The Earth! The Heavens! The Sapient Stars!—the debut album from Big Heck (Sydney-based musician, artist, and poet Dil Harré)—is a concept album about what it was like to be a living, feeling person during the year 2025. From the first discordant notes of its title track, Harré takes very seriously the chaos and horrors of the past year while also making sure to remind us that, amidst the noise, real human connections and the blessed mundanity of everyday life still existed and continue to persist. Sound-wise, comparisons have been made to Perfume Genius, DIIV, and Fever Ray, though you can also hear the ghosts of ‘70s Bowie, Smashing Pumpkins, and Sunny Day Real Estate throughout. Harré blends these influences in sometimes unexpected ways; for example, the warm, smooth jazz-influenced saxophone lines on emo number “does your mind think faster than you?” might not sound good on paper, but in execution it works. Lyrically, Harré is more concerned about capturing this particular moment in time than attempting to make some grand, definitive statement about existence or humanity. As they noted in an Instagram post from August, “my upcoming album is half social h*cking, the macro, and half tiny personal anecdotes, the micro, I’m trying to thread the two together to paint out how 2025 feels. I really hope it’s going to age terribly.” —Mary Beth Campbell
Captain Buckles, made up of veterans of the city’s sideman scene—Rob Davis, Ezell Smith Jr., Alex Mallet, Smitti Supab, and Phil Breen—joined forces two years ago. With the help of a grant from the Threadhead Cultural Foundation, they have managed to put out their debut full length album Hurry Up, which plays like an ode to the bayou sounds that influenced them. Full of mostly instrumental jams, they all get to show off their chops. “Acting Up” starts like the soundtrack to a ‘70s Blaxploitation movie before evolving into a psychedelic jam that Galactic fans would dig. A melancholic piano opens things up on “Bus Station Blues” before bringing us into the desperate world of a Greyhound station, its denizens trying to escape. “Raindrops On Mardi Gras” serves as an inspirational battle cry for all of us who have partied through the rain, and a call to arms for those of us who haven’t—perhaps a metaphor for the band’s arc of refusing to stay down or throw in the towel. —Carlos A. Molina
When London post-punks Dry Cleaning played the Toulouse Theatre in January 2023, the venue remained packed for their entire set—quite the feat for a touring band competing with Chewbacchus and myriad other Mardi Gras festivities. With their spare instrumentals and sharp, sometimes surreal lyrics delivered in delicious deadpan by frontperson Florence Shaw, Dry Cleaning have established themselves as the kind of avant-garde band that is accessible and smart, but not pretentious. Their third full-length, Secret Love—produced by Cate Le Bon, with songs workshopped with Jeff Tweedy (Wilco) and Gilla Band’s Alan Duggan and Daniel Fox (no relation to ANTIGRAVITY’s EiC)—finds them playing more with lush pop elements and exploring more mature depths. The sardonic wit and surrealism are still there, but these songs are more introspective than their previous records, tackling deeper emotions and themes. On Secret Love, the band refuses to look away from the ongoing atrocities in Palestine, Ukraine, and other corners of the world, allowing space for expressions of anger and grief alongside love and humor. As they remind us on the closing track “Joy”: “It’s a horrorland. / Destruction. / Don’t give up on being sweet.” —Mary Beth Campbell
The Glue’s latest album, Shot in the Dark, is their first vinyl release after a series of tapes, and it sounds like it could have been made by an indie rock darling during the mid to late 2000s. Lily Fein’s1The print edition incorrectly ID’s the lead vocalist as Grace Kennedy and has been updated here. Feist-like vocals resonate and combine well with the folk punk vibes the formerly Boston-based band lays down as they transition to New Orleans. “Butter Blue and Bruised” is but one of a handful of songs to explore the idea of winning and losing in the game of love. “Please” perfectly embodies that pleading emotion so many of us shamefully identify with in both title and execution, with the clever double entendre hitting home through the drawn out pleas of “pleeeeeaaaaase.” “I Wanna Lose” makes you want to bop your head and twist with its perky lyrics and Lily Unless’ vibrant fiddle, and it’s immediately followed by “Meet My Love,” which drastically slows down the pace to close the album with a love ballad down by the river. These last two tracks perfectly exemplify the rhythm of the album, and how it allows the listener to ride out the ebbs and flows of the waves. —Carlos A. Molina
