Some thoughts on Christmas, JoJos, and cinnamon bears
Note: This first ran 2 years ago and quickly became one of the year’s most popular posts. It has been lightly updated & edited. Maybe it’ll become another recurring tradition for the newsletter? Perhaps it’ll become a holiday version of trying to make ‘fetch’ work? Time’ll tell! KA—
This is a Christmas story. It’s also a story about Portland. Portland has always been quirky—from a sign with a deer on it to a store that gave free buzz cuts in the style of its owner (“and Gloria too!”) to a parade about roses. Mention ‘Psycho Safeway’ or say ‘Rip City!’ to someone outside of The Rose City and see how it goes.
Keep Portland weird? Oregonians have been doing that since day 1, long before it became performative or a sport.
Every city had these sorts of things, I suppose. The kind of thing that transcends most demographics but is corralled within a few zip codes. A common ground that gets the diaspora to come out of the woodwork years later. It is a language 1000s share, but few outsiders get, like how the best Jojos come from gas stations. That is an absolutely true fact, btw. It’s science. And that statement reads like gibberish if you aren’t from the 503.
This is a Portland story and one about Christmas. And quirks and traditions.
It is the story of the Cinnamon Bear.
I grew up in a time when department stores still had flagship outlets in the middle of the city. Beautiful buildings with stunning facades and elegant insides that, even after their heyday, still made you feel fancy just walking through the door. There used to be a few of these downtown—stately matrons who watched over Pioneer Square—and the parking garage that was there before it. The Meier & Frank building was gorgeous, taking up an entire city block. During the holidays, no expense was spared in turning the place into a winter wonderland that looked like it was straight off the set of Miracle on 34th Street.
There was even an (admittedly sketchy) monorail that took you around Santa Land. The whole experience was magical enough that seeing Santa wasn’t even the best part.
It was the stuff childhood dreams are made of.
None of that was happening at Frederick and Nelson’s.
There were decorations, but they felt lifeless and apathetic. Spartan, even.
But they did have something not even the vaunted Meier & Frank could touch— the Cinnamon Bear.
All of that is well and good. But what matters here is that by the mid to late 70s, like the store itself, our man had seen better days. The costumes were a little more tattered, the eyes a little more wild. The cookies were still decent, though I’m sure that as a 7-year-old, my bar was low.
After Lipman’s was bought by department store Frederick & Nelson in 1979, they kept the character and trotted him out for another decade, to the abject terror of some Portland children.
“Oh my god, I fucking hated that bear,” recalls Nico Bella, owner of downtown’s Spellbound Flowers. “He looked like a Sleestak [from Land of the Lost] to me, and I was terrified of those. It was in a doorway and came waving and walking towards me, and I started yelling, ‘No, no, NO!’ and wailing. I ran out screaming.”
(In addition to the Sleestak resemblance, some versions of the 1980s-era Cinnamon Bear suit look rather disturbingly like a Furry in blackface.)
It’s not like he was mean like the Santa in ‘A Christmas Story’ or a degenerate like in ‘Bad Santa.’ He was just… freakin’ weird. Sometimes, he was light brown. Sometimes, his eyes were exaggerated, rendering him an ursine George Hamilton. He didn’t even talk! How could we tell him what we wanted? And why would it matter, anyway? Santa’s the guy who delivered. Toys came from the North Pole, not Maybeland. Couldn’t we just go across the street, survive a spin on the monorail, and call it good?
Apparently not. Portland parents kept bringing their kids. Maybe out of tradition, maybe to buck tradition. Maybe spite. I don’t know, and I’m not sure it matters.
What I do know is this: when the holidays roll around, there are a bunch of Gen X’ers posting things like:
And sharing pictures that look like this:
Wherever this finds you over the next couple of weeks, and however you celebrate, I hope it’s a holiday season filled with laughter, music, and joy.
What happens when a music critic, two poets, a Nashville transplant, and a former Migos labelmate all come together?
Photo courtesy of CPR
Good morning!
We’re in for a treat today; NYC-based Crisis Public relations stops by to talk about their new EP,
The pitch: A self described “NYC-based firm consisting of a former Migos labelmate, a pseudonymous music critic, two sister-poets, and a Nashville-to-Brooklyn transplant” get together and make an EP that bends the definition of pop and all it’s variants. It might read like the set up to a hipster version of a dad joke, but is quite the opposite. Part experimental, part hyperpop, part screed against the hellscape we find ourselves in, Life Rights is quite a ride.
My on ramp to the band first came this past fall when I was turned on to their “Out the Window” single, which we had a chance to feature on playlist 316. This past week, they released an EP, Life Rights, which is fantastic.
Trying to define the band’s sound has proved tricky for me. I know my way around a keyboard, but with each track, my list of possible influences and reference points would shift. That makes for tough review writing, but an awesome listening experience, and I wondered if it was by design. This is after all a group that set out to challenge assumptions and the status quo.
We’re interested in persona, we’re interested in production, we’re interested in obscurity—all things that might scan as “less authentic.” But “Crisis Public Relations” and “Life Rights” are phrases that read as clinical, but the component words are all quite meaningful.
I recently had a chance to chat with the band via email. In our wide-ranging discussion, we talked about the band’s origin story, the record, and what’s coming next. Our chat has only been lightly edited for grammar and flow.
KA—
Congrats on the new record! Can you walk us through the backstory of how this project came together?
Three of us—Reggie, who sings and plays guitar, Isa, who sings and produces the songs, and Meg, who also sings, plays guitar and writes lyrics—moved into a house together during the COVID pandemic. We started jamming most Sundays, gradually inviting friends, including Meg’s sister Eleanor and John, who now plays bass, to join. In 2023, the project started really coming together, and then in 2024, we met Noah, who plays drums, through mutual friends.
On your website, you describe the band as “a new NYC-based firm consisting of a former Migos labelmate, a pseudonymous music critic, two sister-poets, and a Nashville-to-Brooklyn transplant.” Say more, please.
