E m m e t O h B o y

FAVORITES 25: THERE’S ONLY DANCE MUSIC IN TIMES OF WAR.

As last year wound down, and our world turned sideways politically, socially and morally I found I didn’t want to listen to any music. Just couldn’t get my head or soul to allow enjoyment. But when the silence became deafening I found solace in the local classical radio station, WFMT. For whatever reason it did the trick. It provided escapism, void of lyrics and narrative. I Shazammed tracks from the car stereo almost daily, then dove deeper into composers that resonated most, Bach, Chopin, Debussy, Respighi, and Wolf-Ferrari.

That was my soundtrack from December (no holiday music) through February. March gave way to some classical crossover and new ambient artists, all still due to not being able to comprehend the world (un)developing around me.

To be honest one non-classical record did fascinate me in that period. It defied categorization and perhaps that was its infiltrating trick. Cameron Winter’s first solo effort, Heavy Metal reverberated against its orchestral companions and minimalist piano suites in a way that cleared my head. It required I pay attention. Lyrics veered into unexpected places and compositions seemed to avoid resolving on the satisfying notes I swore were coming. The few friends I shared it with were polarized, but for me it was the “pack of rubber bands” I needed at the time. And a poignant precursor for the September release from Winter’s band, Geese.

Getting Killed by Geese is one of the just four records I want to touch on. But the longer list of releases that brought me joy in 2025 can be found here (Apple Music) and here (Tidal) and Spotify (yeah, right). I only have a bit to add about the record that I haven already’t told as it relates to Heavy Metal. Getting Killed rocks harder at times, but it also lulls more sweetly. Where Winter’s solo record could lean into Rufus Wainright territory, Geese leans into the Velvet Underground and Talking Heads. The band is electrifying, and drummer Max Bassin’s creative and driving rhythms propel it all. The record is deservingly one of the most popular occupants on numerous year’s best lists. The band is burning hot and their creative growth is exciting to watch.

Two other records that get credit for pulling me from my musical malaise were released by Rough Trade within weeks of each other. Essex Honey by Blood Orange and Dijon’s second full-length release, Baby. Baby was a “surprise drop” in mid-August. Absolutely, Dijon’s prior effort was my record of the year in 2021 and I was anxiously awaiting new work. Dev Hynes had not released anything new under his Blood Orange moniker since 2019 but certainly kept busy composing movie scores and collaborating with other artists. His score for the 2021 film Passing is among my favorites of his work. I am pairing these two records together because they worked similar magic on me and share certain characteristics. Each effort is heavy on collaboration and exploring atypical arrangements. Again, here are two artists who seem to relish veering away from expected and satisfying chord resolutions. Neither artist concerns themselves with track length, or even what constitutes the beginning or ending of a composition. This made it all very easy to lose myself in the aural landscapes without identifying specific songs as favorites. And as I had installed Apple Music’s new crossfade feature around this time, I was hardly even aware of when one track ended, and another began. On one listen of Essex Honey, the track “Vivid Light’ deconstructed itself around the 3:30 mark, and as it began to take on another shape all together, I thought it was in fact a cut from Dijon’s Baby. When I realized my listening error, I had my one moment of musical genius for the year. I created a playlist that alternates between the tracks of the two records, starting with Essex Honey’s “Look at You”, then to Baby’s “Baby”, back to Essex Honey’s “Thinking Clean” and so on. I had never done anything of the sort before, but it is how I played the two records ever since, intertwined.

Then came the record I didn’t know I was waiting for. What of Our Nature by Haley Heynderickx max Garcia Conover. I was not familiar with either artist but saw the track “Fluorescent Light” get a little social media love and worked it into semi-regular listening. When the entire record was released in November I became instantly hooked. At first it would seem to have nothing in common at all with the prior three records I’ve discussed here. But as I kept listening and eventually thinking about writing this entry it dawned on me that many of tracks from the record, especially those penned and sung by Garcia Conover share a lot in common with the latest from Geese. The rawness of emotion, the straight-ahead energy of the compositions along with the lyrical sharpness all could have come from Cameron Winter and crew. Both efforts have qualities of folk and punk, no bullshit intentions and honest admissions.

