Following their self-titled EP released late last year, Across Phoenix evolve on their new EP Dreaming Opaline. Sounding like a fusion of Momma, Wolf Alice, and LUMP, this record employs heavy effects and modulation to achieve hazy shoegaze, crunchy grunge, and glitchy trip-hop. “My Soul” in particular illustrates this range, opening with twinkling guitars, spacey drums, and theatrical vocals before completely switching things up with harsh electronic effects and more gritty guitar. Lyrically, the record seems to reflect on a star-crossed love affair but the wistfulness extends beyond romance, concerning itself with a life fully realized on “We Are Echos” and “Love & Violence: B-side.” Originally a solo project headed by Emma Lincoln, the band has grown to include Evan Michell on drums and Molly Thornton on bass, which shows especially on “Dramamine.” This track unravels with spidery guitar plucks, jazzy drum hits, and swelling bass to create a web that self-destructs with a flourish. Overall, Dreaming Opaline possesses the genre nomadism of the band’s last release, but finds them in lockstep as a trio. —Dalton Spangler
Featuring an experienced and varied cast of contemporary New Orleans musicians (Taylor Stoma, Stevie Spring, Theresa Romero, Laura Fisher, Aaron Dupre, Violet Evie, and Code Kilgo), multi-instrumentalist Avery Legendre (also of STEEF, jess joy, Butte) has written and produced a record that is a powerful and innovative intervention into the art-rock genre. Flickering with moments of a more traditional rock sound, the album shows in every track that Legendre is more than willing to sit with discomfort. Dom Pump swings, lilts, and gut-punches at every turn, many of which are unpredictable. The album begins with a wink, as Legendre sings in “Fear of Difference,” “Crack open your soul, it’s not that serious,” only to later ask us to “Find beauty within,” (from “Shiva”) as we veer through the music’s discordance. Bolstering the incredibly catchy single “In Coppet,” which speaks of alienation and loneliness, the album’s lyrics speak to an engagement with the instability of both music and life, with its out-of-step rhythms and harmonious reliefs. The intricacies of this record feel more like analysis than story or comment, where the complexity of method becomes the potency of the message, and only a politic of refusal emerges where one might try to pin it down. —Eva Karl
When BAD OPERATION began promoting their debut album in 2020, they introduced the term “NEW TONE,” a twist on second wave ska’s descriptor “2 Tone.” It would go on to be the title of a feature-length documentary in 2023 capturing this blooming scene. And so beyond the influence of many other notable artists, both within and outside the Bad Time Records umbrella (JER, Catbite, Flying Raccoon Suit, Joystick!), BAD OPERATION inadvertently made themselves the champions of new ska, constantly being name-dropped as representatives of this generation (which is particularly ironic given most of the band have families and kids, earning them the nickname “Dad Operation”). Entering 2026 with the only follow-up to their debut being a split EP Wavebreaker #4 from 2023 with Mighty Mighty Bosstones bassist Joe Gittleman, fans have been waiting a long time for this sophomore record. The pressure to succeed is tangible, both externally from fans and internally within the album’s lyrical themes. Everything Must Go may not be the genre-defining album that kicks off (or bookends) some nebulous ska movement, but it is a solid release that builds upon the strengths of the band. That self-imposed pressure is most evident in vocalist Dominic Minix’s lyrics. Minix, a distinguished guitarist and songwriter, has always been a tortured artist lyrically, often writing about his mental health struggles and dreams to achieve. Like on the pothole-dodging, daydreaming from the driver seat track “OH NO,” Minix expresses constant worry about some lost, idealized version of himself (“waking nightmare of who I think I am / a daydream slipping through my hands”). Like many of BAD OPERATION’s best songs, Minix is really going through it, writing lyrics that sound straight out of a journal following a therapy session. This mental health musing is nothing new for ska, a genre tailored for taking bitter medicine with a bit of honey in the form of jaunty off-beats and crooning horns. But Minix’s words, especially as a Black man, feel politically potent as much as they do personal, like on “Workin’ Real Hard to Let Go,” which drops the lines, “Returning to the scene like I never left it… I can see you but you don’t see me / Cuz you staring in fear like it’s 1960.” Or on the very much not ska song “Simple