The first time I put on this Dremm EP, I was sitting in my parked car on a rainy Friday afternoon (on the way to see pageninetynine, a formative influence for the band they were opening for and would even perform with later that night). For a moment, I watched raindrops fall on the windshield as Ethan Pye’s guitar on the opening track “Mono no Aware” crept out of the speakers, perfectly soundtracking this moody, mundane scene of street puddles, telephone lines, and gray skies. Atmosphere is something many heavy bands strive for but they often fall short, landing somewhere between contrived and conventional. But this local two-piece have always been masters of channeling a vibe. Present Laments continues that trend, with the same high-quality recording as their last album but in a more concise and well-executed package. For instance, on the second track “The Common Thread,” Pye wields his particularly yelpy shriek with such vibrato that it cuts right to the emotional core of the lyrics, and Evan Baham’s timing both on drums and with vocals accent the assault with the finesse of a watchmaker. Present Laments brings more of the sludge-meets-post-hardcore lamentations I’ve come to expect from the band, but their delivery and songwriting has only grown tighter with each release. —Dalton Spangler
New Orleans hardcore band Fiend has avoided becoming just another digital ad begging for your attention, staying off social media and major streaming services and encouraging people to experience their sound live. So when flipping on their demo tape, I was hoping for a faithful adaptation of their live set—perfectly executed but perhaps a little rough around the edges, recording-wise. The demo successfully delivers on those expectations and then some. It’s an excellent translation of Dylan Hemard’s double-amp guitar, Sterling Anderson’s vile bass, Jack Croce’s ferocious drumming, and Sophia Duv’s snarling vocals with a newfound clarity. Oh, and the soundbites, can’t forget those—like the George W. Bush classic, “Watch this drive” opening the track “HERETIC,” one of the more overt political takedowns on the album, which goes after our country’s penchant for idolizing political leaders. Even more overtly, “GENOCIDE 2025” name drops the bipartisan lobby group AIPAC and the U.S.’ “ethnostate ties.” Other standout tracks “CYBERPSYCHOSIS” and “REPLICANT” cut to the root of their anti-online beliefs with lines like “High tech and low self esteem / Oligarchs farm on our beings / You can’t rent space in my / Mind.” —Dalton Spangler
Starshiner was carefully pieced together by Aubrey Jane’s nimble fingers. In February, Jane released “China Doll,” a song steeped in heartache and the temptation of regression, bargaining tenderness in the exchange for emotional survival (“I’ll take it on the chin, like it don’t hurt me / I’ll let you treat me like a china doll / I’ll sit here on this shelf and watch you / strengthen your collection / if you promise not to write me off”). Starshiner commemorates both the disruption and acceptance that come with getting older. Jane’s bright vocals contrast against grungy distorted guitars, like in “Granted,” where she finds herself in the opposite role of “China Doll”: “I lay beside you / alone because I try to / and say that I want it / but we both know that’s not true.” Sometimes, in an effort to process our own heartbreak, we accidentally pass it on to others—looking to lighten the pain of the original wound, we become active participants in the cycle ourselves. The album unfolds as a practice in vulnerability and being seen, shaped alongside musicians Giovanni Ventello, Teddy Tietze, Deven Raval, Rob Florance, and Frank Stewart, who together help craft this musical diary. With the ability to uncover pearls of wisdom buried in the mud of shame, Jane offers honesty that lays itself bare through her lyrics, voice, and birdsong that feels like a midday spent reflecting in the grass of a loved one’s backyard. —Elisa Gomez
