REVIEWS

Folksy, familiar, and pleasant to the ear, singer-songwriter Burris’ third full-length album (and first vinyl pressing) is a nostalgic take on day-to-day life in South Louisiana. Featuring local talent including Ashlin Parker, Renée Gros, Mikayla Braun, Basch Jernigan, Scotty Graves, Amari Ansari, Pat Casey, and more, Wash Away has an old-timey vibe to it. The melodies feel classic, yet wholly original, and the lyrics play out smoothly, unforced. Burris’ vocal performance is controlled throughout the album, beautiful without being showboaty. There is a frank, humble quality to Wash Away’s musical production that I find incredibly refreshing. Love, loneliness, celebration, struggle, contentment, and contemplation are all present, and the layered instrumentation highlights them all in turn. I particularly enjoyed the opening and penultimate tracks: a jaunty, earnest love song to one Sarah Anna (as well as New Orleans) and an unpretentious cover of Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On,” respectively. I’d recommend listening to the album during one of these languid summer afternoons. —Terra Durio

The five piano compositions that comprise Dre Perish’s latest EP, Thunder In The Dark, were written and improvised by Perish as a means to process and release the grief he was feeling. Initially, they were not meant to be shared with the general public. On his Bandcamp page Perish explains that, “I have come to terms with the ghosts and demons that have plagued me for years, and have decided to share these therapeutic moments with my followers.” The title track, recorded on July 31, 2021, was written as a means of coping with his father’s terminal cancer diagnosis. “Thunder In The Dark” has an ominous air to it, with Perish pushing heavily on each piano key, both physically and symbolically transferring his grief into the music. The final four compositions were all improvised and recorded by Perish in July 2025, with each song named after its recording date. The oppressive heat and general malaise of summer in New Orleans are palpable throughout these tracks. If you listen closely, the familiar hum of an air conditioner can even be heard in the background. The July 2025 compositions flit between tone, at times airy and hopeful, and then moments later dark and jarring. Taken as a whole, Thunder In The Dark is a humidity-fueled musical exorcism. —Mary Beth Campbell

After spending years immersed in Ethiopian culture, Kaethe “K8A” Hostetter finally emerges with her debut album, Woradj Alle. The literal translation of the title is “I want to get off the bus,” one of the first phrases she learned. With only seven songs, the listener finds themselves teleported into an aural National Geographic memory, each vignette a poignant moment from her travels. The real struggle, as K8A puts it, is “deciding which one of [her] babies to let go.” Besides displaying her technical mastery of the electro-violin, the album works as a meditation on life and her instrument. Album opener “Musicawi Silt” leans heavily into a Madlib/Dilla-esque vibe as she transforms the violin into a whirling guitar. On “Reggae Kamisse,” K8A takes an earworm she heard from a group of school kids and transforms it into dub. The charm of the album is the fusion of ancient Ethiopian songs with modern technology—it’s fire. Definitely for fans of Ethiopiques and dope enough for the casual listener. —Mike 5ive

First formed in Gothenburg, Sweden’s punk scene in 2008, Makthaverskan have spent nearly two decades creating music that can best be described as the melding of jangly dreampop and post-punk—think The Wedding Present meets Siouxsie and the Banshees, with a dash of The Raveonettes. Glass and Bones is their fifth full-length album and the latest since 2021’s För Allting. Anchored by lead singer Maja Milner’s distinctive vocals—Milner is just as capable of raw punk screaming as she is more delicate airs—Makthaverskan’s songs tend toward more introspective musings about life and relationships. On Glass and Bones, the focus of the lyrics is on the desire to take control of one’s reality—fitting for musicians who have been in the same band since they were teenagers. Makthaverskan do not deviate from the sound they have long been known for. While there is a certain comfort to this, and while they generally sound solid on the album (minus some muddy production), I can’t help but wish that they would step outside their comfort zone and experiment more. The closest they get to truly deviating from their norm is the penultimate track “Louie” (which features a bit of a disco vibe) and the closing track “Öken,” with its drum-and-bass-heavy ending. Glass and Bones is certainly worth listening to, especially if you have a jangly post-punk itch to scratch, but don’t expect to be blown away. —Mary Beth Campbell

