1. The official statement: "[The release of Fugazi’s First Demo] will also coincide with the completion of the initial round of uploads to the Fugazi Live Series website. Launched in 2011, the site now includes information and details on all of Fugazi’s 1000+ live performances and makes available close to 900 concert recordings that were documented by the band and the public." The archive is expected to near completion sometime around the end of the year now.
2. The series spun out of a series of 30 live shows released on CD in 2004. Those, plus 100 more, were added to the site in 2011. A few shows have been added every week ever since. 
3. A few things about the site didn’t completely pan out. There was some intimation early on that the Fugazi Live Series site could become a repository for photos and remembrances from fans. (Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on our part.) This has not happened. The site hasn’t turned into a punk message board, a repository of activist discussion, or arguments about sound quality. The comments are pretty much limited to stuff like "I was at that show!" and "this gig changed my life" and the eye-rolling "why aren’t these in FLAC?" Because they aren’t, dude.
4. Song played the most? "Waiting Room". You can search by song on the Fugazi Live site, and I have not counted each individual instance, but setlist.fm has stats for more than 630 shows and "Waiting Room" shows up in about 400 of them, the pro-choice anthem "Reclamation" in almost 370. (Actually, the second most common track is "Interlude 1" which is Guy or Ian—and it’s usually Ian—yacking at the crowd, humor bone-dry. You may make your own complaint here about pit regulation or whatever people who like to run into each other at shows like to complain about in re: Ian.)  No reason to think the stats would be any different across the remaining gigs.
5. They also had a great sense of what songs worked. There are a few songs that were played once, including something called "NSA" that eventually became "Turnover". "In Defense of Humans", the only song from First Demo that made it to wax before now (on the Positive Force-benefiting "State of the Union" compilation) made it all the way to 1990, before being mercifully retired. "Polish" was only played six times; nobody misses it.
6. But you can also chart the evolution of American indie rock throughout before and after the game-changing 1990s. Some early shows had fewer than 100 people. By the middle of the decade and beyond, they could play to thousands, capping interior gigs at around 3,000. Free outdoor shows could draw twice that. Openers moved from nth wave hardcore acts in the Reagan era to Blonde Redhead and Explosions in the Sky in the 21st century. 
7. A quick note on their famously low cover charges: According to the CPI Inflation Calculator, $5 in 1988 has the same buying power as $10.06 in 2014. $6 in 2002 has the same buying power as $7.94. Which is to say: Punk clubs really should charge at least between $8 and $10 at the door in 2014 for a three or four band bill and punks should pay it without whining about the scene selling out because have you tried to load out and risk a ticket then have to pay for parking these days Jesus christ.
8. And we haven’t even talked about the cost of gas represented here. In 1988, gas hovered around  $1.08 a gallon the U.S. In 1995, it was about $1.25. In November 2002, it was about $1.40. In 2008, it was about $4. Now it is down to a little over three. The 1980s and 1990s punk rock revolution, where bands could play 90 shows a year if they wanted to, was about cheap gas as much as anything else.
9. In an era where bands are trying to figure out how to make money in an everything-is-free-all-the-time era, it is amazing to me that more bands don’t do this sort of thing, even on a smaller scale. These shows were literally sitting in an archive, doing nothing. Before 2004, a small fraction of them were being tape- or CD-R-traded.
10. Now, assuming the shows have paid for the time and labor put into them, it’s a financial annuity for the band and a cultural one for us.
11. How many bands have live tapes they can put online and charge a dollar for? Probably almost all of them. Will they be as popular as this thing? Unlikely. Will their serious fans be into it? Oh yes.
12. We can hear songs evolve over time, all for as little as a dollar a show. We can make mixtapes of just the really jammy songs like "Glue Man" and "Shut the Door" and "Reprovisional" (raises hand). Or hear “Waiting Room” get faster and odder over the years.
13. To hear all this laid out is to miss a band the confidence of their convictions. And we can mourn that they went "on hiatus" right as the country was plunging into interminable war and we all could have used a little leadership in popular culture. Now we find out that yes, the NSA is very close to mapping our veins and there are no rock bands, none who can draw a thousand people a night standing up and saying, "Yeah? Bullshit!" over and over and over again.

It’s 2014 and you are waiting for the remix. You liked the original but you couldn’t dance to it. It’s more of a driving song, you think. You want to hear it again, but with a drop. Familiar, but more exciting, more current. Like when you run into Ben from accounting at the after-hours club and he’s wearing a Supreme hat and doing the thing with his arm that people do when they dance to trap music. As a member of the modern youth, you want to feel understood.

It’s 2014 and you need to find a remix. You’re the A&R at a major label and you just signed the next Coldplay. The single is out and it’s doing decently at radio, but press is hesitant, and the expensive video ads you ran during takeoff on the Jet Blue In-Flight Personal Entertainment Systems are starting to seem like a bad idea. The single has been out for two months and you need to get people’s attention again. Your budget is gone. You shouldn’t have bought the ads on the airplane. You shouldn’t have given the band a $20,000 budget for the music video. The industry is changing. People are getting laid off. You need something. You need it yesterday and you need it for free. You need a remix, a co-sign from the tastemaker world, someone with buzz (but not too much, there’s no budget). So you scan Hype Machine. You send emails. You link the music video with the 800,000 views. No one knows you paid for half of them. You don’t mention the budget. You pledge to put the full weight of your major label engine behind it. That’s better than money. You’re offering exposure, new fans, "A really great look", a chance to be associated with the band from the billboard in Echo Park. You’re doing this kid a favor.

It’s 2014 and I’m sitting in my living room trying to avoid thinking about the handful of songs I am supposed to remix. Songs that I don’t particularly enjoy by bands I’ve never voluntarily listened to, for exclusive premieres that I won’t care about. Until you’re a familiar name, if you’re tapped by a major label (or bigger indie), you are doing spec work—meaning there’s no conversation about being compensated until you turn in the remix and it is approved by everyone on the other end. It’s in the nature of those arrangements to do your best work. If you turn in something sub-par, it gets rejected and you’ve successfully wasted your own time. In my experience, many times a remix gets approved, things will start moving on their own without you knowing. You might get an email a few weeks later saying, "Hey! Remix is being premiered on _________ tomorrow morning! Please be ready to post to all of your socials." And you sit there confused for a moment because you haven’t been paid for your work. You might then be given the option of a remix trade, where the band then remixes one of your songs, a concept that gets tossed around quite a bit but is rarely ever seen to fruition. You might simply be told that there’s no money available, but that this will "for sure be a really big look for you." And of course, there are the times when you are paid fairly and everyone is happy. None of this is news. It happens every day, spanning the entire spectrum of creative work. The problem I see is not so much in the compensation or lack thereof. It’s the backbone of capitalism, the lifeblood of big business, the price of entry. The problem I see lies in the commoditization of authenticity. The strive to create the illusion of symbiosis. You’re being shown an endorsement where one might not actually exist.

The act of one artist co-signing another is a beautiful thing. I’ve found some of my favorite bands through the endorsements of other musicians I was idolizing at the moment. A good endorsement says just as much about the co-signer as it does about the signee. Richard D. James showed me Pierre Bastien when I was 13, the Mountain Goats turned me onto John Vanderslice at 16, Jamie Stewart gave me Swans at 18, Diplo decided to take me under his wing at 23, and now I do my best to make sure people know about kids like Ricky Eat Acid and Metome and Estesombelo. Look, I just did it! Modern culture is so crutched upon endorsements and co-signs that its only natural we’re running into epidemic levels of appropriation. It’s become it’s own art form, spiraling out of Tumblr/Pinterest realm and into the mainstream: a method of expressing yourself without actually being tasked with producing real output. Curation is valued over creation. We’re desensitized to it now.

It’s 2014 and the music industry is looking for a co-sign. A chance to be connected to the buzzing white heat of the underground without taking the risk. To be able to steal a shard of light from a young fire and toss it into their smoldering green wood, hoping that just for a second, it appears to catch.

Dexter Tortoriello is an electronic musician who releases music as HOUSES and Dawn Golden. He is signed to Mad Decent.

Interpol isn't the only touring act to be adversely effected by the massive dumping of snow in upstate New York. The Pitch checked in with other bands and artists to see how they are making the most of their time amid the blizzard.

OK GO

The band admits that while their tour bus has been frozen to the interstate in Western New York for 96 hours, it has not dawned on them to touch their instruments once, hum or turn on the goddamn radio. Lead singer Damian Kulash is however sketching out an idea to liberate over 1,000 Buffalo senior citizens from area nursing homes and arm them each with snowblowers and have them do a synchronized clearing of snow that would create the world’s largest snowflake pattern. “ It'll be a magnificent wintertime crop circle,” Kulash explains of the short film that is slated to be underwritten by Toro, provided the band can come up with a song.