When Wes Montgomery died in 1968, he left not only a solid footprint on jazz with albums such as A Day in the Life and Bumpin’, but also inspired generations of guitarists from all walks of life, among them Swedish-American and New York City-based jazz guitarist Tomas Janzon, who returns with Jazz Diary, his first LP since 2023. The 11-track album reunites Janzon with longtime collaborator Nedra Wheeler on bass, while the drumming duties are split between Chuck McPherson and Tony Austin. Opener “Spirit Secret” is a breezy yet pulsating original composition by Janzon. Another standout track, “Early Sunday,” has an amazing bass solo by Wheeler, complemented by the musicianship of Janzon and the drumming of Austin. Towards the end of the album, Janzon pays homage to his ancestral homeland with the lone non-original track, “To Summer,” which uses an old Swedish folk melody arrangement—suited for lazy summer days in New Orleans. Closing track “Six on Five” was originally a piece that he did with Wheeler in the early 2000s that he decided to save for this album. Jazz Diary is an enjoyable album that would have made Wes Montgomery proud. —Ryne Hancock
It is impossible to meaningfully engage with Irish rap trio Kneecap’s music without also engaging with their politics. Taking heed from rap greats such as Public Enemy and N.W.A, as well as the many Irish rebels who came before them, Mo Chara, Móglaí Bap, and DJ Próvaí are defiant in their embrace of radical solidarity, anti-imperialism, and antifascism. FENIAN, their second full-length, finds Kneecap at the height of their powers. The notoriety and fame they have gained over the past few years has only strengthened their artistic prowess. Produced by Dan Carey—who has also produced Kae Tempest (featured on closing track “Irish Goodbye”), Wet Leg, and fellow Irish artists Fontaines D.C.—FENIAN is sharper than its predecessor, with more polished songwriting and jagged beats inspired by house and trip-hop. The interplay between Mo Chara and Móglaí Bap continues to be the centerpiece of their songs, the two in lock-step as they seamlessly trade the mic, with lyrics in both English and Irish (a political act on its own). The comparisons to rap groups like Run The Jewels are inevitable, though Chara and Bap have their own specific chemistry and flow. Covering topics like modern-day British and U.S. imperialism (“Liars Tale,” “Carnival,”), Palestinian-Irish solidarity (“Palestine,” featuring Palestinian rapper Fawzi), and the now-dropped terrorism charges against Chara (“Smugglers & Scholars”), FENIAN is a musical manifesto unto itself. Tiocfaidh ár lá—our day will come. —Mary Beth Campbell
The title of Hero Magnus’ debut album refers to the womb, marking it as a record not only of (re)birth, but the following inevitable grappling with its transition into present-being. Given she’s spent the past few years constantly moving—from her childhood in DC to college at Yale to postgrad years in New Orleans to her current location in Brooklyn (where she’s joined every American creative in eventually, somehow, ending up in New York)—such a focus is only natural. For the most part, Magnus’ sound is very straightforward indie pop/rock. Her teenage origins opening for punk bands in the DMV (DC/Maryland/Virginia) is apparent in the gratingly direct and, at first glance, artless tone of her voice. Some songs are more ironic (like the completely deadpan delivery of “Beating my chest / Awooaaoooaaooaa ahhh” in “Tough”), but most are bald-faced outpourings of emotion. Magnus’ lyrics are just as direct and personal as her voice, from “Harriet” (a pleading expression of new love), to “Green Street” (an unsatisfied if not hopeless retrospective on leaving home and previous lives behind), to “Nothing to Write Home About” (a chronicle of leaving in the midst of the act). Becoming is a messy and slipshod endeavour, and How Do You Leave a Warm Dark Place portrays the effort in all its uncertain, mistake-ridden glory. —Robyn Kopeny
The history of underground rock in Mexico dates back to the 1960s. While historically rock bands from Mexico have rarely made it to the larger international stage, the tides have been turning these past few years, with bands like Margaritas Podridas (“Rotten Daisies”) being platformed by such cultural outfits as KEXP and Sub Pop Records. Formed and based in Hermosillo, Sonora, Margaritas Podridas’ music can be best described as an amalgamation of shoegaze, grunge, and noise punk, with lead singer and bassist Carolina Enríquez taking more than a little inspiration from Courtney Love (at least in her vocals). Metales Pesados (Heavy Metals), their third full-length album, finds the band incorporating elements of industrial and metal (as the title suggests) into their repertoire, adopting a brasher sound to reflect the album’s central theme of purging emotional and personal toxicity. Metales Pesados opens with “Tornillo” (“Screw”), a catchy, guitar-heavy garage rock