I credit a handful of artists with inspiring my love of music, and Modest Mouse is one of them. Their 2015 album, Strangers to Ourselves, was the first record where I remember “consuming” everything I could leading up to and after its release—teasers, music videos, interviews, reviews, old camcorder videos of their sets. Simply put, the release inspired me to start reading music journalism incessantly. When The Golden Casket came out in 2021, I had long since moved on from MM’s newer sound, instead finding myself listening mostly to their pre-Good News era when they sounded more like Neil Young meets Fugazi. I felt there was no chance MM would ever be anything more than another washed-up, vanilla indie band (especially since Jeremiah Green, one of the only remaining founding members, died shortly after the ‘21 release). And that was OK, because I felt I had everything I needed from Modest Mouse. An Eraser And A Maze is the first album the band has released as an indie in over 25 years, and they seem to have taken the opportunity to shed some of the over-polished commercial trappings for a more frayed sound that doesn’t aim for nostalgia but rather captures life’s messiness. Frontman Issac Brock has embraced the fact that, for better or worse, this is his show now. And although he doesn’t have the same energy at 50 that he used to, his mellowing out has been an overall positive for the sound. Instead of being a wanna-be Tom Waits-type drunk asshole, he seems more like a zonked out forest hippie who lives in a van down by the river. This change in pace is most reflected in the solid first leg of this album running between “Remember Yourself” to “Dogbed in Heaven / Give it a Skeleton.” Brock is reckoning with death a lot, which makes sense considering how much it seems to have surrounded him in recent years, not to mention the ‘90s Pacific Northwest indie scene that birthed the band. If the first half had been released as an EP, I think it would’ve been one of their best, a truly haunting bookend to the band’s discography. Following the album’s interlude, though, is a sloppy funeral afterparty of sorts that’s a real mixed bag. I know some folks have described this record as being like a grab-bag of their entire discography, and I think that’s true on the back half. “Absolutely Necessary Never” sounds like an overproduced radio edit of Depeche Mode. “Song About Nothing” is the album at its most obnoxious. But in spite of these less-than-stellar cuts, “Speak ‘N Spell (Or Not)” exists as a homage to their early guitar work that also fits with the overall themes of death present in the first half. An Eraser And A Maze surprised me with more to like than dislike, even though I’ve found my peace with Modest Mouse’s decline. —Dalton Spangler

Local egg punk band STEEF has come a long way since their 2022 debut, POST F. Their latest release, Reality = Hell, somehow gathers up their many eccentricities into their most thematically cohesive album yet. The final track, “Wasn’t Meant to Store This Much Info,” provides a synopsis of what this album’s about: information overload, the endless scroll, and how that has fried our collective consciousness and bled into reality. That may sound melodramatic, but nihilism and absurdity have always been a guiding light for this band, harnessing them to experiment and do exactly what they want with abandon, like donning chef outfits for their live show. Although some people might listen to STEEF and think this is just Oingo Boingo or DEVO with a drum and bass loop, I’d argue there’s a little more going on here due to a wide range of influences—from video game OSTs to no wave. There’s literally a song called “Sonic’s Plight” that references Sonic the Hedgehog’s “Gotta go fast” catchphrase in the chorus. The title track heavily leans into this glitchy, OST vibe with some haunting, discordant synths, casting cyberfog over the track before breaking down into the kind of music a bunch of beetles and worms could vibe out to (or at least the dancing bug from Adventure Time). “So It Seems I Flirt with Death” and “Vatnik” (“Ватник”) lean the most into darker no wave tones. “Vatnik” in particular is a rather harmonic reprieve, using clean-tone keys sounding like vaporwave meets Molchat Doma. There are some duds like “Sex + Ecstasy,” which is hard to imagine ever being a sexy song for anyone except maybe the guy who does it to “Cbat.” But overall, STEEF delivers an imaginative record that, although a bit more dismal in tone, makes up for the despair with an equal measure of absurdity.  —Dalton Spangler