FOO FIGHTERS

The Foo Fighters have quickly found a way to capitalize on recently being stuck in a snowdrift. They will produce a 14-episode series with The Weather Channel that will see them driving into the heart of North American weather patterns and writing some kick-ass rock and roll songs with famous meteorologists like Al Roker and Sam Champion, as well as local, unsung meteorologists. “There’s all kinds of weather,” says drummer Taylor Hawkins. “There’s blizzards, sure, but a lot of it is just us telling the stories of meteorologists from Amarillo, Spokane, Bangor, or wherever killer weather happens. These people have been on the front lines of weather that people who don’t live in their immediate vicinity have probably never seen. Rain. Snow. Sleet. Sunshine. Etc.” Each song will have at least one lyric from a local forecast. The first single is called, “Now back to you, Larry and Rita.”

JACK WHITE

Touring in a 1973 Cadillac Eldorado with rear-wheel drive, when Jack White found himself caught in the worst blizzard in Western New York in over 318 years, he quite simply lost his shit. White is still screaming at his loss of control and scraping his windshield with rare 78s.

AMANDA PALMER

With her wi-fi fading, and bus iced over on a Buffalo exit ramp, Palmer is calling on fans from from the city (as well as "cooler ones from Toronto") to make a small donation via her new crowdfunding app, FanWallet™. Doing so will give them the right to join the “Palmer Patrol,” a bawdy, rag-tag vaudevillian search party that will use objects like tubas and antique obstetric forceps as snow-clearing devices to hunt for her bus. Once located, they’ll shovel her out, and turn the excess snow into a sculpture of something shocking and profound, and maybe named Amanda.

THE XX

Stranded for a fourth of a fortnight, the group has bravely abandoned their tour bus and is performing a series of intimate concerts in the backseats of nearby stranded vehicles (29 and counting so far), as many of their owners succumb to frostbite. “The biggest crowd we’ve played to was three,” says guitarist/singer Romy Madley Croft. “So for us that’s ideal.”

“To sit in your minivan shivering as the gas runs out and a wall of snow completely pancakes it, well, I thought I was gutted. Then these strange British people started breathing on my window, then climbed in and played like one note every 9 minutes,” says Debra Bleskacik. “So I guess I wasn’t quite gutted until that happened.”

THE BLACK KEYS

The Black Keys have written a song called “Snow Globe” that sounds just like “Fever” and is mainly just Dan Auerbach honking out “globe” over and over and taking guitar solos, while drummer Patrick Carney busies himself pecking at a Samsung Horror, looking to get in fights with other bands and artists who are stranded in the storm as well. "Sorry, I'm not out here to make friends," Carney tweeted late Wednesday night. "And Meghan Trainor is unequivocally THE WORST PART OF THIS BLIZZARD."

Welcome to Mixdown, an ongoing series where Pitchfork staffers and contributors talk about mixtapes, mixes, and other beat-based ephemera that may not be covered in our reviews section but are worth discussing. Today, Meaghan Garvey, David Turner, and Wesley Case talk about Jaden Smith, Chief Keef, and Boosie Badass.

Jaden Smith: Cool Tape Vol. 2

Meaghan Garvey: Jaden and Willow Smith momentarily #BrokeTheInternet earlier this week with their T Magazine feature, in which the Cool Teens discussed prana energy, the uselessness of driver’s ed, and the phenomenology of time. The next day, Jaden released Cool Tape Vol. 2, his second mixtape (his first one came out in 2012), via an app called the Jaden Experience; it’s essentially a mixtape in Tindr form. I went into Cool Tape as skeptical as one might reasonably be after hearing that we may be living in a hologram—and Jaden really blew me away! Along with some funny fake-deep teen platitudes, there are some seriously cool ideas in this tape. Am I sipping the Kool-Aid? Do you guys have your crystals at the ready for this Mixdown?

David Turner: Honestly I’m not sure if I understood half of what Jaden and Willow even said in that very based interview, but it was still a pleasure to read. The same could apply to Jaden’s Cool Tapes Vol. 2, but this appears to almost be a clearer document of his thoughts as a teen zeitgeist, focusing on his family, crushes and international travels. It’s not exactly original, but there is a sweetness to Jaden's worldview, especially in a track like "Symba", where everything is seemingly at his fingertips and he’s willing to question all of it at the same time. Even with production that is just as post-Everything as his thoughts, the overall warmth of the project makes it hard to not just want to give the kid a hug. 



Wesley Case: Absolutely. My days of sleeping on Jaden Smith are over. So much of Cool Tapes Vol. 2 charms effortlessly, from the straightforward turn-up opener "Fire" to the trapped-in-his-head-and-enjoying-it "Zoned". He comes off as a wide-eyed 16-year-old, with a considerable amount of talent and ideas, trying to figure out the right tone and delivery for his disarming precociousness. The thing I miss most—and try to channel often—about my teenage years is insatiable curiosity about everything; Jaden comes off as a sponge, balancing contemporary influences (I hear Drake on "Breathe", Kendrick Lamar on "PCH" and Miguel a little bit everywhere) and golden-age-era hip-hop ("Symba" sounds like an artist very familiar with Midnight Marauders). We all seem to agree this is really good, so what’s everyone’s favorite track?

MG: "Electric" made a really strong impression: that raw, sleazy Motor City Drum Ensemble-style beat that climaxes into, like, Diwali Riddim Lounge Explosion. It’s an amazing song!



DT: I have to go with "Fire". It is a minimalist rap that sounds like it came out of California right before every song was required to have a "Mustard on the beat hoe." He also name-checks Jazzy Jeff, which just makes me smile.

WC: How refreshing is "Young & Reckless"? On the surface, it’s a puff-your-chest-out rap track—an economical and effective one at that—but his concept of being "reckless" is obtaining knowledge and putting it to use. That sounds a lot cheesier than Jaden, a self-aware kid, delivers it: "Man this kid is absurd/ Where did he get all these words?/ Probably from them stupid books he’s reading and prints on his shirts." I can’t wait until he starts reading William S. Burroughs. 

MG: I get why Jaden and Willow--whose vocal contributions shine on the tape too--annoy people. It can be frustrating to hear the patronizing worldviews of kids who have the option to drive their dad’s Benz down the PCH on a whim and spend their days harnessing quartz energies. But I find Jaden’s sincerity here to be contagious; it’s charming that these guys’ idea of an intro to a cypher is, "I got the tunes, we got the candles, we’re sitting in a circle." And as far as self-involved, idealistic teen music goes, I’ll take surreal hip-hop over real hip-hop any day.

Chief Keef: Back From the Dead 2

DT: Another teen exploring the limits of his musical career is Chief Keef, here with his newest tape, Back From the Dead 2. Though Keef was recently dropped from Interscope and people have soured on him considerably this past year, he never stopped rapping. Though Young Chop and 808 Mafia have some tracks present, this is a showcase for Keef's beginnings as a producer. The change in Keef’s music the last couple of years has been easy to document for diehard fans, but for those who still drunkenly sing "Love Sosa", some of that charm is replaced with extremely plodding and rough production--nevertheless, it fits his rugged voice. It took a little bit of getting used to, but this is one of the better projects from Keef since his sudden rise. Am I being a too charitable, guys?

WC: You all might need to help me here, because the only conclusion I came to is Back From the Dead 2 sucks, and that’s as a fan who considers the first Back From the Dead one of the best tapes of this decade. Keef’s command of melody and his ability to make verses as catchy as his choruses have always been his greatest strengths to me, and those traits are nearly nonexistent here. Hearing a recent track like "Valley" gives me hope that Keef will one day return to the sing-songy approach rather than the bland straight-spitting we hear on "Feds". It’s cool Keef is doing a lot of his own beats (the Bop-in-outer-space "Dear" is the standout on BFTD2) but they’re not doing his insular flow any favors. 



MG: I have a theory about this, actually: Keef’s increasing abstraction over the past couple years, and seeming refusal to make anything resembling a hit, has to be directly correlated with his obvious anxiety of being in the spotlight. After being put through the media ringer time and time again, he’s making himself harder to understand on purpose, and I think this sound wall he’s built up has led to some interesting music. Take "Dear", which I’d agree is one of the tape’s strongest moments: I mentioned it briefly here, but there’s a lot of overlap between the song’s delicate, new-agey chirps and the stuff Lil B was doing on his 2010 "ambient" record, Rain In England.  Ultimately, I think it’s good for everyone involved that Interscope dropped Keef. Generally speaking, he was terrible at the job he was hired for. I’m glad that we get to hear weird stuff like this from him, rather than waiting on some perfunctory drill-by-numbers hit attempt that was never going to happen. 

WC: I think there’s probably a lot of truth to Meaghan’s theory, but at the end of the day, I need songs I actually want to listen to, and not sloppy tracks with very little to parse through. Call me when the Keef/Kanye collaborations surface.

A video posted by AlmightySo (@chieffkeeffsossa) onAug 8, 2014 at 6:12pm PDT

MG: That snippet of one of those collaborations that surfaced on Keef’s Instagram a few months back was transcendent, even at 10 seconds. Speaking of Keef’s Instagram, something we should really be talking about is the vast array of truly bizarre, in-house artwork he’s been posting the past few weeks. Included in the gallery is a whimsical painting series of Keef snorkeling and engaging in other leisurely water sports, some kind of insane Fresh-Prince-meets-Basquiat-goes-gonzo portrait, a cartoon of Keef as a mariachi saying "Hey, hey!" and—my favorite—what looks like Keef as as one of the anthropomorphic housewares from Beauty & The Beast, with Beck's "Where It’s At" playing in the background. It appears that Glo Gang headquarters has turned into some sort of fucked up, DIY Donda -- and I am here for that.

