For the better part of a decade, Butte has been a quiet force in the New Orleans indie scene. Though dreamy and thoughtful, the underlying edge to their songs compels you to pay careful attention, the musical equivalent of taking a long walk in a dark forest to confront your thoughts. On This world is green, and I always forget, songwriter/guitarist/frontperson Theresa Romero explores what it looks like when we are faced with endings. It would be easy to wallow in feelings of loss, but Romero and company are more interested in how these feelings transform us. The appropriately named opening track “Opening song” begins with static, eventually melding into a lush and layered soundscape. Like grief, the discordance never fully disappears, instead forming a balance with the rest of the music. The gorgeous “Somewhere outside of Elizabethtown” is a bittersweet memory preserved in time, invoking “Ave Maria,” like a prayer to the past. Everything changes and everything must end, eventually. And so, instead of despairing, we might ask ourselves to consider what the other side of things could look like and who we want ourselves to become (from “Mosquito”: “This hurt won’t leave me empty / But it will change me / For sure”). For what it’s worth, both my cats absolutely loved this album. They curled up and purred and slow-blinked when I played it. (The album release show is April 10 at Marigny Studios.) —Mary Beth Campbell
Local punk project D.Sablu tears into some serious high voltage rock’n’roll on this three-song 7”. On standout cut “Electrified Beat,” the band plays with unrelenting speed as if hundreds of watts are jacked directly into their veins. Riled up chants and a thrashed out guitar solo enhance the track’s already manic energy. “When you’re crashing all around / it doesn’t matter what you believe / emotions become a weapon / catalyzed by the beat,” shouts D.Sablu namesake David Sabludowsky on the soon-to-be pit anthem. Many of D.Sablu’s prior releases feature Sabludowsky traversing quirky lo-fi terrain alone. In contrast, the three songs on Righteous Light are crisp, clear recordings that showcase the four-piece powerhouse that has terrorized many local dives. Richmond label 11 PM Records dropped this 7” EP in between the band’s fall tour with local instigators Eyehategod and a spring run with Spanish lo-fi weirdos Prison Affair. After years of D.Sablu whipping local punks into a frenzy, out-of-towners appear to finally be seeing the light. —William Archambeault
Broadly speaking, Isaac Eady’s Amponsah is situated in that no man’s land between funk, jazz, and R&B where many an unambitious musician is content to noodle. But in Eady’s capable hands, the blurred genre lines provide the range for each song to form its own distinct microreality, yet they stitch together beautifully. Amponsah is clearly an album made by someone who is paying real attention. Though the lyrics are simple, they’re given to exploring the side roads of big emotions, as in the D’Angelo-esque “Beautiful Things,” or “On My Mind,” a sweet and sexy crooner about longing for your love on the road. Eady began his New Orleans career grinding on Bourbon, treating every gig as an opportunity to hone the craft, and that musical discipline is evident in his textured instrumentation. The variety doesn’t come at the expense of control; a wild flute solo on “Rose Colored Glasses” stops just short of over the top, and the brass peppering the album always comes in at exactly the right moment, until Eady gives into it entirely in one of the final (and best) tracks, “Where U Wanna Go.” The album offers unexpected proof of its quality in a cover of Nick Drake’s “The Road.” The Amponsah song which first hooked me, this version translates the effervescence of the original into something rhythmic and luxurious. Covering Nick Drake well is next to impossible; in Eady’s undeniable success I could hear the kind of artistic confidence that comes from sustained curiosity in your chosen medium. Turns out, it’s contagious—I’ve been listening to the album on repeat. —Holly Devon
In a recent interview with The Guardian, Kim Gordon (Sonic Youth, Body/Head, Free Kitten) describes AI as having “no sense of death about it, it has no sense of human frailty. It’s definitely something I’m kind of fearful of.” Gordon addresses this fear of AI, along with myriad other fascist horrors, on her latest solo album PLAY ME. Produced by longtime collaborator Justin Raisen (Charli XCX, Yves Tumor, Sky Ferreira), PLAY ME finds Gordon continuing to experiment with trip-hop, industrial, and trap beats, this time also incorporating krautrock influences into the music alongside her abstract spoken lyrics. Gordon describes herself as a visual artist who makes music and, as with her other solo efforts, this is catchy, heady, and darkly funny music that demands attention. The title track is a wry takedown of Spotify, with Gordon intoning fake algorithm-generated playlist names: “Rich popular girl / Villain mode /…All the feels, chill vibes, feel free.” Subtle it is not, but subtlety can be overrated. “DIRTY TECH” explores these concerns with AI takeover further. Album closer “BYEBYE25!” is a companion to her 2024 single “BYE BYE,” the lyrics a long list of words the Trump administration is attempting to ban: “Measles / …Commercial sex worker / Lesbian / Women / Bye-bye.” With PLAY ME, Gordon reminds us of the deadness of AI and fascism, and that by remaining creative and curious we have the advantage. —Mary Beth Campbell