Melody,” where Minix sings an alt-rock ballad with a “simple melody for the kids to sing / while the world is burning,” whether it be due to the man-made ecocide or some other political horror to invade and occupy the mind. Besides “Simple Melody,” all the signature ska sounds are here, like Brian Pretus’ choppy guitar and Daniel “D-Ray” Ray’s floating organ and trombone. And though rhythm is usually left to Greg Rodrigue’s bass and Robert Landry’s drums, being ska music, the guitars and even staggered horns on “Steppin’” contribute greatly to the record’s upbeat, danceable nature. Everything Must Go doesn’t seem as hook-centric as their debut, minus exceptions like “Rico.” Overall, BAD OPERATION’s not trying to be anything more than genuine, both in Minix’s bleeding heart and in the band’s desire to master their sound. —Dalton Spangler
Based on a German book entitled An Inventory of Losses (written by award-winning author Judith Schalansky and published in 2018), Zach Condon offers up his seventh studio album as Beirut. The book’s 12 chapters are based around 12 “losses” that the world has experienced, from certain pieces of artwork to entire geographical locations. It may be low-hanging fruit to suggest that Condon’s aesthetic obsession with 20th century Europe, with its vast tangles and emotive string-swells, is “played out” in 2026. Even in writing this, it is taking a little effort to make the argument against it. However, I am simply not that cynical. Condon’s nostalgic and lyrical instrumentation still feels uniquely his own, which is a testament to both his skill and authenticity as a musician and songwriter. “Moon Voyager” stands out, featuring ascending and compounding harmonies over a ukulele that somehow sounds earnest and, thankfully, very far from a campfire kumbaya. “Garbo’s Face” speaks explicitly of aging, remembering, and waiting. What Condon is getting at, as usual, is the sheer timelessness of certain human experiences. I for one am pleased that he is so disinterested in pursuing the zeitgeist. —Eva Karl
As a college student majoring in music, I know many musicians whose abilities range from OK to bad. Ciara Pruett (stage name ciara elise), a fellow New Orleans student, has definitively graduated from this learning stage. Splinters and Other Keepsakes, their debut LP, traces and catalogues all the different kinds of grief they’ve experienced over the past few years, whether that be from the loss of a relationship (“Safe Inside”), of autonomy (“Evita”), or of a childhood friend at the age of 15 (“Spirit Wall”). Closer “St. Helens Song” chronicles their struggle to make sense of the world again after a drastic change, mourn the version of themself that was, and grow a new person from the ashes. It’s a good choice for a closer. Here, the last stage in the grieving process, is the point at which we meet Pruett. Earlier tracks have cycled through bargaining, bitterness, and pain, but the album ends with no anger or resentment to be found—only a reckoning, quiet acknowledgement, and release. Throughout the entire album, the music is spare and folksy with some momentary forays into more electronic production (“Springs Dread”) while still following the precedent of guitar and lyric-driven songwriting established by past releases. It’s a lovely, gentle tribute to loss and the person it’s shaped Pruett into, and given their framing of the album’s creation as a necessary final step before letting go and moving on, I’m very curious to see where they go next. —Robyn Kopeny
I was expecting a new Eddy Benz record, but I was not expecting this record. Back in September of last year, I interviewed Benz for ANTIGRAVITY and at the time, he was planning to release The Charlatan, a name that has since inspired some suspicion that there was no record. But I don’t think Benz just conned us for some press—I think he scrapped it. Simply put, Benz is living the creed put forth by major influence The Replacements, “One more chance to get it all wrong” and he pulled something together out of the wreckage. This EP sounds more like a lo-fi demo tape from ‘79, which is to say it sounds like shit but in a cool way, like something you’d find digging through your punk uncle’s possessions. The most obvious example is the track, “one more chance” which is just Benz and his bass guitar doing an upbeat, stripped-back tirade cutting straight to the core of this record’s DIY ethos. If you’re unfamiliar with Benz, he’s wandered quite a bit with his music, starting with SoundCloud-era weed rap before eventually branching off into more new wave-inspired alt-rock, and now he’s pivoted again towards a more post-punk direction. Vocally, Benz’s delivery here is nothing like anything he’s done before, sounding more akin to early Rough Trade bands like The Pop Group with his screeds on “ancient mariner/ albatross” and “Little Machine.” The final track “bubblegum” seems most like the Benz of old—a poppy, buried-in-reverb tune with an absolute earworm of a melody. This wasn’t the release I was expecting, but it is the direction and it suits Benz well. —Dalton Spangler