Wavering’s self-titled LP swells with promise in its opening, like light filtering through the trees. The New Orleans three-piece—made up of Rosemary Wells, Peter J Bowling, and Toren Hardee—go on a “heart’s journey of yearning, fracture and catharsis” with movement serving as their leading motif. With lyrics about plucking “a strand from the fabric of time” on opening track “ring.wav,” there is a self-proclaimed sense of wonder and exquisite beauty. However, somewhere on this lover’s path, they fall short of their premise, which grows a little frivolous and tired. Like faeries emerging from a babbling brook at the bottom of the garden, the message feels more like a children’s tale than a meditation on love, desire, and creativity. There are beautiful moments that ebb and flow within this LP’s constant movement (it does indeed “waver”). The second track, “Glorious Feeling,” notable as the only danceable one on the record, features a slow motion yet urgent sound, with counterbalancing energies that evoke the feeling of inner conflict that comes with overwhelming desire. As our narrator breathes in the proverbial fumes of their love, it sets off all kinds of audible synapses and signals, communicated through ornate synths. The rest of the record, perhaps except the grungier cut “Quake,” feels a little wholesome, to the point that it’s hard to commit to this journey, etched through harmonies that emit a precision that somehow casts off nature’s sparkle. —Eva Karl

Ten years after successfully touring their 2016 covers album Plays the Music of Twin Peaks, Xiu Xiu have returned to honoring their creative hero, David Lynch, in a musical epitaph to the late, great director. In this new live concert, originally presented with an accompanying film, Xiu Xiu both deftly and destructively coordinate field recordings, modular synths, and musique concrete elements to capture the extreme dissolution and unrelenting darkness of Lynch’s original 1977 debut, Eraserhead. Xiu Xiu have created a vast interpretation that doubles down on the claustrophobia of the film, which of course features a cover by Jamie Stewart of “In Heaven.” The song, originally written by Lynch and Peter Ivers, trembles with a sense of hopeless rage that can be hard to stomach. Xiu Xiu’s musical treatment—bringing a certain uncanniness from 1977 to a somehow more pointed peak in 2026—amplifies the sense of loss, confusion, and the resistance to resolution that is present in Lynch’s original film. Tracks sit in spaces eked between raw emotion, white noise angst, and music itself, with collage and experiment working not exactly harmoniously to create an unease which appropriately splits itself between the morbid and the compelling. —Eva Karl

“You’re a star, shine like SOPHIE. One-two-three let me see!” Dropping halfway through Pride Month, Big Freedia & SOPHIE’s 3-song EP is a joyous and electrifying tonic to any gay-fatigue we have been experiencing. Five years since SOPHIE passed, we are continually reminded of her energy and her indelible influence on our lives. A meeting of two of the greatest artists in dance music, SOPHIE’s playful production is deftly combined with Big Freedia’s sheer New Orleans bounce power in this EP, which presents to us, “at last,” the sweet fruits of a truly blessed collaboration. Short and sweet, this EP opens with “Let Me See Ya,” combining the straight-up joyous with the ethereal, a poppy track (we also have pop group MUNA featured here, if you keep your keys on a carabiner) which rings as a demand for optimism. “Blaze That Ass,” already released as a single, is a darker cut, with a middle broken-down portion that is minimal, angular, and impactful in its incremental energy re-ups. With every word an imperative, Big Freedia’s relentless energy on “Go Down” gives it the distinct feeling of a 4 a.m. club cut, which doesn’t allow us to stop, even if we wanted to. These songs offer the kind of cosmic energy that only comes from colliding stars—in a time when it is achingly needed. —Eva Karl

The latest offering from Baton Rouge native Wakai and Luke MacKenzie is heavy. The concept of Brief Laughs is a repast, which is where the bereaved gather and hold a moment for those they’ve lost. On first listen, you get swept away in the euphoria of the music but you can’t help but feel the somber tone in the bars. With 12 tracks, the album plays like a biography. On the opener, “As a Child,” piano and drums act as a funeral dirge escorting us to our seats while “558” catches us up on the happenings prior to the funeral. A four-track run is akin to Jay-Z’s “Meet the Parents,” highlighting generational pains across multiple tracks with “Felicia” as the mom, “May 11th” as the twins’ birthdate, “A.S.N.” as the father, and “Riley & Huey” as their offspring. “Journal Entry 6” and “Brief Laughs” work as Yin and Yang, highlighting the duality of death and life. The last four tracks bring us back to the light. We hear Wakai rapping over angelic sounds and bright tones as hope and joy return—but just for a moment. And for that moment, as the title suggests, the brief laughs are what help us survive those ugly times. —Mike 5ive