Most of my writing energy has been dedicated to finishing a larger project, so without commentary, here is the list of my favorite music from this past year.

Listen. (Apologies for the less than clean aesthetic as Tumblr continues to have link embedding issues with Spotify and Apple Music)

Reyna Tropical, Malegria

Jaubi, A Sound Heart

Angie McMahon, Just Like North

And one early favorite arriving next year.

Finally, if anyone knows of a TV show that is a more beautiful observation of life than Somebody Somewhere, please let me know.

Here we are again, later than usual, and much briefer. A new job, a fantastic freelance opportunity with a quick turn, and the usual holiday travel really put a damper on my writing time for this annual entry. So I'll just say this, and post links for you to dive into — everything I liked this year fell somewhere between the fantastic release from Durham's Fust and the hypnotic latest from Portland's Y La Bamba. Hope you enjoy. And Happy New Year.

Listen:

Apple Music

Spotify

The Japanese House: Sunshine Baby.

It seems I produce this entry a little later each year. I'm perfectly fine with my reason this year. Or reasons to be exact—The Overstory by Richard Powers and A Swim in a Pond in the Rain by George Saunders. I finished reading Saunders exhilarated and ready to start this writing. But after I organized my thinking, I made the happy mistake of picking up Powers. I could barely bring myself to put it down, until I finished on New Year’s Eve. Now a little more daunted than exhilarated, I plan to keep the musings here brief and get to my favorites.

 The small bit of thinking that I did organize centered around taking the baton handoff from last year’s final entry on the list, Dijon's Absolutely and recognizing how much the genre fluid approach to that magnificent record influenced my tastes in 2022. At times evoking D’Angelo and then later Thin Lizzy, the record was, according to Apple Music Replay, the record I listened to the second most last year. The top honor went to a record that arrived at the top of 2022, very shortly after Absolutely, Orlando Weeks' Hop Up. While not the genre fluid effort that many on the forthcoming list are, Hop Up does give me some of the best Peter Gabriel vibes I've felt in a while.

Three albums that threatened the top spot on my most-listened to list, and ones that do draw on and build from a wide swath of genres are the mesmerizing newest releases from Guitarricadelafuente, Sudan Archives and SZA.

And three that I found to be completely original, fresh takes were Aldous Harding's Warm Chris, the debut ep from Ogi, Monologue and 19 Masters by Saya Gray.

A few artists, old favorites if you will, also warmed long periods of my listening last year. I Walked with You a Ways by Plains feels like it’s packed with future standards. Reggae Film Star by Damien Jurado scratches the moody vibe like he always has, but this effort includes surprising and occasionally deconstructed song structures. Likewise, longtime favorite Marlon Williams returned, less a crooner and more of a retro pop star. Many critics didn't appreciate My Boy like I did. I think it suits him well.

So I've made no formal resolutions for 2023, but maybe unofficially, I’d like to keep the new voracious reading pace without sacrificing the writing output. The realist in me is not so sure I can do it. But isn't this what the unstained optimism of the first weeks of a new year are supposed to afford us?

LISTEN

This time of year is fertile territory for nostalgia. The warmth of familiar traditions and recipes and gatherings comfort and re-affirm us. And the music of the season is a major player in the nostalgia. Songs we would not entertain, even disdain listening to any time of year prior to late November, suddenly cycle through our days, evoking joy and sing-alongs. And while Mrs. OhBoy and me partake in a personal challenge* to avoid at all costs hearing Mariah Carey's ubiquitous “All I Want for Christmas is You”, we otherwise gleefully fill our home and our car with the likes of Bill Monroe's “Christmas Time’s A Coming” and Low's “Just Like Christmas” among other favorites curated over the years. Beyond that, I would rate myself rather low on the spectrum of musical nostalgia. I’ve never been interested in reunion tours or box sets. And I’m particularly not fond of era-themed music events like 80′s nights.

Someone though, somewhere, somehow has speculated that we will be listening to the music of Bruce Sprinsteen and Bob Dylan well into the future. So much so that Sony and Universal have paid in the neighborhoods of $550 million and $300 million respectively for the rights to their catalogs. Congratulations to any artist who can command that price for their body of work. But that's quite a statement on the power of nostalgia versus the potential of new and yet-unwritten work to capture the hearts and minds of the public.