After a hiatus of six years following their 2020 eponymous album, local indie rock project Fantasy Non Fiction (FNF)—helmed by lead vocalist, songwriter, and drummer Rose Cangelosi—has released their new single “Bad Wolf” as part of FNF’s upcoming album to be released in October. FNF’s sound is quintessential indie pop girl rock, where the harmonies and fun lyrics would be at home next to records from artists like Taccocat and Beach Bunny. While many of the songs on their first album dealt with new relationships (“Pressure,” “Strange Effect”) and love and longing (“LW2BWU4EVR”), “Bad Wolf” invokes the desire to leap and channel the wild in this new release (“I’m nursing a bad-wolf-full-moon-bellyache / I can’t take all the pain for myself”) even as the simple drum and guitar riff, along with Cangelosi’s mellifluous alto voice, belie the lyric’s wild message. With psychedelic instrumentals featuring Nahum Zdybel and Molly Reeves on guitar and Aaron Smith on trumpet, and a chorus that is simply a soft “awwoooo,” “Bad Wolf” is a catchy and sweet song that shows off the talent of the many musicians and vocalists featured on the track. For fans of FNF who have caught the group’s live performances (several of their songs have only grainy YouTube recordings—or none at all), the single is an exciting preview of the album to come. —Jesse Lu Baum
No Need To Be Lonely, the latest from Philadelphia indie rock outfit gladie, picks up where their 2022 release Don’t Know What You’re In Until You’re Out left off. While their last album found lead singer and songwriter Augusta Koch (Caytena) exploring adulthood, sobriety, and the myriad emotions that both bring, No Need To Be Lonely is a celebration of Koch’s community and the beauty of having the wisdom to know when to walk away from what no longer serves us (from “Talk Past Each Other”: “When I stopped people-pleasing / I started to bloom for no reason”). Produced by Jeff Rosenstock, this album finds Koch returning to her 2010s pop punk roots, crafting melodies that sound as relevant today as they would have over a decade ago. Koch and the rest of the band are at their best when they fully embrace this pop punk sound, as evident on the anthemic “Future Spring,” a celebration of healthy friendship. The rollicking, introspective “Poison” is the sort of song that you should hear when you are young, even if you might not appreciate it fully until you have lived a little more life (from “Poison”: “Too soon to see you where you are / Too late to grow into the life you had in mind / When you were young / Too soon to see you where you are”). Other standouts include the thrasher “Push Me Down” and the empathetic “Brace Yourself,” both an ode to a friend of Koch’s and a reminder to prioritize what matters in your one precious life. —Mary Beth Campbell
Sari Jordan has created a rare thing in this age: an album that a whole family can enjoy. PERFECT BE THE ENEMY, out everywhere on May 15, opens with “LION SONG,” an infectious anthem that has brought down the house at all-ages performances with its command, “You are a young lion roaring” which is met by roomfuls of giggles and roars. Other songs speak to Jordan’s inner child or were written at younger ages. Some have a lullaby-like softness, and some, like “FANCY,” make you want to sing along as you get dressed in your favorite fit (a song that is also about gender identity and leaning into self-love). But while the album is playful and youthful, this is by no means a children’s album. The richness of Jordan’s vocals, the balance of their arrangements, and the skills of their musicians make it the antithesis of groan-worthy earworms like “Baby Shark.” There is nuance to every song that makes them adult-appropriate as well. Track four, “PLAY IT DOWN,” is subtle, stripped down, and delicate, reminiscent of Ani DiFranco’s “Reckoning,” and features Oliver Tuttle on muted trombone and layers of Jordan’s stacked voice and acoustic guitar. The next track, “ROARING TWENTIES,” brings the energy back up, thanks to the deft low-end combination of Robin Sherman on bass and Jamison Ross on drums. PERFECT BE THE ENEMY is a capture of a young artist blooming into new musical possibilities. —Sabrina Stone
