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.
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For those of you who are new, we kick off every week by sharing what we’ve been playing.
The playlist below is some of what I’ve had in heavy rotation. This week found me listening to a ton of new (like, brand new) releases from the likes of Immersion, Massage, and The Symptones. Always a good thing!
NOTE: Spotify has been intermittently throwing a “no upstream” code message for the last couple of days. If you’re still seeing it, you can check out the playlist here.
The Best Record of 1989: Day 44: #90 Roy Orbison, Mystery Girl vs. #39 Jungle brothers, Done By the Forces of Nature
Good morning!
Today we’re taking a look at records from Roy Orbison and Jungle Brothers
Note: As many of you know, I recently wrote about a Best Record of 1989 challenge and noted that I’d occasionally write some of these up.
I’ve started doing some quick hits of each matchup and posting them directly to the page. Some will be longer, some won’t, and some might just be a handful of sentences. There’ll probably definitely be some typos.
Check ’em out and let me know your thoughts! Chin wags & hot takes welcome! Sharing and restacks are always appreciated.
KA—
Let’s talk about Jungle Brothers’ second album. Done by the Forces of Nature isn’t just their best—it’s their crowning achievement. IMO, it’s conscious rap’s finest hour.
Hyperbole? Maybe. But I’ve listened to a ton of albums over the years, and I can’t think of one this consistent from front to back—fifteen tracks, and not a single dud in the mix. No filler. No skits. No middling nonsense. Just bangers. It never gets boring. It never stalls out. It’s sonically rich and wide-ranging. Even the cover reminds me of a happier era.
Picking a pull track here is tough. If pushed, I’d go with “Sunshine” and the infectious “What U Waitin’ For?”. If you’re old enough to remember house parties, this’ll take you right back to being squished into the front room with everyone. And of course, this being made when it was, there’s a group track, featuring Q-Tip, Monie Love, Queen Latifah, and De La Soul. It’s pretty much the full roster of the Native Tongues crew just vibing.
The production is textbook; especially with regards to sampling. Sure, you’ll recognize the samples, but they’re chopped, layered, and flipped into something new. And is that a sample of Junior’s “Mama Used to Say” on “Days 2 Come?” You better believe it. Magic. This was back when producers were alchemists, not just playlist DJs with a loop pack and a laptop. The sample of People’s Choice’s “Do It Any Way You Wanna” on “What U Waitin’ For?” is (chef’s kiss). On a sidenote, this is also fuels Public Enemy’s equally fantastic “Shake Your Booty.”
Sound-wise, you’ve got a sizeable dose of funk, jazz, and—less common at the time—Afrobeat, which fits well with the album’s Afrocentric vibe. But here’s the deal: it never gets preachy or self-righteous. None of that aggressive posturing some so-called “conscious” acts fell into that just got exhausting after a few tracks. Jungle Brothers recognize that rest is resistance. It’s okay to cut loose once in a while! It’s grounded and positive in a way often missing in modern rap.
This is the record people are thinking of when they talk about conscious, alternative hip-hop. It’s the blueprint, but somehow, still underappreciated. Maybe even forgotten in some circles? I’m sure some of that is down to its (relative) unavailability, which is a shame.
If you’ve never heard it, fix that immediately (you can find it on YouTube). If you have—listen again. It’s even better than you remember.
Until now, the only track I’d heard from Roy Orbison’s Mystery Girl was the hit “You Got It,” which seemed everywhere back in the day. With his operatic voice, Orbison has always seemed out of place in the world of rock. That’s not to say his voice is not stunning, only that he’s a square peg trying to fit in a round hole. He’s unique; I’ll give him that.
Mystery Girl was a comeback record in every sense of the word. After 10 years and a run of not-so-great releases, he put out what would be one of his best records. Unfortunately, it would also be the last one recorded while he was alive. Released posthumously, it was finished just a month or so before he passed away.
At the risk of being crass, if you’re going out on a high note, this is the way to do it. I’m not all that familiar with Orbison’s body of work, but taken in isolation, Mystery Girl works. An armada of talent put this together, including (at least) Jeff Lynne, Tom Petty, and the more famous half of U2. Bono and The Edge wrote “She’s A Mystery to Me” for Orbsion, and Bono produced the song.
With a roster like this, there’s always a risk of an album coming across as disjointed, but listening, I’m surprised at how consistent it sounds. There’s no shortage of sheen here—it’s a Jeff Lynne record, after all—but it doesn’t detract from things. The horns on songs like “The Only One” give it a nice Memphis sound.
Overall, it feels like the epitome of an Orbison record. Too bad he never got to see everyone enjoying it.
My vote: Orbison went out on a high note, but Done By The Forces of Nature is a force of nature. By bracket pick and vote are going to Jungle Brothers.
Any thoughts on either of these records? Agree/disagree with my takes? Which one of these would you vote for? Sound off in the comments!
#18 Kate Bush, The Sensual World vs. #111 The Wonder Stuff, Hup
Good morning!
Today we’re taking a look at records from Kate Bush and The Wonder Stuff
Note: As many of you know, I recently wrote about a Best Record of 1989 challenge and noted that I’d be occasionally writing some of these up.