number that abruptly ends after a minute and 33 seconds. This sets the tone for the rest of the album, never allowing the listener to become too comfortable. “Pólvora” (“Gunpowder”) and “Quema Los Recuerdos” (“Burn the Memories”) showcase the range of Enríquez’s vocals, while “Cabeza De Metal” (“Metalhead”) is the most straightforwardly metal track on the album. It is worth mentioning that the songs are entirely written in Spanish; unlike some of their earlier recordings, on Metales Pesados Margaritas Podridas makes a point to embrace their identity as Mexican musicians, proving that they do not have to self-colonialize for their art to be appreciated worldwide. —Mary Beth Campbell
We really are reliving 2008, aren’t we? War in the Middle East, huge price hikes in gas, and of course, an economic crisis for anyone not on the upper end of this crooked “K-shaped” economy. And along comes this local metalcore project, pushinupdaisies, whose members were almost certainly not alive on 9/11, sporting band photos that look like they were ripped straight from MySpace or a Warped Tour Wiki. This total embrace of rawr, xD Scene-look made me curious to hear their debut release, she loves me not, and it’s not quite what I expected. It’s a total amalgamation of beatdown and sasscore packaged in a mall emo shell. One moment, they sound like they’re doing black metalcore like Portrayal of Guilt, another moment they’re chugging breakdown after breakdown like Harm’s Way before launching off into a poetic screed à la The Chariot. Overall, it feels like they’re still finding their footing as a band, trying to hit too many goals and falling short somewhere between all these styles. But what gives me hope is the track “girl in blue killed by train.” Its slow, melodic first half gives the instrumentation plenty of room to breathe, while one of the vocalists shout-sings as if they’re across the room from the microphone, creating a beautiful spaciousness before it’s back to crowd-pleaser breakdowns. —Dalton Spangler
A few months ago, I finally sat down and watched the Lilith Fair documentary, Lilith Fair: Building A Mystery. I never went to Lilith Fair as a kid, but the music was around me while I was growing up, and the festival’s feminist ethos seeped into my psyche, a counter to the toxic bro culture of the mid- and late 1990s. As a person who thinks a lot about music and how it reflects and influences culture, it is encouraging to witness the new wave of femme and queer musicians who, directly or indirectly, are descendants of that scene. New Orleans-based singer-songwriter Keaton Schiller is one of these artists. The House That I Built, the follow-up to her 2024 EP Somebody’s Ocean, is, like its predecessor, a cathartic and introspective collection of songs that reflect the many contradictions existing within our own experiences and feelings. Schiller noted Liz Phair as one of her influences for Somebody’s Ocean, and that influence is even more apparent on this latest effort. In fact, while she remains a singer-songwriter at her core, musically Schiller has expanded to a louder, more 1990s alt-rock-inspired sound, invoking the likes of artists such as Hole, Screaming Trees, and Oasis, along with Phair. Schiller’s vocals are stronger and more confident on this EP, as is the instrumentation. There is a certain swagger in these songs that can only come from gaining more experience as a performing artist. Standout tracks include “Dead Horse” and “Spill,” though the whole EP should be listened to from start to finish—turn up the volume and sing along at the top of your lungs, embracing the emotions that the songs create and the messy reality of being human. (The EP release show for The House That I Built is Friday, June 5 at Siberia.) —Mary Beth Campbell
Local act Tank and the Bangas have really hit it big over the past few years, culminating in a Grammy win in 2025 for their 2024 album The Heart, the Mind, the Soul. Their new album and the last in the “Balloon” trilogy, The Last Balloon, rides that same high for all its worth. It bursts with self-confidence, optimism, and a feeling of liberation, universally bouncy and energetic even in rare moments of doubt, like in “Is It Over?” As always, their sound is hard to categorize—lead singer Tarriona “Tank” Ball’s trademark light, airy voice cuts through replete instrumentals that dance between R&B, funk, soul, gospel, jazz, bounce, and rap, and floats interweaving with the more grounded