“From Palestine to New Orleans, stop the U.S. war machine,” vocalist Anisah Sahibul chants on the opening track “Ana Dammi Falastini.” Originally written by Palestinian Arab Idol winner Mohammed Assaf, meaning “My blood Is Palestinian,” the New Orleans Hanoun Brass Band rearranged the pop hit into a bold, lush, and deeply New Orleans protest song. If you’ve been out at parades for occasions like Southern Decadence or Lundi Gras in the last two years, you’ve likely heard it already as they’ve been crashing routes and joining protests to play these songs. And they don’t mince words. “Long live Palestine and crush Zionism” opens the track “Leve Palestina,” and they also shout, “Resistance is justified when people face genocide” on “Ana Dammi Falastini.” It’s an unabashed stance that also beautifully marries the musical traditions of New Orleans brass with Arabic musical motifs. I have to admit, I’m only passingly familiar with both worlds, but the quality of the recordings here and the deep compositions and passionate protests result in a universally rousing experience that doesn’t require expertise. No matter your mastery or background, join in opposition and the band will sound all the better for it. —Dalton Spangler
BUY, BUY, BUY. New Orleans indie rock band HiGH want you to BUY, whether it be “at a bargain” on the song “Erased” or “more of the same” on “Centless Apprentice.” If it’s not obvious, consumerism is a central theme to this new record (following their last full-length Out My Scope in 2020 and the EP Unearther in 2021) as well as the bog-like trappings modern life brings. The plainly-displayed reference on the fifth track, “The Moviegoer,” named after the New Orleans-based Walker Percy novel of the same name, where a 29-year-old stockbroker seeks a pure, authentic experience and an escape from the consumerism of the 20th century, mirrors these themes. The aforementioned “Centless Apprentice” hits the listener with a constant barrage of messaging to buy, subscribe, save, et cetera. Whether it be giant streaming services or your friend with a Substack, they compare the onslaught to “begging for change.” The line works as a double meaning, where “begging for change” also reflects the frustrations many of us have with capitalism and our nation’s political direction as a whole, where folks are forced to survive off scraps as the deepest pockets get deeper. The band has cited Green Day and ZZ Top as some of their biggest influences—this record is more the latter, with a couple of notable exceptions. The most traditional punk track, “Super Zero,” cuts to the root of modern politics with its lyrics and energy. “Pin Eyes” works as the radio-friendly single of the LP with a bubblegum pop melody interlaced with Craig Oubre’s distorted guitar and grungy voice. Some tracks lean a bit too heavily towards blues-rock for my taste, like “Grain Elevators,” which is way too repetitive and long. Title track “Moving Echoes” does the groovy and slow thing well, with an unusually positive message to cap off the record, believing that hope isn’t lost if we just keep going. This is an undeniably smart record with something deeper to buy into than most pop punk bands. —Dalton Spangler
Local band HOMEWORLD may have formed in 2014, but this EP is only their second official release, and it sounds like it with production that is very unpolished. Don’t write them off, though. Haute Dross mixes traditional New Orleans jazz and funk with electronic beeps and drones in a way I’ve never heard before, where instruments are made to almost mimic the synths in sound, especially in how they hold a mathematically constant pitch. Echoes of old-school ‘80s house can be heard in the drum machine on “Robot House,” and the last track, “Rowdy Gras,” combines a ragtime sound with more drum machines and a digital handclap effect. It all comes together to create a collection of songs that should be soundtracking a very weird sci-fi movie, complete with laser and spaceship effects. The sci-fi aesthetic is very intentional according to their website, where they describe their music as “where funk becomes the language of new worlds.” That ethos is clear on the EP, too. The first track “Shaper” is the only song with vocals, and the lyrics focus on the power we hold to shape the fabric of reality with our thoughts. Singer Colleen Dicosola expresses her belief that “we are the stuff that stars are made of” and “we are the change we dream to make” with an earnestness that connects even through all the sci-fi effects and clichés. It’s a triple-shot of pure optimism that carries through the rest of the EP. Let it buoy you. —Robyn Kopeny