In The Mix: Volume 1 is 10 hand-picked tracks showcasing the best music coming from NOLA Mix Records. Flagboy Giz kicks off Side A with a rollicking Mardi Gras Indian rap “And Did,” which is followed by some heavy horns on “Rock Your Soul” with Rockin’ Dopsie Jr. “Too Hot” by Water Seed gives us Prince vibes and synth chords. “Cafecito, Cumbia y Marihuana” keeps it international with the Boogat feature and cumbia influence, while “Black Dynamite” from ET Deaux brings us back to the bottom with some Southern grit and soul: It screams Cadillacs, potholes, and crawfish. Side B brings in the “Blessings” as Alfred Banks and HaSizzle hold down the mantle for hip-hop and bounce, respectively. “Uptown Rulers” takes us back to the ‘90s. It hits as if Salt-N-Pepa grew up in the Magnolia instead of Queens, sewing suits for Super Sunday. A Lovely Triangle’s “I’m” is the most political with its message, featuring lyrics such as “What I am, you wish to be / cuz you’re not, you choose to persecute me.” “La Cicatriz” by Lisbon Girls is reminiscent of The Cardigans’ “Lovefool”—showing that disco-bubble-gum pop can exist in the swamp. “Doe A Dear” by Loucey is a moody, trip-hop gem replete with crisp vocals, DJ scratches, and an electric guitar-synth solo. With such a diverse group of talent, it is refreshing to find that the project not only has a cohesive sound, but shines a light on New Orleans artists. —Mike 5ive

Short story collections are often tricky to review, as they can be uneven in quality. That isn’t the case with All This Want (and I Can’t Get None), a debut by T Clark. This collection is set in a working-class community just outside New York City, and the stories center on topics of pleasure, coming-of-age, sexuality, identity, and poverty. The stories act as a window into the lives of Black women, girls, nonbinary people, and queer folks. The titular story centers on the inappropriate “friendship” between a teenage girl and her school’s security guard; another deals with a young woman in a rocky relationship who ends up in a hotel room with two strangers. All stories excavate subtle moments in the characters’ lives and can be emotionally heavy at times, and even make you uneasy. But Clark doesn’t take a heavy-handed approach to the details; the beauty of this book is what is understated. The heavy moments aren’t too focused on the internality of the characters, but what’s left unsaid adds to the weight. The prose is tight and each word runs smoothly into the next, the momentum carrying you until the next thing you know, the book is over, and you’re left wondering about the lives of the characters you got to spend such a short time with. And afterwards, you will feel as though you know the characters, despite the short time spent, which by itself makes this collection a worthwhile read. —Danny Cherry Jr.

Despite being a small label, Asian Man Records has made a big impact on various strains of punk, ska, and indie rock. Less Than Jake, Alkaline Trio, and Joyce Manor all spent formative years on the label, but Asian Man founder Mike Park stands out as the real star of this book. After three decades and over 400 releases, Park still runs the label out of his parents’ garage. When courting bands, he remains upfront about his limited resources and opts for handshake deals where money gets split 50/50 between the artists and the label. If a band does outgrow Asian Man and seeks a bigger label, Park is typically happy instead of distressed about the news. This dedication to small business feels refreshing in an era where many other California-based garage startups have evolved into megacorporations that cannibalize each other for growth. Elvis Is Dead alternates between chapters detailing Park’s ethos and chapters describing the origin stories behind some of the label’s seminal releases. This book would be highly informative for anyone interested in navigating the music industry—or taking a stance against it. Although not mentioned in the book, local musician and business owner Greg Rodrigue (BAD OPERATION, Community Records, HEY Coffee Co.) drew heavy inspiration from his internship at Asian Man. Similarly, author Mike Huguenor has performed on many Asian Man titles and volunteered for the label. As such, Huguenor’s passion is clear on every single page. In addition to its focus on punk and the music industry, Elvis Is Dead is a book that doesn’t shy away from discussing race in the United States and in underground music. Huguenor writes about the racism that Park’s father faced as a Korean immigrant in an overwhelmingly white community and documents Park’s attempts to reclaim an anti-Asian slur with his band The Chinkees. Ultimately, Elvis Is Dead and Mike Park remind us that you don’t have to be the biggest star in the world to have a positive impact. —William Archambeault

