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.

Reclaiming Wolfmother

Look, I’ll come out and just say it: Wolfmother rules. When the Australian rock band’s debut album was released in 2006, it quickly became skewered for a number of reasons ranging from legitimate to completely superficial. Amongst the Pitchfork indie music crowd, this album came hot on the heels of bands like Jet, who were taking the leather-jacket-clad aesthetic of The Strokes and Interpol but commercializing it even further into a less-cool version of AC/DC karaoke. In the broader pop culture landscape, Wolfmother quickly became synonymous with video game soundtracks and commercial rock music. “Woman” specifically struck a marketable trifecta of then-still-cool Jack White affectations, a simplistic riff you could air guitar along to, and a five-syllable chorus that anyone could belt out in their most cartoonish rock and roll voice. It was iPod Commercial Music at worst and admirable psych-rock revivalism at best. But I love it all the same. 

Spicy take that I'm probably going to have to delete later: With all the shit that Jet -- and later, Greta van Fleet -- got, I was never clear how Wolfmother got away with "Woman," which sounds like a parody of hard rock made by someone that hates it

— Todd in the Shadows (@ShadowTodd) March 10, 2022

To a certain extent, Wolfmother paved the way for bands like Greta Van Fleet, who are picking up the torch of my dad’s music and seeing how far they could run with it. Upon release, Wolfmother instantly received comparisons to Led Zeppelin, Jimmi Hendrix, and Black Sabbath alike. While not entirely accurate, lyrics like “The purple haze is in the sky / See the angel's wicked eye” didn’t exactly do a lot to combat those connections. 

Simply put, Wolfmother’s debut was, and still is, a fascinating album. More than that, it actually kinda kicks ass. No two songs sound the same, resulting in a record that never drags despite its nearly one-hour runtime. I’d get it if you don’t like the sound that this band is going for, but part of me listens to this album in 2022 and doesn’t understand how anyone could hate on this. I’ll admit, as someone who first heard this record at 13 years old, it is inextricably tied to an early-adolescent appreciation for “Rock Music” with a capital R. In other words, this is all highly biased but still a genuine attempt to translate the redeeming qualities of Wolfmother to an audience who otherwise probably couldn’t give two shits about it.

Along with fellow Guitar Hero II alumni The Sword, Wolfmother is often cited as an important part of the second wave of the modern stoner rock revival. Propped up by placements in mainstream video games ranging from the aforementioned Guitar Hero II to Madden NFL 07, Wolfmother quickly ascended to popularity at an unprecedented rate. However, this popularity soon became a double-edged sword as the group reached a saturation point in music licensing and radio play. Even a cursory glance at the band’s video game soundtrack page reveals a staggering sixteen placements between the years of 2006 and 2007 alone. And this isn’t even counting usage in television shows, movies, or NFL commercial break interstitials. 

It’s no wonder why people started to turn on this band so fast; there are only so many times you can hear “WOman, ya know ya, WOman, ya know ya, WOman” before you want to pull your own hair out. But for a thirteen-year-old music lover just discovering the world of classic rock, Wolfmother represented a grander cultural affirmation that I was pointed in the right direction. I distinctly remember thinking some variation of, ‘oh wow, there are still bands making music like this.’ These songs felt like a natural extension of the genre I had just uncovered and fallen in love with. It felt like I was witnessing the extension of a lineage. Everything felt connected, and for a moment, my burgeoning music taste made complete, logical sense.

I delved into Wolfmother unencumbered. The group’s debut album quickly worked its way into my rotation alongside classic acts like The White Stripes, Guns N Roses, Nirvana, and everything else a young boy could want on his 4GB iPod Mini. Wolfmother became a quintessential album in my musical world, standing shoulder to shoulder with classic records like Are You Experienced? and Led Zeppelin IV, and somehow it fit in seamlessly. 

Today I listen to Wolfmother with a tinge of shame, but only because most of the world remembers them as the band that wrote “Woman” and “Joker and the Thief.” This is partly due to how massive the hits off this first album were but is also thanks to a string of (mostly) diminishing returns that came in its wake. I have some genuine adoration for pieces of Cosmic Egg and most of New Crown, but nothing stacks up to the unashamed and omnivorous approach the band took on Wolfmother. 

In an effort to convince you of this album’s artistic merit, the remainder of this article is a track-by-track breakdown. I encourage you to revisit the album today with fresh eyes, free from the preconceived notions of late-Aughts irony and radio overplay. I genuinely believe this record is better than it has any right to be… or maybe I’m just blinded by my own nostalgia.