There’s a great overlap amongst wanderers, songwriters, and people who (at least from time to time) call New Orleans home. As such, it’s never any great surprise to find the albums of local artists peppered with place-names and poetic details to make you feel like you’re there. The new album from Greazy Alice, As Time Goes By, comes as a particularly well-adorned almanac. Having moved away from the self-defined “sleazy hard-riffing rock’n’roll” with which the group—multi-instrumentalist singer-songwriter Alex Pianovich and a rotating crew of bandmates—hit the scene in the mid-2010s, As Time Goes By is largely a tender and gentle country-folk album, with reflections on friendship, nature, and one’s place in the cosmos. This iteration of Greazy Alice has Will Repholz on bass, Lee Garcia on drums, and Jo Morris providing a robust female counterpart to Pianovich’s vocals. The opener “Circles” finds Pianovich traveling “west from West Virginia, over the coalfields of Kentucky,” observing oaks, elms, and an early-morning Orion. “Green” brings us to Pennsylvania as he reminisces on a hot Independence Day at Bald Eagle Mountain (“I wonder what happened to all of my friends,” he muses, the listener’s eyes welling with tears). “Turn” then takes us through the Alleghenies to witness with Pianovich the changing of the leaves for the first time in seven years as he makes his way home to New Orleans for his birthday. The back half of the album brings us to the other side of the country—to Austin in “Departures” as well as Van Horn, Texas and Las Cruces, New Mexico in “West,” an upbeat cowboy tune that keeps the album from falling squarely in “gentle” territory. Also serving that purpose is “Just Another One,” the sole song of heartache (this one set in our own stormy New Orleans) and my favorite on the album. It’s built on spoken-word, stream-of-consciousness ramblings about feeling like “a spent cigarette snuffed out on a windowsill,” and it made this lifelong Casablanca fan ashamed to have initially missed that the album title is indeed a nod to the film’s eponymous theme song. Weighing in on the protagonist’s oft-debated decision to let the love of his life fly away forever at the end, Pianovich remarks, “He let that dream die and ran off to dim his light and drink gin with the boys and I really can’t blame him. I really get it.” —Angela Calonder
“Is this the sound / of the end of the world?” Zora Lucent drones on “Undressing the Spirits” from her third and latest album. It’s a good question and an apt description—Vestige simultaneously invokes a seedy, pulsing club and the opaque void of utter solitude. Harshly post-industrial and paradoxically poetic, the album was meticulously forged by the Berlin and New Orleans-based DJ, vocalist, composer, and producer. A jarring, decentering traipse into the unknown, Vestige deals in dualities: The musical composition is a harsh, otherworldly journey, but the intricate vocal soundscape encourages inner exploration. Sometimes intoned, sometimes sung, Lucent’s lyrics cut through the din abruptly in distorted echoes, offering a multidimensional barrage of conundrum. But there are key moments in which her messages ring through plainly, inviting the listener to focus in and contemplate: “Unravel now your ghostly matter / Behold truth in the eye of the other.” The ominous realm Vestige occupies isn’t comfortable, and it’s not meant to be. But it is worth visiting. —Terra Durio
Earnest as Adrianne Lenker, contemplative as Arthur Russell, and endearing as Kimya Dawson (with a sound influenced by all of the above), singer-songwriter Lou Oma’s debut album feels like rain on a sunny day. Enfold’s folksy melodies and melancholic, indie-informed lyrics are heartfelt and unforced; the album manages to evoke something bygone while staying anchored in the present. Jaunty guitar, quizzical synth, and buoyant vocals are the tools Oma uses to plumb emotional depths, unearthing artifacts of love, yearning, and regret. Gently dusting off those brittle, delicate relics, she examines the emerging catalog of memory and displays it sincerely, as in the title track: “All you get is a note / A whole life in a note / We’ve been dreading the sound / I wish I could just enfold you and everyone in my arms.” There’s certainly room to grow, metaphorically and musically, and some lyrics stick out as jejune. But it is a solid first album. Life is a wonder, Enfold seems to say—and by sharing it, the experience is tenderly and thoroughly beheld. —Terra Durio
