September

This month was full of great builds, music across time, and the last days of summer.

“It’s A Mirror,” Perfume Genius

This song originally appeared on my playlist on January 30th of this year. I enjoyed it passively at the time, but never really latched on, and I forgot about it by the time I made the next one. But some mysterious algorithm or Instagram post brought it back to me at the end of this summer, and this time it stuck. “It’s A Mirror” might be as close to a perfect song as I know of. The instrumentation is perfectly crafted to create a universe for the lyrics to exist in, filled with guitars (and even a harmonium) that give it a grounded feel before it explodes into the stratosphere. Speaking of, the build is so well-crafted that the reward feels cosmic, expansive, and cinematic (while writing this I was reminded of the fact that Perfume Genius provided the music for the film National Anthem, which has become a staple of my personal references for beautiful cinematography tied to music, so clearly this is a skill he’s worked on). We don’t actually hear the first chorus until near a minute and half in, where we get a taste of said reward and then it’s immediately dropped back into soft, tender acoustics. Mike Hadreas, better known as Perfume Genius, explains in an interview with Stereogum that people think of him as softer, but he likes big, loud things–and that tension is the genesis of this song. The second chorus is somehow even bigger than the first, with even more detail to be heard. And then, just as you think the song had ended — you’re led to the biggest chorus of them all with a key change up. It’s remarkable. The mixing is beautiful and supports this, letting the vocals lead clear and building a forest of instrumentation surrounding them. The lyrics are beautiful as well, reminiscent of the old poets and filled with careful speculations. Perfume Genius has created a masterpiece, and it’s a mirror worth the entire music industry taking a look into. 

“Shock Treatment,” Caroline Kingsbury

Caroline Kingsbury has been chasing the 80s since the beginning of her career, but it feels like for the first time she’s truly found them. While she’s had successful uses of their influences in the past, “Shock Treatment” sounds like it would be right at home on MTV. It’s fun, bubbly, camp in the over-saturated way that only the beginning of the gender bending video music era could truly produce. The title seems to hint at a tongue-in-cheek reference to another big gay trend of the era: conversion therapy. Alternatively, it could be a reference to the title of the queer cult-classic film The Rocky Horror Picture Show’s sequel, a forgotten 1981 film that has found a slight resurgence recently with the 50th anniversary of its predecessor. Whatever it is, Kingsbury takes these histories and folds them in to her big, gay party. She holds back nothing, begging for it to be “louder and louder” as she searches for someone to join her on the dancefloor. It creates a synth-bursting dance anthem that holds up just as well in the modern pop scene as the vintage one it’s born from. Caroline Kingsbury is harnessing her star power in a way that finally feels like the right direction, and I suspect I will return to this review in a couple years proud to say “I called it.”

“Hartwell,” Shelly

There’s nothing like walking down a brownstone-lined street dusted with the shadows of green leaves on a crisp, sunny, New York September day. The final block of my daily walk to class, on West 12th Street in Manhattan, is the most beautiful part of my morning. Shelly encapsulates the feeling of being a fresh college student in the city of your dreams, crafting a lush and radiant sonic palette with just the right amount of grit provided by a bass line that kicks in alongside Clairo’s effervescent vocals. They traverse between nostalgia and desire, blending the two in a haze where you can’t quite tell the difference between memories and dreams. They mention at the closing line of both verses, “I wanna do all the things I said I’d do when I got to college,” making it feel like this song was written for me to find right now. My only major critique is the length–at under 3 minutes, the song feels unfinished. It could’ve so easily benefited from a bridge or even just a third verse, but it seems almost as if it’s cut off right as it truly gets going. But my response to the lack of more time was simply to play it on repeat, and I didn’t mind that too much. It’s a hard song to get sick of – I keep finding my way back and back to it again. 