Local d-beat band Laughing Torso wields trauma like a sword to create eight minutes of catharsis on their debut 7” release. On opener “In the Cut,” vocalist True tackles the stigma surrounding drug use and her own past experiences with overdose, landing on venomous lines like, “This stigma runs amok / These punks don’t give a fuck / Our friends die alone.” On “Dead Homies,” True addresses the scarring of repeated loss: “Just when you thought that shit couldn’t get any worse / It’s the tenth time in this year alone we’ve carried a friend from a hearse.” These five tracks are absolute scorchers that fuse the scabbed knee rawness of d-beat with vocals writhing in pain. This kind of result should be expected from local hard hitters that have played in the likes of Fat Stupid Ugly People, Torture Garden, and Sodomite, but perhaps most surprisingly is some absolute guitar pummeling from Tasche de la Rocha, best known for leading the typically sweet and syrupy Psychedelic Roses. —William Archambeault
From long-running supergroup The New Pornographers comes an album that’s very much of its time, for better and for worse. On their 10th studio full-length release, the group reckons with the state of the world with reactions ranging from resignation to mourning to a listless, directionless sort of anger, all soundtracked by a downtempo, low-energy version of the band’s characteristic electro-pop-rock. It voices the same pointless dissatisfaction that many of us are experiencing right now (“Hands are cupped around a match / I’m just trying to keep the lights on” from “Votive”) with punch-in-the-gut imagery. However, despite this wide lyrical range, there isn’t much variety in sound. Gone are the fast tempos and hooks that have characterized many of the Pornographers’ best songs up to this point, and in their place are a collection of tracks that begin with hesitant, soft potential and then linger there for the rest of their duration, never delivering on the promised build-up. A few tracks, like “Votive,” do kick into a gear eventually, but never enough or with an endpoint that triggers catharsis. Granted, the point might be that there is no catharsis, and the lack of one shouldn’t be mistaken for a lack of emotion, but nonetheless I found that it all blended together after a certain point. The title track and closer, in contrast, felt like the realization of what the entire album could’ve been without sacrificing what it is: still downtempo, meditative, and resigned without being impactless, lethargic, or hopeless. —Robyn Kopeny
In April, Nine Inch Nails and DJ/producer Boys Noize (Alexander Ridha) made their official debut as Nine Inch Noize at Coachella. Nine Inch Noize—which consists of Ridha, NIN’s own Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, and Mariqueen Maandig (Reznor’s wife and How To Destroy Angels bandmate)—is an expansion of the Boys Noize and NIN collaboration born during the recent NIN Peel It Back tour, in which Reznor, Ross, and Ridha took to the B-stage to remix and reimagine NIN songs as deliciously menacing and explosive EDM tracks (and if you didn’t go to the New Orleans show I am sorry to say that you really missed out). Nine Inch Noize the album—recorded in hotels, planes, studios, and live shows—is the full Coachella set from start to finish. Admittedly, the crowd noises throughout the album can be distracting, almost like a sitcom laugh track, but that is the album’s only real weakness. There is no exclusive material on the album—all the songs, including the cover of Soft Cell’s “Memorabilia,” have been featured on previous releases—but the reworked tracks sound fresh and exciting. Even old standards like “Closer” have new life, an arpeggio opening transitioning into a wonderfully filthy and thrilling synth line that bleeds into those infamous first lyrics: “You let me violate you.” The Nine Inch Noize versions of “Heresy” (with dreamy vocals from Maandig) and “She’s Gone Away” also showcase the influence Reznor took from Prince and Talking Heads, influences buried in the songs’ original iterations. This is an album meant to be played from start to finish and at high volumes. Let the sound and the pulsing beats wash over you as you find catharsis by dancing on the edge of the abyss, a 47-minute dark rave of the soul. —Mary Beth Campbell
