 debut, HEATWAVE, became my go-to summer soundtrack. In HEATWAVE’s tight 30 minutes, MICHELLE express their love for their native New York City through quirky references to “[eat]ing the East River” and Animorphing into subway rats in a citywide “rat-volution.” Even its more conventional analogies– “STUCK ON U” casts the city as an unreliable yet addictive love interest who runs hot and cold –are imbued with the specific love-hate pendulum that comes with growing up in fun hell.

Fast forward almost four years from HEATWAVE, an album born of home sessions during one sweltering summer: MICHELLE are signed to Atlantic Records and are currently opening for Mitski on her North American tour. On their sophomore LP AFTER DINNER WE TALK DREAMS, their sound is bigger, more elaborate, and more polished, but their collaborative DIY spirit is as bold as ever. While their first album was made up mostly of pieced-together contributions from each of the group’s individual members– Emma, Jamee, Charlie, Layla, Sofia, and Julian –MICHELLE’S latest release sees them meshing together into what feels like less of a loose collective and more of a solidified band. Their star power was apparent on HEATWAVE, but now they’ve got the resources and exposure to go full popstar mode– all while maintaining the integrity and creativity that made their first project so compelling. Standout diva moment “POSE” is one of many shining examples. The music video for this single has MICHELLE members hitting their titular poses all over the New York City subway system and telling an ex, “don’t you dare come and dance with me!” Like many of the tracks on ADWTD, “POSE” is a celebration of oneself, of being happy to dance on your own

The LP opens with “MESS U MADE,” a slow breakup ballad that acknowledges feelings of pain and loneliness but prioritizes self-care above empty companionship: “home is a circus/I’m done feeling worthless.” This emotional maturity is not without its humility and humor– in the second verse, Emma Lee’s serene, airy lilt turns into a shriek as she admits, “last summer vacation/I was a bitch!” Layla Ku carries the soulful Songs In A Minor-era Alicia Keys-esque melody of the song’s hook, her bandmates backing her up with soft, bluesy harmonies.

Themes of being content with solitude are present throughout the LP. As the listener, you get the sense that it’s a self-knowledge understood on an even deeper level when it's being sung about by a group of people whose camaraderie and teamwork is so apparent in their music. Take, for example, “TALKING TO MYSELF,” a bright, bouncy track about exploring one’s inner world. Sonically, it calls to mind the likes of both Sheryl Crow and Remi Wolf– the latter seems like an especially apt comparison once you reach the outro, which consists of the members spitting goofy gibberish muppet noises over a steady snare beat. “NO SIGNAL” serves as a sequel to HEATWAVE opener “GET OFF UR PHONE.” Both songs feature guest vocals from founding (now former) MICHELLE member Isa Reyes and extoll the joys of logging off. The track’s snappy, infectious hook– “no signal, phone down, off the grid/you know I care about you, but I need a minute” –has been stuck in my head since I first heard it. Its mellow acoustic guitar and sparkling keys perfectly complement MICHELLE’S seamless harmonies. On a “LAYLA IN THE ROCKET,” our titular heroine becomes “one with the cosmos,” blasting off in her own personal spaceship. MICHELLE’s Y2K girl group throwback stylings on this tune make it easy to imagine them singing it in a retro-futuristic space station

50/50” is another track that wears its late 90s/early 00s inspiration on its sleeve, but never in a way that feels derivative. It’s a DIY-infused homage to iconic girl groups like Destiny’s Child and TLC that succeeds in doing these influences justice, delivering some of the album's catchiest pop hooks, smoothest R&B harmonies, and most emotionally resonant lyrics. It’s yet another song that sees its narrator recognizing her own needs and choosing them over a withholding, self-centered partner.

Of course, the album’s thematic throughlines don’t always center on solitude– some are far more concerned with the exact opposite. Lead single “SYNCOPATE” is catchy as hell and rife with innuendo, choosing to hide its sexually-charged themes in plain sight, meanwhile “END OF THE WORLD” takes these to even more audacious extremes. Not only does the latter lean all the way into its turn-of-the-millennium pop influence, but its lyrics show MICHELLE being more forward than ever about their desires. The song takes place on the eve of the alleged Y2K apocalypse, and MICHELLE intend to, well, go out with a bang:

City’s crumbling, but I don’t mind
I think you’re hotter than the burning sky
Channel surfing at the end of days
Quick enough to death at the digital age
Y2K, fuck me like the end of the world!

The delightfully raunchy track’s punchline comes in its outro– spoiler alert: the world doesn’t end. Among overlapping chatter and a muted countdown, an exasperated voice can be heard shouting, “are you fucking kidding me?”