You forgot the food content creator, Noah! It does what it says on the tin. That’s all literally true. Isa was signed to a 360 record deal when they were 18 years old, Reggie is not who he says he is, Meg and Eleanor are sisters and published poets, and John was performing as a folk singer-songwriter in Nashville for several years before he moved back to the East Coast.
Photo courtesy of CPR
How is this EP different from previous outings, or to be more specific, work band members previously released?
This project has aspects of each of our styles, but it comes together into something new. For instance, this music is still really lyric-focused, but compared to, say, John’s solo music, it’s much freer from traditional narrative and song structures.
I can hear a few different artists that might’ve been an influence. Were there any specific bands that informed the sound on Life Rights?
Our inspirations are pretty varied; CPR is made up of a lot of members with different tastes. “You’ll Be Fine” was definitely influenced by the Jamaican diasporic sounds on labels like Trojan Records, and also the RnB-gone-reggae sounds of ‘90s and ‘00s radio. And the ending of the song breaks down into an almost Pinegrove like acoustic indie rock thing, which breaks down into pure ambient noise.
NYC is obviously a massive scene, but what’s your orbit like? What other bands are in it? How (relatively) close-knit are you all?
In our non-CPR lives, we all have various different scenes we travel in—Reggie writes a lot about all kinds of different scenes, and John works at a conservatory. Noah collabs with indie musicians. It’s TBD what the CPR scene is, but we loved performing with Sister, and Jude Johns recently, and we always make a point to see acts like Asher White and Grumpy.
For anyone new to CPR, what’s the one thing you hope they walk away with?
Sometimes, it feels like social media algorithms put pressure on musicians to manufacture “authenticity” to compete for attention, to grab people with the most intensity possible. So a lot of tears, a lot of “here’s a song about the time I saw my dad run over my dog.” Some people really make that work, to be clear. But we’re interested in persona, we’re interested in production, we’re interested in obscurity—all things that might scan as “less authentic.” But “Crisis Public Relations” and “Life Rights” are phrases that read as clinical, but the component words are all quite meaningful. Similarly, we hope that people see that these glossy songs were all made with care.
What’s next for the band? What’s 2026 look like? Back in the studio? On the road?
We’ve talked about doing a couple weekenders in other cities in the northeast, but mainly we want to be making a lot more music. We want to rent out a practice space and dial in the CPR sound. Noah played on the last two songs on the EP, “You’ll Be Fine” and “The Subletter.” Production is a huge part of our sound, so the next step is finding our groove in the room and working that into our records. In 2026, we’re also looking for someone who can reprogram a printer to print sheets of music so we can incorporate that into the show… so if that’s you, please message us.
Last one, just for fun; I bump into you as you walk out of the record store. What records are you carrying?
Reggie is probably carrying something from Mississippi Records. Isa bought 15 unfindable-online $1 records in the hopes of finding sample gold. John’s probably holding some sensitive folk record about, like, the light through the leaves or whatever. Meg’s holding the collected works of Eileen Myles. Noah’s carrying a world-class sandwich he personally made.
Listen:
Crisis Public Relations | Life Rights (2025)
Right-click the record to listen via Bandcamp.
Life Rights is out now. You can grab your copy here.
Thank you to CPR for their time, and thank you for being here.
The 3rd Annual On Repeat & Friends Best Records of 2025
Good morning!
Today we’re taking a look at our Top Albums of 2025
We’re back!
By almost any metric, 2025 wasn’t great. The universe didn’t send us its best. But if we’re talking about records—and we are—this was a banner year. For every stain on the landscape (Daniel Ek, the Velvet Sundown), there were countless counterpoints: music that doubled down on what we love, and artists unafraid to cover new ground.
I sometimes get asked if I ever worry that I’ll run out of records to write about. My answer is always a polite version of, “Are you kidding me?!” That might happen at some point, but the biggest hurdle in 2025 was finding enough time to cover all the records I wanted to. I thought for sure I’d have figured out how to do that by now. Nope. Maybe next year.
The list below represents what I consider the best the year had to offer. These were the records that consistently fed my ears and lit up my brain. For fans of semantics, we can swap in/out terms like “best,” “favorite,” etc.—dealer’s choice.
The ultimate barometer is this: if we were at a diner after a show and you channeled your inner Rob Gordon and asked me what records I’d recommend, these would be the ones I pitched.
For the past couple of years, Sam ColtSteve Goldberg and I have put together our annual favorites. There’s not a lot of overlap in taste, and that’s what keeps this so fun. I’m not blowing smoke when I say that I start looking forward to this group project in early fall.
When you’re done here, please head over to their pages and check out their takes!
Meet the co-conspirators
Sam Colt—Recovering copywriter and author of This Is A Newsletter!—a consistently hilarious, biting chronicle of modern life and its indignities.
Sam’s List:
Rosalia- Lux
Clipse- Let God Sort ‘em Out
Deftones- Private Music
Geese- Getting Killed
billy woods- GOLLIWOG
Nourished by Time- The Passionate Ones
Wednesday- Bleeds
Panda Bear-Sinister Grift
FKA twigs- EUSEXUA
Stereolab- Instant Holograms on Metal Film
Read his full breakdown- including honorable mentions-here.
Steve Goldberg—Writes Earworms and Songloops, weaving personal essays with the songs that lodge themselves in your brain.
Steve’s Picks:
(alphabetical order)
Yazz Ahmed – A Paradise in the Hold
Amadou & Mariam – L’amour à la folie
The Antlers – Blight
The Besnard Lakes – The Besnard Lakes Are the Ghost Nation
Anna Von Hausswolff – Iconoclasts
Henge – Journey to Voltus B
Walt McClements – On a Painted Ocean
Midlake – A Bridge Too Far
Vines – I’ll Be Here
Youth Lagoon – Rarely Do I Dream
Check out Steve’s thoughts on his picks—and those that just missed the cut— here.
As in Part 2, some of these we’ve talked about before, and I’ve included excerpts from previous reviews. I like yapping about records, but the goal is—and remains—finding you a new favorite or two.