I was in the middle of a breakdown when Maggie Koerner released UPSTATE, her fourth full-length album, featuring “Breakdown” as well as her familiar musical play with dynamic, layered vocals, raw storytelling, and collaborative pieces. While laced with love songs, she pays an almost haunting homage to her history—taking us through memories and moments in time, embracing emotion, and whispering reminders of home. We see this sentiment the most in the track “Mississippi,” acknowledging the struggle of women and life in the South while longing for quiet moments of Spanish moss and singing cicadas. The song also includes a relatable ask, “What the hell is happenin’ here in my homeland?” Koerner co-produced this album with Ajai Combelic, and it includes several guest appearances—from vocal collabs with The Revivalists’ David Shaw and singer-songwriter Hans Williams, to writing with Boyfriend (a.k.a. Suzannah Powell). Though I’m not usually a gushy love song kinda gal, what I appreciate is Koerner’s storytelling through music. While “Belly Of A Whale” is that kinda song—it’s soft and sappy and gorgeous—we’re reminded in “Sarah’s Farm” that not all love is meant to be, and that loss doesn’t take away its impact. And sometimes love is not love, it’s toxic, as she belts it best in “Oaxaca,” a line we all have someone in mind for: “I wish I never met you.” But even if you can’t catch every word, Koerner’s voice crescendoes and steals air in soft silences, taking you in and out of pain, joy, and human life with every sound. —Branna Elenz
The three-time Female Vocalist of the Year winner at the Maple Blues Awards, a Canadian blues award show, as well as a 2022 JUNO nominee (Canada’s answer to the Grammys) for Blues Album of the Year, Miss Emily (Emily Fennell) has returned with a brand new record titled The Medicine, inspired by a fan’s story of losing someone to addiction. The LP, which features production from Colin Linden—famous for his work with Keb’ Mo’, Bob Dylan, and Gregg Allman—features standout tracks such as the titular one, which explicitly talks about the pitfalls of losing someone to addiction and showcases the vulnerability Miss Emily displays in her voice, with lyrics like “You took the medicine till the medicine took you.” Another standout track on this album was originally written as a dedication to her young daughter two decades ago, “Solid Ground,” which she wrote during a rough patch in the beginning stages of her career when she was trying to juggle motherhood and music. In times like these, The Medicine could very well be the elixir this world needs: songs of hope, vulnerability, and of course, freedom. —Ryne Hancock
This time of year brings with it a certain nostalgia, and on these (occasionally) chilly days, I’ve allowed myself to wallow in that state as I soak up the sunny soundscapes of the recent release from Roy’s Orb, Seven Stories From The Country. Opener “Corn Tassels” is a meditation—sparse banjo joined by Om-like chants, a yoga class in a dusty field—that brings me back to a lifetime of summer road trips to visit family in the Midwest, flanked by endless expanses of corn. It’s followed by “Rattlesnake, Rattlesnake,” a jaunty bluegrass waltz whose namesake evokes a separate set of desert road trips with a trusted canine companion, and whose verses detail the simultaneously mundane and poignant aspects of a country childhood (“Bake a cake not from a store, Daddy says we’re carnivores. Set the table for four or more. Grandma’s stories, such a bore”). “Phosphate” seems to allude to frontman Ryan Carr’s own crosscountry travels (originally from Georgia and now based in New Orleans, he spent formative years in Montana and recorded this album in Colorado), and the peculiar state of having one’s heart in two places. It begins with our narrator “heading off down South again, Magnolia trees and tobacco smoke,” but affirming various times throughout the track that he’ll die in Montana someday. The seven tracks (seven stories), wistful and rambling, are capped by an eighth track: an unexpected but appropriate rendition of “Ventura Highway” (sounding more like an Orville Peck cover than an America one), that bygone tune of finding meaning, joy, and adventure on the road. —Angela Calonder