Has it really been over eight years since Pope’s last album? The Houstonites-turned-New Orleanians rose to become one of the titan bands of the mid-2010s scene surrounding local indie label Community Records, but recent years have seen the trio’s output trickle down to singles and EPs instead of sprawling albums. BFM, short for Big Fucking Music, serves as a declaration that the band’s dualing songwriters, Alejandro Skalany and Matthew Seferian, still have plenty of big emotional tunes worthy of our attention. On the single “Make You Feel,” Seferian juxtaposes the intense pain of losing a friend with the warmth that radiates from the community following such loss. The aptly titled single “Sick Minute” (a minute-and-five-seconds of a tune) finds Seferian conjuring the courage to put his best foot forward and do the best he can wherever he sets his sights. On tunes like the downer “Point of View” and the upbeat “Newboi,” Skalany spins tales as he picks his guitar in a hypnotic fashion. One of this album’s secret weapons is Ratboys singer Julia Steiner’s multiple vocal contributions, such as on “Sick Minute” and the charming acoustic number “Nothing for Nothing.” With plenty of new emotional fodder since their last full-length and a little extra help from Steiner, Pope is indeed back with some Big Fucking Music. —William Archambeault
The new release from Dusty Santamaria is a tale of triumphant homecoming. A few years back, our hero found himself down-and-out in his native California. He was reckoning with the past, estranged from his adopted home of New Orleans, and adrift in creative doldrums. Over the course of eight tracks (recorded here in New Orleans at Lil Squeeze Studio by Bruisey Peets and Ajai Combelic), we see him get his mojo back and return, with the album itself as both the testament and reward of the journey. The opener, “Letter from Luzianne,” feels like a desert tango, detailing his initial malaise and the correspondence that snapped him out of it: the titular letter “calling [him] to come back home again.” It sets up the tone shift of the next song, “Creature of the Crossroads,” which Santamaria kicks off by proclaiming: “This is the sound I’m putting my faith in. Waited my whole life for this moment to begin.” It’s the driven anthem of someone with a newfound determination to seize their destiny, and who realizes they may have to make some bargains along the way. Backup singers Sari Jordan and Avery Legendre sound like a gospel choir as they croon, “Mary, grab the baby, the river’s risin’ (Wooooo!)” on “Tom Bevell’s Blues;” and Jeremy Kelly jazzes up “Little Girl X” with a bellowing sax part. “Memory Song” finds our hero back in New Orleans, remarking on the moon in a Bywater gutter, offering a refrain steeped in gratitude: “Lo siento, I couldn’t see all the love right in front of me.” —Angela Calonder
Urq—the solo project of Matthew Urquhart (SPLLIT, Loudness War, W-9)—has been around since 2019, compiling various experimental art punk releases. This Dismal Village is no different in being weird and off-beat, but it’s obvious Urquhart has put in the 10,000 hours as a songwriter, delivering an impressively polished album for his first time self-recording on a 4-track. Opener “Another Mystery” starts This Dismal Village with stringy, frenetic guitars and egg punk organ, immediately calling back to the surrealism of SPLLIT but with less electronic effects and a much more vocals-forward mix. The title track reminds me of King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard, especially with Urq’s monotone vocal delivery tightly wound by rapid shuffling drums and plucky guitars. Though those two tracks land more on the wiry and hyper side, another highlight, “Kings In Bed,” demonstrates Urq’s penchant for layering and texture, assembling a crackly lullaby around gentle instrumentation and a simulated Optigan achieving a flute-like keys sound. The deceptively cozy track, like grainy film of a rainy street, hides a battle against political apathy and the desire to make the world a better place, where one corrupt king loses his head, only for it to grow back and be replaced like an octopus regenerating its limbs. There’s a huge hype train for Angine de Poitrine, and they’re being placed on a pedestal for being too weird for AI to recreate. I’d like for some of those folks claiming this to listen to Urq and discover that the underground has had artists doing highly technical, off-kilter rock for years. If you’re a fan of those French polka dot Canadians, give this new Urq a go. —Dalton Spangler