“House Tour,” Sabrina Carpenter

When Sabrina Carpenter announced her seventh studio album Man’s Best Friend less than a year after the release of her sixth, I was concerned. The attention-competitive modern culture market has led many beloved artists into infinite cycles of having to give their fans more, more, more and faster than everyone else, creating a surplus of quantity and a shortage of quality. It’s made me doubtful of any record that takes less than two years minimum to create, because oftentimes that means it won’t feel fully finished. But when I listened to Man’s Best Friend the day of its release, I was pleasantly surprised: it sounded great! My personal immediate highlights as logged in my notes app were “Tears,” “When Did You Get Hot?,” and “House Tour,” which turned out to be all 3 viral successes. That’s a sign of the kind of smash hits that last: when the big songs are the best songs. “House Tour” proved to be my favorite in the end–it’s a catchy, creative, quintessentially Sabrina Carpenter hit, centered around a euphemism that hadn’t even occurred to me before (which is, as always, where she shines). It popped into my head each morning and demanded to soundtrack my walks up and down the East Village. Carpenter left me with the perfect song to soak up the last of the sunshine–a final summer jam from the pop princess herself. 

“Li’l Darlin’ - Live At The Tropicana Hotel, Las Vegas/1969,” Count Basie

While I don’t often latch on to jazz songs, when I do, I latch on hard. This track was sent lovingly to me by my partner in its original version by the Count Basie Orchestra, and the romanticism captured me immediately. It feels composed for dancing with a lover by candlelight. I couldn’t stop listening to it and daydreaming in time with the silky smooth horns. When digging through the rest of my saved jazz music for another collection a few days later, I came across this version, and the absolutely stunning acoustics in this recording brought the scene to life. It felt like a movie going from black and white to color film; suddenly it’s as if I was right there in the room with the band in 1969, waltzing slow with my partner in my arms. As far as jazz songs go, it has come to be one of my favorites. It’s soft and sweet and dreamy, and to me, that’s much of what good music is for. Songs are meant to convey feeling, and “Li’l Darlin” feels more like love to me than most of the lyrical romantic odes I’ve heard. 

“TickTickBoom,” Maude Latour

Maude Latour has appeared numerous in my writing, as she’s remained one of the core artists I keep up with for quite a few years now. Her latest single (ahead of the deluxe version of her debut record, Sugar Water), was a slow burner for me. I initially passed it off but added it to my playlist just to keep record of its release, yet as it came up on shuffle more and more often I found myself letting it play through until soon I started searching for it often enough that it became my third most played song this month. Latour is self aware here in a way she often isn’t — taking responsibility for the damage done rather than simply lamenting its occurrence. It’s self destructive too, as she can’t stop thinking about her ex even while in bed with someone new. As a friend of mine put it, “poor Maude is not having a healthy sapphic moment.” But even if she’s emotionally distressed, her production is tighter than ever. Lush and dreamlike, it feels like a callback to her earliest work through a more mature sonic lens. 

“Holiday,” Confidence Man

I came across my top song of this month because I simply could not stop staring at my beautiful partner. They have an Instagram highlight where they stand atop my staircase looking down, dripping in the sparkly fake diamonds of my necklace they’re borrowing and sheathed in a sleek black dress. Their face is adorned with red lipstick and little pieces of auburn hair curling around their cheeks. As their shadow stretches across the ceiling behind them, they stare, with a half smile, down at the camera. It’s set to this song (about a minute in). The synths act as an auditory halo around them as Janet Planet’s vocals begin. The clip cuts off right before the beat drops, and at some point it occurred to me to find out what the rest of the song sounded like. I discovered it’s one of the most interesting I’ve ever heard! The 80s glam pop synths are only one small part of the soundscape here — Janet Planet’s vocals (which sound like a 60s girl group sample) as well as Sugar Bones’ (which sound like a quintessentially 2020s internet rapper) layered over a 2010s club drum machine create a clash of decades like no other. But shockingly, it works. Not only that, it creates one of the best songs I’ve heard in recent months: a vintage-tinged modern dancefloor spectacular. 