In March of last year, the Treme-based band People Museum, helmed by Jeremy Phipps on trombone and Claire Givens on vocals, partnered with renowned choreographer Cassi Abranches to compose music for their debut ballet Dusk, which premiered at the Marigny Opera House. That triumph was among the many that the band celebrated in 2025, which included their set at Jazz Fest as well as a collaboration with the Louisiana Philharmonic Orchestra at the New Orleans Jazz Market. On the heels of their success with their first original ballet, as well as a celebration of their 10th anniversary as a band, People Museum decided to share the original music from the ballet and transform it into a complementary eight-track studio album. The initial track, “I Am Yearning To Be Wild,” opens with a pulse-driven instrumental followed up by Givens’ enchanting vocals and layered with the lush phrasing of Phipps’ trombone. Another standout track is “Reflection,” a two-and-a-half-minute meditative instrumental piece that showcases Phipps’ trombone. Similar to the ballet, Dusk, which comes out April 17, is a utopian dreamscape where the listener can feel free and wild, reflect, and of course, move around. (People Museum’s Dusk album release party will be at Music Box Village on April 23.) —Ryne Hancock
After three decades of burning through green-themed nuggets of pungent punk rock, Rocky & The Sweden has rightfully earned the title Punks Pot Head. On opener “Up In Smoke,” the Japanese band combines mean grooves ripped from Cheech & Chong’s “Earache My Eye” with unrelenting hardcore punk. As a straight-laced loser, I’m seldom blinded by the thick smoke that hides the mediocrity of most pot-themed rock. For every emerald gem like Black Sabbath‘s “Sweet Leaf” and Sleep‘s “Dopesmoker,” there is a mountain of lackluster crap that relies on gimmicks to mask the foul stench of shit. What draws me to Rocky & The Sweden is not their themes but the way they genuinely excel as a band. Songs like “Chain Smoke” and “BxBxB” fuse hard-edge rock’n’roll with snarling hardcore fury for massive adrenaline rushes. These are tracks that feel ready to explode from a mixture of thunderous drums, scorching guitar, and energetic shouting in Japanese. While most American pot odes have a carefree air, Rocky & The Sweden harness their defiant punk spirit to push the envelope in Japan, a country where weed is considerably more frowned upon than in the U.S. Prominent American metal label Relapse‘s decision to release Punks Pot Head and reissue a handful of the band’s older joints indicates that their flame shouldn’t burn out anytime soon. —William Archambeault
You know you’re in for a “real emo record™” when the band is named after an Edgar Allan Poe verse (from “The Sleeper”). Hailing from Savannah, Georgia, Rosemary nods upon the grave creates enveloping music that simultaneously constricts and comforts, pummels and praises. Admittedly, this sounds melodramatic (or at the very least kinky), but when you drop the needle on opening track “Count to three,” you will hear it immediately. An avalanche of crashing drums and bass barrage you as vocalist Jasper Huddleston1The print edition of this review incorrectly lists Nat Lacuna on vocals wails before emotive guitars gently rock you into a harmonic bridge, building skyward like some druidic spell. Taking a look at some of their listed influences—City of Caterpillar, Mogwai, Slowdive—it’s clear they’re after an atmospheric sound. Lyrically, many of the songs follow a bittersweet formula, often focusing on themes of death, rebirth, and the existential—all great subjects that can fall flat when handled by less capable songwriters. When you look up “Dépaysement,” the name of the second track on the EP, the French word often gets referred to as “untranslatable,” but roughly means “homesick, especially in a foreign country.” This track recontextualizes “Dépaysement” in regards to the self, questioning when a person can ever feel they’ve answered the riddle of life’s purpose, or is “just breathing enough?” Using obscure French words to say you’re alien to all of existence? I don’t think you can get any more cosmically emo than that. —Dalton Spangler