voices of the many features. It all builds into what feels like a catharsis for the band, as if they’ve finally emerged from an era of great self-doubt and uncertainty and are celebrating their victory. In “Interlude,” a spoken-word track that comes midway through the album, Tank says (referring to the end of the Balloon trilogy), “It’s important for me to do the last one because I’m done floating away. I’m ready to stay still.” In this time of hard-won satisfaction, Tank and the Bangas have written a love letter to themselves, life, and the city they experience it in. The Last Balloon is an album from a band at the top of their world, taking a moment to bathe in the sunshine. —Robyn Kopeny
At its core, WEALTH AND HELLNESS, the debut album from New Orleans egg-punk band TONYA, is an exhortation against capitalism and nihilism. In the style of the Ramones, every member of this all-femme band dons the name Tonya, but behind the uniformity and monikers are musicians from several local projects like Holy Locust, T.A.C.K., Lesser Man, and Heaven Forever. Unlike punk in the same vein, TONYA’s songs tend to start slow, like a still river with a calm surface but a roiling tide below. “LIGHTS” is a good example of this, with a scuzzy guitar ringing out alongside Tonya’s vocals while the drums and synths chomp at the bit, stumbling over again and again until they’re finally allowed to dictate the track. Odd song structures, dungeon synths, and falsetto backing vocals add complexity to the deceptively simple songs. “LIGHTS” warns against becoming jaded, “THE CRASH” predicts an inevitable economic collapse, and “WASTE KING UNIVERSAL” challenges the listener to do more and talk less. The cover of Maurice Williams’ “Stay,” a doo-wop classic, is a notable reprieve from the political urgency of the other tracks and lets (vocalist) Tonya really show off their chops, sounding damn near operatic. The final track “W.I.L.T.” ends the album like a doom metal band would—with societal collapse, claiming it’s all destined to wilt and rot. But unlike a more pessimistic doom band, TONYA leaves the listener with the hopeful and perhaps most impactful verse of the whole album, “WHAT’S WRONG WILL BE WRONG / WHAT’S RIGHT WILL BE RIGHT / THE REASON WE LOVE / IS THE REASON WE FIGHT.” Despite the forces of the world at large keeping us from living—or at best stuck paycheck to paycheck—TONYA rides directly into the fray aboard their mopeds like a revolutionary cavalry. —Dalton Spangler
Love her or hate her, it’s undeniable that Lena Dunham’s storytelling abilities shaped the 2010s—from SXSW breakout hit Tiny Furniture and HBO cult favorite Girls, to her ubiquitous social media presence and tendency for speaking very freely. Dunham once claimed out of nowhere that while sitting next to NFL star Odell Beckham Jr., “He looked at me and he determined I was not the shape of a woman by his standards” (for which she has since apologized). Famesick, Dunham’s latest memoir, covers that decade and draws a correlating line between her rising fame and chronic illness—most notably endometriosis and Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. She writes, “Getting sick is not that different from getting more famous. It has a maddening circularity, and it’s also very hard to explain even to the people closest to you.” The book indulges the base, gossipy impulses you’d hope that it would, with insights into set dynamics and relationship dynamics, as well as namedrops galore from Before They Were Famous. The heart of the narrative, however, concerns what work and fame demand of artists, especially women, and the physical toll that being young and in the public eye takes on you. As her mind and body deteriorate alongside her increasing success, it serves as a worrisome mirror to the contortion all artists are familiar with for their practice. And while Dunham has never been the most reliable narrator, I find comfort in her familiar cadence, like a diary entry from a period in your life when there was something more combustible in all the good and bad ways within you. So take Famesick for what it is: another well-woven story from 2010s indie darling Lena Dunham—a voice of a generation indeed. —Marisa Clogher