“flash,” 2hollis

I’ve been late to the 2hollis game for a while now, as for the sake of my reputation as I become closer and closer to being a white man (HRT is going great!) I do my best to maintain plausible deniability when it comes to male manipulator music. But though I have no idea where I came across this song, I knew instantly I couldn’t ignore him anymore. It’s arguably a perfect hyperpop song. It moves through five distinct sections that ensure the listener will never be bored; a hit fit for the new internet age. But even though the instrumental composition is relatively simple, the layering of the vocals brings dynamic tension to the song that it would be lacking without. It’s the perfect touch that makes it feel complete, even as it’s under 3 minutes and cannot contain more than 10 distinct sounds. The melodies are strong, the slowdown effect at the end is really cool, and it feels designed for dancing in dark rooms with flashing lights in a way that bottles that euphoria to play in your earbuds. It’s a masterpiece of internet music, and perhaps it will require me to keep a little more of an eye on 2hollis in the future.  

“Blame,” Gabriels

I wish I could tell you where this song came from, but try as I might, I can’t seem to crack this case. I could tell you who literally made it, of course–it’s from a relatively obscure 3-piece band called Gabriels. The singer is Jacob Lusk, who was recruited by the other two members after they “camped outside his church with a remote recording studio” after he denied their offer to come to their regular one. While they have found universal critical acclaim, have performed at big festivals, and opened for major artists, I could find barely any information about them. In lieu of other evidence, I keep coming back to the biggest piece: “Blame,” a song originally off early EP Bloodline and later on the deluxe version of their only album, Angels & Queens. Over only two minutes and fifty seconds (ordinarily a criminally short length of song for me), they seem to travel through time. At first, it sounds almost like a uniquely-embellished lounge jazz song, but as it shifts from minor to major key and picks up more and more sounds, it becomes a haunting spiritual, a dramatic orchestral movement, and touches almost upon the sound of the field songs sung by American enslaved people in the 18th and 19th centuries. The bridge almost sounds like a sample, but it’s just Lusk’s falsetto coming out in full force. He somehow manages to bring decades of voice to his sound, from the eerie rasp of the earliest recorded vocals to the soul of the 70s and yet it is impossible to deny that he exists in the present. He knows this — the lyrics reflect that sense of history, using words and syntax from vintage writings interspersed with modern language. It’s one of the most cinematic pieces I’ve ever heard, sounding like it should be from the next Oscar winner rather than sitting in a dusty corner of Spotify. I hope someday a great filmmaker will give this song the love it deserves, but for now it exists among the most stunning I know of. 

“SPIDERS,” Lola Young

Lola Young is an artist I’ve had a contentious relationship with. My dad tried to get me into her long before she was famous when he came across a song of hers on KCRW, but I didn’t like it as much as he did. While I appreciated her contributions to Tyler, The Creator’s latest album, “Messy” just didn’t catch me like it seemed to catch the rest of the world. But on a tip from a favorite music critic’s obscure awards show podcast I was listening to passively during dinner one evening, I figured I’d give a chance to her new single, “Spiders.” Maybe this would be the one that would make her click. And would you know what? It was. At four and a half minutes, the song is a rock power ballad that never fails to give me repeated chills. We don’t even hear the first chorus until a minute and a half in — this build takes its time like they rarely do nowadays. When we hit that first chorus, Young’s vocals rip open the song, tearing passionately through her lover with her signature rasp. It’s the kind of song that makes someone a superstar, because I believe it is genuinely impossible to hear this song and not understand her talent. Her vocals on this song are just insane — she delivers a line almost with a growl around two and a half minutes and the last chorus somehow carries even more punch than the first. She is angry yet begging, the sheer magnitude of her vocals fighting for dominance with the smallness she feels in the face of her lover that is at the core of the song. She’s lashing out because there’s nothing else left to try as the spiders haunt her head. While Lola Young is veering remarkably and terrifyingly towards the path of Amy Winehouse, I can only hope she won’t meet the same fate. We need talents like hers now more than ever. 