Station Model Violence is the newest venture from members of Total Control, Slug Guts, and DEN. The album starts with “Learn To Hate,” which is a clever title given the current political climate. DX sings “no chains and high stakes / learn to hate in the light of day,” while drums repeat themselves almost in a marching manner. What the listener marches to is questionable, as the track feels so stiff, then blends into “Cliffs,” which also pulses on, leaving no break after the first track. Lyrically, the theme of “staring into the sun” repeats itself through the first several songs with the music gliding into a post-punk rhythm that feels awkward and indecisive. Then, in the middle, “Apex Calling” brings a final respite into calm desire, reminiscent of the Blitz song “New Age.” “Apex Calling” asks: “is your flag unfurled / do you hear the sound of savage lust, primal screams, a fatal thrust?” and although the pace of the album has changed, the questions that the lyrics ask don’t waver. If you longed for Total Control to grip you with new work, this album may or may not be the answer. Station Model Violence has the tone of a rallying cry that can only happen independently—that lyrically seems sure of its independence, but musically is repetitive and unwavering. —Sara Nicole Storm
You may have heard Strange Roux at some point over the past decade at Le Bon Temps Roule or during their residency at Blue Nile, playing a selection of rock singles or interpretive covers, but the Strange Roux heard on Midnight Dancer has been hibernating in founder Jason Kareores’ half stack for the better part of 20 years. Produced by André Bohren and Jack Miele, Midnight Dancer is not intended to be a mere facelift, but a reinvention of a longstanding New Orleans band. Taking decades-old songs and bringing in new musicians to perform them is usually a recipe for disaster, but in this case it remains cohesive. The EP is swampy, remaining largely in the world of blues rock. Some tracks meander into punk-infused religious breaks, and others are reminiscent of El Camino-era Black Keys. The EP’s most notable aspect is its cinematic nature. Midnight Dancer would be an appropriate soundtrack for fighting a vampire on Bourbon Street or a scene from season one of True Detective. From the unscripted drum intro on “Blurry” to the final unexpected belt by singer Kennedy Kuntz on “Doggies Makin’ Babies,” the artistry of Midnight Dancer lives not in the expected blues-rock style, but in the improvisations, reminding the listener what music is all about—energy. —Barclay Zislin
Although this project is named walkingonsunshine, dragged-kicking-and-screaming-into-the-darkness would be a more accurate description of this local duo’s music. Rosemary Malign and Bobby Paranoize (Shitload) first joined forces for the early 2025 collaborative release SHITLOAD WITH ROSEMARY MALIGN, which dove so deep into harsh noise that it genuinely felt torturous. walkingonsunshine’s self-titled debut traverses similarly rough terrain but is more grounded in the duo’s stoner and sludge influences. For instance, “passersby” pairs sparse, repetitive bass lines with Rosemary’s haunting murmurs and Bobby’s savage shouts. Most of this five-song EP attempts to balance these elements with electronic noise. However, on closing track “smash,” the duo abandon this effort in favor of a real dive into the abyss. Since dropping this five-song EP in December, walkingonsunshine has already returned with another single “unleashed” with two different mixes courtesy of each noisemaker. Much like an extreme gorefest horror movie, walkingonsunshine is not for the faint of heart, but will likely be rewarding for those who appreciate the craft. —William Archambeault
Local puppeteer legend Miss Pussycat has teamed up with “Philadelphia’s preeminent papier-mâché rock band” Evil Sword for a quirky yet endearing 12” split dubbed The Skit Split. Evil Sword’s side (The Wishing Pebble of Soggy Pond) uses freak rock to tell about the exploits of friends who encounter a wish-granting rock. On “The Game,” Kate Ferencz and Ben Furgal transform bouncing bass, crashing percussion, and a skronking horn into a peculiar chess anthem. Other tracks use the duo’s unconventional instrumentation to score twisted tales, as in “The Talking Warts” and “The Fairies.” Miss Pussycat even makes a cameo as a sorceress. While Evil Sword prefer to turn their stories into songs, Miss Pussycat’s side of this 12” is an audio version of a puppet show entitled MG Xing Ever Gras. In this hyperlocal show, kittens explore a secret back room at Jefferson Variety for Mardi Gras costume materials, a grouchy old captain works on a parade float, and a mysterious dark cloud lurks overhead. The hijinx that ensue are a love letter to Carnival-time chaos and differing opinions on how to do it right. Miss Pussycat and her husband/artistic collaborator Quintron have been stunning audiences for three decades. This split with a younger duo shows that Q and P’s bold art has undoubtedly left an impact on at least a few of the many weirdos that have seen them over the decades. (Evil Sword and Miss Pussycat perform for the record release party at the Spellcaster Lodge on April 12.) —William Archambeault