In this dynamic collaboration, Special Interest member Ruth Mascelli and musician/composer Mary Hanson Scott transform lounge music’s hallmark tranquility into an introspective journey. Esoteric Lounge Music Now evokes a dreamy nostalgia that simultaneously feels very current. Scott’s reedy, inquisitive saxophone musings and Mascelli’s crooning vocals smoothly blend with rich synths layered throughout. The hypnotic rhythms and psychedelic lyrics of “A Lover’s Theory Of Value” establish the album’s contemplative tone. As echoing horn notes linger at the close of “Vaseline Lens,” I find myself following faded footsteps through my memory’s flickering lamplit alleys. Diaphanous intentionality is on particular display in “Could a Wound be a Window?” “The Fool,” and “Hedonistic Arc,” while the ballad “Haunted Hearts” feels like the theme song of a modern film noir. I particularly enjoy the duo’s intense and intimidating take on “Self Control,” Italian singer Raf’s 1984 masterpiece (popularized by Laura Branigan later that year). In this LP, the former residents and spiritual denizens of New Orleans realize the culmination of Mascelli’s swoony, sultry album trilogy (predated by A Night At The Baths and Non-Stop Healing Frequency). Simultaneously familiar and transformed by shared interpretation, this thoughtful LP combines the best of the genre’s classic and experimental sounds. —Terra Durio
What kind of listening experience might someone expect from a release with the name space like a blanket / a blanket like a flower / a flower made of threads from local avant-gardians Karen Kunkel and Cameron Snyder? The cyanotype cover with its ethereal mood hints at the artsy vibes ahead. The album is something akin to a reading at a 1960s Greenwich Village beatnik cafe, where the poetry is backed by a soothing, postmodern sound bath. Kunkel and Snyder make a good team—her philosophizing lyrics push at the bounds as gently as his experimental sound effects. But they each have their own moments in the sun. I find Kunkel at her lyrical best in “how did the dandelion get so fat?” Its humor lets her deadpan annunciations really shine. Snyder’s best track is one without lyrics at all (“*”), an 18-minute-plus soundscape that shows what’s possible when a synth and a medley of nature sounds get together, a perfect bedtime song. The same could be said for the album as a whole: A dreamland all its own, it could be just the thing to send you to yours. —Holly Devon
The role that celebrity plays in the 21st century is, to put it mildly, outsized. But The Rise of Celebrity Authorship paints a picture of its benevolent beginnings, illustrating the instrumental role that antislavery literature had in giving rise to lending name recognition to an important political project. Using algorithmic data to group atypical writings together—fiction, travel writing, anthologies, poetry, and more—Sarah Danielle Allison argues that examination through genre alone limits how we understand the rise of author as celebrity. Perhaps the most compelling facet of the book’s argument for me (and this rag you’re reading) is the included emphasis on collective authorship, on the role of the editor, and how different genres of writing can all work together towards a collective good. It’s easy to be jaded in 2025 about the role of celebrity and grifters furthering their fame under dubious intentions, but Allison reminds us that the press and the written word have power for a reason. With thorough examination of fiction and nonfiction, and how that distinction serves both author and reader, The Rise of Celebrity Authorship makes the case for using your voice for good—against all accusations of being cringe. —Marisa Clogher
Slashers have become synonymous with teens frolicking around abandoned camp sites or at parties in the woods as a masked assailant with a butcher knife aims their hungry, murderous gaze upon them from the shadows. But in The Autumn Springs Retirement Home Massacre, Philip Fracassi abandons the tropes and sets his slasher in a retirement home. The main characters are over 70 years old, and the central character is Rose, a stubborn retiree who asks inconvenient questions about the happenings at the retirement home. After several suspicious deaths, some try to brush it off—since old people die all the time. Rose is not satisfied with that answer. Unwilling to let things go, she enlists her friends in her investigation, and they conclude that a serial killer roams the halls of Autumn Springs—a place where many of the residents cannot leave. The characters are fully fleshed out, and from the first grisly murder, the narrative moves fast. All of the action takes place at the retirement home, making the reader feel claustrophobic, like they are trapped there as well. The paranoia at points is palpable—you’ll become suspicious of the various people in Autumn Springs, wondering if the sweet, elderly folks are what they seem. Vivid prose and inner thoughts of the victims make the murder scenes come to life, and we also get a glimpse into the psyche of the murderer. If you’re looking for a horror book that’s hard to put down, this is the book for you. —Danny Cherry Jr.