I’ve started doing some quick hits of each matchup and posting them directly to the page. Some will be longer, some won’t, and some might just be a handful of sentences. There’ll probably definitely be some typos.
Check ’em out and let me know your thoughts! Chin wags & hot takes welcome! Sharing and restacks are always appreciated.
KA—
Oh, to be one of the people who first found Kate Bush through Stranger Things! I love that (seemingly) an entire generation was exposed to “Running Up That Hill.” That’s tempered somewhat by my fear that it’s as far as they went. As good as it is, even “just” checking out Hounds of Love leaves a lot on the table.
Talking about that album in our Top 100 series last year, I noted:
What can I say about this record? I love that so many people have found it thanks to Stranger Things (at least, I hope they’ve gone past “Running Up That Hill”). It is an exquisite take on love, life, heartache, and death; it’s a synth record. It’s theater in the round. It’s an album with millions and millions of listens, and it feels like it was made for you and you alone. It’s got a song for the dance floor (“Running Up That Hill”), one for a quiet morning (“The Morning Fog”), and everything in between. Hounds of Love is anthemic. “The Big Sky” is over the top and as ostentatious as anything else you’ll see in this series. And I’m here for all of it.
I stand by all of that. The record is a must listen, and (IMO) should have a spot in any record collection. It’s Kate’s Pet Sounds, and in the same way that the Beach Boys were judged on everything that came after their landmark record, so too was Bush. Hounds of Love has a long shadow, and it’s easy to see why later work got lost in it.
The stylings on TheSensual World don’t exactly help. Hounds of Love is bold, anthemic pop. Its lyrics are full of dreams. Every track feels like an entire Broadway show packed into 4-5 minutes.
In other words, it’s everything The Sensual World is not. Don’t get tit Twitsed; I love this record, but it’s easy to see why someone whose onramp was the over-the-top pomp of, say, “The Big Sky” might feel put off by this record’s slower, romantic sounds. Artists have to be willing to pivot, and this feels like a record made by someone coming into their own, and less like a record sculpted by outside influences. There’s less spectacle and more intimacy (in every sense of the word). One needs only listen to the opening title track to see that.
If Hounds of Love is Bush breaking free of the cocoon, The Sensual World is her fully free and flying under her own power. This record has an elegance that we’d previously only seen sparks of. Depending on your preferences, the songs are either elegiac or affirming, and usually a bit of both. Songs like “Running Up That Hill” are a protest of male power, while this record is a celebration of female agency.
I don’t have a title in mind for “best record that came out after Pet Sounds that you should definitely listen to,” but if all you know of Bush is Hounds of Love, your next stop should be The Sensual World.
Around 1989, something strange happened. It felt like every band decided to pivot to a much more psychedelic sound—the Charlatans, Inspiral Carpets, you name it. The Wonder Stuff were no exception.
Hup, their follow-up to The Eight Legged Groove Machine, is full of swirling guitars and sounds that resemble those of other bands. If left out too long, everything blends into one blob, and the tracks become indistinct.
Luckily, the band takes care to avoid that here. While predecessor LP was sharp, quick, and to the point, Hup takes a longer route. To be clear, these are pop songs, but there’s more to them on this record. Also: Banjos and fiddles. Those aren’t usually found on an expressway.
If you‘re looking for a track with some oomph, “Them Big Oak Trees” has got you covered. It’s the standout track on the record. “Good Night Though” is a gut punch with its verse of
“Don’t play that awful song, she said ‘cause then we’ll know that the party has gone on too long.” I said, “This stairway ain’t to heaven This one’s to oblivion”
If anything, that should be the record’s closer and not at the halfway mark. I’m sure there’s some reason for sequencing it where they did, but I can’t see it. Makes the rest of the record feel like it was almost an after though— and it; ‘s anything but. “Gimme Some Truth” is another track worth double-clicking on.
If there’s a knock on the record, it comes in comparison to follow-up “Never Loved Elvis.” The latter is blatantly poppy and varied. You could make the argument that Hup is exactly what I described above- monotonous, similar from front to back. I’d instead argue that it ‘s focused. They knew the sound they wanted to make, went itno the studio, and came back out with exactly that.
Hup is the record that planted the band’s flag here in the States. The next LP would bring a modicum of fame, with the sublime “Caught in My Shadow” seeing some rotation on MTV and airplay. There are a handful of songs here that easily could’ve made their mark on listeners. Shame they never did. I’m guilty of using the term “underrated” like a comma when summing up records, but in this case, it fits.
My vote: Hup’s a good record, but The Sensual World is a great one. Kate Bush for the win.
Any thoughts on either of these records? Agree/disagree with my takes? Which one of these would you vote for? Sound off in the comments!
63 The Primitives, Pure vs. #66 Bob Dylan, Oh Mercy
Good morning!
Today we’re taking a look at records from the Primitives and Bob Dylan
Note: As many of you know, I recently wrote about a Best Record of 1989 challenge and noted that I’d be occasionally writing some of these up.
I’ve started doing some quick hits of each matchup and posting them directly to the page. Some will be longer, some won’t, and some might just be a handful of sentences. There’ll probably definitely be some typos.