Each year as part of its Rock On Survival Marathon, WTUL—the college radio station based out of Tulane University (and an ANTIGRAVITY advertiser)—releases a compilation album of some of the best, weirdest, and freshest underground music New Orleans has to offer. The latest edition, Songs from the Basement Vol. 23, captures highlights within the city’s alternative music scene, featuring songs from established artists like Spllit, The Convenience, and Laura Fisher alongside freshman acts like Swinging Astrid, Lyla George, and Mac NL. Although it’d be unfair of me to critique this comp as being “incomplete” in its summation of the local underground (especially considering the station chooses what to include based on what is submitted by local artists, among a series of other qualifiers) don’t expect to find much in the way of hip-hop, heavy music, or traditional New Orleans sounds this year apart from a few notable exceptions. Rather, Vol. 23 plainly displays the popularity of indie and synth-pop styles within the last year. On the synth side of things, you’ve got gorgeous dream pop coming from Butte’s “Bop” as well as Kelly Duplex’s more jangly “Fabric Hands.” Shining Fields’ droney and industrial track “Pools of Orange Plastic” feels appropriately apocalyptic for the current moment. “Kiss Me” by Drugstore Lipstick stands out as an electrifying, queer pop song with Slade Warnken’s Prince-esque vocals. There’s country and folk representation too, with Dusky Waters’ “Mae” and Maggie Koerner’s “Mississippi.” Overall, WTUL brought a collection of highly polished alternative music featuring largely femme-fronted artists in a scene historically overrepresented by men. Not only that, but this record feels like a step up from the last two compilation volumes in terms of relevance, sequencing, and curation. —Dalton Spangler
After three albums, Fugazi (from Washington DC) had established themselves as a musically aggressive band, especially with guitar and vocals, where Ian MacKaye and Guy Picciotto would often trade extended feedback runs and shouted, heartfelt lyrics. Yet most of Fugazi’s songs to that point were still grounded in melody and tempo—what one might even call pop sensibilities or danceable tunes. Then in 1993, Fugazi dropped In On The Kill Taker. It was at the time, and remains to this day, the fastest, loudest, angriest, most pained record of their whole catalog, a raw nerve from opener “Facet Squared” and the manic follow-up “Public Witness Program” to the tortured finale “Last Chance For A Slow Dance.” And while the album was produced in familiar DC territory—Inner Ear Studio with producer Ted Niceley and engineer Don Zientara—rumor long had it that Fugazi had recorded a Kill Taker session in Chicago with legendary engineer Steve Albini (who we lost in 2024), and there are already crushed versions of this you can listen to on YouTube. Fast forward thirtysome-odd years and Fugazi has officially released these sessions. For acolytes such as myself, this is a huge moment for a band that, save for an avalanche of live recordings, has largely gone dormant with nothing unheard or surprising since announcing their “indefinite hiatus” in 2003. The Bandcamp notes for this session include Fugazi being impressed by Albini’s production for The Jesus Lizard, though most people probably know him from his work on the Pixies’ Surfer Rosa or fellow 1993 album, Nirvana’s In Utero. On this release, you’ll find trademark Albini signatures, such as Brendan Canty’s drums sounding bright and tight against live room reverb, or extra punchy bass from Joe Lally. Though one surprise about this release is how un-surprising it is. Other than a few tweaks in the track order—“Cassavettes” opens Abini Sessions—these songs run mostly parallel to the DC version. But ultimately, Albini Sessions does come off as an exquisite demo. It makes sense why it was shelved, amicably by all parties, and the version we know and love recreated on Fugazi’s home turf. If you’re a fan of the band, these two different sessions are a unique opportunity to see how they could go from good to great, as well as being an artifact of an explosive moment when the Chicago and DC scenes met. As the Bandcamp notes reflect, “The hang itself was epic.” And despite what you might see from insufferable hardcore guys online—this should be on vinyl, it’s what Steve would’ve wanted, maaan—it seems right at home on Bandcamp, which is the only place it’s available, for $10. In true Fugazi form, the money is for Letters Charity, a nonprofit that seeks to “transform passive compassion into immediate assistance through the distribution of money given, without expectation or judgment, directly to families experiencing poverty.” Admittedly, their website is a little cryptic, and Letters Charity features some high-profile names on its board like Fred Armisen and Amber Ruffin. Do with that what you will, but Fugazi has always been committed to integrity and a deep aversion to bullshit, so I’m going to trust them on this one. As one of those insufferable hardcore guys myself who takes Fugazi way too seriously, I was thrilled for this release, a kind of “Sweet And Low” offering that does its job as a delightful footnote to the band’s epic story without taking itself too seriously—the cheeky cover art replacing the Washington Monument with the Willis (Sears) Tower is a nice touch. I suppose I’d buy a vinyl or CD version of this if it existed, but then Fugazi was never one for bloated discographies or merchandise, one of the stubborn stances that sets them apart from their peers in the independent music scene to this day. In other words, you’re not going to see this as a Record Store Day cashout. How refreshing. —Dan Fox