Generally speaking, the songs skew softer and more introspective towards the back end of the LP, though this isn’t to say that they lose steam. “SPACED OUT, PHASED OUT” is a sweet, head-in-the-clouds tune whose dreamy harmonies float over hi-hat taps and moody guitar licks. On “HAZARDS”– a slow-burner reminiscent of the more R&B-tinged tracks on Billie Eilish’s Happier Than Ever –MICHELLE put a deceitful lover in their place with badass bars like “oh baby, you might be in danger/of ending up a stranger/that I could arrange.” “FIRE ESCAPE” perfectly evokes the feeling of watching the city streets on those summer nights when it’s too hot to sleep. If there’s one constant about MICHELLE, it’s their uncanny ability to encapsulate summer in New York. Four years ago, they closed out their debut album by lovingly musing that, especially in the warmer months, the city “smells like trash and piss/but I know that’s never gonna change.” Anyone who’s been rained on by an air conditioner or had a pack of rats run across their path will tell you: New York in the summer is gross. But it’s also kind of magical, at least for those of us who aren’t too cynical to see the golden hour glow through the unbearable humidity.

On ADWTD, MICHELLE continue their trend of closing their albums with odes to New York, this time namechecking Citi Bikes and the Halsey Street subway stop. “MY FRIENDS” is a love song to their hometown and to each other:

They look like Brooklyn, that’s where I found them
Twenty-four-hour linoleum and no ID, forty ounces
We’re mean to these streets and what you mean to me
We’re raising hell, fuck a polite, we bump tunes and playfight til Halsey

MICHELLE are New Yorkers, through and through. They express their love for the city that raised them, but don’t reveal all their secrets. “Where we go I’ll never tell them/They’ll just go and build a hotel there,” one of the members sings, with a desperate desire to protect what’s left of Real New York from further gentrification. It’s a bittersweet sting I feel each time I walk through one of the neighborhoods I grew up in and realize that half the places I used to go to are gone or unrecognizable.

I discovered MICHELLE while I was away at college and feeling terribly homesick for the city, and the following summer I let their songs welcome me back home. Now, I’ve been back in Brooklyn for the past two years, but I am getting ready to move to another state in just a few months. It’s been a long, harsh winter here, and coincidentally, the release of ADWTD fell on a weekend where the weather in New York felt like spring for the first time. My first listen soundtracked a walk I’ve been taking for over a decade. As I made my way through Gowanus– once populated by heavily-graffitied old warehouses and hidden gems like the Batcave, not a Whole Foods in sight –it began to sink in that soon I wouldn’t live here anymore and that there was no telling what I’d come back to. But like the members of MICHELLE, I know what will stay with me wherever I go:

Choked up when we’re apart, you’re what I need to breathe
Too much history ‘cause we have been through everything
I’ve been runnin’ through the grid
But every single path I’ll cross with you
I might roam, but baby, I can’t stray that far from you
It’s in my sneakers
The bass that shakes my speakers
My little slice of heaven
Extension three-four-seven


Grace Robins-Somerville is a writer from Brooklyn, New York. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter @grace_roso.

Mitski and the Complications of Modern Fandom

Indie-Pop singer/songwriter Mitski recently embarked on a North American and European tour to promote her sixth studio album Laurel Hell. This is her first tour and album since 2019’s Be The Cowboy, which concluded with Mitski taking some much-deserved time away from the spotlight. Upon release, Laurel Hell received acclaim from music critics, and has done well commercially, charting #1 in both the US Top Alternative Albums and US Top Rock Albums. However, despite the critical praise and commercial success, Laurel Hell has been divisive among fans, which is not uncommon when an artist returns from a hiatus period. The consistent criticisms range from Mitski’s vocal performance sounding “bored” to her songwriting being “trite.” The album also borrows much of its sound from 80s pop hits, which sometimes limits Mitski from committing to the signature dauntlessness that has defined her music up to this point. What sets Mitski apart from her contemporaries in the indie genre is her urgency and ability to channel raw emotions into spellbinding performances. However, the production on this new album makes her delivery feel impersonal and frustrating. 

Beyond the critical scores and fan debates about the composition of the album – there has been quite a bit of discourse surrounding Mitski herself and the way certain fans consume her music. It started with a Twitter thread from Mitski in which she asked that fans refrain from taking videos of the entire set or songs. She said she felt as if she was being “consumed as content” instead of sharing an honest moment with fans. This idea is not a new one – the majority of concerts I’ve been to have a “no phone” policy, in which there are signs in place and aggressive ushers who are more than happy to escort you off the premises if you so much as check the time. The split reaction within the fanbase to this request caused the first in a series of moralistic debates. You were either on Mitski’s side, or you weren’t. The tweets were deleted following an intense weekend of discourse and fan in-fighting.

Mitski’s choice to communicate this sentiment over her management-run Twitter account is unconventional, given that her social presence online is nonexistent. Despite her genuine intention to relay her wishes delicately, it makes sense that the clinical nature of the tweet thread went over the heads of her audience, who have been born and raised in internet culture. Weeks prior, the disconnect between Mitski and her fandom was apparent when she was traveling the press circuit to promote Laurel Hell. In Cracked Magazine’s “Mitski Reacts to Posts About Mitski” video, Mitski reveals how she lives in “blissful ignorance” of what’s happening online while reacting stiffly to Stan Twitter memes about her music. Halfway through the video, she reads a tweet that says: “New Mitski it’s a big day for sad bitches.” Mitski taps her hands on the armrests of her chair and says, “Y’know, the sad girl thing was reductive and tired five years ago, and it still is today.” She pauses to say she appreciates the person who made the tweet, but then follows up by saying: “Let’s retire the sad girl schtick. It’s over.” Retired from Sad, New Career in Business, indeed. 