Journalist Seth Harp‘s coverage of bad behavior around Fort Bragg—a sprawling U.S. Army installation in North Carolina—began in Rolling Stone, and his book has the pugnacious, deeply informed, and tangent-prone style that’s long defined the magazine’s investigative reporting. It’s in some ways a true crime text, probing a set of killings around Fort Bragg. But Harp also offers an extended argument that after Vietnam War-era condemnation of the CIA, military special forces units—including soldiers based at Fort Bragg—quietly took over the agency’s role in overseas assassinations and other covert operations. Some of those soldiers, dealing with war-related trauma and often accustomed to a wide range of prescription and illicit drugs, then return to Fort Bragg. There, Harp argues, they commit crimes from murder and drug trafficking to domestic violence and sexual assault, receiving considerable leniency from military and local officials. Harp makes his case based on copious interviews and other research, though he has a tendency to undermine his arguments with unproven asides—like an unsubstantiated claim that the COVID-19 virus escaped from a Wuhan lab, or references to rumors that the former Afghan President Hamid Karzai was addicted to heroin—and awkward language seemingly cribbed from hardboiled crime narratives. —Steven Melendez
Shadowman, New Orleans’ own Voodoo-based superhero, is reintroduced to audiences with the utmost care to keep readers invested in an idea created back in 1992. Quite frankly, Shadowman’s original ‘90s design of a Creole jazz player having super powers during the night or when he dons his Shadowman costume has felt dated and cliché. The narrative path laid out by writer AJ Ampadu and artist Sergio Monjes seems to be pursuing a fresh take on who is behind the Mardi Gras-inspired mask of Shadowman, Jack Boniface. Shadowman carries the Louisiana I.D., and the imagery of a gothic superhero holding his home I.D. hits an emotional chord, unlike other comics set in New Orleans, which usually use the typical iconic French Quarter architecture early in stories. The start of this Shadowman story is something different for New Orleans fiction, and his I.D. as a civilian is key to the plot. Shadowman’s character works among both the living and the dead to investigate his own memories and identity, and the creators seem honest about how little Jack Boniface as a protagonist might appeal to modern audiences, in comparison to the mystically powered Shadowman. The superhero identity of Shadowman is completely dominant, and it’s an exciting ride to find out who Jack Boniface is. With an upcoming 2026 video game slated for Shadowman, there is high potential for captivating stories being created in fictional New Orleans. —Jamal Melancon-Hill
Eyes tend to roll whenever newcomers get intoxicated by “only-in-New Orleans” cultural adulation. The tourism industry’s mass production of clichés can quickly lead to New Orleans cultural fatigue, greatly diminishing one’s patience for tales of serendipitous brass bands and first Super Sundays. But that’s no excuse for turning to cynicism when it comes to New Orleans traditions—they’re too powerful and too important. For those so afflicted, there’s medicine in City of a Million Dreams, a documentary now streaming. Directed by Jason Berry, the film is ostensibly a history of the New Orleans second line, focusing on their original function in funeral processions, which can sometimes go forgotten by Sunday second liners. But as it happens, second lines are everything in New Orleans, so everything is what the film is really about. It’s unafraid to deliver the hard truths about living here, separating it permanently from the cultural narrative touted by the tourism board. Its details delight, from Dr. Michael White finding his hope renewed post-Katrina after a duet between his clarinet and nearby swamp birds, to the fun historical fact that yellow fever hospitals were often set up in dance halls, where musicians went on playing amidst the sick and dying patients. Death gives the film its true shape, which is a role it also plays in the culture and the city. Through skillful editing, the documentary braids together many strands of grief, whose sorrow even the most joyous forms of funereal expression cannot lessen. I defy you to make it through the film without shedding a tear. But after watching City of a Million Dreams, as with grief, you’ll emerge from the underworld journey holding life closer to you than you did before. —Holly Devon