The titular Dick is a fictionalized version of Richard Sackler (known here as Dick Sickler), who led Purdue Pharma, the company behind OxyContin. Main character and sometimes narrator Susie Vogelman is an aspiring artist who was eased out of NYU back to her ultracushy Los Angeles home after a roommate’s death contributed to her growing drug habit. Her father is Sickler’s lawyer and consigliere, and her mom works for an organization that’s essentially a cross between Scientology and Bohemian Grove. Oh, and there’s a serial killer targeting homeless drug users, and Susie’s former English professor—a washed up Gen X idealist who triggers her ’90s nostalgia—is running a dubious rehab center where he delivers pills and lectures to Skid Row denizens. It’s an often funny, sometimes tragic, and sometimes overwritten novel that wears its influences on its sleeve, as characters drop references to Joan Didion, Don DeLillo, and David Lynch. Author Luke Goebel (who is married to Ottessa Moshfegh, another clear influence) seems to suffer from the literary writer’s embarrassment at directly describing pivotal plot events, lest he be accused of writing a thriller. An excellent first act, exploring characters paralyzed by drugs and/or money, outdoes an out-of-focus climax. —Steven Melendez
Los Angeles elites can get away with anything. It’s not a new idea for a story: Jordan Harper pays tribute to crime writer James Ellroy (L.A. Confidential, The Black Dahlia) in his acknowledgements, to name just one influence. But the novel puts an ultracontemporary spin on an old idea, following three main characters: a defense attorney representing a fictionalized version of disgraced Nickelodeon producer Dan Schneider (who quickly dies the jailhouse death of Jeffrey Epstein); an agent for a concierge service for the ultrarich; and a true crime streamer who follows the police scanner, broadcasting sardonic screeds from the streets like a modern-day Weegee. Things have somehow gotten worse than ever, Harper makes clear. The A-list is one big, tawdry conspiracy to commit all sorts of abuse and even murder, surrounded by amoral fixers and squirrely hangers-on. Even movie magic has faded in Harper’s Hollywood, with bigwigs concerned only about streaming subscriber numbers, making quality and even viewership irrelevant. Harper—himself a screenwriter and producer—has mastered the hardboiled prose of writers like Ellroy and Raymond Chandler, but he deftly avoids the hypermasculinity, dubious nostalgia, and nihilism that often limit their imitators, delivering a modern, memorable take on a well-worn theme. —Steven Melendez
Amityvillenado, the latest entry to the annals of the Amityville Horror House’s loose collective of haunts, picks up soon after a mysterious vortex has wiped the infamous DeFeo house off the face of the planet. Our heroes Trey (Trey Ball) and Jib (Jib Haddan) seem to be channeling their inner Shane Gillis and Kyle Mooney, respectively, and by the end you kind of want them to just kiss already. They solve their way around these twisters with magic elixirs and poop jokes. The local filmmakers are well aware of the history of the franchise, alluding to different aspects of the canon (note the flies everywhere), and openly citing other major horror influences (The Shining, Scream). A shadow puppet sequence stands out artistically while also making yet another horror reference (Candyman). New Orleans punk rock fans will recognize many familiar faces on screen, most notably members of Joystick!. It’s difficult for New Orleans to stand in for the Long Island suburbs, but suspend your disbelief and just enjoy seeing the city you love on screen. This “diarrhea tornado” movie, as it’s affectionately called in the credits, is hardly the craziest of the Amityville chapters—this decade alone we’ve been subjected to Amityville Bigfoots, Sharks, and Vibrators. The special effects are like a bad, made-for-cable movie, and the amateur performances remind you how much a good actor can save a film, but the DIY punk ethos lives on as local artists make fun, self-aware pieces of art. —Carlos A. Molina
When Boots Riley dropped the film Sorry To Bother You in 2018, it had been six years since The Coup—the Oakland-based hip-hop band he helmed—dropped their last album, also titled Sorry To Bother You. I was elated to see what he’d been doing with his time, and holy crap what a left turn the film takes. It’s been eight years since, and if you liked that film, you’ll like I Love Boosters, Riley’s hilarious sophomore feature starring Keke Palmer as the ringleader of a group of shoplifters in the Bay Area taking on capitalism, the fashion industry, and the spacetime continuum. This is an ambitious, stylistic swing for the fences, with a who’s who of actors (LaKieth Stanfield, Demi Moore, Don Cheadle, to name a few) jumping in the fray, featuring extreme Technicolor-esque exaggerations brighter than a Target commercial, with some stop motion car chases and claymation set to the music of Tune-Yards, turning you inside out. This biting satire shows us everything Boots thinks is wrong with the world, and will hopefully open some eyes so people realize we got The Guillotine. —Carlos A. Molina