Some novels could only have been written by Jo Walton. The Welsh-Canadian author has become known for her unique blend of fantasy and historical fiction, including Tooth and Claw (a Victorian-style family saga involving a clan of dragons), the Thessaly trilogy (where historical figures build a society influenced by Plato‘s Republic under Athena’s watchful eye), and Lent (which places Renaissance Florence leader Savonarola in a time loop). In this new story, told sequentially from the point of view of nine characters, a dreamlike, parallel-universe version of Venice called the Serenissima serves as a trade hub for travelers from multiple worlds. The Serenissima, where reality is shaped by collective belief, is about to appoint its first doge (not the Elon kind) and discover a cure for a fatal sexually transmitted disease. But the pleasantly meandering plot unfolds at its own pace. Action comes second to worldbuilding and character development, befitting a fantastic city-in-the-swamp where time itself moves hazily (there’s a reason so many New Orleans stories move similarly). Walton fans will smile at allusions to her fascinations, including assorted Renaissance artists and Italian philosopher Marsilio Ficino, but Everybody’s Perfect would make a strong introduction to her idiosyncratic and memorable work. —Steven Melendez

Trying to explain the plot of Backrooms is as beside the point as it is futile. Most of the film is spent traversing barren, surreal office-like space that’s being recorded on handheld, lo-fi video cameras by the characters. These rooms are transfixing and unsettling, and exploring them is its own adventure. Backrooms physically built as much of its liminal, labyrinth world as possible. According to Architectural Digest, the design team, led by production designer Danny Vermette, built “30,000 square feet of half walls, ‘weird little corners,’ and dead ends across four soundstages” and “used 1,520-foot-tall scaffolding to create multiple levels within the set.” Directed by 21-year-old Kane Parsons, the movie is born from his YouTube series of the same name that he began when he was only 16. The film is far from perfect, and many critics are citing his age as proof of its alleged failures. But in my eyes, his age is what makes this most exciting—voice is harder to come by than technical ability, and Parsons has one. Where Backrooms is least successful is in its attempt to explain itself. Expository dialogue and frequent mutterings of what the fuck place little trust in the viewer’s ability to simply let go and sink in. Additionally, its larger shoehorning in of A24’s heavy-handed brand of trauma-as-the-source-of-horror feels like a cop-out to avoid getting at something more abstract and difficult to pin down—a flaw that feels producer-inflicted rather than intrinsic to the vision. Where Backrooms is most successful is its world-building and its innate understanding that physical space and texture are part of the story. This is further apparent in Parsons’ firm stance against AI, stating in an interview, “If I could snap my fingers and make generative AI disappear forever, I probably would… Creatively, I get no enjoyment from using those tools. It defeats the purpose entirely for me.” In an industry trying to expedite the creative process, Backrooms offers proof that the magic is in the blood, sweat, and tears of truly building art. The kids are alright. —Marisa Clogher

Steven Spielberg returns to the subject of aliens for the first time in over 21 years (Unless you count that fourth Indiana Jones movie) with Disclosure Day, an absurdly sanguine take on what would happen if humanity were to find out life existed elsewhere. He attempts to explore the situation through various complex institutions and experiences like religion, government, screens, and childhood trauma, while presenting a best-case scenario as to how people would react. The result plays out more like an adult Escape to Witch Mountain. At various points, you have to suspend disbelief in terms of what you think would actually happen, especially considering how trigger-happy cops tend to be in real life. There is an unnecessary reliance on space magic (Yes, I know any technology that is advanced enough is indistinguishable from magic, thank you, Arthur C. Clarke) and a hopefulness that humanity will prevail. But the cynic in me couldn’t help but roll my eyes, which also helped me avoid going blind from the countless Spielbergian lens flares from cinematographer Janusz Kaminski. Emily Blunt’s performance is a bright spot, and she gets to show a lot of range despite numerous ridiculous situations (more space magic). Unfortunately, we kind of already had an actual disclosure day, and it hasn’t stopped masked secret police in the streets or unwinnable perma-wars or the erosion of civil rights—but Spielberg optimistically implores us to just LISTEN. —Carlos A. Molina