In 1994, 22-year-old Melissa Auf der Maur (Tinker, Hole, The Smashing Pumpkins) upended her relatively quiet bohemian existence as a young musician, artist, and student in Montreal and answered the call from Courtney Love (via her friend and idol Billy Corgan) to become the bassist for Hole. Auf der Maur soon found herself as the sole stable member of a band that was not only on the brink of international stardom (her first show with Hole was their pivotal Reading Festival performance in front of an audience of 65,000 people) but that had already endured enough chaos and tragedy for several lifetimes. Even The Good Girls Will Cry chronicles Auf der Maur’s story from her childhood and young adulthood in Montreal to being thrust into the magical and terrifying world of rock’n’roll in the 1990s. While celebrating the music and the culture of what would be our last analog decade, Auf der Maur is not afraid to take a critical look at the pervasive and often violent misogyny that women in the music industry (and in general) were subjected to, something which often gets swept under the rug with the spell of nostalgia. Auf der Maur’s bandmate, mentor, and chosen family Courtney Love is, of course, at the center of the book (how could she not be?) and is portrayed with love and honesty, though at points it does read as though Love provided some notes (the shots taken at Kathleen Hanna and Kim Gordon feel tired and played out—it is almost guaranteed that they do not think about Love as often as she does them). Auf der Maur can sometimes come across as condescending, particularly about substance use, and, while self-reflective, she also tends to focus more on the stories of the people around her than her own internal world (something Love called her out for when she left Hole). It would have been nice to have learned more about her internal growth and the art and life she has made since that period. Still, Even The Good Girls Will Cry is an engaging, unflinching rock memoir, an alt-rock fairy tale that, thankfully, has a happy ending. —Mary Beth Campbell
Royal Gambit is the fourth novel in the Checquy Files series by Daniel O’Malley, and likely its best. The Checquy Files centers on the exploits of the Checquy: the centuries’ old secret British government-backed organization created with the sole purpose of fighting the supernatural, using the supernatural. Most agents within the clandestine group have powers themselves—in this novel, the lead character Alix has the ability to shatter peoples’ bones with her mind. Our central character comes from a prestigious family and is constantly having to prove she belongs in the Checquy due to her talents and not just because she has connections to the Crown. But those connections pay off when the heir to the throne dies under mysterious and supernatural circumstances. Alix is then forced to become the lady-in-waiting (and secret body guard) to the princess, who despite the machinations of the Checquy throughout their childhood, she has never been truly close to. This novel is a murder mystery through and through with a hint of thriller: Action scenes come to life with vivid and kinetic prose that moves you from line to line. The world is built out splendidly and at times the novel is hilarious. Like with the previous Checquy novels, this book sags in the middle. However, what makes this novel great will outshine the mild slog the reader will have to get through in order to reach a satisfying and surprising ending. —Danny Cherry Jr.
There’s no shortage of how-the-universe-works books for a popular audience, but physicist Chanda Prescod-Weinstein (a professor at the University of New Hampshire) really reinvigorates the genre for both newcomers and those who dread yet another quip about Schrödinger‘s dead-but-not-dead cat or twins traveling through space at different speeds. She leaves out equations, instead exploiting and exploring physics’ long reliance on metaphors, with an endless array of fascinating allusions from across time and space: Star Trek and Sun Ra, Zhuang Zhou and Plato, queer futurist theory and Afrofuturist sci-fi, R.E.M. and Insane Clown Posse. Prescod-Weinstein is a Black, Jewish, queer woman from Los Angeles, and her identity (and politics) aren’t removed from her work—a fascinating analysis of 19th century physicist Michael Faraday‘s rural roots, and his choice of the now-ubiquitous word “field” for the electromagnetic phenomenon, includes memorable discussions of her own complex associations with the sugarcane fields of Barbados, where her mother was raised. Her frame of reference proves quite broad, putting physics from Newton’s laws of motion to the speculative edge of cosmology in a very broad context of human culture—including plenty of millennial professor jokes, like a perhaps-inevitable riff on ICP’s infamous “fucking magnets” verse. —Steven Melendez