Album opener “Dimension” begins with a cartoonish isolated howl that would have made Robert Plant blush. Seconds later, a fuzzy bassline, stoner rock guitar, and bouncy drum pattern set the pace for the opening charge. Soon after that, we’re introduced to lead singer ​​Andrew Stockdale’s particular brand of psychedelic lyricism. As scenes of deserts, angels, and lightning all flash before us, the song all but tells the listener, ‘don’t overthink this.’ The riff is chunky, accompanied by crashing cymbals and a persistent bass lick. Things die down for each verse only to ramp back up for the choruses leading to a grungy loud-quiet-loud dynamic. This instrumental rise and fall also means that each time the group hits you with the riff, you can’t help but headbang along. For as over-the-top as this song is, the band also displays a remarkable amount of restraint with the instrumental, expertly withholding catharsis and deploying it at just the right times. 

“White Unicorn” is an early album cut that also doubles as my favorite song on the entire record. To this day, I can’t believe this track never rose to the same level of prominence as the other singles, but maybe that’s a blessing in disguise. This song even received a dedicated radio edit, but I suppose the longwinded maximalist approach taken here is a huge reason why I love this song so dearly, and it’s easy to see why that wouldn’t translate to a cutdown. “White Unicorn” begins with a jangly chord progression that, much like “Smoke on the Water” or “Wonderwall,” feels primed for baby’s first guitar riff. The lyrics are expectedly psychedelic but eventually bottom out into the real star of this song, the album’s most overtly stoner rock riff. 

Looking back, I actually view “White Unicorn” as a fantastic entry point to the stoner rock genre. This song, combined with Songs for the Deaf, The Sword, and Fu Manchu, paved the way for my personal journey into stoner rock, so for that, I’m forever thankful. The track has a beautiful internal motion but most notably erupts into a nice little instrumental jam halfway through. As that jam culminates, the band brings it all back to the riff in a moment that would fit in at the jammiest Phish show. It’s essentially everything great about those genres squeezed into a digestible 5-minute sample platter. It’s also worth noting that the demo version of “White Unicorn” takes these same stoner rock sensibilities and stretches them out into an even longer 8-minute rendition for a true showcase of what the jam song structure is capable of. 

Then there’s “Woman,” and honestly, I don’t even know how to talk about this one. It’s undoubtedly the biggest song off the album and will likely be forever viewed as Wolfmother’s legacy. As previously discussed, you’re probably familiar with this track from its overuse in the world of commercially licensed music, but I suppose it’s still worth talking about here for completeness’ sake. I almost don’t even view “Woman” as a song; it’s more of a high-octane pit stop within the larger album. The guitar work is nothing short of iconic, and the high-note vocals are both easy to grasp and fun to belt. This song deploys a similar trick to “White Unicorn,” bottoming out into a jam midway through; however, the addition of an organ during this section feels particularly inspired and gives the track a nice Deep Purple flair. Other than that, it’s just “Woman,” you’ve probably heard this song a million times and can call it to mind with ease. The worst thing about this song is how overplayed it got because other than that oversaturation, this track just plain rocks. With any luck, this song will endure and become as revered as fellow 00’s megahits like “Seven Nation Army” or “Mr. Brightside,” but the deck is certainly stacked against it. 

“Where Eagles Have Been” offers a nice change of pace from the blistering full-throttle stretch of the first three songs, if only for a short while. This song opens with a pleasant, naturalistic “Going to California” ditty paired with a soaring whir that instantly evokes lush mountain peaks and tree-dotted valleys. After some scene-setting lyricism, the band launches into a standard fare rock passage that all ladders up to a proficient guitar solo and eventually loops back to the natural wonder of its opening passage. This song is like a hike where you exert all this effort for the gorgeous view of earthly wonder waiting at the top. It’s a very grounded track that unfolds in its own time and isn’t mired with (too many) over-the-top psychedelic lyrics.

And if you thought that song was boring or slow, well, guess what? Wolfmother knew that, so they bust out “Apple Tree” immediately after for the album’s fastest, most thrashy punk song. Pacing-wise, this is exactly like how The White Stripes would take a track like “I’m Finding It Harder to Be a Gentleman” and punctuate it with a punk rager like “Fell in Love With a Girl.” It’s an unexpected one-two punch that has existed for as long as album sequences have been considered. Within Wolfmother, “Apple Tree” is a solitary powder keg that propels us through the remainder of the album. The lyrics are absolutely nonsensical but are surrounded on either side by a circle-pit-inspiring momentum that makes you want to recklessly slam into other concertgoers. A fun, mindless, and necessary rock diversion that serves to remind you what kind of album this is. 