Also: All are Gizmo-approved:
Let’s get to it!
Immersion-WTF
My love for Wire is no secret, and the same holds true for frontman Colin Newman’s solo work. This year, that circle expanded to include Immersion, his project with partner Malka Spigel (formerly of Minimal Compact). They actually gifted us two releases this year (plus a collaboration with / reworking of a single by Dummy). Nanocluster Vol. 3, with SUSS, was gorgeous. WTF?? takes the best parts from all of those disparate pieces and blends them into something incredible.
From my original review:
The record kicks off with “Defiance,” an instrumental that gets things off to a strong start with uptempo beats but refuses to plant its flag in either camp: not synth, not pop, not really anything but itself. Immersion—and Wire before them—thrive in these in-between zones, especially when they let the music do the talking. I tried to categorize their last record, Nanocluster Vol. 4, and failed spectacularly. I know better this time around.
“It’s a Long Way to Brooklyn” is a highlight, a track that doesn’t need words. But the whole thing opens up when they do. Spigel’s voice on “Timeline” is cool and almost detached, and Newman sidles in with a wry spoken-word counterpoint. Elsewhere, like on “Use It Don’t Lose It,” his trademark deadpan delivery turns a good track into a great one.
If this all sounds heavy, it is—and it isn’t. At least no more so than something like Talking Heads’ Life During Wartime was back in the day. David Byrne was singing about NYC’s Alphabet City, and Immersion is speaking on a much larger scale. Nevertheless.
WTF?? is an album about the constant, low-grade anxiety of modern life, and an era where current events have you saying “what the fuck?” several times before lunch.
Bob Mould- Here We Go Crazy
At my day job, one of my corollary duties is administering annual hearing exams and helping people find hearing protection that works for them. This is thanks to Bob Mould.
Husker Du’s New Day Rising hit me like a kick to the head and was never played at less than full volume. I liked it that way and loved his power trio, Sugar. To this day, it’s still the loudest show I’ve ever been to. I used to find that post-show ringing in my ears a weird badge of honor. When it was still there after day two, I started to worry. My hearing rebounded (sort of), which marked the point when I no longer cared how uncool I looked wearing earplugs at shows. But Mould hasn’t quieted down. He’s at his best when he’s at full throttle, and on his 15th solo record, he delivers.
The opener, “Here We Go Crazy,” reminds listeners of the best parts of Sugar. “Fur Mink Augurs” and “Sharp Little Pieces” are equally intense. The songs come at you relentlessly: blast furnace chords, merciless drumming, and sometimes hard-to-understand vocals (especially for those with hearing difficulties). When you listen closely, they often touch on challenging subjects—it would be easy for a sound like this to wear down even the strongest among us. Yet Mould consistently shows us a bit of light (heh).
Here We Go Crazy isn’t exhausting; it’s invigorating. It’s a breath of fresh air at a time when we need it more than ever. Play it loud; just remember to limit your exposure and keep in mind that the most effective hearing protection is the kind you’ll actually wear.
Hayley Williams– Ego Death at a Bachelorette Party
I know you’ve already seen a bazillion reviews of this record, so let me save us all some time by just saying: “same!” But before you go play it, I want to add that I love how this record was released. Last year, Cindy Lee’s Diamond Jubilee drew raves for not being streamable and for being available only on YouTube and a specific website. Williams followed suit (sort of) by releasing the tracks via her website—no tracklist, no problem.
This is her first outing as an independent artist, and if that’s not doing things on your own terms (while raising a middle finger to those who got rich off your talent for decades), well, I don’t know what is. Williams—and, to an extent, Paramore—have always shapeshifted stylistically, but here that impulse is taken to another level, with wonderful results. Still, in my opinion, she truly shines when she leans all the way into old-school pop, like “Good Ol’ Days.”
Do the kids still refer to songs as “bops”? Because this is a bop—and a perfect example of her incredible talent.
Ryan Davis & The Roadhouse Band- New Threats from the Soul
Over the last few months, there’s been a trend in “bigger” publications to tout Americana as the latest new thing, as if it just popped out of the ether—as if Waxahatchee (or whoever) suddenly sparked a whole-ass genre. That’s obviously not true. What’s actually happening is that people are slowly discovering artists and bands who have been there, putting in the miles for years.
I can’t claim any sort of moral high ground or expertise here. As noted in my initial review, “until not too long ago I was a dues-paying member of the ‘anything but country’ club”—a broad brush that also treated folk and Americana as collateral damage. As usual, I’m late to the party, but I’m happy to be here now.
That said, how do you not fall for a record that casually namechecks A Tribe Called Quest, Peg Bundy, and Betty Rubble before the first chorus even hits?
And then a line like this comes in and stops you cold:
“You can see the kingdom from the tailgate
If you stack a couple coolers, but you’re never gonna see it from the front of the line”
Maybe college football has cooked my brain, but damn, that’s my kind of wordsmithing. Again, we’re not even through the opening track here!
Speaking of which, these sound radio-friendly but are absolutely not built for the airwaves—the shortest track here clocks in at 5:55. That’s fine by me. Morgan Wallen and co. can have the chart space and radio spots. This is a record suited for back roads, sitting on the porch, or in your favorite bar on a cool summer evening.
With New Threats…, Davis and the Roadhouse Band tip their hat to Americana while bringing new energy. It’s not easy to sound brand-new and 100 years old at once, but they walk that tightrope well here (absolutely NOT derogatory). It’s music that understands the lay of the land, respects it, and is cool with adding its own take. It’s the sort of thing that will convert skeptical listeners like me sooner rather than later.
Nourished by Time- The Passionate Ones
When I was in high school, my girlfriend was very much into R&B, and I was very much… not. We landed at a kind of musical détente, where we’d swap who got to control the music based on a very blurry set of criteria that seemed to change with every trip. That said, there were a few “compromise” records that we both begrudgingly enjoyed.