New York: the place of artists, myths, and legends. Adele Bertei writes of her New York as a living entity, though filled with ghosts of a scene long gone. No wave as a genre is difficult to pin down, with so many different bands and artists who collaborated in the same space. Bertie writes about her experiences being in the Contortions with glee and heartache, something she stumbled upon at the right time, but later struggled with due to male egos and a disinterest in narcissism in art. Every chapter of No New York pummels the reader with the excitement of what a thriving counterculture it was to encounter, and yet there are many ghosts of artists who are voiceless, gone due to AIDS and unexpected deaths. Bertei pays homage to so many women whom she admired, worked alongside, or befriended—writer Kathy Acker, artist Kiki Smith, photographer Nan Goldin, to name a few—that reading these pages feels diary-esque. One learns the secrets and the mythos of the beginning of their work. No New York is a very valuable perspective on women in 1980s New York punk finding their way and building a community for themselves. —Sara Nicole Storm
Ex Partum is a dystopian novella that focuses on the struggles of new motherhood in a world where everything (including health) is algorithm-based, and corporate greed has run amok. “Food”—sludge called nutribulbs—is delivered by drone, chewing is taboo, and people who grow their food and don’t approve of the status quo are outcasts. In this society, run entirely by a corporation, everything is black and white—even motherhood. The main character is Panya, and she finds herself having to be the sole caregiver for her baby, Liber, while her husband is away at work in order to afford their cozy, sterilized life. Like most people in this world, Panya and Liber live in the Blocks: a pristine, corporate community where everything is set for optimization. But babies are complex. Liber gets sick, Panya struggles to raise her practically alone, and this world leaves her feeling isolated. Ex Partum is a slow burn character study that allows you to feel the isolation that Panya feels at all times, almost walking alongside her as she has to deal with a society that is telling her she is being a mother “wrong.” The novel’s slow pace helps further build the incremental shift in Panya’s mental state: The prose is barebones, which allows for no distraction from the heart of the story. The novella is a short read, but within the sparse word count, Emma Burnett builds a Black Mirror-like dimension that reflects the world in which we live. If you like character examinations with worldbuilding that critiques the downfalls of constant monitoring, corporate control, and themes of motherhood stressors, this is the book for you. —Danny Cherry Jr.
Blitz opens in 1940 with three women who are members of a clandestine supernatural organization—known as the Checquy—standing in the sky above London, watching as the Nazis drop bombs on their homeland. I was hooked immediately. Blitz is a dual narrative novel that focuses on agents of the Checquy: Britain’s secret, government-backed organization dedicated to fighting off supernatural forces, using agents with supernatural abilities. The first narrative takes place in 1940 and follows Bridget, a young woman with the ability to coat things in pearl who was raised in the Checquy. The second narrative takes place in the modern era and focuses on librarian Lynette, who was whisked away into the Checquy after her latent ability to emit red lightning from her body manifested in her home. Bridget’s narrative focuses on her and her friends’ secret mission to find a super-powered Nazi they accidentally let loose on London. Meanwhile, in Lynette’s timeline, she has to go on the run from the Checquy to track down a superpowered serial killer who has the same exact powers as her. Dual narratives are hard to pull off, as they are often jockeying for attention, but I believe this one succeeds. The historical fiction narrative plays well with Lynette’s fish-out-of-water narrative. It is humorous at times, and the writer put a lot of work into the lore of the Checquy. While this is the third in a book series, it also functions as a standalone. In addition, the writing style makes it a breeze to consume. Blitz does sag at points, a hazard of writing a long book. However, if you can push through, you’ll find a fun and immersive read that’s full of action and heart. —Danny Cherry Jr.