Upon writing this, I was surprised to find that “Joker and the Thief” has eclipsed all other Wolfmother songs on Spotify. In some ways, it has all the makings of a great classic rock song, but it always felt less pervasive than “Woman” or even “Love Train.” The track begins with an engrossing series of cascading hammer-on/pull-off noodles that feel tailor-made for Expert-level Rock Band FCs. Slowly the band layers on drums and bass in a cinematic build, which sets the scene for the storytelling that unfolds with each verse. Clearly inspired by “All Along The Watchtower,” this song weaves an even more vague tale of two figures just vibing. The joker laughs, the thief… steals things? It’s all very directionless, BUT that doesn’t mean it doesn’t rip.

After this unbelievably stacked first half, the band spends the remainder of the record playing within the space they’ve fleshed out, dialing up and down the psychedelia and the classic-rockiness of the affair to varying degrees across the last seven songs. The back half of the album is essentially a good-to-great collection of serviceable mid-tempo rock tracks. Almost none of these are favorites of mine, but they keep things moving along nicely, and each add a different flavor. Most importantly, each of these songs have interesting elements that make them feel distinct from each other. 

“Colossal” lives up to its name with a spacious riff that winds up to another thrashy punk passage. “Mind’s Eye” is yet another slow burn, but this time with more restraint and breathing room than “Where Eagles Have Been.” “Witchcraft” busts out a flute in one of the most memorable late-album moments, and “Tales” captures a sort of lackadaisical late-afternoon vibe. The penultimate track “Love Train” is a late album single that evokes vibrant iPod commercials with a sort of hoppy “Hotel Yorba” bounce. Finally, “Vagabond” is a stunning album closer that wraps everything up in a nice little bow.

---

I write all this not necessarily to extol the artistic virtues of Wolfmother, but to say there’s probably more to this album than you might think. This goes doubly if you’re only familiar with the band’s singles or most popular songs. As a whole, this record is a little front-loaded, but it’s easy to see how a teenage boy would listen to this album and discover some level of comfort and affirmation within its classic rock-worshiping walls. 

I’m willing to admit that my love for Wolfmother is informed by a fair bit of decade-old nostalgia, but even when I listen to this album in 2022, there’s still something here that appeals to me on a deeper level. Between an ever-shifting mix of classic rock sounds, a well-sequenced tracklist, and a stacked collection of singles, it’s hard to hate Wolfmother. You can say this record is played out, over-the-top, or lyrically substanceless, but a bad album this is not. 

Ultimately, Wolfmother is a product of its time, and that’s something that gets harder and harder to translate with each passing year. I can sing this album’s praises, talk realistically about the musical landscape at the time of its release, and even asterisk my own praise by acknowledging some of the more goofy lyrics and deliveries, but none of that will change the content of the album or how you hear it. I myself sit at a weird, conflicted cross-section. Part of me wants to say this album is genuinely great, but another part knows that personal history and nostalgia are tainting any sense of objectivity I can feign. I don’t know if this album will stand the test of time, hell, it might have already failed that test, but that consensus of validation is not something I need to enjoy these songs. Wolfmother might not be a timeless classic to anyone else, but it is to me, and that’s enough.

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.

I Tried Weezify So You Don't Have To

On January 31st, the year of our lord 2022, the infinitely reputable Louder published a reality-shattering sentence onto the internet; Weezer’s Rivers Cuomo has built his own "Spotify-like player" known as Weezify. I read the headline multiple times, ensuring I was interpreting it correctly. I knew all those words, but I’ve never seen them arranged in such a way. Does this really mean what I think it means? 

This news was coming hot on the heels of musical titans like Neil Young and Joni Mitchell pulling their music off Spotify in the wake of the platform actively spreading anti-vaccine information. Elsewhere, Kanye West announced that his proprietary Stem Player hardware would be the only way to listen to his upcoming Donda 2. The music industry was shifting at speeds we’d never seen before. 

Artists are now beginning to realize that the negotiating power lies in their hands. They are the creators; platforms like Spotify and Apple Music are merely leeches that profit off their countless hours of hard work and years of honed craft. Much like the Starbucks workers unionizing and the Kellogg’s employees striking for better pay, we are collectively realizing the power we have in mutual support of each other. The pandemic has taught us many things as a society, but one of the more optimistic takeaways is discovering the strength we have in solidarity. Similarly, artists are clearly unhappy with the bill of goods they had been sold and are rightfully looking for alternatives. It’s time for innovation, true innovation. Enter Weezify. 

The proposition was simple. “Tired of Spotify? Come on over to Weezify.” Weezer frontman Rivers Cuomo tweeted along with links to the Apple App Store, Google Play Store, and his personal website. How could I say no to that? Every day I wake up and listen to the 15-hour Weezer Discography playlist top to bottom; you mean to tell me that I can get this content somewhere else??