The Passionate Ones reminds me of that same very narrow band of R&B from around 1988–92 that used to blast out of my tape deck. We spent a lot of that time dreaming, and on Marcus Brown’s latest, it feels like a love letter to the dreamers—the ones just trying to get by. It’s a bit of sonic reassurance that it’s okay to have your head in the clouds.
It might evoke memories of bands and days gone by, but it’s also really hard to pigeonhole. Sure, R&B fits, but so do experimental and dance. Brown takes us on a ride and isn’t afraid to go off on a tangent or two. And there are earworms, and…
…and in a world where slop like Velvet Sundown becomes a thing, it’s nice to know there are still some things Suno just ain’t going to be able to copy. In my totally objective, not-at-all-blurry rubric for what makes a great record, originality is part of the calculus. And in that category, The Passionate Ones is off the charts.
There are no compromises on this LP, but I’d like to think it would absolutely qualify as a compromise record.
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Have you ever been to Wendover, Nevada? If not, it’s a border town that’s a little worse for wear. Not quite a Temu-brand Vegas, but it’s close. It’s transient by nature, and melancholy and hard luck seem to be the only permanent residents.
In my head, this is the sort of place where Dan Bejar—aka Destroyer—would have a standing gig as a lounge singer. The songs are great, but the louche persona he’s built feels like a perfect fit. On 2011’s synth-pop masterpiece Kaputt, he talked about doing coke and all sorts of other midlife debauchery.
New iterations came via subsequent records like Poison Season and have reached their peak (or bottom?) with Dan’s Boogie. It feels like the end of the road for a guy with nothing left to lose—the sort of entertainer who still thinks “the act” has some life left in it, even if that means playing to a midday crowd of four or five disinterested truckers. The whole thing has a morning-after vibe, literally and figuratively, as if Bejar is in on the joke and no longer worries whether you’ll “get” his free association and poetry.
…and it’s fantastic.
Ultimately, places like Wendover are a great place to study the human condition—the wins, the losses, the beautiful, and the ugly. Sometimes they’re just a great place to get off the road and into some cheap food. Dan’s Boogie encompasses all of that. I honestly don’t know where Bejar goes from here, but I’m in no rush to get past this record.
Kathleen Edwards- Billionaire
One of the highlights of my week are our Monday discussions. Sure, I share a ton of picks with everyone, but I get WAY more in return. Occasionally, a record takes on a life of its own in the chat, and comments about it stretch over the course of a few weeks. This, of course, is a very loud signal that maybe, you know, you should check the record out? That happened with Billionaire, and man, am I glad I paid attention!
I originally noted
It didn’t take me long to get why people are so excited about this record. In fact, it took about 30 seconds of the opener “Save Your Soul.” I found myself nodding enthusiastically and saying, “Okay, then!” The line “Line your pockets with gold… Who’s gonna save your soul/When your money’s no good.” feels like a question a LOT of people should be asking themselves in 2025. And just in case Jason Isbell doesn’t already have enough fans here in the community, the solo on this track rips.
That was followed by “Say Goodbye, Tell No One,” one of those rare tracks whose gorgeous sound is a thin veneer over caustic lyrics. It’s incredible. I can almost guarantee someone’s going to use this to get through a bad breakup. They could do worse.
I also mentioned that if there was a weak link here, “I Need a Ride” was it. People told me to give it some time; maybe it would grow on me? Dear reader, that’s exactly what happened. And if Isbell wasn’t enough, towards the end, Shelby Lynne and Allison Moorer stop by to add some vocals.
Gelli Haha- Switcheroo
Where do I start with a record described by a fan as “…like Kate Bush meets Suburban Lawns, and it is pretty good!“? Switcheroo is what happens when an artist starts out making folk music, moves to LA, connects with a producer, and makes the pivot of a lifetime. Along the way, Angel Abaya ditched her legal name, adopted the Gelli Haha persona, and proceeded to make one of the most unhinged records of 2025.
Imagine your favorite dream pop band grabbing a copy of The B-52s’ Whammy! on the way to the launch pad, taking off, and crash-landing in an electroclash warehouse party in the coolest part of the galaxy.
Switcheroo is ecstatic. It’s aspirational and absurd in equal measure. It’s awesome. In other words, it’s perfect for this moment. Speaking with Abaya earlier this year, I asked how this project came to be. Her answer?
“Gelli Haha is a project born through curiosity. I wanted to create something that was fun and moved people physically and emotionally. Fun music to dance to, something mystical, and enchanting and silly.”
Mission accomplished.
In that same piece, I said,
Maybe it’s just me, but here’s something liberating about how this album refuses to care what you think. It’s not just theatrical—it’s maximalist identity performance with zero fucks given apologies. Gelli Haha isn’t aiming for relatability; she’s too busy being a pop gremlin, and tbh, that rules. The whole project feels like a rejection of our (collective) obsession with being “real,” that’s often ripping through the usual music discourse channels. Instead, she turns her persona into a playground—and lets you run wild with it.
Switcheroo is weird, hilarious, and absolutely unhinged—and it might be the most fun I’ve had with a record all year. Listening makes joy feel like a radical act- a rare treat in the current era. Once you’re in the Gelliverse, you may never want to leave. I certainly don’t.
Fust-Big Ugly
From November:
Fust is the latest to corner the market on the sort of storytelling Drive-By Truckers and Wussy have mastered. On Big Ugly, the band’s third album, they’ve hit critical mass. Real stories about real people, just tryin’ to get through the day. It’s the world of hard-working folks, hours under a vicious sun, and well-lit places. In this case, 24-hour gas stations out by the highway. It’s always strange to me, a child of suburbia, and a man that’s spent 49(ish) of his 50 years living above the Mason-Dixon line, to be so fascinated with the stories from the South. I don’t know what it is, but it’s always been a goldmine for storytelling. Even the nomenclature follows this pattern: Big Ugly is an area in West Virginia. And like the state, it’s an odd name for a beautiful thing — or in this case, specifically, a record from a North Carolina–based band.
