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Then she begins vamping, turning things over for him to unleash a series of fills that seem to break apart the space-time continuum. It all seems vaguely impossible. At moments, coming from players this virtuosic, all of it can feel like a wry put-on — the fart sounds, the song titles, the way they pick up and toss off ideas, genres, time signatures, memes.

Why not. Apparently, the equipment in the booth where Beck and DOMi first played together was not great. But funny. When her flight home was canceled, she stayed for another week, playing music with Beck virtually nonstop. They caught the attention of Skrillex and will.

They started performing with Thundercat and became friends with Anderson. Paak, who is producing their debut album. That album has been anticipated for nearly as long as DOMi and Beck have been playing together. Ryan Bradley is a writer in Los Angeles. He last wrote about how cheap synthesizers are changing electronic music.

And why would Swift suggest anything was cooler than she is? More than any other pop star in her cohort, Swift has always paid close attention to the conversation about her. Subtly and quite effectively, Swift managed to position herself as the underdog in this battle — no matter how many platinum records and Grammys she had accumulated by her early 20s.

Is it possible that the war between the so-called poptimism and rockism camps in culture journalism, waged in the pages of The New York Times and at every major music publication in the aughts and early s, ended not with a bang but with two albums of musically low-key and lyrically incisive quarantine pop?

Musically, the blend of strings, electronic beats and lonely piano strongly evokes the two most recent National albums — probably because Dessner originally composed the track for his bandmate Matt Berninger to sing. Surely someone out there is still bothered by this. Of course, Swift was only 22 when that album was released. Only now, perhaps, has she realized that there is nothing about this period that is especially cool.

To pour yourself into the premade vessel of a pop song is to join an emotional experience that is broad and communal and yet, somehow, utterly personalized. It can make you feel more and less like yourself at the same time, serving as either a fantasy of escape or a journey of self-actualization. This climax is a palpable reminder that pitch is not just a musical concept but also a word for the dynamic, powerful movement of an aircraft, the sort of motion that stirs elation and turns the body inside out.

In a interview with Jezebel, Sophie compared pop songs to a roller-coaster ride — similar in duration, and designed to strap the listener in place as they undergo a journey of extreme tension and release. After Sophie died, in a fall from a balcony in Athens, Greece, fans mourned the loss of an artist who modeled gender euphoria, someone who seemed to be addressing them from a better, freer future.

It begins with a synthesizer wafting a gentle melodic line. Drums stir accents on the two and four. Bridgers floats in, singing the simple verse melody. The mood is wistful, drifting. A few bars pass before a revving electric guitar and bass enter. The drums grow bolder. A trumpet rings out atop chiming guitar and keyboard. But listen to what the singer is telling you. She sings about a phone call she got — he said he was getting sober.

Her little brother got a call, too, to wish him a happy birthday — 10 days off, but points for trying. The lyrics pull down while the music crests and crests. That seems connected to your lyrical sensibility, which has this striking specificity but also a sense of remove. I spend hundreds of dollars on therapy a week so that I can fix that problem. It takes me years to write about something.

Word vomit. The first couple lyrics of the song came out like that. It has to be more interesting than that. I should tell you more context about my relationship with my dad.

So the truck bit in the song was, I thought, made up. So the emotional distance goes even further than a mind-set that I need to get into to write. Is there any space between the two? I can only really write from my perspective. What would you think about and do? I only have my experience to go on. My mother was hurt in the fire, and everyone was psychologically freaked out. One of the cops wondered if my brother had done it, but he had no part in it.

In the song I say that he would prefer to drown than go up in flames. It seems like such an emotional minefield to write about your family. Sometimes I think, Why did I open that up? It makes me feel less alone, and I get more of those experiences from sharing my own. We started talking again during Covid. I have so many friends who lost contact with family over politics, and with my dad it was the opposite.

That was cool. It was kind of nice. They thought I was busking on the street until like two months ago. I know that your mom has started doing stand-up.