Boosie Badazz: Life After Deathrow

WC: Finally freed from the Louisiana State Pen in March after serving 52 months for violating his probation, Lil Boosie--now known as Boosie Badazz—has been on a tear since coming home. There's no noticeable rust to his rapping (see Lil Wayne’s uneven output right after Rikers), but Boosie hasn’t missed a beat; he's one of the most refined street rappers we have right now. His latest tape, Life After Deathrow, sets the table for February’s anticipated album, Touch Down 2 Cause Hell. On songs like "I’m Comin’ Home" and "No Juice", Boosie reminds us why he never needs another artist to supply a hook—he handles those duties with more deft than many of his peers. And it seems his unmatched attention to detail—Boosie’s greatest asset by far—has only sharpened since he was gone. How are you all feeling about Boosie’s return?

MG: He’s always been a great storyteller, but his discography is equally filled with dumb--and great--party music: I mean, this is the guy who invented the term "ratchet", and one of my favorite songs of his is "They Dykin'", which is not exactly about noble pursuits. But, here, Boosie has no time for that nonsense, he has six years worth of thoughts to get off his chest it is powerful. Straight from the intro, "Murder Was the Case", he speaks directly about the ways the justice system tried to screw him over—essentially trying to pin him for first-degree murder using selected song lyrics as evidence, a trend that’s become disturbingly common. I don’t always get super fervent about stuff like authenticity and truth-telling in rap music, but by coincidence, I revisited Life After Deathrow yesterday right after giving Rick Ross’ new album Hood Billionaire a spin. The contrast between the narratives, and how rich and tense Boosie’s felt by comparison, really drove home why this tape of hungry, angry, passionate music feels so vital: that sense that he if he doesn’t get these songs out, they will continue eating away at him. 

DT: What struck me is how Boosie has not dropped off one bit. Though it’s good to have Boosie picking up the same working class political mantle he expressed back on a tracks like "Dirty World" from 2008, maybe after listening to so much Keef and Jaden I just wanted the tape production to not feel quite so retro. The style doesn’t sound too out of place or dated, but I wouldn’t have minded getting a vibe this was made in 2014, beyond him mentioning the iPhone 6? 

WC: The production fits Boosie well. I moreso wish Boosie didn’t rap, "You know why they scream, ‘Rape’/ Trying to get a n---a cake" on "Here We Go Again". That unfortunate line aside, Life After Deathrow is just a crazy solid Boosie tape, and I’m really encouraged by the two leadsingles from Touch Down.

MG: To close, some Mixdown trivia: who said it, Jaden Smith or Chief Keef? "Life’s a box of chocolate, not Nesquik." I need a guess from both of you.

DT: Who is Jaden Smith? 

WC: Trick question. I know Tadoe wisdom when I read it.

MG: The answer... is Chief Keef, in "Cashin". What a world!

Lately there’s a nostalgia trip circling '80s punk in Washington, DC. The scene’s central label, Dischord, has made numerous reissues and archival releases in the past few years, including an LP of Fugazi’s first demos just this week. There are also three documentaries in the works related to DC punk: Punk the Capitol, Salad Days, and Positive Force: More than a Witness.

Producers from all three films have recently come knocking on the door of Sohrab Habibion. Besides being a musician with a DC hardcore history–he sang and played guitar for post-hardcore outfit Edsel–Habibion also happens to possess a trove of live video shot around the Nation’s Capitol in the mid-80’s. A few days ago he began uploading his tapes to his new site DC 85, with plans to host his entire 35-show collection there.

Habibion shot all these concerts himself, with a Sony Betacam camera his mother bought with inheritance money. "There are some gems, despite the fact that I was 15 and had zero idea what I was doing," says Habibion. "It speaks to the quality of the bands, really." So far those include DC stalwarts Soulside, Scream, and Government Issue, as well as two of Dave Grohl’s early groups, Mission Impossible and Dain Bramage. Still to come are shows by Half Japanese, Descendents, Lemonheads, and more.

DC 85 showcases a scene more stylistically diverse than its legend might suggest. The bands were high-energy and physically hyperactive, but there are no two bands in Habibion’s posts that sound alike. His videos also capture the excitement of the times, when high school kids were eager and resourceful enough to find any possible place–a church, a community center, a basement–to put on a concert.

"I remember wanting to go to every show, and then putting on other shows of our own"” says Habibion, who convinced his local community center in Burke, Virginia to let him host gigs there. "We were from the suburbs and were inspired by Dischord. And we just figured we should probably try to do it."

Although these were raucous punk gigs with sweating musicians and flailing kids, and Habibion was often shooting from a static spot in the back of the room, there’s something oddly intimate about his videos. The settings are so unassuming, the bands so uninterested in showiness that it feels more like spying on some private party than watching a show. "There were very few people shooting video," says Habibion. "I don't really know what my impetus was other than the camera sitting in my parents' suburban townhouse."

Now that all of Habibion’s tapes have been digitized (a favor from Roswell Films, the company producing Grohl’s current HBO series), his collection has been moved to the "Punk Archive" section of DC’s Public Library. "I honestly can't believe it," says Habibion, currently guitarist for Brooklyn’s Obits. "This teenage thing I did is now part of a historical archive. My mom is thrilled."

If you want to a place to start with Habibion’s DC history, here are three clips from lesser-known groups that demonstrate the scene’s breadth.

One Last Wish

Featuring future Fugazi members Guy Picciotto and Brendan Canty, One Last Wish only played six shows in their four-month existence. The set Habibion captured at the Chevy Chase Community Center features a curtain opening and a hand drawn sign proclaiming "ANIMAL LIBERATION." It also shows a band as interested in guitar interplay as punk speed. Jump to about 12 minutes in for some choice Picciotto stage-running, including a full fall.

Marginal Man

Marginal Man is not a name that gets thrown around much in DC history conversations, and that’s a shame. Their music was an excellent example of how to create punk drive without being hemmed by it’s conventions. Habibion’s shoot of their set at George Washington University’s Marvin Center is engaging simply for its non-stop motion.

Honor Role

Honor Role weren’t from DC–they resided in Richmond, Va.–and they weren’t really a punk band, but the tense music they created shared a spirit with hardcore and influenced a score of bands including Jawbox and Superchunk. It’s also nice to see footage from d.c. space, a tiny venue around the corner from the more-famous 9:30 Club that historically hosted some of the city’s most interesting, unpredictable lineups.

On this week's Pitchfork Podcast, host Corban Goble talks with Senior Editor/resident Wilco-ologist Ryan Dombal about two new Wilco compilations, the box set Alpha Mike Foxtrot and the greatest hits collection What's Your 20? You can download the podcast above. Additionally, you can stream and download all of the Pitchfork Podcasts on iTunes or listen via the Pitchfork Weekly app as well.

It's been an especially fatiguing few weeks of rape narratives in popular culture, with the latest entry—leaked clips of an unexplained project from director Eli Roth, featuring Lana Del Rey portraying scenes of sexual violence—being the rotten cherry on top of it all. Roth's work lists towards horror and the grotesque, though these deeply disturbing clips—which have since been pulled down—have shades of Hollywood "torture porn". While it's hard to judge these clips outside of their full, filmic context, given Roth's track record, it is hard to imagine that these scenes are part of say, an empowered rape-avenger film a la Dogville, Ms. 45 or Teeth.

Further complicating the footage is the easy conflation of Del Rey's artistic image with what sort of heinousness is portrayed here. While Lana Del Rey is an accomplished singer, her most masterful work is her own image, one that has a complex and knowing relationship with the male gaze and male fantasy. She has regularly tangled herself up in big, old, American ideals of what women are supposed to be, shown allegiance to feminine perfection and glamour, contrasted helplessness with control, curdled familiar versions of bad girl and good girl narrative. She has a profound understanding of how women are viewed in America, and layers her work with a vulnerability that reflects the lack of control women often have of their own lives and choices; her songs are weighted by it.

So what to make of Lana Del Rey, our pop priestess of feminine tradition, playacting rape and suffering in footage that sexualizes both? It's hard to parse whether perhaps in taking this on, she is acknowledging the everyday threat of violence that women live with. It might be easier to speculate that, just maybe, this was shelved because someone had second thoughts about releasing a project that depicts an artist (who is an icon to millions of young women) being sexually brutalized. Maybe Del Rey is trying to break into acting and felt like this was the project for her (neither she nor Roth have commented on it yet). Perhaps the next string of scenes that leaks shows Del Rey returning to mortally menace her attackers. We could only hope.