“Spangled” kicks things off with a story of a repossessed hospital and helping a friend. And if that’s not a track for today, I’m not sure what is. It’s also a banger with no shortage of guitars, piano, and pedal steel. It’s purpose-built for rippin’ a heater and thinkin’ about things as you whiz down your nearest moonlit back road.
“Mountain Language” is another swaggering track with fuzzy riffs and lines like:
You can’t even find work at the Country Boy Selling gas station drugs To take care of your sister Dallas She’s a little, little older than us She’s a little older than us
This is a masterclass in telling the stories of the people who live in places Yankees rarely go, and of values we can all relate to. The record ends the same way it begins — with a story of collapse when Aaron Dowdy tells us on the way out that he’s blacking out from living.
Big Ugly is a mix of ballads and rockers, but truly shines on the latter. Dowdy isn’t afraid to paint an unvarnished picture of real life, but does so in a way that never feels condescending. The characters here feel like his people, not caricatures built for peddling records. This is a world progress often leaves behind, but like an abandoned school bus slowly being consumed by kudzu, there is grace and beauty in the decay.
I keep trying to find new things to say about this record, but my quiver of superlatives only holds so many arrows, ya know?
Preoccupations- Ill at Ease
Ill at Ease is certainly not something you’ll be blasting on your boat as you and the crew knock back tall boys. It’s icy in spots and apocalyptic in others. One song mentions centrifuges. Does Van Halen sing about centrifuges? Dear reader, they do not.
Oh, and it will sometimes make you want to dance (probably on land).
When Women broke up in 2012, the Flegel brothers went their separate (musical) ways. Patrick morphed into Cindy Lee, whose Diamond Jubilee record was on just about every AOTY there is last year. Matt and bandmate Mike Wallace went on to form the core of Viet Cong. That name was thankfully changed for a whole host of obvious reasons, and Preoccupations came to be.
Ill at Easeis the band’s fifth record, and arguably their most accessible. It’s a post-punk record, but it’s as pop as anything Psychedelic Furs or The Sound ever put out. On a more contemporary note, I kept drawing a line to The Helio Sequence. For absolutely no reason at all, the record’s “Andromeda” reminds me of “Keep Your Eyes Ahead.” While I’m at it, Flegel’s almost raspy vocals will evoke comparison to The Fur’s Richard Butler’s.
None of this is a liability. In fact, it’s all in the plus column for me. There has been some chatter that this record is too pat, too polished compared to their previous releases. I am not in that camp. Sure, there are a points where I miss that earlier volatility, but I like my post-punk dance-y, and this delivers for days. “Andromeda” and “Focus” have been battling it out for my fave track of the year, and several others make a good case for being shortlisted as well.
Get in, we’re listening to the soundtrack to the apocalypse.
A few more incredible records I’d recommend in a second:
Stereolab — Instant Holograms on Metal Film: The data goblins at Spotify tell me my most-played song in 2025 was “Ping Pong,” off the band’s 1994 record Mars Audiac Quintet. Such is the staying power Stereolab enjoys that, three decades on, I’m still playing the records—and so are a whole lot of other people. Will this one have the same longevity? It’s Stereolab! I wouldn’t be against it.
Sextile — Yes, Please: One of my “old man yells at cloud” complaints is that techno—er, EDM—er, dance music has started to over-index on glitches and bleeps and bloops. There’s nothing wrong with that (see Stereolab), but sometimes I want big bass, a little sweat, and some weapons-grade hedonism. The lyrics flit between existential and immediate, but if I’m honest? I’m here for the beats. And they never stop coming. Incredible record that takes you right back to those nights that didn’t even get started until 10:30 p.m. Listen again? Yes, please.
Andy Bell — Pinball Wanderer: This year, we got records from Erasure’s Andy Bell and the former Ride frontman of the same name. A real “Oh, we got both kinds. We got Country and Western” moment. This one is from the latter Andy and is a fantastic ride into space. The record’s cover of the Passions’ 1981 track “I’m in Love With a German Film Star” is worth the price of admission alone.
Avery Friedman — New Thing: Writing this record up last spring, I quipped: “I am convinced someone, somewhere, decided that any promo email had to include either ‘pedal steel’ or ‘indie folk’ in the description. It feels like a bit of PR Mad Libs or refrigerator-magnet poetry gone wrong…those two phrases are as ubiquitous as UPCs on the records they’re trying to move.”…which said PR rep then posted on social media. Lol. Oops. It was all taken in stride, and why not? I loved the record, and Friedman made it easy. On the title track, Friedman tells us: “It’s a little bit of a new thing / It’s a little hard to predict / And I can’t quite describe it / But it’s like a magnet flipped.” Honestly, I can’t think of a better way to sum up this record than that. This album fades in and out—sometimes it feels like the light of midday; other times like a fever dream or fuzzy memories struggling to make it out of the back of one’s mind. I closed that first review by stating, “It’s not PR spin when I tell you that’ll be a contender for a spot on my AOTY list.” And, well, here we are.
Die Spitz — Something to Consume: My elevator pitch for this Austin-based quartet has always been simple: Die Spitz is the Gen Z equivalent of L7. To be clear, that’s meant as high praise. They’re fast, loud, and have something to say—and exactly zero Fs to give. Ava Schrobilgen, Chloe De St. Aubin, Eleanor Livingston, and Kate Halter also happen to be talented musicians. Their 2023 record was centered around “Hair of Dog,” one of my favorite tracks of the year, and the EP quickly found its way onto my Best of 2023 list. It set the stage for Something to Consume. Almost a rough draft, if you will. That’s not to say this record has the edges sanded off—it absolutely doesn’t—but it’s clear the group has worked to evolve from those early beginnings.
And that’s a wrap! Any of your favorites on this list? What should be on here? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Sound off in the comments, and let me know!
Good morning! Need an antidote for the algorithms? Looking for a place to share the music you love with like-minded people? You’re in the right spot.
For those of you who are new, we kick off every week by sharing what we’ve been playing, and the playlist below is some of what’s been in heavy rotation for me.