In 1984, a white man named Bernhard “Bernie” Goetz shot four Black teens in a New York subway car after one of them asked for $5, causing injuries that would lead to permanent brain damage for one. Goetz was a cantankerous engineer with a history of racist remarks, and he was carrying the gun illegally, but media like Rupert Murdoch’s New York Post portrayed him as a vigilante hero fighting back against an epidemic of crime and disorder. He was ultimately convicted only of a relatively minor gun charge. Historian Heather Ann Thompson, who previously won the Pulitzer Prize in history for a book on the Attica prison uprising, thoroughly and engrossingly recounts the entire affair from the upbringings of Goetz and the teens through the sometimes circuslike criminal and civil trials. She connects the shooting to Reagan-era austerity policies and the tabloid environment that elevated figures like Donald Trump and recent NYC Republican mayoral candidate Curtis Sliwa, and to later shootings by right-wing vigilantes like George Zimmerman and Kyle Rittenhouse. Her descriptions of the recent incidents may seem overkill to readers who’ve seen them covered in the news, but they’ll likely benefit those who pick up this comprehensive history in decades to come. —Steven Melendez
John Landis followed up his hits Animal House and The Blues Brothers with An American Werewolf in London, a gruesome horror comedy full of awkward laughs and the greatest creature transformation ever captured on celluloid. When two horny American backpackers veer too far off the beaten path, one of them dies and the other becomes our aforementioned werewolf. Horrific dream sequences and a (probably) unethical relationship with a sexy nurse ensue, coming to a head with a shootout at a porno theater in Piccadilly Circus. The makeup and special effects are incredible, and really balance out the comedy with truly horrific imagery. The pièce de résistance is David’s (David Naughton) metamorphosis into a beast while Sam Cooke’s torturously slow cover of “Blue Moon” (phenomenal needledrop) juxtaposes the unbearable pain on screen, and it’s better than anything done with CGI today. It won Rick Baker his first (and the inaugural) Oscar for Best Makeup, and the 2026 Master Of Horror will be there in person for a conversation during its 45th anniversary screening at the Overlook Film Festival. —Carlos A. Molina
Indie film legend Larry Fessenden’s 2019 take on the Frankenstein myth sets the story in contemporary New York, following an army surgeon (David Call) who tries to silence his PTS-Demons by creating life and calling his creation Adam (Alex Breaux). Fessenden doesn’t shy away from acknowledging the symbolism and his influences, and clearly supports the messaging of original Frankenstein author Mary Shelley (who also gets a writing credit) about the differences between men and women creating life. All the women in this film give different perspectives as voices of reason, most vehemently Liz (Ana Cruz Kayne). Unfortunately, no one heeds their warnings, and everyone’s tragic outcomes cement the film’s outlook. Depraved uses experimental visualizations, looking like a screensaver forged in hell, to keep the viewer mesmerized, and fits well within the monsterverse Fessenden created as an homage to the old Universal Studios classics. His vampire and werewolf stories combine with this one in his latest film Trauma or, Monsters All, premiering at Overlook. The filmmaker will also be in attendance for the festival’s screening of Depraved. —Carlos A. Molina
Generally considered the first Japanese horror movie, 1926’s A Page of Madness tells the story of a man whose wife resides at the insane asylum where he works, and their daughter who comes to announce her marriage. But a film made by an avant-garde artist collective attempting to eschew naturalistic representation could never be that straightforward. Penned as a collaboration featuring a future Nobel Prize winner in literature (Yasunari Kawabata), this surreal fever dream heavily influenced by German Expressionism features fast cuts, dream sequences, distorted imagery, double exposures, and other experimental camera effects seemingly ahead of their time. The creepy aesthetic of the film culminates with a set piece featuring the inmates at the asylum wearing traditional Japanese noh masks. The expressionless visages combined with the uncanny movements of the patients’ bodies create a genuinely unnerving experience. Thought lost for 45 years, the film celebrates its 100th anniversary with a screening at Overlook, featuring a live accompaniment composed by the Marigny Opera House’s Jeff Pagano. —Carlos A. Molina
Ryan Gosling’s comedy chops have been front and center for the past decade now—from The Nice Guys to Barbie to the beloved Saturday Night Live sketch “Papyrus”—repeatedly proving his immaculate timing and physicality to a wider and wider audience. Project Hail Mary capitalizes on this, though it does feel like an all-eggs-in-one-basket gamble. When Gosling’s character Ryland Grace wakes up on a spaceship with little context and a dead crew, he has to find his way back home and, along with the audience, stitch together what brought him here in the first place. The majority of the movie is simply him and a rock-like alien from a nearby spaceship that he calls Rocky (voiced by James Ortiz) cracking jokes in space. The humor is Marvel-esque, and it’s a solid 30 minutes too long, but Gosling’s charm makes up for its shortcomings, and it is pretty on a big screen. —Marisa Clogher