It's certainly easier, as a fan, when our pop heroines signal their intent clearly, and without ambiguity—say, when they flash the word "FEMINIST" on a giant LED screen behind them—rather than forcing us to speculate and unpack scenes of simulated abuse. But, right now, all we have is this too-typical, stomach-turning, triggerbait clip that serves as further reminder of how often the nature of sexual assault is misunderstood and sexualized in mainstream media, how often we see and hear representation of women's suffering through a man's lens.

Like an alt-rock extension of a self-satisfied 4chan user, Ariel Pink continues his episodic PR campaign to offend. Between the ageist dig at Madonna, stating that he was "maced by a feminist", and calling Grimes "stupid and retarded", words on the musical content of his new album Pom Pom seem few and far between.

Of course, Ariel Pink means to offend. He clearly relishes it, as it's proven to be an effective promotional campaign for his career. His smug "I won" attitude is a familiar play of those who incite online-rage in the "clickbait"-era. Ariel Pink is cashing in, embracing the role of the troll; he’s playing us, and being rewarded for it.

The thing is, Ariel Pink hasn’t won at all. While he brings himself a lot of headline-grabbing attention, he’s actually bringing a spotlight to the very real and pervasive racism and misogyny that is deeply embedded in indie rock to the surface. All that needs to happen now is that we all recognize this.

Yet, fans readily rush to defend oppressive behaviour as satirical or ironic, rather than admit that they are real problems. Ariel Pink’s defenders look down on his detractors as not understanding his art or not getting the joke. But when art is suddenly made critique-proof by stating that it’s "all just a joke", we enter a dangerous (and incredibly boring) arena. Art that cannot be criticized serves no real purpose. Art, regardless of the artist’s intentions, cannot exist void of context. Pink has time and again attempted to make himself impervious to criticism by hyperbolizing his offensiveness. His "wacky" antics are so outrageous that we’re forced to believe it’s all an act, so we can write it off and still feel okay enjoying his music. Throughout his career he has attempted to cement his status as transgressive, as if we’re supposed to laugh someone calling their album Ku Klux Glam. We’re supposed to smirk and shrug off the beta-male trope as sensitacho damage.

If this is all an act, it’s not a very good one. And if it’s a joke, it isn’t that funny. That artists truly believe that misogyny, racism, anti-Semitism and homophobia are somehow transgressive in 2014 is downright baffling.

Public outrage over Pink is met with playground politics: ignore your bullies and they’ll go away. This is, of course, entirely untrue and simply another way to silence people whose voices are so rarely listened to in the first place. Acts like Ariel Pink know that the culture of violence on the internet actually works in their favour. They get away unscathed while their critics are met with yet more abuse.

However, as any marginalised person could tell you, acts of oppression are not particularly controversial when they’re something you face on a daily basis. What’s edgy about misogyny? It’s happening everywhere, all of the time. I'm not at all shocked by a man’s blatant hatred of women, whether genuine or just as a way of getting attention. If this really is just a media persona, it’s not entirely obvious what its purpose is supposed to serve. Hatred for the sake of attention is hardly art.

Ariel Pink’s attempt at creating controversy is effective, but it’s not particularly innovative: it’s downright predictable at this point. If you hope to find art that crosses social boundaries, that's truly transgressive, Ariel Pink is not the artist you’re looking for. He’s just a troll looking for some action.

The general response around the death of Michael Brown and the Ferguson protests from the hip-hop community was tepid. The few gestures made sparked little conversation on the issue, which perhaps shouldn’t be too surprising. Rappers are not often brought to the spotlight as public intellectuals unless it's to fit a specific narrative of black male ignorance or violence. Recently rappers Lil Boosie and Lil Moose, from Baton Rouge and Baltimore respectively, both saw their musical output turnedagainst them by the police. Even Killer Mike, a rapper of great political consciousness, was forced to explain the perceived threatening quality of his stage name when interviewed on CNN about Ferguson. The stigma of rap music and violence makes it hard to imagine there being a receptive ear to what performers might say about any issue, and particularly one where an assumptive shadow of black violence looms over Michael Brown’s death and the rapid escalation of law enforcement against the mostly black Ferguson protestors.

Early into the protests J. Cole and Young Jeezy both quietly went to Missouri to speak with people and both deliberately kept a low profile so as not make the moment about themselves. Though it would be nice to hear louder political support from the rap sphere around this issue, it is hard imagine if it’d help such matters. Many rappers speak to issues of police brutality and are often met with a deaf ear by those who’d rather berate performers for choice lyrics that speak to violence within the black communities. Though this could be a moment to raise one’s hands in solidarity and speak up, maybe this is a moment we’re all better off listening to those marching in the streets, whose hands remain up, instead of those paid to use a microphone to entertain.

Dear David,

Late last week, I learned that you had partnered with Chase bank to give Chase Visa or debit cardholders early access to your new album, Listen. Apparently, those who registered their cards with Apple Pay could download your album from iTunes three days before the rest of us.

That's smart, I guess? I mean, it's getting harder and harder to make money selling records, so when a brand like Chase comes calling, I'm sure it's tempting to sign on the dotted line.

But David, I'll be honest with you, the whole thing kind of sticks in my craw, and I was hoping we could talk about it.

It is understandable that you might not understand why this particular deal would not be a bad thing. (Apparently, you told BuzzFeed, "Collaborating is a part of what I do in my creative process and it made sense to collaborate with partners Chase and Apple Pay to do something that has not been done before." I mean, sure, right?) After all, you are French, and France is a country with strong social-democratic traditions, like 35-hour workweeks, generous childcare benefits, defiant trade unions, and a youthful minimum retirement age (just 62 years old—that means you've only got to put in 15 more years in the proverbial salt mines, and you can cash out!). Perhaps you are unacquainted with the avarice and perniciousness of American capitalism, and perhaps you have missed the fact that Chase has recently become the poster boy, as it were, for precisely that.

As it happens, Rolling Stone's Matt Taibbi has been covering the misdeeds of JP Morgan Chase for years now. In a recent issue of the magazine, he goes in hard on the bank, as he describes its attempts to silence a former employee and whistleblower who uncovered "massive criminal securities fraud" in the bank's mortgage operations. It constitutes, Taibbi says, "one of the biggest cases of white-collar crime in American history."

Like the financial crisis itself, it's a little tricky for a layperson to understand, but the outlines are pretty clear: the bankers made huge profits by gaming the system and sticking taxpayers with the bill, and instead of being held accountable for their crimes, they paid the government what amounts to hush money in order to keep executives out of prison. In fact, two lawyers who represented Chase against the government went on to jobs in the SEC, while the bank's stock price is near five-year highs.

In other words, Chase epitomizes the worst misdeeds of our current era of corporate corruption and impunity. And so perhaps you can see how partnering with an entity—indeed, a criminal enterprise—like Chase might be perceived as taking the wrong side in America's ongoing class war.

Now, David, I have a confession to make. When I first read of your deal with Chase, I tweeted something rather unkindly and uncouth at you. I regret that; in fact, I regretted it almost immediately. For one thing, I've interviewed you, and you seem like a friendly and generally decent fellow; I had no cause to be so rude to you. Additionally, in phrasing my tweet the way I did, I just brought more negative energy into the world, which is something I would prefer to avoid doing. After all, with entities like JP Morgan Chase out there, who needs more bad vibes? We, the people, need to stick together. At the very least you've tried to set a positive example with the many feel-good hits in your own oeuvre; "One Love", right?

So what to do? After all, the Chase promotion is over. And your name, frankly, is attached to it. As Taibbi points out, it's possible there will still be a criminal case against Chase executives. Would you really want a weekend-long dalliance with those ne'er-do-wells to tarnish your reputation as a reliable purveyor of good-times pop? Do you really want your fans to be thinking about financial impropriety when they hear the chorus of "No Money No Love"?

David, I have a solution for you: Donate your fee from the Chase deal. But to whom, you ask. Up to you! One possibility might be Pro Publica, a non-profit newsroom dedicated to investigative journalism in the public interest. Or, given the degree to which the financial crisis has exacerbated homelessness in the United States, you might consider donating to the Coalition for the Homeless. Or how about this one: Since Chase was found, in 2012, to have wrongfully foreclosed on U.S. servicemembers and veterans, perhaps you could direct your money to an organization that takes care of America's veterans; Homes for Our Troops, the National Military Family Association, and Fisher House Foundation are all highly rated outfits.

I hope you take my suggestions to heart, David, and again, I hope you will forgive me for being a jerk to you on Twitter. To show there's no ill will, I'll even do this for you: Once you've donated your Chase fee to a charity of your choice, just let me know, and I will send you a photograph of myself making the "heart hands" gesture that you have popularized around the world, as a way of symbolizing that, truly, anything is possible "When Love Takes Over."

Thanks for your time, David.

With warm regards,

Philip Sherburne

Serial: the podcast to rule all podcasts. Since its first episode was released on October 3rd, it's been downloaded or streamed over 5 million times. With about 1.5 million listeners per episode, Serial has outdone every other podcast and climbed to the number one spot on iTunes. Sarah Koenig reports the story of the 1999 murder of Hae Min Lee and the highly contentious sentencing of 18-year-old Adnan Syed. What sets Serial apart from straight journalism are the elements used in television shows: the weekly release, a cult fan following, and chilling theme music that sends shivers up the listener's spine. The music has become iconic, used in parodies and the theme song itself has been played over 22 thousand times on Soundcloud. Composer Nick Thorburn (Islands/The Unicorns) talks about scoring the show and tells us how it ends (PSYCH!).