California State University Long Beach Professor Charles L. Ponce de Leon calls this book a “cultural history” of the first two decades of Rolling Stone, examining the shifting content and cultural environment of the magazine. Other histories, he argues, have focused more on personalities, particularly co-founder Jann Wenner. He delivers a thoroughly interesting, and simply thorough, examination of who and what the magazine published from its 1960s San Francisco founding into a very different era: A Rolling Stone survey found two-thirds of readers under 25 preferred Ronald Reagan in the ’84 election. It also often reads as a defense of Wenner—despite acknowledging he could be “cruel” and has at times “said or done things… impossible to defend”—or at least an attempt to separate publisher from publication. Wenner sought from the start to build something closer to a hip Time magazine than ’60s underground papers like the Berkeley Barb (or NOLA Express). Ponce de Leon makes a decent case that Rolling Stone kept room for left-leaning political reporting even while cultivating large advertisers and despite readers primarily seeking cultural coverage—though repeated references to the inclusion of Black and female artists can feel awkward and like an implicit push to rehabilitate Wenner’s legacy. —Steven Melendez
This film is the ending salvo to the Peaky Blinders TV show and opens up with a literal bang. Within the first 15 minutes, Nazi planes drop a bomb on a manufacturing plant in England. Peaky Blinders was a BBC TV show that ran for six seasons and grew to great popularity after it hit streaming on Netflix in the U.S. The show takes us from 1919 to the 1930s, as it follows the exploits of the titular streetgang, with the central character Thomas Shelby (Cillian Murphy), a ruthless figure in the criminal underworld, working his way up to being a British Member of Parliament by the series’ end. This film gives an ending to his arc. It takes place in 1940 with the backdrop being the bombing raids against England at the hands of the Nazis. Thomas becomes a shut-in in his large country manor after the death of several family members, including his wife and child. His estranged son is now the ruthless leader of the Peaky Blinders and makes a deal with a Nazi envoy to pump Britain with counterfeit money in order to crash the economy. The only person who can stop him is Thomas. The film is great if you loved the show, but it’s not something you can watch with no prior knowledge. The tone is gritty, and the cinematography is fabulous. Cillian Murphy saves this film from all its flaws, and his dynamic with his on-screen son (played by Barry Keoghan) makes the estranged relationship palpable. However, past the first act, the writing is rushed—not much time is spent fully developing the antagonist, and the slow burn contemplative writing of the first act shifts abruptly into shootouts. But if you loved the show and wanted to see it end properly, you will be satisfied. —Danny Cherry Jr.
Drag is a performance art of fashion, dance, and unfiltered comedy with the most memorable of shows being absolutely unhinged. SLAAP Cabaret gave all of this in their March event, Global Warmening: A Drag Catastrophe To Bring On The End Times. While themes and performers change each month, the goal is to let loose and laugh through the chaos. Ariel Androgyny and Smokestack Lightning produce and host each show, giving a full comedy routine in every spare moment. Their chemistry and ability to play off one another and the crowd is an art, as well as multiple costume changes for their own acts. With numbers like “Hot Stuff” by Donna Summer and “Burning Up” by Madonna, each performance was influenced by the idea that the world could end tomorrow, so do whatever you want! This edition showcased the clowning Bozeaux Le Fou who rocked ruffles and shoulder pads that could kill, while Dick Dagger embodied Nelly Furtado’s “Maneater” with blood, guts, and all. And while drag is comedy, it is also political. Laveau Contraire reminded us of this in her handmade, caution tape-fringed dress and original song poking fun at the government, war, and watermain breaks. The event also included an intermission lip sync with three audience members and continued after the show with Siren’s Ecstatic Disco. On an accessible sliding scale, it’s worth staying tuned for what crazy theme SLAAP Cabaret comes up with next. —Branna Elenz
On April 11 at the Alter Space on Decatur Street, I caught the puppet performance Northern Lights. The show blended shadow box, handheld papier-mâché, and textile puppets, along with cardboard cutouts fashioned into birds, characters, and cityscapes. The story was written and performed by Elena Ricciardi as puppet Lenyu, with Audrey Fiala co-starring as Diogena. Members of indie band Mango (Chris Booth and Zachary Thomas) performed accompanying music, with Laura Rostad on special effects, and narration by singer and musician Leonie Evans. Northern Lights follows Lenyu, a cosmic woman tasked with ushering the sun to multiple worlds; Wi, a hummingbird-crazed scientist; and Diogena, a celestial who steals the sun in hopes of proving herself worthy to her love interest on Earth. Along the way, things unravel. The two celestial women drink a faulty potion that forever changes them into hummingbirds. The sun never reaches Diogena’s lover, and the two remain in this new form for the rest of their lives. This resonates as a potent story about how, even with the best of intentions, no one gets exactly what they want. There is no going back, no reconciliation with who you were before—but there is life, and maybe a friend. —Elisa Gomez