Check ’em out and let me know your thoughts! Chin wags & hot takes welcome! Sharing and restacks are always appreciated.
KA—
Pure is The Primitives’ sophomore record, following Lovely (home of the hit “Crash”). They’re often lazily categorized as “pop,” though I’d say any Venn diagram should include pop, power pop, and new wave. On this release, I might add a smaller circle for psychedelia.
This record is a sign of the time, and no one was impervious to the “Madchester” sound. You can hear bits and pieces of it worked in throughout the record. Pure is an album loaded for bear with lethal hooks and jangly guitars— all supporting Tracy Tracy’s distinct vocals. This makes for a solid if disposable batch of pop songs.
Here’s the thing, though; things get interesting when the band starts playing further afield- I’m thinking specifically of the tapping into that experimental psychedelia, but more importantly, tracks where guitarist PJ Court takes over on vox. Maybe it’s because it’s an unexpected change, but I found those tracks to be the record’s highlights. You would be excused for mistaking “All The Way Down” for a Jesus and Mary Chain track. “I Almost Touched You” sounds like (insert your fave Madchester band here), but is still a fun listen.
Ultimately, this record was a pleasant diversion. Certainly not unforgettable, and unlikely something I’ll reach for again, but with a couple of tracks that’ll probably wind up on a playlist or two at some point.
Kinda like a lot of the Manchester bands of the era.
As soon as I saw this record made the cut, I knew this was coming.
I know that no matter what I write, no matter how many angels sing, I will get at least one reply telling me that it wasn’t enough, that I hadn’t quite prostrated myself correctly at the feet of Dylan. And how dare I?
There will invariably be some invective telling me to go F myself as well. Which, ok. I mean, I get it. This is a man people love dearly. He could read the phone book, and someone, somewhere, would laud it. Someone else would pore over the lyrics with a Talmudic intensity, searching for hidden meaning from our Minnesota magi.
I am not one of those people.
I can respect the love people have for him. I find his influence on music and pop culture interesting. But I have to be in the mood—I mean, really in the mood—to hear some Dylan, and even then, it’s limited to small doses. My runaway favorite song is this version of “Jokerman,” and most of that is because he’s playing with The Plugz.
He made a Christian rock record, and it didn’t go down well. My first thought was that this was another helping of that, and a sermon from Bob Dylan was absolutely not something I needed.
Cueing up opener “Political World” made defaulting to all my preconceptions easy. I vaguely remember hearing it, and wondered if I’d found it as pedestrian then as I did today. We talked about Lou Reed’s New York recently, and all I could think of was how much better he did the “The world is shit” bit better with his “Dirty Blvd.” track.
(sigh)
But a funny thing happened on the next track (“Where Teardrops Fall”); I found myself almost… enjoying it? What was happening here?! “Everything Is Broken” has an easy rhythm and groove that is even better. Was I…was I digging a Dylan record? Order was restored with “Ring Them Bells,” a ballad that did absolutely nothing for me. It’s nice, I guess. I’m sure one of the reply guys has this on their funeral playlist. That’s fine, too. “Man in the Long Black Coat” felt vaguely Biblical, like he hadn’t quite moved past the idea of witnessing to all of us. It’s also got about 12m listens on Spotify as I type this, so clearly someone, somewhere digs it.
Ultimately, Oh Mercy breaks a streak of some awful records, even by his standards. That’s a notch in the win column. Daniel Lanois and the musicians did well to create a soothing and uneasy atmosphere (depending on the track).
Compared to his other records, I found this to be pretty good! Not bad, even! But it’s still not something I’d proactively reach for. And it’ll never beat that version of “Jokerman.”
I’ll see you in my inbox.
My vote: The winner here meets Paul’s Boutique in the next round, so any victory’ll be short-lived. My bracket pick played to my confirmation bias (80s kid energy vs. Ok Boomer vibes). But after listening again, my vote today’ll likely go to Dylan. Would love to hear what you think!
Any thoughts on either of these records? Agree/disagree with my takes? Which one of these would you vote for? Sound off in the comments!
Throwing Muses Hunkpapa vs. The D.O.C.’s No One Can Do It Better
Today sees #32 Throwing Muses ‘Hunkpapa’ album facing off against #97 The D.O.C.’s No One Can Do It Better.
I sent in a Designated Cheerleader piece for Hunkpapa, so that should tell you where my vote’s going. Last fall, Sam Colt and I took on the ambitious/absurd mission of ranking our top 100 records of all time. I slotted this one in at #48, and wrapped it up by noting:
“This band was like nothing I’d ever heard before. In a lot of ways, they still are. Writing this, I’ve struggled to pin down an easy genre tag or a way to describe the sound. Some of it feels like the sun’s surface (literally, in the case of “Dizzy”), and some of it reminds me of fall. I don’t know how best to describe this record besides saying, “Just go play it!” What I do know is that in the 30+ years (yikes!) since that show, this record has never drifted too far from my playlists.“
All that aside, IMO, this is a much tougher call than it would seem on paper. Both are incredible records–albeit for very different reasons. And both have had a lasting influence–albeit on much different groups of artists.