Pitchfork: How does composing a score work, creatively?

Nick Thorburn: I’m totally open to outside opinions and criticism, but I operate in such a vacuum. I write by myself, it’s a very solitary experience, and I’m not used to, I’ve never had a label or anyone to say, “We wanna hear a single, we gotta come back and retool some of these songs until they’re more catchy.” I’ve never had anyone give me any feedback like that, so this is very new for me, to come and work for hire and have a job. It’s been refreshing. It’s a good challenge. Melody is just my life. I eat sleep and breathe this stuff; I’ve always got songs ready to go. It’s not a challenge to conjure anything, it’s just whether the music I supply is desirable.

Pitchfork: The producers of Serial were just open to whatever you wanted to do?

NT: Thankfully, yeah! There were no revisions, I just spent a couple of days just chipping away at some stuff. I made 13 tracks that I sent them, and they liked it. The first song that I made was the theme song. They sent me the pilot episode, which runs narration, not the final version. I made this song that felt like it had legs, and I placed it at the end of the episode, and it felt significant. There were no revisions, there were no problems. I feel like I got lucky. I was just letting my intuition and taste guide the process.

Pitchfork: So, when you wrote the theme song it wasn’t the "theme song"?

NT: Yeah, I wasn’t sure if it would be that or something else, but I was just dicking around on my little OP1, this weird little Swedish synthesizer, and the song came out. I sent it to them thinking it would be a good piece for the show and they immediately agreed. I had an inkling that it should be more than just something that played in the background once or twice.

Pitchfork: What do you think about when you’re scoring?

NT: I am cleaning up the cobwebs for sure, I’m not thinking about much. I don’t want to over think anything because the second I do, I start to fail.

Pitchfork: Do you listen to the podcast?


NT: I do.

Pitchfork: Do you like it?

NT: 
I do, yeah, it’s super interesting. Intense.

Pitchfork: Were you a big This American Life fan before?

NT: 
I was. When they came to me they had the seal of approval, the This American Life affiliation, so I knew it was going to be of a certain caliber. That’s what made me care.

Pitchfork: Did anything in particular influence the music, or was it mostly just the content of the show and the mood you were trying to evoke?

NT: It was the content of the show. I really do just try to tune as much out as I can and make things that I think just sound good to me.

Pitchfork: Did you mostly improvise?

NT: It was maybe a riff here or there, maybe a chord progression, and then I would track it and build it from there, but I was definitely making it up as I was going along, there wasn’t a lot of foresight or planning, that’s usually how it goes.

The following piece is excerpted from issue 4 of Pitchfork's quarterly print magazine, The Pitchfork Review, which is available on newsstands now. Discounted subscriptions are available through the holidays.

Some may claim that November 2014 is too early for a 2015 End-of-the-Year List. But accepting that time and the universe are infinite and overlapping—with all realities happening simultaneously and invisibly—it’s the end of the year somewhere.

Choosing albums that could make it through our spam filters was no easy task. After all, how does one choose just ten Sacred Bones releases? There are zero major-label releases on this list because all the majors refused to send us any promos because our readership, according to the suits, doesn’t "buy music" anymore.

Anyway, in no particular numerical order—because the only number we respect is the '90s—our 2015 End-of-the-Year List.

The Flannels: Nexium

With their debut Nexium, a concept album devoted to all three members’ stomach discomfort, New York City’s Flannels have meticulously constructed a memorable album juxtaposing the Pixies dynamics, Boston (the band, not the city) guitar crunches, and Killing Joke’s hynotic bass lines; all made shockingly new by the virtue of punk-infused energy.

Black Sunglass Religion: Fuck Sex

Atlanta’s baddest bad boys are at it again. After the distracting controversy of their last album, States Rights, BSR have returned with twelve tracks in six minutes, every song a note for note cover of the first thirty seconds of “Daydream Believer” but infused with a wild garage punk intensity that makes it entirely new.

Terrible Namaste: Even Within You I Am Without You

When Sean Percy’s stepcousins went off to serve in Iraq, Percy knew that he had to document his own feelings about his own youth, his own internal war. With a working class sensibility derived from his father having at one time worked, Percy, over the course of 22 epic Pogues-by-way-of-Jimmy-Eats-World ballads, clocking in at just over three and a half hours, explores the rites of manhood as only one post-graduate backed by four guitarists and six beards can. Terrible Namaste proves emo revival is here to stay and, infused with a punk soulfulness, it is new and it is gorgeous. Perhaps unbearably so.

WHITE PRIVILEGE: ? ? .

Gaining attention with their inspired EP of Miranda Sex Garden covers, White Privilege could have rested on their laurels, riding the madrigal revival straight to the top, but instead, by infusing 16th-century baroque composition with a punk energy, they forged something completely fresh. A renaissance of the senses writ both large and small, and fragile like a nimbus cloud made of punk.

Rotating Animal Noun: RatoxtigerrabbitdragonsnakehorsesheepmonkeyroosterdogpigMAN

The concept behind Rotating Animal Noun is extremely, perhaps exhilaratingly, high. Having toiled in obscurity for years, the Collective (they reject the term “band” as “faux collectivism”) struck upon the genius, brave notion of changing the animal in their name to suit whatever the animal name zeitgeist of the year. Thus they’ve been Wolves, Elks, Cats, Dragons, Panthers, Chinchillas, Mice, and most recently Pussies; whatever the times required of this collective of thirty six of Montreal’s most trenchant modern life observers/buskers, but never, till now, men. Their newest album, an instrumental punk song-scape in one distinct part, is mind blowing and not unlike a universe being created; a billion universes being created, as there is not one single motif, on the whole fifty six minute record, that is repeated. Difficult? No. Not merely difficult… merely… Human.

Morgan Town: (Not For Nothing) I’m a Literal Baby

Morgan Town (nee Dylan Bryce) is not just the only rapper on this list; he is the first white NYC rapper to have been conceived in the bathroom of Roberta’s Pizza in Bushwick. He is an actual baby. Aw. Look at his widdle feet. As all our friends have told us, there’s nothing punker than a newborn baby.

Extraneous Vees: Damaged, With Bangs

Combining the disparate influences of Kate Bush, Siouxsie Sioux, and Patti Smith, but infused with a girl-group punk energy that literally redefines newness, EV assured their place on every end of year list with their single “I’d Potentially Date a Music Writer (I Suppose)”.

VICE INTERN: P(ay).R.E Interns

Is it electro-punk made new by electro-clash revival energy or electro-clash made new with electro-punk fury? Only their coke dealer knows for sure. And he’s not talking because he dead.

Manicured Lawn: Paint Drying

The all-too-common epic journey from young manhood to slightly-less-younger manhood is the deceptively tranquil well that Manicured Lawn draws from. Transforming the everyday with punk lucidity, the songs of Paint Drying ebb and flow with a gentle fury that conjures up grass growing and mist falling on a parent’s back porch in Anytown, USA. Nobody does whatever it is Manicured Lawns are doing better, though a million other bands may try.

Token Noise: ˆΩsssssssssssssllllllu

We haven’t listened to it all the way through. But we have been assured of its joyous energy, its infused punkness, its novelty covers. Noise is the new punk, as EDM is the new disco and disco is the new noise and hip hop is the new rock'n'roll and guitars are the new short story in the New Yorker and newness is a universe being born eternally in the shadow of a dream, as a star, as a universe, as a punk.

Shake Appeal is a column that highlights new garage and garage-adjacent music. This time, Evan Minsker looks at a retrospective comp from Red Aunts, plus new records by Ajax, Vanity, Deformity, Legendary Wings, and TIT.

Red Aunts: Come Up For a Closer Look [In the Red]

 In the past couple of months, Ty Segall, Timmy's Organism, and Davila 666 have released collections of singles—but the compilations covered such recent tracks  that anybody who'd been frequenting the 7" section of their favorite record store would likely have the material on hand. Meanwhile, In the Red have plumbed the past: Come Up For a Closer Look is a double LP greatest hits collection that offers an introduction to the Long Beach punk band Red Aunts. From 1991 to 1998, the band—Terri Wahl, Kerry Davis, Debi Martini, and Lesley Ishino—made terse, playful, raw punk records for Sympathy and Epitaph; they did garage-scrappiness at hardcore's breakneck pace. (Later, Wahl made cupcakes, too.) If you're not acquainted with this band, you should remedy that; this comp is the perfect entry point. (It's also got liners by New Yorker pop critic Sasha Frere-Jones. Ooh la la.) And seriously, if you haven't heard "Krush", go do that.