A comedy legend plays a ne’er do well who inadvertently has to take responsibility for a small child, and in doing so matures into the adult he should be through a series of mishaps and boner jokes. No, this isn’t Adam Sandler’s Big Daddy, but 1921’s The Kid, the first full-length feature film (68 minutes, times were different back then) written, directed, scored, and produced by Charlie Chaplin. In his most personal film, he channels his upbringing and the loss of his child while playing his famous character of The Little Tramp, tugging at heart strings while simultaneously making us laugh. Using slapstick sightgags and clever physical comedy honed in his days as a vaudeville performer, Chaplin carries most of the heavy weight in this film, while at the same time lifting Jackie Coogan to be the first child star of the silent film era. A clever dream sequence towards the end allows them both to shine. Chaplin the man, however, was not above controversy. He had multiple teenage brides, including Lita Grey who appears in this film as an angel at the age of 12. If you can separate art and artist, experience The Kid as Roaring ‘20s audiences did with a live accompaniment by David Bradley. (Screening at Zeitgeist as part of David Bradley’s Piano Picture Show series on January 4.) —Carlos A. Molina
When Kill Bill, the fourth film by Quentin Tarantino, was split into two volumes due to concerns about runtime from Executive Producer Harvey Weinstein (hardly the worst thing he’s ever done), certain cinephiles such as yours truly refused to watch it in theaters unless it was shown as a double feature. Limited screenings at Cannes in 2006 and at Tarantino’s New Beverly Cinema in 2011 grew its legend. A release for the masses is finally here, and the added material lands closer to the auteur’s original vision. When seen as a single film, the pacing issues that plagued Volume 2 dissipate. The dynamics between assassins and their parents or progeny lend more gravitas to the reveal at the final boss battle. Freed from the shackles of worrying about an NC-17 rating, the Crazy 88 fight in full color makes the bloody red really pop against The Bride’s banana yellow jumpsuit in glorious 70mm, and more gore in the extended anime sequence pushes the envelope on censorship. A post-credits “Lost Chapter” animated by Fortnite brings back Uma Thurman so a modern audience can appreciate her, and it’s worth sticking around for. Block off five hours one day and go see it on the big screen as the director originally intended. (Screening at The Prytania Uptown the week of January 9.) —Carlos A. Molina
It is my firm belief that Christmas is the most underrated New Orleans holiday. We may not have picturesque snowscapes or the scent of roasting chestnuts in the air, but we do have dive bars laden with Christmas Day spreads for extra-inebriated barflies, and house parties with open doors for orphans. Swamp Christmas is reliably cozy, though each year brings its unexpected blessings. Such as: This holiday season was to be made memorable by a trip to Toulouse Theatre for a Christmas pajama party at the Jazz Bounce Lounge. This being far from my beaten track, I went because the press release quotes founder Mikecol who, speaking for New Orleans, says, Jazz Bounce is “our history, our rhythm, and our future all in one,” and I wanted to hear what that sounded like. Rolling up to the Quarter, I saw it before I heard it—boy, does Black New Orleans ever know how to throw a pajama party. Satin glistened everywhere, to say nothing of the twinkling pumps and the groups of color-coordinated women ubiquitously achieving the Holy Grail of fashion: sexy and comfortable. Bounce DJ Mikecol kept his cool in a futuristic helmet—whose face the humanoids clearly weren’t yet ready to see—setting the vibes for the night. At stage left was saxophone player Junior Wilson, who apparently stumbled across the compatibility of the genres when one of his practice sessions was interrupted by someone playing bounce next door. He started playing off it, and apparently he hasn’t stopped. Though very much an outsider in this world, I can say that the energy was high and positive as hell, and every act brought their A game. The bounce hit hard but the sax tempered it, and some cameos from the beautiful and soulful singers Thee Magnolias extended the sweetness, even as the hard beats kept the music in an upright posture. Host Jo Jackson offered wicked and funny interludes between acts, and his razor sharp wit laid out the reason we were all there. “This world takes and takes and takes from New Orleans, and never gives anything back,” he said. “Jazz and bounce, these are our art forms, and this is by us, for us.” —Holly Devon