Have you seen her perform? Oh, yeah. When she told me she was taking a comedy class — concerning. Then she invited me to go see her — so concerning.

And she crushed it. Went to see her the next time, totally dry, she was still funny as [expletive]. It was a relief. Did she tell jokes about you? There was one involving my sending her a picture when I thought I had an S.

You got a little of your own medicine. I gave her permission to joke about me, too. Speaking of: There was a Spotify billboard in L. It made me wonder, if that line got approved, what got rejected? They all came from my tweets. But the truth is that the last time I wet the bed I was like It runs in my family. What I loved is that the person I was dating at the time — I did it, and I thought, Are you kidding me?

It was like a magical fairy-tale solution. Your world is biggest to you. Which is good to remember. How do you see the interplay between your public profile and your music? I could imagine your not wanting that to detract from your music. Need anything? Have you been tempted to do that? I mean, yeah, you meet a fan on the street, you say something unfunny and they go, Ha ha ha ha ha ha! Like, I can see how I could be addicted to that.

Can you fill in that story? How was it that you wound up at his house? One of them is my guitar player, Harrison. I think I was But yeah, as much as you read about this kind of stuff, somehow it still shocks me. Do you feel an expectation that you must be active on social media? I like using social media to strip back that idea of the depressed artist. But I do get self-conscious of my whole Twitter being Phoebe Bridgers jokes. I want to have a healthier relationship with social media than [expletive]-posting all day about myself.

What you might do differently? I have a fantasy of eventually deleting it. But my connection with fans — I have a friend, Austin, whom I met because he was a yellow-haired kid in the crowd at my shows.

I recognized his face on Twitter: He D. The real thing about social media is the direct contact with fans. I apologize in advance for this question, which is going to sound so corny: Did having such a career-validating year in change your feelings about yourself?

Because people have fantasies about external success having a direct positive bearing on internal happiness. Yes, it did. My first three tours, I was in a Prius that I bought when I was 18, going to Taco Bell every day and feeling kind of [expletive]. Now I get to have a latte whenever I want and make art that people will actually listen to. This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity from two conversations. David Marchese is a staff writer for the magazine and the columnist for Talk.

A libation was poured; a drum played; something sung. Then we invoked the dead. At first there would be hesitation, each waiting for another to speak, so as not to trample on the offerings.

When that reluctance faded, the room would be awash in names, private roars made great public rumbling. A room of 30 became a wind-filled Finally, with our guests from the other side of the water present, we would proceed.

It will take some time to say the names of those lost to this particular structural violence, with the virus only a secondary cause of death. I do not think too long about time in this way, because I do not want to drown. She has collaborated as a singer and producer with Yasiin Bey then known as Mos Def , Erykah Badu and Robert Glasper, and is a role model for artists who want to unlock different, explicitly spiritual ways for genres to Best Bench Vise Garage Journal Co speak with one another.

Muldrow does what Black artists have always done uniquely well — signify upon, revise and refigure a theme, expanding an existing form through a clever new one. As Jyoti, Muldrow straddles a space between divine light and the human condition, her singing otherworldly and tender. This love fortifies us through a series of punctuated ooooooohs and yeahs, defiant, tearful breaths that keep us afloat as we try to return to our surfaces.

With Jyoti we fill the basement with Mercedes, calling her name five times in a rising spiral of wind and light. And then just like that, we are off the bench and treading water. To comfort ourselves, we might recall that the line between the living and dead is merely a river.

That to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord. That the passed-on are not really gone. That one day soon we will join them. We set altars with pictures, sweets and cool water, and we meet them there. We remember that in that room of names, we become a great holy many, and for the length of a good wind, we are together with our bittersweet joy again.

Zandria F. Robinson is a writer, professor and cultural critic based in Washington. She wrote about Brittany Howard for the Music Issue. Released just as we were resigning ourselves to the pandemic, it was accompanied by a video that featured a masked Drake wandering his richly appointed but mostly empty Toronto mansion, occasionally demonstrating the dance for his audience.