I blew out my knee right at the start of COVID (0/10 do not recommend), and The D.O.C. kept me company for a lot of my rehab. It’s a record of its time, but still sounds fresh.
There is some chatter that Hunkpapa is overranked, while the D.O.C. is underranked. I can see the case for each. What do you think? Who ya got?
Check out today’s write-up (and Designated Cheerleader article (not mine)here.
May 2025: Sam & I bring a some boom bap and Jeep beats to the table.
Good morning!
Today Sam Colt and I are each sharing a few of our favorite hip hop records from the 90s
Welcome to the fifth installment of our (not so) new series! For those of you who may have missed previous editions, here’s a bit of context:
In this monthly series, Sam Colt and I will each share our picks for artists and/or titles that haven’t received their due. You’ll recognize Sam’s name from our On Repeat and Friends Best of Series, and also our Top 100 of all-time serieslast fall. These posts will adopt the latter’s format; I will make my case for my three picks and my reaction to Sam’s. Sam’s page will do the reverse.
In the inaugural post, we noted that successive editions would narrow things down slightly. Maybe a specific genre…maybe a specific era…maybe a specific…well, who knows!
Break out your Timbs and turn up the Alpine; This month, we’re each making a case for a few underrated hip hop records from the 90s.
California’s share of the Best Coast is just under 900 miles, but NorCal and SoCal might as well be two different universes. In many ways, they are—and certainly were in the 90s. While NWA talked about bumpin’ in the city of Compton and Snoop’s smooth drawl introduced us all to the LBC, there was a whole world of hip hop artists up the road in the Bay Area. E-40 was there. Too Short, too. And then there were The Hieroglyphics; a collective made of cats like Del Tha Funky Homosapien, Casual, and Souls of Mischief.
Back then, we didn’t have any money. People did odd jobs, this and that. So I didn’t have a whole bunch of money to buy records, but I did whenever I could. I found that particular record, it’s a Billy Cobham album called Crosswinds. At that point it wasn’t one of the hot records for people to sample. It didn’t cost hella money, it was in the dollar bin. I just grabbed it, and when I got home, I listened to the sample. I used to listen to my samples on 45, because I didn’t have much sampling time in my sampler. [It was] some cheap shit. [The record is] a little gritty, but listening to it on 45, I was like, “Aw, this’d be dope, I’m gonna make it uptempo.”
The latter were perhaps the best of the lot…or at least made the best record of the bunch. The title track is an all-timer—and with good cause—but the album is here on your screen because it’s solid all the way through. Like The Pharcyde below, Souls of Mischief spent a lot of time digging through the crates looking for melodies, jazz, and other touches that gave the record a languid and infectious sound.
Lyrically, the crew was using words in ways others hadn’t thought of yet. And while they were still talking about the same things as other rappers (girls, guns, weed), they were doing it with a vibe that could only have come from the Bay Area.
You chillin’?
Sam’s pick and my take: Big L- Lifestylez Ov Da Poor & Dangerous
Sometimes, timing is everything. 1995 was a banner year for hip hop. Mobb Deep dropped an all-timer. Seemingly half of the Wu-Tang Clan released solo records, and even The Pharcyde followed up Bizarre Ride II with Labcabincalifornia. It was… a lot. Charts and tastes are finite spaces. Something had to give, and one Lamont “Big L” Coleman got lost in the wake. Before the comments light up, I’m sure the true heads knew about this record, but no one I knew was talking about it. And in 1995, I was 3 time zones away from Harlem.
Lifestylez pops off with “Put it On,” a track with a weapons-grade boom bap that quickly establishes that he’s taking no prisoners. We’re off to a strong start. Listening to follow up “M.V.P.” bugged me. Not because it’s bad—it’s not— but because I couldn’t place the sample. Dear reader, I spent way too long trying to figure out that it was “Stay With Me” from De Barge, but one I recognized from The Notorious B.I.G. Yes I know WhoSampled exists. Nevertheless…
A lot of the records on this list transcend the era in which they were made. They sound as relevant now as they were in the last millennium (eek). This one bets the other way. It 100% sounds like something made in the mid-90s. To my ear, that’s high praise. This is the sort of style I gravitate to more than any other. I’ll take all of this you got! This is a great record released in the middle of a tidal wave of great records. I have to think that had the timing been better, it would’ve been huge.
The Pharcyde- Bizarre Ride II the Pharcyde
Hip hop has always had an urgent side. A side that shines a harsh light on the plight of others and pulls the curtains back on parts of society most of us either don’t know or choose to ignore. Public Enemy and NWA are great examples of each, and I’d argue that both are (very) necessary.
But you can only listen to so much before burning out. You need a record with some bounce that is serious but doesn’t take itself too seriously—one that’s dare I say…fun? You need a record like Bizarre Ride II The Pharcyde.
A good record also makes you take a step back and excitedly mutter something like “oh shit” while you try to make sense of what you’re experiencing.
It’s not lost on me that the first words you hear on this record are “oh shit” and from a comedian. Bizarre Ride II is a record that will make you laugh and rearrange your mind in equal measure. The question isn’t if either of those will happen, it’s which one will happen first.