On a mild Sunday evening in early April, I tiptoed through a packed Marigny Opera House to witness Sweet Baby Brain, a heartwarming debut play staged specifically for The New Orleans Giant Puppet Festival (NOGPF). BrainTime Productions delivered an incredible theatrical experience that resonates across ages, audiences, and mediums. Co-written and directed by Dane Eskin and Smith Smith, multidisciplinary artists from New York based in New Orleans, this collaboration marked both of their directorial debuts. Perfectly paced, charmingly soundtracked, and inspired by Eskin’s experiences growing up with epilepsy, the play follows main character Dane throughout his life as he deals with his condition and the experiences that color his relationships with friends, peers, colleagues, and himself. As he embraces and rejects his mind and body in turn, the audience can’t help but laugh with him. Even a diagnosis like epilepsy doesn’t mean you should take everything seriously, the play illustrates. As Dane grows up, goes to school, makes friends, joins a punk band, even “goes corporate,” he morphs into different puppets, moving through the world in many forms as he learns incredibly important and relatable lessons about self-acceptance. Featuring innovative and original puppet design and builds by Tau Bennett and Jacques Duffourc (of Doomscrolling, performed at the 2024 NOGPF), Sweet Baby Brain’s characterization evolves with each life stage chronicled: sock puppet infants, hand puppet toddlers, big-headed backpack puppet teenagers, life-sized double-puppeteer punk band members. The world building was varied and rich—the hallmark signs of an epileptic episode explained through shadow puppetry, the routine dread of a job that’s killing you told through corporate timeclock dance choreography. Even the stage itself had puppet eyes that blinked in advance of each seizure, alerting the audience. In a simple yet spectacular climax, the stage folded in on itself to reveal Dane’s gigantic baby face, whose EEG wire-covered head expressed genuine cartoonish concern for grown-up Dane’s mental health. Literally facing himself, Dane finally comes to accept himself and his sweet baby brain in a touching finale. Well-written, utterly engrossing, stunningly innovative (even for a boundary-rejecting giant puppet festival), Sweet Baby Brain is a fantastic creative collaboration and a testament to the art of storytelling through puppetry. —Terra Durio
New Orleans’ first and only microkrewe, ‘tit Rex (pronounced ‘Tee Rex’)—established after Katrina in 2008 by local teachers, poets, musicians, and lovers of all things small—presents some of their 2026 shoebox floats at Chemical 14 gallery [an ANTIGRAVITY advertiser] this month. Located deep in the Bywater between the old naval base and the tracks, Chemical 14 is a gallery of odd, unusual, and often experimental and interactive art, and these little floats with their incredible detail fit right in. Lovers of this parade have a unique opportunity to spend some time appreciating the tiny menus at “Port of Small,” a replica of Port of Call. Created by Lily Theriot and Chere Theriot, this float lets you peek under the roof right into the entire restaurant. Emmalee Sutton and Luke Giveen’s “Bayou Bites” features the traditional style shoebox design, a staple of a New Orleans childhood, with a backdrop detailing a swampy eve and a call to out ICE from the bayou. Rounding out the show on her own pedestal is the Queen of this year’s procession: Julie Ann Ebel (4/19/60 – 10/6/25). In true New Orleans fashion, the loss of this beloved krewe member was honored with a final procession through the streets with her tiny effigy toasting the city. Her float, created by Janine Hayes, Dana Embree, and Andrea Arcuri Hoover, was lovingly pulled by Ebel’s husband and fellow krewe member Rob Cambre. As Julia Hodges and Michael Merino’s float “Trinket” states: So much depends upon a shoebox float, filled with shiny trinkets, beside the black crows. If it’s inspiration you need, get thee to the Tiny show for some big dollops of whimsy with a side of laughter and a lil love that will touch your heart. —Megan Burns