As always, thank you to those who have upgraded their subscriptions over the last several days. Your direct support fuels this community and makes a positive impact. Shares and reposts also help!
When you’re ready, joining them is easy. Just click here:
Album-of-the-year season is one of my favorites. I love making lists. I love seeing everyone else’s picks. Most of all, I like going back and rediscovering faves from early in the year I may have forgotten about.
It all makes for a few weeks of gorging on the best the year had to offer… and then I hit a wall. There comes a point where I need to decompress and listen to anything but whatever might be making a deep run on my AOTY bracket. That’s where this week finds me.
I quipped earlier this week that I was binging tracks by Stock Aitken Waterman. I was only half joking. There are none of those here—maybe a themed list at some point? A couple of ‘25 songs are here (the new Afghan Whigs cover track was never not going to make the cut), but by and large this is a swing the other way toward old favorites and sonic comfort food.
Jay Som kicks things off, and then we go right into the poppiest (IMO) track YLT ever put to tape. Spoon’s here too, as are the Go-Betweens and one of the purest pop tracks they ever recorded. DC faves Dot Dash deliver a jolt of energy, and a deep cut from New Order leads us to some early Simple Minds and our pals from Philly, the Tisburys.
As noted, the new Afghan Whigs track is here (it’s a cover, and it rips). There’s a detour through some dream pop from 1989, and an older one from Preoccupations—their latest is a lock for my best-of list on Wednesday—and then some of the delightful chaos that only Kid Creole could deliver. (Shout-out to The Twelve Inch (Disco/80s) for nudging me to dust this one off!)
The back stretch starts with a cover by John Fogerty, The Treasures of Mexico (AOTY class of ‘23), Cheatahs, and Hayley Williams. Hard to pick a fave off her latest record, but this is definitely one of them. We then wind things out with a trifecta of Buzzcocks, Paul Westerberg, and Bauhaus.
What caught your ear this week? Any new releases or shows you’re looking forward to? Do you make any end-of-year lists? If so, have you started putting them together?
Some thoughts on faith, flying, and traffic lights.
My freshman year of college, I had a sociology professor who liked to run fun thought exercises—things like “name an industry or trade that didn’t exist before the Industrial Revolution” (consensus answer: the fitness industry).
In hindsight, I think he was pressure-testing his faith in the next generation. One day, he asked all of us to give an example of faith or trust—I cited traffic lights. We trust they’ll work, and we have faith that people will obey them the way we do. In other words, a very secular example of having faith in one another.
I think about that class a lot, as the way I take home from work involves one of the most notorious intersections in the city. It’s not uncommon to see emergency vehicles there, and having to dodge wayward car parts and shattered glass rarely startles anymore. Sometimes it’s an accident. Sometimes it’s “police activity.” Why take this route? ’Cause it’s the quickest. It’s quite the bargain, gambling one’s health in exchange for getting to your driveway 2-3 minutes sooner. Lots of people wind up on the wrong side of that scoreline.
A year ago next week, the intersection was marked with a different sort of police activity. Tuesday marks the first anniversary of a school shooting at the Abundant Life Christian School that claimed three lives (including the shooter’s) and injured six more. A large urgent care clinic and medical offices mark one corner. On that afternoon, it looked like every squad car in the city was squished into the lot, with news crews lining the edges. Ambulances too. This was set up as the reunification center, and as we all crept by, my stomach sank. Everyone in there was having a bad day, but for some, you knew it was the worst day of their life. I’m not big on “vibes,” but you could feel it in your bones. It was easy to lose faith.
Faith and belief are funny things. ALCS is a parochial school, but this isn’t a religious post. It’s easy to dismiss faith and belief as something reserved for Sundays in the pews or involving crystals, but we execute small acts of faith all day long. My job involves bending several laws of physics. On paper, planes should not be rocketing all over the skies above us. Someone believed it would work, had faith in themselves, and now, well, here we are.
Clips of people losing their shit in terminals usually go viral, but that’s because flying is such a normal thing today. The system is robust, and we collectively put our faith in it so willingly that when things go sideways, we aren’t always sure how to react.
We believe our neighbors won’t leave the oven on and burn the building down. That the records we buy were manufactured right and will play correctly1. My kid recently traveled to/from Florida. I believed in people I’d never met to keep an eye on him. (spoiler: it had a happy ending).
In 2025, it’s easy to lose hope, to refuse to keep the faith. As a Gen X’er, cynicism is baked into my DNA. Living through whatever all of this is (waves hands at everything) would make it easy. But as I’ve been reading stories of the shooting’s survivors this week, one theme has shone through: faith. Religious faith, sure, but more than that. Faith in family, faith in community, belief in one another.
If they can see a way forward, surely we can as well?
…During my five plus decades on this rock, I have also codified a few core beliefs that I try to use to guide my daily life.
I believe in punching up and never down. I believe that art and music will save us. I believe that love is a superpower. I believe in us.
Same, Matty, same.
In the aftermath of this tragedy, there were some very visible signs that all was not lost. Culver’s2 franchises all held fundraisers, and the lines were ridiculously long. No one lost their shit. This was an easy way to take action. In the Midwest, when something bad happens, people bring you food. Chipping in like this was the easiest way to do that at scale. People were happy to wait. It helped restore a little bit of faith. Wisconsin is a balkanized state, but even Badgers know when to rally.
There were countless smaller acts, of course. The kind most of us will never see and never know about. Just up from that intersection, there is a soccer field bounded by a cyclone fence (sidebar: the coach of the team that plays there had faith in my other son and helped write a happy ending for his soccer career). On the fence, someone took red Solo cups—this is Wisconsin, after all—and spelled out “We Love ALCS.” A small intentional act. A year later, they’re still there.
A reminder to keep the faith, that love is a superpower, and to believe in us.
Another round of breakthrough releases, long-awaited returns, and under-the-radar surprises—from Patterson Hood to Deep Sea Diver—that shaped the year in music.
Good morning!