A few years back, a dear friend in the group of people I would consider to be my closest friends, suggested we all participate in a little exercise wherein we each name the song we want played at our funeral. I have never put much thought into this notion, particularly after reading Mark Vanhoenacker's 2016 piece in the New York Times heralding the benefit of a "deathbed playlist" over what's played for mourners after you are gone. But my friends eagerly leapt at the challenge and began naming songs from our high school and college years. I was happy to sit back and listen to each friend's entry but was in no hurry to submit my own. Eventually I was getting more than just a gentle nudging to participate by one friend. I explained to him my deathbed vs funeral viewpoint, and how my playlist was in a state of constant organic growth, adding new songs and artists all the time. And how I felt the group activity was just an exercise in nostalgia. "Oh, it's ultra nostalgic." he quickly replied. "They're the songs that will make our friends think of us after we're gone." So as not to be curmudgeonly about it, I did lob a 90's era entry into the fray, choosing the song by the Sundays, “Here's Where the Story Ends”. It seemed as appropriate as any song could be to mark the end of one's life. But as I have no plans to go anywhere, anytime soon, and expect that current and future artists will continue to create work to add to my deathbed playlist, if forced to pick a funeral track again at a later date, my choice will very likely be different. This year I found great joy in a wide array of musical inputs. And while I cannot say how any of the work that follows will wear with me as time passes, they are certainly strong indicators that the Sunday's are not likely to be heard by friends and family gathering to bid my body farewell.

(Helado Negro, Gemini and Leo)

To begin with, several of my favorites acts from past years populate this list again. Among them Helado Negro, Leon Bridges, Courtney Barnett, Kota the Friend, and Villagers each build on their past success with new work that pushes them artistically. Roberto Lange (Helado Negro) brought us Far In. His most collaborative and lengthiest effort to date, proves at times to be hookier (“Gemini and Leo” and “Outside the Outside”) than his previous work. And Leon Bridges continued his time traveling through the 50's and 60's into new model 70's era, R&B gold.

For much of the summer I immersed myself into two debut efforts, the self-titled Cande y Paulo and Due North, by Chicago native Liam Kazar. Drastically different records, each kept me enthralled for weeks at a time. Both were records I championed unsolicited to friends throughout the year. Cande y Paulo are an Argentine jazz duo who populated their release with the difficult task of covering songs while making them either better or entirely different than the original. Their homages to Leonard Cohen (”Treaty”) and Feist (”Limit to your Love”) are spectacular. And their tiny desk performance is a testament to the power of the human voice and acoustic accompaniment. The industrious Liam Kazar bided his time early in the pandemic by utilizing his skills as a chef. His record for the Kevin Morby imprint Mare Records found an August release and a small window between COVID variants that allowed him to support it with a few live shows. I cannot recall exactly who, but someone I admire and follow on social media (Kelly Hogan?) posted a photo of the Due North album cover with just the word "Wow" so I made note. It was probably a week or two before I returned to it and was taken quickly. Due North moves through several genres and moods but maintains its unique voice throughout. I'm hoping for an opportunity to catch Liam live soon and can see the potential of his future work to earn a spot on the deathbed playlist.

A record getting much deserved recognition is the surprisingly fresh 13th release by the duo Low. Hey What is like nothing I've heard before in the way it bends walls of noise into melodies into songs and then back again. But I admire it the way I do Fiona Apple's Fetch the Bolt Cutters. Both were captivating first listens, and musically unrivaled achievements. But neither were something I felt compelled to return to often. Xenia Rubino's Una Rosa however keeps pulling me back and revealing new things with each listen. Some tracks are brief and feel like loosely constructed Latin musical improvisations. Others wrangle dense techno themes into testaments of feminine and minority power. And at its best the record does both things within the same track. For me, Una Rosa spins more gold out of the attributes that got Low and Apple all of the attention.

(Xenia Rubinos, Una Rosa)

Sturgill Simpson's 28-minute story, The Ballad of Dood & Juanita is a romp through tales of love and kidnapping and horses and dogs. Two personal highlights are “Sam” and the Willie Nelson featured “Juanita”.