Ajax: Ajax 7" / Deformity: Deformity 7" / Vanity: Vain in Life [Katorga Works]

No surprises here, but with their latest batch of releases, Katorga Works have another pile of successes on their hands. There's the impressive debut album from Vanity—well-written and raw rock'n'roll hooks layered with sewage-monster vocals. They've got a brutal, ass-kicking 7" from the hardcore punks Ajax that is late but serious entry into 2014's list of essential singles. (Also great? The Yes-style typography on the cover.) Even less forgiving is the noise-caked speed punk of Deformity. Their second 7" is a split release between Katorga and Toxic State, and it is 100% essential. All of these hit stores next week.

Cellphone: Excellent Condition [Telephone Explosion]

It opens with a minor key melody on a vintage-sounding synthesizer, coming on like a John Carpenter soundtrack. What's lurking around the corner? An awesome and aggressive punk tune, that's what. Toronto's Cellphone pile up screams and galloping power chords over the horror synths of their Excellent Condition opener "No Wind in Hell". This is aggressive, heavy music that ties together disperate universes: dystopian-future-rock is belied by the more tactile realm of punk rock. A riveting listen.

TIT: TIT [FDH/Volar]

Why stop with one dark-sounding synth record? Here is TIT, whose self-titled 12" travels pretty far away from the realm of "garage rock". If guitars have a role here at all, it's hard to tell. Why is this thing pertinent to this column, then? Well, it's a project by the Hussy's Bobby Hussy and Digital Leather's Shawn Foree, and it's out via FDH and Volar. There are some great songs, and it ends with a longform synth jam that's appropriately titled "8m 50s". For more synth-centric fun from FDH, check out the new record they just released by SGNLS, too.

Legendary Wings: Do You See? [Dirtnap]

"Why have you done this? If you're looking for pizza, you've come to the wrong place." The sample that opens this Legendary Wings album sets the stage for this goofball, pop-art leaning garage outfit from Kalamazoo. This is fast-paced, catchy, uncomplicatedly fun music. Also, what the hell is going on in Kalamazoo lately, you ask? NOTHING! EVERYTHING! Considering recent successes and jams from No Bails and Choke Chains, it definitely seems to have become a hub for bands making excellent, weird records. Three bands is officially a trend! Kalamazoo is officially blowing up in 2015, and you heard it here first: Eat it, New York Times style section! 

You should also listen to: Heart Healing, the new album from the French psych pop outfit Volage (via Howlin Banana).

If you got sick of 1994 in 2014, you weren’t alone. If an album from that year didn’t get a 20th anniversary reissue, it got a 20th anniversary thinkpiece. Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Green Day, the Afghan Whigs—they all got trotted out for reappraisals. For most of these artists, Rock Hall immortality is imminent (if not already established).

But as 1994 reared its ugly, greasy head in 2014, the unspeakable happened: Blues Traveler’s 1994 hit “Run-Around” returned.

Yes, in case you hadn't noticed, the song—which peaked at No. 4 on Billboard's Adult Contemporary chart nearly 20 years ago—was suddenly everywhere this year. There were the videos where a John Popper-reminiscent character would interrupt a serious, real-life moment by playing the song's harmonica solo. All of 2014's most iconic moments of elated celebration—in sports, reality television competitions, elections, natural birth videos on YouTube etc.—have been re-soundtracked by the song at this point.

But why? Everybody had a theory for why it was suddenly so resonant with the Internet at large. It was a campy, ironic signpost for indecisiveness or political doubletalk. Some people argue that, like "Harlem Shake" before it, it doesn't mean anything.

And like any viral sensation, pinpointing its origins is an impossible task. You’d have to wade through the thousands of videos and Vines featuring the song to see who was "first". A rumor was spread that John Popper himself, hiding behind a Reddit pseudonym, was responsible. Conspiracy theories abound, few answers are found.

But while it’s unclear who got the ball rolling, the song’s re-entry into the cultural canon is undeniable. Acoustic covers, remixes, mash-ups, elaborate choreographed dances, petitions for Blues Traveler to play the Super Bowl halftime show—it all happened so fast. Harmonicas and hats with floppy brims began selling out everywhere. For a solid week in July, #RunAround trended on Twitter worldwide. Tumblr dashboards and Vine feeds everywhere were plagued by the song's smooth, familiar chorus.

And then, at the height of the song’s meteoric rise back to prominence, it re-entered the Billboard Hot 100, nearly dethroning the reign of “Rude”.

Does this mean Blues Traveler are ready for a resurgence? Unlikely. Months have passed, and its omnipresence has diminished. The meme is certainly on the downswing of the “viral status” bell curve. Observe:

As 2015 approaches, the joke isn’t funny anymore (and if we're being honest, was it ever?) Once again, it seems to be the end of the line for “Run-Around”. The internet’s viral cycle, like the 1990s’ pop chart cycle, is fleeting and unforgiving. Perhaps in a couple years, you’ll hear it at a wedding and say, “Oh yeah, that thing, reminds me of 2014”. 

Last week, Jack Conte of Pomplamoose published an article rallying against the notion of "making it", addressing the fallacy that they have "made it", all the while outlining how they lost money on a tour where they pulled down low six figures. While I did appreciate that Conte was trying to explain that he wasn’t in fact a "famous" musician who’s found success, the facts remained:

"$135,983 in total income for our tour. And we had $147,802 in expenses.
We lost $11,819."

It’s weird. All the figures Conte provided to show just how unsuccessful he is, are actually showing something else. Now, one take away from this is that these young people are horrible with money, and/or really, really bad at booking and planning a tour. Morever, what is evidenced is not how hard it is these days to be a touring band, but what happens when a band is bad at managing their own expectations.

Let me get a few little disclaimers out of the way: I’m 37, a little cranky, and I don’t normally care what other bands do, or how much money they make, or spend. So don’t think I'm just picking on Pamplamoose because they're young and dumb. My opinion here is based on my own experience in music. I am in a weird metal band called Old Man Gloom that occupies a little cubby in the heavy metal lower middle class. We play 300-500 person rock clubs. We occasionally play to bigger crowds, and occasionally, smaller. I have been touring since around 2001. I have been in a bunch of bands, and also toured with bands I was not playing in. I am not claiming to be an expert, but I can take the things they detail in their article, and hold them against my own experiences. Online, the majority of comments fellow musicians have made about this article are aimed at one component of Pomplamoose’s listed expenses:



"$17,589
Hotels, and food. Two people per room, 4 rooms per night. Best Western level hotels, nothing fancy. 28 nights for the tour, plus a week of rehearsals."

Most of the people I associate with are salty, bearded metal dudes who couldn’t wrap their heads around that. "Sleep on the floor!" or "Sleep in the van!" was the general consensus. I actually completely disagree; hotels are a kinda reasonable expense. Old Man Gloom stays in hotels on tour. As a 37-year-old guy who works his ass off at home and on the road, I want a clean bed and a hot shower. My days of sleeping on the floor of some kid's house are behind me. Way behind me. Maybe if you have a good friend in a certain city who can accommodate everyone, that’s fine, but sleeping in the van? No chance. That’s not to say new bands full of 20-year-olds who are touring with all their stinky buddies shouldn’t. They should. They have to. If you’re like Pomplamoose, and playing 1000-plus capacity venues, no one should be sleeping in a van. 



Here’s where it does get weird for Pomplamoose, though:

"$48,094
Salaries and per diems. Per diems are twenty dollar payments to each bandmate and crew member each day for food while we’re out. Think mechanized petty cash."

In the article, they state that the two members of Pomplamoose draw a salary of $2,500 per month each. They also say their salary for their crew (four people in the band, one tour manager, one sound person) on this tour is $8,794 a week. That breaks down to about $1,465 per person per week. We have to assume it’s not equal, as in someone playing in the back up band likely is getting less than the tour manager and sound person. For the sake of argument, let's just divide it equally. That means each person walked away from the tour with around $6,000. That’s fucking nuts. It’s your band, and you’re self-righteously not paying yourself, but paying a hired gun $6,000? This is extremely confusing. 

"$26,450
Production expenses: equipment rental, lights, lighting board, van rental, trailer rental, road cases, backline."

So, you’ve hired a back up band. You think these folks are the shit, and they’re gonna deliver an "awesome rock show" to your fans. You’re certain they’re the best choices around. These people don’t have instruments? These hired guns don’t have cases for those instruments? These maybe weren’t great choices. Even flyers at Guitar Center always end with "Pro gear, pro attitude. Own transportation a must." You know why? Because meeting a person who is a really good musician is not that hard, but finding one who can keep their shit together enough to not sell their guitar to make rent is kinda hard. It’s the eternal struggle.

Then there’s lights. You don’t need lights. You just don’t. No one really does. Clubs always have lights. You WANT lights. Ok. Fine. But can you afford lights? Well, the article seems to say "no". It also says you got two laptops to run your light show. That’s a complicated light show you have. Luckily, for Pamplamoose, they got a corporate sponsor that makes laptops that power the light show. (Look out for my next article "Indie: I don’t think that word means what you think it means anymore").