Today we’re taking a look at part two of On Repeat Records’ Top Albums of 2025
We’re back with part two of On Repeat’s picks as the best records of 2025 so far. If you missed Part 1,you can check it outhere.
Some of these we’ve talked about before, and I’ve included excerpts from previous reviews and links to the full(er) ones if you’d like to check ’em out. Things’ll wrap up next week when I’ll join Sam Jami and Steve for our Best Records of 2025 Extravaganza. It’ll be the best “Best Of” recap you read this year. Okay, so that’s a little hyperbolic, but in these trying times we’re allowed some license, no? Really, I’m just stoked that I get to join them again for another go. I think you’ll dig it too.
Anyway.
I’ve touched on how music discovery has changed a lot lately, and to state the obvious, the Internet has helped all of us gain access to records we might otherwise never have heard. There are pros and cons to that, but in aggregate, I think our lives are richer for it. Some of these records came via word of mouth, but a lot of them came from places that would’ve felt like something out of a sci-fi novel not all that long ago. Zines? Sure, but I can only imagine 20-year-old me looking askance at someone talking about “Discord Servers” or Bandcamp.
In my head, I’m still that over-caffenated, excitable guy at the table at Quality Pie, Sharis, or wherever, playing hype man for any given record. I’m a card-carrying suburban dad now, but I hope that’s the vibe that comes through on these lists.
There’s a little bit of everything here—that’s just how I’m wired. I’m happy to talk about the ersatz rubric I tell myself I use when evaluating any release, but the common denominator is this: If it made the list, I found it exceptional. Once these found their way to my ears, they rarely left heavy rotation. Some kept me awake serenaded me on my 3:30 AM commute; others helped make Saturday mornings more enjoyable. Almost without exception, I think I’ve made a solid case for why you’ll dig these (you’ll just have to trust me with Deep Sea Diver). I hope so, anyway. I like yapping about records, but the goal is—and remains—finding you a new favorite or two.
Now on to the music…
Patterson Hood-Exploding Trees & Airplane Screams
All good things in time. It’s taken Hood a dozen(ish) years to follow up Heat Lightning Rumbles in the Distance, but it’s worth the wait. Hood, of course, has a second job as co-founder of The Drive-By Truckers keeping him busy.
His fourth solo record finds him in a reflective spot and revisiting his past. For example, the gorgeous, spare opener “Exploding Trees” is about a storm he experienced as a kid. He’s also brought friends along for the ride, including fellow Alabaman Waxahatchee, Wednesday, and Kevin Morby. On Repeat fave Lydia Loveless joins him on “A Werewolf and a Girl.”
This is an intentionally (?) low-key record made by a guy at a point in life where there’s is plenty of “past’ to mine. Records like this are hard to pull off, but Hood hits the right marks here.
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Good morning! Need an antidote for the algorithms? Looking for a place to share the music you love with like-minded people? You’re in the right spot.
As always, thank you to those who have recently upgraded their subscriptions over the last several days. Your direct support fuels this community and makes a positive impact. Shares and reposts also help!
When you’re ready, joining them is easy. Just click here:
For those of you who are new, we kick off every week by sharing what we’ve been playing, and the playlist below is some of what’s been in heavy rotation for me.
The season of lists is now upon us. Christmas lists… AOTY lists… book lists… to-do lists… and if you’re in one of the flyover states, snow-closure lists. As the resident playlist dealer, it’s no secret that I love a good list—especially when it’s in the form of a mixtape. Today’s playlist reflects a bit of all of those. Avery Friedman’s New Thing was not a record I was expecting to like, but here we are. “Photo Booth” is a fave on an LP packed with them. “Automatic Love” was another revelation and feels like it’d be as at home on a 1991 best-R&B list as it does today (not derogatory). Immersion has shown up a lot this year, and don’t be surprised if they do again before we’re done with 2025.
The algorithm goblins at Spotify tell me that Stereolab’s “Ping Pong” was my most played this year, and honestly I’m not mad about it. Nothing says “2025” like a song that makes you dance while singing about economic collapse. Don’t worry, be happy. Things will get better naturally. We should be so lucky.
From there, we move to 808 State—which was one of my favorites of 1991—a little Wishy, and a nice return for De La Soul (don’t call it a comeback). Die Spitz, The Dead Milkmen, and Swervedriver make for a nice three-piece. We cool off a bit with Helene Barbier and Water from Your Eyes (another revelation), before a quick blitz of old faves/sonic comfort food. I’ve previously raised some hackles by saying that R.E.M.’s Out of Time ranks as one of their best, but I stand by it. I also put “Me in Honey” at the top of their closers. What do you think?
I didn’t have a new one by Madison friends Gentle Brontosaurus on my radar, but they gifted us one just the same. “Luxury Bones” is another one where serious—and timely—lyrics are supported by a jangly sound. If that’s a new name for you, get them on your gift list now. You won’t be disappointed!
What caught your ear this week? Any new releases or shows you’re looking forward to? Do you make any end-of-year lists? If so, have you started putting them together?
Our monthly discussion is later today, and this time there’s a twist…
Hi everyone —
Our monthly Riff community meet-up is today, and this one’s always a favorite: we’ll be sharing our top songs of the year and holiday picks. It’s low-key, fun, and a great way to discover new music you may have missed.
Everyone is welcome, and you’re free to share as much or as little as you like. You can keep your camera and mic off if you prefer.
Who: The Riff Community (that’s you!) What: Sharing and discussing our favorite tracks of 2025 & holiday faves When: Sunday, December 7th, starting at 4 PM Eastern Where:Zoom ID: 84599662582 Passcode: 93$.%cTD Why: Because discovering music together is just more fun.
Feel free to share widely! The more the merrier. Here’s a Friend Link you can use.
Some thoughts on AOTY lists, sandwiches, and swinging back at sameness.
They had the best sandwiches at the Greek Deli.
It was (I assume) a lot like a bodega might be in New York. You’d order, and two middle-aged Greek men would get to work building the best sandwich you’d ever had—a title lasting only until your next one—while also yelling over their shoulder at you for reading the magazines. It was always open right when you needed it, and the food was priced to move. In other words, perfect for the starving-artist crowd or broke teenagers. Dealer’s choice.