While this detachment style may allow Mitski to live in 'blissful ignorance,' it doesn't allow for many fans to receive her words with the earnestness she hopes. Mitski appeals to a very online generation, and with the rise of applications like TikTok, where hyper-categorization for oneself is how you appeal to its algorithm (i.e., get views), it is only natural that fans will view her music as a piece of their identity. Mitski asks not to be “consumed” by her fans, but perhaps she needs to come to terms with her life as an entertainer. Mitski’s real name isn’t even Mitski – it’s a stage name, a persona that she embodies as a performer, making entertainment to be consumed. The very nature of a concert relies on the performer to gain monopolized, undivided attention from onlookers. I mean, why else would you be on a stage, a literal platform that elevates you above an audience? 

It’s innate human behavior to connect with art on a level of self-introspection. A defining element of art is that it means different things to different people; everyone consumes art through their own lens, but this isn’t a reality that a subset of fans are willing to accept. Whether they’re a devoted member of the fanbase or not, it seems that everyone is rushing to supply their takes on the situation. However, a collective sentiment has emerged of supporting the artist no matter the circumstance, even if that means turning on others in the fanbase. As if Mitski will personally thank those who protect her image and adhere to her social demands. 

While Mitski wants people not to consume her and reduce her music down to catchphrases, a portion of her fanbase has equated that to other fans disregarding the racial context of her music. This argument is strange to me because the overwhelming majority of Mitski’s music is about, well, love. Falling in love, falling out of love, being in love too much, not being in love enough – you get the idea. The only song explicitly detailing Mitski’s struggles with identity as a person of color is her song “Your Best American Girl.” Perhaps an argument can be made that “Strawberry Blond” is about Mitski’s personal anguish that she is not white enough for the man of her dreams – but then again, Mitski has never publicly said that’s what the song is about. It is not clear how her racial identity or upbringing features in her music. She very well could be singing about alienation, perhaps as a woman, or just as a generalization. Mitski does very little to bring politics, background, and identity as an interwoven factor within her music. This isn’t a criticism – I just find it necessary to address when fans are other-ing each other and gatekeeping, as if only viewing Mitski’s music in relation to her being a person of color isn’t a reduction and exclusion in its own right. 

Whether it’s the desire to control how she is perceived as “sad girl” music or resistance to being recorded while performing, Mitski’s differing attitudes in communicating with her audience showcase her inability to commit to a public persona. Mitski will dish out contempt for her audience regarding how they categorize its lyrical and sonic content, but will approach delivering requests concerning concert etiquette like a kid trying to convince their parents to buy them a dog. In the past, Mitski has demonstrated her fearlessness and conviction. Her obsessive love ballads on Puberty 2 make me think of Nina Simone – this is the artistic height that Mitski is capable of reaching. In my opinion, Be The Cowboy was a step down from her two previous albums, and it’s disheartening to see this trend continue on Laurel Hell. This decline all happening while Mitski publicly conflates her inability to grasp her new life as a performer and entertainer, ultimately failing to define a boundary of what her fans are to her. 

When discussing her song “Nobody” in a Genius Lyric Breakdown video, Mitski explains how the chorus came to her in a real state of anguish, but she thought: “Let me use this pain and exploit it for money.” This, of course, can be perceived with light-heartedness, but it’s difficult not to take it at face value, considering Mitski is currently at the height of her popularity, and her name is equated with producing music to consume when you are in some state of distress. 

Perhaps she is personally tired of the “sad girl schtick,” but Mitski has to decide whether to embrace the description she trademarked or rebel and create a new identity for her music and voice to exist in. You can’t please everyone. If she truly wants fans to abandon labeling themselves in accordance with the themes of her past work, then why would she continue to write songs that have a similar pay-off? What is the difference between “Love Me More(I need you to love me more / Love me more / Love enough to fill me up) and “Lonesome Love (Why am I lonely for a lonesome love?) – Mitski is still indulging in the same self-aggrandizing individualism that was evident in her previous records, so why should the content be treated differently than before?

As an artist, you have to recognize that a great deal of effort is involved in rebranding and creating new material that allows your career and the subsequent music you make to possess a longer lifespan. Meaning, Mitski will have to rise to new heights and challenge her fans' perceptions of her through the design and function of her music. If you give your fans work that feels familiar, then they already have a conditioned response. By supplying your audience fresh and innovative ideas, you are by default requesting that they open their minds to imaginative possibilities; sometimes, you have to just let your music speak for you. 


Kaycie is a high school senior and writer. You can find them on Instagram at @boyishblues.