Musically, the album is much more elaborate than many of its contemporaries. There’s plenty of bass, but the crew builds elaborate soundscapes. The ride takes you through jazz, psychedelia, and just about everything else along the way. It’s a record that is much more in the vein of Paul’s Boutique than, say, something from Grandmaster Flash.
Lyrically, the crew knows their way around a little braggadocio (I mean, there’s an entire track of “Yo Mama” disses), but are much more interested in self-deprecating humor. There’s swagger in the verses, but an undercurrent of vulnerability underneath. Chuck D’s not gonna drop a line like “Damn I wish I wasn’t such a wimp“ the way they do on “Passin’ Me By.” Also: is this the first instance of “simp” being used in a track? Young guns take note.
Hip hop expert and friend of On Repeat Records Jeffrey Harvey nailed it, writing:
The Pharcyde are at their most inspired and relatable when addressing affairs of the heart. The album reach’s its zenith with a pair of colorfully imaginative parables of love lost, found, and unreciprocated.
“Passin’ Me By” stands not only as The Pharcyde’s signature song, but one of the signature songs of early ’90s hip-hop. From the first shuffle of the inverted drum loop cribbed from Jimi Hendrix’s “Are You Experienced?,” J-Swift’s meticulously constructed sample collage evokes the dizzying dervish of teenaged infatuation. Spirits soar high and crash hard as the fearless foursome hand their hearts to a quartet of enchanting young ladies, only to have them ignominiously broken.
The record has some skits; long-time readers may recall that I’m not a fan of those. But they are used in moderation here, and aren’t quite the distraction they can be on other records.
The worst part is that you have to wade through them before getting back to the good stuff. “Soul Flower” is an absolute banger, and relistening to the record ahead of this write-up, I found myself reaching for the “back” button a couple of times before remembering that I needed to keep moving.
The MCs are breaking new ground, but aren’t so busy that they don’t give an occasional nod to those who came before them. On “Officer,” a verse tips its hat to none other than Public Enemy’s “Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos,” but make sure that you remember what record you‘re playing by dropping a verse like this on “So I Ramble”:
About my life, is actually shambles Should have took the bus A bus without the silence or some old Nikes I wish we had good bikes We need to exercise
At one point on “Soul Flower,” they ask, “How long can you freak the funk?” The answer, in this case, is 56 minutes and 39 seconds—the whole damn record.
Sam’s pick and my take: UGK- Ridin’ Dirty
If it’s not already patently obvious, I’m not the target demographic for records like Ridin’ Dirty. Case in point: at first glance, I confused this with Chamillionaire’s track, and thought maybe Sam had included something from the wrong decade. Silly me. It should also go without saying, but playing this at work might not be the best idea. Like many of the records on this list, the lyrics don’t always hold up. Pound for pound, this LP has more profanity than the rest.
Which is kind of my point. Maybe more so than any other, this one is the most gritty. The most “real,” whatever that means. There’s no lack of bombast and bravado here, and -again, maybe I’m not the best one to plant this flag— but a lot of it sounds like UGK spent some time at the G-Funk finishing school. The fluid beats and rhymes all feel like maybe you’re on your second cup of Lean, or maybe you’ve been out in the Houston humidity too long. Either way, this was an enjoyable ride…not sure if it’s possible to be riding dirty in a Subaru wagon, but here we are.
Life in the dirty south might not be for the weak of heart, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun.
Handsome Boy Modeling School- So…How’s Your Girl?
You might not recognize the name Prince Paul, but having worked on the boards for everyone from Stetsasonic to De la Soul (and as a member of Gravediggaz), you know his work.
Dan “The Automator” Nakamura might be a tougher call. Still, there’s no doubt he’s made his mark, producing all sorts of indie rap records and perhaps most (relatively) famously releasing Dr. Octagonecologyst, a collab with him, Kool Keith, and DJ Q-Bert.
The two producers became friends, and like any close friendship, developed a second language of inside jokes. They also became fans of comedian Chris Elliott, which…is a choice. But from Elliot’s work came a reference; the sort of thing you sling back and forth in your texts. A wink and a nod that makes total sense to you, and absolutely none to everyone else on Earth.
Handsome Boy Modeling School was born from a plot line in an episode of Elliot’s show.
So to recap: you have two producers known for their quirky styles, a project built off the cuff, and named after a plot in a largely forgotten sitcom episode.
There were really only two ways this could have gone:
A: It was going to be a groundbreaking record built by—and for— the true heads
B: It would be too clever by half, become an oddity ouroboros, and collapse under it’s own weight.
25+ years later, I think it’s safe to say that it is absolutely an example of the former. The producers might be idiosyncratic, but they leverage that to their advantage here, creating track after track of incredible work. A record crate diggers would love, but one that was also accessible to everyone else.
And they brought some friends along. Long before “collab” was a verb we all knew, the two invited MCs from all corners to come through. Grand Puba is here. So is DJ Shadow (note: this record may remind many of his Endtroducing record). So too are Beastie Boy Mike D and (checks notes) one half of Cibo Matto— the two appearing on the same track should paint a clear picture of what sort of collage was built here. It only gets better from there.
So… How’s Your Girl is hip hop for those with discerning tastes, for the people who look at ID’ing samples as a parlor game, and for those who want something unconventional in their crate.