The list keeps going with things like Facebook ads, paying your band a salary while they’re rehearsing, insurance, and paying a "business manager". That particular line item I find very confusing, as Conte goes to great length saying they planned the whole tour, and did all the "business" of it themselves, yet also pay a business manager. Shouldn’t that person have spoken up and said "this is bad fucking business, dudes"? If a business manger just cuts checks to your band, they aren’t a business manager, they’re a payroll company, and yet another expense you just don’t need. Cash money, suckers.


Ok, Pomplamoose. By your article, you seemed to have justified all of this, and rationalized all these nutty expenses. To anyone else, who is taking their word for it that being an "indie" band is really hard, and "making it" is virtually unattainable, you’re wrong. It’s pretty easy. These people just need to manage their expectations.

What’s hard about being a successful musician is getting people to come to the shows. Pomplamoose have done this. Everything after that is all about living within your means. You don’t need to pay a back up band a salary. If they like your music, and want to create it with you, then they will be willing to roll the dice with you, and take a predetermined cut of whatever the profit is at the end. Not everyone will do that, but plenty of folks will. You don’t need to have a fancy light show if you can’t afford one. You should rely on your music to be good, and the primary focus of the person attending the show. If you have to distract them with lights and pander to their short attention span, maybe you aren’t confident in the music you’re presenting. If you’re good and people like it, they will come back. That’s it. It’s really that simple.

This article is like a lot of things in 2014 that give young people all the wrong ideas. This is an extension of things like "American Idol", or "The Voice", in that it distorts people's perception of what it means to create music. Some young musician will read this, and think they just can’t afford to go on tour, or that it’s virtually impossible to come out ahead in the music world. It’s not true, young person! Pomplamoose is claiming all of this is an investment into the future, so that the next tour will be even bigger. Well, again, time to get your ego in check, because the next one could be smaller. There could even not be a next one. This may have been the one. The one where you all came back with $8,000 in your pocket. You want to make art, and you want to do that for a living, guess what: you’re currently doing it. You just don’t seem to think this is what it’s like to be successful, because other bands have been MORE successful. That thinking, in my opinion, is poisonous, and will hamper your ability to wholly experience the amazing ride you’re currently on.


Here’s a brief example of a tour I was on, and I hope my bandmates don’t get angry at me for revealing our secrets:

 Old Man Gloom toured the west coast in 2012. I don’t have every figure, but I can estimate. We are 4 people, plus a front of house sound guy. We played 6 shows. We played the Echo in L.A., Bottom of the Hill in San Francisco, and other clubs in Portland, Seattle, San Diego, and Chico, all at around 350-capacity. All of the shows were sold out, or very close. We each paid for our own plane tickets, around $350. We rented a van from another band in Seattle. Here’s the thing about vans: a lot of bands have them, and for the most part they sit and wait for someone to take them on tour, which makes it easy to rent them from another band (assuming you know other bands). We also rented our gear from other bands on the west coast. You always assure the person that if anything happens, ANYTHING, it will be fixed, and they will get it in the state they gave it. Same goes with vans. We stayed in hotels every night, even while rehearsing, and paid our front of house guy what he asked for (including airfare). We sold our own merch, and gave per diems. We didn’t have a tour manager. Normally one of us does the tour managing duties. No biggie. At the end of the tour, we each walked away with around $2,500. Playing in bigger rooms, to more people, well, that means you make more money, as nothing really needs to change when you’re bouncing up to 700-1,000 capacity rooms. We’re happy in our place, and feel lucky to still be playing to people. We’re also totally stoked to walk away with that much money for a weeks' worth of shows. Even adding a tour manager and a person to sell merch, which are reasonable things for people to do, shouldn’t affect your bottom line too much when going to the 700-1000 size rooms.

The point is, in my opinion, Pomplamoose should be living within the moment they exist. A band should absolutely ride their momentum, but don’t do everything assuming that things will only get bigger and better. It kinda says you’re not satisfied with how awesome things are right now. Although, after that article, and how universally hated it is, things probably aren’t that awesome for them right now. They’re probably super embarrassed. Which also has value for a young band, as far as I’m concerned. Better luck next time, Pomplamoose.

Santos Montano, amongst other things, is the drummer in Old Man Gloom.

In 1991, DJ Mars moved from Springfield, Mass., to Atlanta to found his crew Superfriends and back OutKast during its first tour. Then, he watched the South take over hip-hop, as chronicled by mixtapes–once live cassette recordings, now Datpiff downloads. "As a student of the game, you have to pay attention to the way things evolve," he says in his new book The Art Behind the Tape, co-authored by Djibril Ndiaye, Maurice Garland and Tai Saint-Louis.

The book delivers what Mars promised on Kickstarter–an insider's perspective. Half of its 90 interviews are DJ-to-DJ chats. Most of the featured artists and industry folk are only introduced by their names. Passing mentions of "the RIAA incident" eventually lead to Don Cannon's explanation–how a SWAT team raided his and DJ Drama's Atlanta-based studio to seize 50,000 mixtapes, mistaking such promotion for bootlegging. Diving into this book requires an already-encyclopedic knowledge of hip-hop–or, as Mars figures, an accompanying film.

His documentary of the same name is still at its infancy. Fortunately, the book already presents several examples of how mixtape culture history can be brought to life: Blown-up photos of the first mixtapes, these cassettes with names scrawled on yellowing tape. Shit-talking DJs, reclaiming firsties on every possible innovation, from '90s R&B/hip-hop blends to putting their borough on the map. J. Period and DJ Vlad, recalling how they, as rookies, created must-have mixtapes Best of Nas and Rap Phenomenon, respectively, while clearly stoked to be regarded as ones for the books.

My most recent album, The Future’s Void, deals with topics such as corporate data mining and surveillance, feeling vulnerable and estranged by my feminized online self, and an examination of post-Soviet geo-political fallout. In interviews journalists often used the word "paranoid" and asked me about dystopian visions of the future. Some reviewers were uncomfortable with my casual use of common internet language as lyrical content.

From the time that the record was finished in late 2013, to now, one year later, the world has changed into a very different place.

Constant surveillance is no longer dismissed as "paranoid", it is regarded as fact. #Gamergate rawly exposes that yes, being a woman online is a different experience. And the tremors of Cold War fault lines are reverberating as Russia re-annexes parts of the Ukraine.

I take it back, the future is not void. The future is now, our distance from it is the only thing that is no longer valid.

When I started to make art about my relationship to pervasive technology I felt very alone and very uncool. The language that later made journalists nervous made me nervous too. But my thoughts and feelings were overwhelming and real. Despite initially feeling isolated in exploring the dark depths of online life, it turns out I was far from alone. Multiple films and music came out this year filled with critiques of our present and not-so-distant future. Perhaps 2014 was the year cyberpunk broke.

For the uninitiated, cyberpunk started 30 years ago as a literary movement rooted in sci-fi, tech and hard drugs. The tone was typically dystopian and critical about the consequences of a marriage of technology and corporate power. In the cyberpunk future, shadowy multi-national corporations trafficked in big data, humans often augmented themselves with wearable tech and there was a massive wealth gap between the rich and the poor. Sound familiar?

Cyberpunk took its name and ethos from the punk movement, which sprung up among disenfranchised working class youths with little economic prospect. Young punks felt like the previous generation had failed them and grown bloated with excess. Punk’s genesis was, in part, about calling out an older Bay Area-based counter-culture that rose to dominance while preaching free-love and disruption of old systems in the name of making the world a better place. Now that sounds very familiar…

Today’s Silicon Valley sits a few miles away from the original Haight Ashbury/People’s Park, but still spouts an ethos of "making the world a better place" through a "sharing economy". It’s a utopian dream that may have started with the aim of revolution but we have since become well aware of its ugly side. And like the original punks, we are beginning to call bullshit.

In 2012 a Vice Magazine article interviewed original cyberpunk authors about its legacy. Most distanced themselves from it, declared it dead or reduced it to a fashion statement. The major players seemed disengaged and embarrassed by it. They shouldn’t be. We need their skepticism now, perhaps more than ever.

Erika M. Anderson records under the name EMA. Her latest album The Future's Void was released earlier this year.

At every new flashpoint (Taylor Swift, Steve Albini most recently) in the streaming debate we are met by a torrent of think pieces. Here are three points that are routinely glossed over that should be central to the discussion.

1) It’s Almost Impossible to Compare Past and Present Because of Lack of Data

Almost every piece about streaming music uses an example from the current day and matches it against something from the past. Damon Krukowski’s Pitchfork piece "Making Cents" was illuminating because it was the experience of one person; it was "Here is what we made from our 1987 single 'Tugboat' vs. what we made from our of our songs this year." In Damon’s case, he actually had the information for that specific example at his fingertips. But the truth of the matter is, comparing what it’s like to be in a band now vs. 20 years ago is exceedingly difficult because now we are drowning in data and, back then, we had virtually none. You can see exactly how many plays a song had on Spotify; we can figure out exactly what an artist has earned from those plays, to the penny. If you go back to the '80s and '90s, there are no such metrics. It’s almost all anecdotal evidence and guesswork.