Even for a rapper who built his career on claustrophobic melancholy, it felt too insular. Then there were his endlessly quotable lyrics, which spawned memes that he would then reabsorb into his music and performances. The effect was a sense of invincibility: In , the rapper Meek Mill outed Drake for using a ghostwriter, and in , Pusha T revealed that Drake fathered a secret son.

In both instances, Drake survived scandal and remained the surest thing in rap music. Drake reflected back to my generation the scattershot and confused nature of our romantic pursuits in the era of dating apps and social media, when we were all suddenly on camera, the subjects of our own reality shows. Is there a musical artist who has more accurately conveyed the distorted sense of emotional investment we can have in a text exchange, or the satisfaction in knowing that an ex is checking our Instagram stories?

I broke up with my partner a week before California issued stay-at-home orders. I felt embittered, betrayed and upset at myself for making a necessary decision at the worst possible time. As in years past, I wanted to turn to Drake, to let him narrate my melancholy back to me. It revealed an artist who had not matured along with me, who could no longer evoke emotional specificity. I mourned for that too.

Ismail Muhammad is a staff editor for the magazine. Last October, the singer and songwriter Moses Sumney opened up Instagram and posted side-by-side photos of himself, shirtless. One showed a typical good-looking young guy in his underwear. The other displayed the glistening, supercut physique of a professional athlete or superhero.

It was an unusually casual post for an artist whose presentation is usually careful and curated, full of expertly art-directed dispatches from another reality. He has kept himself busy during quarantine recording meditation music for the Calm app and photographing models — of assorted colors, genders and body types — lying in repose in fields wearing high-end bondage gear. Like a lot of things with Sumney, this project was partly a cerebral exercise, a way to ask big questions.

Can there be a positive version of masculinity? A nontoxic version? Since Sumney self-released his first EP in , he has seemed like an avatar of everything the culturally sensitive modern musician should be.

I love grating sounds. I love beautiful sounds. Even in his own family, he says, he was and remains the outsider. I remember reading his autobiography when I was, like, 12, because it was forced on me.

He once thought it was because of his older sister. He has been feeling his way into himself since the moment he thinks of as his first successful reinvention. In the early s, he moved to Los Angeles, enrolled at U. On his own in Los Angeles, with his parents and siblings now back in Ghana, he Best Woodworking Bench Finish Network started letting other people hear him sing. His first gig was at a college coffee house in Within months, he was being wined and dined by labels.

Even just walking down the street, the avatar has got to be ready. So he said goodbye to many longtime friends and moved to Asheville, a place he had always loved but where he knew no one.

After being torn between many worlds, the blank slate of the unknown felt, to him, the most like an actual home. In this second record, I was just like: If you can, then you probably should. I was looking at myself, and I was like, damn, bitch, you can. For almost 10 years now, Sumney has been the only member of his family living in the United States. But a few years ago, he started visiting and soon began incorporating a sense of the country into his work.

He shot all his album art there, and the ethereal, imposing nudes in waterfalls on his Instagram were taken in the mountains outside Accra — which, he notes, look a lot like the mountains where he lives in North Carolina.

At the end of , though, something changed. I have a passport for the first time. And I realized, for the first time, like really, actively — oh, this is a place that I can come to.

I know how to drive around. I have papers. But Sumney raised one eyebrow, then smiled broadly. To begin wrapping your mind around Jacob Collier, the wizardly English singer-songwriter-arranger-producer, the place to start is not a recording or a music video or a concert. You need to check out a lecture.

On the internet, you can find dozens of examples of Collier in professorial mode, or as professorial as it gets for a guy whose wardrobe leans to rainbow-colored Crocs and hats with ears.

There are videos of him conducting master classes at the Berklee College of Music and the University of Southern California. Collier is a star who has toured the world and won four Grammys — he is nominated for three more in , including Album of the Year — yet he is most in his element when he faces a lecture-hall audience or a laptop camera and plumbs the deeps of music theory, holding forth on plagal cadences, time signatures in Bulgarian folk music and his own esoteric innovations, such as the continually modulating musical scale he has named the Super-Ultra-Hyper-Mega-Meta-Lydian.