As a dedicated attendee of the Tennessee Williams & New Orleans Literary Festival, I’m lucky to have seen a lot of weird, charged, emotionally devastating plays by our city’s own theatrical genius over the years. Familiar classics and lesser-known titles all but forgotten by the world, these works frankly haven’t aged well. But they still manage to raise important questions for contemporary audiences thanks to the conviction of those who unearthed them and committed fully to their revival. Unfortunately, Irene Collective’s A Streetcar Named Desire, directed by Hanna Hall and Jaclyn Bethany (who also portrayed Blanche DuBois), was not that kind of production. I wanted it to be great. And with its enviable resourcing, it should’ve been: It was staged thanks to the New Orleans Theatre Association (NOTA), New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Association, and Threadhead Cultural Foundation, financially backed by Randy Fertel and other esteemed producers, and followed up the Collective’s hauntingly successful Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? It should have been a slam dunk. Instead, their Streetcar was totally devoid of the uncomfortable, undeniable, unforgettable magic its source material demands. The set and propwork were decent, the costuming alright—but the staging was awkward beyond repair. More than half of the audience’s view was of the characters’ backs, and volume issues abounded. It felt like some of the actors thought they were on Broadway, and others thought they were on film. Lines were stepped on, the characterization felt underdeveloped, and that famously palpable tension between Stanley and Blanche—meant to build slowly, bubble ominously, and erupt volcanically—felt forced. Most unforgivably, there was no chemistry between the actors. Truly memorable lines were completely thrown away, including Blanche’s final one: “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.” Ultimately, this production had everything going for it, yet fell flat by nearly every measure. And that’s a real shame. Devoted audiences deserve to see Tennessee Williams’ most iconic work done justice, not settle for a quotidian performance. A worthy theatrical experience doesn’t have to depend on the kindness of strangers. —Terra Durio
Bordellos, brothels, and houses of ill repute were once concentrated in an area near the French Quarter called Storyville, the setting of this recurring show at The AllWays Lounge & Cabaret. What producer Lola van Ella brings to the table with her bordella goes beyond burlesque. The audience is given a history lesson dressed in music, comedy, theatre, and of course lots of sultry dancing. While it was refreshing to feel the cast truly having fun, the skill and talent put into this show is apparent. Madam Lola navigated us through the process of showing the “new girl” the ropes and making introductions to the crew of courtesans. She engaged the crowd from the beginning and used that information throughout the night in quick quips, inviting active participation. We saw some very convincing acting from Mamie Dame, able to strip and tease while never breaking character as the original and oldest bordella dancer. In one number, SAILEM somehow fused jazz and opera, laughing out scat-a-tat-tats that no one saw coming. And later, the whole ensemble worked together, improvising a three-song mash up based on audience suggestions. What stood out was the show’s ability to weave in facts of historical Storyville, highlighting the origin stories of jazz and sharing facts about the surged sales of expensive French garments through expressive characters like “the stocking man of Basin Street.” While some performers may change roles, there are plenty of chances to attend this show… or maybe we should call it a quite entertaining history class. —Branna Elenz
At the Bywater Art Gallery, Vietnamese artist, seamstress, and embroiderer Duyen Nguyen’s vibrant stitchings of dragons, carps, demons, and battle scenes line the walls. Raised in a small commune in Vũng Tàu Province, Vietnam, her father taught her how to sew, and her mother how to embroider—a 700-year-old tradition passed down through generations. A year after meeting Jeremiah Johnson from Pennsylvania, Nguyen began corresponding with him through half-finished paintings, using them as a way to collaborate across distances. Eventually, the two fell in love, prompting Nguyen to move to the United States, where she married Johnson, pursued a career in health care, and settled in Thibodaux, Louisiana. Though far from home, her family is never absent. You can see them in her hand-stitched works—thread and bead compositions layered into patchwork fabrics that bring dragons to life. Drawing from the Asian folklore she grew up with, Nguyen uses her inherited skills as a personal visual language. Through ink drawings, handmade traditional garments, and paintings carefully constructed from blended threads, she tells a story of home—both near and far. Today, she and her husband continue to collaborate through the company they founded, the Nguyen Johnson Company. Many of her embroideries are housed in frames Johnson created, etched with laser-cut details, as seen in her piece Lucky Carp. In Systems (pictured), Louisiana emerges—Mardi Gras beads form a spine and ribcage, while her father appears within the patchwork background and her mother within the embroidered organs—a nod to Nguyen’s time in nursing school. In the visually striking Lotus Pond, darker reds dissolve into soft pinks where light touches the petals, and at their brightest, the tips fade into white. The stitching reflects a careful attention to value and light. With her love story in the foreground of every frame, the work remains deeply personal—threaded carefully between tradition, technique, and a life rebuilt elsewhere. (Duyen Nguyen’s show will be up through April 25, with a Second Saturday reception on April 11.) —Elisa Gomez