While many people (including myself) foolishly thought this was a goof or simply too good to be true, my curiosity got the better of me, and I soon found myself reluctantly clicking the link to the App Store. I stared at the app page for a minute as if I were standing outside the gates of heaven. “Be not afraid,” the icon seemingly whispered to me as I clicked the download button almost without thinking. 

Upon launching Weezify, you’re immediately greeted with a login screen. Still unsure if this was a legitimate app or just something designed to steal my social security information, I sheepishly clicked “Maybe later,” hoping that my fence-sitting response wouldn’t be reported directly to Mr. Cuomo himself. I am a Weezer Believer, but I also grew up in the era of computer viruses and Rickrolls, so I still have to follow my internet street smarts.

After clearing that screen, the app dumps the user directly into its “Player” tab, which I stared at for a good minute until I soon became crushed when I realized that it wasn’t going to load. A constantly-swirling blue loading icon taunted me, beckoning to the wild treasures that might hide behind it. My mind was racing.

Dismayed but not deterred, I clicked over to the “Profile” tab to work my way through the app left to right. I was informed that I was a “Lurker” as I stared at my profile picture: a Rivers Cuomo Funko Pop which sat perched atop a quote from “Surf Wax America.” Again, the app encouraged me to sign up or log in. Not yet, Rivers, you temptress. 

With the image of the cold, dead eyes of a Rivers Cuomo Pop Fig freshly burned into my mind, I clicked onto the “Market” tab and suddenly found myself face to face with… this.

Rivers Cuomo jump scare.

I howled. I recoiled. I don’t know what I expected to find on this page, but it was not a bowtie-clad Rivers Cuomo selfie staring me down. 

The top of the screen informed me that I own 0 of 12 bundles and 0 of 3236 demos. Three thousand two hundred and thirty-six demos. That’s enough Weezer to gorge yourself. That’s enough Weezer for a lifetime. That’s enough Weezer to bring you to your deathbed. 

I clicked on the selfie almost instinctively. It’s one of those moments where life has led you down a path, and you know what you must do. You can turn tail and run, but some divine being has led you to this moment, and you can decide to either press your thumb down gently upon Rivers Cuomo’s face, or you can deny yourself the experience that life has set out before you. 

A popup appeared with a slightly wider crop of the same photo and a description that reads, “New hope with our singing with Jonathan Daniel. Jake was a big influence.” Below that laid a series of confounding numbers. 

-2
-3
-4
-5
1-4-2-5 @126_2015_3_9_13_9_12
1-5-4
@771I_want_down_time_2015_2_23_17_23
116._one_time_2015_2_25_13_52_22

What is this? Some kind of code? Coordinates? A sleeper agent activation phrase? I was scared. 

Suddenly, audio began to emanate from my phone. I heard a Weezer song being played from a computer as Rivers Cuomo himself harmonized with the tune. Seemingly playing these tracks off of his personal speakers, Rivers clicked through various White Album-era demos and gave some background to the band’s recording process at the time. He rifled through the files, filled with wonder spurred by individual rarities and alternate melodies. It’s the same energy that I have while scrolling through my mp3 library, clicking on a half-dozen different tracks before landing on what I actually want to listen to. The difference here being that this was a man listening to his own songs. He sang along softly at various points before clicking feverishly onto the next file. After shuffling through various White Album oddities for a few unstructured minutes, he sighs, comes back to his senses, and unceremoniously says “alright… bye,” and then the recording ends. 

Slightly disoriented, I soon began to understand; each of these bundles had an “introduction” where Rivers himself gave some contextual background information on the specific era of the band and then encouraged you to purchase. Those numbers, coordinates, and inexplicable characters were individual tracks, all of which contribute to the collective 3-thousand-plus songs contained within the app. Whew. 

Rivers is no stranger to demos; his series of Alone albums from 2007, 2008, and 2011 gave a peek into the band’s early years and Cuomo’s specific creative process. This app is the slightly-illogical continuation of this, with thousands of demos available for Weezer superfans who want to fill every hour of every day with weird slightly-unpolished Weezer recordings unheard by most of the general population. 

With 12 bundles at $9 a pop (and one inexplicably priced at $10), that means you can currently have access to the entirety of the Weezer demo oeuvre for the low, low price of $109. How can one possibly say no to that?

In all seriousness, Weezify is a rough-around-the-edges app built for a bafflingly-small niche group of super fans. Is Weezify the answer to every intricacy of the Streaming Debate? Yes, it is. Will it replace Spotify? Also yes. Will I spend every waking hour of my life listening to things like “TechnoProgressions1 i VII VI iv”? Yes, I will. Thank you, Rivers Cuomo, for the one ethical musical streaming app, nay, company to ever have existed.