Collier is 26, but with his baby face and string-bean limbs, he looks little different than he did nearly a decade ago, when videos showcasing his virtuosity first circulated online. His one-man-band skills were outrageous. He studied in prestigious conservatories and was raised in a musical household. The video caught the attention of Quincy Jones, who signed the teenager to a management deal.

But like all his songs, it is also about music itself, a formal exercise that tests how many sounds and ideas one pop recording can bear. There are electronic bleats and snatches of funk guitar. There is pop-soul crooning and weird vocal harmonies that swoop across the stereo spectrum. There is a psychedelic prechorus and a buoyant R.

The performance was typical Collier: a kind of epic humblebrag, a casual display of genius. To call Collier a genius is not exactly a critical judgment. But do great gifts necessarily yield good songs? There has always been a tension in music, especially in pop, between technical fluency and the more nebulous qualities — style, wit, magnetism, emotional pull — that make a performer captivating. Some musicians have it all.

Some are audibly blessed with more of one gift than another. Then there are those for whom technical prowess seems almost like an impediment to creating music that speaks to large audiences. Collier is a peculiar case: a wunderkind whose objectively groundbreaking music can strike listeners as unremarkable, even dull.

Part of the issue is his voice. The pallor of his tone, and the sheer volume of stuff he attempts to cram into each measure, give the song a lead-footed feeling. It lumbers when it should strut. Others, more steeped in theory, may experience an entirely different song. This is the paradox of Jacob Collier. This is undoubtedly true if, like Collier, you are among the fraction of people with perfect pitch.

For those who can follow along, his moonshot journeys into new realms of pitch, temperament and microtonality are thrilling. But Collier has chosen to work in pop, where communication between artists and audiences takes place on an earthier plane. Some of his greatest feats may not even register with lay listeners, even as a vague intimation or emotion.

Watching and listening as he turns his song inside out, you have an oddly inverted experience of music appreciation: The sum of the parts appears far greater than the whole, and the sturdiness and beauty of the underlying architecture shines through.

Pop music develops through subverted expectations. The genre takes what we know well about its songs — the lyric about love, the hook after the verse — and reworks it over and over again, in endless pursuit of transcendent novelty. The feeling of pop is the rug pulled out from under, then immediately replaced, to much delight.

But soon, each new gimmick starts to feel familiar. Our ears grow jaded, build up a tolerance; the rush becomes more difficult to attain.

Enter pop country, a harder drug. Pop country is pop songwriting in a vise. Its set of motifs are even more constrained — beer, trucks, heterosexual love — and as a result a lyricist has to work twice as hard to surprise us.

Cross-genre innovations arrive slowly, if at all. But constraints breed creativity too, and in the best cases, a pop-country song sets the known and the unknown in perfect opposition.

The things that feel rote are reborn to inspire. Disorder is reordered; the status quo restored. Next we follow Hunt as he floats through daily life, taunted by his ambient desire for an ex. How human it is to yearn in a way that so many others have already yearned. He savors the pleasant paranoia of a breakup: the fearful desire to run into your ex, the question of whether she longs for it, too.

In the final verse, she tells him to leave a pile of her things out on the porch swing, but she never picks them up. Is it a sign she wants him back? Until the pandemic, the stuff of daily life — drinking beer, finding love, clocking in, breaking up — could feel like just going through the motions.

Jamie Lauren Keiles is a contributing writer for the magazine. The lost, forbidden pleasures are all immortalized onscreen. Dezeen Awards is now accepting entries! Enter before 31 March to take advantage of discounted early entry fees.

Dezeen Awards will open for entries on 2 February, with the discounted early-entry period running until 31 March. Enter your project or studio from next week on and sign up to the Dezeen Awards newsletter to receive more information! Want to win one of these elegant trophies next year? Subscribe to the Dezeen Awards newsletter to receive details of our programme celebrating the world's best architecture, interiors and design.

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