Sam’s pick and my take: De La Soul- De La Soul is Dead
You didn’t even have to play the record to see that the D.A.I.S.Y. Age was over; the wilted flowers and broken pot were right there on the cover. If that wasn’t enough, the title was a dead giveaway: De La Soul is Dead.
The D.A.I.S.Y. Age might have passed, but only the version of De la Soul we all knew was gone. You’d be excused for only knowing “Me, Myself, and I,” but the trio (and Prince Paul!) made quick moves to ensure the band didn’t become a novelty act. The follow-up is a pivot sharp enough to give you whiplash, but plays to the group’s strengths. The middle child in an incredible 3-record run (3 Feet High and Rising, De La Soul is Dead, and 1993’s trippy Buhloone Mindstate) is arguably the best of the three.
Like many records from the era, there are once again too many skits for my tastes, and that makes for a 27-track LP that would be much better as a 15-16 joint. But that’s a small price to pay for getting all-timers like “A Roller Skating Jam Named ‘Saturdays,’” or watching them take on heavier themes in tracks like “My Brother’s a Basehead.” And of course, the sample-rich jams that are Prince Paul’s trademark.
It’s not lost on me that we both picked a Prince Paul-related project as one of our picks. If there is a poster boy for “understated” in the hip-hop game, it’s him. He also has an almost unblemished track record of putting out shelf-stable records that sound as fresh today as they did on Day 1.
If sales are anything to go by, the message flew over a lot of people’s heads, and many copies of this record were left to collect dust on record store shelves. But that’s their loss. De La Soul is Dead showed that not only were they back—they were a force to be reckoned with.
That’s a wrap! What are your thoughts on these records? Do you own any of them? Share your thoughts in the comments! Rants, raves, and spicy takes are all welcome. And if you have any ideas on future themes, please share those as well! Don’t forget to check out Sam’s thoughts over at This Is a Newsletter!
Val Lowry-Ortega’s latest project speaks of big dreams in small town America
Photo: : Hannah Marie Belisle
Good Morning!
Today we’re listening to Minneapolis-based Oceanographer
Over the last few years, our journey to find new music has taken us to some odd corners of the country. We’ve made stops in places as far afield as Bellingham, Washington; Bloomington, Indiana; Athens, Georgia; and Portland, Maine.
Today, we’re staying in flyover country and hopping over the border into Minnesota.
The upper Midwest is dotted with small towns full of people with big dreams. Growing up in rural Worthington, MN, Val Lowry-Ortega was no exception. Like many from small towns (or suburbs), most of their school years were spent counting the days to get out of town; they left right after graduation. After receiving a scholarship, Lowry-Ortega Initially channeled their energy toward acting, but quickly found their heart wasn’t in it. Playing the guitar to put off doing coursework ultimately became the genesis of their musician origin story. It was a much better fit.
After a stop in central Wisconsin, they moved to the Twin Cities, met up with some friends, and Oceanographer was born.
It’s probably good that it didn’t work out with NYU anyway, because going through my acting program made me realize how off-path I was. I didn’t want to be told what to do by other people. I wanted to write my own work that I had full creative control over. So, I honed in on my songwriting and started playing small gigs with the folk punk community in Stevens Point. I introduced my first iterations of my songs in grimey basements littered with beer cans, but I finally felt like I was heading in the right direction, oddly enough.
Deep Sea Diver taps heavily into those early years and the constraints of life in a small ton. Lowry-Ortega describes the sounds as “Midwest Dream Folk… a happy mix of Laurel Canyon Folk, 90s Dream Pop, and Midwest Emo.” The presser lists bands like Big Thief as comparisons, and even suggested The Sundays! Those are all apt, but listening I was reminded of KD Lang as well. Not everyone can nail that wistful sense of longing. Lowry-Ortega does.
When they sing His black eye swollen shut with shame/ Still half undressed in the window frame/He said that he had everything/But he gambled it away on “Midwestern Cowoby” you feel it.
The EP is three tracks full of guitars, lap steel, and easy beats, supporting her powerful vocals. It’s a bit folk, a bit country, and even a bit of pop- all with some gothic overtones sprinkled across the top. The lilting melodies belie the sometimes not-so-gorgeous stories of dreams unrealized and lives never fully lived. It’s the story of some people watching the big sky, yearning for something more, and of others destined to keep up appearances and settle for what they think they’re supposed to.
It’s the sound of something you’d hope to find on the AM dial while driving between Worthington and the Twin Cities, leaving the silos in your wake.
For readers in the Twin Cities area, the band has several upcoming shows!
June 1st Grand Ole Days (Solo) 12:30PM-5:00PM
June 12th Kingfield porchfest 6-9PM
June 13th at The Mess’s Backyard Blend With Skeleton Crew, Not Your Baby, and Modern Wildlife 6pm doors, 6:30pm show
July 2nd songwriter round at Greenway Recording (solo) 7:30PM Doors/ 8PM Music
July 8th New Band Night at The Green Room 6:30PM Doors, 7PM Music
July 16th at Pilllar Forum With Finick and Natl Park Service Load in at 5, Doors at 6
July 26th Hot Dog Party at the Black Hart, St. Paul With ?Watches?, Dollchaser, Lure of Lilith, Mystery Meat, and Splendid 12-6PM (Benefit in support of trans youth)
Deep Sea Diver is out now on all platforms.