A deeply disturbing nightmare on fire, Is God Is (based on the play written by Aleshea Harris, also the director of the film) follows twin sisters who suffer beneath the agony of burn scars, leaving their bodies disfigured and their emotions mutilated. The twins, Racine the Rough One (Kara Young) and Anaia the Quiet One (Mallori Johnson), survive the fire only to be abandoned by their parents and forced to protect themselves by any means necessary. No act of violence committed to defend their dignity or beauty seems too volatile. Until their estranged, bedridden, dying mother, Ruby the God (Vivica A. Fox), sends them on a mission to “make yo daddy dead.” After years of being inseparable, icing each other’s scars and communicating telepathically, hearing their mother’s story changes everything. Will they take karma into their own hands and seek vengeance? Or can they leave the past behind and focus on a brighter future? After Ruby the God reveals the truth about the fire, the twins are split. Anaia fantasizes about a future where the burn scars that warp her face and neck don’t define her. But Racine, scarred along one arm and hand, is not only prepared to kill—she’s ready to die for her mother, who, in her eyes, is God. Can a little bit of good outweigh a lifetime of horror or will pain and revenge tear the twins apart? Is God Is forces us to recognize how burn scars on top of melanated skin can completely disrupt a person’s sense of self and autonomy. This film is a haunting exploration of family trauma and victimhood. It portrays parents manipulating their children’s emotions while disregarding the lasting psychological effects—not to mention physical damage—caused by fear, abuse, and violence. The writing perfectly captures how easily hate becomes internalized by those who are forced to live beneath the projections and discomfort of others. This all-Black cast unapologetically tells a story that is difficult to watch, yet gives a performance that is undeniable to witness. —Nijah Narcisse
It begins as many horror stories do: A boy is infatuated with a girl. As Bear (Michael Johnston) repeatedly fails to work up the courage to tell his coworker Nikki (Inde Navarrette) about his crush on her, he instead makes a wish on a One Wish Willow, a cheap novelty toy that promises to grant you a single wish. In Bear’s case, it’s that Nikki would love him more than anyone in the world—a choice of phrase that guarantees treacherous consequences. A lesser movie would explain the stakes and the malevolent forces at play, but here we are trusted to understand that we’re following a fairly basic formula, and our focus instead should be on character. Contorting her face and hopping around in the shadows, perpetually backlit, Navarrette’s physicality proves impressively nightmarish, and it feels unlikely that this film works without her. Obsession strikes a great balance between true fear, considerable gore, and well-crafted storytelling—scaring us with not just sound and visuals, but with the violence of romantic ownership. —Marisa Clogher
When Harvey Fierstein adapted his Tony award-winning play Torch Song Trilogy for the screen, New Line Cinema forced him to more than halve the running time. The over four-hour live performance was cut down to just under two hours for life on celluloid. Even under a heavy minutes restriction, the film (released in 1988) movingly traces the emotional roller coaster of a homosexual world after the Stonewall Uprising but before the AIDS crisis. Fierstein plays Arnold, a “professional female impersonator” who just wants to find love in 1970s New York City. Unrequited bisexual crushes, infidelity, hate crimes, adoption, and a homophobic mother hinder Arnold’s ability to achieve true happiness, but he unapologetically moves through life towards his goal of starting a family. This culminates in an emotional tête-à-tête with his Ma, played by Anne Bancroft, where the two award-winning actors really get to show off their chops, and Fierstein’s heart-wrenching performance feels like he’s pleading with his character’s mother, his real mother, and the world at large for just a basic recognition of his existence. (Torch Song Trilogy is playing as part of the Pride Film Festival at The Broad Theater on Sunday, June 21.) —Carlos A. Molina