When I saw Leviticus at the Overlook Film Festival in April, I expected to be a little scared and a little disturbed. What I did not expect was to cry. The debut feature film from Australian writer-director Adrian Chiarella, Leviticus explores the real-life horrors of queerphobia and conversion therapy through a supernatural lens. Set in a desolate, industrial town somewhere in the Australian state of Victoria, we meet Naim (Joe Bird, whose breakout role was in the 2022 horror film Talk To Me) and Ryan (Stacy Clausen), two teenage boys in the throes of first love. Naim’s born-again Christian mother (played with a slightly icy detachment by Mia Wasikowska) recently moved the pair to this “shithole” town because of the local evangelical Christian community. When the boys are outed as queer, their parents and church leaders summon the mysterious Deliverance Healer, who performs a ritual that unleashes an unknown entity to curse the boys. This entity takes the form of the person they most desire, preying on their feelings and longings until it kills them. Bird and Clausen have electrifying chemistry, and their facial acting deftly conveys both the thrill of finding out their feelings are reciprocated and the terror of realizing that the person they want might also be capable of their destruction (one of the film’s saddest—and most romantic—lines is when Ryan tells Naim, “I want it to look like you.”). The film does not waste time with exposition about the entity, leaving the viewer to fill in those details. While this is a wise choice, the movie actually could have benefited from a few more minutes, if only to further explore Naim’s complicated relationship with his mother. While there are jump scares and moments of violence and gore, the real terror comes from the actions of parents and community members who, whether or not they actually believe they are helping their children, are instead actively harming them. Chiarella is not interested in torturing his characters for shock value, and despite the subject matter, the movie’s message is not one of hopelessness but is, at its heart, a love story. As Frank Ocean’s “Self Control” plays out Leviticus’ bittersweet end, we are reminded that, despite the very real trauma and hatred in this world, queer love and community continues to thrive. —Mary Beth Campbell

The story of Democracy Now!, the United States’ steady descent into overt fascism, and the momentous life of independent investigative journalist Amy Goodman entwine masterfully in this documentary so richly embroidered with historical and personal detail. Currently making the rounds on the festival circuit as well as small-scale screenings worldwide, New Orleans was lucky to host a few screenings of Steal This Story, Please! thanks to Jewish Voice For Peace NOLA. Incredibly hard to watch, yet impossible to look away from, the film opens with footage of Goodman chasing down a politician—a Trump representative—at an environmental conference as he shamelessly tries to evade her. That dogged pursuit is darkly comical, exasperating, and highly symbolic of her unwavering commitment to ethical journalism in our current media landscape’s intentionally curated culture of suppression, obfuscation, and political punditry. Covering myriad massacres, genocides, environmental injustices, arrests, coups, mass casualty events, and other global horrors over Democracy Now!’s 30-year tenure, Goodman remains intrepid in her dedication to shedding light on events the powers-that-be are invested in hiding, often at great personal cost. From the East Timor genocide in the ‘90s all the way to the ongoing genocide in Palestine, the film highlights her humble, grounded personality and recounts moments when she faced sitting presidents, CEOs, soldiers, and war criminals, getting them to reveal themselves and forcing them to prioritize coverage of human rights issues. Directed by Oscar-nominated filmmakers Carl Deal and Tia Lessin, and backed by executive producers including Jane Fonda, Rosario Dawson, and Tom Morello, this film features never-before-seen footage and uncovered interviews with allies, activists, and journalists, as well as a searing original soundtrack by Zoe Keating. In Goodman’s dedication to ethical reporting, a beacon of truth shines through the seemingly impenetrable darkness of injustice. —Terra Durio