Listen:
Oceanographer | Deep Sea Diver (EP) 2025
Click the record to listen via Bandcamp
As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this record!
The ways we discover and create music continue to evolve. Matthew Vanderkwaak’s new project is shining a light on both his own music and other emergent Canadian artists.
Photo: Samuel Landry
It’s 2025, and many of the guardrails and gatekeepers that used to decide what music we consumed are gone. We are no longer bound solely to whatever an A& R rep might decide we like. We can decide for ourselves.
That goes for artists as well. Most of us grew up with the narrative that discovery is either by sheer luck or after getting in the van and burning hard miles down the road. And even if you wanted to make a record, that might prove cost-prohibitive.
While some of that is still true, for the most part, the barriers to entry are lower than they’ve ever been. Today, it’s entirely possible to make a record using your phone and a few other software programs. You can do this without ever leaving your bedroom.
So that’s the good news; if you want to make a record, you can! The not-so-good side effect is that listeners must wade through more and more records before finding you.
Discovery might’ve changed forms, but it still matters.
Enter Matthew Joel Vanderkwaak. Matthew is from Atlantic Canada and is an artist himself. Taking a page from the likes of Fog Chaser, miter and olivia rafferty, he’s creating music in real time, using new pathways, and his readers get to hear it first.
Further, he’s committed to raising the profile of other artists and has a series where he spotlights emerging Canadian musicians, with an emphasis on Canadian folk and country music.
In 2025, algorithms and digital platforms are making a lot of noise. Artists/curators like Matthew Vanderkwaak provide a valuable signal, lighting the way for new listeners.
And with that, I’ll get out of the way and let Matthew share his work.
Enjoy!
KA—
I’m Matthew Joel, an artist from Atlantic Canada on a quest to encounter the spirit of Canadian folk and country music as it lives and breathes in our moment. I’m here today to share about my new project, The New Canadiana—a journalistic series about regular and mostly unknown Canadians who are writing, recording, and releasing music right now.
In the age of algorithmic curation and procedurally generated noise, I think folks are more hungry than ever to make meaningful connections with the human beings who make the music they love. This might be one of the major upshots of ai-generated media—it shows us how precious human-made art really is. More than ever I want to feel I know the people making the music I’m listening to, and more than ever, I’m learning that this kind of relationship requires an almost heroic act of focused attention. That attention, though, leads me into the spirit of art-making that inhabits human life and makes it special.
Last year, I finally finished grad studies and realized I wanted to start recording and releasing music again. It turned out that after 10+ years of desk work, academic writing, and listening to Carrie and Lowell on repeat, a lot had changed in the world of music marketing and promotion. Back in 2010, it was all about selling CD-Rs to my friends, posting on tumblr, and sending out mass emails hoping to strike gold in the blogosphere. I had never distributed music to streaming platforms before. If I did, would anyone hear it? How could I find a community of interested listeners?
Purveyors of music-biz best practice said that I should find out who else was making music like mine and do whatever they did. But who even were these people? Where could I find them? While asking these questions from within the horizons of social media and streaming platforms, I felt lost. The fact was that many of the people I knew making beautiful music had almost no traction on a place like Spotify. But at the same time, as I gathered more and more of this pressingly beautiful music together, I started to see common threads running through these different Canadian cities.
My conviction is that algorithms cannot be trusted to tell the stories of the human beings who make the art most precious to us. It takes human beings to make known what is truly human in our music. Of course, here at On Repeat Records, I’m preaching to the choir. This is how The New Canadiana was born—out of my attempts to practice attending in a more structured and public way to the beautiful human-made art that is all around me.
In this post, I’m distilling what I’ve learned from the year so far: three rules for attending to the music of a place. I’m especially happy to share about these principles, because what I’m seeing in these Canadian cities must be happening everywhere else too. I want to know how you are following rules like these and what you have discovered along the way.
1. Start with music made in the place where you are
In the effort to resist the algorithmic anonymization of music, I think each of us has a special vocation in the places we belong to. The first rule is to begin with the music made by people you know in places you know. Then, follow the threads. Trace the outlines of the scene that you are at the centre of by virtue of the fact that you are the one listening. You are the one who most of all can understand the meaning of the music that arises out of the situation that you also arise out of. And the rest of us need you to help us access to the art you are most equipped to hear.
The spirit of locality is very close to the spirit of music making. Human-made music belongs somewhere, and that place is not primarily an Instagram reel or Youtube video (which are only records of an event). Canada, which is ostensibly the subject of The New Canadiana, is, in truth, much too large a subject.
Instead, I have begun my quest with the actual Canadians I know whose music burns bright in my ears and heart. This first rule is about learning to trust that this feeling shows me the way forward. There’s no one else with my particular experience of this music made by these particular people. This means I have a task—something to attend to.