“WHERE IS MY HUSBAND!,” RAYE

I found out about the release of this song not through Raye herself, but rather through its sudden takeover of my social media feeds. Within 48 hours of its release, it became inescapable on Instagram. Then it began bleeding into my real life too — it would come up in conversations, quoted in melody. It seemed like everyone on the planet was in love with this song. It’s for good reason. Raye pulls out all the stops for “WHERE IS MY HUSBAND!,” bringing along her full orchestra, infinite vocal layers, rhythmic sensibilities, and all her other best skills to create possibly the most-Raye song ever. Much like Chappell Roan’s “Good Luck Babe!” in 2024, I suspect this song will be her push into true stardom. While she’s been steadily growing ever since her debut album in 2023, this single is her true establishment in the cultural sphere. The applause heard towards the end feels like a real congratulations — we’re all cheering for her finally breaking into mainstream success. 

“Don’t Delete The Kisses - Charli XCX x Post Precious Remix,” Wolf Alice, Charli xcx, & Post Precious

I first came across this song’s original version, Wolf Alice’s “Don’t Delete The Kisses,” on the soundtrack to 2022 Netflix show Heartstopper, which has remained one of my favorite soundtracks to date (and had a lasting influence on both my taste in music and in musical curation). It’s an excellent track on its own that’s recently gone well-deservedly viral, seeing lead singer Ellie Roswell ruminate on whether love is meant for her as she falls hard for someone and struggles to get their attention. She bounces back and forth between an layered chorus and near-spoken verses chronicling her racing thoughts in real time. But this month, I came across a 2017 remix of it buried deep in the Wolf Alice catalog by a name far more recognizable now than it was then, who also happens to be one of my favorite artists: Charli xcx. She adds her trademark electronic touch to the song, throwing in a few autotune verses where she finds herself “in love with ideas of love.” But more importantly, Post Precious amps up the bass and slows down the beat, creating an anthemic, cinematic ballad from what was previously an indie rock classic. They give extra weight to the original parts of the song left in, highlighting the emotional despair in Roswell’s vocals as the tone of the song shifts to match them. They do what a remix does best: recontextualize the original into something even more powerful than it was. It feels fit for a coming-of-age epic, and in a way it soundtracked my own. I spent many nights on New York City streets staring up at the sky with Charli and Roswell’s vocals swirling in my ears at full volume. 

Angels & Queens, Gabriels

A few weeks after I first heard “Blame,” and right on the cusp of this list’s original deadline, I decided I needed to hear their full record. I threw it on during a walk home one night but found myself doing circles around the block just to finish all 13 songs. Something holy can be found in Jacob Lusk’s voice: it’s the husky kind of soul found in dimly lit, cigarette-tinged jazz bars hitting notes that make people believe in God. The gospel runs deep through his throat. Released in full on July 7, 2023, Angels & Queens is their only full-length album to date. It’s a 13-song experimental masterwork of genre, blending jazz, R&B, gospel, blues, and soul into something (as I talked about earlier with “Blame”) so rich with cultural history that it feels like a marking of music’s future. Gabriels dive deep into the dusty record bins and church pews to create a collage of sound unlike any other. The instrumentation is broad and rich, ranging from full orchestral arrangement to just Lusk and a bass. There are choir vocals and synthesizer, Motown rhythms and earthy ballads. But somehow never overshadowed by any of them, the centerpiece is unquestionably Jacob Lusk. While “Taboo” emerges easily as a vocal highlight (in which Lusk showcases his full range of both character and notes), one of my favorite performances of his is in “Professional.” It’s primarily a piano ballad where the attention is handed over to his emotional lament of a lost lover as the keys shift from major to minor underneath his tender heartbreak. Another favorite of mine is the opening song “Offering,” with its instantly ear-catching opening line: “Don’t want your love and war no more/I want a sacrifice.” From the stripped-down opening verse, instruments join the song until it breaks into a full symphony of horns, strings, and choir. From there, it journeys in and out of dramatic, heightened emotion and jazzy downbeat verses where Lusk and the instruments work together to build up the tension that breaks over and over again in each chorus. Closer “Mama” takes the opposite approach: instead of a grand finale, they opt for a tender one. It’s one of the more accessible songs on the record, leaning on classic R&B and gospel choices to create a tale of mistakes and longing. Driven by the divine vocals of Lusk and the compositional talents of bandmates Ryan Hope and Ari Balouzian, Gabriels seems set to go far. I can’t imagine this record not becoming a part of the history it is in conversation with.