This year, the New Orleans Shakespeare Festival at Tulane went all-in on tragedy with the one-two punch of King Lear followed by Macbeth. Macbeth, Shakespeare’s most popular bloodbath, is the quintessential cautionary tale of the perils of ambition. The tragedy of King Lear also speaks to the dangers of concentrated power, but its aging protagonist is more pitiable, and its truths cut deeper. I first saw the play when I was eight years old, and it blew me away. I consider this proof not only that I was destined to become a lifelong Shakespeare nerd, but that the power of King Lear is elemental, transmitted through more primal receptors than the intellect. So if you choose to put it on, you have to come correct. Fortunately, the Tulane Shakespeare Festival production hit all the important notes, thanks in large part to director Jana Mestecky’s sure-footed decisions. The stage in the Lupin Theater was bare, set up theater-in-the-round style, which I wasn’t sure would work when I first took my seat. And frankly, the decisive first scene which sets the rest of the play in motion did take a hit from the staging—ideally at the moment of truth you’d be able to see all the actors at once. But afterwards the staging more than proved itself, paying off through the dynamic energy of actors that by necessity stayed on the move. Every performance did the Bard credit, despite some serious challenges—namely the tragic loss of cast member Michael C. Forest mid-run. The company had excellent chemistry, and there was really no weak link. As so often happens, the villains somewhat outshone the virtuous; it’s hard to pull a flashy performance from characters whose honesty and loyalty are their primary motivators. Nevertheless, Silas Cooper as Kent and James Bartelle as Edgar held their own, with Bartelle successfully playing up Edgar’s bizarre turn with the Mad Tom persona. Zarah Hokule’a Spalding played both Cordelia and the Fool, a traditional Shakespearean doubling, and in the role of Lear’s principled youngest daughter she emanated inner light. For her interpretation of the Fool, she went full clown. I personally prefer more subtlety in Shakespearean fools, having been ruined for life by Ben Kingsely’s Feste in the 1996 film version of Twelfth Night. But she got plenty of laughs, and it’s hard to fault anyone for bringing some levity into what is basically a nonstop lamentation. The evil sisters Goneril (Nia Ragini) and Regan (Anja Avsharian) were pitch-perfect villains, the former a haughty ice queen, the latter a diabolical vixen. Ditto beloved local cad (and Saturn Bar proprietor) Philip Yiannopoulos, who was scrumptiously sinister as the (literal and figurative) bastard Edmund. And crucially, John Niesler as Lear carried the play with his pathos-heavy interpretation of the proud and wrathful king, reduced to rags by his own folly. He deftly moved along the expanse of the king’s emotional spectrum, inspiring profound empathy from a character that is by no means sympathetic. At the end, holding Cordelia in his arms, his obvious heartbreak nearly brought me to tears. This is as it should be. King Lear is meant to leave its audience bereft, stranded amidst the devastation wrought by the self-delusions of the powerful. “What remains then is not resolution, but reckoning,” writes Mestecky in her eloquent Director’s Note. “King Lear asks us to sit with that reckoning—to consider the fragile, necessary bonds that hold us together, and how easily they slip from our grasp.” —Holly Devon

During mid-June, Humidity Skate Shop hosted Grady Grissom’s exhibition, Staind Up! Grissom moved to New Orleans from Portland, Oregon, in 2021 to live closer to his sister and seek out new skateboarding ventures. Though known for his music and infectious smile, Grissom has also steadily created large stained glass pieces over the past five years, sourcing glass from broken or tossed-out stained glass windows around the city, ordering what he couldn’t scrap from the internet. As a child, Grissom and his grandma would go to church. She would give him a pen and some paper to keep him busy during the sermons and he would draw the images on the stained glass windows. Echoing the traditional Catholic imagery, one of Grissom’s pieces is a Sacred Heart, with two copper slates, one attached to the bottom, the other on the top, depicting martyred Jesus Christ. Images were first transferred onto copper before being etched in acid, oxidized black, and sanded to reveal polished metal around the recessed design. The resulting slates frame the stained glass like miniature altarpieces. The cut-out pieces of glass are held together with copper tape and solder, a metal that becomes malleable when heated and fuses metals together when cooled. The Sacred Heart is a mix of red and brown, giving it dimension. Across it, woven yellow glass creates its thorny crown. On top of the heart is a cross made with brown glass, with flames behind and surrounding it in yellows, oranges, and pink. Another hanging piece references a time in Grissom’s life spent in Nepal, visiting a friend and skateboarding in the mountains. Two glass panels depict the eyes of Gautama Buddha in blue, yellow, and red. The upper panel is green, the lower yellow, with brass and copper cutouts in the middle of each set of eyes. The two glass slates are then strung together by a delicate chain and copper-inlaid Tibetan prayer flags, like the many he saw in Nepal. The most affecting piece of the exhibition depicted a skater boy with blonde hair, a white beanie, an orange long-sleeve shirt, and gray pants doing an ollie with an aureole around his head—in memory of his friend Quincy, who had passed away. Through meticulous craftsmanship, Staind Up! tells the stories that have impacted his life by turning memories into devotional images through the ancient language of colored glass. —Elisa Gomez