2. Have meaningful conversations with the music you love
The great threat to music distributed by streaming platforms is that it becomes a mere mechanism to evoke a mood or vibe without ever being allowed to become an end in itself. By contrast, I’m amazed at what I discover when I sit down with a friend and really ask them about their art. I might have assumed that the public nature of an interview would involve too much self-conscious reflexivity to invite meaningful reflection. On the contrary, I find that when I have a conversation that is on record, this imparts a focus and intensity that elevates my awareness of what we are trying to explore together.
As I prepare for interviews, I bring a structured mode of attention to the music that I rarely make time for. As I pay attention, I start to get curious: what makes this music work? What is it saying to me? How can I dialogue with its particular beauty? While conducting these interviews, I feel my conscience prick—why haven’t I asked my friends these questions before? They’ve made this beautiful art, and the meaning of its beauty is at risk of slipping by, unnoticed unless someone stops to recognize what has occurred.
3. Keep a public record of your discoveries
All it takes to dignify a work of art is attention, and the third rule is to give what you have understood in the art a public voice. Let us infiltrate online spaces designed to manipulate and monetize attention with the records of what we have discovered on the ground and in our bodies with other human beings.
Let us keep coming back to places like On Repeat Records to celebrate the beautiful music that has made itself known individually upon each of us as individuals. Keep a record of what you notice—snapshots of live music, reflections on concert experiences, evidence of physical media, listening journals, conversations shared between friends and fellow aspirants. The record of these experiences matters because only a human can access what is human in a work of art.
4. The New Canadiana
I’ve committed in 2025 to make my discoveries public in two ways:
I am interviewing one Canadian songwriter a month. The interviews are an almost anthropological effort to encounter the spirit of this moment in Canadian music. If you’re to new to the series, I encourage you tostart with the first one featuring Simon Bridgefoot.
I maintain a playlist that situates these Canadians’ music in the larger context of folk and country music in this country. The playlist privileges songs that have come out in the past five years. The playlist lives here:
It all started as a chance to work out where I can locate my own music, and what I’ve discovered instead is that there is a world to which I already belong. Give the interviews a read and the playlist a listen and let me know what you see in them.
How many of you are already applying principles like these in your own practices listening to music? What have been the results?
Kevin here again: Thank you to Matthew for sharing his work, and thank you for being here. Be sure to check out his project and the other fantastic interviews he’s already done!
Four decades on, the band’s third release sounds as new as it did on Day 1.
Today we’re taking a quick look at New order’s Low Life LP as it turns 40.
If you’ve been here more than a day or two, you know my love for this band. Various people have described it as “rabid,” “partisan,” and “a lot.” I can’t argue with any of those, nor would I want to. I’m old enough to still reflexively sneer at the term “fanboy,” but when the shoe fits…
At any rate, this isn’t the first time the band has grabbed some column inches here, and it won’t be the last. Indeed, some of the first writing I ever did online (not counting shitposting in aviation forums) was on the band. Along the way, we’ve covered their underrated tracks, force-ranked each closing track of the first ten records, and twice made the case why they should be in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Expect a third around this time next year.
TL; DR- I love this band and I love this record.
The Transmissions podcast (correctly) described the band as one that changed the world. Twice. I just described them as one I shamelessly love. This first ran as part of a piece I wrote for Matty C’s What AM I Making newsletter, where I talked about their first four records.
Low Life is the third of that lot, and 40 years on, it is still one of their best. To my ear, it sounds as relevant now as it did on day 1. What do you think?
KA—
I had a giant poster of this record cover for years, and I was well past the “unframed poster” age when it finally came down. It survived more moves than many other supposedly more important possessions. (and more than a few relationships, jobs, etc.). New Order—or rather their graphic designer Peter Saville—also habitually released records with beautiful covers. Every release was a marriage of sight and sound. Saville wasn’t picky, either; he was at home tapping into Bauhaus or Constructivist influences as much as he was classic art. In this case, we got the first—and to date, only— cover to feature pictures of themselves on the cover.
Low Life first hit my ears early in junior high. I’m now pushing fifty, and still play it quite often. The idea that I now have a kid the same age I was when I first found this is mind-bending and probably a story for later.
The album is tight from A1 to B4, with almost no missteps. The punchy “Love Vigilantes” kicks things off, and the listener immediately knows things will be different. First, the lyrics are a narrative (the lyrics finally tell a story! Stay for the surprise at the end!). The frantic “Sunrise” features one of Hook’s most propulsive bass lines–really, Hook’s bass playing is solid across the entire record– and the tandem of Morris & Gilbert adds a pop layer to everything.
Low Life marks the spot where the band finally decided to include singles on their records, though they were often heavily remixed. The first single was the glorious “The Perfect Kiss” (this author’s favorite song, not just on the record but of all time). The only thing wrong here is that they used the 5-minute version, not the epic 9-minute 12″ single. The record’s last track, “Face Up,” starts moody before shapeshifting into a very poppy track with Sumner practically yelling, “Oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you!”
I don’t know who he was singing about, but I still don’t like them.
This is also their first record that feels like a record with an overtly intentional progression and lyrics that aren’t intentionally vague. It’s meant to be consumed in whole. Words are used to tell actual stories here–at least in a few places.
The result? A blindingly good record
As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts on these records! Did I get it right, or am I way off the mark?
Kevin Sent 
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