The assumption this leads to, which patchy data is then marshaled to support, is that it used to be easier to make a living selling records than it is now. Is it true? Maybe. How do we account for what "the average musician" made from selling (independent) records in 1994? Of how many made some kind of living doing so? How would you even go about compiling this statistic? Is it hundreds of artists making a living through selling records? Thousands? There were, by all accounts, far fewer people making records in 1994, but we are to assume that more of the ones that did so made a decent amount of money from it. But until we find some way to compile those statistics, direct comparison between our data-dense age and the almost data-less age is very difficult and doesn’t shed much light.

2) Art Has Always Been a Terrible Way to Make Money

Most artists pay to make their art. Putting on a show, and spending your own money to do so, money that is never recovered and is never expected to be recovered, is commonplace. Should artists make more money? Of course. They are responsible for so much that makes life worth living. But when it happens, it usually does so outside the context of market capitalism. I’m reminded of a quote from Lewis Hyde’s great book The Gift: Creativity and the Artist in the Modern World. Among other things, the book explores the difficulty of treating art as a commodity rather than something he calls "Gift labor." This passage in particular is instructive:

But, you ask, if we really valued these gift labors, couldn’t we pay them well? Couldn’t we pay social workers as we pay doctors, pay poets as we do bankers, pay the cellist in the orchestra as we pay the advertising executive in the box seat? Yes, we could. We could—and should—reward gift labors where we do value them. My point here is simply that where we do so we shall have to recognize that the pay they receive has not been “made” the way fortunes are made in the market, that it is a gift bestowed by the group. The costs and benefits of tasks whose procedures are adversarial and whose ends are easily quantified can be expressed through a market system. The costs and rewards of gift labors cannot. The cleric’s larder will always be filled with gifts; artists will never “make” money.

None of which is to say that musicians don’t deserve to be paid and shouldn’t hope to earn as much money as they can; rather, it’s a reminder that in general art is a bad way to make a living, and there’s no reason, historically, to expect music to be any different.

3) It’s Less About There Being "No Money" and More About Where the Existing Money Flows

Related to and in some ways counter to the point above, the problem with streaming media (and it was the same one posted in Albini’s famous 1993 essay "The Problem With Music") is less "Why aren’t artists paid more?" but rather "If anyone is going to be paid for the buying and selling of music, shouldn’t it be the artists?" That’s what is at the heart of this whole thing, and is also central to Albini’s recent address: Why are middlemen getting paid? Why are engineers at streaming media companies making more than the artists whose work flows through those mediums? Why is Apple the richest company in the history of the world in part because they were so good at making devices filled with music by artists who are making less from their recorded output each year (this is a measurable statistic—how much money is spent on music in the aggregate). A certain amount of resentment is built into this debate.

One section from Albini’s address that stood out and put a fine point on this particular question. He mentions the use of the word "release" to describe a record and basically concludes that we should think of the word in its most essential usage: music is being put into the wild, where it can’t be controlled.

From my part, I believe the very concept of exclusive intellectual property with respect to recorded music has come to a natural end, or something like an end. Technology has brought to a head a need to embrace the meaning of the word “release”, as in bird or fart. It is no longer possible to maintain control over digitised material and I don’t believe the public good is served by trying to.

This makes perfect sense up to a point, but what Albini is forgetting is that corporations can make money from music even while individually musicians cannot. Albini would not, I’m sure, be in favor of a shoe company taking a Shellac song and putting it into a commercial because, hey, it’s been "released" and now it’s out there for anyone to use. "Free" is one thing for consumers but even in the best of circumstances there is still money swirling around music, the question is where it’s going.

You can take for granted a few things in any Enya song: the instruments will sound canned, everything will be drenched in reverb, and her voice, multitracked to oblivion, will steal the show. It is her biggest asset and the central nerve from which each of her songs emanates. What you can't take for granted of any Enya song is that it will be good. Within her body of work—seven albums—there are some good tracks and a number of bad ones that are contrived and lifeless; but a few are truly great songs that cross over from corny New Age into the realm of heady pop, soft rock, and experimental balladry.

We hear the DNA of these songs today in the work of Panda Bear, Gang Gang Dance, M83, Grimes, and even Nicki Minaj, who revealed in an interview recently that several songs from her new album The Pinkprint are heavily influenced by the New Age queen. It is those spacious, reverb-and-delay-heavy productions, with the human voice firmly center stage, that give us the sail away chills, and send us somewhere else entirely.

Here are five Enya tracks that stand out from the pack:

"Ebudae"

With a simple thumping bassy beat and a stack of Enya voices, one of her most experimental songs teases us with its under 2 minute runtime and seriously saccharine vocal somersaults. A song like "Ebudae" makes clear why Panda Bear thanked Enya—amongst other influential artists—in the liner notes of his 2007 album, Person Pitch: the Animal Collective co-frontman uses his voice and effects in very similar ways.

"Exile"

A rare track in which Enya’s voice is not overdubbed. The song starts out in minor, burly synths nearly breaking her delicate, wavering vocal line, until the chorus erupts into a sunny major key; the panpipe bridge will break your heart.

"Lazy Days"

One of Enya’s best songs from her later material, "Lazy Days"' lyrics are, like, peak inanity: "Lazy old day/ rolling away/ dreaming the day away/ don’t want to go/ now that I’m in the flow/ crazy amazing day." But there's an exuberance that shines through, and it’s hard not to get swept up in it.

"Cursum Perficio"

Enya’s take on Carmina Burana, this dark piece feels like the initiation rite into a cult that worships thunderstorms. 

"Orinoco Flow"

This song is big. The Enya track that everyone knows still has a catchy-as-hell chorus, and otherworldly pizzicato plucks, drenched in reverb, that cinematically bowl us over. Her litany of places to sail away to conjures exotic images far away from Enya’s Ireland, and far, far away from that hot family car trip where I first heard this song.

Photo by Hedi Slimane

When Courtney Love and Lana Del Reyannounced that they will be touring together next May, the consensus seemed to be that it was because Del Rey openly espouses Love's late husband, without giving proper credit to what might be the most sympatico tour pairing of 2015. The fine details of Courtney Love and Lana Del Rey's artistry are fundamentally different, but parallels between the two artists abound.

For the last two-plus decades, since Hole's nascense, Courtney Love has been an excessive, triumphant and tragic character. She lost her husband and, for a time, her daughter; her grief and struggles have often been very public, her accolades often marred by misadventure and feuds. Yet, for all the apocryphal stories, her dignified ambivalence to criticism underscores the exact "shade of cool" that Lana Del Rey glorifies in her lyrics about reckless youth and "sad girl" aesthetic. While Del Rey's lyrics have tended towards guilelessness and hopeless inevitability of life—Love's vulnerability is wholly powerful—their bodies of work share an obsession that reconciles in dark fate and a weighted awareness of being regarded, consumed, by men.

Del Rey's Ultraviolence, its preoccupation with the Hollywood ideal and ubiquity of sadness therein, is not inconsistent with the insecurity and deep yearning that was so beautifully limned in many of Hole’s greatest hits. Both artists are engrossed in the idea of washed-up beauty, whether that’s Love’s Cinderella, a muse that’s "wilted and faded somewhere in Hollywood" (Hole’s "Celebrity Skin") or Lana Del Rey and her "summertime sadness" getting left at the altar in the video for "Ultraviolence". This, of course, plays into Love’s shared emphasis on the idea of being used and discarded (Hole’s "Violet"; Lana Del Rey’s "Young and Beautiful") while addressing the violence of lust or love (Hole’s "Jennifer’s Body"; Lana Del Rey’s "Ultraviolence"). What makes both of these artists so compelling is how they use these themes as a form of self-analysis: they clearly both want to be "the girl with the most cake."

We shouldn't discount the parallels between the way Love and Del Rey are fiercely contested artists who are either worshipped or maligned. Del Rey’s fractious debut was subject to impossible scrutiny when it arrived in 2012; Love has been subject to the same since before Hole so much as had a 7" single out. The haunting iconography of a doll being disassembled—what that says about manufactured beauty and how fragile it may be, the idea of a perfect woman—is an idea that languished at the altar of Live Through This only to be picked up, paradoxically, on Born to Die. Courtney Love and Lana Del Rey aren’t often compared, but when you sort through the gilded mess and loathing that surrounds them, you realize how much Del Rey draws a new iteration on Love's ambitious archetype.

Still, what seems to unite them most is their shared, unwavering visions of themselves. Courtney Love and Lana Del Rey have "Hi Hater" ambition—that is, They Will Do What They Please, Regardless of What You Think, regardless of the risk. Many didn’t think it was possible, but Lana Del Rey got even more Lana Del Rey-like on her sophomore release, and as such distinguished herself from a legion of pop artists who sound absolutely nothing like her. When she was criticized for being a sad sex object who cheaply parrots a dated understanding of romance—she responded with songs like "Pretty When You Cry", lyrics like "my pussy tastes like Pepsi-Cola," and a rip-off of the Crystals' eponymous song: "He Hit Me (And It Felt Like a Kiss)" (a song that Hole covered during their 1995 MTV Unplugged performance). While their approaches were different, they are engaging and—more importantly—fucking with us in the same glorious ways.