This was one part of a rich tapestry that made the neighborhood what it was—quirky, eclectic, and just sketchy enough to be interesting. The streets are named alphabetically. I think most readers know Elliot Smith’s Alphabet Town. This is that place. They’re here, and it was one more part of what made the place cool. You could find good food, good bars, and good buys. And none of them ever appeared in a tourist guide. The most mainstream thing going was an Arby’s that I’m still half convinced was a front. Otherwise, it was all names you’d never heard of, but if said around PDX’ers of a certain age, would light their eyes up. Places like Quality Pie—which I can somehow still smell—Foothill Broiler, and Elephant Delicatessen. The latter two were for the waking hours. The rest lived on the back side of the block.
Even if you didn’t have the munchies weren’t hungry, there was plenty to see. This was, of course, before the age of the cellphone, but you didn’t need one; you could just walk around and notice cool things. Something interesting might happen, or it might not. Didn’t matter. The environment was so engaging, the vibe so electric, that it created its own kind of dopamine rush. You felt like a part of the place and were immersed in it. It was being present before lifestyle coaches convinced you that you needed that in your life.
And then the VC money came.
I recently saw a quote that said something to the effect of “When a Starbucks moves in, it’s good news for property values, and bad news for the tattoo artists.” And boy, is that ever true. As the values rise, the edges get sanded off. The homogeneity creeps in. A feeling of sameness starts to bloom. Things look nice, but it’s a Potemkin village covering the hole where the neighborhood’s soul once was.
I don’t have to tell you a similar thing has happened online. Eulogies for our favorite spots have become a semi-regular occurrence here, as have new rallying cries to bring back Web 1.0-era style blogging. The cool, quirky blogs & websites that used to light up our brains have been bought up and boxed out. Private equity treats publications not as ecosystems with character, but as assets and obstacles. Buy, strip for parts, eliminate competition, move on. Lather, rinse, repeat. Culture becomes a spreadsheet entry. What was once idiosyncratic becomes interchangeable.
Being cool doesn’t grant immunity to a blog or website; in fact, it may have the opposite effect. Today I learned Grantland’s been gone for ten years. Ten years already! Spots like Deadspin weren’t bought because the VC crowd thought they were neat or a good source of viewpoints. They bought them to wring cash out of them and leave the carcass of 1s and 0s (and writing careers) out to rot in the sun.
That is not the point of buying a beloved, profitable publication (or any business). The point is to make the private equity firm more profitable. The Denver Post and Deadspin and Vice News are just widgets, endlessly interchangeable in the service of maximizing shareholder value. Only chumps make money by selling goods or services these days; the real geniuses rely on management fees, deal fees, dividend recapitalizations, real estate deals, and the like. That allows—requires!—a private equity firm to divorce its incentives from that of its own portfolio company, making it, at best, agnostic to whether the company lives or dies. In many cases, the best decision for the firm is the one that directly undermines the company it controls. The reason there are no weird blogs anymore is that it’s more fruitful to drive them out of business.
Each year, as we hit AOTY season, I notice more of the same homogeneity drifting in. I’m one of those sickos who will read any list I come across, and it’s been dispiriting to see a lot of sites simply cycling the same 50 titles around. The order might be different, but that’s it. If you have the same affliction as I do, you’re probably already rattling them off in your head.
A site doesn’t make money on cool points or by surfacing the best band from Spokane you’ve never heard of. They make it from ad revenue and clicks, and that means you’ve got to have some big names. Sabrina Carpenter (or the hipster equivalent) makes for a great way to serve up ads and drive up that CPM rate.
That’s not to say things should swing so far the other way that no one has any idea what you’re talking about. There’s a danger in going so far underground or obscure that no one can relate. I get it. The deli served shift workers from the nearby hospital, bums, and kids like me in equal measure. It was niche in the geographic sense but had relatively broad appeal. A blog can—and should—do that too.
It’s not all doom and gloom—this year I’ve seen more pushback against this homogenization than ever before. Zines are back. People are finally (!) bailing on meta sites. Music blogs are having a moment. The ones that are thriving? The ones that refuse to lose their voice or tone it down. You can be distinctive without drifting into the uncanny-valley version of “friendly.”
One of my favorite discoveries this year was a blog featuring two people writing about records I largely knew by heart. That relatability got me in the door, but their voice kept me there. There’s huge value in that—doubly so as AI (another best boy of the VC crowd—what is it with these people?!) creeps into everything.
If you want a beige overview of a record, Gemini’s got you covered (we can talk about the ethics another day). You want to hear a review from a real person who actually listened to it? A summary isn’t going to cut it. And again, it’s heartening to see more and more people turning back toward this preference for authenticity.
These big shiny sites don’t owe writers free traffic, or really anything for that matter. We also don’t owe them our attention. There’s no obligation to only visit certain pages or hope a faceless algorithm serves us up our next favorite record (spoiler alert: it probably won’t, but someone writing a blog likely will).
Friends are filters. People are guides. Pick up something in print that still requires some editorial discernment, or find your local college radio station. Email the writers of the newsletters you like. Go find some blogs again.
Finding those spots takes a little work—we’ve been served stuff for so long, actively looking for it feels like work again—but just like finding a cool neighborhood, the end result is worth it. As AOTY season hits critical mass, thankfully, there are still a lot of places fighting to keep that spirit alive.
The last time I saw NW Portland, it was unrecognizable. I knew exactly where I was—the street names are about all that hasn’t changed—but nothing looked familiar. It’s got a name purpose-built for travel brochures (“The Pearl”), and a lot of nice stores selling things for people three or four tax brackets above me. It’s all easy on the eyes and hard on the heart. The edgiest thing about it today is how Couch Street is pronounced.
Is the Greek deli still there? Good question. I didn’t see it, but I was also busy trying not to hit people looking down at their phones.
Kevin Sent 
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