The Women stars Norma Shearer, Joan Crawford, and Rosalind Russell as East Coast rival socialites gossipping about infidelity, then dealing with adultery and divorce. Their sharp digs and catty scratches provide much of the wit. A ridiculous Technicolor fashion show accentuates the campiness, making the costumes pop even when the film goes back to black and white. Adapted by Anita Loos and Jane Murfin, this Bechdel test-passing movie paints women in a dated light, while simultaneously showing us things haven’t changed much at all when it comes to relationships. George Cukor lived up to his reputation as a “woman’s director” with this film adaptation of the play of the same name: Both feature over 130 speaking roles and no male actors. That moniker was both a testament to his ability to pull out amazing performances from his female actors (he directed 12 performances to Oscar nods for an actress), and a thinly veiled dig at his sexual orientation. While the film came out in 1939 (considered by many to be the greatest year in movie history), Cukor succeeded in Hollywood with the open secret of his homosexuality without ever truly announcing it. It’s somehow not even the most iconic gay film of that year thanks to The Wizard of Oz, though it should be telling that the legendary costume and fashion designer Adrian Adolph Greenberg designed the costumes for both. (The Women is playing as part of Pride Film Festival at The Broad Theater on Sunday, June 14.) —Carlos A. Molina
The Front gallery, located in the Bywater, spotlights monthly revolving local artists’ work in the city, centering but not limited to LGBTQIA+ and BIPOC artists. With four rooms dedicated to each artist’s craft, you step into the mind of each individual. When entering the building, you are confronted with a decision: to go around or to go through. Ephemerist, by artist “is,” asks the question with an installation piece hanging from the ceiling. Mimicking the St. Claude drawbridge, as well as the proposed grain train threatening the Lower Ninth Ward neighborhood, the installation draws attention to the question: “What do you do in an emergency when the exit is blocked?” a concern many families living there have raised. Plastic bottles with strips of newspaper articles about trash and water create delicate chimes in the center of the room leading into the next space. In room two, WHOLENEWWARDCONCEPTION1 is a physical demo created by artist and musician Sly Watts, where three 3D sculptures made with aluminum and steel wire depict movement and energy. Acknowledging it is a work in process, he challenges himself to redefine what movement looks like with loose concepts and heavy restrictive materials. In the third room, Taylor Balkissoon (ANTIGRAVITY’s astrologer) works with Maji James and Port Sisters Farm to create an entire recreation of the nightlife environment titled Things That Grow in the Dark. When stepping in, the audience actively participates by bringing an offering to an altar of fungi in a darkly lit room illuminated by neon glow-in-the-dark lights, laser beams, a thoughtfully crafted video projected onto the wall, and recorded conversations had with friends and strangers sharing moments in the dark. Where community gathers is represented by petri dishes of bacteria swabbed from popular clubs and swabs from the insides of mouths. The final room was curated by Déja Jones, whose preferred clientele is often-overlooked local BIPOC artists. This month she worked with a dynamic couple, Andres Arauz and Abby Meyers, in their collaborative installation To Get to the Other Side: A Correspondence. The white brick and wood paneled walls are lined with Arauz’s wooden cutouts, which feature inlaid pictures of walking figures and silhouettes stamped with Meyers’ poems. The theme is safety as a place and internal state, as seen through Arauz’s family having to immigrate to New Orleans from Nicaragua during a time of conflict, and Meyers’ escape from sexual and domestic abuse. (This programming runs through June 7; Andres Arauz and Abby Meyers have an artist talk at the Front on June 5.) —Elisa Gomez
Photo: Sly Watts, WHOLENEW WARDCONCEPTION1