The Meters are legends of New Orleans funk. Formed in 1965, they have arguably contributed more to the music of New Orleans than almost anybody since Louis Armstrong. In 1971, the band’s original guitar player, Leo Nocentelli, recorded a solo record almost as a lark. It went forgotten until 2019 when it was discovered in a box of tape reels at a swap meet in Torrence, California. A mostly acoustic effort, the record is soaked in blues and folk-funk and Nocentelli's voice rings as earnest as Bill Withers’.

A record topping a lot of year's best list is the wonderful Floating Points by Pharoah Sanders (featuring the London Symphony Orchestra). It's a unique recording and a late career triumph for the 80-year-old Sanders. For a long stretch Floating Points found rotation as my morning background music. That is until I heard the soundtrack to the beautiful film Passing. Weaving a tapestry of ragtime-tinged piano layered with brass, Devonte Hynes adds to his growing legacy as one of the most talented composer/writer/performers working today. His catalog of work as Blood Orange alone is remarkable. But the multi-dimensional Hynes adds to that a stellar list of classical and soundtrack work. Passing (and Music for Living Spaces by Green-House) filled more of my mornings than any other records in 2021.

(Dijon, Absolutely)

I don't know what Absolutely is. The work released by the emerging artist Dijon on November 5 escapes categorization. My introduction to the record was not ideal and likely added to its intrigue. I played it for the first time while driving with my wife. She is always open to me playing music, but as she was reading, I kept the volume appropriately low. It was less than optimal for digesting a new recording. Other than being familiar with the single “The Dress” I didn't know what I was about to hear. Not knowing, I struggled to understand what it was. A practice session? A jam among friends? Was it even a proper record? Tracks seemed to barely begin and then suddenly end. There seemed to be no regard for form or structure. But I was driving, and the volume was low, and maybe I just couldn’t properly discern it. A day later I made sure to sit down with headphones and give Absolutely my undivided attention. What I discovered is still a musical enigma but one I have become somewhat obsessed with. Dijon moves across genres and moods, evoking an array of artists as disparate as Frank Ocean and Bruce Sprinsteen and D’Angelo and Wilco. Some tracks barely extend beyond one minute in length, feeling like sketches for future compositions, and are yet infectious in their current states. When Dijon released the video companion for Absolutely just six days ago it all locked into place. In it we watch him and a group of collaborators on a set designed to look like a modest mid-western home. Dijon and the other players careen musically and physically off one another through 25 minutes of highly energized musical emotions. None of it clarifies any of the compositions into anything more traditional, in fact perhaps, quite the opposite. It all feels like early rehearsals for a stage play, and the entire film is riveting. If a work released so close to the end of the year can have such a profound place among my favorites, who's to say about all of the musical possibilities by the end of my life?

https://youtu.be/FEkOYs6aWIg

(Absolutely: Film)

A few other things made 2021 of year of note for me musically. Unlike '20, I went to see a few live shows. The first was one night of the local band Cafe Racer's residency at the Empty Bottle. I was invited by an old friend I used to play with in a band. Seeing him, being at the Bottle again, a stage we had plaid ourselves, and seeing live music, made for a cherished evening. I also had the occasion to see Leon Bridges, Kevin Morby and Hamilton Leithauser, all in larger arenas. We kept ourselves masked, but it did not hinder the energy felt from each performance. And a couple of old friends, from the funeral song cohort, hosted Eef Barzelay at their home in September. It was quite romantic. A small group of dear friends, treated to a small show of heart felt music by the Clem Snide front man. Pure joy. I’ve thought about it often since.

Seeing the Todd Hayes documentary, The Velvet Underground was a unique experience both musically and visually. Employing a bare minimum of talking heads, Hayes lets the band speak for itself. I found myself thinking about the Velvets for days afterward. Much more-so than I thought about the Beatles after watching the documentary Get Back.

Two of my absolute favorite records from the (pre)pandemic came from Helado Negro and Orland Weeks. With the ability to tour in support of their efforts either truncated (This Is How You Smile, Helado Negro) or eliminated (A Quickening, Weeks) they channeled their creative energy back into the studio. This week brought word of new releases from both in 2021. And the tiny tastes pared with the news are enticing.